Touching From a Distance by Deborah Curtis Page B

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    Musicians’ Union Collective meetings were usually held on Monday nights at the Band on the Wall. These performances were not so much gigs as rehearsals, accompanied by the jeering snipes of the Fall. Chaos usually reigned. One night we went out to buy chips and the bouncer would not allow us back in. On another occasion the rest of the band forgot to tell Ian that they were going on stage. He was in mid-pee when the sound of his intro (luckily ‘No Love Lost’ – a long one) filtered through the toilet walls. Reviewing one of the Band on the Wall appearances, a weary Mick Middles bemoaned Joy Division’s ‘limited’ and ‘samey’ performance and suggested that the Nazi connection had been ‘exploited beyond tolerance’. While in complete contrast Paul Morley, writing for the New Musical Express, described them as ‘animated and volatile …with eloquence and direction’.
    Ian and I often met at home for lunch, but this was usually by coincidence rather than arrangement. One afternoon Ian was sitting waitingfor me and told me that my parents had had to have my old dog, Tess, put to sleep. I was so inconsolable that I was unable to return to college. I felt stupid, crying like that over an animal, but being an animal lover too, Ian understood completely. Before the lunch hour was over, we decided that the only solution was to get another dog. When Ian finished work that evening we drove up into the hills to Windyway Kennels, the local animal sanctuary. A litter of chubby Border collies was just about ready to find new homes and we chose a friendly but frisky female. Ian named her Candy after the Velvet Underground song ‘Candy Says’ and was so delighted with her that I wondered why we hadn’t thought of having a dog before. While I took it upon myself to housetrain Candy and teach her to sit, Ian readily volunteered for the walkies. He never made any attempt to persuade her to walk to heel. I can still see them together – a lanky young man being pulled along, arm outstretched, by a panting, overexcited dog.
    The first night Candy stayed with us was unusually hot. We put newspaper down all over the lounge and left a small window open. Ian settled her down in a cardboard box with a hot-water bottle and hoped she would not be too lonely. During the night I awoke to hear her yapping. I waited to see if she stopped and when she did, I turned over and went back to sleep. The next morning I found the front door open and £7 – all the money I had – missing from my purse. This intrusion didn’t worry Ian at all. He had nothing to say about it except that he was thrilled that Candy had guarded the house on her first night.

CHAPTER SEVEN
WALKING ON AIR
    With hindsight, the decision to start a family was not a sensible one, especially as our finances were in such a precarious position. Nevertheless, hearing the other women at college talk about their children had made me broody. I tentatively began to talk about babies thinking Ian would probably suggest a more appropriate time to have one. Ian wasn’t the type of man to discuss events logically and what he wanted most in the world was for people to be happy. If a baby would make me happy, we could have a baby. Ian insisted that there was no need to worry about money as by the time he or she was born, he would be making plenty. I wanted to believe him and my desire to start a family overcame any financial concerns.
    When I did become pregnant Ian was pleased to tell his parents, but reluctant to tell the rest of the band. I was determined not to be the one that broke the news, but one night at the Band on the Wall, Bernard’s girlfriend Sue said to me, ‘You two are so close. I wouldn’t be surprised if we heard the patter of tiny feet soon.’ ‘How did you know?’ I replied. Ian looked so embarrassed, like a man who had made a blunder. Despite his apprehension, it was an anticlimax. Old-fashioned gentleman Hooky was concerned because earlier