TW: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, eating disorders and drug abuse.

Most people can remember specific songs or music that have been significant or relevant to an event or moment in time, and continue to resonate with them throughout their entire lifetime. I am no different, and when I began work on my 3 storytelling quilts the images and experiences I wanted to convey often had their own accompanying or corresponding theme music, or anthems, even.

The first quilt, which covered my birth in Sheffield from 1963 up until 1983, was a particularly music-laden period. My early years, like so many other kids of that time, revolved around the Top Forty Playlist which went out on Radio 1 on a Sunday evening. Like clockwork I would be in my bedroom glued to the set. The earliest music I remember liking came from groups such as The Sweet, T Rex and Bowie — though I still cringe when I remember Gary Glitter! My older brother preferred Alice Cooper and Dr Feelgood.

Later when my crusade to escape my family resulted in running away to London, and spending time living and being looked after by a group of radical squatters in Villa Road, Brixton, I was first introduced to reggae and in particular beat poet Linton Kwasi Johnson – who I continued to follow throughout my adolescence and beyond.

When I was taken into local authority care, still aged only 13, and placed on a care order, I eventually ended up at Todwick Grange Children’s Home, just outside Sheffield, where I stayed until I turned 18. There, I was initiated into ‘Roller-mania’! The girls I was initially housed with were all obsessed with the Bay City Rollers, and as I was very low down on the pecking order, and relentlessly bullied, I felt obliged to ‘pretend’ I liked them too (though actually it made no odds). I donned the ‘outfit’ — white trousers (called Skinners) with a tartan stripe down the edges, and a ridiculous ‘Woody’ haircut!

Thankfully, I was moved to a different part of the home where I was no longer bullied and spent most of my years at Todwick associating far more with the boys, which was just great. I loved being outdoors, playing football, building dens and, yes, running away!

After escaping from the Bay City Rollers, I gravitated towards Ska music and Punk Rock, which were just starting to take hold, though I also, weirdly, liked Jethro Tull, Fleetwood Mac and The Doors. I remember seeing The Specials at an outdoor event in Rotherham and their track ‘Ghost Town’ epitomised the declining industrial landscape of South Yorkshire in the late 70s and 80s. The Sex Pistols appealed because of their message of contempt for the status quo. Even at that young age, I was already an established rebel, and interested in politics — a member of staff used to pass on his copy of the ‘Socialist Worker’ to me each week. I followed events such as the Grunwick Strike etc, and remember, vividly, the Brixton Riots, already recognising the racism of the state and police and their use of the controversial ‘SUS’ laws which contributed to the riots.

When I left care I gravitated back to London, which was like a beacon of freedom and liberation to me as it was where my ‘new’ life, away from my family, had first begun and the lifestyle of the Villa Road squatters had left such an enduring impression. I ended up sharing a flat in Stockwell, South London, not far from Brixton, with another girl from care, Jane, who was black. We were both into The Clash, though Jane was even more of a superfan than I was. Our ‘soundtrack’ included songs like ‘London Calling’, by The Clash, alongside songs by the Poison Girls, who were an alternative/punk/indie band I’d been introduced to by a new friend who was one of their roadies. Their music vividly expressed and epitomised my personal and political leanings. We spent many nights roaming the streets and all-night cafes of Soho and the West End, fuelled, more often than not, by Speed or amphetamines, returning home only to crash out when the high ended.  My drug taking quickly took a firm hold and resulted in my friendship with Jane breaking down and Jane returning to Sheffield, and a few months later I followed suit, though years later we were reunited. I was still only 18 years old.

The following few years in Sheffield were quite turbulent. I spent time in a therapeutic community alongside a group of mainly young people where I met Bob who introduced me to Heroin. After we both left the ‘TC’, somewhat unceremoniously, we spent most of our time together taking whatever substances we could lay our hands on. The music scene in Sheffield at that time was particularly vibrant and exciting. Local bands such as Pulp, Human League, ABC, Heaven 17 and Cabaret Voltaire, to name just a few, were beginning to emerge. A new alternative venue called The Leadmill opened, championing new music and acts as diverse as Poison Girls, reggae bands like Clint Eastwood and General Saint, alongside new and exciting standup comedians like Mark My Words and beat poets. Eventually I found my way to FE College, immediately became involved in student politics, broke my short-lived relationship with Bob, and drugs, and in 1984 ended up living full-time at the Women’s Peace Camp at Greenham Common. If I had to choose just one song to epitomise this period — which summed up Sheffield, it’s industrial decline, social politics — it would have to be Pulp’s ‘Common People’

Thus, began quilt number two (1983-2003).

Music played a major part in life at Greenham.  I was lucky to live alongside women such as Rebecca Johnson, a singer/songwriter who wrote several iconic ‘camp’ songs. There were also prominent folk singers like Peggy Seeger and Frankie Armstrong, and American Peace activist Holly Near, creating a soundtrack of Peace songs which became a constant part of Greenham life. We sang around the fire, whilst we laid in the road blockading military vehicles, shaking down the fence, on incursions into the base, in police vans and police cells, and even in prison. Our singing was as integral as the Non-Violent Direct Action we took, we used it to challenge and frustrate soldiers and police but just as importantly we used it to connect with each other.

This period also corresponded with my ‘coming out’ as a Lesbian and embracing my new ‘Feminist’ identity. Whilst at camp I became exposed to singers like Feron, a favourite icon of ‘sing- alongs- round -the- fire’.

During my time at Greenham my involvement in ‘NVDA’ inevitably resulted in prison time. Whilst in prison I caught up, almost, with what was taking place in more mainstream music. Apart from ‘camp’ music the only radio I heard regularly whilst living at Greenham was the ‘Archers’ — a favourite amongst some camp women, I absolutely loathed it! In prison, I came to enjoy listening to music from bands such as Pet Shop Boys and Frankie Goes to Hollywood. In 1986, I had a period when I was restricted by bail conditions to reside at a supporter’s house in Henley-n-Thames. Whilst there, I became hooked on a nuclear-themed TV drama series called ‘Edge of Darkness’, and after introducing it to a few of my Greenham friends they too became hooked so would often join me, to hang out, and watch the next episode. The heroes, or anti-heroes, of the series were a CID police officer whose daughter was murdered as a result of her being an anti-nuclear/environmentalist activist, and through his search for the truth, his relationship with a somewhat rogue CIA operative, called Darius Jedburgh. The two unlikely allies strive to uncover the conspiracy surrounding the death and as a result unearth the murky dealings of the nuclear industry and the secret state. I won’t spoil the climax of the series — it’s well worth watching — but the haunting theme music by Eric Clapton will stay with you forever. Myself and a co-defendant later donned T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan  “Jedburgh Lives” at our Crown Court case for breaking into the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment at Aldermaston – which didn’t go down well with the judge!

Post Greenham I lived back in London for a while whilst working as a Researcher at the New Statesman and then returned to education as a mature student. When I finished at the New Statesman the staff bought me a bright red Sony Walkman — my first ever and I took it everywhere! Shortly after starting college, co-defendant Lorna and I were back in Crown Court for an action we’d taken part in previously, before we’d both left camp. We were sentenced to 4 months in prison. Music once more came to the fore during that sentence. My most vivid musical memory was Christmas 1987, my only Christmas spent in prison. On Christmas Eve we’d been ‘tortured’ by a Salvation Army band playing carols in the exercise yard — I remember women throwing buns out of their windows, but they played on regardless! On Christmas Day itself, we were allowed to watch ‘Xmas Top of the Pops’ and there is one song that always comes to mind when I think of that time. The Pet Shop Boys were number one in the charts with their song ‘Always On My Mind’ and the day after I was released I went straight out and bought it. That must be one of my favourite songs of all time.

After prison, back at college, I got stuck into academia but listened to lots of music, such as Suzanne Vega and REM (who I was mad about). Towards the end of my first year, I started applying to universities and I was encouraged to consider applying to Oxford or Cambridge. Although I didn’t really think I stood any chance of getting in, I applied to two of Cambridge’s women only colleges: Newnham and New Hall, as well as Lancaster and Keele. I was overjoyed when I was called for an interview at Lancaster, Keele and, most surprisingly, New Hall. I was offered places at both Lancaster and Keele before I’d even had my Cambridge interview. The interview at New Hall was unlike the others in that I had a discussion with the Senior tutor of the college, followed by an intense interview by two academics who taught on the Social and Political Science tripos, which was the Cambridge degree I wanted to do. Anyway, the long and the short of it was that I was offered a conditional offer, dependent on achieving high grades in all subjects I was currently doing, which I did, and that clinched it. I was to start at Cambridge in October 1990!

Before that though I’d been approached by a producer from the BBC, called Cathy Marnie, who wanted to produce a radio documentary for BBC Radio 4 about my journey ‘from care to Cambridge’. She explained it would entail me being followed around and recorded over a period of a few weeks, sort of ‘fly on the wall’, and would then be cut and edited into a montage. I agreed and it went ahead whilst I was completing my second year at college. When finished, Cathy asked what music I would like to accompany the programme — she’d been thinking of possibly ‘Tom’s Diner’ by Suzanne Vega. I, crazily, said I loved the classical piece of music known most commonly as ‘I Vow To Thee My Country’. ow, looking back, she, and everyone else for that matter, must have thought I’d truly lost my mind! I knew that the piece, with its original words, was tightly linked to patriotism, was a patriotic hymn, but I’d heard it being played just before I’d had my interview at New Hall, and it had stirred me emotionally, and stuck in my mind. I had this mad idea that I could somehow ‘subvert’ it from its patriotic roots, take it away from its lyrics, and use it to highlight my unusual, unconventional, journey.

I wish I’d gone with ‘Tom’s Diner’! That stupid choice will follow me to the grave!

So, I had arrived — September 1990 — in my new home, New Hall. Because I was a ‘mature’ student, aged 27, the college kindly gave me a room on the Graduate staircase, so I was alongside older, more mature, students. This was such a huge culture shock and, at times, felt like I was in the lion’s den. Academically, I could hold my own but emotionally it was hard work. It didn’t start too well, as before term started I was summoned to the College President’s office and given a somewhat stern talking to about having been interviewed by a journalist from ‘The Independent’  for a piece which was published the same week as I arrived — she sort of suggested that my ‘herstory’ might alarm parents of prospective students from applying to New Hall — former drug addict! However, when the teaching staff and Fellows of the college heard about her comments, they were kind and supportive, I had ‘earned’ my place, regardless of my history.

Music continued as my bedfellow and companion, background noise to late nights or all-nighters finishing off essays to meet demanding deadlines. Although I was on track academically, my mental health problems were always there, in the shadows, and by the end of my first year they were becoming more and more prominent and invasive. Eventually I ended up in hospital and although I later re-started my second year, I’d lost my confidence and direction and had to make the heartbreaking decision to drop out. The following years  were perhaps some of the most difficult, and lonely, of my entire life. I seemed to be on a pathway to self-destruction. I had begun self-harming, as I had in childhood, attempted to take my life, and in the process lost touch with, or alienated, nearly everyone apart from a small circle of people who never gave up on me. A period in a specialised unit for people who seriously self-harmed taught me that self-harming was more often than not a coping strategy — if you feel you have no control over your life then self-harm can feel like something you can feel ‘in control of’, without it I doubt I would have survived. Whilst at the unit my love affair with music once more came to the fore. When not in group sessions or partaking in external activities, the small number of residents, nearly all women, could be found huddled together in the smoking room, which also had a CD player. This may sound absurd, but we even discussed our ‘music-to-self-harm-playlist’! No, seriously, we all had one. I remained an ardent REM fan, my favourite by far being the poignant song ‘Everybody Hurts’. A number of songs that always take me back there included ‘Tubthumping’ by Chumbawamba and the iconic version of ‘Candle In The Wind’ that Elton John reworded and performed at the funeral of Princess Diana – who died whilst I was there, an event which seemed to have added significance because she herself had opened up publicly about having self-harmed, perhaps the most prominent person to have done so. Self-harm, like eating disorders and mental illness in general, had, for so long, been cloaked in secrecy and shame.

When it came to the end of my stay on the unit I didn’t want to return to Cambridge, I needed a new start in a new place and it just happened that one of the Housing Associations I applied to offered me an interview for a place in a shared house in Taunton, Somerset. I had never been to Somerset before but the house itself, next door to a park, the Housing Association workers whom I met and the current tenants living there were like a breath of fresh air, I happily accepted and later moved in to a large, light, room at the top of the house with two windows, one of which overlooked the park. My good friend, Jane, a journalist I first met whilst at the New Statesman, drove me and my scant possessions from Kent to Taunton and when she left me there, in my new room, in a strange town, I wondered what my future would look like or whether I even had one. 

Listen to Lyn Barlow’s Quilt Music soundtrack, here.

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To find out more about Common Thread, featuring works by Lyn Barlow and Grayson Perry, click here. Common Thread is on display from the 16.09.2023 - 01.01.2024.

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Image credit: Jesse Roth.