I was thinking of the lines from that Fairport Convention song this week as we walked through Toronto on our three-day mini-holiday.
I can still hear Sandy Denny’s wonderful, haunting voice singing the chorus of that dreamy, sad song, as vibrantly as the day I first played the album, back in the late 1960s:
For who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
That song has stuck with me all these years, an anthem of the era, but strangely prescient. Who would have thought it would resonate in an entirely different way, 45 years later?
Denny died in 1978, a great talent whose life was marred by tragedy and addiction. Fairport Convention, an eclectic, always-changing and highly innovative group, seems to still be together with some of the original members. Denny herself was with them for only about two years in a time of great musical creativity and exploration for so many people, 1968-69.
What made me think of these lines was walking through Queen Street West last week, past the hip and the cool fashion stores; stopping at Steve’s Music store to browse – and being at least twice as old as everyone else on the street or in the shops, often old enough to be everyone’s grandfather.
It’s a young part of town, but in the 80s, it was a part we frequented a lot. Everyone seemed to be our age, back then.
I don’t remember growing this old. (When did they?*)