As the clouds of war gathered, Charles Lamond Lind Young’s thoughts turned to the lamentable state of his wardrobe.
Monday 3 August
Spent the day searching up odd bits of uniform – found a frock coat moth-eaten, one monkey jacket the same and an old cap. Caught the midnight mail to Plymouth, feeling very sad at leaving sweetheart.
Tuesday 4 August
Conversations nothing but the war, every new item true or false seized on and discussed at the top of one’s voice. Got my appointment to HMS Irresistible in the afternoon. Put on my monkey jacket but took it off again as it did not match my serge trousers.
War declared at 11pm.
My younger brother used to spend hours recording songs in his bedroom. This was back in the early 90s, when he was about 15 or 16. He used two old tape players to create multiple tracks, overlaying the audio from one tape to another to create the scuffed final song–a palimpsest of noise. Until recently the songs only ever existed on a single tape in a drawer somewhere.
There’s something innocent and wild about the bedroom recordings that I love; the way they capture the yearning confusion of being an artistic kid in a tough, small town called Te Kuiti. I still remember hearing Girl looks good for the first time, driving home from university late one night. I pulled over to replay it, looking out into the darkness, thinking about my brother.
Girl looks good
Beneath the trees