I do not have any tattoos…. Resisted peer pressure whilst drunk in parlours. Witnessed too many pallid limbs celebrating non-existent Maori heritage.
Rationale: a tattoo might compromise any future capability to go off grid and anonymise. Now in my 60s that scenario is unlikely, having led a blameless life.
However I have been subject to stop and subsequent questioning by the police, in the 70s in particular.
Typical scenario: Aged 14 to 16 or so walking back home to Hillfoot, from Ray Norris parents’ house in the Switchback area, at about 1am, usually carrying a guitar case. Sober, fizzing with caffeine, (we liked figuring out Humble Pie riffs whilst drinking coffee). Milngavie Road seemed to be awash with cops in those days….. obviously on the lookout for guitar rustlers.
No small talk. Non negotiable attitude. Did not bother me.
Glasgow in the 70s had a much higher crime rate, particularly in relation to violent crime than it has now. Bearsden was deemed safe. As Ken Dodd would say “you could have a reign of terror with a balloon on a stick”.
Well, almost, I was once mildly chibbed.
Not only was 70s policing more robust, the coppers were too. I recall being stopped a couple of times by a gigantic 6’ 6” sergeant who worked out of Milngavie nick.
70s doctrine example 1: Mr Mac managed the RIO cinema at Canniesburn Toll. He was a great guy who let all his late son’s pals in for free to see any film. One time the cops were called to deal with rowdy, rather simian of countenance, Maryhill neds in the foyer. Order restored… cops ask Mr Mac if he’s agreeable to the neds being taken to the rear of cinema for some moderate correction. Of course he declined.
70s doctrine example 2: The late Paul Murdoch was caught travelling on the blue train without a ticket. The cops were doing a planned sweep at Hillfoot station. Cop : “Have you anything to say?” Paul : “in future I’ll take the bus”. As a juvenile they let him off. Actually all cops hate arresting juveniles as the paperwork is arduous and the waiting for social workers, parents etc. takes up a whole shift.
The noughties: Police are very polite and approachable now.
A few years ago a pair visited to counsel me with respect to post burglary trauma. A daytime “express” burglary” had occurred, the intent being acquisition of cash and jewellery. None of either in my gaff.
The burglars did find my Katana (short Japanese sword), my antique (legal) Adams Revolver and my souvenir handcuffs from a previous career. They left these items on the floor.
I appreciated the officers cod psychology… however I would have preferred it if they had re-directed their efforts to the smiting of footpads with Taser and Baton.
(Post by Colin ‘Jackie’ Jackson, of Glasgow – May 2021)
PRESS PLAY BEFORE READING!
Greetings nosepickers!
A look now at this week’s Smells of the Seventies Top Twelve.
Coming straight in at number 12, we have:
MILK MONITOR HANDS:
The primary school position of ‘milk monitor’ was one of honour. Only the trusted and well behaved were granted the privilege of carting the perpetually cold, heavy, milk bottle laden, metal crates around the numerous classrooms.
Being conferred this position of prestige effectively gave permission to skip class for a while each day. Result!
There was a downside though – there always is. When you returned to your classroom, milk round duties completed, and rested your weary head in your hands …..
Boak! Blech! Eeeuuuww!
The smell of sour milk is one that lingers. It would seep into the fabric of your clothing and you’d notice the kid in the next seat inching towards the edge of their desk. And retching.
Playtime couldn’t come fast enough and you’d rush to the toilets and wash your hands clean. But a state of freshness is only a state of utopia.
The combined scent of sour milk and carbolic soap is not the most attractive.
***
Jumping three places from last week’s number 14, is:
FRESHLY CUT GRASS:
Not only back in the day, but even now, this is the smell of freedom.
On hot summer days at primary school, we’d often be taken outside for lessons. No matter the subject, the grassy aroma would relax the mind and even a half hour discussion on Oliver Cromwell became bearable.
At secondary school, balmy summer breezes would waft the fragrant scent into the science labs through the opened fanlight windows. Accompanied by the muffled sound of a tractor pulling the grass cutter, it hinted towards the end of term.
It was a time of change: the football pitch was being shorn, soon to be lined as a six lane athletics track; national grade exams beckoned; summer holidays were around the corner.
The smell of freshly cut grass meant exciting times ahead.
***
Falling from a peak position of 8, this week’s number 10 is:
PARMA VIOLETS:
I still have no idea why these sweets were so popular. Perhaps because they were cheap?
From Swizzel, the makers of Fizzers (which were decent sweets) Parma violets were / are hard sweets based on some aniseed based confectionery in India which are used to freshen the mouth after a spicy meal.
The smell of violets may be a half decent base for perfume, or toilet cleaner, but surely not for human breath?
I mean, I love the smell of garlic, but I’m not so sure it should be used as a mouth-wash.
***
Making a bit splash this week we have a joint number 9:
CHARLIE / BRUT 33:
In 1973, Faberge launched their ‘33’ everyday cologne. In the same year, Revlon launched their ‘sharp flowery’ fragrance, ‘Charlie.’
I know both are now regarded with a little bit disdain; as ’cheap.’ And certainly the Brut 33 splash-on gave that impression, coming as it did in a plastic bottle no less.
However, for naïve young schoolkids, living on paper round and baby-sitting incomes, these fragrances met our budgets while making us feel sophisticated; classy.
I very much doubt there were any dates between school pupils that didn’t involve a dab or two of either these scents.
Henry Cooper / Barry Sheene and Shelley Hack can feel well pleased with their influence on the match-making process.
***
Coming from nowhere, at 8 with a bullet, we have:
CAPS:
No – not the little peaked efforts we sometimes wore to primary school – these caps.
Principally for using in toy guns, we would stamp on them to ignite the tiny dots of what we always believed to be gunpowder. However, I think I’m right in saying old fashioned gunpowder is not shock sensitive and has to be ignited. So it may be a mercury based compound that actually forms the black dot on the roll of paper. (Who says I didn’t pay attention in Chemistry class?) Anyway – who gives a tu’upenny one for the science? We’d place lines of these on the inner ledge of our school desk and brusquely bring down the lid to create an almighty (as we heard it) bang.
The residual smell of spent gunpowder or whatever, and burnt paper was just tops! It was also exciting as we felt we were doing something just that wee bit naughty.
***
Making its annual assault on the charts and debuting this week at number 7, it’s, erm, comic annuals.
ANNUALS AT CHRISTMAS:
Every Christmas night, I’d head to bed with several new ‘annuals’ as reading material. Excited as I was to read the exploits of Alf Tupper (Tough of the Track) or Desperate Dan, my abiding memory of childhood Christmases, is the smell of these books.
I have to confess, that even at the age of sixty-two, I attract some weird looks from shoppers in Asda through the month of December, as with the books close to my face, I fan through the pages of the Beano / Dandy annuals.
***
With a ‘tree-mendous’ jump of fourteen places to number 6 this week, we have:
CHRISTMAS TREES:
Back in the day before plastic was invented (well, almost) we always had real Christmas trees.
There is nothing in this world, I’m quite certain, can evoke such sense of sheer excitement in a young kid than the smell that permeates home when a real Christmas tree is placed in the corner of the living room.
***
Falling two places to number 5 after an amazing thirty-three weeks in the charts, is:
‘WET’ SCHOOL LUNCHES:
Every day, by playtime, (or was it ‘break’ when we were at secondary school?) you could tell what would be on the menu for lunch.
My heart would sink when I could detect the putrid odour of a ‘wet’ lunch. Invariably, these would be ‘wet’ days weather wise as well; days when the dining room windows would run rivers of condensation.
A ‘wet’ lunch could be expected when the stench of stewed cabbage would mingle with the cheap, Bisto substitute gravy used to smother the rather odious looking beef olives.
There would be no silver lining either, as in general, the Head of Kitchen would dictate it be better to get all the crap out in one go, and subject us to pink custard (Devil’s Spew) and prunes for desert.
***
Where there’s a Ying, there’s a Yang, and making a comeback at this week’s number 4, is:
‘DRY’ SCHOOL LUNCHES:
Ah! Now you’re talking. There was something so comforting when from the sanctuary of the bike shed opposite the kitchen, you could smell the roast of breadcrumbs on chicken or fish fingers, and chips deep fried in blocks of melted lard.
You could also bet your treasured Lynyrd Skynyrd album on there being rhubarb crumble and custard on offer for second course.
***
Matching Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ album for continuous weeks on the chart and remaining this week at number 3, comes:
DOG POO ON YOUR SHOE:
Maybe, as a society, we are better educated these days. Or maybe dogs are genetically just constipated now. But there’s thankfully not as much dog dirt lying in the streets these days.
There was nothing worse than the smell that followed you home when you’d stepped in a pile of poo hidden in a tuft of grass. I’m sure we’ve all been there.
Or worse, if you’d perfected a slide tackle while playing football, only to ….. well, you know. Yeuch!
Having it ingrained in the tread of you bike tyre was no fun either. More so if it were the front one. Think.
***
Going around and around in the chart is this week’s number 2, climbing again after a steady fall in recent times:
GOLDFISH BOWL / TADPOLE JAR:
How many of us pestered our parents for a goldfish when we were young? Or ‘won’ a sad little specimen in a poly bag when the carnival came to town?
Our parents, realising how lucky they were we’d not asked for a pony, or even a dog, jumped right on their good fortune and readily agreed … on the condition you looked after it.
“It’ll teach junior about life and death and responsibility” they stupidly thought.
Yeah – that went well … for all of about a week, until the magnitude off the task took its toll. What? Clean out its bowl as well as feed it? Every four days? Why is that water cloudy/ Where is Goldie? What are these wee stringy bits of stuff suspended mid bowl? What’s that Goddamned smell for crying out loud?!
Mum!
Dad!
The same, though worse, would happen with the tadpole jar.
You’d plead to be allowed to keep the frog spawn you’d shovelled into an outsize and cleaned out malt jar.
“It’ll teach junior about life and evolution and transformation and responsibility” your parents stupidly thought.
Wow! Did that jar severely honk! Worse still – when the spawn had released tadpoles, and the tadpoles grew wee legs, they had to be transferred into a basin of sorts. With rocks, and weeds and stuff.
After that, you couldn’t really change the water. So while the little frogs developed, the water became stagnant. And stank to high heaven.
And nobody would come play with you unless their name combined the words David and Attenborough.
***
We have new Number One this week … and it’s getting personal, not ‘arf! PERNOD & LEMONADE:
Summer 1976. I’d just left school and had a job lined up in Banking. It was time to celebrate – time to get away and let my hair down. (I did have some, back then.)
It had been decided I wasn’t clever enough at Maths and Physics to go to University, so this would be my ‘gap week.’ Off I headed for a caravan in St Andrews with several pals.
You know, I casually say, ‘several pals,’ because in truth, the week is a total haze and I can recall only my mates Derek, Graham and Kenny being there. Jack may also have been. But I honestly can’t remember much at all, which is quite scary.
(I do recall coming back from the pub one night and throwing bits of bread onto the roof of a neighbouring caravan so the occupants would be awakened the following morning by hungry seagulls pecking the crusts above them.)
The only other recollection I have is of a night on Pernod and lemonade. Or rather, I recollect the next morning! And afternoon! And evening! And the next morning again!
I don’t think I’ve ever been so ill.
To this day, I cannot stand the smell of Pernod. If somebody close by drinks it, I have to move away.
*** It’s Smells of the Seventies … It’s Number One … It’s Pernod & Lemonade.
If you’re a Bowie fan you probably have a selection of his albums, tapes, cd’s and downloads in your music collection…. hit-after-hit stretching across six decades from 1969’s Space Oddity to 2016’s Blackstar.
For a few years though, until his WOW moment on TOTP in 1972, as implausible as it sounds, Bowie was on course to be a one-hit-wonder…. just like Thunderclap Newman with ‘Something in the Air’ or Norman Greenbaum with ‘Spirit in the Sky’
Then along came Ziggy Stardust and the rest as they say is history. Bowie went on to become arguably the most influential artist of the 70s…..continually reinventing his sound and persona and influencing the tastes of a generation along the way.
As an example of the latter, on October 1974 David Live was released, it was a decent album showcasing Bowie’s transition from Glam to Soul with a great version of Eddie Floyd’s ‘Knock on Wood‘, but what captured my attention as much as the music was the powder blue suit DB wore on the cover.
Up until this point Bowie’s wardrobe had consisted of elaborate Japanese jumpsuits, kimonos and leotards.
Distinctive, perhaps, but not the kind of thing you could buy in Top Man and wear to Shuffles night club on a dreich Saturday night in Glasgow!
Bowie’s cool new look was something we could relate to on the other hand, so on our next pay-day, a few of us travelled to Glasgow city centre to Jackson the tailors to order our own made to measure version of the tin-flute Bowie sported on the David Live record sleeve.
After a few weeks the suits were ready and when we hit the town that Saturday night we all felt ‘gallus’ in our high-waisted trousers, and double breasted jackets, as did half the male population of Glasgow, who seemingly all had the same idea!
I was pretty much hooked from the minute I saw Bowie perform Starman on TOTP in 72 and stayed a fan all the way through his career. I loved his 70s personas and of course the music, particular the Thin White Duke period which frustratingly he never talked much about… owing to the fact that he had absolutely no recall of making the Station to Station album!
In fact he was so bonkers and strung out during this period (75-76) that he reportedly kept his own urine in a fridge. This in part was due to a falling out with Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page….. Bowie became paranoid that Page (well known for dabbling in the occult) would engage some form of black-magic against him if he got hold of his bodily fluids.
Based in LA and weighing in at a meagre 7 stone, his diet at the time consisted of milk, peppers and heaps of Colombian marching powder. It’s well documented that Bowie fled this life of excess to regain health and sanity in Europe, specifically Berlin, and by the release of Heroes in 1977 he was in a much better place, both physically and mentally
Bowie 75
Bowie 77
I actually came into The Starman’s orbit very briefly in 1983.
I was working at Levis and we were developing a campaign to promote our 501 Jeans, which at the time, we couldn’t give away in the UK, in fact the only European country who sold them in any volume was Sweden.
UK retailers didn’t want to stock them as they were more expensive than regular Levis jeans and they reasoned that consumers didn’t like the American fit (low waist, straight leg).
Nonetheless, our chiefs in San Francisco had planned a global strategy around the 501. It was the original 5 pocket jean and the main point of difference for the brand in the US, where Levis was coming under threat from designer brands like Calvin Klein…. so we had no choice but to try and make it work in Europe.
A team was put together tasked with coming up with innovative ideas to support the 501 campaign in Europe and as a first step we came up with the simple idea of getting contemporary icons to wear 501’s by highlighting the fact that it had been the jean of choice for James Dean & Brando in the 50’s and guys like Springsteen were now wearing them.
It was a classic ‘seeding’ strategy which more or less consisted of gifting product to opinion leaders (musicians, actors, sportsmen, models, etc), in order to get the product seen on the right people.
It’s a concept that can work pretty well if all the planets align.
As an example…
In early 1983 we sent some Levis denim jackets to an up and coming band coming out of Dublin called U2. The lead singer Bono cut the sleeves off his jacket and wore it relentlessly. The band released the albums War and Under a Blood Red Sky and 83 became U2’s big breakout year hence Bono was everywhere… wearing his self-customised, sleeveless Levis jacket
As an example of seeding at work – around this time met I Charlie Nicholas in a Glasgow bar as we had a mutual friend, when Charlie heard I worked for Levis he asked me if I could get him a Levis denim jacket “to cut the sleeves off… same as Bono“.
Charlie wasn’t the only one with the same idea and within months, retailers started selling out of our denim jackets, sales tripled and we eventually had to increase our jacket production and develop our own sleeveless version.
The other avenue we explored was official sponsorship… ‘let’s get influential artists to wear and promote Levis by sponsoring their tours’. Everyone does this now but it was a new concept back then.
This was trickier than you’d think… some people in the room actually thought it would be a good idea to approach the gods of double-denim, Status Quo and there were a couple of Gary Numan fans in there as well… however to most it was clear we needed someone with gravitas, credibility and a wide appeal.
After some debate and research we discovered that Bowie was scheduled to launch his Serious Moonlighttour in support of his new album – Let’s Dance, so after some discussion he became the prime candidate.
To be honest we weren’t over optimistic that he’d go for it as he wasn’t big on commercial ventures but he liked the brand and the sponsorship helped to finance the tour… so the mighty DB came on board.
The concept worked so well that we repeated it over the next few years with tours and one-off events, but the tipping point for the brand in Europe came when we launched the famous 501 Laundrette ad with Nick Kamen in 1985, which also propelled ‘I Heard it Through the Grapevine’ to number one in the charts.
Ironically, the same retailers who claimed they couldn’t sell 501’s in 1983 were now begging for as much stock as they could get their hands on….
Levis 501 ad
Bruce Springsteen and the E street band – Wembley 4th July 1985
Sting’s first solo tour 1985
Ultravox’s Lament tour 1984
One of the conditions of most tour-sponsorship deals is for the acts to meet customers post-gig however we knew Bowie was never going to do meet and greets. Sting and Ultravox on the other hand were contracted to meet customers and prize winners briefly after their gigs, which they mostly did with good grace, particularly Midge Ure who was extremely affable.
My brief Bowie moment came when he popped into our London office to pick out some jeans and shirts, he looked incredibly healthy and was friendly and charming. He signed a few bits and pieces for some of us including a tour programme and the Let’s Dance album (pics below ) before making his exit.
In truth, I struggled a bit with the 90’s Bowie, particularly the Tin Machine period but I got back on board in the noughties…. a return to form, spring-boarded by his stellar Glastonbury performance in 2000 when he decided to give the people what they wanted…. a set-list made up of his best songs.
Although I’d been a big fan in the 70s I had never seen Bowie live and the first time I saw him perform was when we took some customers to see his Serious Moonlight gig at Murrayfield in Edinburgh in June 83.
The next time I saw him perform live was the most memorable. It was at the Hammersmith Odeon in October 2002, his first return to that venue since the shock July 1974 retirement announcement when he ‘broke up the band’ live on stage…. to their complete bemusement.
“Not only is it the last show of the tour, but it’s the last show that we’ll ever do. Thank you.”
It helped that we had fantastic tickets for that show, centre stage, six rows from the front. I’ve no idea how long Bowie was on stage for but it must have been close to 3 hours… he played 33 songs starting with Life on Mars, finishing with Ziggy Stardust and included a song he’d only ever played live once before… the majestic Bewlay Brothers from Hunky Dory.
I also saw Bowie the following year at Wembley arena on his last live date in London. He seemed so fit and healthy at 56 but six months later whilst still on the same gruelling ‘Reality’ tour he had a heart attack on stage in Hamburg and that proved to be his last ever gig.
He released an album in 2013, The Last Day, which raised hopes that he was fit and well but it all went quiet again, and then out of nowhere a new album – Blackstar dropped 3 years later on his 69th birthday, this was the encouraging news we’d all been waiting for… maybe we would even see him play live again?
He died two days after its release on the 10th of January.
There was much outpouring of grief when the news broke, he meant so much to so many people and it’s probably the only celebrity that I’ve ever felt sustained grief over. I had grown up with Bowie from age 13, my kids had grown up listening to him, he’d been a fixture in my life for 45 years, and suddenly he wasn’t there any more.
But even in the end Bowie did the most Bowie thing ever, bowing out on his own terms with an innovative, out-of-the-blue, jazz-infused album that we knew nothing about until the day of its release.
If you listen to the lyrics it’s an album made by a man who wasn’t ready to leave us but knew he wasn’t going to be with us for long. To this day I still find it hard to listen to that album…….
‘Something happened on the day he died Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried’ “I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar”
All hail the Starman, we’ll never see his like again…..
My Bowie top 20 changes all the time, but for anyone who’s interested here’s this weeks selection….
(Post by Andrea Grace Burn of East Yorkshire – May 2021)
Hawkins Wine Bar.
Having spent a good deal of my teens frequenting pubs around West Birmingham during the mid 1970s, it seemed perfectly natural to progress to working in them. My ambitions were to go on the stage but a girl has to make a living, right?
As soon as I left school in 1978, and with no particular place to go, I headed for an interview with a new wine bar that had just opened in the city centre – very upmarket! Harpers occupied a large corner site near the police station and Accident and Emergency Hospital, so I figured I’d be safe walking late at night to catch the bus from outside the ‘Back of Rackham’s’.
(Rackham’s was an elegant department store occupying a whole city block on Corporation Street in Birmingham. Rumours abounded that ladies of a certain type frequented the pavements outside the back door and Mom always warned me against hanging around there. I walked many times around the ‘Back of Rackham’s’ as I grew up and never once saw anything improper going on, much to my dismay.)
With Mom’s advice to ‘look smart and mind my manners’ ringing in my ears, I borrowed her fashionable black and white dog-tooth checked suit (shortening the skirt, obviously); teaming it with my white leather cowgirl boots, white cotton lace gloves and an antique parasol.
With the audacity of youth, I strutted into Harpers one sunny October afternoon and stopped in my tracks to gaze in wonder at the fabulous fixtures and fittings. The long mahogany bar was backed by a reclaimed church façade and bevelled mirrors, which reflected the light from the enormous curved, windows. I felt very grown up.
(Opposite: Harpers interior – now Sound Bar.)
Assistant Manager Tristan must have noticed me gawping and bounded over, shook my hand and ushered me to a table. He had a big Zapata moustache and an equally big, bright smile.
“Hello Darling, you must be Andrea?”
“Yes thanks, I am.” (Going well so far)
“So, you’ve come about the position as bar maid and waitress?”
“Yes thanks, I have.”
“Have you had any previous experience?”
“No, but I learn fast!”
Tristan flashed his brilliant smile at me, touching my arm lightly:
“I love your outfit darling – especially the parasol! Wonderful!”
“Thanks!”
“So, when can you start?”
“Right now.” (Mom had said I should appear ‘keen’.)
“OK darling, I’ll just have to introduce you to the manager.
Tristan trotted away to find said manager; a tall man with a weak handshake which worried me slightly as Dad had always warned me of men with a “limp” hand shake. (“Honey, you know where you stand with a firm grip.”)
“This is Andrea – isn’t she gorgeous? She can start right away and she’s a fast learner.”
“I bet she is,” said the manager as he looked me up and down. My interview was apparently over and I was asked to start work the next morning at 7:30 am to serve continental style breakfast and coffee from eight. I was put to work on the food counter, serving cold meats and cheese, croissants and pastries and the infamous Gaggia espresso machine. This great red and chrome beast occupied the whole length of the food bar, with its hot water spouts, coffee grinders and stacks of white cups and saucers.
Getting to grips with the Beast, as it became known, wasn’t easy – it was all in the wrist action. Customers would stand behind the counter and watch as the other girls and I twisted and twirled the mighty coffee grinders and polished the spouts in time to the music; steam hissing into the steel milk jugs. We could pull quite a crowd.
Having to start work so early meant I was often the first person there with the cleaners, one of whom was spooked by rumours that Harpers was haunted. There were stories that the bar stools had been found one morning stacked on top of each other – just like the kitchen chairs in Poltergeist! The lamps behind the bar moved and footsteps could be heard running up from the basement kitchen, where people had died during WW2 as they sheltered from the bombing. I hoped against hope to see a ghost but never did – but the old building certainly had an odd atmosphere.
Andrea in 1978 … and in standard issue Hawkins beige cords.
Reports of hauntings didn’t put punters off, as solicitors from the Law Courts next door poured into Harpers for their ‘working lunches’. I worked the mighty Beast in beige cord jeans so tight I had to lie down and zip them up using a coat hanger. I was voted ‘Gaggia Girl 1979’ – my claim to fame!
As I worked the bar one evening, Andy Gray, – the Villa footballer – came in and asked the other girls and me if we would like to come over to his new night club? I had to think about that for, oh, maybe two seconds. Imagine, the girl from Virginia who didn’t know what the Villa was, now being asked to come check out a night club owned by a Villa player! Ha – what would the lads at the God Awful school think now?
The nightclub was the most fantastic, exotic place I had ever been! Like a dark cave, it went back and back through a series of rooms beneath the railway arches at Snow Hill station. It became a new romantic club in the early ’80s with live bands such as Roxy Music and Duran Duran, but when it opened in ’79 it pumped out disco. TheHarpers staff became regulars after our shift ended; strutting our stuff fired up on Pernod and coke, great music and youth. I crawled home at 2am to sleep it off, get up at five and do it all over again
Back at Harpers the buzz was always at fever pitch as we worked to the heady disco beat on a Bose Sound System: ‘Le Freak’’, ‘Ladies Night’, ‘Instant Replay’, ‘You Make Me Feel, Mighty Real’ beneath the huge mirror balls and innovative laser shows. I loved every minute.
It was in this heady atmosphere, that I first met George Melly when he was booked to play a gig at Harpers with John Chiltern and his Feet Warmers. I was asked to go down into the staff room to serve drinks to the band and was introduced to Mr. Melly, who was sitting with his large frame overextending the rather small chair; resplendent in a snappy pinstriped suit with wide lapels and a large snap brimmed fedora hat. He smiled his languid smile and said something like:
“So, my dear, how kind of you to bring old George a drink.”
As the lights in the bar dimmed to a spotlight, Mr. Melly sashed onto the floor with a wicked gleam in his eye and a whisky in his hand as he belted out Bessie Smith’s ‘Kitchen Man,’ which was rich with lewd innuendo.
I became a big fan, following his gigs from London’s Ronnie Scotts to the Malvern Theatre, where he had to stop the show and tell the be-jewelled, staid audience to clap on the off-beat: “This is Jazz!” he growled.
I saw George Melly several more times, including an appearance he made on BBC Pebble Mill’s ‘Six Fifty-five Special’ – a surreal experience. I was invited to meet him in the Green Room, where he sat in his trade mark Zoot suit and snap brim Fedora before he went on air. Whether he remembered me or not is doubtful, but he spoke to me as though I was his best friend:
“Hello my dear, how kind of you to come to see old George.” He still twinkled.
With him was Kenneth Williams, who was staring up the nostrils of 70s actor and singer David Soul, giving him an impromptu lesson on how to speak with an English accent:
“Enunciate, dear boy, e-nun-ciate.”
I had just witnessed a Master Class.
Before I left Harpers, we had a New Year’s Eve fancy dress party with a ‘Glamorous Hollywood’ theme. All staff were expected to do a ‘turn’ and having recently had my permed hair cut into a short crop, I went along dressed as Liza Minnelli as ‘Sally Bowles’ from “Cabaret” in bowler hat, black waistcoat, fishnets and towering stiletto’s. Grabbing a bar stool, I did my best, although I couldn’t for the life of me bend backwards over that stool! My brother Dale tagged along wearing a full suit of armour. Unable to sit down, he stood all evening with cigarette smoke curling through the grid on his visor.
Liza Minnelli as Andrea … no, wait …??
The drag acts were outstanding that evening, including ‘Fred and Ginger’ who thrilled us with their rendition of ‘Cheek to Cheek’ and ‘Rita Hayworth’ slinking across the floor to ‘Put the Blame on Mame’. We danced until dawn, seeing in 1979 in considerable style and with heavy hangovers!
If you’d told me 45 years ago that a DJ could be worth $300 million, I’d have said ‘away and boil your heid’.
But it stacks up when you learn that Calvin Harris can charge up to $400k per show… which will probably rule him out of spinning the discs at any 21st’s in The Muscular Arms this weekend.
Not bad for a former shelf-stacker from Dumfries.
Like most of us, my introduction to DJ’s was via TOTP. That first generation of Radio One DJ’s all looked like accountants trying a bit too hard to be trendy, apart from Jimmy Saville who always looked, well…. weird.
My favourite Radio One DJ in the early 70s was Johnnie Walker.
Walker famously got sacked by Radio One for calling The Bay City Rollers “Musical Garbage” at the height of their popularity, he had a laid-back delivery and a great taste in music.
Johnnie Walker presenting his show on BBC Radio 1 in January 1975
He was the guy who championed the 1975 Fleetwood Mac album when everyone else had written them off, and his show is where I first heard nuggets from Steely Dan and Little Feat that no one else was playing at that time.
Moving into the mid 70s I started to get into Soul & Funk which you could only hear in clubs until a London DJ called Robbie Vincent came along with his weekly Soul show on Radio One. It was perfectly timed, early evening on a Saturday night as you were getting ready to go out, helping to get you in the mood for the evening ahead.
The only other DJ’s we had contact with in our youth were the mobile variety at various youth club & school discos…. a bit like Ray Von and his ‘wheels of steel’ from Phoenix Nights…
When our crowd started going up to clubs in Glasgow we went to the aptly named Clouds, (atop The Apollo) later to become the Apollo and then Satellite City.
Tiger Tim was the DJ most Friday nights and the whacky son-of-a-gun used to dress up as a teddy-boy… or a frog! It was 1974 and he had just started at Radio Clyde with his… ‘The Aff its Heid Show’…. (ok I get the frog suit now!) and was fast becoming a local celebrity.
Up the toon c.1975
Going to Clouds …. walking round that amphitheatre of a dance floor (always anti-clockwise for some reason), and then avoiding the turf-war, gang fights at George Square where we had to wait to catch the last bus home, was a Friday night ritual for a while.
Thinking about the music, Tiger Tim had a pretty eclectic taste, he would play a bit of disco, some chart stuff and then throw in curveballs from the 50’s like Dion’s – The Wanderer or Clarence (Frogman) Henry’s – I don’t know why I Love You But I Do… a nod to his Teddy Boy persona..
A new city centre club opened in competition to Clouds in 1974, called Shuffles which we went to a few times for a change of scene.
Our Shuffles highlight was when the legendary Emperor Rosko of Radio Luxembourg fame, rocked up with his roadshow… resplendent in chest-wig, medallion and of course armed with his trusty catchphrase…. ‘Have Mercy’
Bizarrely, Clouds and Shuffles were both unlicensed despite the fact you had to be 18 to gain entry.
As we got a bit more sophisticated and progressed to licensed premises, Craig Davis was a name that cropped up a lot. ‘Craigy Baby’ was the flamboyant DJ at the Burnbrae Hotel on a Sunday night, he also had a residency at the Normandy Hotel in Renfrew on a Thursday night and he was a regular at Maestros in Glasgow.
Craig may have been a superfly DJ by night but by day he worked for film distributors, helping cinemas to schedule their movies for the coming weeks.
I got to know Craig through a friend of my Dad’s and he was always good enough to get me movie posters if I asked for them, I remember he turned up once with a poster for an obscure Peter Fonda movie called Futureworld that he knew I liked (the follow up to Westworld)…. I wish I’d kept a few of those posters now.
Craig famously got pulled over and breathalysed by the police one evening after a festive gig and was staggered to learn that he was over the limit, Craig was tea-total, and never drank.
Despite his protestations he got huckled and the officers took him back to the station for another test, which was borderline…. whereupon a befuddled Craig remembered that he’d scoffed a box of chocolate liqueurs during the course of the evening that a fan had gifted him.
Fortunately for Craig the police bought his story and released him without charge.
The next day, the bold Craig was plastered all over the Evening Times telling his story… his big cheery smile pictured next to a box of cherry liqueurs.
There were some other good DJ’s back in the day like Gary Moore and his crew at The Rooster, Joannas and City Limits, that’s where you’d first hear the soul/funk imports from the US, long before they got into the UK charts.
DJ’s of course, always got a lot of attention, and no doubt like musicians some of them got into it to improve their chances of meeting the opposite sex.
The Argentinian dudes Joe Hunter and I saw DJ’ing at a club in Calella, near Barcelona in 1975 were certainly a case in point….
There was 3 of them and to be fair they looked like Latin gods… all over six-foot, perfect physiques and long flowing hair straight out of a L’Oréal shampoo commercial.
In fact, when I saw Mario Kempes play for Argentina in the 78 World Cup a few years later, I was sure he was one of the DJ’s…
It didn’t take long for us to work out why there were 3 of them – they would each take turns on the decks so that the other two could be freed up to strut around and meet their adoring public…
Not only did these guys look the part, they were also brilliant dancers and to top it off they were great DJ’s as well… (flash b*stards!).
I remember one of them always played a killer 3-song sequence of…. “Sex Machine” by James Brown, “Trampled Underfoot” by Led Zeppelin and “Disco Stomp” by Hamilton Bohannon… which brought the house down every night….
I always liked DJ’s like Gerry Kennedy, brother of my good mate Joe Kennedy from Clydebank who knew his stuff and just played great music with no fuss. Gerry was the resident DJ at the Boulevard Hotel in Clydebank (the Bouli) on a Sunday night, a regular haunt for myself and buddies… Joe Hunter, Joe Kennedy, Billy Smith and Marty Roberts.
Getting ready to go up the Bouli with wee Billy Smith
Gerry wasn’t interested in being the centre of attention he just wanted to keep everyone up on the dance floor, and his weekly finale of three great moonies was always the perfect way to finish the evening…
Three times a lady
How deep is your love
Always and forever
Well it worked for me anyway… that’s how I met my wife Margo, in July 1978!
Some 70s tunes on the playlist below that remind me of those days….
First crush, unrequited love, friendships, breaking-up, making-up, chicken in the brick, going to the flicks, grey tights, the disco, ponies, clogs, orchestra practice, sexism, a court case and Col’s wooden ‘Andie Block’…it was all going on in 1974!
In those far off pre-digital days of my youth – the 1970s – there were no bloggers, no tweeters, no Instagram or Facebook opportunities to express or comment on whatever thought popped into our heads. And wasn’t it great! The notion that other people might be remotely interested in our inner thoughts was alien; I grew up hearing that old chestnut, “you know what thought did,” even though I had no idea what it meant.
On my ninth birthday in 1969, my mother gave me a five year diary; encouraging me to “keep all my secrets” within this little blue leather book with a lock and key; as she had done in her youth. I kept it sporadically. It is only in the past two years that I have begun writing a journal once more and it is considerably less entertaining than my teenage diary!
June 2nd, 1974
“Saw a film called ‘300 Spartans.” Hollywood, violins, corny but quite good. For lunch, cooked chicken in brick with garlic, also potatoes, peas, fruit salad, milk, gravy & dry cake. Yum!
Went to Col’s to see rabbits. We just missed DARRYL SMITH! Col was in a towel as he was getting ready for a bath. Couldn’t see rabbits. Went for a walk round the block with Zoo.”
June 13th, 1974
“Didn’t go to orchestra practice. I’ll get Mom to write a note. I might (well, probably will) have to testify about accident which Julie and John had (fight). Help! I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God!
Went to piano lesson. Playing Fur Elise. NOT going to disco Saturday night as sold out of tickets. Going to TOP RANK Saturday morning.”
NB: I had witnessed a school fight between Julie and John, which had begun as a flirtatious game but ended with Julie falling down stairs and knocking out a tooth. Her mother reported it to the police and it ended up in the Juvenile Court. My testament prevented John from being sent to Borstal.
June 17th, 1974
“At school today Kim said that Pamela had told her that Darryl Smith had told her to tell Kim that he HATES ME! (Boo Hoo.) I don’t know why, except that he thinks I’m dependent on him, so at next disco I’m going to dance with other boys (not that I’ve ever danced with Darryl, though I’d love to!!). This might make him see that I don’t need him, so he might like me again. I HOPE SO!!
Still, as my pals say, “there are more fish in the sea,” though I still like Darryl as much as before.
Saw TV programme on SLEEP – very interesting.”
June 20th, 1974
“Nothing much went on today. Got pen friends, I will write to a few more. It is EXTREEMLY hot today & tonight!! So hot, I might not use sheets!!
I have just heard a cat scream. Zoo is in heat. Made fudge – turned out like caramel – very nice!
Julie’s mum doesn’t want her to come to m y house again. She said “you know who your pals are in these cases.” GOOD NIGHT!
June 22nd, 1974
“Went to Halesowen to Sainsbury’s with Mom and Dad. Dad got sick ’cause they went to a party night before. Gave Shaz a birthday present – Elton John, ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me.” Went to disco tonight. Alright but a lot of kids there about 17 – some about 15. They stuck pins in you. Spent night at Shaz’s house.” (WTF – STUCK PINS IN YOU?)
July 16th, 1974
“Tonight went to Carnival (in the States, a Fun Fair is called a Carnival) in Shenley (near Bartley Green Reservoir). Went on ‘WALTZER JOY-BOUNCE’, ‘SCRAMBLER’, & ‘ROCKETS’. 2nd time on WALTZER man spun me, Shaz & Becky round so I was nearly sick, skirt went back, couldn’t move or lean forward. ROCKET handle moved up or down but ours didn’t work so we were up in the air all the time – I screamed & held on to Shaz. Scrambler man said to Shaz that I had white knickers on. When we went by him he patted Shaz’s knee. Went on stalls. Shaz won a furry toy on stick.”
July 17th, 1974
“Had Summer Fair at school tonight. Ii did Pony Rides with Georgina & Jean. Georgina brought their ponies, FELLA & JUPITER. I think we raised around £5.00. Georgina gave me 20p for my ‘hard work’ (cough cough!) I went in my jodhpurs & riding boots & several boys laughed at me. I got a coke & as I picked it up, I spilled Mr. Gupta’s (History teacher) coffee right in front of Mrs. Carter.” (Head Teacher) Oh well. Went to Georgina’s for an hour. Got home about 10.00pm.”
Andrea, aged 14, on one of her favourite ponies.
July 18th, 1974
“Last day of school this year! GREAT! I’ll be 4th Year next year! Help! Tonight I am at Becky’s. We have just had an omelette. (Yum!) Tomorrow we are going to town early then going skating. That should be funny! I’ll write about that tomorrow!
There are some Spanish girls at school. One of them did hand-stands at break on playground & 2 did piggy-backs. They are popular with the boys here. One boy said, “ Can I tickle your fancy?” She didn’t know what it meant.
Sang ‘School’s Out’ (Alice Cooper) as we walked home!”
(Post by Andrea Grace Burn of East Yorkshire – April 2021)
First crush, unrequited love, friendships, breaking-up, making-up, chicken in the brick, going to the flicks, grey tights, the disco, ponies, clogs, orchestra practice, sexism, a court case and Col’s wooden ‘Andie Block’…it was all going on in 1974!
In those far off pre-digital days of my youth – the 1970s – there were no bloggers, no tweeters, no Instagram or Facebook opportunities to express or comment on whatever thought popped into our heads. And wasn’t it great! The notion that other people might be remotely interested in our inner thoughts was alien; I grew up hearing that old chestnut, “you know what thought did,” even though I had no idea what it meant.
On my ninth birthday in 1969, my mother gave me a five year diary; encouraging me to “keep all my secrets” within this little blue leather book with a lock and key; as she had done in her youth. I kept it sporadically. It is only in the past two years that I have begun writing a journal once more and it is considerably less entertaining than my teenage diary!
Andrea’s teenage diary.
For context, when I was fourteen in 1974, there was a local boy called Colin (Col) who had a big crush on me me but I only had eyes for Darryl Smith (he of the David Essex eyes and dimple). Col kept a polished piece of wood in his pocket (don’t!!) with my nickname Andie crudely carved into it, which he called his ‘Andie Block.” I would often peer through the net curtains to see him on the corner of our road, fondling the block in his pocket or giving it a quick polish while waiting for me to come out and look his way. I rarely did. His best mate Gaz tried his luck with Shaz but it was a non-starter.
And as for this #Metoo generation; it was a wholly different world we inhabited in the 70s. Sexism was rampant and objectifying girls and women was par for the course. I had some near scrapes throughout my teens. If I could have a word with my fourteen year old self, it would be this:
1) Don’t be in a hurry to grow up.
2) Beware of men in cars who curb crawl and don’t speak to them.
3) Don’t walk home at night on your own or with a girl friend – ask for Dad to pick you up. .
4) Don’t fret over piano exams – you’ll never be that good anyway
So for those of you who were teenagers in the 70s, here are a few excerpts from May/June/July 1974…
May 3rd, 1974
“Zoo has worms,but I think she’ll be alright.”
May 7th, 1974
“Tonight Col and Gaz rang me up. They wanted to know whether I was going to pack Col up tonight & to stop beating around the bush. They wanted a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. I said I liked Col very much as a friend & I didn’t want to lose his friendship or hurt his feelings (for they thought I was saying I liked Col so as not to hurt his feelings.)
I said I didn’t want to go out with a boy till I was 15 so he’d have to wait, he said he would. I said I would forget about Darryl Smith & Kev (I still like Darryl Smith). Gaz wants to take Shaz to the flicks. She doesn’t like him much but I think she might ,so as not to hurt his feelings. Gaz is paying for her at the disco, Col isn’t paying for me as I’m not his girlfriend any more.”
May 8th, 1974
“Today I had the day off school because of the Teacher’s Union strike thing. Julie, Shaz & I went to town. At 12 noon, we met Mom at Rackham’s (department store) to look for a dress pattern for me. I was quite fussy with Mom & I’m very sorry I was. We got a very nice pattern. Shaz got a black velvet (well, like velvet) jacket from a boutique called 2007, it cost about £11.30 or so. PHEW!! I got a SPANISH PHRASE BOOK, ruler, rubber, patractor (original spelling), drawing paper, 2 ‘Win a Pony’ Entry Forms (W. H. Smith’s), food (3 macaroons, apple juice, candy & a sausage roll.) I want a halter top which is just over £1. (about £1.50 from Dorothy Perkins). It’s blue.”
2007 Boutique in Birmingham City Centre, 1970s.
May 11th, 1974
“In the Piano Festival, I got 75 marks. The winner got 86. He said I should have used the left peddle. I can’t read his writing very well to see what else he said. I went to town with Julie – also I got a white & pink flowered sleeveless top with pink ribbons. It looks great without a bra. I also got some big black beads – 45p from the market, eyelashes that were 12p reduced from 75p, and eyeliner for 15p. The top was £1.25.
Gaz and Col phoned to say they will collect the disco money tomorrow. I have just watched a film about a lady and Charles 2nd (more about the lady). It looked the real Hollywood type, a bit corny, but overall really good.”
PS: The makeup was from Roscoe’s, near Oasis Market.
May 13th, 1974
“Today I got a chain letter from Joyce Pegg. I’ve got to copy it out 6 times & send to 6 different friends or cousins. Within 20 days I should get 300 postcards from all over the world I hope so!
We also had orchestra after school. We mainly practised Trumpet Vol., Tartan Polka and El Tanquillo. We are going to play them sometime in assembly.”
May 14th, 1974
“Today at school, Col, Gaz, Jonesy & co. got Shaz’s ball & wouldn’t give it back at break or dinner. Shaz etc. said they won’t pay for disco money if they don’t get the ball back – I think we made Mrs. Calder cry. Head Master came in class.
I went to Col’s to see 2 week old (6 of ’em) rabbits. They are white little balls of fluff. I’d love one, but Mom said NO!!”
May, 16th, 1974
“Today I wore the dress Mom made for me: flowered print, low square neck, puff sleeves, black beads, clogs (blue denim), grey tights.
Tonight, Denise (next door) had a birthday party. I saw several boys go in – they looked nice. I put my ear to the wall to listen.
Saw a Humphrey Bogart film – very good! Saw M*A*S*H – very funny!
It is now 11:55pm. GOOD NIGHT. (We had a small thunder storm today. Well, small by U.S.A. Standards, fairly large by English standards.)
May 17th, 1974
“Tonight I had a piano lesson at 8.20pm. I’m not going to play ‘Flood Time’ until I learn the scales concerned, I’m going to play ‘Fur Elise’. In November I have Grade 3 piano. HELP!!”
May 18th, 1974
“Tonight Shaz & I went to see ‘Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid.’ It was FAB!! We saw another one too with Raquel (Welch), ‘The Virginian and Ryker.’ It was sad at the end.!!
We walked from the A.B.C. to town and then had to get a bus to Shaz’s. The buses only come about every ½ hour or 1 hour or so. A car came up & 2 men said, “Can you tell us the way?” Shaz said “Where to?” He said, “To Quinton for 2 females who want a lift.” Shaz said, “No thank you.” I looked the other way. Another van nearly pulled up. A car with 2 men pulled up & backed up a bit and shouted, “Hay you!” (or something). After a bit it went. There were drunks and all sorts.”
When it was announced in late 1974 that Led Zeppelin were going to play Earls Court, London in May 75 my great friend Peter Milligan and I vowed to get there any way we could!
We had already seen them perform a stunning gig in Glasgow but Earls Court would be at another level!
Peter decided he would ask his Dad to borrow the work’s van, a two seater Ford Transit, and drive the 800 mile round trip!
He had passed his driving test in the previous Spring but had never driven further than Loch Lomond! (I hadn’t yet learned to drive).
Our tickets were for Sunday 25th, the last night of the tour, but we decided to leave on Friday evening to have two full days to explore all the delights that London had to offer two 17 year olds. (‘I’ve been to London, seen Seven Wonders’ – The Rover by Led Zeppelin)
We cleaned out the joinery tools from the back of the van, put in a mattress, 2 sleeping bags, pillows, bags of food and drink and enough clothes to last us till Monday.
We set off around 7pm.
Our excitement was already reaching fever pitch.
The van only had a basic radio and it was my job to search for rock songs to suit our journey…not an easy task in 1975 with Donny, ABBA and Bay City Rollers dominating the dire Radio1 playlist!
We stopped at services to eat and use the facilities.
Around 11.30pm we decided to get off the M6 and park up for the night. I spotted a sign for Knutsford (the name appealed to our teenage sense of humour!) so we drove into the middle of an affluent housing estate not far from Manchester to stop-over for the night.
The next morning we set off bright and early onto a very foggy dual carriageway heading back to the M6. We had travelled about half a mile when I realised I could only see the reverse side of the road signs! That’s because….we were on the wrong side of the road!! Planes, Trains and Automobiles!!
Luckily it was quiet and there was no other traffic about so Peter got off at the next ‘ON’ ramp and crossed over to the correct side of the road!
We got to London in about 3 hours without further incident.
Amazingly without the use of SatNav (not commercially available for another 20 years) Peter drove straight to the designated hotel’s underground car park in Kensington.
Once parked up we got the tube into central London and headed for Carnaby Street and Soho.
Distracted by our own adventure I had completely forgotten that Scotland were playing England that same day at Wembley in the Home International’s.
Yes it was the infamous ‘What’s the time? It’s 5 Past Kennedy!’ 5-1 defeat to the Auld Enemy.
The city was full of Scots fans in varying degrees of tartan and sobriety.
Beer was on average 18p per pint but we heard of some London bars charging up to a £1.00!
That was probably just an outrageous rumour but whatever the price it was certainly no barrier to yer average Scot! The streets and bars cleared around 1pm as they all headed to Wembley and we continued to explore.
That evening after Scotland’s 5-1 thrashing you’d have actually thought that they had won! The city centre was once again invaded by thousands of tartan clad fans. However most of the bars and restaurants were barring Scots from entering.
Tempers became frayed which led to outbreaks of violence and vandalism.
Mark & Peter (in the shades)
None of this impacted on Peter and I as we had changed into smart shirts and suits and easily gained entry to the pubs and clubs. We were taking it easy though because at last we were nearing the prime reason for our pilgrimage…..The Mighty Led Zeppelin gig at Earls Court.
The next day we made our way to the venue around 4pm and went into the large pub across the road.
It was already busy with a sea of long hair, denim, leather.
My brother Paul and his friend Gerry had tickets for the gig too and had travelled down by train, they were already in the pub….not that much of a coincidence I suppose as nearly every Zep fan in London was in that pub!
The concert itself was just incredible! From the opening drum intro of ‘Rock and Roll’ everybody was on their feet!
Earls Court 1975 – Rock and Roll and Bonzo’s intro
Song after song and solo after solo, amazed and delighted the fanatical 20,000 strong audience.
Robert Plant’s soaring vocals and commanding stage presence, John Bonham’s incomparable drumming, John Paul Jones’s mesmeric keyboard patterns and pounding bass and of course the Maestro himself, Jimmy Page with his incredible, intricate guitar playing and glorious riffs!
They played 16 songs, most of them extended 10-15 minute versions to increasingly ecstatic applause!
The crowd were hearing songs from the band’s most recent album, Physical Graffiti, played live for the first time including the majestic, awe inspiring Kashmir!
Earls Court 1975 – Kashmir
The three plus hours they were on stage seemed to pass in an instant. Then they bowed and exited….but we knew they’d be back on as they hadn’t yet played the anthemic ‘Whole Lotta Love!’
After 5 minutes of thunderous applause and foot stomping they reappeared and played two songs including WLL.
Off they went again as the crowd screamed for more! They did come back and I don’t even remember what they played for their third encore as the crowd threatened to blow the roof off.
Then it was all over, the house lights were turned on and most of the crowd reluctantly headed for the exits.
Peter and I and hundreds of fans were actually out on the street when we heard Plant’s blood stirring vocal intro to ‘The Immigrant Song!’
Everybody turned and ran back in to the arena!
No Health & Safety in those days! Nobody tried to find a seat and we all just surged as close to the stage as you could possibly get! After 15 minutes or so they left the stage for the final time!
They had played for over four superb, magical hours and everybody including the band was exhausted!
Dazed and Confused you might say!
It has been said many times that going to a Led Zeppelin concert is akin to a deeply profound, religious experience but I fear that my lack of vocabulary prevents me from accurately describing the true essence of this phenomenal gig.
Truly they were/are The Hammer of The Gods!!
It was a wonderful experience and still to this day the greatest gig I have ever attended.
And nobody ever mentioned that awful football game ever again!…..well apart from the media, pundits, punters, fans etc
Anyone interested in reliving the 220 minutes of magic can watch it here
There’s always been something about Blackpool…. a bit like the Kelvin Hall, The Kelvingrove Art Gallery or The University Café… it’s always been a ‘happy place’ of mine.
My earliest memories of the Lancashire Riviera as great as they are, are mixed with trauma, however.
My first visit was in the summer of 1963, I was 5 years old and the only reason I remember anything about my inaugural trip is because of an incident that has stayed with me ever since.
Cliff Richard was mega in 1963, even as a 5 year old I’d already seen one of his movies – Summer Holiday, dragged along to the La Scala in Sauchiehall St, to see it by my Mum.
What wasn’t there to like about Cliff – he was clean cut, he could sing, he seemed like a nice guy. Impressively, he could also reverse park a double decker bus and navigate it all the way to Athens, whilst singing and dancing, with not a single hair out of place!
We’d got tickets to see his summer show at the ABC in Blackpool during our stay in 1963. I don’t remember too much about the performance, just a communal feeling of excitement, and a collective sense of awe that we were all in the presence of this matinee idol.
What I do remember is that at some point during the performance I needed to go to the loo and being a big boy, I was happy to do this on my own….. plus Mum was transfixed by the Bachelor Boy and Dad by the scantily clad dancers.
It was all going well until on my return I made a wrong turn and exited a fire escape door into an enclosed courtyard.
The fire door slammed shut behind me and I was locked out of the theatre with no means of getting back in OR getting out of the enclosed courtyard. I remember shouting for my Dad in vain for what felt like hours but he was clearly oblivious to the empty seat beside him…. having too good a time. My Mum I could forgive; it was Cliff for god sake, but my Dad was in big trouble…
HANGING OUT WITH MY MUM IN 1963
Indignation quickly turned to panic, and I remember thinking I would be stuck there on my own forever before a nice lady who lived in one of the flats overlooking the courtyard intervened. Telling me from her 3rd floor balcony, not to worry and that everything would be okay.
Eventually, my Dad tore himself away from the can-can girls, and by tracking my steps, figured out my rookie error.
He thought the whole episode was hilarious, I thought it was extremely poor parenting!
Cut forward a couple of years to our next visit and the big summer show was Morecambe & Wise; I can’t profess to being a fan as a 7-year-old, but I do remember the guy with the glasses was funny.
By age 7, I was dazzled by the bright lights and the goodies on display at Blackpool, there were toys and treats everywhere. I had also discovered the Pleasure Beach and wanted to go on all the rides, particularly the Waltzers which remained a big favourite, but once again it was a traumatic experience that holds my memories.
On the last day of the holiday, we were due to go to the Pleasure Beach for a last hurrah before heading up the road and I was so excited to be going on all the rides again.
I can’t remember what I was doing (or thinking!) exactly, but at some point before breakfast I got one of my Dad’s lead fishing weights lodged up my nose and presumably swallowed it, sniffing, instead of blowing my bugle as instructed.
This resulted in a quick exit from Blackpool and a dash back to Glasgow to visit our local doctor.
Why we couldn’t have gone to a local hospital in Blackpool (via the Pleasure Beach!) I don’t know, but I do remember a long, tense, silent journey back to Glasgow, feeling both sheepish yet sorry for myself.
I’m guessing the lead content of the fishing weight is what would have caused the panic, but the Doc said there was nothing to worry about and the lead weight would pop out in my next poop, pretty promptly.
Two trips to Blackpool, two traumas.
I can’t remember how many times we returned to Blackpool before I went back there again in 1974 with my mates.
I do recall seeing the brilliant Tommy Cooper one summer c.1968 but there was no associated trauma to remember the trip by… hence the lack of any further recall about the visit.
Fast forward to July 1974 and my pals had just came back from a Glasgow Fair spent in Blackpool regaling tales of high jinks and romance.
One of the lads even had a penpal from Preston now, she was so keen that he even had a letter and present waiting for him at home on his return…..
The present? – Three Degrees – When Will I See You Again…. ahhhh.
I had been unable to go with them in July because of a family holiday but I couldn’t wait for the next 8 weeks to fly by so that I could get to this Mecca of fun for the ‘September Weekend’ break.
We set off from Buchanan St bus station at midnight, which looking back seems strange as Blackpool is only 3 hours by car from Glasgow, but for whatever reason it took us 8 hours to get there.
The bus had been organised by Clouds Disco (later to become the Apollo) and there was a party atmosphere on the bus as most of us knew each other.
On arrival, we made the rookie mistake of hitting the pub as soon as it opened at 11am. Day time drinking was a new concept to me, and alcohol was probably the last thing I needed, I was already as high as a kite on adrenaline and buzzing with anticipation for the weekend to come
We were hammered by early afternoon and that first day became a bit of a blur if I’m honest, culminating in some very strange headwear choices and photographs.
Most of us had turned 16 in the summer of 74 so getting into pubs and clubs wasn’t something we took for granted but there seemed to be no barriers in Blackpool as well as a wealth of choice.
Our preferred venue as it was for a lot of Glaswegians was Mama & Papa Jenks, a big sprawling pub with waitress service…. so you didn’t even have to take the risk of going to the bar to get served. Jenks had three levels, a bar at ground level, a nightclub above it, and a gay bar in the basement. The set-up was great but a bit of a shock to the system, particularly when you were used to sneaking into traditional working man’s pubs & saloons in Glasgow and hiding in the corner.
The nightclub at Jenks was pretty good if you wanted to spend the whole evening on-site but we found a great little Soul club nearby with a brilliant DJ that just nailed the music.
To be fair there were a lot of great soul artists/records in the charts at that time – George McCrae, Barry White, Don Covay, Johnny Bristol, The Tymes, The Commodores and The Hues Corporation, etc. The DJ was playing all that stuff plus a load of imports and remixes we had never heard before.
Learning from our first day we paced ourselves over the rest of the trip, spending time on the Pleasure Beach and leaving the pubs till the evening.
I know Blackpool may not have the best image, but we were having a ball and when it came time to contemplate leaving, a few of the lads said they wanted to stay on… as it transpired some did through no choice of their own.
It seemed half of Glasgow was in Blackpool that weekend which contributed towards a great atmosphere, but the place wasn’t without its tensions.
Come the last night, we were in Jenks having a farewell drink and killing time before catching the bus home, and a massive fight broke out, between the Possil boys and the Calton boys…. and when I say massive, I mean chairs, tables, glasses, bottles, the lot. The fight spilled outside onto the street like one of those bar room brawls you see in Westerns and it wasn’t long before the police weighed in.
A lad we knew, Hughie Kinnaird, was sharp enough to spot the trouble early-doors and encouraged a few of us to follow him and get out of Dodge before it escalated. We managed to catch the bus back to Glasgow with minutes to spare but a few of our group got caught up in the rammy and ended up spending an extra couple of days in Blackpool… by necessity rather than design. The return journey home was a bit more sombre than the party-bus we’d arrived on, but it still took 8 hours!
Another Blackpool trip another drama…
I’ve been back to Blackpool several times since 1974 for fleeting visits but mainly to watch my brother compete in dancing competitions and represent Scotland at the Tower Ballroom in the late 70s and early 80s.
The last time I was there was about 20 years ago when I was up in the North West from London for a meeting in Manchester and persuaded a colleague to stay in Blackpool during the Blackpool Illuminations.
He’d never been or wanted to go to Blackpool, so I was excited to introduce him to the delights of my favourite Northern English coastal town and to change his perception of the place, but it was a losing battle…. the place looked tired and run down and the bright lights didn’t seem so bright anymore.
I’ve not been back since then, and I’m not sure I ever will now.
I think I’d prefer to remember the old place the way it was….. bright, lively, invigorating and full of drama…..
“All right, brain. You don’t like me and I don’t like you, but let’s just do this and I can get back to killing you with beer.”
The last pint I had in a pub was last autumn, as a member of the Twickenham Scotch Egg Appreciation Society.
It was a Birra Moretti, cost £5 and was about 5% alcohol. Contrast that with a mid seventies pint of Tennants, which cost 20p and was about 3.2% alcohol.
The UK average salary in 1975 was around £3,000 per annum… about 15,000 pints. The UK average salary in 2020 was around £38,000, which equates to about 7,600 pints.
So, in the 70s as we shivered in our single glazed homes, took holidays on chilly Scottish shingle beaches wearing Harris tweed bathing suits, at least we could stupefy ourselves on cheap beer.
Unfortunately, at 3.2% alcohol it took at least a gallon of beer to attain a state where we thought we were witty and interesting.
In those days beer marketing was focussed on the 6 pint “session” drinker. He was a chap in his early 20s who went to the pub with three mates, each buying two rounds.
I worked as a systems analyst for Courage beer and they launched the “follow the bear” marketing for Hofmeister lager, probably the most recognisable session beer at the time.
On the other hand, Tennants had the picture can strategy for the take home, carry-out market.
The reverse of the tin featured a local beauty, typically Miss Rothesay 1962, sporting a West Palm Beach helmet hairstyle, with the intent of prompting your subconscious to increase your thirst. Personally a packet of salted peanuts worked better for me.
The Burnbrae in Bearsden was my local then and McEwen’s lager was my preference.
The Allander was an alternative, and it served Tennants. That pub was a temple to Formica. It was brightly lit and cunningly utilised light wavelength to expertly highlight the plooks on underage drinkers, of which there were many.
Our other local – The Talbot Arms in Milngavie served Ushers. It had a lounge bar and the beer was 1p a pint more, due to its lavishly appointed furniture and fittings. It attracted a slightly more discerning type of Milngavie Ned.
Pernod and blackcurrant tempted the jaded palates of some session drinkers.
Not for me… however it did contribute to a more fragrant and colourful type of vomit from the over-refreshed.
Back to the 2020s…. Nowadays I rarely have more than two or three pints a session. The beer is too strong, perhaps it’s the impact of the marketing communications, that warn us of “irresponsible” drinking.
In contrast to the Hofmeister Bear the messaging today is very aspirational.
Guinness have focused on these ridiculous philosophical adverts, worthy of Eric Cantona at his most confused (I loved the existentialism embedded in his karate kicking of an errant fan).
I was business systems manager for Guinness for a while and the story goes that they had specially trained rats that scoffed the spent yeast from the pipes in the Dublin brewery.
Come to think of it, that would be a great commercial. The only problem is, that I’m not 100% sure of the veracity of that story, truth or urban myth?
If true, then life really is all ‘beer and skittles’, for some…
I’ll leave you with this beer related thought….. “There is an ancient Celtic axiom that says ‘Good people drink good beer.’ Which is true, then as now. Just look around you in any public barroom and you will quickly see: Bad people drink bad beer. Think about it.” Hunter S. Thompson
Once Upon a Time in The '70s 