(Highly recommended from all TVB staff listen to this: The Home of Shedrock http://www.shedrock.co.uk/)

The Queen has just gone back in time and sprouted a 3rd Dimension, the troops are poised to go up, down or half way up a hill in Afghanistan, and the fascists are on the move in our northern towns. Where does this leave English patriotism? Is it impolite to love one’s country? Always a prickly issue, patriotism is so often hijacked by xenophobic extremists intent on ejecting anyone who can’t prove that their bloodline extends back to some hapless white family clinging to an even whiter piece of ice floating somewhere off Jutland 35,000 years ago. And today, in the wake of Iraq, even the noble patriotic ideals of our brave soldiers are being eroded away – almost as fast as the remaining vestiges of faith in capitalism and politics. Yet when you walk down the streets of our towns and cities, you would be forgiven for thinking that nothing is going on at all, it’s simply business as usual. Almost 42 years on from the Paris Spring of ’68, a mere hammer throw away from the bicentennial of the Luddites, and not even the prospect of another bout of Tory rule inspires our latter day revolutionaries. What is going on?

Could there be something happening in the provinces – apart from illegal foxhunting and fattening turkeys? Is England still there in any real sense? Is there anything to be patriotic about? Setting off to find out, I decided to shun plane and train and take the scenic route on my routine journey from London to Edinburgh.

I aimed for the pulsating heart of Northern Middle England, the Pennine town of Halifax, birthplace of cat’s eyes. Chance, however, diverted me to Sowerby Bridge, a threadbare mill town. Asking one of the dour locals if there might be any entertainment hereabouts, I was given a quizzical look, ‘What, rarnd eeya? Tha must be joking!’. Were my reckless dreams of bucolic revelry to be dashed straight away? After having my dismay savoured, as is the way in these parts, I was wrily advised, ‘You might try Puzzle Hall, up theeya – it’s open mic night’

An overarching sense of community and tradition that defines itself against authority

The Puzzle Hall Inn keeps the mystery of its name to itself. Some folk put it down to the peculiar construction of the building, a series of crooked extensions radiating from an original 17thC dwelling; others associate the name with a nearby maze that has long since disappeared. Either way, it is now a thriving real ale pub with a longterm reputation for music, ‘everything except gangsta rap’, according to landlord Phil Blackwell. The open mic night has been run successfully for over six years by Tim Radin, himself an accomplished folk singer and deep rim bodhran player. Tim kicked off the evening with extensive improvisations on the drum woven around a rollicking local tale. At last, the true heart of oak, the voice of England singing of battles, lost ships, collapsing mines and true love. A moment’s reflection, however, and I soon noticed distinct African beats creeping into the 6/8 rhythms, the instrument itself is Irish, and it turns out that Tim is of Ukrainian extraction. And so the evening progressed with plenty of hearty drinking, songs from L.A. (Lower Accrington), pre-Euro fables from Europe, tunes from all over the world, sung by men, women, and even a young lad barely into his teens who accompanied his dad on snare and then strummed out his own bold version of a favourite pop song. This was a community of like-minded, generous and happy people enjoying simple honest entertainment in a way that hasn’t changed for centuries.

I was already beginning to think this was too good to be true, finding myself composing wistful leys of a lost Albion lying here in our midst. But I was shaken from my reverie as the audience began to buzz with renewed excitement. The final duo took to the stage: Ian “Shedrock” King and “Cyclone” Chris. It was clear by the shouts and taunts that this pair had a sizeable posse in these parts. Ian, a large man, who you fancy could do a jig on the bar with a sheep under each arm, if the ceilings were higher; and Chris, an angular post-apocalyptic imp, hunched over his guitar, strangely reminiscent of Chuck Berry, for some reason.

It’s the banks on the fiddle and the MPs too, they’re all fiddling me and they’re all fiddling you!

After an odd song about a hole in the ground where animal experiments are carried out, Ian launched into a tub-thumping version of his latest single, Bankers and MPs, which challenges us to DO something! The audience were ecstatic, banging tables and chanting along boisterously with the choruses: “It’s the banks on the fiddle and the MPs too, they’re all fiddling me and they’re all fiddling you!” Everyone united in opposition to a system and a hierarchy that had betrayed those it was supposed to serve. Amid cheers and calls for more, Ian finished his set with lively party number celebrating the end of the world. Animal rights, political irony and a wink at the apocaIypse, it was obvious who I had to interview after the show.

It turns out that Ian King is something of a local legend who has appeared on TV, radio, and in the national newspapers. His unique brand of ‘Shedrock’ hails from a time when he took on the full might of Calderdale Council in a battle to save his Hill Farm home, that had originally been a shed. Refusing to bow down to authority, he eventually won his case and now lives unmolested in the Pennine hills overlooking both Halifax and a begrudging Council. Ian has a passionate interest in local history, and was in his element when recounting tales of the infamous Yorkshire Coiners ‘who lived up yon hill, making an honest living clipping coins of the realm’. His forthcoming album Outlaws of England, due out next Spring, features a piece on the Coiners together with other songs about radicals and outsiders. The Luddites, appear alongside national figures such as Guy Fawkes, and the Chartists. It is peculiarly fitting that bankers and MPs find themselves in such company. Yet even though Ian probably has a greater affinity with the Sex Pistols’ adaptation of God Save the Queen, rather than the official version, he has no qualms at all about his patriotism: “I’m not ashamed of the fact that I love my country”. For Ian, patriotism is to do with the land itself: where we all come from and where we shall return. Somewhere beyond pontificating guff and political claptrap. Needless to say, the proceedings went on into the small hours, and were rounded off fittingly with a return to Tim and his drum singing call and response about the Puzzle Hall itself. By now, no puzzle at all.

As I wended my way back to my lodgings, I reflected on what I had learnt. The history of our island of mongrels is full of resistance, struggle and endless diversity, yet there is also an overarching sense of community and tradition that defines itself against authority. This common interest is routinely expressed in that quintessential icon of Old England, the traditional English pub. Thanks to people like Ian, Chris, Tim, Phil, and everyone who made the evening so special, England is still very much alive and kicking. I left with no thoughts of the Queen, no thoughts of race, creed, or war, I left with a feeling as old as the hills that surrounded me. Together we are strong.

Highly recommended from all TVB staff listen to this: The Home of Shedrock http://www.shedrock.co.uk/