Article from "Folk on Tap", Summer 2004

It’s going to be quite hard to write this article about Bob Copper for three reasons. Firstly, I don’t want to document his unique contribution to the folk song revival; that way I could only reiterate so much that has been written in the many obituaries that there have been about the man. The four British national broadsheets have each had lengthy pieces on him. Radio and TV stations and national newspapers on three continents have carried tributes to him. Over the years, literally hundreds of magazines and newspapers articles have told the story of the seven generations of the singing Copper Family and its memorable characters, “Brasser”, “Honest John” and Bob himself as the latest lynchpin. In any case, who could write the family story in anything like the majesty that Bob does himself in his first book, “A Song For Every Season”?

Secondly, an article that is full of superlatives makes for tedious reading and there is no doubt that I regarded Bob as a magnificent man, one of the finest that I ever met, so I am going to have to be careful in my choice of words.

Thirdly, I am going to have to get used to writing about him in the past tense and that is going to be difficult when at every meeting, the man had such a vibrant presence.

On reflection, I’ve probably introduced Bob and the Coppers to sing in folk club, concert, festival and singaround more than any other person. Apart from the very many times that they have appeared at our club in Lewes, including all the memorable ‘Annual Birthday Parties’ and the lovely Sussex Singers’ Nights where all the traditional singers gathered, Tina and I were honoured to be asked by Bob to join them as residents and compere at the Coppersongs Folk Club at the Central Club in Peacehaven in the early 70s. This was just to be for a few months until they got the feel of doing it themselves, but in fact lasted for over five years. This means that over the years, I have had hundreds of opportunities to view audience’s reaction to Bob. The Coppersongs and the birthday party evenings became a sort of traditional song pilgrimage with people coming from all over the world to hear Bob and the family sing in what was their natural environment. In particular, I got into the habit of observing those end-of-the-evening conversations and the reactions of those who came up to speak to Bob. I can tell you that people are not very good at talking to someone they admire, but don’t know very well. They stumble over their words; they make inane comments that they would not make in ordinary conversation; they tend to say the same old thing over and over again. Bob showed enormous patience in those situations. A good listener and a naturally modest man, he put others at their ease and showed encouragement and interest in what they said. Always, always, I saw Bob having a positive effect on those he talked to. It was as if they grew taller during the conversations and then walked away as happier people. It was an enormous social skill that Bob had; you might call it a gift.

At times, particularly in the last few years, the family would view the lines of people queuing to speak to Bob with an anxious eye. Theirs was a real dilemma. They had been performing and they were tired. They also had a responsibility to see that the grand old man didn’t overtax himself. Yet they knew how much talking to Bob meant to these people and how much Bob was in his element whilst it was all going on. The only time they really put their foot down was on the 89th birthday night in January this year. Bob had not been long out of hospital and certainly was not used to going out in the evening again. He had just been awarded his M.B.E. Bob was led out of the packed clubroom in Lewes and into a waiting car, followed by two television crews and with the cheers of the huge crowd ringing in his ears. They were going to get him to the palace come what may. Events have shown that they only just made it.

I was lucky enough to work with Bob on many projects over 35 or so years; radio and TV programmes, books, articles for a wide range of publications. For 25 years Jim Marshall and I shared the production of the local radio programme, “Minstrels Gallery”. This started on the old BBC Radio Brighton and by the time it finished it was being networked to six BBC local radio stations in the south. Of course, having a man like Bob on our doorstep was a godsend and, luckily, it coincided with the time when Bob was handing over the reins of the Central Club to son John, and had more time on his hands for his painting, writing and broadcasting. Every time we asked him to contribute to the programme, he always agreed and his eloquent speech and lovely singing were always a delight, but one contribution really stands out in my mind. On the publication of the book, and the release of the accompanying vinyl album about his song collecting days for the BBC, “Songs And Southern Breezes”, Jim and I went over to visit him, taking a Uher recorder with us. I outlined my idea to him. Could he talk about each of the twelve singers that he had collected from and who were included on the album? Then each week over three months we could play his introduction to each of the characters followed by the track of that singer. He wanted to know how long did we want on each singer? About four minutes on each, but we can edit it. “Sounds all right. Who do you want first?” Enos White. “Hmm, give me a minute to think about it…. OK, switch on….. Enos White was such a gentle old man and you can hear this in his singing….” What followed was breathtakingly brilliant spontaneous narration as Bob gave his audience a detailed, vivid word picture of each of his informants; no fluffs, no edits needed. All we were required to do was to switch on and off and time with a stopwatch, each little masterpiece. Unbelievably they were all timed at between 3 minutes 54 seconds and 4 minutes 4 seconds. It was simply stunning.

Of course, we were able easily to go the few miles to visit Bob at his home to record him in the years of his wife Joan’s illness when he was reluctant to go far from home. Other radio producers from the national stations often wanted him to go to their studios and record his contributions and for the reason given, they found him reluctant. There’s no doubt in my mind that Bob could have been another Ralph Wightman, a Franklin Engelman, a John Arlott; the BBC’s Countryman. Once after recording a contribution from him, I was thanking him and praising his natural way in front of a microphone and I managed to ask him if he ever regretted the fact that he had not broadcast more. Obviously, he must have thought about this before because his answer was both rapid and firm – “Family first, Vic, always family first.”

Of course, his turn came; after years of being the carer himself, he himself was lovingly cared for in his latter years by the son, daughter and son-in-law who had become close friends as well as family. He became a very happy old man; proud of his children, grandchildren and the one great-grandchild he lived to see. The last picture taken on him the day before he died shows him at a celebratory meal with the family, just three days after his investiture with his M.B.E. at Buckingham Palace. Because of the long standing wait during the ceremony, Bob opted to wait in a wheelchair which meant that the Prince had to bow down to Bob to pin on the medal, which seemed to some of Bob’s close friends to be the right way round.

Bob loved stories, both in the telling and the listening. He especially liked the ones that made you laugh and more especially still, true stories told against himself. He will never get to tell the story of what happened at his own funeral, but it is just the sort of story that he loved to tell. It was to be a private family affair with a public memorial service to come later. The family gathered round as John struck the famous tuning fork on the coffin to get the note and then counted the family in to one final song with Bob….

The memorial service was the opportunity for a public farewell and several hundred people turned up at the Seafront end of Rottingdean High Street to follow the horse-drawn cart strewn with daffodils that was to carry Bob’s ashes to St. Margaret's Parish Church. The procession was longer than the High Street. In a church packed to capacity with standing room only and around fifty more listening outside on speakers, what followed was the appropriate celebration of a fulfilling life rather than a church service. The numerous speakers who contributed represented the many facets of the man’s life. The English folk scene was well represented by Shirley Collins and Dave Arthur and there were contributions of songs, music and speeches from some of the American friends that the family had made during their visits in recent years and who had crossed the Atlantic for the occasion. One wonders where the family got their strength to cope with it. It spite of their grief being on such public show, not only did two generations of the family contribute several songs but John Copper was able to make his own contribution in his own typically wry way. From all the hundreds of messages that the family had received, John singled out two to read out; one from Billy Bragg and the other from “somebody called Charlie Windsor, who only met dad four days before he died.”

Before and after the ceremony we saw John, Jill and Jon greeting hundreds of family, friends, fans and admirers in their customary warm manner. We learned that Jon Dudley had received the news of his mother’s death on the morning of the memorial service. Surely with another funeral to cope with everything else would have to go by the board? Well, no. A longstanding booking at a Sussex folk club four days later went ahead and the day after that, they were seen emerging from the BBC studios in Brighton have made their contribution to yet another programme on Bob. Admiration for the whole family grows apace.

I’d like to finish with something that Bob said to me around twenty years ago now, but which has stuck in my mind ever since. I was interviewing him, yet again, and this time it was for an article that I was writing on ‘Competitions and Folk Music’. Bob had recently been judging the folk singing competition at the Sidmouth Festival. I was outlining the song competition regulations that were given to the judges at the Fleadh Ceol in Ireland and at the traditional singing competitions organised by the T.M.S.A. in Scotland – awarding marks for style, delivery, intonation, choice of material, etc. Bob looked a bit uncomfortable when I was going through this and then he said, “You know, Vic, learning one of the old songs is a bit like renting or buying a house. You can make a few changes to it, decorate it in the way that suits you, but it also brings a responsibility. You must make sure that it is kept in good order for the next person that you pass it on to… That was what I was looking for when I was judging those singers.” That is what Bob did in more than eighty years with his family’s rich cultural heritage. That is what we all should be doing.

Vic Smith