The Rawthey Rhythm

Most of the band

To what heights may an old scientist not aspire?

In this blog I introduce you to Ernie Hailwood, his wife Viv, and the Rawthey Rhythm – perhaps not the most professional musical group in northern England, but surely one of the happiest.  For a taste of its music, click on

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGlw_3AamOs

and be sure to have a pint of English bitter handy.

Ernie Hailwood (right) is a retired geophysicist and entrepreneur; Vivian, his wife (center), is a teacher and educational innovator.  I first met Ernie at a conference in Zurich, Switzerland, in – I think – 1973.  As part of that meeting we both participated in a field trip to the Matterhorn region where we discovered  a  strong  mutual interests in geology, paleomagnetism, rock magnetism, and goofing off in the mountains.  Later that year I returned to Bellingham, obtained some money for a project in the San Juan Mountains of southern Colorado – and promptly invited Ernie to join me.  Just as promptly, Ernie scrounged some expense money, and accepted.  Thus, the summer of 1975 (probably) found Ernie, my graduate student Steve Sheriff* and myself camped (for at least two months – maybe more) at a FS campground on the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River just above Lake San Cristobal, in Hinsdale County, Colorado.  Boy, what a gas!

  

We worked hard.  We showered occasionally.  We climbed a few mountains.  We ate dinner in town, mostly, and we drank a lot of beer.  Trips to the fleshpots of Lake City (read: a couple of taverns that served food) were made interesting by Ernie and his accent: the Beetles were at their ascendancy, and anything that smacked of England drew a crowd.  It grew tiresome, having to extract Ernie from fervid young women attempting to take him home.  Fortunately for all (except, perhaps, the young women), Ernie was a faithful husband, and a newlywed to boot.  (He used to bristle at the notion that he sounded like a Beetle.  He was from the south of England, not Liverpool.  But in America, who could tell?).

Toward the end of the summer Viv joined us, and the pace of life picked up.  Viv was young – about Steve’s age – red-headed, and had a tiny, little, very  becoming chip on her shoulder regarding Americans.  It seems that she was tired of Yank tourists regarding everything in England as precious or quaint, and explaining patiently how things were done (better) in America.  Steve sized her up immediately and began pushing buttons.  Her reaction was muted, but predictable.  I was bemused (and maybe a bit amused) by the whole thing.  Poor Ernie was caught in the middle.  Suffice it to say that, while on the top of Mt Uncompaghre  (pictured), Steve did not allow himself to be caught between Viv and the cliff face.

But this is about music.  I should have suspected something when, around a campfire one night after Viv had arrived, Ernie pulled a harmonica out of his jacket pocket, said “Oh, what’s this?” – and then proceeded to play it like a virtuoso.  (I have tried to master the harmonica several times, without the least bit of success.  It’s hard.).  Immediately Viv joined in, singing.  They were musical!  I was jealous.  Seeds of Rawthey Rhythm were already in the ground.

Anyway, Ernie went on to have a successful career in academia, and later in business, while Viv created an educational program called Brain Child about which I know absolutely nothing.  Linda and I spent a happy month in their beautiful house in Yorkshire a decade or two ago, and they used our Bellingham home as a base for exploring the North Cascades at about that same time.  I keep inviting them for a return visit – but they are too busy assuring that the toes of tavern-goers in western Yorkshire conyinue tapping to be able to accept.

*Steve Sheriff went on to be Dr. Steve Sheriff, Chair of the University of Montana Geology Department.  He is retired now, and seems to work full time at skiing.  At the time of our adventure he was a typical hippy of the day: long hair, ragged jeans, faint odor of weed.   He narrowly avoided being lynched by the local cowboys.  Thank God he escaped: I needed a field assistant.