1965 More Rolling Stones

6th January, Twelfth Night and the day I will meet Brian Jones.  We've now found a better way to get to the airport - tube to Hounslow East and then the bus, no tube or train went there, nor would they for many years to come.  Presumably if you had the money to fly, you would not be using public transport to get you to the airport. Air travel was not for oiks unless you played in a band.

The Stones were heading for Ireland and I planned to get an EP cover autographed. Three times I walked up to Brian, asked for his autograph and couldn't find my pen, on the third time he took one from another girl and signed it for me. Then I just stood there, right in front of him, mesmerised. He had to put his hands on me and move me out of the way, how embarrassing. Good lord he was beautiful. (Photo is of me with Brian).

Three days later they were back and we were at the airport again, we said hello as they came through Customs and as we stepped on to the escalator it came to a sudden stop, nearly throwing us all down to the bottom. There was a fair amount of shouting and some swearing, but as nobody was actually injured we continued down and walked out to the cars. We would see them again tomorrow at the Hammersmith Commodore gig.

Front row seats and no orchestra pit, could not be better. Good line up - Zoot Money, Julie Grant, The Checkmates and Marianne Faithfull, but most people were there for the main event and when they walked on, the place erupted. A guy ran on stage and appeared to try to kiss Brian, who looked quite surprised. I guess a cute guy is a cute guy. but an unusual event nonetheless. Girls yes, but men, not really. Marianne looked beautiful, innocent and vulnerable, a bit limited vocally, but pleasing enough and perfect for the time.

For me and my friends, 1965 was Rolling Stones year without a doubt, gigs, the airport, their flats or on the phone. They were extremely nice and very generous with their time.

'The Last Time', their sixth single was coming out and me and my friends went to the Television House studios at the bottom of Kingsway in Holborn where Ready Steady Go! would be recorded later that day. On my way there I passed a shop advertising the record for sale so I whipped in to buy a copy. The Stones all made their own way there in various cabs and chauffeured cars and I took the opportunity to get the record sleeve signed. Great idea though it was it opened a can of worms.  Apparently the single should not have been on sale until the following week.  Mick was saying 'I'm really, really annoyed.' I kept apologising. 'Don't worry love it's not your fault.'  I didn't stop of course. I was determined to get a whole set. Brian had just got back from America,  he said, 'Oh the single, I didn't know it was out yet.'  Charlie asked if it was for him because he didn't have a copy of it yet. Finally I had all five autographs plus Andrew Oldham's. Andrew wanted to know where the shop was - I told him and he disappeared. Mick was worried it would have an adverse effect on sales, but all was well, it made it to no. 1 just as 'Little Red Rooster' and 'It's All Over Now' had last year. They were on a roll.

We all piled in to watch the rehearsal, sadly we didn't have tickets for the actual show, but in many ways this was a lot more fun. They ran through 'The Last Time' and the B side 'Play with Fire' with Brian on harpsichord. Mick and Brian were mucking about, laughing and pulling the nerk or nanker faces, which involved pulling down your eyes, pushing up your nose and sticking your tongue under your bottom lip. Clearly these were simpler times.   

The Animals and Dave Clark 5 were also on the show. Mick sang along with the Dave Clark 5 when they rehearsed Chuck Berry's 'Reelin and a Rockin'. Mick and Mike Smith singer with DC5, were laughing and doing derogatory impressions of Dave's rather idiosyncratic drumming style, a bit of an easy target but hilarious nonetheless. Later we went to a restaurant round the corner where Andrew Oldham did a drawing of Mick's leg for me. Why I don't know but everybody wanted one.

March 5th was start of British tour at Edmonton Regal, of course we were there. A fabulous set opening with 'Everybody Needs Somebody', into 'Pain In My Heart', 'Down the Road Apiece', 'Time Is On My Side', 'I'm Alright, 'Little Red Rooster', 'Route 66' and 'The Last Time'. Needless to say we were in full tilt mode, screaming like banshees and running to the edge of the orchestra pit, with the idea of propelling ourselves on to the stage. Although I have to admit the sharp pointy music stands below put me off my stride. I was alternately looking down into the pit and yelling at Brian, he smiled back and Mick was laughing. Security carried me off.

The next morning when me and Pamela arrived at Holly Hill, a workman was replacing a pane of glass in the front door. Keith had smashed it with his boot heel the night before because he'd lost his key. We walked down to the Tip Top dry cleaners, near the Tube with Keith to pick up his clothes, he wanted to pay by cheque and needed a pen, the shop girl lent him one. As we go outside he's grinning at us and produces the pen he'd just nicked, and hidden inside his jacket!

Back at the flat Mick said he'd seen us last night and asked what happened when I got dragged off. He laughed when I said the security guard who was trying to carry me outside had to put me down after I kicked him.

They were getting ready to go to the next gig on the tour. We carried out some bags to the car - Mick's green Zodiac I think. We stood and chatted with Mick after Keith decided he wanted to take another guitar and went back for it. While we waited Mick did an impersonation of Paul McCartney that had us hysterical.

Keith signed the Eastern Airlines luggage label from Chicago that was on his guitar case for me. They waved goodbye and drove off to Liverpool. 

Two weeks later we went all the way out to Romford to see them again. The support bill on this tour was good, Goldie and the Gingerbreads, an all female group, who could really play and had great attitude. Dave Berry and the Cruisers, The Konrads, the Checkmates and the Hollies. Johnny Ball (Zoe's dad) was the compere, not that bad, some of them, well most of them, were dire. The predominantly female audience were standing on the seats, dancing and screaming. A good evening for all concerned.

On the way back from this show, the Stones stopped to use the toilet at a garage in Stratford, East London.  The attendant refused to let them because they didn't want any petrol, so they pissed against the wall. The police were called and later Bill, Mick and Brian were arrested and charged. A member of the public who witnessed the event found it 'disgraceful'. When the case came to court in July the attendant said that when told they couldn't use the toilet Mick said to him 'we will piss anywhere man' and the group took it up as a chant, then drove off in their car making well known hand gestures out the window. Marvellous, I would have paid good money to see that. All three were found guilty of using insulting behaviour and fined £5 each plus 5 guineas costs (for those of you who don't know, a guinea was a pound plus the same figure in shillings - so 5 guineas would be £5 and 5 shillings and if you don't know what a shilling is.... Anyway let me tell you I'm sure it was worth every penny in publicity.

The Holly Hill scene was getting out of hand, hoards of girls would be camped out on the steps, people were breaking in and taking whatever took their fancy. I arrived one day to find about a dozen girls sat outside the front door and as I was leaving Keith opened the door. He had bare feet and was wearing jeans and a denim jacket, said 'f*ck, there's too many' and shut the door. He wasn't wrong.

I went back later when it had quietened down and was chatting to Keith while our friends Laraine and Ann went shopping for him. Ann asked if she should take the papers down to Mick, he said 'Better not he's in the bog.' We'd seen him go in there earlier with his trousers round his knees. Too funny. Mick was unhappy, someone had stolen his sealskin anorak. He asked us if we had any idea who had taken it, we didn't. On a previous occasion we had convinced some girls to return some of the things they'd taken, like jumpers and records.

Mick told us how he had chased a couple up the street who had broken in and stolen a harmonica, he said he'd banged their heads together and they gave it back to him. Apparently Keith had got a girl up against the railings outside after catching her coming out of the flat. Mick went out and Keith took up the story. He said she'd taken about £200 worth of gear, but started crying, so he let her go, presumably after retrieving his belongings. We looked amazed, he said, 'I couldn't kill the poor little prat could I?'

One beautiful sight I will never forget is of walking up Holly Hill as the sun was going down, seeing Mick standing on the steps scraping shit off his shoe. He must have trodden in something Ratbag had left behind.  What a marvellous moment.

Holly Hill had as I said become a meeting place and we had made some good new friends with girls from Holland Park School. Ann, Wendy, Laraine and Sandra who were in the same year as Jenny Boyd, sister of Patti, George Harrison's girlfriend. They all lived in West London and Pamela and I often visited them to play records and discuss The Stones and other bands that took our interest.

The Stones had pretty much taken over my life at this time, school work and exams were a very poor second and third, I did enough school work not to attract too much attention but that was about as far as it went.  One morning in assembly the art teacher Miss Driscoll came running in late, she asked to borrow my hymn book taking it out of my hands as she walked by. 'How interesting' she said as she handed it back when we'd finished. My book was covered in pictures of the Stones and inside were two photos, one of Mick and one of me with Brian. Word was getting out, I would need to be more careful.

Two days later I was back at the airport, the Stones were leaving for a Scandinavian tour, I asked Brian about the rumour that he had bought a disused church, he said he didn't have one, he'd made it up because he got sick of people asking him where he lived.

While they were in Denmark Mick had got an electric shock as he touched two microphones at a soundcheck. He fell back onto Brian, who in turn fell on Bill who bore the brunt of it. It wasn't as bad as it might have been as Mick pulled the mains plug out as he fell.  Bill recovered quite quickly and they continued with the gig. On their return to London I asked Brian how it felt, he pulled a face and laughed.

Talked with Bill for a while, he was with his wife Diane and son Steve, he seemed to be ok.

Mick and Keith have finally moved, this time to separate addresses. Mick and Chrissie to a mews house in the West End, Bryanston Mews East, just behind Montague Square where Paul McCartney lived with Jane Asher. Keith ironically found a flat in a block in St. John's Wood on Carlton Hill.

We did continue to visit them, but the fun was definitely decreasing. Things were changing, we were maturing, their fame was making them less available and an attraction to some people who were not very pleasant to be around.

The Stones were to be on Ready Steady Go Live, I didn't have a ticket but decided to go down there anyway.  They arrived in a Rolls, Keith nodded to me, I was standing outside as they walked in and up the upstairs, but I couldn't really see through the window.  I decided to go home to see the show on TV. As I was leaving some girls who'd been there came up to me and said that Brian had stopped on the stairs, pointed at me and was saying something as Keith walked up behind him and pushed him up the stairs. I had no idea what it meant, but it seemed exciting (Keith was determined to protect us from Brian).

The desire to do something musical was getting to me.  I know I turned down the chance to learn violin, but I thought maybe me and my friends could put a vocal group together. Didn't have much more of an idea than that, but they thought I was out of my mind and the plan died then and there. It would be sometime before I finally got it together.


Decided to go to the fan club on Argyle Street.  Bill came down, I phoned Charlie to see if he was coming, he turned up later with his wife Shirley.  He was wearing the most amazing blue suede coat, and looked fabulous, he really knows how to dress. We walked down to Vogue House in Hanover Square with Mick, Keith, Andrew Oldham, Mike Dorsey and Eric Easton.  Mick clearly had a black eye but would not divulge the origin. We assumed Chrissie had whacked him, but he did not let on. Mick, Keith and Eric left to go to a photographers studio, we went home.

Brian has found a place to live, a mews house on Elm Park Lane in Chelsea, we used to visit him fairly often, mostly to chat, sometimes to get autographs, really it was just nice to see him. As luck would have it, the road he lived on was a short cut from the bus stop to one of our friends, Laraine who lived in a council block at World's End. One time as I was about to knock on the door I noticed something scattered on the ground, it was a ripped up photo of his girlfriend Linda Lawrence, sitting with their son. How sad, Linda seemed like a nice person, and now she'd become another one of his girls with a son called Julian. Apparently he asked them to name the child Julian if it was a boy, in honour of his hero the jazz saxophonist Julian 'Cannonball' Adderley.

Pamela and I were on Denmark Street, the home of music in London - Regent Sound, guitar shops...  While we were there we saw Donovan walking down the street, he stopped and chatted to us and we got his autograph. We were about to leave when we came across a couple of girls we'd met before, not a particularly pleasant pair, they were clearly smug about something. Eventually they showed us what they had - some stolen photographic slides, there were a few of Mick and Chrissie sitting in the living room at Holly Hill and one of Chrissie holding Mick's cock (allegedly). Although we were so naive after turning the slide round a few times we had to ask what we were looking at. Somebody got one of the girl's address details and passed it on to Mick who, not surprisingly, was very unhappy about the theft and keen to get them back.

The Walker Brothers hit 'Make It Easy On Yourself' was huge, we loved it and got to know them soon after they arrived in the UK. We phoned them, Gary said they were going out, but would be back around 5.30pm - yes the band did all live together and no they weren't real brothers. We arrived at their place in South Kensington on Onslow Gardens just as they were walking down the street. John had not grasped the concept of us driving on the left and was nearly run over crossing the road. He leapt up in the air and right over the front wing of the car. We laughed for hours.

We talked often and when they moved to Paulton House in Chelsea they called to give us their new number and address. If Gary answered the phone he would generally ask if I was feeling evil and try to persuade me to go round, I wasn't and I didn't. I may have only been 15, but I hadn't taken leave of my senses. How many girls he tried this approach on I don't know, I can't imagine he was that successful, but I could be mistaken.

We met Donovan again, this time outside the Playhouse Theatre going into the Joe Loss Pop Show. He is such a friendly guy, we like him a lot. We watched him play 'Catch the Wind', 'Colours' and 'Josie' - good show.

Me and Pamela entered a dance contest and won tickets for Ready Steady Go. I had to sit my French GCE the morning of the recording. Rushed out as soon as I could, changed into a cream corduroy skirt, black corduroy jacket and black suede sandals and got to the Redifussion studios in Wembley Park as soon as I could. It would be a good show, the Kinks, the Yardbirds, Burt Bacharach, Les Surfs (a French band), and the Stones.  Loved every minute, good choice of songs from the Stones. Brian asked us to be quiet for 'Play With Fire'. They followed it with  Hank Snow's 'I'm Moving On' and then we all went bananas for 'I'm Alright'. Perfect.

Back at Heathrow the Stones were heading for Glasgow, they arrived late. 'Oi Charlie we've missed the bleeding plane' Brian shouted to Charlie, as Keith flung the car door open so hard it nearly came off its hinges and got jammed between two cars. I've never seen Charlie laugh so much. While they waited for the next flight they decided not to eat in the airport because the food was awful, (some things never change). When they returned I walked through the terminal with Brian, he stopped to buy a 'girly mag', while we were sitting in the lounge Keith rolled up his newspaper and using it like a megaphone shouted 'You pornographic sod Jones!'  Jones was amused and agreed the mag was indeed very rude.

Studying Shakespeare's King Richard II for my GCE English 'O' level was too good an opportunity to miss, with a small amount of defacing all that was needed was some autographs, especially Keith's. He thought it was pretty funny.

The flight was called and they were heading for the coach to take them out to the airport, Mick walked towards me and for some unknown reason I kissed him, his face was rough and unshaven, but it felt good. I think I was more surprised than he was, he smiled at me and I turned round to see Keith laughing and waving from the coach.

Four days later they were back and it was my birthday. After a lot of hysterical discussion our friend Ann asked Keith 'What does plating mean?'  He rapidly passed it on to Brian, who laughed so much he could hardly speak. Eventually he replied, 'It's some sort of sheet metal work isn't it Keith?' Undaunted she asked Bill who told her not to be so filthy. That's rich coming from him. Keith said to Ann 'I'll do it if you like, but you only want to plate the Walker Brothers. She said she didn't and he said 'OK you gotta learn sometime.' Got in the car and drove off laughing. For those of you who don't know, plating was the then current slang term for oral sex, and all parties were fully aware of its meaning.

At the airport about a week later (I had been home) I saw Brian's car pull up, he got out, walked towards me, climbed through some railings and said 'Hello darling'. I loved his voice - a fascinating, but strange mix of posh, effeminate and sexy. I said hello and we walked in the chemist inside the terminal, where Keith was doing his funny walk. We continued into the grill and sat at the bar. The waiter says we all have to have the 7/- (seven shillings) breakfast, a ludicrous suggestion and obviously a ploy to get rid of us. Keith just wants a cup of tea, the waiter says he can't have one. 'I want a cup of tea, now go and get it.' The waiter says 'I am not going to give it to you.'  Keith demands 'Go and get the manager.' Brian meanwhile is repeating 'Bring the manager,' over and over.  Eventually the waiter says he will serve Keith and Brian but no one else. We all get up and leave. Brian squeezes my hand and smiles at me. So sweet, sometimes...

Here's a photo of Mick with Pamela, Ann and Jennifer at Heathrow.

Sometime in July we decide to go to Ivor Court, this is a mansion block on Gloucester Place near Baker Street, where Andrew Loog Oldham has his offices and where Charlie and Shirley had a flat, but were moving out today. We were talking to Keith who took the opportunity to give out a Brian Jones warning 'you need to be careful around him, he's already got five children.'  This came not long after he told us to stay away from PJ Proby, because he was a dirty old man. This was because Mick's girlfriend Chrissie had run off to his place after an argument, so PJ was not flavour of the month. Keith knew we'd been visiting his place opposite Chelsea Barracks and when he moved to his mock Tudor house on Barn Hill in  Wembley Park.

P.J's was open house, one time we were there the Rockin' Vickers came to visit arriving in their hearse on the way back from a gig, a very amusing sight and a lively evening. PJ was big on dogs and had two Saint Bernards, one was a puppy, completely white and looked like a polar bear cub, very cute. The third was a Basset Hound that really loved to howl, particularly if PJ went out the room, when he would sit under one of the dining chairs and wail until he returned, or sometimes would just start up and nothing would stop him, boy was that annoying.

Bumped into Mick and Keith, who were at the fan club, as I was heading to the Palladium to get tickets for their show next month. That was a nice surprise.

Saw them the next day too, again at the fan club, after I had taken my French pen pal to see the delights of Trafalgar Square.

The Mini was the current must have mode of transport and Mick and Chrissie both had one. Mick's was green with a white roof and her's was white. One evening Pamela and I arrived at Mick's as he was leaving. He said he was sorry, but he had to go out and asked us if he could drop us somewhere. He was heading for West London and offered to take us to Baker Street tube station. Pamela was very keen to take the front seat, I gallantly climbed in the back, thereby avoiding any unseemly pushing and shoving! It was a good ride but not long enough.

Here's a pic of Mick in Chrissie's car.

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1964,The Rolling Stones, John Lee Hooker,

1st January was the start of BBC's Top of the Pops.  This new year's day show included The Rolling Stones 'I Wanna Be Your Man', Dusty Springfield's 'I Only Want To Be With You' and the desperately 'square' Swinging Blue Jeans 'The Hippy Hippy Shake'.  The show finished with the current no.1 - The Beatles 'I Want to Hold Your Hand'.  Who knew the show would have a 42 year run?  We were just thrilled to get another music programme.

The Stones were seriously not popular with a big section of society, parents, establishment, Mary Whitehouse were all predictably appalled and thought they were a threat to the way of life we were currently enjoying. Hooray.  Having said this, not all teenagers liked them either.  Many of the girls in my class found them, filthy, disgusting or depraved and sometimes all three. 

For me music was a refuge from a world I didn't feel part of, it made sense and spoke to me in a way nothing else did.  In April I got to see the Stones play live at the NME All Star Concert at Wembley Empire Pool. There were lots of other performers, some good, some bad, the Stones were no disappointment, Mick and Brian looked fantastic, the music was great. 

Now I have a burning desire to see more live music, trouble is me and my friends are a bit young and many clubs do not really want 14 year old girls on the premises.  The blues scene was not new in London but it was now expanding at an unbelievable rate. This tiny island was a hot house for music, over the next decade some of the most amazing tracks ever recorded would be made here and we would witness some of the best live acts ever seen on a stage.  The Beatles were certainly the start, but they definitely weren't the finish.

After much whining and pleading my friend Pamela's older brother David agrees to take us to a blues club, as long as we don't embarrass him by mentioning the Rolling Stones.  To the blues purists the Stones had sold out by having records in the charts, Mick and Keith were not rated very highly, and plenty thought Charlie had made a definite wrong move by joining. We agree to his condition and are taken to the Manor House Blues Club to see Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames. What a fabulous gig, they were brilliant, with the many members of the Blue Flames squashed on to the tiny stage.  The unmistakable sound of the Hammond organ with the Leslie was just great.  Georgie's taste was a mix of jazz and blues, his set included 'Seventh Son' and 'Love the Life I Live' by his hero Mose Allison, we weren't especially fans of Mose, but we liked the way the band played and Georgie looked good.

This year we are heading to Blackpool for our family holiday and my schoolfriend Carol is coming. We have to share a bedroom with my Nan, who could snore for Europe and along with her hearing aid emitting a ear piercing whistle in the middle of the night, we got little sleep.  My Dad hung a blanket between my Nan's bed and ours, but what we actually needed was to be in another town.

One night we were treated to front row tickets for the ice show.  Dear god it was dull that is until a skater in a dodgy gorilla suit came gliding across the ice heading straight for my friend and gave her a big monkey hug. Carol was horrified and terminally embarrassed, I wanted to laugh till I was sick, but managed to control myself.  She was still bright red when we got back to the ghastly flat.

Luckily we are back in London by 4th July to see the Stones on Juke Box Jury to judge this week's singles. An extra chair had to be added as there were usually only 4 members of the jury.  It was almost not broadcast because they behaved 'so badly' in rehearsal.  David Jacobs, the DJ/presenter was a bit miffed, they'd made comments like 'I guess it's OK if you don't have any aspirin in the house'. All very satisfying for us.

We're at the Majestic Ballroom in Finsbury Park tonight (July 15th) to see The Pretty Things for 4 bob. In a headline they are described as 'The Group that Ungassed The Stones' ?! I like The Pretty Things but I doubt they ungassed the Stones - whatever it means.

4th National Jazz Festival at the Richmond Athletic Grounds, and me and Pamela had ten bob tickets for the 7th, the Friday night. It was quite a long way, we took the overground train and got there early enough to find seats quite near the stage. The T-Bones, the Authentics and the Grebbels were on the bill and I'm sure they were good, but I have little memory of them. We were there to see the Stones, the audience were serious music fans, sitting quietly and well behaved in their seats.  We did the same and watched in awe, Brian looked stunning, particularly when he played tambourine. Loved Bo Diddley's 'Mona', the beat hypnotic, the guitar amazing. I was in a dream world, time had stopped. Unfortunately they over ran and we missed the last train, had to phone home for help.  My Mum told me to get the tube to Kings Cross and my Dad would meet us in the car.  This would not be good, dragging my Dad out was not going to be a happy situation.  Pamela was dropped at Canonbury Court and we continued home in an angry irritated silence.  I was not popular.  But the gig was what mattered and it was no disappointment.

A new girl joined our class, Sandra Ratcliff, who I knew from my previous school William Tyndale. She'd been expelled from Highbury Hill Grammar and parcelled off to us.  She was quite a hit and could be entertaining.  In the sewing class presided over by the scary Mrs. Sills, she pretended to swallow a pin, all hell broke loose, teachers appeared from everywhere, she was given bread to eat, milk to drink and taken to hospital.  I have the feeling she was nearly expelled from our school too, but in the end she left of her own accord. Sandra went on to do some modelling and acted in movies 'Family Life' and 'The Final Programme', she later appeared in Eastenders for a couple of years as Sue Osman.

Our second visit to Manor House with David, was to see the legend, John Lee Hooker, the backing band was the Groundhogs. We grabbed a couple of chairs right at the front. Mr. Hooker walked from the dressing room and on to the stage with his guitar, he looked straight at the audience and began playing. He had a powerful presence and initially I found him quite intimidating. I felt like I was being tested. Are you ready for this little girl?  'Boom Boom', 'Crawlin' Kingsnake', 'Dimples', 'Boogie Chillun'.  This was the real thing, was I ready? You bet your life.

Back again next month for Jimmy Reed, Jimmy was very happy to be here and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the surprising attention of the British blues fans.  He did 'Big Boss Man', 'Bright Lights Big City', 'Honest I Do' and loads more.  Them, the band with Van Morrison, were the support and the backing band for Jimmy.  They weren't a half bad blues band. Van was not the prettiest lead singer, but he had a good voice and was determined to show how versatile he was by playing everyone else's instrument and elbowing them out the way. Not sure what the rest of the band thought, we were slightly puzzled, but none the less amused.

Long John Baldry and his Hoochie Coochie Men often played the Manor House, Rod Stewart played harmonica and sang a few numbers, he seemed quite nervous and sometimes turned his back on the audience. He was very popular and often turned up in a red velvet suit. A rumour circulating at the time was that he wore women's underwear, don't remember if it was confirmed. 

Like much of the London blues scene, this band had its beginnings with Blues Incorporated, run by Alexis Korner and Cyril Davies, and was the catalyst for just about every group you could think of.  Brian, Mick, Keith and Charlie of the Stones played with them, as did Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker, Paul Jones and John Mayall. Long John sang with them before he joined Cyril Davies All Stars - Cyril had split with Alexis due to 'musical differences'. After Cyril's untimely death, Baldry formed the Hoochie Coochie Men with Jimmy Page and Nicky Hopkins, who had been in the All Stars. Later Rod Stewart known as Rod the Mod joined and, Jimmy and Nicky left...

Have to mention The Joe Loss Pop Show (BBC Radio Light Programme), as we there on a regular basis. Joe who was not our cup of tea, an ageing bandleader who had a hit with 'March of the Mods', an uptempo little ditty that was very, very annoying, but did have a spot on his show featuring current performers. We would go to the recordings at The Playhouse Theatre on Northumberland Avenue, down by the Embankment, where you'd get in for free and see some really top class acts. His show ran for some time, we saw Manfred Mann, The Yardbirds with Jeff Beck, Donovan, Cream, Georgie Fame, Sounds Inc., the Kinks... The show had a surprisingly good atmosphere and was often quite anarchic. Joe liked a bit of a laugh and so did the audience. One time he had Keith Relf conducting the orchestra while he (Joe) was dancing, it was really funny - maybe one of those things where you have to have been there.

Me and Pamela's interest in the Rolling Stones was increasing by the minute, we absolutely had to meet them in person, and thought our best bet was London Airport. So one day in October we made our attempt. Pamela stayed the night at my place, the alarm was set for 5.00am. We got up, got ready and left in the dark for the airport. Unfortunately nobody really knew how to get there, we'd looked at the bus map and worked out a route which involved more than a few different buses. Of course it took forever and as we arrived a couple of girls were coming out of the terminal, it was clear we we'd missed them. We must have looked so devastated they took pity on us and gave us the address of Mick and Keith's flat in Hampstead - this kind of information was usually a very closely guarded secret and rarely handed out. So a huge amount of thanks to whoever you were.

Soon after they came back from the States me and Pamela took the morning off school ( if anyone checked I must have attended the doctor's and dentist's with alarming regularity, but apart from an occasional raised eyebrow nothing was ever said), we took the tube to Hampstead and as we walked towards their flat on Holly Hill, Keith was looking out the window, stretching and yawning, we knocked on the door, chatted to them both and returned to see them again later that night. They were both really nice guys and gave freely of their time and continued to do so for the next couple of years. (Photo is of Keith at the door to the Holly Hill flat).

They worried about the amount of school we were missing. Mick told Pamela she should study and pass her exams, she told him she would. I think she may not have been strictly truthful. Mick wanted to know what kind of music we listened to, what singles we bought, what bands we liked. What we thought  of Little Millie's Ska track 'My Boy Lollipop'. That kind of stuff.

We could have surprisingly ordinary conversations. I'm not sure what other people thought was going on when we were with them, but my guess it was something quite different.

Mick and Keith's autographs Nov 1964

Mick's girlfriend, Chrissie Shrimpton, Keith's girlfriend, Linda Keith and his dog Ratbag all shared the flat.  The entrance via a long flight of stone steps, led to the first floor kitchen and living room with stairs down to the two adjoining bedrooms.  Mick's at the front painted green with a double bed and tiny electric fire on the wall and Keith's at the back much the same, but painted blue.  The bathroom was down there too which had the only toilet.

On one visit Pamela was desperate to use the loo, but Mick had just gone in for a bath and Keith said they had run out of toilet paper. We ran down to the tube station to use the Ladies, and of course the only paper on offer was the ludicrous invention sold by Bronco. We took a few sheets back anyway, but shiny toilet paper?! Really?!

Previously Brian, Mick and Keith shared a flat in Mapesbury Road. Mick and Keith took the Hampstead flat together, but Brian hadn't found a new place and was staying wherever - with his girlfriend Linda, sometimes with Charlie and Shirley, Phil May (Chester Street).

1963 Moving home, Georgy Girl, JFK, Beatles, Rolling Stones

The flat in Canonbury Court comes with two bedrooms, I was 13 and sharing a room with my 6 year old brother.  We had to move.  The council's offer is a new build just off the Caledonian Road, a three bedroom maisonette - we take it.  I have my own room on the fourth floor with a great view out to Kings Cross, the West End and later the Post Office Tower.  The block in Lofting Road is built on a space that had once been a synagogue, the story going round is that it had been bombed in the war and is now haunted.  All us kids are scared witless.  Roger Moore (The Saint) lived in a house that backed on to us, maybe he's scared too. As it turns out the story is a load of old cobblers.

My Dad decides to go Victorian on us, attempting to get some house rules going - if you don't eat your dinner it'll be back for breakfast, that kind of thing. Generally looking for some cost cutting ideas.  None of us, including my Mother go for it, his nickname Scrooge was not a joke and we're living as frugally as possible. All lights are turned off when we leave a room and are only ever switched on in the first place if it's pitch black.

The flat is freezing in winter, no central heating of course and  although I'd sprint from room to room I still got bronchitis every year.  Our GP thought I was being starved, this wasn't true I ate like a horse, but was just extremely skinny and often ill. My Dad called me the Benzedrine Kid because I always had one of their inhalers shoved up my nose.

We didn't buy new if we could possibly avoid it, appliances were second hand, as was the furniture unless my Dad built it himself.  Bobby was lucky he wasn't a girl or he'd never have had any new clothes.How much more money could you save?

My Dad's main hobbies are reading true crime and drinking beer, on occasion he was able to combine both - a family outing to the Magdala Public House in Hampstead where Ruth Ellis shot her lover, was spot on, we also visited 10 Rillington Place (no pub) among other various crime scenes. I guess this explains my love of Waking the Dead, but I inherited no taste for beer. Tequila, Jack Daniels, Opus One, yes - beer no.

Ready Steady Go! is a new commercial TV music programme. Starting on the 9th August it's broadcast on Friday evenings and  initially presented by Keith Fordyce, who is then joined by Cathy McGowan and Michael Aldred. This would turn out to be the best British music show ever, with such great energy even before it's broadcast live. A thrill to be at and to watch, with a booking policy that was truly impressive, Otis Redding, James Brown, Sonny Boy Williamson, Beatles, Stones etc. etc. People would drop in to chat, Mick Jagger, John Lennon - a definite must watch. 'The weekend starts here'.

In September the new English teacher Mrs. Davies arrives, our class 3T really like her, she has great stories to tell about her husband Hunter Davies, the USA, Elvis and the Beatles, and a brilliant choice of book for us to study - the would be classic J.D. Salinger's 'Catcher in the Rye'.  Her fairly swift departure is disappointing and I think in part due to her book 'Dames Delight' written under her maiden name of Margaret Forster, not really impressing the schoolboard!  Soon after she left 'Georgy Girl' came out and to the amusement of many pupils, the two protagonists, Georgy and Meredith are rather recognisable members of the school's English Department.  Probably best she left when she did.  Having read her autobiography 'Hidden Lives' I was surprised to see how unhappy she was teaching us and found us difficult and unruly. I really don't remember it that way.

The assassination of President John F Kennedy on November 22nd in Dallas, Texas by Lee Harvey Oswald (or so we are told), brought a sadness to our world. We might have only been 14 but we caught the feeling that everything had changed and not for the better.  The moment having been caught on film made for much replaying, with the conspiracy stories still going on into the next century.  Marilyn Monroe's death the year before, created as much mystery and conspiracy theories, not least because of her very close connection to the president and his brother Bobby, also assassinated.

Music was playing a bigger part in many teenagers lives, the BBC's Juke Box Jury and ATV's Thank Your Lucky Stars were both unmissable TV shows along with RSG! which began on 9th August. I saw The Rolling Stones on TYLS performing 'I Wanna Be Your Man', a great version of the Lennon/McCartney song, with some fabulous slide guitar from Brian Jones. Their houndstooth check suits were a bit odd, but they looked interesting and certainly got my attention.

Both mine and my friend Pamela's record collections were expanding, and not surprisingly we'd been caught up in the first wave of Beatlemania. There were some great singles coming out - 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand', 'She Loves You' from the Fab Four, Dusty's 'I Only Want To Be With You' and the amazing Ronettes with 'Be My Baby'.

A whole bunch of us from school, went to see The Beatles at their Christmas show at the Finsbury Park Astoria.

This was my first live gig, having no idea how loud and crazy it would be, the screaming girls were a bit of a revelation. They really let rip and screamed and screamed and screamed. It seemed very liberating.  I bought a rosette with Ringo written across it, crass merchandising, but it made me happy, sadly the Beatles didn't get a penny as Brian Epstein had given the rights away, not realising what they would be worth. Barron Knights, Tommy Quickly, The Fourmost, Billy J Kramer and the Dakotas and Cilla Black were the support acts. Rolf Harris was somehow involved too, but not sure how - I don't think he was painting! It was very exciting, girls were yelling so loud you could hardly hear anything the Beatles were playing. Ringo was perched up on a scarily high podium, behind the front three, how they could hear each other I have no idea.I guess they couldn't, the equipment to deal with those circumstances hadn't been invented yet.

Good though they were, the frenzy began to wear a bit thin and horror of horrors our parents liked them too. In fact my Dad paid for me to join their fanclub, this was plainly wrong.

The Rolling Stones on the other hand, could not have been more right.  We loved the raw blues and their wild, sexual, arrogant attitude. As Willie Dixon said 'The men don't know, but the little girls understand'. He wasn't wrong.

1962 murder, dancing and gangs

1962 and the British music explosion is beginning its slow burn, our red and cream Dansette is still in operation and getting a steady diet of trad jazz and pop. Acts like Elvis, Adam Faith, Helen Shapiro are continuing to have hits, Acker Bilk's 'Stranger on the Shore' is extremely popular, as is Frank Ifield with his strange yodelling song 'I Remember You' which incidentally my grandad records a version of in a booth on Brighton Pier. In days of yore he was part of a singing duo with his pal Benny Clark called The 2 Bs. They performed at  various events - RAF reunions, Rotary Club meetings, mental institutions and their opening number went 'I'm Benny Clark out for a lark and I'm Bert Badger for sure, you'll never be blue when we are near you...' So you see music is in my blood!

Me and my friends go dancing at the Tottenham Royale on Saturday afternoons. The Disc Jockey, a right snotty bugger, with his finger on the pulse, repeatedly turns down our requests for the Beatles 'Love Me Do'. Don't suppose he ever played it.

My record collection continues to grow - Ketty Lester's 'Love Letters', 'Dance with the Guitar Man', Duane Eddy, Chris Montez 'Let's Dance', Little Eva's 'Locomotion', 'Sealed with a Kiss' Brian Hyland and 'Love Me Do' The Beatles.

There are a lot of those records that explain some complicated, often laughable dance routine, the Twist, the Popeye, the Limbo, the Hitch Hike, the legendary Mashed Potato and the most confusing Madison, which was a line dance that you had to be invited to join. You'd better know what you're doing or you'd be immediately retired, humiliated.

Some of my school friends live near the Arsenal and are peripheral members of the local gang, I occasionally hang out with them after school and at the weekends. Sometimes we go to Finsbury Park and mess about on the row boats on the lake, or it's street corners and smoking. This is not that interesting and the gang leader is no fun to be around, he's a bit of psychopath, who allegedly murdered someone in the alley next to the Wimpey Bar at the Nag's Head. We're told other gang members gave him an alibi so he is never charged. True or not, I do not enjoy being ordered about by him and resign.

Gang fights are not unusual, mostly breaking out on a Saturday night around the snooker hall near Highbury Corner, Holloway Boys have a preference for knives while the Girls go for broken glass. Some girls from my school are members, but I don't really enjoy the feral madness.  I'll fight if I have to, but I don't regard it as an evening's entertainment.
Luckily for me music is going to get a lot more exciting...

1961 Barnsbury Secondary Girls School, Bay of Pigs, TV, hols

The school sent a message home to all parents with the news that it would now be possible to have music lessons. Essentially this meant violin and my mother asked if I would like to do this. I was beginning to think she was trying to get rid of me, first the exciting possibility that I might go to grammar school, now the keenness for me to be seen leaving the flat carrying a violin case, was the woman trying to get me killed? Unless the case contained a concealed weapon - no to the violin.

I was a smart little cookie and could handle the academic stuff without too much effort, but had a complete loathing of any organised physical activity, except for hockey which I loved, possibly because it came with a big stick. Hockey games were held at the Muswell Hill playing fields on Colney Hatch Lane near the North Circular and required a coach trip, often a St. Trinians affair, school girls, hockey sticks, pushing, shouting, screaming... The fields themselves were hardly plural and were on a hill, hard work whichever goal you were facing. Either the tiny ball would run away from you at a speed that left you face down in the mud, or fighting a losing battle if you were hitting it up the slope. Why I enjoyed this I can't imagine. Surely not the outfits, short dark green pleated gym skirts, white aertex shirts and the voluminous green knickers with a pocket. What was that pocket for?

April of this year was a scary time, Bay of Pigs and Nuclear War hovered around us, doom was on the horizon. We truly thought we were all going to die. I don't remember any adults, family or school teachers discussing it with us. There were some rather lurid descriptions of the effects of radiation poisoning from older kids, who terrified us with their dark prophesies. Desolation was in the air and confidence in those in power was supremely lacking. Although as everyone now knows this particular conflict was avoided, the Cold War was in the West's consciousness. Communism, spies, 4 minute warnings, the Berlin Wall and suspicion in general, were a part of our lives.

The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament was up and running, I wore the little black and white badge with defiance, but never went on any marches - an 11 year old arm chair anarchist. Looking the part was easy, I already had long hair, knee length black jumper and the jeans, but I decided to keep it in the family where the 'debates' with my Father were many and endless.

Many families by now owned or had on the dreaded H.P. (Hire Purchase - seen as common, as in common as muck, not ubiquitous) a massive black and white TV, which received, if you were lucky, a transmission of grey pictures from Alexandra Palace, or the all too often vision of snow coupled with white noise when the tuner moved off the station. Much of my TV watching was spent crouching below it, holding the dial in place. Other makeshift ideas were tried, like wedging it with an elastic band, but these were never strong enough and would inevitably snap or ping off and fly across the room.

When we had a picture, I liked the two music programmes, '6.5 Special' named after its broadcast time of five past six on a Saturday evening on BBC and 'Oh Boy' which was on the 'other side', not the dead zone, but ATV the only other channel. Both of these programmes at separate times had been produced by the infamous Jack Good. They showed acts like Lonnie Donegan, Petula Clark, Johnny Dankworth, Billy Fury, Marty Wilde and Cliff Richard. 'Oh Boy' was filmed round the back of the shops on Canonbury Road, sometimes you'd see groups of girls in their macs and headscarves, waiting in the street to talk to Cliff, the new flavour of the month. One of them must have scored, because he regularly used to visit a girl in our flats. Celebrity was not what it is now, it did not impress the residents one little bit or her dreadfully embarrassed mother, whose daughter was now regarded as a bit of a tart.

TV closed down after the epilogue and finished with the National Anthem, if she was still up watching, my Nan would stand to attention in her parlour, partly because it was a natural reaction and partly because she thought she could be seen by the TV broadcasters and no amount of explanation could convince her otherwise.

The playing of the National Anthem was a regular occurrence in cinemas, theatres etc. much of the audience would attempt to leave before it started, rather than have to stand and wait till it finished. There was a bit of an undignified rush for the doors, but for the most part people would not move once it had begun.

Quite a few 45s made it on to our record player this year - John Leyton's 'Johnny Remember Me' - when the mists a-rising and the rain is falling and the wind is blowing cold across the moor - wow what an opening lyric! (Written by Geoff Goddard and produced by Joe Meek). 'Runaway' by Del Shannon, The Brook Brothers' 'War Paint', 'Are You Sure' The Allisons, Helen Shapiro's 'Walking Back to Happiness', The Everly's 'Temptation', Billy Fury with 'Jealousy'. My Dad bought The Temperance Seven's 'You're Driving Me Crazy' and Kenny Ball's 'Midnight in Moscow'.My Mum liked 'A Theme from a Summer Place' by Percy Faith.  Charlie Drake was still at it this time with 'My Boomerang Won't Come Back', but we didn't go for it.

Few families had telephones and children were rarely if ever allowed to touch it, let alone use it. We had to have one for my Dad's work, in case of a newspaper delivery emergency! It was one of those big black heavy ones, with a dial that made a lovely whirring noise on its return. Telephone lines were not easily come by and to begin with we had to have a party line, meaning we shared it with another family in the block. This would drive my Dad crazy, because either family could pick up their receiver and listen into the other other person's phone call if they happened to be talking. He thought the woman upstairs was doing this all the time, how interesting his phone calls were I'm not sure, but it certainly got his goat and couldn't wait till we got our own line.

If memory serves, our number was CANonbury 2660, London phones all had names identifying the area. Some like FLAxman, SLOane and REGent held a promise of sophistication with a hint of glamour, others sounded a bit more down market like SYDenham or NORth. If you were dialling a number you only used the first three letters followed by the four numbers, but when you answered you'd say the whole in thing in your best phone voice. Often followed by an irritated 'oh it's you.'

We were still lucky enough to be having family holidays, not everyone could afford to go away. This is my favourite photo, taken in about 1961 in Woolacombe, north Devon, featuring family friends Jack and Sheila, my four year old brother and my Dad wearing a pac-a-mac and my Mum's headscarf. It is a true representation of holidaying in England. My memories of these outings is always accompanied by a soundtrack of hard hitting rain. We would go out whether it was tipping it down or not, to stay in was not an option anyone relished, we were like caged animals desperate for freedom.

1960 the eleven plus

Storm clouds were gathering, the 11+ was heading our way, ready to change, stamp and pigeon hole us forever. Believe it or not I really did have to fail. Living on the estate and going to a grammar school was not an option. My 'friends' ( I don't mean Pamela, who was a real friend) in the flats loathed grammar school pupils and my life would not be worth living if that's where I ended up, I was already on dodgy ground, I did not need to make matter worse.

We were given old exam papers to work through and this was our introduction to multiple choice. Unfortunately I did not understand that there was only one correct answer and would often find some obscure connection, which I saw as a legitimate answer. My teacher explained that although technically I was correct, it was not the answer they were looking for. I was outraged, how could correct be so arbitrary, and just about confirming my 10 year old view of the world.

Unwittingly I had been given the tools with which to fail, still I almost blew it and was asked to sit it again because I was right on the border line, thank goodness I was given another chance. Of course I will never know if I was clever enough to fail or not clever enough to pass. Either way I was totally relieved not to be going to Highbury Hill Grammar School for Girls.

We moved on to our respective secondary schools where we would be moulded into respectable young women. Pamela to the Catholic, William of York and me to Barnsbury Secondary School for Girls. I knew little about Pamela's school except that it was mixed and their playground was on the roof. Some people have all the luck. My school on the other hand had several playgrounds all on ground level, and as its name suggests was populated entirely by females. Two of the more sinister variety, the Pye sisters, had a penchant for terrorising the first years and relieving them of their dinner money. To their unending frustration I was protected by an older friend, Brenda from the flats, who went to our school and scared the living daylights out of the Pyes, and there were two of them. She could fight like a demon and did not understand the concept of losing. Any and all foes would be left cowed and bruised. Luckily, on my arrival four years previously, I had been deemed friend and not foe material.

On one visit to Brenda's I walked into a family feud, there were three siblings, who were regularly at each other's throats, I knocked on the door, her brother opened it, grabbed me, dragged me into the bathroom and locked the door. He now had Brenda's prized possession and would not let me go until some truce and promise had been agreed. To be fair he was very polite and did not harm me in anyway, I was just a bargaining tool. There was a lot of shouting and kicking at the door, he was older than her, but she was much the better fighter and he was panicking. Eventually a truce was reached, I was released and he escaped without a beating. Successful hostage negotiation.

Our Dansette was getting its usual hammering - Jimmy Jones' 'Handy Man' was a favourite of mine as was much of Adam Faith's repertoire 'What Do You Want?', 'Poor Me', although wasn't knocked out by 'Lonely Pup in a Christmas Shop'. I assumed Adam was a cute, moody misunderstood teenager and couldn't understand why he would record such a thing.  The EP from the film 'Expresso Bongo' became part of my collection, four tracks from Cliff Richard and the Shadows from the suitably angst ridden movie about the music biz with Cliff playing the part of Bongo Herbert - no really! The Everly's still featured large in the charts as did the Shadows with instrumentals like 'Apache'. My parents were into music too and before marriage and family life overtook them used to go to north London jazz clubs - Edmonton's Cooks Ferry Inn and Fishmongers Arms in Wood Green. They also bought records, my Mum had 'Broken Hearted Melody' by Sarah Vaughan, I really liked that. My Dad more trad jazz and Lonnie Donegan who walked that strange line of skiffle and comedy 'Rock Island Line' and 'My Old Man's a Dustman', what was that all about?

1958 Canonbury Court, Islington

My school friend Linda who lived in a basement near Chapel Street market, came on holiday with us to north Devon, the journey was always long, usually taking two days. We stayed in BandBs in Somerset towns like Taunton or Langport. Of course we got bored, there was no in car entertainment except us, we played I Spy, we sang, we moaned and we got car sick.

Roy + Sylvia Peatling, Jack Johnson, my Mum + me

On the second day, when we arrived on the beach, Linda who had never been out of London, took off like a greyhound, straight into the sea, fully clothed and still wearing her brand new, navy and white slip on shoes. My Dad was yelling at my Mum to stop her, it was a waste of time and later someone had to explain to her Mother why her shoes, which she couldn't afford to buy in the first place, were completely ruined. My Dad tried to fix them with that white liquid shoe stuff, Meltonian? But the sea had left its mark and nothing would shift it.

(Photo is of us at Woolacombe with the windbreaker)

Back home in London, if we weren't at school we'd be roaming the streets, playing on the bomb site, or roller skating in the courtyard. Our love of skating could not be over estimated, we'd have worn them 24/7 if we could. Skating to the Choc Box on Upper Street was a regular activity to buy their one penny home made lollies that lasted about four licks, before the fruit flavouring ran out and you were left with ice on a stick. Occasionally we bought Jubblies, orange flavoured ice in a pyramid shaped container, although expensive the taste of orange mixed with packaging was strangely moreish.

There was a surprising amount of good music on the go - Elvis 'Jailhouse Rock', 'King Creole', The Everly Brothers 'All I Have to Do is Dream', 'Wake Up Little Susie', Buddy Holly 'Peggy Sue', Jackie Wilson 'Reet Petite', Duane Eddy 'Rebel Rouser', Peggy Lee's 'Fever'. And as always the charts reflected the nation's pic and mix music tastes and included the above with Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, Connie Francis, Pat Boone, Charlie Drake and Bernard Breslaw. I know we had a 78 of 'Wake Up Little Susie' and I think a 45 of Perry Como's 'Magic Moments' with 'Catch A Falling Star' as its b side, which I have to admit I liked. Maybe it spoke to my naive nine year old idea of romance, who knows?

Games were always on the go in the flats, He, Hop Scotch, Skipping, What's the Time Mr Wolf, Simon Says, sometimes a huge game of marbles. We'd dug a hole in one end of the once grassed middle section. I loved the marbles themselves but didn't like losing them. Often mass games of Tin Tan Tommy - a hide and seek variant involving a tin can and a lot of shouting 'Tin Tan Tommy I see Billy behind the pram sheds', and Billy would have to join the tin holder, until everyone had been found and identified. Some games lasted ages and it would be getting dark, kids were being called in by their parents and others couldn't be found because you couldn't see, so we'd have to bring it to an end.

The building that marked the centre of the estate was the club house. At the rear of the ground floor was a laundry, occupied by vary scary women who would stand no cheek from any of us and would throw a bucket of water at any kid who had the temerity to answer back. It was a warm place that held a huge attraction if you were playing out in the cold, but was certainly not a child friendly zone.

Events including a Christmas show were held on the first floor in the hall with its stage and seating, here the estate talent could show off. This could vary from the sublime (slight exaggeration) to the ridiculous (no exaggeration). The Luck family had a selection of blonde daughters who provided much of the singing and tap dancing for the show, wearing skimpy shiny outfits, they were very popular with certain members of the audience. One young girl, a friend of my brother's was up to sing the Andy Stewart song 'Scottish Soldier'. She came out on stage deathly white and terrified, we applauded as she began to sing and repeat the first two lines over and over until someone from backstage hauled her off.

During the Christmas show the presents we had chosen from the Christmas Club were given out. A list had come round in September for the kids to choose from and a weekly sub was collected to pay for them. The list was not wide ranging, one year my reluctant choice was an umbrella.

The club arranged visits to the pantomime, my Dad came with me to see 'Goody Two Shoes' at the Golders Green Hippodrome and to Finsbury Park Empire for 'Aladdin'. We went by coach and were given an apple and orange in a brown paper bag. It was an exciting do going out to the theatre at night. Although I have to admit I did find the crossdressing and the over acting a bit puzzling.

The club house had quite an imposing entrance with a set of very wide concrete steps. My friend Pamela was attempting a wild roller skating stunt using the sides of the steps as a launch pad. This went really well until she crash landed and finished up in the Royal Northern Hospital having her broken finger put in a splint. And thereby achieving an unofficial badge of honour.

We spent a fair amount of time at the local playground near Essex Road on the swings, the umbrella, the horse... We were in the middle of a polio epidemic and were bombarded with scary stories of kids who had caught it from the sand pit or the local swimming pool. We were injected and sugar cubed against anything that was going.

But the top entertainment has to be Saturday morning pictures. We sometimes went to the ABC on Essex Road but usually it was the Gaumont on Upper Street, the place was heaving. Regular cliff hangers worked like a charm, Lone Ranger, Zorro, small boys charging down the aisles with their coats on like capes, signing Zs in the air. Out bright and early queuing to make sure we got in and bagged good seats, 3d in the stalls, 6d upstairs, we might not be able to afford to sit in the balcony, but we weren't stupid enough to sit in the target zone either. Those more affluent, up in the circle, would rain down missiles, Kia-ora cartons, Butterkist, Lovehearts, Spangles, anything that came to hand and of course the well titled stink bombs on to the plebs below. Mayhem it may have been, but it was our mayhem and we loved it.

1956 winter - Return to the smoke

Rain was hitting the windscreen, the tiny wipers were flying back and forth, I sat in the front seat of our car, my eyes glued to the back doors of the removal lorry we were following, while my Dad drove through the storm down the A1 back to London. Returning from four years in the infant new town Stevenage, a rural idyll, always sunny, with fields full of poppies and cornflowers, woods carpeted with bluebells and primroses, and me and my cohorts running wild and carefree, well in my mind anyway.

The car is a red Opel Kapitan made in Germany, left hand drive and one in a series of unusual vehicles my Dad acquired, usually on the wrong side of clapped out. My Mum was often needed to give it a push while my Dad sat in the driving seat waiting for the engine to turn over. No wonder she needed a hip replacement.

This was not my first trip back to London, I had been with my Mum a couple of times before on the Green Line Bus which made me luridly sick, this journey was no different. We couldn't stop the car without losing sight of our belongings, so I had to vomit out of the window, making allowances for wind speed and trajectory, I was only a seven year old kid, I wasn't that accurate.
I was already distraught to be leaving my friends, my boyfriend in particular, whose mother worked in the sweet shop and often handed out freebies and as we arrived at our new home in the winter of 1956 in this austere, dark, cold, smog filled London it seemed like a lousy deal to me. Enrolled in a school with grilles at the windows, no playing fields, buildings as old as Dickens, I had been kicked out of Paradise.

You would not believe it, I certainly had no clue, but fast forward a few years and I would be in exactly the right place, at the right time.

The pupils at my new school William Tyndale were surprisingly friendly and I settled in without too much pain. The uniform of brown and yellow was ugly, but not compulsory so no one wore it. I sat behind John Quaterman, who wrote funny poems and made me laugh a lot. Two Geralds sat together, but sadly didn't follow their true destiny to become a comedy double act. One very thin, the other extremely large, whose mother saw fit to anoint his head with lard every morning before he left for school. There was Joey Annerson, David Cook, Maureen O'Mahoney, Roy Trevelyn, Sandra Ratcliff and her friend Susan, a stylish pair along with Jane Stonehouse, the daughter of the infamous Labour MP John Stonehouse, who years later faked his own death, hiding out in Australia, before being caught and returned to England and sent to prison. But for now he was on the ascendancy and Jane was soon moved from our school to the more salubrious Parliament Hill.

Mrs. Reason was my favourite teacher, she taught English and didn't hit us much, which instantly made her more appealing. However, others did with whatever was their favourite weapon of choice, usually the slipper. Some preferred to aim the black board duster at our heads if we were talking or not paying attention. The elderly teacher in need of a regular daily hug, moved slow, so the fast were safe.

Just across the road from the flats was the bomb site that all the local kids played on. A German V2 rocket had hit St. Mary's church school on Shillingford Street near the end of the war and the children and teachers who survived were given space in William Tyndale. We always referred to them as the Marys and it was many years before they had their own premises again. The local sweet shop, right next to the school, missed being hit by inches and was largely unchanged. You entered up some stone steps and in through the door knocked back by the heady odour of paraffin and cats. Mojos, Black Jacks, Fruit Salad, Little Gems, Flying Saucers and that cheap strange tasting chocolate made into shapes of carpenters tools all lay in wait, as did jars of Lime and Cream Soda, Milk Bottles, Cola Cubes etc.

Keep walking, you’d come to Cross Street, and Jack’s dairy, the bread shop, fish and chip shop, Partridge's the newsagents and Al’s record store a place I loved to visit, searching through boxes full of things I wanted but could not afford.

School summer holidays were as long as ever and my parents would usually head south west to Devon or Cornwall. Various family friends would join us and we’d rent a house or a couple of apartments. These were always lively affairs, we would take our record player, sometimes a portable black and white TV and a barrel of Watney’s Pale ale. Although rock 'n' roll was on the go, most of our records were jazz, mainly of the trad variety. There were some Jelly Roll Morton 78s and one of Paul Robeson singing Ol'Man River from Showboat. We played all sorts of games, table tennis, shove halfpenny, board games - ludo, snakes and ladders and of course cards, pontoon and gin rummy were our favourites. My mother of course didn’t actually get a holiday unless cooking and house work in a different venue could be construed as holiday. (The photo is of Mum and me on a Vespa)

We usually managed to get in some kind of minor trouble. One time we liberated a deer’s head from a wall and filmed it riding around the streets of Teignmouth, south Devon, in our car. Some neighbours snitched on us to the owners, who arrived to check on the head and tell us we’d have to leave if we couldn't behave ourselves.

Hi there...

This is my retro blog - you will need to imagine yourself back in 1956, 7 years old - swinging London was on a very distant horizon. Life was still in black and white.


In 1963 music would start to change everything, me included. I was 14 when I first saw the Beatles, a few months later John Lee Hooker and the Rolling Stones. It was relentless, Cream, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck. I could no longer remain in the audience, I had to do it too - first with Janis and  Holly (she was a drummer then, before she found her Italians), then Mother Superior (an all female band), the Video Kings, and Sharks with Snips and Chris Spedding. Read on if you're interested...