TEDDY BOYS DON’T KNIT
(But of course, Vivian did knit.)
Teddy Boys was written and recorded when Vivian was safe in the midst of his first real and only taste of family life. Our daughter Silky Cyme (“... conceived in love”: The Tube) was a wee toddler and we all lived on the Searchlight moored on the Thames. The album and its songs are reflective of the happiest moments in his life - save for that halcyon time before his fourth birthday when he had his Mum all to himself, when the FATHER had yet to come home from the war. (Note to self: must always remember to capitalize this word, FATHER. V’s nemesis from start to finish.)
Come to think, these years on the banks of the river were Vivian’s knitting years.
The songs are a hodgepodge of love for Silky and for me, things he couldn’t find room for in Rawlinson End, reactions to the doings of chums or to overheard exotic phrases, stuff that didn’t make it into a Winwood collection - or got chucked out in the interests of ‘commercialism’, thoughts on his father, and on himself... all in all, an eclectic collection of knitted Stanshallia.