Visiting Nick Drake by Ry Lickliter

There are certain moments in everyone’s musical lives when they hear something which they know, almost instantly, that this certain band or an album or this one particular track, will stick with them for the rest of their days as something truly amazing. Thus was the case of my college roommate bringing home Pink Moon by Nick Drake from a summer vacation.

I need to preface this by explaining that I had the great fortune of coming to age in a very interesting time. You see, Napster had just surfaced a year or so prior so the MP3 revolution was a luxury of those who actually had access to the internet, something I did not until dorm life. What this meant was that if one was to be exposed to new musical experiences, that exposure would have to come from someone you already knew owning the music before hand.

This of course made things difficult as a high school student as the people you hung out with, more likely than not, listened to the exact same music you did. Such things define most of any high schooler’s existence and thusly is why one’s freshman year of college would be one of, if not the, best musical years of their lives. The relationship that I have with Nick’s music was forged in this exact same proverbial fire.While researching all available information on his life I found that Nick’s final resting place was in the small village of Tansworth-in-Arden, deep in the English countryside. Nearly ten years later, I had the fortune to be able to visit Nick and spend a day walking the streets where he spent his last days writing what is arguably one of the greatest full albums of all time.

Leaving on the William Shakespeare Express from Birmingham towards Stratford-in-Avon early on fairly typical grey Monday. As I sat and watched the city melt into suburbs and then fade away completely to reveal the rolling fields of the English countryside. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and squinting into the morning light I sat, rocking back and forth with the motion of my cab keeping my attention focused on not missing the Danzy Green stop which I had to special request upon boarding the train.

Upon my arrival to this remote stop, while letting the warmth of the spring sun fall on my back, I put on Bryter Layter and set out to find this small village tucked away from the world and its worries in sea of green pastures. Passing only a few cars, a couple out for a morning bike ride and smiling as I accepted the various encouraging remarks made by the over abundance of sheep, I found my steps go from an excited & hurried pace to a much slower & appreciative stroll. Taking in all the beauty of both my surroundings and soothing tone of Nick’s voice, I felt the romance of this tiny hidden corner of the British Isles sweep over me.

Coming over one of the small hills I noticed the steeple of the Tansworth church peeking threw the tops of the trees just as the final chords of ‘At the Chime of a City Clock’ rang out their final voice. The church itself marks one of the three sides of this tiny village center, bordered on both sides by a small store and a row of cozy little homes, all of which seemed completely void of life. It quite literally felt like I was the only person for miles. I made my way to the back of the church to the small graveyard that is situated at the top of a hill facing the pastures & fields that make up roughly 90% of this area. Passing grave markers that had become illegible with the passing of time, I found the small, simple stone at the base of a large tree in cemetery’s heart. Written upon the back of the stone were the words, ‘Now we rise and we are everywhere,’ lyrics from ‘From the Morning’ off of Nick’s Pink Moon album. The grave was holding fresh flowers and a small pot entirely empty except for one note another visiter had left that over time had become as worn as the surrounding headstones.

I sat, taking in Nick’s words when I was greeted with a warm smile from the grounds keeper and his old dog who came over to investigate the situation and ended up enjoying some serious ear scratching before trotting back to supervise the elderly man’s weeding. I took out a couple of the cameras I brought to document the trip and made my way down the street from the church to Nick’s brownstone home at the end of Bates Lane. I was greeted by yet another elderly man and his canine companion who said with a huge smile that he was certain he knew why I was there. I asked him if there were many people who actually ventured to his small village to pay their respects to the Drake family, he answered, ‘Not a lot, but we can pick you all out when you arrive.’ We talked cameras for a while and as he walked me down to show me which home was Nick’s, he said he was going to go home and dig out his TRL camera and try to get some use out of it. We shook hands and parted ways after I gave his muddy Golden a little love.

I decide to make my way back to the graveyard, listen to Pink Moon in its entirety and watch the clouds roll by. Taking in all the magic of both Nick’s words and this special little patch of Earth makes my heart swell and I struggle to wrap my head around why one who lived in such a truly amazing place could find himself so terribly sad. As the last few notes of From the Morning fade out of my headphones, I sigh, stand and say good bye to Nick & Tansworth before setting out for my hike back to Danzy Green. Without a doubt, this was one of the single most magical experiences of my life.

Pictures, Videos, and Writing by Ry Lickliter