Lost & Found ...

Neville Marten shares the tales of three lost guitars miraculously returned by generous citizens who respected the musician’s plight

Before the 2008 crash destroyed almost anything entrepreneur-ish, Guitar Techniques’ Jason Sidwell and I used to run weekend guitar breaks. We’d get guys like Guthrie, Dave Kilminster, Phil Hilborne and co to come along and give their slant on improving the playing of our students. It was fun and we shared many a lightbulb moment with our cohorts.

One weekend, Jason and I were in the bar of our hotel waiting for Dave Kilminster, our co-tutor for the weekend, to arrive. Just after 11pm Dave rushed in, looking flustered. ‘I’ve left my effing Tele at a gas station halfway between here and home,’ he exclaimed, ‘And need to drive back and see if it’s still there...’ It was his much beloved black ’72.

Dave had stopped for fuel, opened the boot to locate a bag with his credit cards, and, in the process, removed his Tele’s gigbag, leaning it against one of the pumps. After filling up, he simply drove off and raced down to Bath, where the event was to be held.

Miraculously, some honest soul had caught the whole sorry scene and handed the bag and its precious contents to the cashier. It was still there when Dave arrived almost two hours later. We had a great weekend, and it was during those two days that Dave learned he’d bagged the Roger Waters gig. Karma or what?

It’s Comeback Time

Back in the 80s, I owned a 1967 ES-335 that had been my main instrument since I acquired it in 1971. I was in a pop band that had several gigs a week, helping to fund several Gibsons and Fenders that I would swap around at will. One day, I thought I’d pull out ‘Old Red’, and it was nowhere to be found. Not in the van, not under my bed, nowhere. I racked my brain trying to think what gigs we’d done, and where I might have left it, or who’d borrowed and not returned it. Nothing!

For years it was gone, sucked into that black hole where all the lost guitars go. Then, one day Marty Wilde’s drummer, a guy I vaguely knew (this was before I joined the band) called me to ask, ‘Do you remember the serial number of your 335?’ As it happened I did, and reeled it off from memory. ‘Well, I’m holding it right here,’ he revealed.

It turns out we’d done an afternoon gig that wasn’t on our list. I’d left it at the venue and they’d put it in a cupboard, presuming the idiot who’d left it would return and pick it up. Except the idiot didn’t. Then one day the council informed the hall that they were inspecting the place, and could they please make sure everything was ship-shape. On emptying the cupboard they found this dusty old case and said, ‘Does anyone play guitar?’ And gave it to a young lady who said she’d like to try. The banjo-like tones of an unamplified semi were hardly inspiring to a neophyte plucker so, as she happened to know someone who knew the drummer, my ES-335 made its long and winding way home.

Same band, a few years later. ‘I think I’ll use the Les Paul tonight,’ I said to the singer who kept the van. ‘It’s not in there,’ he advised me. ‘Surely it is…’ I cried. ‘Nope!’ he confirmed. This time I remembered: our last gig had been at a Norwich hotel. This was Thursday and the gig was last Saturday.

In a panic I called them. That morning was ‘bin day’ at the hotel, and when the dustmen turned up to remove the trash they noticed a guitar case standing forlorn against a wall. These kind and honest guys informed the hotel and saved the guitar, a Deluxe converted to a Standard.

Moral of the story? Take care of your precious guitars. If not, be sure they’re found by the scrupulous and generous types who secured Dave’s Tele and my two Gibsons. If you have any great lost-and-found stories that you’d like to share with us, do let us know. And I’ll see you next month.

“The banjo-like tones of an unamplified semi weren’t inspiring to a neophyte plucker, so my ES-335 made its long and winding way back home”