Jimi, Shoreham, and the Parakeets

 

(Jimi Hendrix - died 18 September, 1970 - 50 years)

JIMI, SHOREHAM AND THE PARAKEETS

She knew he wasn’t to blame for the birds. At least, not in the other areas of Britain, but here, in Shoreham Village, maybe – just maybe.

She’d met him through, Peter, a road manager for the group Pink Floyd who had lived in the village. His daughter, Naomi, born in

Shoreham went on to be a famous actress, but it was her dad who had brought the guitarist down to Shoreham to see what an English country village looked like.

Peter and the man had been sitting outside the George pub, in what she could overhear as arguments about music. The man that

Peter referred to as, Jimi was very exotic for this part of Kent, even in the 1960s.

She lived across the street from the pub, in Church Cottages, and would sometimes lie in her room with the window open listening to the lives of folks relaxing at the bar. She knew Peter well and so had followed the two men up to the Cross (at a distance). When they got to the top of the hill, Jimi brought out a cigarette that smelled strange and began to smoke it. Peter told him he didn’t smoke.

Jimi must have said something funny because she remembers laughing – although she hadn’t intended to.

“Who’s there?” Shouted Jimi.

She popped her head over the hedge and smiled.

“Come sit,” he said in his American accent.

Peter smiled too and said the three of us should sit and look at the beautiful village below. Jimi asked if I played the guitar or any musical instrument and I told him I didn’t.

“What do you do then, kid?”

That’s what he called me, ‘kid’.

I told him I was saving up to buy a budgie.

“You like birds?”.

I nodded. I spent another hour with them. Then I told Jimi and Peter I had to be back to eat with my family. Jimi said he enjoyed our talk and I’ve got to be honest so did I.

A week or so later, a delivery was made to my house by Peter, it was two parakeets in a beautiful cage. The card said: ‘They ain’t budgies, but they’re just as pretty – Jimi’.

I saw a photo of him in the News of the World, and I realised his name was Jimi Hendrix.

On the 18th of September, 1970 – they announced on the news that Jimi had died in Notting Hill, London.

I let the parakeets go that day. I released them to be with Jimi.

The birds are still here. They are still flying around the village – scores of them.

And as I watch them squawking in the sky, I’ll always remember my friend, Jimi Hendrix.

bobby stevenson 2020