The one hundred thousand ways to make a Momo

This was 1970 and we were carrying the first video film making equipment with us. Sheldon - who had carried the stuff from America and had dealing with customs, was sure we would be hours in Delhi - no way - we were tired and the stop over in Damascas - a real disappointment, far from Arabian nights delight, just hot lemonade and vast thirst.
I ran down the line of officers at their little desks and stopped at one and flashed my pic of 'the Mother' - he flashed his - why did I choose him - don't know but we were through in no time after I told him we were to make a film for her. Blown away was Sheldon!

Sheldon and Diane Rochlin.

I had a fright or two - my new starchy muslin saree fell off in Conaught Square and I clutched Angus' arm as a man haemorridged in front of me. You have to get used to eaters of 'pan' in India. A delicious meal in the Tantric gallery where all my spray paintings were sold - so Angus was right to bring them. Nice to have rupees in hand.
Fly on to Madras and amazing South India displayed herself - all hot and juicy. Sultry music by a wide slow river in a vast white house with wide, cool, street sized verandas all round. Fresh lime soda - curry everything they do - one did not know what one was eating and my stomach soon gave out.
A taxi like a saloon car with curtains - The Ambassador - best ride on the Royal Road yr Ladyship! Excepting the Pumpkin (ritual).

Pondicherry all white and grand. We were provided with a charming Indian house. White marble floors, and ceiling fans instead of punkahs,


one could be forgiven this wry thought for so much had not moved on from the French Occupation time. In the airy house Sheldon, Angus and I unpacked the equipment, Diane was in Auroville. This was what we had come to film - The Mother and Sri Aurobindo's dream town built like a spiral nebula whirling around the Matrimandir.

Of course when we arrived this divine vision had not yet taken place. Dotted around a red desert, crossed by deep canyons, were kit and bamboo huts in small groups - some had names - Forecomers was our favourite - free souls there, and planning to grow trees there again. Already sprouts in boxes - it would be long, but before it had been a mahogany forest, descimated by victorian wardrobes. Now - firstly plant cooch grass - like that found on sand dunes - this will bind the top soil and prevent still more erosion, then the neem trees which grow very fast and could be found nearby. Also providing the support poles for the kit (palm leaves) and bamboo dwellings.
As to the Matrimandir -

this was a big hole in the dusty ground in an arid boiling plane. Loyal men dug away with spades and we women carried the earth away on our heads in flat pans to dump on three piless. Slow going as much else there as we found out later. When we first arrived though we stayed home (In India time passes like bullock cart!) and played with our new toys. The little films we made then - were experimental but fine for all that. In black and white of course - we did not have colour yet. We had so much fun and just could not stop - two stand out in my memory - Tantronica - all circular feedback pulsating to country and western and Angus' offbeats. The other "Now is the hour of God" - rather pontificating but using feedback in another way - I drew on celophane simple lines and hung them over the screen of the monitor - lo and behold they fed back in ripples and swirls. I was getting the hand of the camera and loving it - had really enjoyed shooting a man walking a playing a flute in a mirrored walled assembly hall with stained glass panels of shiva and parvati over the door. It was so perfect, a period piece and he slithered from one image to another. Where are they now? I don't know, and Diane arived from Auroville and took over the camera - it was her forte after all and we were not being paid for footling around. We had a formal meeting with the Mother -

Mother in Japan.

- that strange woman - was she a hypnotist? The first time I met her she sat at the end of a vast Saxon Moot hall - but it was really her cluttered room which we shot one evening , as part of the film and asked if we could include her - she nodded away and away we went - just panning for a quick moment. Well - when we arrived home and played it back - she wasn't there. We checked again and again but to no avail - just a blank spot. The technology was so new we could not insert nor edit things so had to be right first go. She also showed another skill - we made her a tape and began with a bell and a little silence - to get this we had to record at night and still there was a dog barking distantly, which we left. One morning I was in the library having breakfast with the german librarian when some items were delivered from the Mother - amongst them was our tape - so we played it. Now - Mother played the harmonium in a very unique way, only she played like that - no mistake - and there, in our silence was her music, but the dog was still barking. Impossible.


So I went on marching from shoot to shoot, carrying the heavy recording pack - when I was not carrying heavy and earth laden pans! Nowadays I do not remember the finished film - but it was. I developed excruciating piles and cycling out to Auroville and back was becoming close to torture until someone said to go and see a homeopath called Dr Hadjari. He had been close to Sri Aurobindo - been to prison with him which was why they fled to French Pondichery to escape the Brits. So we went, and met a great man. He had a long snow white beard and hair in a top not - a merry face with really twinkling eyes. He lived always (for he never went out) in a truly Indian house with a stout pillared court yard filled with gaudy plants. Two little old ladies with white hair and sparkiling clean white sarees disperced the remedies. I told him with some embarassment my reason for coming, "Ah yes, incurable disease but I will cure it" - big twinkle.
You know - he did. We went every week to what we called Dr Hadjari's cocktail hour for we received an alcohol drop on our tongue. It ws Aexculus Hip. One day the Mother fave a 'darshan' on a balcony overlooking a narrow street, Sheldon and I were on a roof opposite whilst Angus was down in the crowd with a portable recording devise and Ossian on his tall shoulders. Quite suddenly he was gone and Angus pinned in on all sides by the excited Indian crowd of ardent devotees. At first Angus thought he had slipped down his back and managed one quick difficult look before she appeared and the crowd went mad. Later we searched frantically and finally found him messing with a marked motorbike just round the corner of the Mothers house. We demanded to know what this was all about and he calmy replied that he went to see Mother. Oh right - that makes it three times and that's enough, so I tool the question to Dr Hadjari who was as reassuring as usual. "Oh that is a very simple siddha - child is doing it automatically - must have been great siddi before" - Oh really. "Watch" he smiled as he picke dup the Times of India newspaper lying on his desck and flipped it over. 'WOWWIE - oh stop it Dr Hadjari' - he became an image seen through a glass sheeted with water. "You see, quite simple - bring the boy to me". So i did, and they went behind Dr Hadjari's hovered curtain to the inner sancturn. They returned hand in hand and Ossian never disappeared again. I have long since stopped trying to explain these things.
We often recorded Dr Hadjari AUMing which he did full-heartedly and I accompanied him on a giant South Indian six stringed tanpoura.

We were very absorbed in Sri Aurobindos magnificent translations of the Vedas- those ancient texts as prelevant today as when they were written all those milleniar ago. I include here Angus' wonderful insight - which he called the "The Next Vedas".

Also written by Sri Aurobindo was an epic pem called "Savitri". I was confused as to the exact context, and the meter amused us - so Victorian. However, it was to be staged and we were asked to provide some incidental music and act a little. We did compose the piece I love called the Dance of the Jive, which I think is the soul. Also we did the short-wave mix for this production. I seem to remember doing a kind of dance of the 'seven reject army blankets' (No - no seven veils - all very proper). Right in the middle of this Ira and Petra arrived and we took them to our new home in Auroville. Mother had moved us out to a peanut field which she called Fraternity - it was hot so we built a pyramid, of course we were told it was not suitable, but we were tired of loving on the coromandal coast with a French couple and their two children,

which was not a wonderful beach. Wide stretches of scalding sand and hideously dangerous sea. When you have five children ages between three and a year and a half, a drag current and a sudden drop is impossible - so - Angus paced and we marked the square - then the tamil workmen sank the kajurina poles into the sand with cement and heavy wire and they sloped perfectly - then the kit (palm branches) fitted in - little windows - bamboo floors upstairs for sleeping and triangular doors at floor level for the cooling sea breeze - I got sailcloth and made hammocks and the workmen said, as we fixed the top "You are not building a house, you are building a temple" and they did a puja.
Sheldon had built a large studio just across the feild and we hoped to do film/sound projects there - but slowly the heat or something wore us down and not much was achieved there. One positive occurance was the finding of water - I was sitting facing the sea, we had an unimpeded view with the solitary palm. When suddenly - all chance - instead of the smoldering peanut field - a white marble walkway come wharf with little gaily painted boats tied up and a clump of trees surrounding what looked like a bif house or temple. Along this walked a stout gentleman in white with gold arm bands, a rishi by the looks of him and he pointed and told me to dig there behind our pyramid. Great bamboo poles rigged up with a rock which when pulled up - plunged down, and with this contraption we boned a hole two hundred and dity feet down and came up with water and washed white marble pebbles all the way from the distant hills which had been mountains, the oldest in the world. Our Tamil workers lit a flame which they placed on the first gush - all this I found very beautiful and much to my taste - it was not to last however - for I had a rude awakening.
A concert was held out in Auroville one evening and some boys from the Ashram school came out for it - it went well and they were put up in another palapa building for the night whilst we went back to our pyramid with some friends. The next morning all was a buzz with the story that I had run naked through Auroville and come on to the boys. Angus was furious and did his best to diffuse the situation - to no avail. I had my birthday Darshan with the mother the next day and as I saw with my flowers before her - a woman attendant bent down and told her that I was the person who had caused all that trouble. Mother was supposed to be all seeing so I was not worried by this - she would know it to be untrue - but no - she would not take my flowers and brushed me away. Hurt and totally disillusioned I cried bitterly and yelled "You Hypocrits" at two senior ashramites (Bengalis mostly) who were getting into a large Bentley. Oh what a blow. But our luck held - a friend called Verne whom Ossian lived had just returned from Nepal and she told me that one could get pie there - now we had been living on Ashram food - rice, dhal-curd and a banana - so this was succulant news. Also she told Ossian about a hill crowned with a stupa and covered with monkeys - they call it the Monkey Temple. "Want to go to the Monkey Temple" was his immediate response, and he did not let up for a moment. Then two things happened. Money, quite a lot, all in Indian rupees, and a letter from our old Tangiers friend Paul Gyes - who urged us to come on up, and we did - by train - first class with fans all the way to Delhi and then that memorable flight where the valley opened up all silver and jade.

The 100 thousand ways to make a Momo continued or begun.


I don't remember the airport, only some large oil drums lining the road like sentinels, but past them this magical place unfolded. Green of a hue I had never seen - the vibrant happiness of rice growing in the silver water where the sun glinted off it, and it was everywhere - layer upon layer of glorious jade - big trees in clumps dotted here and there, and amongst them tiled roofs ochre and gold steep, and overhanging pink walls - delicate wooden balconies and peacock framed windows - melons on roofs - corn in eaves and everywhere broadly smiling people - the men wearing oddly shaped cloth hats. 'Hobbits' I crowed - 'it's the shire' - this Tolkein-like trance stayed quite a while - nothing to spoil it.
On sighting the hill of Swayambhu, Ossian jumped and yelled 'Monkey Temple', the driver or our quaint tiger striped taxi smiled and nodded. Ossian wanted to climb up right away - but mundain considerations had to come first.
Where was Paul to be found? where were we to stay? The first was right there - had not changed one jot - and straight up he had us fixed up tights "Go to that white house up there and a tenant is leaving at mid-day". So I did and a chinese lady in sort or maroon drapery said to a girl sitting on the floor - ''this is a great painter.'' Stunned, I enquired how she knew that I painted - never mind all that 'great'. "Oh I own one" and, as a little dog yapped into the room she became recognisable - she had been a frequent visitor to the Jefferson St loft after Roz left. Yes she bought the painting I did in magic Lagonitas, and she was leaving.

We settled in - the three of us - lovely views from the deep-silled windows - skies so various changing before our bedazzled eyes. The big old house was run as a boarding house by Paul and i had a most satisfactory kitchen plus two bathrooms. Were we happy. I'll say we were.

Ah! but where was the proverbial fly in the ointment? There had to be one, didn't there.

It was there all right. As I said before, all our money was in Indian rupees - luckily, as it turned out. Angus had insisted on some expenditure in Delhi - a good hotel - cinema - swimming at the Beach candy club - the best food, etc.
Hetty - parsimonious as ever, had reluctantly agreed. She knew that this money was all they had to get up when in Nepal and fly there. However, that been a lovely time and the Tantra Gallery paid her (again in Indian rupees) for the spray paintings. Now came the time for some local currency. Oh! Indian rupees into Nepali rupees. Difficult. Paul sent us off with a young man who spoke english, and seemed friendly and willingly went from one money changer to another. They all shook their heads - only the Nepal Bank they said - so we went there. He said it would be best if we did not come in, this kind of transaction was not allowed for Ingis (westerners). After all the negative hassle we had been through, we believed it! We watched him in the dim interior from the steps, of course the vivid passing crowd and fantastic architexture did at one point make us waver in our dillegence. I realised that he really was taking his time - but things took time in the east. Sudden interior lurch - danger - jumping up we charged through that Bank and sure enough a wide back door and the lad had vanished, with all our money - $200 in fact.

Back in Swayambhu, consternation burned and Paul was consumed with guilt and a lot of people all accusing him "You sent them with Bombay Barry?" - so not even Nepali - a simple job fr him. Hippies rushed to the bus station and even went to the nearest border check point. To no avail. We had no money - none. I went up the hill by myself and sat down on a white welcoming plinth (it was one of many small stupas). A large man in monks atire approached me - would I buy a raffle ticket? How hilarious - I, - gasping with laughter, told him I had no money - "but you are very happy" he insisted smilingly. I then realised that in spite of being totally broke I was - deliriously happy. I think he asked why and I just waved my arms around and implied, all of this.

It was amazing, how kind everyone was, people becoming real friends and giving twenty rupee notes - Paul saying - no rent. More and more - o.k we could no longer look for and furbish our little house, so we stayed in the white house - but I went up the hill every day. Early on one day I heard a sound that made every nerve tingle - a deep oh so satisficingly bass - like several very operatic cows lowing in unison. What was it and where was it coming from - I followed it and it led me to a small building in typical Rana style architecture, beside wide steps a small window opened and in it sat a young Tibetan blowing something - there were steps below this window and I sat down to listen. He blew for a while and stopped, turned and smiled down at me - this was Jagam and he was blowing the long trumpet - the Radong. Of course I did not know this then but never mind, I had been led to the place I had been heading for - probably all my life so far. Sri Karma Raj Maha Vihar. Swayambhu. Kingdom of Nepal.


Ossian was going to a nursery school which taught in English, run by our landlords wide - so Mrs Ratua saw Ossian up the hill in her minibus and he ran straight away to the little gompa - that is what the tibetans called it - 'a quiet place' - it was anything but! Much hussle and bussle round what was a medieval villiage surrounding a wonderful stupa on the top of a green hill planted with medicinal trees. At its foot - the villiage, quite small - the stove on the corner and the Tibetan Cafe -

- by the peepul tree at the centre. This extraordinary tree wasters itself continuously so it is always cool underneath, and is to Nepalese villiages the equivalent of the villiage green. It did not take long for both Ossian and I to adopt Tibetan dress - for that life style it was emunately suitable.

His black cord overalls with a split between the legs and he had me plait his long hair with a Tibetan red hair tassle - it looked a little weird with his blond hair but he was happy and comfortable. I was very sure that these Tibetans had a wonderful spirit - I mean they had lost their country and their spiritual life was under pressure to say the least - most of them had lost one - some - all their families - but they were laughing. What was the clue to this - I had to find out and I had a pretty good idea that some of the answer was in that gompa, so I began to bribe my way in. This was very slow - while they (the monks) smiles, they did not speak to me. Well very few spoke English and although Nepalese would have helped, I did not have that knowledge. So, I had to keep a sharp eye out and bide my time for opportunities. I also bought a bag of rainbow coloured balls for the little boy monks. Good move. An older man with a sharp pointed beard looked at me once or twice so I showed him a prism and he loved what it did to the stupa, and he showed me some delicately painted cards with red borders. So I showed him my Tarot cards and we kind of played with them. My luck was in again, for one day all the monks were in vests and petticoats, painting the red pillars and walls. What better way to make friends than to do a bit of interior decoration. I set to with alacrity and was grinned at.

How encouraging - I had noticed some statues in niches round the walls and some of the younger loads were flinging paint at them all anyhow. So I plucked up courage and spoke to the tall fierce monk
who seemed to be in charge. "I'm a painter and I might be able to do a better job with those staues" I pleaded. Fine - bring your brushes and start tomorrow - how I skipped down the old stone stairs to tell Angus - who laughed and called it my sistine Chapel - my big religious work!
Hardly - but I stuck at it for eight months getting really carried away - stripping all the layers of old house paint, revealing old granite. White them out and glaze the colours on as directed and touched up with real gold leaf - they looked so beautiful.

This gave me time to get to know everyone, and more and more it became clear that part of the answer was in the loose leafed sort of books they read from all the time - so one day I pointed to a pile of them bound by brocade in their wooden covers. "Those" - "Oh kaka" said the monk - what? Another joke to share with Angus, he said kaka - that's shit, hey! How we giggled - what did it mean. His name was Sonam Gyalwa and the head of the monks, Sabchu Rinpoche had told him to teach me to read. Get a note book. O.K.
Several long days went by and then he handed me the book in which he had written some beautiful letters. Help - I had to learn the alphabet. I needed a Tibetan name if I were to start lessons - Hetty was hard for them. I needed them to relate to me and I thought this might help. I said I wanted a name 'Ah Chiap' blimey what now. Turn up at seven tomorrow morning with your son and friend Yvette who was helping with the statues. Annoyed at all this company - after all a native American name giving is a solitary affair, but when in Rome... we arrived, the three of us the next morning in the sunshine.

Sabchu Rinpoche sat waiting for us smiling benignly.

He proceeded to mouthe some unpronounceable let alone understandable words -throwing rice in the air at intervals as he did so. The sun caught this rice and turned it into golden rain. We repeated our names three times - and to my surprise Ossian, who I had been sure would be three year old impatient etc, spoke clearly and seemed to understand what was happening, he sat quite still, another first, and went forward quickly and surely to Rinpoche to have a little top hair cut - as did we. Then came our names - mine Samtin Drolma (the meditative concentration of the mother of all Buddhas - HELP.) Yvette - Sangmo, she was disappointed - not romantic enough.. big generous woman - which she wan, and all by the family of Karma. Ossian was Karma Tzultrim (the perfection of good moral behaviour). Rinponche said this was half his name, he would get the rest later. Oh? Out with the note book. Why? is it because he is young? NO. Is it because he is male? NO. Do we get outrs later? No again. O.K follow this up some other time - seemed sort of useless to keep questioning this point (of course he did get the second half from Yidshin Norbu Karmapa two years later. Hmm?)

Everyone smiling, putting white silk scarves round our necks, some pressing lovely little presents into our hands. Wow - was that ever fun -- it was marvellous and Yvette and I did not know that we had just taken refuge in the Triple Gem and had become Buddhists. Seemed like Ossian had done it before because he was strangely good and oh so quietly smiling.

Our good friend Ira Cohen and his lady Petra Voght had arrived all fressed in black, purple and silver. New for Ira! We were delighted, old friends becoming family - one was missing, though our friends Zeena Racheuski and Bill Barker had reunited and had been living in the Kings Astrologers House on Kopan Hill. She goes off to Darjeeling on a visa trip and returns with two Tibetan lamas she had met there. They moved in and after a while Bill moved to Kathmandhu because it was too crowded. She had a dream of a small gathering during the dry season but soon it had become rather more than that. Bill took us there one day and I met a lama in the summer house who asked me where I had been, when I told him he said "Far Out" which floored me and Angus was also floored asleep on Zeenas library floor in the octagonal house, but Bill soon explained that many hipsters from New York had exploded onto the place and Zeena had been banished because she talked too much! I tell you now that that lady was the most fascinating conversationist - totally the best. A silent retreat up in the Solu Khumbu region at a Retré run by Trulchig Rinpoche. He had several hundred monks and anis(nuns), also an old folks home and a place for abandoned mothers and children. There Zeena had built herself a little house. As we had not seen her for some time, Ira and Angus were keen to go and see her. Ossian wanted to go and always good to do something with Dad, so off you go but Hetty stays behind and continues with her studies - she did not fancy the ten thousand foot pass they had to cross on foot in those days just to hit Jumbasi

and more after that. They arrived though and Ossian was immediately surrounded by little chirpy anis and taken into the Gonpa. Ira, Petra and Angus sat with Zeena who broke her silence - she tried but gave up. For three days they talked, there must have been some brilliant conversations but that Angus remembered Ossian and began fussing. 'Leave him' Zeena said, 'he is with Trulchig Rinpoche. Angus was by now anxious to return - the weather might turn nasty - they had chosen november in the Himalayas! Angus and Ossian did indeed get stuck - spent his birthday in a swiss mil farm during a snowstorm. Can you imagine how I felt when Ira and Petra arrived without them - Dread, trepidation, abject terror, dismay, alarm, a total funk. They came through, the joy, and relief was indescribable. Somewhat mitiaged by the horrid state of Ossians long hair. Matted, stiff with dust and lousy. Had to go - I held his hair up and reached for the scissors - it stayed up ridged with clotted earth and sweat. Haha I joked - just like the Buddhas hair!! Chop and he had a ragged Ductch boy bowl cot,, and the lice bites were shocking. What on earth to do? Oh great idea - the monks were used to shaving heads, maybe they could help - I took him up to the warm cosy kitchen presided over by dear Nabchu Kara. They sat him on my lap by the fire, facing me and advanced with a cut throat razor, he did give a little yelp and clutched me - they then so delicately and gently shaved tha tlittle head not nicking scabious bite - amazing, and then a pot of greenish ointment which smelled of new mown grass was gently massaged in. Within two days his head was clean and it was New Year.



During their absence I had been taken to see a formidably bearded gentleman called Chadral Rinpoche-

- or the rock hurling lama. Ask him something I was urged, like what? OH - now why did I vividly remember that strange visitor on Hornby Island? I launched into the story trying to keep it short - the reason? Maybe he could tell me something - he caressed a large string of seedlike beads and told me that he was Chenrezing in the guise of the Tibetan People and I had India - China and Tibet to choose between. Thank you for clearing up that little mystery.
Christmas was drawing near when a friend of Angus' Olivia d'Hautville decided to kidnap Ossian, she took him to Kopan, by now not my favourite place, and sent a message for some second hand robes. As if we had them hanging around like oxfam. I was furious and my teahcer Gyalwa worried 0 "Mother one method - son other" - not good and he was ready to go and rescue him. Ossian had the situation in hand however and had done the one thing it seemed they could not handle - he shat his pants. My potty trained son - well well. Our Gonpa would have stuck him under the cold tap (no hot water dear) -and admonished - dirty boy. They were too effite it seemed, luckily, so no angry scenes, just a lot of laughter. Christmas was amazing with several monks helping to decorate the White House - topping the tree with a big Dorje




of course if you have been following this discourse you will have read all this before in the piece called the Namtar of the Wee Lama Boy - but it was just after chistmas that Ossian told me that he had got his memory back up in Solukhumbu. Really - yes and I want to go back to my monastry - what back there - it's December - wait til Spring eh - Tears - oh what's this - he so rarely cried and these were cascading down. Margot and I tried to reason with him but as it was too far to his monastary he would go to Sri Karma Raj Maha Vihar Swayambhu where he had "frendee". So then the whole sharade of my hopeless try on my own. Ha ha. Take him with - of course it seems to be his idea. You know the rest.
For those who only just joined us - he became a monk a week later. Scroll back to Namtar of Wee lama boy.



'Life on the hill of the Self-realised Lord all surrounded by realised trees.'

The fuss died down and as Udze Gigdor had requested to be my childs Gegin, he moved into the tiny room with this super nanny.

I moved out of the comforts of the White house and took up residence in a room the size of a double bed, a carved window looked into the stupas eyes.


Angus had to leave us for a while - a trip to New York to collect a grant and give a couple of readings. We desperately needed the money, so Ossian had to say goodbye to daddy for a while -

but mummy remained.

The room cost ten rupees a month and Sabchu Rinpoche was my landlord. The room overhead was enhabited by a darling old Tibetan lady who sang om mani paid mey hung all day - like having a bumble bee overhead. She had many friends, tibetans are very sociable, and they trampled up and down all day. It was really a big tribe because they were mostly from eastern Tibet and had shared the escape over the high Himalayas together. One of them, Uncle Pow had killed so many chinese in the early battles it had scrambled his Buddhist mind and so everyone was especially kind to him. He owned an owl and a dog. The dog was really mine by this time but one day I caught him going to sell the owl in the bird market. "Stop." I ordered - 'why? I cannot feed it'. Stupid indeed, an owl will feed itself but I will buy some raw meat to feed them botht. So - the owl perched on the glassless back window all day, swiverlling its head and clucking at the human visitors. At dusk it flew silently out over the trees to return replete in the dawn, as the conch blew everyone awake in the next door Gonpa.

What a happy life, Ossian seemed so content and merry, and I was learning the Tibetan alphabet and beginning to read. I rarely saw anyone to really talk to - my rudimentary Tibetan precluded any gossip - also up there the villiagers spoke Newari (the ancient language of Nepal) as well as Nepali and I spoke neither. I took to casting and I.Ching every night and that was a conversation with Uncle Ching. I was doing well in this tiny old house, part of a medieval ring of houses encircling a beautiful stupa.

High above the Hubub I found I was learning what I had longed for all my life I think. How to live simply and happily, in harmony with everything around me.
One thing did surprise me somewhat, why did so few hippies come up - too stoned out to climb the 365 steps? So when one day a young American came with a tale of woe, wanting my advice - surprise surprise. He took my advice and returned because he had a taste of the Buddha Dharma in California, and needed to know more. This was Dangerous Doctor Dharma Dan.

He became a close confederate, a dear friend to this day, and, lucky me another male being entered my life - this was a young lad of eight called Raj Kumar who had been doing a kind of flunky job with the english lady who had helped untangle Ossian

re the monk trip. She loved to trail around town looking good - her apricot hair and dress sense absolute and had Raj in a sort of uniform carrying her bags. Well one morning he was standing in my doorway asking if he could help me with some shopping - oh bliss - no more carrying up all those steps. I had just procured my first house and had to clear it of bricks and clay butterlamps up the ceiling - I carried basket after basket on my back and tipped them down the hill out back - they were legion and made a terrace indeed - with a small straw and bamboo place to wash - it was lovely and the house was roomy and fresh with whitewash and a hard and new mud floor hardened and polished like red marble. A kitchen and a small downstairs room completed it. I loved it and this was the new view from the front windows.

Uncle Pon's dog Singe Karmo A.K.A Chidle mack weedle mack fee - answered to Chi,

his owl and I moved in and Raj did the shopping. One day he bought the most delicious breakfast tray, tea in pot - toast and guava jelly, a perfectly boiled egg and a vase of flowers. "You like?" he enquired - did I!!
He then enquired if I would like this every day. Well was the sun shining or what? "Of course but you work for Margot" - unwritten law - never steal servants. "Margot she shout at me." Iknew then that he had quietly left her. Nepalis are like that - shout at them and they vanish. So I had Raj to help me and he did. Angus returned with is grant money and as I was already taking little touching objects to town to sell (as monks they could not do this) and I had met a very nice man called Dutch Bob who had a Tibetan Goods Store and was totally straight up with me so it was an easy pleasure, and Angus started the same with one monk who had beautiful striped blankets from Dolpo - they were soft and unique in weave and stitch and their little enterprise was as successful as mine - I add that neither Angus nor I made a penny - at this moment didn't need to - whew - we wondered at the absence of a nice little guide book for the Stupa, there were many tourists asking questions and entertaining all kinds of odd views. So i got my typographers hat out - shook the dust off and put it on. The result was a pocket sized booklet entitled 'on the hill of the self revealed lord' - It cost seven rupees, had one or two tasty adds at the back. A readable text - a good clear map and lovely photographs. I produced the cover as a positive/negative in pink and yellow.

It was so bright and happy, Ira and Petra arriving had been a boost as well and there were many new friends. Kathmandhu was then a thriving yet beautifully untouched place full of smiling people as yet to be disillusioned. Our friend Paul went away and returned with Pip - eighteen, australian and blonde hair to her waist. He left the white house and they moved to the hill opposite, called Saraswati. A tiny valley lay between the two hills and we could call from the back terrace to them. Soon Pip produced Ishtar who looked like a Botichelli angel and toddled over to our gonpa by herself in a pink silk dress. Sabchu Rinpoche was concerned at so young a child alone and asked me - oh her parents live just over there - and he worried us more - so long as you did not tease the monkeys, children were totally safe and the place swarmed with them. Truly a magical domain and it shook or danced as well. As we slept on the floor on matresses we could feel this trembling, was it beneath or within, we could not tell. We learned that it was hollow - filled with rooms of bats and bees - Kings offering to huge Naga's (sacred snakes), naked mystics in perpetual meditation and one room at the bottom was 'emptiness'. T'was said there were passages to Bandha and even to Lhasa. One learns to believe these things there.

It took us two years to obtain the original maniscripit from the head pujari.

We had careful wood blocks made but the inscriptions were too small to cut so Angus typed them and we made a long scroll and inserted them. I had endeavoured to catch the original in these above pictures - no eady feat but as many of Angus' inscriptions overlap the next image. Here it is though. In one you see a tree growing out of the hill and just the other day a visitor who is well aware of the hill noticed at one that night by the steps - there is the tree - I noticed it way back, it is so obious and there is a Nag shrine just on the other side of the steps as shown, so amazing.

Apart from this work Angus and I decided to produce a small magazine on the daphne paper and called it Ting Pa - my first mistake of many! I thought it meant cloud in Tibetan (we were ancient cloud watchers) but alas it means at the bottom of a crevasse or ravine!! Tring Wa is cloud. Here are some images from some issues which survived - it sold so well.

We also had the idea to compile a collection of magic and magicians - but where to find them? We took a small holiday to a nearby lake and above it in the surrounding hills was a small sturdy Tibetan villiage where they had a flourishing carpet business, they also had a small stone guest house delightfully placed by the path along which trains or carpet bedecked horses passes tinkling little bells as they went. What a charming spot, and what did that continuous drumming mean? Oh that's Pow Wangchuk, hes our local medicine man. Could we meet him, we enquired causeously - if you have something wrong with you. Oh - Ah my arm - yes - my arm which had been attacked by an angry western girl with red hair over a water dispute - it hurt - pinched nerve I thought. Well he came over, a small brown man with kalidoscopic eyes and a little boy with brown hair and hung with prayer packets. On hearing about my pain he went away and returned with his paraphanalia which consisted of a rainbow fan headdress and a simple coloured shirt with pointy sleeves. He told us that they were only cotton but it was the colour and the cut that mattered. He set up a small shrine and placed his bell and dorge on the front. He then told us his authentication - Guru Rinpoche - (an 9th century Buddhist saint from Swat) had created five lines of Pow or Magic Doctor to directly pass from father to son. Now only two remained, as the chinese had seen fit to eliminate the others - himself and one other now residing in far away Mustang. I requested a surgery and he donned his robes and a red scarf tied pirate like under the headdress. As he put it on he changed - he prayed firstly, then I came forward and he bade me look down his throat - now a long tunnel with a flame at the end - he then began to beat his drum and ring his bell and then flew into the air crosslegged and landed on the otherside of the small room - how amazing was that! By now totally bewitched I was led toward him and he placed a red cloth on my arm and proceeded to suck on my arm through it and snatched off the cloth - opened it - and there was a clump of red hair - just like the hair of my atttacker. There was no mark to my arm and I bruise easily and it no longer tingled all pins and needles. Then he began to shake back and forth rythmically and the red scark slipped down over his eyes and the headdress flew back - neatly caught by the little boy. Once more the small smiling man he requested a class of rakishi (nice brandy) to put the 'blood' back. After one swallow he was ready to be off.

Woodcut By Hetty

He cured my arm forever, but he said I had been wounded by anger -

This autobio-blog will be closed for two weeks for a birthday holiday - see you later for more stories of the Himalayas.

Hand of God Productions

Meanwhile back in Mass- where we somehow kept a toehold on the blue house - our good friend Ann Carter - no not M'Cord was having a strange time. Here is the story in full.

She arrived one day in tears and told a strange story. She lived in a rather isolated house at the edge of a wood. She had a dog called Loki, an Alsation - big one - he alerted her to someone outside - but she saw no-one - next night same thing and on looking a little further saw a pale figure standing at the edge of the wood. Panic - next night he came in to her little house and told her to take the dog and start driving - where to? She would be guided. Oh whew - when we heard all this alarm set in, Ann - who was so sweet and Ossians godmother - had she gone nuts?
She was redheaded and rich - her grandfather who had made millions in lumber - had left everything to her and she had always felt this a burden and wanted to save trees. So - believe it or not, off she went with a bearer cheque and her dog - she left the U.S into Canada and reached Vancouver without knowing how or why and - well where to now? She saw a ferry and boarded it - got out and took a small ferry ride and across a smallish island and there she stopped and looked across a strip of sea to another island. Right in front of her was a stretch of fields leading to wooded cliffs and to her astonishment - arched by a splendid rainbow. Being Ann she found an estate agent on what was called Denman Island, and enquired about land, especially that set of fields. She was told it belonged to an eccentric old boy who had refused many an offer for the land. Underterred, Ann boarded an even smaller ferry and landed on Hornby Island.
She drove along the coast road and came to a cluster of wooden buildings. There she met the man - y'know I have forgotten his name - but remember his rep - alledgedly had chained his daughter like a dog - charming. He also did nothing with the land except to mutilate and wound trees. He accepted her first offer - said he was tired of the place and wanted to go to Vancouver and play the market! In a very short time the land was Anns, all 380 acres of it. She returned to Mass and on leaving of her plans for a small commune, we asked our probation officer if we could go? We were at the end of our three year suspended sentence from Olkahoma. She was kind and as there had been no infringement it meant full steam ahead next summer. Ann took off for Nepal and we laboured on between Mass and New York. One friend called Michael elected to spend the winter there and try to get it sort of ready for the few of us who were going to try and live together on the magical land which got called'The Shire' - no big surprise there! He had an amazing experience. He was following the map of the land and climbed the tree covered cliff to find, at the top, more trees and a carpet of truly thick emerald green moss. Standing staring at him was a short man in a big hat shaped like the hat of the magician in the Tarot - the Marseilles pack.
He demanded "what are you doing on my land?" - well politely Michael tried to explain Anns boundaries. "Get off my land", and Michael found himself at the foot of the cliff unhurt. Being stubborn he climbed back up and the man was gone but the moss where he had been standing as scorched. You may not believe this tale - but i lived there and anything about that island could be true.

Yes, we went there - we took the tiny ferry to Hornby manned by tiny brothers who were mildly drunk all the time but there were no mishaps - in fact an eagle swept the water in front of the boat, skimming the surface with outspread wings. A good omen.
We found the cluster of wooden buildings now transformed into a kitchen with a woodstove and a big table - a walkway led to a large room and opposite this an area for chopping wood etc. Another walkway led to the outhouse. These had been the old mans dwellings but now they were bright and cheery. People were building their houses, all kinds, our next door was a neat A frame. Angus began a Gaudiesque construction in wood. It began with a capacious army tent. He made a wood floor for it and built the one room round it and we had a small cosy kitchen built as an extension - it was slow because the only wood came from the local saw mill manned and owned by another drunk. He only worked the machinery when sober (thank the Lord!) and it was not often, but we persevered. I had a stove-pipe stove out under the trees in the small clearing at the foot of the cliff which we had chosen, all that glorious summer we lived outside, slept in tent - house all cosy. There was a song on the crackly radio about 'Our house with two cats in the yard' - that was us.
Jason came after a visit with a San Fran friend - they had been down the grand canyon. We also acquired a big brown dog called Jackson whom Angus bought from a penniless passing hippy, the dog was very friendly.



We were a convivial bunch of quite hard working young people. There was lint white haired Michelle - the A frame couple - he was really enthusiastic about our winter field, the summer garden was blooming under the care of his knowledgeable older lady - how we laboured over the field - big rocks removed with our tractor which had killed its farmer owner - then stoning - followed by farrowing and putting down lime. A ten foot high fence ereced, our kindly farmer neighbours told us that deer could not jump that height. They were wrong - one night our newly planted veggie shoots were decimated. After all that hard work - poor blonde Michelle had collapsed with heat stroke once - his chain gang mentality collapsed when he saw what those deer had done. We laughed ourselves silly and went on relying on the summer garden and soy beans, Anne had bought two sacks of this windy commodity. Her land ran to the shore which was all oyster beds - our chowder was delicious - also the hedges were laden with blackberries as large as mulberries - I made wine from them - best I ever made. So it was a magical summer - we had 26 chickens and a cockrel so young his tail feathers were not fully grown but that did not stop him with the hens and we had double yokers to enjoy. To crack them we had to take a hatchet as their grit - collected from the beach - was mostly ground oyster shell! We were told by some Native Americans from an island to the north that the island sometimes floated away - did a Mary Rose? Lordy me where would we be! Also that in the good old days those native folk never lived on Hornby but went there to pray. Not so many people lived there - another small group of communers - some farmers and several potters. One, who was chinese, made the most exquisite pots - gold and silver glazes. We had a flat bed truck which Angus hitched to the killer tractor - piled it with rugs and cushions and drove me round the island on the one road with Jackson running by - to picnics and beach parties.







Poem by Angus Maclise




Poem by Hetty



Sadly, after a time all this bliss became too much for Angus and he went back to N.Y.C. I was very sad but two children and the dog had to be fed and kept happy. Angus was gleefully forgetful of those things he collected - nurtured or discovered - his walkout from the Velvates just as they were about to make a record and have ordered rehearsals etc, a prime example! All that naming - ideas - keeping them together dropped - because he only wanted spontaneous events. The shire loosly organised as it was even too much for him. The night he left a crow ordered me out - by now cold weather had set in - "come outside" he croaked - no way - on and on like 'Nevermore' - so on with the coat and out into the freezing night and in a small clearing stood a tall figure. I marched up to it - 'what is this' I demanded, and I saw his silver eyes, grey garment and lapish hat and quailed. This was a person like the one Anne had described back in Mass and told her to drive etc. What he told me was amazing because it all came true later on. Who were they? Never knew.
After Angus left it snowed so hard we were buried - only the stove pipe protruding so we moved down to the cabin next to the kitchen. Very snug with a bark bruning stove. It was then that the really weird things began to happen. Ossian aged two started them off by vanishing. It was like this - Jason in my bed with a cold. Ossian playing at its foot. I go out to collect thick bark for the stove and let the door latch close - to keep out Jackson and his muddy paws (he loved to snuggle up on my bed.) Anne went into the room before me and exclaimed "what is going on here?." She said that there was a very strange atmosphere- well Jason white and crying kind of added just that touch of normality - I arrive - what is the matter? 'I lost the baby' "WHAT?!" It seemed that he vanished and there was really nowhere to hide - the cabin was sparsly furnished and no cupboards. Jason got out of bed and looked around the bare room - no ossian 'Oh mum will kill me' he moaned and just then Ossian was there. Hmm. I asked Ossian if he went somewhere and he looked old fashioned. 'Don't frighten your brother please' admonished Hetty - totally unsure of anything at that point. Several days later busy with my leather work, I heard a humming sound and looking up saw Ossian starting to spin around. 'Stop that at once' I ordered, and he did. Whew.
Then one afternoon I found myself totally alone on the land - some vital shopping on Vancouver Island had taken the entire view - so I was in charge. I heard footsteps on the boardwalk outside and went out. There was a man standing. Yes? No reply - Oh - who was this - did he speak english - was he from of the other island tribes - was he maybe looking for the chinese painter because he looked Asian. Silently he smiled and just walked in and sat down at the table. He was wearing a wrap around rough tweed coat and from it he brought a bag from which he purchased three objects. A small decorative kriss (a knife), a silk embroidered slipper for a chinese bound foot, and a clay tablet. Bother this he wants to sell them - must be a trader. So - no thanks not today - he smiled and went on sitting there and a voice from somewhere bade me choose I was annoyed - taking up precious alone time and I had no money- this I told him. Choose - oh alright if it will make you go away. The kriss, obviously Indian, was sort of tourist trash and the shoe - though pretty - obviously useless - so I chose the tablet - it was just a clay tablet so it meant nothing to me. He then collected them up and there was a very high pitched sound which made me close my eyes and jump and when I opened them a second later I was alone. Now it was my turn to search the empty room - I even looked under the little carpet!! Ran out - no-one on the straight road in either direction - so I went down to the ferry and described him but they had seen no-one like that.
I will take a jump into the future for a moment to when I met my first Tibetan Lama Kyabje Chadral Rinpoche. We had gone with a couple of new friends and they told me to ask him something. Like what I thought. After we had sat there for a bit drinking tea I remembered the man with the objects and told the story. He consulted some large seedlike prayer beads and told me I had a visit from Chenresig in the guise of the genuine Tibetan people and I had India, China or Tibet to choose from and the tablet was Tibet. You know I recall his face very clearly and I saw bits of it in every Tibetan I subsequently met. So maybe it was that 'compassion' came to me that day and i certainly chose Tibet didn't I.

Back to Hornby we must return now - Alas the immigration said 'no more time', it had been six months and as we had entered via the USA they checked and LO! Behold! Olkamona raised its ugly head again. I still had a valid green card so to us we would have to go - as Jason had enjoyed the school so much I said it was his turn to choose where we should go and he said Aspen Colorado, where he had spent a previous summer with a friend in a tipi and had made some friends. This was lucky because we stayed with these nice people who also had a son called Jason. Snow thick as christmas cake icing and a filmset cowboy town with raised wooden walks. Skiing everywhere - lovely for Jason who started like a veteran right off and was in the Junior Ski Team before long going upside down round 'the bowl' as I smiled with gritted teeth.

Skiing is not my sport - just the thought of going downhill at fifty miles an hour turns my innards to mush.

Then we moved up to dear Pat's cabin on Ajax Mountain to share with a vast white dog and a huge cat, black as coal. Pat lived up there year round grew her veggies and cut and hauled her own fire wood, she was also on the ski rescue team - watta girl - everything I was not. I was good at finding schools and this one was the best with a moog synthathiser and vidio - quite unique at that time and Jason loved it so what with this and skiing he was totally happy. He tried to engage Ossians interest by buying him little red ski's but Ossian slid into a snow drift and would only out them on his hands and once I went down into adruft with a 100lb bag of dog food on my back - it's not fun in a drift. So I was getting itchy and missing Angus desperately, so desperate was I, I phoned him on new years eve and he had stayed in waiting for my call which he knew would come. So I had to go to him, but this meant leaving Jason - that lovely school - Pat - skiing - friends. None of that in NYC for him - oh what to do?
Pat stepped in - she wanted Jason to stay with her so we signed guardian papers and he did not seem to mind. I told him I would be back in the summer and I meant it. Only three months away - but in those short months my life changed forever. Now, when I think of it somehow I feel heavy hearted and almost tearful. Did I abandon my eldest boy? no I don't think so really - because I begged him to come to India and twice to Nepal, to no avail, he seemed quite determined to stay in America and do his own thing. He was fourteen when we left - but I degress.
I did fly to New York and Angus came to meet me - ah love! It makes the world go round. I did have one moment of panic of the plane - what if Ossian vanished again? would he return to where I was or would he just return to where he was as he had before, and go plummeting down. Never mind - he didn't and we were in a tent together in a corner of Iras Soho loft - the dear old Jefferson Street home gone to Jill, this tragedy had occured during our absense and Ira was inviting the whole of Max's Kansas City (a big club) every night to party, and Vali was tatooing everyone (mine did not take of course), so we moved to a rather nice flat called a railway flat because one room lef to another - I had a really big kitchen with an unimpeded view of the Crysler building right in the window. There I pursued my Aspen cooking skills - baking bread and all.This was gratifying up to a point but Angus - in spite of being in NYC was obviously restless. Billy Name left Andys Factory and cme to stay but the flat was small so he went back - but Andy had changed and so it seemed had everything else. Suddenly once again our luck changed. Sheldon Rochlin came with the offer of a film in India! Maybe you have read all this before - but remember the funny bits please - because I do not want to bore you with repititions.

Going up town to Jean Houstons flat to escape what had become tedious. Her shout of excitement "y've hit an Alpha!" - goodness what was that! Enough to convince her that I should be in India and that she would help me to be there - at the time mearly bizarre - but - when sheldons offer arose - and back to Jean I went and good to her word she paid my fare and Ossians also - Angus sold her some tapes and we were ready to go.
Unfortunately there were a few hurdles yet to come - the probation over at last, no not that but a nice in the flat below went dangerously mad and was intent on preventing us - even going to the length of nearly throwing herself from the front window - as the cop shop was nearly next door this would have proved to be an impediment - but our luck held and she was restrained. Blow me down the wheel came off the car driving us to the airport - luckily near the runway and we ran for it gasping last up the gang plank.

Hetty Changed Email Address

Dear friends,

I have a new Email address.

It is:

hettyla [at] googlemail [dot] com

And you can find the blog phantomlyoracula.com as usual.

Happy Christmas,

Love Hetty.

America here I come!

I made my way to the office of our 'lawyer.' He handed me a letter from my Mother - I read it with mounting horror - she declared that prison would do me good - it was a wonder how I had escaped it before; on and on - finally ending "that you Americans are so crude!." Guarenteed to help! I had given her name as next of kin - she had her own big house, the well paying shell dividends, and all the rest of my fathers' family investments. Royal Dutch - Phillips - even a private bank. It was a vain hope - but maybe it would work. Hastily I stuffed it into my jeans "you won't be needing this now" I muttered before accepting a brown paper bag containing a ticket on a plane for N.Y.C - my passport with green card still attached and nothing else. Still, one gets food on flights and I really enjoyed the first one to St Louis - where I had to change. So I went and sat at the bar and sure as eggs are eggs a little President Truman lookalike invited me to have a drink - yes - brandy please. I needed something fairly strong by that time. He remarked on my lack of luggage - "you travel light" - well yes, a brown paper bag doesn't weigh much - i've just left prison - I told him. Uncaring of his critique - what for - I almost said "the Mann Act" to tease - but instead 'Marijuana' came out truthfully - oh that's nothing, want to come to New Orleans for the weekend?' Ha ha ha! Sorry but I am on my way to my husband,' and glory be, I WAS.

I took a cab in New York City and really basked in the comfort and freedom, then sleeping out in Jefferson Street - there was Ira with Teddybear eyes on the lapels of his jackets and a beaming smile on his face. He paid the fare and I was home, Angus was in the loft and a few days later I conceived Ossian.

I did not leave Iras wonderful loft with the Mylan Chamber, and people coming round - I was afraid. Gerrard Malamga arrived and he and Angus persuaded me to go out. "Come and see Andy - he has a new 'factory." 'You're sure nothing terrible will happen" I pleaded. I was reassured and on either side my guardians held me dear, and I, though fragile as glass, went with them. After all there were many people to thank, and at least I knew Andy.

The lift opened straight into a vast whiteness - toward us ran a man with an english accent and a bloodstained white shirt. "Shooting" he shouted - we shrank back against the lift door - not to be in camera - I saw to my right Morresy cutting film. As they were constantly filming it all seemed normal until I looked further and saw a pair of feet pointing up like the witch in The Wizard of Oz when the houise full on her - we ran over and there lay Andy. He was whiter than usual and five lines of blood veined his face like marble. He looked up and said "get Hetty out of here before the cops come" - what a wonderful man. I mean he had been shot, yet thought of someone else - this I have never forgotten. So we fled down the stairs as the fuzz came up in the lift - we were following the crazy woman who had shot him - I heard that she believed in a world without men - how odd that she would choose Andy as a victim! There was more to it of course - something about a film. All I wanted now was a cup ot tea - so as Gerrard went to see Andy's mother - Angus and I had one of those cups of American tea - they can't make it - but it was better than nothing.

Then we went back to Jefferson Street.
Of course Olkahoma was not over - we had to return alas, for numerous court appearances. To pay for these we held benefits - the biggest and best was Brain Damage in Olkahoma city.



Louden had the nerve to show up - oh - I thought Angus - who had been a military police man - was going to strike him down.



Somebody intervened and he was let go.
Why bother with a twerp like that - and when I saw our 'rap sheets' they were identical, but along the top of Loudens read in type written letters *Dismissed in the interest of Justice* - how really staggering. He came once and tried to take pictures of us - this Angus would not allow. I still wonder what could he have wanted them for, we looked very neast and pretty (at least I did.) The district atturney was totally grey, a man made of ash and he wanted to touch my swelling belly to see if I were really pregnant or not - OH NO YOU DON'T. I reared back and smothered a snarl. Whew what they had planned for me unless we stopped protesting our genuine innocence, was death for me and my baby.
There are not many women survivals in MacAlister jail during labour, and should one be lucky - after ten days they take the baby away and put it into 'care'. As one is now and ever shall be, a foreign drug felon, one cannot get ones child back.
So - I had to lie - lie with my hand on the good book. I looked at the carving of the eagle above the judges head as he pronounced sentance and begged Towakatchis parden. We got three years suspended sentence which we served without incident - even went to Canada with our probation officers permission - but the felony remains on the books and I can never now return to America.
No thanks to you Louden, your craven cowardice will never be forgotten nor forgiven. I managed a few more years here and there as you will see, but it always came up like a barbed wire fence, separating me from those whom I love. It was true - in 1968, in the state of Oklahoma, one seed constituted a felony, and that is the reason that no amount is mentioned.


I have mentioned before my obsession with Tibetan music and the babys response, so no need to go into all that again. Instead, how about the third part of Thunderbolt Pagoda.





Really it came because both Ira and I were in the doldrums - it was very hot climatically and cold creatively. I was lying down under a superbe drawn threadworth linen sheet given by Iras mother, dear beloved Faye. Ira was grumpy and sad - Rosaling had suddenly gone to India with Blind George which was hard to bear. One afternoon I had suddenly had enough and sick of the prove position sat up and told Ira, figeting with books on the shelf, that we had no business being like this and should DO SOMETHING. So we did. Talked it through at the wooden cable drum table and collected a cast to pay Sheldon and Diane a visit at a new pad they had in Bucks County Pennsilvania I think. A lovely spread, Sheldon was very good at obtaining superior dwellings. This was on a couple of acres - with a meadow,
a separate studio and a water feature. Sheldon was testing the cameras and lights so we decided to make a production out of it.
Firstly Sheldon wanted me to swan down the water feature - as I had come to that unlovely part of pregnancy - before becoming the earth mother one is mearly stout! I begged him to use slim Zisca all gauzy and svelt - no, he had a kind of Griffith idea I think because i looked truely absurd bandaged into a white sheet trundling down and then standing with one arm in the air as the others marched along a wall. The next day the water feature had become a pool of mud - no doubt due to my heavy trampling - but - make the best of it by Angus wonderfully burying Ira in it and then Ira resurrecting wide eyed. Very funny in black and white and can be seen on the Ira Cohens C.D 'The Invasion of Thunderbolt Pagoda', produced by Saturnalia/Arthur.
We continued to play in that pretty meadow and the third part slowly unfolded. A green Angus wandered around playing his flute - I painted him with food colouring and his hair red, very fetching.

All the others cavorted,



Beverley in an amazing black and silver strap outfit - kind of Cretian Goddess. Hetty rather stout in a white lace Kaftan -

- staying out of sight as much as possible, but arranged the finale - the reflexion of the blue sky - traversed by the silver Mercury. Make of it what you will.



Here is what Angus had to say:



Ira had a friend Called Benno who lived in Massachusets - something in Hetty pricked up its ears at the name 'Great Barrington' why? What was with Great Barrington? Nothing too much I heard but nevertheless I knew I had to be there whatever it was like. The only way was to make Benno a friend and I had one weekend to achieve this. As it turned out I did not have to try at all because he was a pet of a person, and, oh joy he invited us for the weekend, and off we went in his red Mustang. Ride Sally Ride.

From the moment of arrival at this beautiful house, best New England style farm house - a huge kitchen - fire places - antiques everywhere (Bennos mother had been an antique dealer and very successful by the look of it.) Also a group of perfect people. Jim the Mushroom man - dear Ann McCord and her little daughter. Bennos big property had three houses - the large one just mentioned and two smaller ones inhabited by Liza and a nice young man Jimmy, in the farther one dear Mikki and Don Snyder with their baby Degin. A meadow dotted with metal sculpture and - alas - a poluted river - Hettys' first experience with such a sad thing, no life in it at all - nothing - and we were not allowed to swim in it. Apart from this, Bennos place was heaven, he kindly let Angus and I have his mothers room with a wonderful bathroom with a big victorian tub. Jason arrived and we settled in - accepted by unanimous vote.
There was vague talk of a film to be made about a song Arlo and Jimmy wrote about a garbage disposal disaster at 'the church'. This was a small New England desanctified church belonging to Ray and Alice-May Brock. He a biker - she a wild strong lady with a diamond embedded in a side tooth. The director had just made a big box office hot with a film about the 1920's bank robbers Bonny and Clide, and it was his idea to follow that with a popular classic. His name was Arthur Penn and he was a charming little man with real talent - but the film was a flop. We noticed that some, maybe all, scenes were shot three times - in one we would be angry - another all streetwise and sharp or yet again stoned out - mm we wondered how. We were to be portrayed in the end - known as 'the Cadre' pronounced 'Cad-rey' we were ourselves - a psycho drama for sure - made more surreal by the fact that Alice and Ray were divorcing whilst the film portraid the previous year when they were renewing their wedding vows. Ann McCord got a line or two but otherwise we just enjoyed thanksgiving feast and a wedding celebration as well as entertaining ourselves in one way or another. I had a close up during a funeral scene shot in a blizzard - the real New England variety - I had said that if Arthur called off the shoot I would be disappointed - so I stood in furs with young Jason at my side and cried freezing tears - oh it was funh. Of course all this time a baby was growing and I think you have read most of those details in the chapter 'The Namtar of the wee lama boy', so I won't bore you with repeats.

All the same life went on in Sheffield - a lovely place in every way and I was happy but of course it had to end and Angus, who had really lost it big time when Ossian was born and ran off to care for a woman with several children sleeping on heaps of rags - he looking totally unlike himself - rather a conservative dresser - but now all in black vinil - boots an all, it ended in a coma but after a change of white blood cells he recovered in the Albert Hotel - Ossian had his name calling ceremony there - conducted by Benno who was a Booho of some weird denomination - they abound in America, Ira stood Godfather and we were happy, Jason too beccause at last he was in a good NYC school.

I remember the snow on the statues in Washington Square park - they looked so beautiful and I talked with them - very edifying and somehow Angus seemed to be a wounded veteran of the American Civil War, so romantic - however he became very demanding of rare books , so a lot of my day was spent sloshing and sliding round slippery cold streets to innumerable book stores. He was never satisfied with what i bought but I thought of 'Gone with the Wind' and forbore to reply. After a while though we had to return to the trough of N.Y.C - various ghastly living quarters called very aptly 'cold water flats' where the buildings are so close (and mostly empty) as to enable old dirty tramps to climg into ours and crawl into bed with Jason - oh my clean sheets i mourned hugging poor Jason. Well it was enough and I decamped to the office of the East villiage other where I was still working. Something out of Dickens we were and it stirred their hearts to pity. That's how we got the loft in second street between B and C - if you know N.Y - you know how far down we were. With a little bit of hard work, Angus and I had it clear -uncluttered and cosy with a shining blue floor - achieved with blue deck paint - very hard wearing. We were protected out front by funny N.Y firemen and the boys adored the big red engines of course - so we were lucky again.
This was a productive time - I worked three jobs and Angus did some fine recording.



Poor Jason had to move schools, the posh one not in the area - I tried to no avail to keep him there but it did not work - the school was like a young offenders prison but he got himself a job at the Philmore East running errands etc and practicing drums. So we were happy on the whole. We did the shows in St.Marks Church in the Bowry - the best one was the Epiphany







when I played away in the organ loft whilst a pretty wild scene went on below - I remember being quite shocked when I saw a couple copulating near to where the high altar was - now adourned with a wooden clenched fist cross. The vicar was very liberal, and allowed me to play the organ which developed a high pitched whine due to young puerto-ricans peeing in the pipes - to drown it out I had to play in a very strange key - transposing 'Bach' is no mean feat!
During the summer of 1969 we partly moved up to Mass: to a blue house by a magical stream which we shared with Mike McClanathan, one of the Alices Restaurant buddies.
That summer! The first of my younger sons life. What a thrill, what with woodstock and the moons designation. Truly this is how I mourned looking up at the radiant full moon in my garden in Mass: 'ah - you will never be the same again' and the next day - well we all know that one.
Folk seem to think that the 'Woodstock 69' took place in the small upstate N.Y hamlet of the name - of course how could it! Tiny place hemmed in on all sides by wooded hills - no - it took place in a faraway farm and near a town called Bethel - nothing but death'l part me from Bethel (Ethel of song) ! Indeed some local people visited that site for years - probably still do - even though not allowed on the hallowed ground. When Mr Askgar died the land was split up and utterly changed - when I went to the celebration of '21' I could not find where the Hog Farm had been and that was where I spent most of my time there then.
Angus and I rode there early with Ann McCord leaving Ossian with Angus' mother and many friends - they had a lovely time as did we.


The week before the show started was spent in glorious summer sunshine putting up the Hog Farm field. The boys did wonders building a wooden deck for an acoustic stage, a line of open wooden canteens and to top all that, an amazing flat rock balanced on another and propped by poles - a work of engineering genious. The huge top stone rocked gently - I thought it the most beautiful thing there.

Angus helped a man erect a framework for many beautiful bells and gongs - imagine Angus' delight! Some lent museum pieces - he was going to ring in the dawn - something we never really heard because of the rain - the whole contraption lurked under clear plastic, no ting a ling alas. I helped Tom and Lisa Law with all sorts of this and that, making small stone round fireplaces in front of every tent space. I enjoyed it very much, stone is so satisfying. Two tipis went up white and glorious. Tom, Lisa and family in one, which was also the chill out space where I droned on and on and on and on the big tanpoura I had brought with me. In the other was chaparitto - what a super surprise, I had not seen him since Mexico in the el Tuito hovel with Tom. All was set fair, and Fred the Fed round around on a white horse - a stunning girl with rippling corn goddess hair up behind him. Idyllic. Busy with something when Lisa came up and said the strangest thing "You can't leave Hetty!" Parden? was this the bullet, but why and from her? Had I said I wanted to leave - definately not. So? 'I don't want to', "well go through the wood and see" most mysterious - so I did and a pleasant walk it was - a few people setting up in garden hut shops, and some with trays displaying their wares! As I emerged from the wood and looked down - AGH - WHAT THE ... millions it seemed - people and cars as far as the eye could see and that was far - I was on a bluff - dear me a helicopter landing near to the just finished stage area which we had seen grow - huge and kind of horrible, girder by girder through the precedy week. This was monstrous and suddenly terrifying. I ran back - 'where are we going to get supplies?' We needed fresh veggies for the soup we planned to make - plus milk - we had plenty of muesli! In the end our old truck was able to back up and down a little lane and reach 'civilisation' and that's where sensability ended for me my dears - I peeled more carrots and potatoes and had more people sleeping in the tent big enough for four - it was more of everything - and the banner over them was love.

Rain, mud and music, friends from all over and have fun fun fun. Angus and I got to the stage in time to hear Jimmi sing Star Spangled Banner - I think it was dawn - the downpour had set everything back - electricity and water don't mix!
Mr Grossman - Bob Dylans manager and I saw a tremendous electric sign in the blackest cloud ever - a giant green neon hand - like 'Gents' pointing downwards

as Lenny Bruce blew off Alan Douglas' tent and flew across - what a meterological circus! The singers sang - from the moment when Richi Havens opened - non stop, amazingly brave as it was really dangerous. All in all I am glad I went. Of coursee we had to clean up afterwards - the only really disgusting area was the concession stands where hot dogs - hamburgers - fries and cocacola was sold - it was truly vile.

Of course during the time in NYC we had fun times, and Jason took his mum out for the evening to listen to Tommy from a front seat in the sound box, and after the show he ushered me backstage - "nono" demured "The Who have stated categorically that they don't want backstage visitors" - 'come come up here' - o.k - then into the dressing room - 'he's your boy is he? "Yes she's my mum", 'you're english he says' - "well yerse" - Mr Daltry 'why aren't you at home doing yr fing' - rather taken aback "because i'm doing m'fing here." Best Londonese followed with talks about dogs mostly and I enquired if Jason was aquitting himself well. 'Great guy, very helpful.' We left feeling somewhat chuffed. Jason deserved it and I had touched London. Another musician springs to mind for at that time I was working (three jobs I held down) in a fun shop on 9th street run by two beautiful Moroccan ladies Collette and Stella, she was Douglas' wife - he had Douglas records and gave me a full back page ad in the East Villiage other - a cover - needed a vision a week and just his logo in a corner so i went to town on that - my second job, the third was paste up at said paper - an allnighter, great fun - one night I was kidnapped by some Wormens Libbers who did not think it right that I was the only girl on the paste up staff. Dragged me into a car outside the office over the Philamore East and took me to an empty room where they expected me to paste up their sad nag - I sat on a wooden table, swung my legs and told them to take me back to work - that i loved 'my boys' and that they never exploited me but treated me with courtesy at all times - I was returned to rousing cheers from 'the boys.'
The job at 9th street shop was much frequented by musicians - Santana came mob handed very often and Jimmy Hendrix used to pretend to work there. He was, at times, a good salesman - and always a laugh.

Photo by Ira Cohen


A subsiduary job was cutting fringes for two lovely guys who ran a leather workshop in the basement called Wisdom and Folly - all their fringes were mitered at the end - won - much cutting and the binding bead decoration I did has its moment of film - at the neck of Jimmy at Woodstock and close up too! The one we made for Rogen Daultry was entirely fringe - two entire cow hides.

The seventy mile an hour traffic jam

We found Alex in a vast dark victorian Pile called the Russian Embassy. Our flat - called an apartment - was shared with a girl and her tiny child. I discovered to my dismay that this little person was nearly two - her mum was into macrobiotics and was feeding her brown rice and onions. I was slicing a green pepper when she crept up to me and looked impluringly at this green-ness - well i gave her a teeny bit - I had to didn't I? Her mother was outraged - I had aparently ruined all chances of a buddhahood with that lovely green morsle. Food - this was my first impression of the United States - and how it all tasted of nothing - was vast in size and gave the seasoned old traveller her first case of 'touristas'! After that came the San Franciscan architecture - I walked the up and down streets howling with laughter - they were a delightfully coloured, jigsaw cut-out, all with front porches - so hospitable.
Then there was the language - I needed nails to hang some pictures - but where was the iron-monger (I come from a time when there were places like that in England.) No-one could help me and I walked for miles - I spotting some gardening tools and went inside, oh yes, all kinds of nails - but called a hardwear store - functional - but without the poetry of 'the iron-monger'. I had never seen a supermarket, if they existed in England then - well I had never seen one. Little shops was what I knew - so this vast airplane hanger filled out with food isles - shelf upon shelf of comestibles of every kind - very confusing - I carefully bought some proper cheese and the green peppers - the loaf of bread I picked up squished to nothing in my hands and I put it back before it died - terrified by this time and with burning feet I tried to find the counter where one paid. A heavy hand on my shoulder and a deep bass voice telling me to hand over my basket - naturally I had my wicker shopping basket on my arm - it had come a long way that basket and I wasn't giving it away to anyone - WHY - I was being arrested for shoplifting - but I had not found where to pay and I stoutly gave him my 'shopping lady.' They let me go - what could they do really. My first brush with American Law - more to come.
For now though I made my first American friends Mikki and Ion Grande who lived upstairs, also Mark Endey whom we had met in Tangiers - I recalled that he had tured my antoharp beautifully - a muscician perhaps? Yes and he knew this town well and wanted us all to share in a big place in a park like area called Haight Ashbury. The lady and her baby we had just had to leave to fate - the gods and marcobiotics and went to live in lower Ashbury Street very near a long ship of green, boardered by eucaliptis trees called the panhandle.
This was a two floor all wood beautiful-gracions interior, with an attic so large we filled it with cushions and things - these were to be found everywhere in good condition - you can imagine how I felt at this affluence after all my years of fringality.
Language was still sometimes a bugbear - one visitor (people 'dropped by' like ripe fruit constantly) phoned to say that she had left her pocket book with us - it was black, could I look. I did but - whew - she steamed back a little later shouting at me that it was right there, what was my game etc - amazed, i stared at a handbag. How could this bulging thing remotely resemble a book - let alone one that fits in the pocket.
Marco played the sitar and had just come from studying with Ravi Shankar, his first American student he said. He was very pretty - looked like a Rajput miniature with a dark moustache and a head of dark curls.


Painting by Hetty


He had a huge instrument and I played it like a double bass and thought of Lenny. Marco wanted to be my lover - I did not think it would work for a moment but he was rather fun then. So we had a white floor to ourselves. The houses were very close together but it did not seem crowded as they were white clapboard with big windows - very close to each other and CRASH, a man burst through from next door in a quick noisy, destructive manner - Marco was cross. I was quite amazed - this man had performed a dangerous feat to see me - I was an exhibit. His name was Harry Monrow and Marco pleaded with me not to know him of go next door. He was protective by why so adament - what did they do? Their gramaphone played non stop night and day - did they never sleep? This was another new impression. Of course we had good weed in England then - legally from African Gents - and we had tried Mescalin - but the vast variety of mind benders and mood alterators was again like that supermarket. So this little lot liked to stay awake and Marco did not want me to be the same. Fine by me. Marco had been to school locally with Rock Scully and with him we went one day to a local town where some friends lived in Merry something Lane - a small street of more wooden porches, but this one had all kinds of junk in the front garden - called a yard. Very messy people they were - think sort ot leader called Ken - tight to scull blonde curls and big-man attitude - very positive. He had written a book about a loony-bin called "One flew over the Cookoo's nest" which was achieving fame for him but he lived in this jolly little crumbling house and joy shone all around. There were some good musicians, playing a new kind of music to my ears. Rock and Roll San Franciso style baby and I loved it. Marco had a friend called Chet Helms, and a covered truck. The two if them drove around around town visiting tips called Clementina boxes - all sorts of goodies thrown away by this amazingly consumer society - no compost or wet garbage so they collectef furniture which Marco repaired or even constructed, I remember a throne like chair he made out of three fake victorian recliners. They also visited attics and then Chets Laurie and I got first pic of the beautiful clothes they found. Chet sold them from a shop front in Benkley somewhere and with the money they hired the hall for the first rock and roll fance. The Sokal Hall on Page Street, an American social club I think. Just across the road in a large basement some musicians had been jamming for some time and groups were farming - so the Charlatans were on the bill and I think a good dance band called Mount Rushmore - maybe they came later - they never became famous but I thought them among the best for dancing to. I loved to dance.



Photo by Herb Greene

That dance had no light show and was very basic but it was a start and Height street was going through a strange transformation; from a natural American shopping street with a five and dime - sort of woolworths, a 'Goodwill store' for cheap clothes etc. We needed incense but Chinatown quite a ways away so - suddenly a little shop on the corner of Haight and Maxonic was vacant and it became the weedpatch - the first shop created for our needs in Haight Street.



Others followed with bewildering speed, the five and dime became the Print Mint and the Thelin brothers opened the Psycodelic shop. Hung with Indian bedspreads and sweetened with incense it became a focal point - still we were not that many - indeed on helping a friend put up shelves for her dress shop I wondered if there would be a clientele for her kind of clothes. I need not have pondered that point for we had come to the attention of Herb Cain, a columnist for the San Franciso Chronicle, who wrote that some young people were forming groups in the Haight Ashbury district - they were too young and colourful to be called Beatnics (who prolificated on North Street) - he would cain a phrase from our vocabulary - the word 'hip' and add the diminutive 'ie' - thus the word Hippy was born. To my distress - "labled like a pickle bottle" I mourned - don't worry - oh yes sir sorry but this one will stick - it is catchy - and by gum it has. We had a grand death and burial of the wretched subrequet but it has never left and now is a term of decision.



Nevertheless we carried on our merry way, those were fun years indeed - Marco, Jason and I moved into a charming little home off Shaddock Avenue in Berkely where we could make a noise all night should we want to because out house was included in a row of shops and therefore not residential. The school playground boardered our little garden - so Jason just had to run across it to school. Marco was going to take lessons in the sitar from some Indian musicians nearby which was why we moved and one day I asked if I could go with him to the home of the Scrips family just to be able to imagine the surroundings. I hid in a vast arm chair and peeped out - the teacher looked very kind - but I cringed as he came toward me holding a cup of tea and enquired why I was not playing an instrument - I stammered that I played piano and organ and therefore was not that hot on strings - however (remembering the gourd bars and thinking of Lenny) there was one instrument which intrigued me - the tanpoura. 'Why do you like tanpoura' he demanded - 'because it is the timeless absolute?' "oh yes", never mind what that was it seemed to be the right answer because he said 'you start tomorrow.' Oh dear - we only had money for Marco - but I turned up with flowers and sweet cakes and was handed a vast instrument, all carved wood - quite unlike Marco's gourd. I started out with a ghastly jangle and he smiled and handed me over to some South Indian singers who were to instruct me. This wonderful man was Ali Akbar Khan, the great Sarod player.



I played away every morning with the South Indians - small and very funny - always playing jokes and jumping out to try and make me stop - because the tanpoura never does. Nara Simulu had incredible breath control for he could inhale an entire joint and hold it. He often came to our little house and would drink and smoke literally everyone under the tables - bodies everywhere; but he just sat bunched into full lotus position singing away. I made them very merry with me incessant worrying about money - being the only non fee paying student - but you are our only real student - they don't pay in India but serve their teacher - so the flowers and sweet cakes paid off and our happiness at having them around. At last 'Dada' (as we called Ali Akbar Khan) asked me to perform and I was thrilled to hear that I oculd play the timeless absolute and play for his own practice sessions. It was truely bewitching, and once he had me play for the class which was not as much fun. Helloh - I oculd play the Indian double bass - Lenny again.
Marco was asked to play with Donocan who was recording in L.A, everyone was into Indian music at the time so we went there - Jasonm too - and stayed with Tom and Lisa Law who were looking after an unbelievable house called the Castle - up near the observatory - opposite the Frank Lloydd Wright house for the Winchester rifle people - it looked like an astec crematorium outside and we never saw inside. Cream adobe house - cream adobe growling guard dogs. Just across the road defiantly stood the castle, I don't know who the architect was but he borrowed a bit here and a bit there - gandi for the stairs - medieval crypt for the hall and a huge room mwith an art deco window to view the smog, we were just above it so - a dun brown lake view - lovely. One black and gold tiled bathroom had seen Valentino abluting I was told. Barry Maguire who had just had a nuumber one single with the Eve of Destruction was living there with his beautiful lady and Severin Darden the actor lived in the garden flat.
A truely happy bunch with our singing sweetheart Mama Cass of the Mamas an the Papas,



eating in the kitchen. We had some swingin' parties I'll say, unril Bob Dylan showed up with the Band. Helloh - oh dear oh dear - no helloh. I liked Garth from the Band who ironed his ties but this Dylan chap I did not care for. He had frightening eyes - dead like blind with catoract. He was always looking for his coat. My son Jason wearing his chinese silk suit - playing his flute - gave him a big silver plastic knight with the solom warning 'this is the night of the night and when he opens up his thousand eyes watch out babe blue' - what it meant I din't know but is he the child dancing in one of his songs. My little book of ragas transposed for piano stave wasn't there after one session - pity, it had taken a long time to do and Pig was interested. So - too many people and Marco and I went to live with the Grateful Dead incarcerated in the L.A flats.



Photo by Herb Greene

This was more like it. Here the buzz I was used to - the San Francisco vibe. A large wooden house with a love palue tree outside contained the group 'the Warlocks', now known as the Grateful Dead. Many people have their version of how this curious name came to be but I remember - in the Ashbury house Phil coming up with the headline in the Egyptian book of the dead - 'the ship of the sun ferried across the sky by the grateful dead - but it seems out of sync so it was already established - apt, though - for many of us had 'died' and were grateful for the experience. Owsley also lived there and in a small room up top a lovely young man Tim Scully )no relation of Rocks') was engineering a super conductor of a sound system, something Owsley always aspired to and Tim longed for alchemy. Both succeeded, Tim rather better! Did the Dead make a lot of music there - well no because their instruments were all in pieces - being brought up to super electronic speed. Gerry played the six stringed banjo which was tingling stuff whilst we waited for Owsley to open the wall cupboard - all in one tiny room of expectancy. Yes we were strange prisoners - mainly because lack of money. Owsley also had strict diatary notions - meat - processed cheese - milk and white bread. Imagine the state of the kitchen! Twas pretty chronic when young Bobbys gums started bleeding. Good God - Scurvy. Hetty confered and she and Marco were added to the cast of an after showtime show in a quonset hut. Severin Darden - Del Close - Hugh Romney - and to top the bill Tiny Tim tripping tiptoe through the tulips - how lucky we were. A lively little show called and money from the door shared evenly from Hughs lovely wife Bonnie. Straight across the road bolted Hetty to another vast shop with a windmill on the roof (used to them by now.) Bought fruit of all kinds whilst Tim bought spinache and told me that should he ever marry they would have seperate bathrooms - offsubject for supermarket banter. They would wait up and grab those fruits I'll say - Owsley was very cross with me - I had ruined his experiment - like the baby girl denied Buddhahood by a sliver of green pepper - oh the sins of vitamin C. He had embarassed me horribly soon after I arrived - I had been told to come up to the castle to see Tom and Lisa any time - but be cool - come alone. Owsley offered me a lift (no public transport at all in L.A_ and when he arrived demanded entry - pushed his way to where Mr.Dylon was standing by the art noveau window - strode up to him, extended his hand on the end of Stiff outstretched arm. "OWSLEY" he proclaimed "Zimmerman" came the reply followed by "will someone get this bum outa here." OH SHIT. Hetty blamed again. But how hilarious - two monomaniacs face to face.



Photo by Stanley Mouse

All this time Pigpen and I had become buddies - blues were our meetig ground and it grew. Marco went to San Francisco for some reason and it meant I was ready for a chance so I had a wee fling with Severin at the castle - empty of the Zimmermans but a curious blonde girl who kept turning off the power switch when we climbed down to fill the goose pond and feed them - chinese they were. Her name was Nico. Then came the grand news that we were all booked for a weekend gig at the Longshore mens warf in S.F. I was Hetty, the witch from England ( well well!).
Severin and I went to see a show



directed by Andy Warhole and acted by Gerard Malunga and Mary Mary to the velvate underground - a New York band, Sev drove me in his black porche with the batman sticker and we saw them again at the Philmore - little did I know that the love of my life was hovering near (sorry Lenny). Free of Owsleys tyranny the Dead tried out their cumbersome new sound system and during those three days Pig and Hetty got it together and he said his parents would like me.


So I moved with them after the momentous gig which I did with flash papers (thank you Gerry who had been a stage musician) peacock feathers soaked in Patchouli and a vast feathered head-dress.





It was long, hard and fun and I tied a top cop up in recording tape at a run - so we were tired and this big white house across the bay was inviting.



The Olimpali Ranch where a native tribe had lived and then discarded. Clay pots abandoned in shards and vast charred trees where it looked as if they cooked. The spaniards rowed across the bay and taught them how to make adobe - there was a peice behind glass in one wall. One morning as I was making breakfast I noticed a black dog with golden eyes staring at me from the laundry room. Helloh where did you come from, this question never answered. Her collar stated that she was 'Lady' and that was all. She finally left as she came, we never knew where she went but for about three years she spent a lot of time with Jason and I had several litters on my bed.



Photo by Stanley Mouse



Jason had at this time threee homes - this was because we thought it a good idea. One was with me of course and I was in Pagest as well as Olimpali and Danny Rifkin, now the Deads manager, had opened up the house on Ashbury Street - he had been renting it as a B+B or something but for now the Dead lived there - yes after a momentous party at the ranch when everyone was running around naked and dogs and children abounded -



Bobby and I were in the kitchen which had a full view of the festivities when two men with bow ties came by and looked amazed. "Just a few friends dropped by" said Bobby and that summed it up. Then men were agents for the estate and so back to San Fran we went. Just around now I went up to see about this local paper, coming out of two tiny rooms above the print mint in the old Five and Dime store. Hey why the black and white and columns I exclaimed - 'we are a psycodelic community so where's the colour and swirling formats.' I was not very impressed but very soon afterwards Travis Rivers, the oracle manager, came in a white van for me and we drove to a new office in a flat overlooking the Intersection of Haight and Masonic. This had been donated by Mr Bowen who was moving to Stinson beach. At first I worked under the art editorship of Gabe Katz, byt he moved on and I did the work I loved - colour and form on newsprint - new and inspiring.

I wasn't living anywhere - staying with Pig - sleeping in the park with Lady as a warm pillow - just totally free and Jason had taken to living with the Dead - he had a small room like Harry Potters under the stairs - it was clean and cosy and next door was Laird who had been a Hells Angel but reformed by the magic of alchemy was now a 'Dead' roady, no mean task with all of that owsley sound system! I was very close by when with Pig because the house was quite small but held a lot of people including many many visitors.
Among them was a girl, she had been bought from Austin Texas by Chet Helms and Travis and now was singing with a band called Big Brother which Chet had been promoting, sadly not so successfully but in his newly aquired dance hall the Avlon Ballroom. I had listened to this girl sing and enraptured, knew that Chets bad would definately succeed. Her name was Janice and we were buddies.



People said we looked alike but we didn't, perhaps we wore the same feathered hats and shoes.





She drank I didn't - well I recall sitting between Janice and Pig passing the Southern Comfort back and forth - ugh that smell!! I had another girl friend called Ami McGill a fine artist, a regular Oracle staff member, she also had a magical little shop filled with fun and rainbow glasses which were colourful to wear except when going down stairs. We were merrily walking to 'the office' one sunny morning and passes a wee florists shop - outside were bunches of very wilted daisies. So we asked the lavender coloured lady inside 'how much' - not much, so we carried them away to put on the art room mantlepiece - but we gave them all away even to a policeman who put it in his cap. Would a bobby have done the same, i kinda doubted it. Anyway we enjoyed that and we came to an arrangement that we had the most wilted daily and it caught on - soon people were festooning each other and flower power was born - from small beginnings!!
Suddenly there opened yet another dance hall - this in the Philmore district - rather shabby - well it had been open for a while because Marco and I were invited to a 'Promenade' there way back. It was big and cold and rather tatty - no light show and the Dead were still the Warlocks - but one could walk up and down and meet friends - a long bar - a large band room and many little hideaways. That particular evening was made a little strange because a very agitated man kept charging up and down - to me he looked as if in the Merchant Navy - off.
Navy sleeveless pullover and anvy trousers - white shirt and as I said very nervous - put us on edge. Some people thought he was a policeman - that straight and snappy - not like us. This was our first sighting of Bill Graham! More or less my last as I did not care for autocratic people, especially at a time when everyone was doing well at being kind - delightful and at one with each other. No doubt he was an excellent dance hall manager and all that went with it but as I was not a rock and roll musician we did not need contact. Around this time a wonderful summer passed in Lagonitas, a scattering of houses in the woods in Marin County, across the superbe Bay bridge. The Dead had an old 1930's camp site and Janice with Big brother had a house above mine in a haunted cul de sac. Opposite to them was a wooden villa all boarded up and notices saying 'Property of Lloyds of London. Intriguing. Then Pigpen saw a vintage car go by, driven by a man in a cap and his passenger - a lady wearing a large green feathered hat. Another sighting of this pair was down by the creek and the man was very tall. There was talk among the children of breaking in, but we scotched that my going in by the back door ourselves which was ajar! It led into a kitchen with gleaming copper pots and all the furniture etc was totally 1920. I noticed that the old wall plugs were shiny and new and the folded fan of newsprint in the grate was white - I looked for a date and yes, sometime in the 1920's. Sorry mate but newsprint yellows and it should have been brown! We crept upstairs and a huge pair of mens brown shoes caught our eye and then - on the bed - a big green feathered hat - we fled downstairs and from outside came the demanding voice of the Sheriff. We lay on the floor and between me and the window a dark figure stood. I was petrified but dared not move. I don't know who was I was more frightened of - the ghost or the Sheriff. The Sheriff eventually gave up and went away, and eventually the ghost faded so we crept out. There was a garage and cleaning the window a little we saw a large vintage car. What on earth was all this about, so we asked at the general store in Lagonitas - oh yes we were told - the lady died and the house was locked up years ago. There really was a haunted house in Lagonitas Marin County.



Painting by Hetty.

Around this time two Oracle staff members shared a strange vision - myself and Steve Leiper - for myself it was this: walking along Haight Street with Potraro Hill to my left suddenly the road was blocked with a high hedge hung with spirit catchers.



On my side all our friends were sitting in the road - along the brow of the hill a line of Native American warriors. I peaked round the hedge and was met with a cacophony of hideous screeching - beeping - howling sound, and to my dismay the road was filled with police cars, all their radios jammed and bull roarers shouting. Hastily round to the peacefull side and eyes shut tight - then - all gone. Steve saw a pure blue moon and as he was on the hill saw the warriors close up and heard weird noises. Well the next day was the first invasion of the police phalanx. Also the evening when Chief Rolling Thunder arrived. He was expected and somehow everyone thought he would arrive in full costume! I saw a man in a navy blue raincoat and snap brim hat carrying a brief case - I was sure - not so some others who thought he was 'the man!' I invited him into the art room where he sat on the floor and invited us to do the same - by the light of the gas fire I saw a ruby glint as he rolled up his right sleeve, and lo! he had a snake armband round his forearm. He became a good friend and a regular visitor.

Ron Thorud had the idea for the Summer of Love, and that brought the television folk who looked at the festoons of dusty electrical wire and blenched - they went ahead and nearly blew us up! They wanted a round table discussion but this was not our way so out we went into the little garden and played hide and seek with them. I stuck my head out of a Bush and begged anyone coming to bring a sleeping bag as it could get very cold when the fog rolled in. Actually for myself I was not too keen on the idea - we were not ready for any kind of influx - and it was huge. Young and enthusiastic we were and strong also but we frightened the powers that be - because the youngsters who arrived in droves wanting free everything, were from grand families as well as the Iowa farm boy. This bought the police batons down on us every day. We all wore whistles.
If we saw anyone being beaten up - we blew - and soon everyone joined in and we rain to help. Mouse and Kelly were turning out wonderful posters - even the bail bondsmanhad one! Travis and I used to visit him nightly to bail out those arrested - mostly for vagrancy which was $25 each. No wonder the Oracle went bust in the end. Well obviously something had to be done and so the good natured bands played on a flat bed truck to the drumming of an ancient dyram.
Speedway meadow became a dance floor and this worked for awhile because the cops could not enter the park and the rangers were averse to arrests. The Grateful Dead played a concert in Haight street and the audience stretched the entire length.



So although there were tense moments there were funny ones also - like one young mans answer to a cop who had found some weed in his pocket - "Oh that! I carry it as a status symbol." That boy will go far I thought, wonder if he did. Emmet Kelly and his cohouts took the throw away from outside the various supermarkets and fed several hundred people daily in the Panhandle for free. Plus we had the Haight Street Clinic and Brian the Deads Lawyer. These were helpful indeed - but not enough. Too many came - I hope they all learned and had fun and togetherness as we did.
Around that time a tall man came into the art room with a little blue book of poems. I redirected him to Allen and Steve as I had no say as to content. This was my first meeting with Angus Maclise.



Then, a good friend from the old Russian Embassy told me of an affair she was having and how she longed to meet him somewhere, where her husband Ian would not see. Oh dear. However, I dearly wanted a drawing from her for the Oracle so I bribed her! Said she could meet him in the art room if she drew for me.

She did, very nicely thank you, and he arrived - fall bespectacled - she told me he was the best man in the world. I took her word for it and went on drawing or whatever. You see - Marco could not be lived with - nor alas could Pigpen, with him - alcohol - with Marco, stronger stuff they called Dujee. I needed neither, so I decided to be alone, free, and to devote all my energies to the Oracle. So - during all that time, about a year - whilst everyone was seriously into Free love - I remained celebate. One thing had changed however - I no longer slept in the park for I found a wonderful place to live. The stone stables of one of the San Francisco mansions destroyed in the earthquake. This was very sturdy and in the middle of all the back gardens. Reached ny a tiny passage opposite the library in Page Street. Glorious! and Jason had his own room again and bred hampsters who nested under the big iron stove in the kitchen. His room had one wall, a union jack - we wondered who had painted it but he wanted it to remain and so it did.
Mikki and Angus came round in the evening when many people came to talk and laugh. I found that he was interested in the myths of the world as was I - so there were many interesting conversations. Also, the first time I witnessed Angus' habit of picking people up and swinging them around! This was right on Haight St as we started off on a picnic - I decided not to go and so - just to say tootaloo he picked me up and round I went and came down abit breathless, but basically unmoved. Christmas was coming and Jason wanted to go to the Kesey Ranch. So I was without children for the first time in years. A gale swept may branches down so I gathered them up and made a 'tree' in the corner. Under which I put Jasons presents and sat painting tiny miniatures for my close friends - it was Christmas Even when the front door banged open and there stould Angus. "Gimme Shelter", he shouted. Heavens! well come on in. He was on the run from three women - lord help us!! One was Mikki, two a girl who had followed from New York City and some unclear third. Well as Jason is away you could sleep in his room - but when he returns i'm sorry but you will have to find someplace else (funny-.) He begged me to accompany him to collect his things, which I did, and felt really uncomfortable because they all leapt to the wrong conclusion. I fervently reassured Mikki that I was just giving him temporary room space. I sat and tried to remember that it was christmas eve whilst shouts and sounds of objects flung about. Angus emerged and we left, but after us ran the girl from NYC - as we clambered onto the bus she moaned "No more Angus." I would get to know that one.
We went to a party that night and they all turned up but I did not care - work it out minus me.

Christmas day spent with Oracle and friends at Azul's (Bob Simmons) studio - very jolly. So Angus stayed and Jason did not return and it was after New Years Eve and walking with Angus down Haight Street, he suddenly rushed through the tourist traffic and whirled a girl around - it was Mikki. I walked on feeling so relieved and happy that I was still just and only just friends with Angus. Oh dear - what happened? - it was so sudden. I took him a cup of tea in bed as I do for guests and burst into tears. Poor man - he looked up amazed - "whatever is the matter" - 'Oh I have just done the stupidest thing' I wailed. "What's that then?" - 'I've been and gone and falled in love with you' - really goodbye Lennie - he just pulled back the sheet and I hopped in. I stayed there for 10 years, metaphorically speaking, until he died. Between then and now however much happened.
Such as, we had a trip with friends to a lovely place caled Inverness and Angus bought me a single Iris, how could he have known it was my favourite flower, a Picesian, very romantic. So it was just a few days later, on St Valentines day, he went down on one knee in the panhandle and said that he wanted me to be his wife and the mother of his children. How enchanting and I accepted gladly - cancerian picean combination. Oh joy. We went out to the park where we found a Dingle (both of us George Borrow readers) and sat entwined when a silhouette of a man in a trench coat was seen on the edge of the little dingle ( which is a cosy private hollow in a wood.) Spell broken we walked hand in hand through the park and suddenly were drenched by a tree - yes the tree was raining, it was the only one. So here is the way Angus saw it in this poem:






Photo by Ira Cohen


Jaon returned to find Angus out of his room and into mine (good bye Lennie for some time). I don't think he was very happy about this and one can understand it - he and Angus had an early argument about stick drumming versus hand drumming, you would not think such a silly thing could have such a disasterous effect - but alas, they did not get along - ever. Jason really did not like any man who came close to me - even Pigpen - he was a posessive little boy - I understood this but could not go on living like a nun to suit him. Well there we were happy; and the Haight Ashbury scene crumbled slowly around us - you may have read some of this before in my conversation with Tim Barns earlier in this 'blog' - however at the time it was anything but funny. Angus really wanted to marry me and it did not hinder him at all that I was still married to Tom and it is two years for bigamy. I tumbled and fel so sad - here was a man who loved me for myself - after all Peter married me to obtain a government job and Tom to get wife and child support on his pension. Angus had his talent and I had my job and the Oracle, but it was disintigrating like everything else. Came the spring solstice and we went to celebrate in the speedway meadow as usual - 'oh how pretty' I exclaimed when I saw a silk tent someone had erected - so charming and tinkling with the sound of the many Japanese wind charms. Helloh - it was Diane di Prima, a poetess friend of Angus who had put it up and it is your wedding day. HELP!! No worries though - it was all hippy - nothing even vaguely legal. Someone threw a white lace kaftan over my summer smock and Angus was similarly attired. Iggy - a nice jewish friend who had completed 32 days of Zaxen meditation formalised our vows and promises, Tim Leary turned up to bless us and the dear old Grateful Dead witnessed our union. Someone produced two jade rings as we were on the ring of fire and LO! it really was a wedding after all. The only true one I had, we kept those promises.



It was said that I had to be married by my tribe, and I was. Just in time because the end of the jolly old Summer or Love was nigh. We all knew it - we were undermined by the powers that be - so easy - open and trusting we were - all one we were, until the junkies and the drunks started drifting up - the young who had come for acid were given speed by people pretending to be friendly hippy dealers - but obviously they weren't - we put fliers out again and again begging people to avoid street dealers and giving other safe options. but it was too late. Allen Cohen and Bob Simmons (now known as Azul) tried to coerse Angus into coming to Miami with the rest of us - but he needed New York and all his contacts there did not like my having a job - funny really because when we finally hit New York I held down three jobs and lived a rent free loft as part payment for one of them and although Angus did two more gigs with the Velvate undeground - his earnings were sporadic. BUT. I loved him through and through - knew I could not continue without him so, I agreed, like Ruth, to go where you go and your people shall be my peopleThis meant obtaining transport. This I left to Angus because I was busy tidying up the art room and leaving a sketchy web of an Oracle for anyone to finish - Kelly had more or less taken over anyway.
Well Angus made two choices. They were bad - they affected my life until this very day.

AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY.

The car.



The driver.



Where we met the two owners of the car I do not know.
The driver answered a note on the Oracla notice board.

The car came first - two young fellows rented it in N.Y.C to come to the Summer of Love and one married - but little wifey wanted to fly and the other boy did not want to be lef t- so - Angus arranged to take it as it could not be 'turned in' in S.F - all this was beyond me - I know nothing of cars but I loved to ride and be driven - so - a driver had to be found because I quickly realised, after one hair raising trip in S.F with Angus - he could not drive! O.K put a notice on our board in the office, and sure up came Louden Wainwright the third. Just young Louden then and he had a license and was over 18, so, I tried him out and he seemed just the ticket for a journey.

On the last morning, spent with out Lynn - the Oracla secretary, a friend turned up with a goodbye gift - a huge bag of fine weed. "Oh yes" pounced Louden - 'Oh no' said I. Well having crossed America twice in a car I knew it was paramount to be clean. There was a heated argument - his was that he was to be driving and did I want him to take speed" 'Of course not -AGH?!" what did we have here? I should have called the whole thing off - but I didn't - I was tired and needed a space on the white lives of the highway (to quote Joni Mitchell.)

To stop this wingeing I acquiesced - take one joint and if we get stopped - you are responsible - throw or swallow - get it. O.K. and we were off. All serene until nearing the texas panhandle when I demanded that we disembank - turn out pockets and everything and if you have something left - hand it over NOW - he handed me some and I made 3 joints - out on my own in that real desert, and as I sat there a five mile high Hopi Katchina stalked toward me - the one with a head like a doughnut. DANGER.



So I went back to the car and demanded that he was totally clean. He said yes. We went on until a knocking sound came from underneath - Angus, who had the car papers and was being responsible made Louden pull into a roadside garage where a man looked and said 'big end' and that he did not have the tools to deal with it - "next big time" he advised us. This rose up to our left MORDOR - oh no not there - please try a little further - no notice taken of me again and into Olklahoma city we rolled.



We took the car to a big garage and they agreed to look at this big end or whatever. Off we went on a stroll around - to tell the truth I only remember it vaguely - rather bleak if anything. We went to a cinema - don't ask what we saw for I don't recall it at all. Back at the garage and Angus and Louden did whatever was necesarry as I covertly watched the man in the glass booth. He was eyeballing us alright - and as we rolled away I saw him pick up the phone. Not wanting to un-nerve Louden I said as casually as I could that I would like to be back on the road. Something that must have spooked him too because he did not turn on the lights. From the backseat I suddenly realised this and told him to 'turn on the lights god damn it Louden' for it was past lighting up time - too late.

Undulating, oscillating wails screeched toward us.

'STOP LOUDEN' I shouted and we were pulled over - oh shit - a moving violation. I prayed that my search had been thorough "up against the car mother-fucker' - Angus and Louden stretched out against that metal monster. I had been put in the cop car - he was alone - unusual - another turned up like a cruising shark - they took care f les boys and he returned to me. 'Are yoo on aacidd' he drawled. "NO," I replied, "but you had better get me somewhere fast before I deficate in your car," because sudden shock had released my bowels - bit camped up y'know in the car etc. I never wanted to go so bad in my life - why not just let go - but no my upper class morals cut it - it would be very rude of me - so I held on and got there where a poor lady cop had to take apart what I had laid before her - she used a long steel knitting needle - a weapon really. A large hall with various desks opened up like a bad smell and questions fired at us - as I politely answered them I was told to speak english - whereupon Angus shouted "she's the only one who does." How sweet - but immediate suss - passport? hand it ovver. Well on tha tocunt I had a fine green card right up to date. We were put into 'holding pens' - seperated of course and on our honeymoon no less. I enjoyed the company of an elderly Native American lady who was seriously drunk - exceptionally good company.
This happy interlude was soon to change however, to quote the good old Grateful Dead.
"set up like a bowlin pin - knocked down like it gits where it's bin." Several men in light suits questioned me. They were F.B.I sp they said and with relish told of a big bust of 'theym hyppiys' just a while back - 'sent theym down for five' (how to find an onomatapiattic way to sound as they spoke) - 'you must be real nurvous.' Now why was that. Hey - they showed me a beautiful medicine pouch given to me by Chief Rolling Thunder - was that mine - too right it was. HA - it was locked into the glove compartment. I was arrested for possesion of 'dang drugs.' That little shit had borrowed it without asking and must have kept some back after all - what a dirty trick. Vast bail was set on all three - same count each. I saw my beloved for a sunlit moment before being led to a cement block and there I was humiliated some more before being shown my bed. A lower metal bunk, one of a double, nine of them. Eighteen women in the same space - no windows and two lavatories which one had to use in full view. A steel box in the corner turned out to be a loud noisy shower where one could scream in private. There were no toys and all to read was - amazingly - a gun manual. Had I wanted to I could have learned everything I needed about various firearms - I was totally uninterested however and requested a bible - in the bible belt of America one must have one - and it is a good read.

The women in there were tough on each other - they would fight and grind faces into the concrete floor. I had enough of this one night and just shouted "STOP." I tried logic in the lull that miraculously followed - "we are all in here because we all got caught" I postulated "so we should do something positive with this knowledge - a psycho drama perhaps" - 'Yes - you can dance - are you a hippy? Y'r English so your opinion don't count.' So I danced and danced - good excercise anyway, to the endless stream of country and western punctuated by a song about Quin the Esquimo which was the high spot where I rocked and rolled and made my hair wild - they went on fighting.

They were in for robbery with violence and had nothing to lose. After a while a young hippy chick came in, she was local and she told me heaps - we spent all that night whispering. We were the talk of the underground - what there was of it - I learned they were going to throw the book at us - out of towners - one seed constitutes a felony here (this was true I learned later), hard to believe, and I didn't; but I did prick up my ears when she said "the two of you, are you together?." 'TWO? WHERE WAS LOUDEN?' - "oh yes there had been three, but one got sprung the first night, his daddy came and paid him out." The 'hip spirit' me thought 'oh one out - all out.' The Hippy Tribal Law was if busted in a group, first out did nothing but get the rest free by hook or by crook. So what was taking so long - I'll tell you. As I learned later, Angus gave Louden his mothers number in Conneticut but he never called her - or did anything except sit quaking in his grandmothers Hampton palace. Leaving us to rot.

She told me that the District Attourney needed a drug felony to get re-elected. Oh dear - a death knell belt no doubt. I said goodbye to my little sister friend as she was bailed out knowing that I was doing dead time.
I was allowed cigareetes - lined notepad - one lead pencil - and chocolate - this seemed to come from the court appointed lawyer we had been given. A shallow cardboard lid held these treasures and usually kept under the bed in a lower bunk like me - cigs tucked away under the hand pillow. My main tormentor, a Native Greek came creeping one night - l leant over her and gave them to her - 'as your need is greater than mine' I explained. She was dumbstruck "if I want something I will come to you and ask!." I wondered at her utter amazement - had no-one ever been kind toward her - no wonder she was now such a wrong-un. Fact is - I have never liked chocolate.

One litle old lady came in - also too drunk to know what she was - took three days before she remembered that she had been a lay preacher and knew the Bible well - as 'they' would not let her have her spectacles - I read to her - the juicy bits was what she wanted - chapter and verse - a mid western Dot Cotton.
Also, I noticed that one girl - another Greek, called Suzy, would quietly do yoga in a darkish corner. I decided to do the same - we became almost friendly and when asked what she had done she calmly replied that she had driven away an armed truck full of money - how could you expect to get away with something like that? 'I done it before.' Well - there you are! Of course being in for 'daang drugs' especially weed, one was not even on the lowest rung of the prisoners ladder, so the bullying was fairly intense - actually it was a minor hell realm.



One night as I sat at the zinc topped table where we ate - I really dispared - three and a half weeks already - was I in here for ever. The lights do not get turned off at night - added torture - but even so, an orange ball of light appeared up and slightly to my left, sitting inside was a golden orange figure weilding a sword



- my very first reaction was to attribute this to stress - hallucinations can occur when one is subjected to the amount I was suffering.
Then the sword - Michael? was one of the angels who brandish a sword - oh well that can't be bad - like a flash - I knew - not only that I would soon be free - but also that I would have a baby and just as suddenly, I wanted one.
This was unusual because for ten years I had steadfastly refused each and every man who had asked to have one with them. They were not right, in one way or another, or I could not manage two. I was firm about this. So this overwhelming yearning surprised me. Now - having seen a picture of Manjusri. I know it is oneand the same. Al so the Hyalwa Karmapa gave Ossian the name of Manjusri 'roaring lion' - hmm - should Ossian have been conceived them I wonder for he was a little early. I did get released quite soon however, because Angus had smuggled a note to his mother and he was out. I got a prison telegraph telling me so. I have felt alone since but never - never have I felt that ferocious loneliness. There I was - totally alone and friendless - in the middle of a strange country and could I trust anyone really?

It turned out that I could. Angus, out on Thursday - had my bail reduced and freedom granted by Monday. He did this my not footing it to N.Y.C and all those fabulous new yorkers forked out for a benefit - for someone they had never met. Hang your head in shame Louden Wainwright the third.

The nice lady screw who let me iron the uniforms in the neighbouring cell which was empty. I could be done my myself, a real blessing. She said, as she gave me my navy jumper - jeans, and blue love beads - same outfit as arrest fashion, you don't belong in here - never a true word spoken dear lady. As I said goodbye - all the girls kissed me and said how they would miss me!!

Ole ole mi graciosa su querposito baile como una botella de gaseosa

The really happy times don't happen all at once; they accumulate slowly. Little things mount up into a continuous peon of joy.
The rambling spanish house with tiled floors and glass paintings on the wall. Two little rooms lived with books where we sat at night as Gerald read Virgils Georgics with a crib, and the other at tea time in the winter as it had a fireplace - the other rooms were big and airy, large windows looking out onto the truely magical garden where young Jason sat surrounded with white 'palomas'

Rosario and Anthonio - fat cook dragon and garderner, he was like a tree - went to bed for a week when one blew down. Their two daughters Maria and Carmen had to be guarded fiercely from 'novios' who might be lurking - but the arrival of 'el nino' (the boy child) eh que guapo 'how beautiful' etc and he was firmly cosseted by three sets of full spanish womanly bosums. This gave me time to recover and to begin to paint again.

An American artist friend Harold Meeske showed up - he had been working at an American air base in Morocco where he had discovered a fine varnish usually used to spray jat palnes. A couple of tins and the thinner he generously gave me and off I went. It was amazing - totally colourless - built up like a jewel. I found a wonderful old man in Malaga who was a gold leafer - he did all the huge floats they use at Easter. He taught me how to apply the leaf to wood - very tricky - but the combination of the gold filtering through the glaze and the translucence of the glaze itself was beautiful and I painted endlessly. This was a household tuned to work - breakfast over by nine, then paint until lunch at twelve, after which the siesta - then we had tea and time for revision - after all this came time to sit in the flower bedecked courtyard and drink wine with friends - until supper eaten late in Spain. So it was a mixture of Spanish/English timing and eating too - for Gamel had taught Maria many toothsome English and American dishes. Makes my mouth water when I think of them.


One day a friend from London arrived with a young gypsy boy called Chapasitto (meaning he was born in a sack), he was a nephew of Carmen Amaya and could do the sappadijo (tap dancing) on a table. He decided that he and I should dance together - I pointed out that we might look ridiculous - for I was much bigger than he - but I could dance, and so we did dance together.

I met a huge tribe through him all his Vicente cousins and the uncle, he of the animal grace and old world countecy, wearing his grey Cordovese hat at a filt at the world - they lived on the plague pits and curves - 100 years must pass after a plague before building in Spain - so there we danced, bare feet on bare earth under a zillion little morning stars.
Spaniards are obsessed with death, I quickly learned that through going endlessly to the Corrida (bull fight) - yes every sunday all the Noviadas and the big Ferias at Sevilla and Malaga where I saw the great Mano a Manobetween Anthonio and el Nino at the famour ferier in Malaga when I was taken by Don Ernesto (as Ernest Hemingway was known) to sit in 'barrerias' sombra - best seat in the house and I could drape my beste shawl over the barriera and received an ear - what glory. Just the once.
Usually I sat halfway up sol y sombra, but I knew the people who worked there, mostly gypsies as it is one career they can persue - that and entertaining and metalwork. To get to the oldest placadetoros in spain which is in condoba I rode from our village of Churriana via the great grey rocks - pools and egals of Tolox with the mulateers - singing all the way. Ah waht a life I had, and how I loved it. The nearby village of Torre Molinos had long been an artist colony and still was and some young Americans arrived to add to ones already overflowing cup of hapiness. Yes I met Ira Cohen then - fifty five years ago life was easy - dusty maybe, but full of warm wine fuelled laughter and his friends Monroe and Judy - rich young new yorkers and quite a few others, I hitched up with a folk singer Mitch who was the toast of the town - great bass voice and big dark and handsome - in Spain a handsome man on ones arm does nobody any harm as my gypsy maid Maria used to say, for I had a tie dying business going strong called Zarabanda Fabrics - Gamel had showed me how to do it - quite unknown back then in 1958 - I was doing silks for a Madrid designer Elio Berenhauer and Dean Anna de Pombo and Jaime Palade in Marbella which was then a moderately fashionable little town. It meant living in a little shell like house in the bacanndillo (or fishing village) down the cliff from Toree Molinos, visiting Gerald and Gamel all the time but feeling more in control, thanks to them.

Eventually, because a friend had a nightclub called the Lally lally he invited me to hang my paintings on the wall, have an exhibition in fact - good old Tim - he vanished at sea at the time of the great train roobery - I have often wondered - but he had always hankered after tobbing the bank of England just for fun, he did not need the money- urged him not to try - impossible I thought - so - oh well he did vanish and never reappeared which was a terrible shocking blow for me to take. He had been my greatest friend and my life would have been very different if he had not taken off towards the grim castle in Corsia in his air craft - which was little more than a pleasure craft. Before all this happened though there was mucho fun to recall.
Time bought me a share in a shop in Tangier - so I moved there, into a beautiful house in the Rue Amrah just below the gateway into the Caspah. It was old, a Pashas house with two wells - a house on the roof and a steam bath with a domed roof adorned with circles of coloured glass which let light pour through the spruce scented in rainbows. What a way to start the day. All around were wonderful Moroccan friends Abdelkada of the cofe a saint who helped everybody, Abdelkala of the fisherman who lived with his two chubby chuckling wives on the cliff. He was our handyman who loved to sit and cut kiff and flirt with my cook Ayesha.
Those were energetic days, there were so many expats and remitance men - poets, painters, drifters of every kind that every day was a carnival of conviviality. I shared my bed with a red haired painter called Alex who now is a Rabbi in Jerusalem, two young girls Amy and Michelle - their mother Beverly de Vore was unwell so they lived with me which was fine and she lived next door so they hopped over the flat roofs to see her. We had a dog Siddhi Sidney Ben Idni - Mr Sidney from Indi - I picked him up on one of my journeys into the desert - as I stopped at Idni on the Rif Mountains above my destination Tarroudant - a Berber shepherd talked me into it - well I though it would be both good for me and educational for the children to have a dog - and I like them - but oh no -in a Muslem country dogs are 'without' as said in the revelations of dolm the Divine. Quite what that means has always been unclear to me - without what? Or does it mean outside the walls. Life was not the same, he kept being arrested - the anquished call from Amy - 'Sidneys in Jaoool' and he would be bailed out. A friendly, brown, warm hearted animal who still fills my heart - he was so small he went up my sleeve when I first carried him and was swarming with fleas which I released on the balcony of the Cofe hotel overlooking the Djma el Fnaa in Marakesh. Amy and Jason were five going on six and were very successful in their four guife trade - dressed in layers of fluttering silken jellabas shred on shred giving a pantomine effect. Pierrot and Pierrette. I showed them how to strike up a partnership with one or two good shops and only take groups there. Then return and cop the percentage. We knew Barbara Hutton who had a little palace just below us in the Rue Amrah so they knew her doorman and could say 'you want to see house of Barbara Hutton?' Big plus - small glimpse into outer coutryard. Jason used to bring Amy home in a taxi and hand her out - a real gent and fifty dirham everyday for house keeping. How they loved it - after chanting the Koran with the Moccadem as all the children did for disciplin, and going to the market for rabbit food, they could be free all day - but only in the Aeab quarter - no cars, no unfriendly people and home for lunch and tea please. William Burrows used to come by for tea - he walked the kasbah in his raincoat and brown trilby forall the world like an old fashioned postal clerk or the Rillington Place murderer. He did not like kif being smoked in his presence which I found strange - he had such a reputation after all! He also had immence loyalty - I had an exhibition of paintigs in the Parade Bar a chi chi bar/cafe run by Jay Hazelwood who told me he was a Georgoa cracker - what kind of biscuit was that?! My partner had the knack of painting in the style of Delacroix and had decorated it with pearl laden negro boys polling gondolas, but there was room for more, so up went mine. One was of Jason in his arabian garb on a cliff edge holding a bunch of clover. It was called 'I see you in the summer' and was of innocence (Painted on gold leaf as usual - very difficult to photograph.)



One elderly gay - there were quite a few jolly friends among the motley throng - wanted to buy it - he insisted - but I did not fancy my little sons' image adorning the walls of his cas ban palace where orgies took place, so I said 'No.' He screamed and hurled abuse - but Bill stepped up and in his gratey voice told him that he has already bought it - and was at the bar every evening to guard me from further onslaughts - and invited me to eat the delicious food Lilly cooked there with him. Yes, a kind man Mr Burroughs.





My shop which I called Sheik and Tatty was favourably placed next door to the Parade Bar so we got the pre lunch crowd and the after lunch drunks plus the early morning clientelle. All this, plus an interior decoration business did very well. Stewart - my american gay partner who painted old masters, also knew how to harness the local talent - Morrocans cannot pick up a tin can without turning it into a lovely lamp - we had Larbie who painted exotic worms and cut flowers out of metal - these made very servicable door stops in a windy place like Tangieir! Some of our customers were rich because of relative - Eugenia Backhead - sister of Tallulha - daughter of the Colonel Bankhead. She has the voice of a bull frog and resembled one also - but a heart of gold. I caught Amy and Jason in her bathroom once having used every lotion and bath salt and bubble. Oh heavens, all those cut glass bottles, and those twinkling faces peeping over the mound of bubbles. The scent was overpowering - but did Eugenia mind? Not a jot - 'got a cupboard full of those' she croaked as she picked up her shuddering Chiwawas - those hairless shivering creatures were a great source of worry for Amy. Then there was Mary Rodgers - her dad had been a singing cowboy called Will and now she enjoyed his millions - and how! She drank vodka collins all day and changed her bedroom furniture with each lover. Very good for an interior decorator. Spanish antiques were discarded - 'oh you keep those' (receipt signed of course.) Then an English Lord had to be entertained in flowered dimity. She finally decided on a Morocaan policeman so this was easy. To be an interior decorator all you need is a good unholstirer, a good iron man and a carpenter, plus it helps to have a real colour sense. I was painting away in my rooftop studio and people were sent by a lady who made wonderful materials and told them I was 'a geeeenious' this all helped. I made more money there than I have ever before or since!



Oh dear - here came a letter from Tom McGee, now clean and living in a 'finka' (grand farm) in Mexico. In it he avowed his love - all he had - he proclaimed. Hmm, would I come. OH LOR!! I asked two romantics I knew and loved Paul and Janey Bowles - what to do? I asked Gerald and Gamel - they all though I would have to give it a try - for Jason and for me. Yes or no forever? A truely fanstastic piece of financial luck plus a trip to Timbuktoo delayed the departure, but then came telegrammes. So - sadly - Jason and I embarked once again in a boat to cross yet another sea to a for distant land. Luckily Spanish was spoken there. After a heartbreaking farewell to Ayesha - les girls and dear Sidney - they were going to move into the house with their mother, which I hoped would work.
Jason and I boarded the Portugese cango boat and began a mini caribbean cruise. First stop - Venezuela, where a myriad of butterflies met us whilst still out to sea. We had hit the Americas.
Caracas - our first taste of the 'new world' was terrifying smileyjap cans careening down the pavement - guns going off in side streets and a taxi driver who nearly killed us - had a bullet wound in the back of his head - we lunged for the safety of our boat and watched the biggest bird fly overhead - the condor with a wing span of more than even an albatross.
Steaming away the next day, first stop Dominican Republic - old crumbling colonial houses - rusting dry fountain filled with giant crabs - surely there must be something better - there was - a sort of bus ride - getting used again to sharing the ride with the farm - to a superb beach - the travel advertisement come true - the whitest sort of powder sand - the water so clear it seemed invisible and the multitude of coloured fish hung in a crystal void. Palms swung in graceful arches and beneath them the best food eaten - maybe ever - anywhere - served bu gracious - ever smiling, very pretty people. One tiny boy invited me to take a walk with him and off we went and firstly I saw a white butterfly as big as a damask dinner napkin and plants from a Russian painting. He kept ponting to a green mountain and telling me it was very dangerous - Voodoo etc. Well we weren't going that far so I did not worry until suddenly from both sides leapt men with big guns. Ouch. Quick-pull out the precious Brit passport and adopt cut glass lady tourist persona - the tiny boy looked on admiringly and they let us go, grinning at my performance.. We said goodbye to his beautiful, never to be forgotten beach, and Dominican Republic and journeyed on to Puerto Rico. Hey hey - shades of west side story - well - er - yes - but startingly boring - and - excuse us but is this the United States already? Glad to leave and through a flamingo pink sunset with glowing lea dotted with emerald islands toward Mexico. I should say here that my erstwhile lover Alex was journeying with Jason and I. He was on his way to an artschool in San Francisco and Kindhearted as ever he wanted to see us alright.
We left our beloved craft - waving to our flamenco dancing view - with the priests and nuns who had been somewhat of a nuisance during the voyage by constantly trying to convert Jason. We plonked ourselves down at a cafe in abig open square and soon forgot the clurgy as the music burst out - several Mariachi bands walked round and round filling the evening air with such joyful sound that we felt quite abandoned and decided that Mexico was magic.


Leaving this jolly town behind and heaving on and off many and varied forms of vehicular traffic - including one donkey ride - we crossed Mexico. A short stop in Mexico City just to look at de Rivera murals and the remains (few) of Xetxacoatls water city. Then the sparkling Pacific was in front of us - all those ups and downs behind us. Puerto Vallanta - white and pretty provided a market where we bought hammocks, they are a way of life in Mexico. But would we need one at the 'Finca', so now to find El Tuito and Tom.

El Tuito - an old silvermine village turned out to be up some considerable mountains and to get there one could go by mule - three days, or hire an aeroplane - really no question - so - we found a huge black moustache called Macpherson and he flew the bi-plane. Scary. He skimmed the top of one crag by a hairsheath and wobbled down into a vendant green valley where we bumped down in a vast pampas, scared horses running everywhere, no Tom. Macpherson unloaded our bags and bade us 'adios', and waved his way back to Puerto Vallanta. We stood under a tiny shed in this immense emptiness and waited, something had to happen next, it always does - so - well after a while a wavery dot turned into Tom on horseback galloping toward us out of the distance. He always liked to make an entrance.
He was aghast at the wooden box containing all my wordly possessions, including, rather stupidly I will admit - some white staffordshire figurines. Floradora MacDonaled and two surprised looking dogs, and of course Queen Vic and Albert the good. They are probably staring out of some Mexican dwelling now. Ah well. It was the 'Finca' you see - I thought quite rightly that they would look lovely against white adobe. However - white adobe it was not. After a long hot walk with nothing to drink excepting for a quite revoltig local brew out of Toms 'bota.' Turn a croner and a mud shack in the shade of a giant avacado tree stoof in front of us. We could perhaps rest here for a little while. Oh yes we certainly could because this was the 'Finca.' Tom had gone totally native and had a friend, an american jockey called Chaparito staying so we were quite a party made complete to two very tall, totally silent men in white and huge mushroom like hats, yes they crouched against the wall of this tiny mud house surrounded my a veranda. A mud stove stood like a pagan altar with the bean pot bubbling away, this pot was never empty, it just got added to. A wood pile crowded with scorpions finished the kitchen furnishings and the hammocks were the only things to sit in. Alex had to go and it seeme as if chaparito might also - he was fun and taught me to gallop lying glat on the horses back - easy with mexican stirops - they are like metal shoes. Of course I had to buy a horse and Chaparito helped me to choose him. It was very easu - just go to the 'yarno' a grassland where all the horses hung out - if you needed one just go and choose - they sortf of belonged to everyone and no-one - but to buy one? well that made it your responsibility. My choice was a dark velvet brown gelding - about fourteen hands. Small and smiling, with the longest eyelashes fringing his huge Eddie Cantor like eyes. I called him Mr Polly - and I loved him. I also bought 'tack' a comfortable arm chair of saddle and a shaffle bridle. These cots more than Mr Polly. Free now to roam I tackled the village - schoool for Jason? oh yes - in spanish of course and the books illustrated by de Rivera. Jason liked it and soon had a friend who stood in my kitchen and solomly told me his name was Antionogesariochestosevario and on and on/ Such a huge name for such a small boy. He came every morning and they set off for school together. We lodged a lavender donkey Tomk called 'the judge' - he had one eye only but would eat anything if wrapped in cheese paper, a handy garbage disposable unit - so if he was not needed for work they could ride him - otherwise they walked. It was several miles but they did not seem to mind. If he got loose in el Tuito however he made it his duty to visit as many mares as he could - his virility was amazing he made all the mules. So the boys had him secured by La Caroma - one of the twol old ladies who ran the 'fonda' - they had worked as cooks for the minors when there was a silvermine - oh my they were a pain - I could listen to their stories forever and Mexico is like that - take time out - get in the hammock - drink something and chat. Whole days seemed to pass delightfully in this manor, Tom seemed quite happy and was only drinking moderately, he would work around the place - eat the beans at mid-day and into the hammock until the horses let us (for we all did the same) know they were lonely and wanted to run. So up and away either to El Tuito or to the cliff villiages which were somewhere up north maybe - I was never sure of direction up there. These were amazing - smaller than the metropolis caves in Arizona but neat - Tom had repared one house using bits from others and we stayed there a few times in the remnants of the ancient feilds Tom grew a few peppers and so forth. I sprouted some good weed seeds but a cow used the tiny patch to lay a layer of the best fertiliser ever but they were too young to survive and were squashed. So our days passed and Alex left - then it was Chaparitos turn. We three were alone.





This did not work. As we sat one day beside the stream a black watersnake lazed past. Oh - well I knew then that something was about to change and it did. Tom, always blunt even when lying - told me he was sorry but he had come to the conclusion that he could only live with his horse - maybe a dog. Oh Jason could stay. Just you. I went to Guadalahara and a short magical trip down the coast from Tepic to Sam Juan. The magical valley of the wichole. They are tiny and twinkly. They take in the emperors of the plant kingdom and their hearts are pure in consequence. I loved it and the crumbling old stucco houses at the seaside. Oh yes my little 'trial seperation' had been happy. Not so Jason. Landing I grabbed a horse from the yarno and rode to school. Jason jumped up behind me and away we went. There was a big rock about halfway and we stopped for water. He told me that Tom was cruel and if we were not staying together he wanted to come with me. So you shall son. I had paid Toms debts, bought him a silk 'matrimonio' hammock (the best) and I figured I had dome my best. It began to rain and one day on Toms old gelding the chairman (who did not like me) I saw Jason and I riding him alongside - doppelganger or reflexion - that was ot. We went down the river Tuito from source to the sea. Lovely two day ride - full or orchids and rich smells - the river always at our side - bright birds and more of those white napkins butterflies.
Our destination was Yalapa - full of Americans and a major film being shot in the next valley. Toms house had been occupied by two rich americans who had put in bathrooms and patios - here in a way, was the 'finca' so I gave the 'lady of the house' the staffs when I left. They were very social and big time climbers. Toms revenge was to gallop the Chairman round her dinner table scattering floor pebbles everywhere alarming her film star guests. The film the night of the Iguana had R.Burton with E.Taylor queening it in Puerto Vallanta. So you can imagine her conservation as hostess with mostest image floated away. Tom made her give me a house next door which was alright and introduced me to a few of the older inhabitatnts - like old Tom. He had been a rich man in New Orleans who one day just gave the entire business to his wife and took off to Mexico. He was a fine figure of a man who used to dive into the river every morning from a big grey rock which grew out of the sand which the Tuito built up and up until woosh, it all tumbled into the sea. It was a bad place, though but some jolly people came - they worked for a folk singer called Bob Dillon - who I had never heard of. Tom Law was his road manager and there were others plus Peter Yarrow who sang with Paul and Mary. We sang old Appalachian songs that Gamel had taught me and had lots of fun - but long rides were not possible and Mr Polly was getting bored - so was I and the scorpion problem was outrageous. Tom had said he would come down for birthday and Christmas but he missed all three and I found the dry tail of a scorpion in my bed.
Alex arrived carrying a black iron teapot from japan and said he was F.Christmas. Peter kept saying why don't you go back to the states - you will be a wow and Jason a big star. Well why not, and we sent Mr Polly back to El Tuito and got Jason a fresh American passport in Guadalahara and from there - over the tumultious border at Tiuwana - pretty easy then though. Bus to San Diafo where Jason said excitedly 'this is where 'THE TOURISTS' come from' and yes they looked alike. These folk had been his bread and butter in Tangiers so he was happy, always the opportunist then. Another bus and we rode over Los Angeles wondering at the amount of electricity, each little corner like Piccadilly Circus. On and on and then early in the morning we arrived in San Francisco in 1965 and walked uphill to Alamo Park and the Russian Embassy where Alex was waiting for us.

birth of the Sun King. by hetty

Happy new year to all!

This blog designed by Hetty MacLise and Helen Nicholas

With thanks to Will and Jenn ...






Yuletide song - birth of the Sun King
May the long time sun shine on you, all love surround you, and the clear light within you shine your way on

Hello friends, we are so sorry for the delay in our story, but... It is time for the seaside, and now that is over. Here is a poem i wrote about it;

Oh the beauty of the seasons
As we follow them
the seaweed rtail
the rock pool
full
of treasured pebbles
time to go home
empty now the seashore
rock pools no more
wind in clear sky
is the song if a wise man
who will
write my story in the
autumn mist.
Mule winter brown
back to town,
the wolf howls
the dog fox barks
at night times door,
but it is locked
and they have gone.
Spring will come, sure
the green mans
paint brush out again.
After winters logs burn
then comes the great turn
and summer comes again.
So i sing a song of seasons
with sand in my shoes

When I was one I was just begun...

When I was one I was just begun
When I was two I nearly new
When I was three I was nearly me
When I was four I was that much more
When I was five I was just alive
Now that I am six I'm as clever as clever
I think I'll stay six for ever and ever.
A.A.Milne



Had the world stayed the same as it was when I was six - well it didn't, so I had to hop out of a Golsworthy life into the wide open spaces of a totally changed environment.
No more does the muffin man ring his bell on a Sunday afternoon, no more do the days pass in secure stateliness with a fat cook whose cream buns delighted, and a charming butler secretly donating coffee sugar as he cleaned the silver. Queens Gate, where I came into this life early on a June morning, is now chopped up by developers. The house I was born in was destroyed by the only V2 which dropped on South Kensington and only a dip in the kerb shows where it stood. A large glass building towers there instead. My father had an uncanny foreknowledge which no doubt aided his ability as the broker for Royal Dutch Oil and Shell Mex - this made him move out all the furniture, much to my mothers amazement because during the bombing of London he refused to go to a shelter, declaring that he would prefer to die in his own bed. So they dressed for dinner and ate with plaster falling in the soup.



My girl friends at the Canberwell all considered being a virgin was a handicap, I had never really considered it at all, but joining in was of paramount importance so I set about it. Not very difficult in the pub society. From Wheatsheaf to Black Horse only a step or two apart in Rathbone Place north Soho. All the bohemians were there en masse and when a typographer called Anthony Froshaugh accosted me his craggy profile printed north west and up to Hampstead they repaired. He was very modern in style - typographically that it - never a capital letter besmirched his letter headings - lower case for him all the way. I'll say, he was for sure a case! I had very little idea of what was to occur but I had not reckoned with his musical tastes. In the corner among the letter press mess was a large horned gramophone which played seventy eight seconds with a special green wooden needle, which had to be clipped after each side - this was no ancient heirloom, oh no, it was for perfect sound. That may very well be, but seventy eight seconds only played for a short time and the needle clipping etc took ages - he chose Bachs fifth Brandenbury concerto as a fitting deflowering accompaniment and repeatedly leapt up to change the second. In my innocence I wondered if this was what always happened and did not think so much of it. This the event of song and stary - the prize - the guarded secret etc etc.



Next morning he dashed away to produce more lower case masterpieces and locked me into his flat. All I had to look at was as unkept garden and highbrow books with of course the great horn and the letter press. Having very long hair I beguiled the long weary hours by weaving it in tiny plaits all over my head until I looked like Milly Molly Mandy.



When he returned he did not like it. 'What have you done' he roared and and I escaped through the now open door. I can't hear that particular brandenburg without a smile - but the deed was done as I proudly announced to Judith. Erica and Sandy on the number twelve bus to Peckham Rye.



The very next excursion was with a writer called Peter Vomsittant who taught at what must have been a very progressive school because there was a tombstone propped up in the cobwell festooned hall and the loo was approached by a hole knocked in a brick wall and a crowded box room. He had a fit - possibly epileptic or maybe exhibitionist because as I rushed for the door he leapt out of it and chased me quite a long way - I began to feel nervous of sex as a whole and was glad to meet a very talented painter of my age in my class who was names after a famous jockey who won a race and some money for his father on the day of his birth - Gordon Richards known only as Rick. Where are you now?
Where has the time gone?

Now we are at Art school,













So here we all were. Wally and Sandy, Glynn and Hetty, Booie and Erica, Judith, Joanna, And Billy. My dear Aunty who helped me, and many others to come.

Now is the flip time to fold the fondhoo of name dropping - well rather spiggin awful not too - so many people milling around then - so celeb without being so. Dancing to Humph & Wally who married Sally.

Then there was Lux who made love to me on a ledge in the crumbling facade of St Annes church high above Dean street - gone now our airy gambollings cloud memories.
I was friends with two Robert painters who loved each other and I made them tea in a cosy brown pot and slept in the bath in prickly pink pyjamas brcause I was a Celt they said. They were designing a ballet set and a famous dancer came to see the model - but alas the brown teapot got thrown at it and it was demolished - so sad for it had been beautiful. People threw things alot and there was often a pile of broken bottles in the window - chain whirling was a favourite of one lady painter - it did not do to stand too close, no - cover in the corner - it was to with alcohol you see - oceans of it in the form of beer were drunk - it was the thing to do! However I moved on by accident to the fab club world.
Perhaps Dylan Thomas set the tone but he was not the only one!


Its back already...



At about this time I was introduced to the best art school I was lucky enough to encounter. Run by Sir Cedric Morris and Arthur Lett-Haines who we called 'our farver which art at Benton End.' This was a tudor farm house outside Hadley in the magical stour valley much loved by John Constalle, It was bright pink with blue windows and doors - had 42 cats outside and just the most delicious food cooked by Lett. Cedric was a wonderful teacher, made one make the canvas stretchers and stretch something I was not good at - grind our own paints and WOW, how to use colour - after the dull tones of the Euston Road Group it was a rainbow romp. He also bred Iris and people came from all over to visit the wonderful garden - white rasberries were my favourites.



I also made a very good friend there called Joanna Carrington. We shared a room in the attics and swallows nested in the ceiling. Sometimes we painted the same picture - she would do landscape and I figures and vice versa. We were not supposed to paint in the room but secretly had to because elderly psycoanalists would come and paint excrusiatingly badly and study us.



They had a theory that painters held the key to most psychuc disorders - in other
words if we did not paint we would be nuts. Fine. Cedric urged Jo and I who were young girls and therefore special studies to tell them lurid dreams - so we did.



Cedric had a spiny sausaged shaped cactus which was called the 'widows consolation' so we inserted that alot. I am happy to say that we pleased our teacher - he was the best and so funny - he was welsh. Many famous people came to lunch, I especially remember Edith Sitwell who came with her brother. I was mesmorised by the giant jewelled cross which adorned her chest and after lunch she taught me how to recite Facade to an old 78 record of the music.



Jo and I played Jacks endlessly and painted away until the day when we stepped onto tubes of prussian blue and alizarian crimson and quaintly walked them all over the house - but Cedric liked the effect. Lett used to cut peoples names out of country fair posters and paste them on the wall of the downstairs lav, which was an old fashioned blue and white china one called the Royal Flush.



I spent every summer there for several years and what this suffolk is - one young may moon I wondered wide awake in a misty landscape of rounded busoomy hills has remained with me forever - I am always painting those hills.
My life now took on a triple strand - because I was commisioned to draw at a new phenomenon - a dance hall in the Tottenham Court Road - I duly went there and the music floored me - I was used to blues and dixyland jazz, but this - and those dancers - the sinuous grace and fancy footwork - this was real dancing. I look at the band and the bas player caught my eye - it is said that love at first sight does not exist outside Barbara Cartland - but it happened to me then and there. Wow - how to meet him? A young man asked me to dance and it was such fun. We exchanged names his was Sully king and I asked him if he knew the band - oh yes he did and that they played at a rehersal room in Windmill street. "Max's" basement under a snooker hall which was below a boxing gym. Right across the tiny street was the famous windmill which never closed. What a cast I found myself a part of, and believe me I wanted to ve part of it - so that was one strand. Another was the artist bohemia of Dean street. The people I knew from both camps I kept firmly apart - and although only two little Soho streets were between them they did not spill over. The third strand stemmed from the world of my poor bewildered parents and my earliest boy friend Pim Van Limborg Stirum - I think we were supposed to marry and it would not have been a bad thing - he was very handsome - gay and witty - Stowe educated and probably destined for the dutch diplomatic service or Shellmex the 'family' business - BUT and it was a big one - I was really in love Lennie Bush - Ronnie Scoots bass player. Even now I still am - funny that even though I loved Angus finally as the great one - that first love has always lingered.

And so i went merrily on climbing around in the branches of these three trees. The artists went on drinking and the jazz musicians went on smoiking weed - well not all of them. Ronnie never smoked anything so far as I knew and so they drank also but differently. It was all such fun - dancing, etching, being young.
Then Lennie and I broke up - he was no longer there for me, he was elsewhere. I missed him and my Father died and my Mother drank and wrote reams of automatic writing and alarmed me by shouting at some demon to "leave my daughter leave her I say" with finger pointing dramatically, OUCH.



I returned to my home in Hampstead and went on etching and doing art work for Weidenfelt and Nicholson. One day I met a very funny, snappily dressed young man who lived nearby, he had a job whcih gave him a bit of free time as he was head of Kodak research lab. He set a task and only had to check on the result from time to time. This gave us plenty of time together. We kept bees with his sister and her husband who was a picture restorer and lived in an old house in the Barnes - the walls smothered in pre-raphaelite drawings. I married this man. Whose name was Peter Burton. Murry Melville was his best man - Murry had also been a friend of mine whom I got into extra work with for the Festival Ballet in Petrovska which was wonderful - then he was in a film with Rita Tushingham a Taste of Honey it was and very very good - a dramatic theme for those tight days. Naturally, I married Peter to Lennie and he married me to get a government job so naturally it could not work, and after a very lonely time only enlivened by Phil Seaman, a jazz drummer who would take Mescalin with me usually in Brighton or the Battersea fun fair where once they stopped the wheel with us at the top - our little gondoten turned upside down and all his money fell out of his pocket and slid sidewats sickeningly - on Muscalin this was not funny - Peter and I had taken it for the first time in Windsor without reading Huxleys Dooors of Reception - so we did not know what to expect - well it really was a surprise when Windsor castle looked like a cuckoo clock.
I went around like a fervert evangelist urging people not to drink but to take Mescalin and smoke pot!!! There was a strange group trip arranged by a theatre producer, Ken Tynan, an actor called Digby and me. Ken tried to write and thereby harnessed himself. I floated freely away to join others in Chelsea who were beginning to enjoy this new feeling of togetherness.
Alas I had to run from poor Peter and lucky me a friend, dear Annie Ross who sang like a lark, gave me a room in her little Soho flat. I was back in London but not happy, Lennie had tried and failed and he married suddenly but I was in Paris - I had really flown the coop and had taken up the post of 'massier' - dogs body to youy dear readers in the etching studio of William Hayter. He was very inspiring and I also attended Zudkin, the sculptor for drawing and lived in the Dome with Fuchs, an amazing artist, or in the club st Germain where I met a funny little man who was a total mystery. Friend of an American trumpet player friend of Chet Baker -



- he showed up out of nowhere and all the girls fell for him - but he chose me and wondering round the banks of the scene he asked if I would like to go round the world with him, yes please - as the fermature anuelle (Aug 1st) was coming up and I was tired suddenly of the Rue Moufflard and les clochands etc even sleeping in Prousts room in the Hotel D'Alsaie Lorraine, well Celest Alebouret was the 'conceige' and told me it was his, the wall paper haunts me still. Red roses on a dusty pink background. Tom and I moved to a marvellous old place on the rue st.Jaques where a King of England had died next to the 'schola canterum' where Nadia Boulanger taught and we often passed her in the back garden and listened at night to wonderful concerts. Tom and I won a competition and with this money we started on our travels.

Travelling in 1957 was pretty easy once one learned how to deal with boarder police. A game of chess was one way that Tom tried with a bandit like one - a vast black walrous moustache - belt bristtleing with weapons and a bandoleer to match - all this topped off wiht a New York policemans hat in brown leather.


Oh yes. There were boats everywhere big and small. She could sleep on deck, suddenly asphixicated by black funnel smoke when the wind changed. The youth hostels in old castles as in Trieste and split. We often stayed a few weekns in one place waiting for money to catch up. Greece was far away the happiest, we stayed at a mais on du passe called the Hotel Patris in Tzamadou street, back of the old Agara in Pireaus which was run by the Mangas - the hashish smoking bums, who have wonderful special songs. They, with their electric brown suits, H.Bogarthats and gleaming white smiles were enchanting hosts. Post was slow in those days so one skint time I went to work in a quay side bar called the John Bull - where I said 'making whoopee' and 'lets do it' with a Bazooki band - this was fun although their rhythms are not quite ours but the sailors liked it - they mostly were Americans and of course I had to drink as well as sing. For this I had to pretend to be American to please my boss - tricky as I had never been stateside but I put on a weird and would run over to Tom who would sit with the Mangas line up - my body guards - and I would whisper to him "what is Ponchatrain" - "a large lake outside New Orleans picnics boats for hire etc" O.k and back to the boys - they must have liked me because they named me the mascot of the Forestall a huge boat - an aircraft carrier in fact.
I was amused by this because in the British Navy mascots are usually animals like donkeys or goats.

I wondered which I was but it never came up, all I got was a cup of weak coffee and a brisk walk round a tiny bit of her. The following week we went aboard a British ship and had a lovely boozy party. What a difference.

We moved on to Turkey - Istanbul - where I thought it would be warm but it was freezing. We found an old hotel in Beerzit, by the old bazaar which was a magical place - but the Blue Mosque was the best, being warm and the womens gallery 'cosy with cushions.' I used to read all day there.


We had made friends with the money changers in the county, and the real guardians. It was funny because Tom tried to cheat the main guy - I was horrified because I thought it would all be over, but no he was amazed at Toms bottle and admired him for trying it on. This was good because the exchange was mad - legal at the bank $1 was worth 6 Lira - at the American Express 8 - and so Tom would change travellers cheques for 10 in the bazaar and take them to the jew at the Blue Mosque and get 17 0 heigh ho. He wasn't a jew by the way but just said he was - good for business - he was a messarae caller actually. Trying to get warm we tried the Sounth - Antalia was very trying for me - men fell off their bikes in the road and I seriously wondered what it would be like if I were blonde.
Quite suddenlu I was pregnant and wanting Mummy and the National Health. Tom did not fancy my giving birth in the Syria desert and agreed to head for island home. Ah those cosy dreams - they did not occur because my Mother took a dislike to Tom on the doorstep - he had grown a beard during our travels and Mum declared that she did not like them. Nothing appeased her and we moved to Suffolk - to dear little Boxford where we shared a cottage with Sally Duxbury and Bobby Hunt, art school friends. She had bought the old smithy and we spent a happy summer transforming the forge into an etching studio, and my pregnancy continued.



Mummy sent over a ton of crabapples and Sally and I started to make jelly - but alas I could not finish it - Jason was on his way. Tom was shoo'd away and I was left alone on a high bed - I had my one and only out of body experience - suddenly 'I' was on the coiling looking down on this exasperated girl on the bed with her foot on the wall bell. An elderly nurse came - said 'bearing down nicely' and left. I knew I was in second stage labour and asked that my Doctor was called. She went away and did not return until I screamed - then she made me walk to the delivery room. I held on literally by this time I thought that the baby was going to drop onto his head on the floor - but I got there, she strapped me to the delivery table, and produced a bowl of cornflakes and made me eat it. I howled and the staff rushed on duty and in a great flurry of tapes thrown aside Jason was born. I always seem to attract these nutters; for the elderly nurse was just succumbing to a nervous breakdown and retired, Ho Hum!
Never mind - then comfy days in bed. In hospital in those days the only excercise - lying on your tummy for an hour at mid-day - oh and feeding the baby - they did all the cleaning - the National Health was good in those days. Home to the little cottage and the district nurse on her bike every day - so secure we were.
We also had a skiffle band which our Vicar, the Rev.Bird was enthusiastically conducting. Bobby was on trumpet - Oscar on trombone and Hetty on bathtub/broomstick bass, plus 26 banjos - where on earth did they come from in the heart of silly-Suffolk. The Rev.Bird wanted us to walk in muscial New Orleans style to the church but I demurred - it was freezing.




We actually got tired of freezing - no electricity - can become dark and difficult with a small baby so we decamped to London where we babysat a house in Mayfair just behind where the oh so big US Embassy is now - small, georgian and warm. I went back to the central and did several big etchings.




Toms health was not good - he had a plate in his head which did not expand and contract with his skull = ouch - got it on Omaha Beach.



So - Joanna suggested Spain -
- warm - cheap and this writer whom she knew and his wife had a house there - she thought we had met briefly before through Boris Anrep. So away again - how little did I know that this journey on the big steamer would lead to such immeasurable joy.

Alas everything chnaged very suddenly. On arrival in Spain Tom went straight to the first chemist and bought right over the counter for cash in hand mornphine - yea - in little bottles - I was so horrified I went to the chemist for a showdown - I had maybe two/three words of spanish but I marched in and begged him not to sell it to my husband "why he has the money we well" he replied, I pointed dramatically to the church across the square and denouned him "you wil go to hell" and marched out. This little drama helped but everything fell with volcanic suddeness. Tom was mostly on the bathroom floor with the door locked and suddenly there was no money - not even the thousand pesetas I had hidden in my fathers photograph - yes I had bought all the household clutter our little early thirstys can could hold. A thirteen year old girl Tom )who spoke spanish) had engaged was stealing I knew - but - speachless in spain...
I went to bed and stayed there.
It is called a breakdown.
Weird.
This is hard to write or even remember - just nothing. Tom plonked me into the hospital in Gibraltar and Jason with a sheperd and his wife with 50 pesetas and 'I'll be back in two days - bye bye.' I sat and cried.
One day a car crashed american lady came in very noisily - it woke me up and I spoke fot the first time and it all spewed out.
Vomiting sour miserable truths is sometimes a relief, also I had no idea what would happen to me next. No baby - no husband - no money, and definately no mummy.
I did not have to wait too long for rescue, beloved Gerald Brenan came and took change - just why I have never ceased to wonder at - the very writer Jo had inged me to meet was here.
We found Jason just before he was about to be baptised catholic. He then took me to the walled safety of his beautiful house and I met his exquisite wife. What a listener she was - how totally accepting they were - it did not take long before a few threads binding the past with the present unravelled and more - plaited together to make the loving bonds which wound round the three of us like the fraignance family vine. Thus began the next six years of my life.

Prologue

The Tibetan Buddhists have a charming story about several men standing in different positions round a lake in which the full moon is reflected. One man says it looks like a poached egg, another declares that it looks like a silver dollar, yet another something different again.
Each one had a separate and disparate view of the reflection. Of course he did; he was looking at it from a different perspective. All were looking at the reflection ignoring the moon itself shining away in the sky, beautiful luminosity - quite probably they would have had differing views of that as well.
This is an example of how people differ in what they see. Think of the Japanese film Rashamon which illustrates the varying views of several people witnessing the same accident. Hence this book can only be Hetty's view, after all she has no other - so some people will argue 'It was not like that at all'. For which she can only apologise.

Namtar of the Wee Lama Boy

The story begins with a visit I made to the Hopi land in Arizona, in 1966, with my friend Chesley Milikin. He had come to America from England to be Master of the Hunt somewhere on the east coast, and he couldn't stand that, so he went to work for the Indian Land and Life Commission. He wanted to tell the Hopis that they'd found a lawyer in Los Angeles who was prepared to go to Washington for no pay, to fight the Omnibus Bill (which he called the Ominous Bill) before it got slipped through Congress. Which was going to take away certain Northern Indian's fishing rights and the Hopi's land, which is a complete desert. I can't imagine how anyone would want it unless there are some heavy deposits of something there. The Hopi's themselves say they are sitting on the power of Tuwakwachi, which is their name for America. This is also the place they call the heart of the mother. They live a completely pure life and they stick to their trip. Anyway, the plan was eventually thwarted by this lawyer. Good for him.
When we arrived there we, walked into the middle of a great big meeting where they had this corn bag, If you're holding that bag, no one can interrupt you. The meeting went on and on all day and then at some point they said that we were "Heralds of the Purifier." I asked Chesley where his trumpet was, because it seemed rather ridiculous. It was ten years later that I learned they consider the Purifier to be the Gyalwa Karmapa.
I was getting together an issue of the Oracle, a well-known San Francisco underground newspaper, which was to be devoted to American Indians, so I was collecting allot of "Indiana" from various places, which was one of the reasons I wanted to go with Chesley to see the Hopi. They led me to this great rock on which petroglyphs were drawn and I was allowed to make a rubbing of them for the Oracle, which was very difficult because there was a high wind and I only had a little drawing book and some wax crayons, so i had to tape it all together. One of the Hopi's, John Lancer, was standing there with a lamb under his arm, it was very biblical. And some kind of odd things happened there. I was thirsty when we arrived in Oraibi and his wife gave me some water out of a jug. It was like a two minute acid trip, it was really strange. There must be something in the water.







Etching by Hetty MacLise.

Dan Kachungva, another Hopi, who's supposed to have been 133 at that time, took me out into the desert and things got rather peculiar. I began to be a little afraid. They asked me several times where was my other son. I had taken my only child, Jason, with me. I kept telling them there was no other son and they were looking rather perplexed. Then they started off about this Hopi prophecy about the purifier. They showed him to me on the rock, amongst these petroglyphs. It shows a line going all the way around the rock, which is huge, and that's the path of the Great spirit, which goes on and on. Another line comes up from the bottom of the rock, which has a circle with a cross on the top side of it. It's got a slash through it, to say "You don't take anything from this man who comes with the cross. You don't take his women, his water or his words." And there's the Great spirit, a stick figure holding two long poles.
Above it is a box with three wheels on top and they say these are the three great rumblings on the earth. After the box comes a crooked line going up and that marks Purification. The Great spirit appears again, with two poles. And there's a figure, the Purifier, with a kind of mushroom shaped hat on his head , with his hands out, holding what looks like rough diamond. maybe a dorje, above and below each hand. The hat was the vague shape of Gampopa's meditation hat. It shows him with the Great spirit and a water bowl which has rain clouds painted on it, and a corn plant; meaning peace and plenty.
They said that the path of the Purifier was identical with the path of the Great spirit, and the Purifier would come wearing a red hat, a red cloak, bringing a red God and that he would make rain. They said they would try to trick him to find out if he was the Purifier. They would tell him that they hadn't had any rain. They never have any rain. And he would make rain because he felt sorry for them. They said he would come from either east or the west. Now, this is what confused me completely. If he came from the west he would be merciful. If he came from the east, "get up on you houses for he would have mercy for no one." Well, when Karmapa arrived ten years later, he came from the west. He approached the mesa from Tuba city. That's all the west and the east business meant. With the Hopi, it's all right next door, right on front of them. They didn't mean from China or Russia. I thought they meant the Communists were coming, with all this red and east and west, and they mentioned something about me joining his tribe. I thought that was very unlikely, i would never become a communist, although stranger things have happened.



Anyway, that was that. We left and I did the Indian Oracle issue and put the petroglyph in and the Hopi prophecy and the years rolled on. They told me that there would be some space of time between our arrival and the arrival of the Purifier and then another somewhat equal space of time between the time of the Purifier arriving and the day of Purification. They said if you followed the path of the Purifier, which was the same as the Great spirit, you would be okay on the day of Purification. Otherwise, you might not be and it rather looked like the way this line was carved, all zig-zags ending nowhere, quite a nasty mess. I thought hopefully I might be connected up, it didn't sound like bad thing. I forgot all about it, it was tucked away in the niches of my mind along with all the other memorabilia, but never brought to the surface until ten years later.



I remained in San Francisco for the next five years, playing at the Paper doing what i loved, to colour and shape pages such as never had happened before on newsprint. I even squeezed colour onto the press over a split font - it meant that no two issues were the same colour wise. Then Angus entered my life one Christmas eve quite dramatically - bursting through my door begging for sanctuary. Heavens above - well it was Christmas! I let him stay in Jason's room; who had gone to Kesey's ranch and i was without him for Christmas and felt very lonely. I did not take long for me to discover that i had gone and done something I had stubbornly refused to do - after two failed marriages it surprised me but, here was the love of my life, and when we were joined at a charming surprise ceremony in the park and everything else fell apart. We left and went to New York City, his spiritual home, and when to stay with out mutual friend Ira Cohen, at his magical loft.







Photo's by Ira Cohen.

Ossian was conceived about a week later. I remember, when I was about two months pregnant, still in that loft, sitting in a rocking chair looking out at the East River, and I felt the baby start to kick. I thought, "No, this is impossible, two months is too young. I must have terrific wind today." I had this thing about playing one record over and over, which happened to be Tibetan music. I had never heard any before and Ira had these albums put out by UNESCO or something, all different countries, and there were two Tibetan ones and this one had a picture of a gompa on the front and I'd never seen a Tibetan gompa. There was one little band, which i now recognize as the drum part of the Mahakala puja. I'm sitting in this rocking chair and suddenly I feel this thing inside me going boom, boom, boom, in time to the record. No baby does this at two months, but it did, every time. I was obsessed with playing this record and in the end, the people who lived with us in that loft asked me to stop. So I'd wait till they went out, and I'd deliberately stay home so that i could put the record on. I thought it was a pregnancy trip, like wanting to eat all those weird things, but this was not for food, but for this music.
You should hear Ossian play drum now, he's a great drum player. I don't know if the previous was a drummer. I think before he was a painter. I've seen thankas painted by him, they have little blue rabbits behind figures like Milarepa. And apparently he was very funny, he was always joking. But he could be very heavy, too.



Now, none of the signs were noted, because we always had a rationale. We knew nothing about Tibetan tulkus, nothing about signs. We'd heard of the Dalai Lama, and I had some connection with Tibet because an uncle of mine had tried to get there when he was young, but failed. We then moved to Massachusets to live with Benno Friedman in this lovely house that his mother had left him, full of marvelous antiques. I was much more pregnant by this time; I was getting really huge. I was also working in the movie, 'Alice's Restaurant.' One day, I'd come home from shooting in the snow, the day we'd shot the funeral scene. I was cold, so I was in this enormous bathtub and you know how when you're sun burnt and you touch your arm, how it goes white? I was nice and warm, a little bit pink, only the top of my tummy stuck out of the water, and something white appeared on my stomach and I called "Angus, come have a look at his, something's appeared on my tummy." Now Angus was heavily into glyph of any kind and he came over and shouted "Glyph!" and he got a piece of paper and copied them, and I remember the figures. The first time I was reading Tibetan, with my teacher, Lama Sonam Gyalwa, I had a Karmapa prayer and I remember sounding out K-A-R-M-A. I stopped and realized that was it, that was what i could see, definitely, no doubt.



Those were things that happened while I was pregnant.



When he was born at, seven months, feet first, he was turned around by the doctor three times, and three times he turned himself back again. They were giving me alcohol drips to close me up. When the time came to go to the Great Barrington Hospital, which was the best around, it was weird, because I didn't feel ready. But a week later at 3:00 a.m. he put his foot through the water bag and at 3:36 .a.m. he came out feet first, a nice dry breach birth. As he appeared, the very first snow began to fall and that is the snow that stays in Massachusets; it starts with small flakes coming in the direction of down, There was a window that looked out over the fields, the sun was low, it was shining in; and then a round, a completely round rainbow appeared in the window. Everybody who was helping to deliver the baby, which was quite a number by this time, saw it too and said "Oh, how lucky for the baby." Of course, I, having to have a rationale for everything, thought that the sun was very low and was hitting the snow, making a prismatic effect.
Ossian did not look like the other 'preemies.' They put him in a room by himself and I thought he was dying. He was in a special kind of incubator, but they said nothing was wrong. He wasn't jaundiced, in fact he was perfect. He was fat, like a rubber dolly, lying there. He didn't look tiny, though he only weighed three pounds. He was all fat and he looked like he'd been lying in the sun, tanned, with jet black hair standing straight up, about two inches of it, and his eyes were wide open and black. As they wheeled him past me, he gave me such a look; I was fixed by those eyes.



Photo By Ira Cohen.

Then a very funny thing happened. His room was opposite mine and I heard this terrible fan-tan going on. There was a very starchy ward sister of whom I was rather afraid and there was this little lady who swept the floor whom i liked. Suddenly I heard this sister going off, screaming "What do you mean by doing this?" There was a big glass trolley with dressings and swabs and bottles of this and that, and she said "This bottle was filled with distilled water. What's happening in this hospital? The discipline is going down the drain. Why is it full of milk?" I started giggling, it was kind of funny. The other lady said "I don't know nothing about it." The sister said "I want to clean the preemies eyes and ears, so get me another bottle." Now, that was the tulku's milk. Ossian tells me he should have had that milk, but he was on special formula. It was thrown out because American hospitals don't know anything about tulku milk either! But I remember something came over me when I heard that conversation and I giggled hysterically.



Etching by Hetty MacLise.

We had to leave him at the hospital and I kept going back to visit him. Finally the great day came and we brought him home to Benno's house, which was run on a trust. His mother left him money, she was a big antique dealer, so this mant that a truck would drive up and a lawn mower would now mow the lawn, the oil man would see to the boiler, oil it and fix it. We never had to see to anything. Logs were delivered, the gas bottles were always put outside the kitchen and taken away by some man from Great Barrington, everything was paid for by the solicitors, even Benno didn't have to sign anything. So, the house ran like magic. There was a thick snow by the time we got home. The Christmas tree was up. We didn't have him home for Christmas, but I showed him the tree and he was there for New Year. I remember, Angus threw five very precious chyrstal glasses over his shoulder into the fireplace, toasting his son. I had been very nervous about bringing him home. He'd had to stay in that hospital till he weighed six pounds and the district nurse said she would come every day to check up on him. He had to be kept at a temperature of 78 degrees and the house was always heated up at 68 degrees, so we had this beautiful embroidered Chinese screen and an old rocking cradle of Benno's and an electric fire in our bedroom. I had to feed him every two hours with formula. I was planning all these things and had everything organized and the minute I stepped over the threshold woth Ossian in my arms, the gas failed. No more gas, nobody could understand it. We started to use the electric heaters and a hot plate to warm the bottles, and then the electricity went. There was a little dial on the wall of the kitchen and it started to go down. We went down to the celler and all peered at the boiler; nobody knew what to do, it had gone off. The whole house was blown out. So we were reduced to fire. Only fire. I don't think man has discovered anything greater than fire. We lit a huge fire in the drawing room; we put him in front of the fire. We put the Chinese screen around the fire. I was heating up these bottles in a pan over the fire. We were completely reduced to the simplest simplicity. He did that. That was his first action on coming home; he blew the house out.



Photo By Benno Friedman.

After Ossian's birth, Angus came down with an extrordinary coma. Nobody could understand how he got it. He was put in Bellview Hospital where they took all his white blood cells and changed them. He had a vision where he thought he was in a big landscape with great giants and enormous tigers and great hunters. He was brought out of this and we went to the Albert Hotel, in the Village, and Angus recovered there. Strangely enough, that's where his mother met his father. His mother was rather intrepi; she was a lady who had decided to be a reporter and she was on her way to report something in Mexico. The father was Eugene O'Neil's general factotum, secretary, at that time.



Angus had gone down to New York from Benno's because he had to do a concert. (Twice he'd been dragged off the stage at the Filmore East thinking I was about to give birth. He was doing this concert with John Cale and they were also going to do some tapping with the Velvet Underground; there was a record in the air.) Anyway, he'd gone back to New York after Ossian came home and shortly after that I got a phone call from a friend saying I should get down to New York immediately because Angus was very ill. Ossian had been given the go-ahead by the doctor to be able to go anywhere by this time. So we bundled him into this cardboard box packed with cushions and Benno drove from Great Barrington to New York in under two hours. We arrived to find Angus in Bellview and I left Ossian with Benno and this nice girl called Irene Nolan, in the very ritzy apartment of this beautiful looking girl called Paula Pritchit, who had been in some film of Conrad Rooks'. I left Ossian with them in her beautiful studio in the Village and went across to Bellview to see what on earth was happening to poor Angus.I think Ossian performed a miracle there, because we had always wanted Benno to have a nice lady; he was always bringing home these photographic models, who were kind of useless. He was such a nice guy and the house was so beautiful, it really needed a lady. And blow me down if they didn't fall in love over Ossian, as they were babysitting him that night. Irene had been a girlfriend of Piero Heliczer in the early days, so it's all tied up with the Andy Warhol crowd, Edie Sedgewick, that lot.



Photo by Billy Linich. (Collection: Malanga)



Photo by Donald Greenhaus.

For the next 2 or 3 weeks I went back and forth from the village to Bellview and then we were in the Albert Hotel where Angus started to recover. We were there about two months and Ossian got his name there. He was named Ossian Kennard MacLise. Kennard was Angus' father's name, an old family name.
We then moved to a marvelous loft. It wasn;t in a very good situation, but it was absolutely wonderful. Right down in the lowest of the Lower East side. I was working for the East Village Other, it was their loft. Ossian hated going out on the streets of New York. He never cried when he was a baby, but he used to get rigid if we took him out, so we decided it might be best not to. We made a large area in one window with plants and it got plenty of sun, so it was like a garden, with lots of light and air. We bought a huge old fashioned perambulator, a marvelous thing, all champagne figured velvet and wicker work. I used to attach balloons that float, hydrogen balloons , and those whirly things, all around the edge of the perambulator and we'd wheel him out in this. He was really quite happy in the pram, beacause he couldn't see out.



Photo by Gerard Malanga.

The summer of Woodstock was his first summer. We spent that whole summer back in Great Barrington. I used to go back to New York on the weekend to help paste up for the East Village Other. We didn't take him to Woodstock, we went there and helped set it up and pull it down too, but we left him with Angus' mother. I was quite busy entertaining without looking after a little baby. He used to sit in a little bowl of water and splash until the water was all over. He was always surrounded with butterflies that summer.




Photo by Don Snyder.

At the end of the summer we went back to New York and it was rather ghastly. I began to feel as though I couldn't take it any more, and then we moved to Canada. A friend of ours had bought a place on Hornby Island, which she called 'the Shire.' It was really a curious place. In the end, we couldn't stand it; Angus left and then I left. It got too much, there were visitations and communal dreams and everybody saw things that weren't there and it began to get quite weird. The Native Americans used to say it was a sacred place; they would go there to pray but they never lived there. It had everything, even oyster beds, it was incredible.



Ossian disappeared twice when he was a baby, and the first time was at 'the Shire.' H e was alone in his room in the Bunk House, and Jason was at home in bed with a cold. I was out getting bark off the trees for the stove, 'squaw wood,' and Ann (the girl who had bought the place) was doing something in the kitchen. I used to put the wooden latch down on the door because we had this huge dog who was always getting on my bed with his muddy paws, so it was like a automatic thing that I would go out and put the latch on the door. So i'd locked the two children in the room without really thinking of it. Now, Jason was in my bed, all tucked up, and Ossian was at the foot playing with toys. According to Jason, he suddenly disappeared. Jason became
absolutely terrified and there was nowhere in the room where he could have hidden. No cupboards, Jason looked under the sofa, and his thought was that I would be very angry with him, that he'd lost the baby. Quite suddenly, Ossian was just there again, and Ann came in the room at that moment. She asked what was going on in there, she'd felt a curious feeling and Jason was by this time in tears. He said "Ossian's just sdisappeared and come back again."
Just at that moment I walked in and I dumped the firewood and looked at Ossian. I saw that Jason was sheet white and Jason wasn't that imaginative, he wasn't that kind of a child. We thought he'd had a blackout from fever, but no, and I looked at Ossian and said "Did you go somewhere?" and he nodded his head and kind of smiled. I said "Well, don't do it again because you frightened your brother," and he looked awfully sad suddenly.
There was another day, not too long after that, Ossian had just learned to turn himself around and round and I was doing leather work at that time. I was sitting making bags and vests and suddenly I heard this sort of humming noise and I looked over at him and he was turning around very fast. I said "What are you doing? Stop it!" He started to really spin and he was making this funny humming noise and I told him to stop again and he stopped. I said "Whatever you're doing, don't do that." It seemed like he was about to take off.





We stayed at the Shire but the winter got rather heavy with much snow and so we left. Angus left first and we went to Aspen, Colorado, with Ossian and Jason, who was very into skiing. There was a very good school or him there. This was 1970, so Ossian was two and a bit. We had our Christmas in Aspen and then Angus went to New York. He telephoned me and said he was working with Gerard Malanga and Andy Warhol, doing this and that and would I come. So, I went and Jason stayed. We lived in a loft with alot of other people, in a tent, and again, it got a bit much, because the whole of Max's Kansas City was there the whole time. So Angus and I took a small flat, but that didn't help and I was thinking "OH, Lordy, Lordy, here i am back in New York ad I don't like it." Angus and I were working with the music and we did put on some shows at that time.
We had some friends who were psychiatrists, like Jean Huston and Bob Masters, who were into all this alpha wave stuff, which was very new then. I was sitting in their livingroom one day. They had a beautiful place, with a sarcophagus in the corner and masses of books and Jean asked if I would play some games with her. She put this thing on my head and she had all these dials and I was sitting in this chair, looking at the sarcophagus, feeling nice and restful and suddenly Jean said "Oh, you've registered an Alpha wave! You must have a high consciousness. Were you meditating?" I thought to myself "Here we go!" She started talking about how I should go to India. I told her we didn't have any money and she said they would pay our way. I thought if I go to India, I'd have to have somewhere to go, something to do. She still insisted and I told her if anything turns up, I'd let her know.



About a week later, Sheldon Rochlin, a film-maker friend of ours, came over from Pondicherry and asked if Angus and I would like to go there with him to make a film at the Ashram in Auroville. There was the place to go, so I went back to Jean and asked if the offer still held. She said she'd pay our fare, and would buy some of Angus's tapes. Which she did, she bought the tapes of Angus's music and Sheldon had gotten a grant which covered everything. Jason refused to come, as he was in this great school in Aspen, staying with a nice lady in a beautiful log cabin on top of Ajax Mountain, a very healthy life, so I agreed that he should stay there for about six months while we went to India.



We landed in Delhi and our first meal was with the Jain brothers in their beautiful tantric gallery with all these wonderful things I had never seen before, and they gave Ossian this superb silk suit which was embroidered in gold, a strange, slate/indigo colour. He looked like a little prince wandering around Delhi. I put on my first sari which fell off in the middle of Connaught Circus, because I didn't know how to put it on. That was Delhi, we were only there for a day, and then we flew to Pondi. We ended up staying a whole year making the film.



The Mother used to give these darshans, where she would stand on the balcony facing onto a rather narrow street packed with ashramites, who were mostly Bengalies and the people from Auroville, who were mostly freaks. On this particular occasion, I was on the roof with Sheldon and the video camera, we were videoing the darshan. Angus was with Ossian in the crowd, he had him on his shoulders, Now, Angus was 6'4", so Ossian was way up there, he could see perfectly, and Angus said that just as Mother appeared, he felt Ossian go off his shoulders. He thought he'd fallen backwards, so he turned around, but he was packed like a sardine and he couldn't move and he was saying "Where's my child?" He was completely panicked, Ossian couldn't have gotten out between anybody's feet, it was a mystery, Angus didn't see much of that Darshan. After it was over, I saw Angus running around like
a chicken with it's head cut off. He said "I've lost Ossian. He's vanished!" We started to look for him and found him just around the corner of this big house of the Mother, fiddling with someone's motorbike. We were furious and went up to him and asked where did he go? "I went to see Mother." I thought to myself, "He did that number on Jason and he'd started that number on me with the humming and turning round and round..." and I begun to worry.



We had met this adorable old Doctor Hadjari, who, when Sri Aurobindo died, was really upset, he wouldn't go to the cremation. He had some kind of vision where a hole opened up and there was a pink light, beautiful smells and he saw three figures. One was Sri Aurobindo and i forget who the other two were, and they were discussing how they should pass this certain information on to him. It was decided that they would see him every day at a certain time for the next three years, which aparently they did. This dear old gentleman had this visitation every day and he wrote vast tomes of this great vision which were pretty incomprehensible. He said the age of Krishna was over when the mantra of Krishna was made into a popular song and vulgarized and that the next age would be the Golden Age. He was also a homeopathic doctor who had cured several cases of cancer and was curing a case of advanced lukemia when we met him. He never went out of his house. Angus was extremely fond of him, as was I. He was one of the nicest people in the Ashram.



Photo by Ira Cohen.





Photo by Wendy Tisdill.

Do forgive us, we've been away, but here comes the rest of the story ....


So i went to Dr.Hadjari and asked what is this trip, about the disappearing. He said "Oh, this is a very simple thing. Really nothing. It's obvious to me that this little boy had great siddhis in his last life. He is really young, he cannot help what he is doing. He's doing it automatically. He has no control, because he is so young. So, I asked what we should do about it, because I had a vision of me in an airplane, for instance, and he disappears and comes back, and where does he come back to, the airplace or the middle of space? It was worrying to have a kid that kept vanishing, even if it is a very simple siddha, thank you very much. I asked how he did it and Dr.Hadjari picked up a copy of the Times of India which was on his table in front of him, and he held it up and kind of whisked it around. Then he began to glimmer and said that it was very simple and he told me to bring Ossian back tomorrow to see him. So, we brought him over the next day and he took Ossian into his little back room, drew the curtain across, and I don't know what passed between them but he never did it again. Dr.Hadjari put a stop to the vanishing. Thank goodness.
On his third birthday, Ossian had a darshan with the Mother and I went with him. I had him on my lap and i could feel a kind of rippling energy between Ossian and this lady. I could feel it in his body. It was like when wind blows over corn, that silky rippling. I had written her a letter saying that young people come for darshan on their birthdays and they have to wait a long time and wouldn't it be more sensible to meet at exactly 12:30 so the children don't have to wait and be tired and cross. She wrote back saying this is a very good idea, so we arrived with Ossian at exactly 12:30. We went in and there's always a lady with her and she shooed the lady out. She was completely alone and she held her arms out as we came in. Ossian had very long hair then and I'd put flowers in it and he looked absolutely beautiful. She said "Il est venue, il est venue." And I thought "What does she mean, he has come, we're not late or anything." They did the ripplig act between them some more.



Photo by Cartier Bresson.

One day, as we were filming on the road to Auroville, we had Ossian there and he was holding his teddy bear and a great elephant was standing in the road. Ossian kept saying "Nelephant, Nelephant." All of a sudden, without any warning, the elephant gently let his trunk down and picked up Ossian in his trunk, curled his trunk around, touched him to his forehead and put him back down. Still clutching Teddy. I remember the Mahout looked surprised, so I don't think he told the elephant to do it. I felt a scream rising within me, because i had no idea what the elephant was going to do, but I felt it was really all right, I trusted the elephant. Ossian enjoyed the trip.



Shortly after that we decided to leave Pondy. My second husband had died during that year and I got some money, so we decided to pick up and go. It was getting quite hot, Ossian had cow pox, boils all over his legs from some nasty infecion, and I remembered all my British Raj relations used to talk about going to the hills. But I didn't know quite where to go in the hills. Then a friend came back to the ashram who'd been up to Nepal for a holiday and she said you could get things like pie and cheese in Kathmandu. We'd been living on dhal and bananas.



She told Ossian there was a temple ona hill that was covered with monkeys, that it was called the Monkey Temple. And he said "Monkey Temple? Monkey Temple! I want to go to Monkey Temple! Can we go now? Now!"



It go so bad, on and on about the Monkey Temple, so we decided to try Nepal. We had no idea where we'd stay when we got there. And then, out of the blue, a friend wrote inviting us to come up there and stay with him. So, that made our minds up further, plus Ossian going on and on about the Monkey Temple, so we decided to try Nepal. We had no idea where we'd stay when we got there. And then, out of the blue, a friend wrote invititng is to come up there and stay with him. So, that made our minds up further, plus Ossian going on and on about the Monkey Temple. We took the train; we had the carriage to ourselves by painting Ossian's face with red spots and everytime the train stopped we'd put him in the window so nobody would come in and we had a marvelous journey till we got to Agna and a jolly sikh who didn't mind the red spots. It was a great train, it took 3 days to Delhi. We came first class with fans and it was beautiful.



We flew from Delhi to Kathmandu and I remember looking down on the valley and it was monsoon, we came in August 1971 and it looked like silvered jade. The sun was shining on the water paddies as we landed and it was magical. We came directly to Swayambhu because our friends were living there. When we got on that long straight road where you can see Swayambhu in the distance, Ossian let out such a squeak, you can't imagine. "Monkey Temple!" We got out of the taxi, we unloaded our luggage at a cafe, and he kept begging to go up to the temple. Our friend found us a room in a house, it was huge with vast windows and Ossian had his own room at the top with his own little wooden spiral staircase up to it, so we had a very good place.



We would visit Swayambu stupa every day and when I heard the long horns, the radongs, playing, I would be drawn by the sound, coming from the Karma Kargyupa Monestary. I would sit on the steps outside, listening to the horns. Then we started going in and the monks didn't take any notice of me. I really was wanting to know these people, I was thinking about Tibetans in an anthropological way at that time. I kept going up to Swayambhu and I bought prisms and vitamin tablets and a whole lot of rainbow coloured balls and handed them out to the little monks up there. We put Ossian in a Nepali nursery school and he would come up to the monestary after school. He was quite a nuisance, making alot of noise, running up and down. I was nervous because there had been no Western woman there before and the monks at first said "No, no!" about his antics.



Then two monks came and wanted to learn English, so I started teaching them, and, in a way, they were our entry into that monestary. One day I went up there and they were all in their petticoats and tee shirts painting. Someone had donated an enormous amount of paint because there was some rumour that Karmapa was going to arrive. He didn't, but I offered to help paint their house. I painted away. I saw little boys slapping paint on the statues in the niches around the walls, so I said to one of the monks, Ahbo, who spoke English, (he was the only one who did) that I was a painter and if they would allow me to, I could do them a little better than the boys were doing. So, it took me eight months, I sat there in the cold, bundled up every day. I did them with glazing and they looked very beautiful, like porcelain, when they were furnished. There were 80 statues altogether.



Around that time, I remembered that with the Americans if you have a clan name they relate to you better, so I thought perhaps it would be nice if I got a Tibetan name. I didn't know I would be taking refuge. Satchu Rinpoche, who was in charge, said that Ossian should come also; he was really very insistant. When you get your Native American name, you're really alone, and I was so egotistical, I didn't want him there. I thought he'd knock something over or do something ridiculous. But we went together and we mumbled something in front of Sabchu Rinpoche and I suddenly felt terrifically light, very happy. As he threw the rice, the sun caught it and it looked like a golden rain falling, and Ossian seemed to be able to say the mumble-mumble much better than I could, in fact, he spoke up. I was really surprised. So, Sabchu Trulku gave us our names; I was Samtin Drolma and he said Ossian's name was Karma Tsultrim, and that that was half his name and he would get the other half later. I asked if I would get my half later and he said that was my whole name. Samtin is the paramita of meditative concentration; and Drolma is the green Taram mother of all Buddhas. Tsultrim is the paramita of good behaviour. I wondered if he said Ossian would get the second half of his name because he's a boy, or because he was so young, I couldn't see any reason why he would get the second half of his name later, because Karmapa called his Karma Tsultrim Mnawe Senge, and I often wonder if Sabchu Rinpoche always knew. If he did, he didn't say anything.



Sabchu Rinpoche. Picture by Ira Cohen.

Not very long after that, Angus deiced to go on a trek to see a a friend of ours, Zena Rachevski, who lived in Solu Khumbu, at Thubten choling Gompa. I had started to learn to read Tibetan by that time with dear Lama Sonam Gyalwa and I didn't want to break off, I didn't feel like going for a long walk in the moutains at that point, as it was November. I also thought that it would be very good for Ossian to be with his father alone and for them to do something together. Ossian walked most of the way, till his Tibetan boots gave out, then a Sherpa carried him in a basket.



When they came back, he had this very long hair which had to come off because he;d picked yo vast amounts of lice. It was very bad, so i put his hair up and cut it with shears. His hair stood up, it was so stiff with dust and dirt and we both laughed and I told him Buddha;s hair stoof uo like that when they cut it. Then it was all shaggy and looking really weird, I couldn't cope with all the bites, so I thought of the monks. I took him up to Swayambu Monastary to shavve his head. They were very sweet, they had him in the kitchen, a big fire, they took all his clothes off and I held him in my arms. When he saw the razor he gave a yelp, not of fear, but he did make a cry. They dry shaved his head without touching one of those scabs, I couldn't believe it. They put some kind of ointment on his head and within twenty hour hours, all the sores from scratching had gone.



Right after New Year, one day, we were standing in the kitchen and Ossian was crying for the first time in his life! He was going on and on and on and an English friend of mine asked him what was the matter.



He said "I want to go back to my monastary." I said "What monastart are you talking about?" he kept saying he wanted to go back to his monastary. I finally said "This is ridiculous. Do you mean Swayambu Monastary?" "No, I want to go back to MY Monastary." So my friend asked him where his monastary was, and what was the name of it. He said something like "Menchen." He was obviously trying to say Benchen, which was the name of the previous Sang gyes Nienpa's monastary in Tibet, but he couldn't. He said "It's too far away and I can't go back there anymore, but I want to go back to it." She told him "Look, if your monastary is too far away and you can't go back to it, where would you like to go instead and I'll take you." He said "Why am I not chung-chung?" which is what they call little monks, I said "Well, you're not Tibetan, for a start off." And he said "Yes I am." "Oh, I see, you're Tibetan today, OK." I mean, Jason was a motor bike for six months, so for a kid to say he's Tibetan was all right. But he got rather het up and I decided to speak to the monks at Swayambu about it. I went up to the monastary and Ahbo wasn't around, so I went about saying "Karma Tsultrim chung-chung, re?" and they must have thought I was mad, poor lady, saying "My little boy is little." Chung-chung means little in Tibetan. The next day, I took him with me, This time Ahbo was standing in the shrine room and I said "Ahbo, he want's to be a chung-chung." Ahbo folded his arms and he pulled the most terrible face, he looked so frightening and he said "You want to come to me?"



Now anybody would have run a mile. Ossian left me, he ran over to him, took his hand and said something. I asked Ahbo afterwards what he had said and was told "Not for you." I don't think he said anything in Tibetan because he didn't know Tibetan then, but whatever he said, Ahbo's reply was a hiss, which is a Tibetan way of showing surprise. Ahbo ran up to ask Sabchu Rinpoche, who said "Yes, but not today." He said in four days time would be the right time for him to enter the monastary. So we had four days to get 400 rupees together (we were broke, remember) for his puja and to make all his robes, which had to be dyed. We did it by selling prints in the Annapurna Hotel; we the most amazing luck. My lama, Sonam Gyalwa, sat and sewed the robes all night.



Photo by Jimi Thapa.

Ossian went up to the Monastary dresssed in his robes. He was already shaved. I don't quite know what they did, I wasn't there for it. He was taken by Ahbo and I remember he came back into the shrine room with these katas around his neck and for the first time he sat down with the monks. And, boy, he wanted to. A few weeks prior to this he had borrowed a long red velvet stole from a girlfriend who was helping me paint, and he had gone outside and taken all his clothes off and wrapped himself up in some travesty of a zen and shentab, and had gone and sat down with the little boy monks. He still had long hair which he insisted on wearing like the Tibetans, with the long plait round his head, so he looked a right guy!
About 20 minutes after he'd finished with his first puja, he was allowed to go outside. He tripped over the hem of his robes, not being used to wearing a skirt, and he fell. I heard him wail and I rushed out and said "Upsy-daisy darling" and he didn't upsy-daisy. He had a gigantic hole, he's got the mark to this day, right in the centre of his forhead. The blood was pouring down all over his robe; he looked like something out of a Greek tragedy. I knew the word for water, so I asked for water and a kata, bound him up and took him to Bir Hospital. They put 3 stitches in his head, I took him back and Sabchu Rinpoche said "Very good."
"What do you mean, " I asked. "If a monk looses blood by accident within an hour of being ordained, it means that all the bad karma he might have accumulated in this life from not being a monk has gone." The next day I took the bandage off and dressed the wound and there was a black circle around it. I took him for an x-ray, but there was no contusion. There was nothing to explain this black circular bruise. I took him to Sabchu Rinpoche to ask what's this and he only said "Very good. Very good." It disappeared the next day. It didn't fade out like a bruise, it just wasn't there any more. Many years later, in London, I saw a picture of the previous Sang Gyes Nienpa Rinpoche with a round black circle on his forhead. It gave me quite a turn.



Nothing much more happened after that, except that Ossian spent his life as Karma Tsultrim in Syamambhu Gompa and Ahbo was his first monitor and Sotop was his first teacher. Udze Gigdor was his Gegen nanny and they lived in this tiny room together. udze Gigdor is the sweetest, kindest, most delightful person in the world. He loved Ossian and he brought him up so beautifully, perfectly. He was never treated differently from any of the other little boy monks, so the nursery years were great. He would do puja every day and sometimes he would come down and visit me and then go back up again. Until i got the letter from Karmapa, that was the way it was.



Now, when the King of Nepal was crowned, most foreigners had to leave.



We went to Sarnath near Varanasi, to wait till the coronation was over. There we met a very nice Karmapa who had a translator with pen pals in America. He had received a letter from one of them saying that Karmapa had been to the Hopi Reservation and had made rain. Suddenly, it was like a fruit machine, all the pennies dropped at once, crash, crash. Was this the Purifier the Hopi's had refered to 10 years ago during my visit? I thought "Okay, I don't know Karmapa. I've never met him. But maybe I could write and ask him about this. I don't know what kind of person he is but id he's anything like Sabchu Rinpoche, he will probably answer the letter." So, when I got back to Kathmandu, I got a large piece of rice paper and started decorating it with all my little woodblock prints around the edge. I asked all those questions: Did you go to the Hopi? Did you make rain? Did you wear a red hat? Dis you bring a red God, (Which he did; he gave the Red Chenrezi." A red cloak? And then Ossian came in and asked "Who are you writitng to?" I said "Karmapa." He said "Ohhhh! Can i put a drawing in?" Wht not? So he went upstairs where he had a drawing table, (the top of the house was reserved for him and his other little monk friends, they used to come and paint and cut up paper and have a good time.) He did this really nice drawing, a painting of the stupa with the black hat flying around the stupa, which, about a year previously, he had said he saw one afternoon. He kept saying "Look! Look! And I'm saying "What? What?" And he's saying "Well, can't you see it?" And I'm saying "No, what?" He was seeing a black hat flying around the stupa. Neither of us had seen Karmapa's black hat then, so I had no idea what he was talking about. I said "That's very nice for you, dear," and left it at that.
Anyway, he did an excellent drawing of it, so I thought I would tell Karmapa in my letter who this was from. So, P.S "By the way, you have a little friend who Swayambhu who loves you very much, His name is Karma Tsultrim and he's six years old." And then I thought perhaps a little picture would go very well, so I sent him a photo of Ossian in puja, looking very proper.



A few weeks went by and then I got a letter from Sister Palmo who was a Western woman who acted as Karmapa's secretary. She said Karmapa never talked about the things that he had done, but I'm his secretary and I was also there and I can answer your questions about the Hopi. He did make rain, he gave the Red Chenrezi and he sat on top of the Kiva and made some Dewachen prayers and great clouds formed and then, as he pured from the Bhunpa vase and gave the Red Chenrezig initiation. The rain fell in great torrents, which it never does, for 48 hours. They had asked him to make rain. So, I thought, Okay, there's the Purifier and of course, I had joined his tribe.



Then there were some questions like where Angus and I married, how old were we and where was our little boy born. She thanked us fir the nice drawing and said Karmapa had really liked it. She said "We are sorry to ask a alot of personal questions, but we have to know." There was really no harm, and Angus agreed, so he sent off the answers. He wrote that we wern't legally married, where Ossian was born, and how old we were.




About a month later, Ahbo was having a house warming party and Sabchu Rinpoche was coming for lunch I was at the monastary helping to get the place in ship-shape and suddenly someone came in. It was Ahbo and he came rushing in saying "You've got a letter from Karmapa!", it was in a blue envelope with a big crest on it. it was addressed to Angus and me in out Tibetan names (they'd asked if we'd taken refuge.) Karma Kalzang Doundrup and Karma Samtin Drolma. It said that Karmapa had meditated on our son and there was very good reason to suppose that he was an incarnate tulku lama. I got that far and I said "Good God!" Ahbo said "What's wrong?" "Well, I don't know. He says that Karma Tsultrim's a tulku. That he thinks there is good reason to suppose, but it is not definate." We went on reading and it said "You and Angus must sign this paper. It is very dangerous for these tulkus to be wandering about and he won't recognize him or give the name unless we sign the paper saying you will never take him from the sangha." So we did this. We figured we couldn't ruin the kid's destiny and anyway, nothing may come of it. Sabchu Rinpoche was very excited when he heard that. He jumped on his bed, lept to his feet, sprung off the bed, seized his zen in both hands and danced around the room. He snatched my hand and the hand of his niece who was also sitting there, we all joined hands and there we were, the three of us dancing in a circle, round and round, it was great. I thought " I don't care if the kid's a tulku or not, I just danced in a circle with Sabchu Rinpoche and I feel fantastic."







Then Sabchu Rinpoche went down for lunch and they said Ossian should come for lunch also. He was around the stupa somewhere, playing marbles. The only toys those children have are reject butter lamps, empty clay ones, and they made everything out of them. That and marbles. They had no toys at all. He was found by someone and brought to the monestary door, where everyone had lined up. He heard some of them say "There he is!" And he got this awful look like "What have I done now. Everyone's lined up, it must be something really bad." All the monks bowed their heads down, and I didn't, so I saw over their heads and I really did see a look of relief pass over his face for a second. It was like he'd dropped a weight.



I asked him after the whole thing was signed, sealed and settled if he knew, and he was much more forthcoming when he was little than he is now, so he said "yes." I said "Well, why didn't you say anything?" He said "If I say something, and not Karmapa, then they say I'm a naughty boy." Anyway, there's this look of relief and all the heads are bowed and without any hesitation he just started going along blessing them on their heads with his hand. Then he had lunch with Sabchu Rinpoche and it was all feasting and fun. After that they wouldn't permit him to sit on the floor with the other boys, he had to sit on the bed. And they started calling me Mayum and at first I thought "What's that? Sounds like a pudding."

Take a break, have a laugh, here we go ...



May i add, for your benefit, that this odeous song, was repeated nightly by the BBC, so that every evacuated child in the British Isles, would be guarenteed a storm of tears, before they managed to get to sleep, charming. I have never understood it.

They insisted the mother of a tulku is called Mayum and I said "Now come on, hold your horses. This isn't for real yet. Karmapa said there's only good reason to suppose."
Arrangements were made for Karmapa to visit Swayambhu. He came on St. Valentines day. All the animals went right off the moment he arrived, all the monkeys turned golden-russet, the way the trees turn in Autumn; all the birds started flying round and round the Gompa.
We went up to the Gompa the morning after he arrived, with Sister Palmo. She was great, she had amde these tulku offerings, something wrapped up in a beautiful white kata with embroidered edges. Ossian had to make the offering himself. We tromped up the little spiral staircase, past all these people, Sister Palmo going right ahead and then Ossian and then me. We walked forward towards Karmapa. Ossian was by this time standing in front of him like a lemon, holding the scarf offering, he was rather small and the ends were going down and he was trying not to drag them on the floor. Karmapa leaned forward and looked at him and all he said was "Rey", which in Tibetan means yes. He put his hands out towards him and Osssian went "Oh!" and almost dropped the kata, and they sort of rushed to each other. It was like the meeting of two old mates who hadn't seen each other for a long time.



Then, Sister Palmo said "Remember the kata", and Karmapa went on smiling and looking at Ossian, he looked so happy. He received the offering and told him to sit down. I thought this was a bit bewildering for the kid, was he just going to sit down in front of Karmapa? No, he didn't do that. There were all these thrones, about ten of them, on different levels. Ossian went around and I thought he was going to sit next to Karmapa, but no, he stood there and bowed. They told me after that he then went on to sit in exactly the right place, 6 seats away. I thought, what a funny thing to do, he's sitting miles over there, maybe he's shy or something.



Then tea was brought and Karmapa asked him "Who's Gagen?" which means the teacher you live with. Ossian said "Udze Giggdor" and Karmapa told me to get him. So I had to get Udze Gigdor out of Mahakala puka!!! All the boys who were playing the radongs kept asking me "Is Karma Tsultim a tulku?" I told Gigdor "Karmapa wants to see you." Oh, my god, he got off that bench so fast, he fairly lept over it and they were all grinning (they all seemed to now what was happening.) We went back upstairs and darling Gigdor went all pink, if a Tibetan can blush. Ossian had been with him since he was 4 and I'd never had a word or a disagreement with him, in 11 years there's been perfect harmony in the bringing up of the kid. Karmapa asked Gigdor if Ossian was a good boy and dear, loyal Gigdor said "The best", and blushed.



I vaguely remember going with Sister Palmo into the next room, where I met Jamgon Kontrul, Gyalstap and Shamar Rinpoches. All the boysm the Regents, they must have all been there, except Tai Situpa. Sister Palmo had some confab with the boys. There ewas a showing of the map, which was drawn as the birthplace of the tulku. It didn't give any name of it and they asked if it meant anything to me. Yeah, god damn it did, it was exactly the area around Great Barrington Hospital. The Husitonic River, the bridge right there, the surrounding fields. Karmapa drew the map and Sister Palmo put in the English words. Whether he copied it from a map that the previous Sang gyes Nienpa made, or whether he did it himself, I don't know.



The next day, I got called up to see Karmapa. This time he is sitting on the throne and to my horror there was a great line in front of me and a great empty, empty floor to walk across, it was worse than being presented at Court, I promise you. I went forward, Karmapa was in the middle, and all the Rumtek tulkus were in line, in whatever seniority or rank, to his right. On his left were Urgen Trulku, Dabzang Rinpoche and Sabchu Rinpoche and all the locals. Sister Palmo was standing in front to help with translation if necessary. Karmapa said to me that my son was an incarnation of Sang gyes Nienpa Trulku Rinpoche, and was I pleased? Not knowing quite what to say I stammered "behold the hand maiden of the lord", Sister Palmo; that well of humour, wit and charm standing there smiled, and said "wrong script Hetty" and I came to and after a moments thought truthfully announced that "If it were for the benefit of all sentient beings for their welfare, then I am very pleased!". He smiled and that was it, I went out.



Later that day, he gave a ceremony and there were many many Tibetans and people over all the monastary courtyard. Ossian was wearing a very peculiar hat, a large red affair with a great brocade stripe going across the front of it. It seemed as though Karmapa were presenting him in this manner, to the Tibetan people, because he was right at his side.



Karmapa was so sweet, he said he'd like to see me every day, but that he didn't know quite when, because he had so many people to see. He asked of I would mind staying around, would I mind waiting. I thought, how incredibly gracious. I assured him it was no problem whatsoever, as I lived there and anyway I was helping in the Gompa. So, I said I would either be in the kitchen or with Sister Palmo and anyway all the monks knew where I lived so there would be no difficulty in getting hold of me and I would come like a flash. So every day he would tell me little bits. What a tulku meant, enthronments, circles of protection etc etc. After a week of this nice going to see him once a day and getting things explained to me, we all took the Kargyu Nyagdzeu wongs, the father-mother tanta, which Karmapa gave for 3 months in Boudanath. Rinpoche took those, sitting up in front with all the other little tulkus, thoroughly, and 100% recognized.

Beautiful O' Clock

happy tibetan new year from hetty and ossian

etching by Hetty MacLise

It is a true blessing to have a pig year, because, nothing is too much to ask for a pig. They are loyal, humanitarian, charitable, and able to keep secrets, because they take friendships very seriously. Therefore, there will be gentleness, integrity and discretion, and we should try to keep a sense of humour at all times, as well as being as intellectual as possible, strong-willed, pure and hardworking, but please people, do not expect huge successes in the hard business world.

Be sincere, loving, truthful, and non-competitive, in short, good people, be respectful, and upstanding members of your community. Understand peoples soft loving natures and try not to criticize people for sometimes being naive, defenceless and insecure. In Tibetan, it is called 'Phak-lo.'

Be careful of the years, of anything to do with the years 1929, 1953, 1965, 1977, 1989, and 2001. To take notice for the positive years in combination for this year, 1928 & '29, 1938 & '39, 1948 & '49, 1958 & '59, 1968 & '69, 1978 & '79, 1988 & '89, 1998 & '99, and we wish you all the very best.

Hetty and the Wandmaker

Photograph by Wendy Teasdill-Rowe

Lhosar in Glastonbury!

Photograph by Wendy Teasdill-Rowe

An Owl from Hetty

Etching by Hetty MacLise

the song of angus of the brugh

when the world was young, beloveds, the bear people came to wales and stayed there teaching the ancient magic and singing the world songs. after some time they resolved to return to the sky.


Collage by Tim Barnes
one of their number however was a lady called rhiannon who had the charm over the birds, she had become enamored of a wandering minstral called angus of the brugh and together they had made the child phriddri. so being settled like she told her sister bloddwyth who was made from flowers as was she, that she would to stay where she lived with angus of the brugh beside the lake.

after some argument this was what she did, waved good bye to her brothers from the sky and settled down to be happy. they were for a while until angus of the brugh got tangled up in his harp strings and died, not in battle nor yet in his bed, so there was some mystery there.

the elders came along and took four year old phriddri away for his learning. rhiannon sang angus of the brughs' songs and travelled around as you will hear for she heard much and observed many goings on ....


All Photographs by Ira Cohen

The Marriage Stick

The Marriage Stick
by Angus MacLise

Hold still beloved
The silver hilt the starlight of our incredible longing
Hold still beloved and bring your mouth close to mine
The crescent moon arch over the shores of our tidal meeting
Hold still beloved
The black stone of our silence and our essential mystery
Hold still beloved and bring your mouth close to mine
The tricolored braid of our union the exploding vision
Hold still beloved
The earth below rises in passion to the pure heights
Hold still beloved and bring your mouth close to mine
And we may begin to bed with lions and angels





" HETZAGRAM "

In the twighlight flash... there
In the sudden
flicker of awe before
the simple
trees of where I still see you
I mean the scarcely believable number of
rainbows we have
seen together
In between
I realize
there is nothing ever recent
with us Hetty
& all the bewilderment seemed to end
when we
with inconceivable telegrams
looked across
the druidic pool
that time
& of course the clouds
rushed by overhead totally ignoring
the narc silhouetted against
the sky
innocent
and the delicate flame
over which
he had no power
What it
comes down to is the
frequent unrelenting
magic which I never question
Within you
(and
the living) forever and ever.


Angus wrote this in Nepal, in 1974 but, the scene occured, in Golden gate park, in 1967.



Above Photo by Ira Cohen

Maggie's Irish

Etching by Hetty MacLise

Ballad of the Gone MacLise

Photgraphy and Poem by Ira Cohen
Drawing by Hetty MacLise

Stormy Seas

Painting by Hetty MacLise

to end the 'fairy story' ....

this is the end of the story.

the dancing girl went to see the queen and the bad girls got the bullet.

so ends every fairy story.

and into room 101 goes big brother.

LIFE IN A NANOSECOND.

LIFE IN A NANOSECOND. The dancing girl won the prize. what it was we will never know, she did not even get a bouquet, got fireworks though and manic cheering.
the pink ghost and the artful dodger walked the long walk in silence.
the garden statue was united with his wife
the montana man admitted to acting a part all the time, well those cigars were a give away

the clown got cheers and was sweet

then there was silence. after all that fuss. no news at all. a snow out. full of echoing menace.
andy said that everyone got 15 minutes of fame but this was not one even..
today it ended :
earlier in the play there had been three other girls
a rough tough cockney
aspiring model
anglo saxon looking bathrobe
there had been a cat fight over oxo cubes , and words had been flung about.
the upshot was fury round the world.
the fatal word
RACISM
had been insinuated.
all three now under a very heavy hammer.
shown all footage in a locked room alone, then interogated in camera.
they are all crying their eyes out
the montana man came on a staid breakfast show as himself.
the bathrobe in red histerics on a flashier one
so the cracks are begining to show, and show they will
because the news is so fastly moving these days that
plots can be lost
in a puff of wind

a play called 'it's the end of big bigot'

a play called 'it's the end of big bigot'
cast. dancing girl who smells of raisons
whispering garden statue, very disapproving
welsh clown intrinsicly good at many things and at heart
uncle ted. u.s mountain man quite sexy and unpredictable
the ghost of a pretty in pink who has been bad and regrets it
naughty street urchin, like the artful dodger
senario: reality show for t.v
reality: lock up in semi bin, totally ertzatz
they are actors playing actors, and wear mikes at all times, even the softest whisper can be heard.
they have to act parts for little tasks for food.
almost sensory deprivation.
they only have each other and occasional props for tasks
the hazy sun is out in a tiny patch of sky, is that ertzatz also?
the only sound constant sawing of crows and twittering of birds
aroeplanes zoom overhead constantly.

big question. NAME THE CHARITY THE VOTING MONEY IS GOING TO. BIG BROTHER.
is this real?



Images by Ira Cohen

Both Etchings by Hetty MacLise

pictures from an exhibition

here are some recent etchings and a pic or two of hetty which seem to have become lost in the google soup.

watch out for big brother suprises, there will be some. poor danielle. and they will all be visitied by the old bill to be sure. not that it really matters. i hope dirk wins whatever that means , because he has lived a life and is real thereby.ian is a bright spark also maybe he should win.

sea shanty

this is the transcript of the ACTUAL radio conversation of a US naval ship with Canadian authorities off the coast of Newfoundland in october 1995. radio conversation released by the chief of naval operations 10-10-95.

Canadians: please dirvert your course 15 degrees the south to avoid a collision.

Americans: recommend you dirvert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision.

Canadians: negative. you will have to dirvert your course 15degrees to the south to avoid a collision.

Americans: this is the captain of a US navy ship. i say again, dirvert YOUR course.

Canadians: no. i say again, you dirvert your course.

Americans:THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS LINCOLN,THE SECOND LARGEST SHIP IN THE UNITED STATES ATLANTIC FLEET.WE ARE ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS,THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS SUPPORT VESSELS. I DEMAND THAT YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES NORTH, I SAY AGAIN, THAT'S ONE FIVE DEGREES NORTH, OR COUNTER-MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFTY OF THIS SHIP.

Canadians: this is a lighthouse. your call

this plot makes no sense- tell the people

helloh everybody. hetty calling from afar

soon it will be time to rejoyce, why? because the sun is shining and sticky toffy pudding is the order of the day