Those Were the Days... Martin Olley remembers..

 

My contribution to the Corby music scene 1961 to 1977 by Martin Olley  

My first introduction to Corby as an eight year old was in 1961 when my father previously a professional  photographer with Aveling Barford in Grantham landed a position at Stewarts and Lloyds, the large steelmaking  industry in the town. A good percentage of Corby’s working population worked there and I can remember my  father taking me right into the ‘Works’ as it was called but I had to stay in the car due to the dangerous  environment. The scene was extremely busy with steam locomotives running up and down, lots of smoke and  sparks everywhere, it was a very busy place and almost like a town in itself.  

I can remember moving day, following the removal van down the A1 towards Stamford and wondering if the  dismantled garden shed which was strapped to the back of the van would last the journey. I distinctly remember  arriving at Thoresby Court, a brand new council house just off Beanfield Avenue, the builders were still erecting  the street sign in our front garden as we pulled up. This was all very new to me having spent my life so far in a  small Lincolnshire  village just north of Grantham. Life in Corby was going to be very different and meant making  new friends and leaving previous ones behind. 

My new school was to be Beanfield Junior School, one of three schools built on a site on Farmstead Road. Failing  the 11 Plus I was destined to go up to the Secondary Modern school just North of the Junior school and it was  there when I was just fourteen years of age I started my long association with the Corby music scene. My father  was a drummer himself and played regularly with a dance band in Grantham called the Sessionaires and did a  few dep gigs for a short while once we’d moved to Corby but seemed to lose interest eventually which gave me a  chance to commandeer his drum kit - An 18” Beverly bass drum, a Premier snare and a hi-hat with some pretty  awful cymbals. After a short attempt at playing the guitar at school I was determined to make it as a drummer and  practiced as much as I could on my dad’s kit at home and eventually landed an audition where two guys came to  my house to check my abilities out as they were looking for a drummer. One of them was a guy from my school  called George (surname escapes me) who didn’t play anything particularly but he brought with him a guitarist who  was well known in the town at that time. Again, I can’t remember his name either but I do know he eventually went  on to play with Tangerine Fantasy - maybe it was Bob Grimley but I can’t be certain. 

Papas Orphans

The audition didn’t go very well, I failed miserably not being able to play even the basic of beats. The guitarist  showed me what he wanted and said once I had achieved it to get back to him and he would reconsider me for a  place in his band. That was the last I saw or heard from him! Not wanting to embarrass myself again I practiced  more and more and with the help from my dad managed to accomplish a talent worthy of any ‘Beat Group’ of the  day. I guess  my first drumming influence was a local guy called Billy Mathieson of ‘Pappas Orphans’ who I used to  stand and watch down at Nellie’s Bin, a Friday evening dance featuring local bands held at a Catholic School hall  down Occupation Road. I really liked Billy’s playing and he was well aware I was watching him all night. I never  really got to know Billy that well but he was aware I was another drummer. I remember a bus trip being organised  by a local company to go and see American drummer Buddy Rich and his big band at the Albert Hall  in  Nottingham. Buddy was one if not the paramount drumming influence that ever lived which every drummer, even  today long after his death aspires to. He was famous for his amazing energy and his ability to do a roll on the  snare drum with just one hand! I went on the trip with my dad and I noticed Billy was also on the coach. When we  were all getting back on the coach after the concert to return to Corby, Billy walked on with a huge grin across his  face and shouted, holding a pair of drumsticks in the air “I’ve got his sticks!”. The looks of envy from the other  guys on the coach was coupled with shouts of “Bas**rd” directed at Billy! Another band that influenced me in my  younger years was Corby band Sasperella who made a 45rpm cover version of ’Spooky’ of which I still have to  this day. I’ve no idea who the personnel were in this band but I remember them playing at the Civic Hall one  Saturday afternoon and I was able to get a seat right behind the drummer and picked up a lot of tips from him. 

The Civic Hall in Corby used to hold big Saturday night dances that always featured a couple of top London  bands in one evening. The place got packed and there was always a fight at some point. I remember some guy  being hurled across tables knocking glasses flying and at one point it got a bit too near the stage which was  making the band who were playing at the time get a bit anxious. We always drank too much in those days and  many a Saturday evening after the dance was spent lying on the grass bank on Westcott Way wondering why the  sky was moving and getting home only to talk to God on the big white telephone saying “Never again” and my dad  informing me that he hoped that I had learnt my lesson. We hadn’t obviously, as the escapade was rapidly  repeated the following week! 

Early days of playing drums included sessions at Bill Drummond’s house with Bill on guitar and a guy called Peter  Calderbank on piano. Bill went on to form the very famous KLF and was an old mate of mine from junior School  who went on to do a course at Northampton School of Art the same time as me. We used to get the United  Counties bus from Corby to Northampton, to be joined at Kettering by Horace Panter of ‘The Specials’ fame. I  remember Horace having very long hair past his shoulders and making a point in telling everyone that he hated  reggae music! As young boys we used to call for Bill to see if he was coming out only to be met at the door by his  father who was a Priest at the Scottish church St. Ninians opposite the Phoenix pub on Beanfield Avenue. He  looked at us over his half rimmed glasses and informed us that “William is not able to be released until he has  completed his messages”, messages being the Scottish word for errands. One time Bill was set the task of creosoting the garden fence before he was able to hang out with us. Little did we know in those days how Bill and  Horace’s careers in the music business would pan out. If only I had kept on playing drums with Bill all those years  ago… 

A couple of years passed with me improving my skills and my parents taking on the building of their own house on  the Lodge Farm estate. The new house was ready to move into and I was sent up in advance to open up and wait  for my parents and the furniture to arrive. I used the time to practice ‘Wipeout’ on an old Indian tom tom which my dad had given me. The neighbours must have been terrified at the noise and at what was coming to live next to  them! Over the back at another house I frequently heard someone playing the guitar and made it my duty to find  out what was going on. This is where I met Clem Morrison who was indeed at the  same school as me albeit a  couple of years ahead. Clem’s father was an established guitarist working the clubs backing his two elder  daughters who were accomplished singers. Clem (real name Carrol Lewis Earnest Morrison) also played the  guitar and was messing around trying to get a band together called ‘The Clem Set’ with the Haselip twins, Tony  and Mick to do a gig at the 

Tony and Mick Haselip

interval for the Saturday morning kids flicks at the Odeon on Rockingham Road but  they were missing a drummer. Of course, I stepped in and did the gig however still using my dad’s old drum kit it  was missing a tom tom and the first song we were to do was ‘Wipeout’ by the Surfaris. Another friend at school  who played drums for Tangerine Fantasy was Graham Smith who went on eventually to play with St. Cecelia of  ‘Leap up and Down and Wave Your Knickers in the Air’ fame. Graham had made a tom tom from an old snare  drum and was willing to lend it to me for the gig which turned out to be loaned to me for a couple of more gigs with  the same band (Drum kits in those early days were a lot of money for us teenagers on limited pocket money and  Saturday jobs so we adapted old stuff we could get our hands on). I did a couple of gigs with Clem’s dad’s outfit  as well but eventually drifted in search of better things.  

Eager to move on I met Jimmy Irving, another mate in the same year at school who played the bass guitar who  was getting a band together called ‘Marble Arch’ with his brother Stuart on guitar and was looking for a drummer.  A short session in the kitchen at Jimmy and Stuart’s parents house got me the job and the first gig was at the  school with another local accomplished guitarist in the town at the time, Chris Ward. We never had a set list and  played a rendition of ‘Sunshine of My Love’ by Cream which seemed to go on for ages. At last my teeth were cut,  so to speak, and my journey into the Corby music scene had begun in earnest. For a small town in the heart of  Northamptonshire Corby boasted an amazing about of local amateur bands, far more than any other town  of the  same size and the opportunities for local musicians at the time was second to none. As Marble Arch progressed, I  was conscious that I was still missing any tom toms on my kit however Jimmy had been talking with another  drummer he knew called Johnny Heron who had one for sale as well as a cymbal that was much better than the  one I had so the sale was secured which made things a lot better. 

Making improvements all the time to my dad’s original kit, time moved on playing with various other local bands  doing gigs at The Rangers Club, British Sealed Beams and the Raven Ballroom, one of which was ‘Knobbs’  where I was one of the original forming members, quickly to be replaced due to a fall out which I cannot  remember for the life of me what it was about! I do recall the guitarist was a guy (I think it was Bob Burnett) who  used to be in a Birmingham band called ‘The Uglys’ who had a hit called ‘It’s Alright’ in 1966 on the Pye label. We  were doing a gig at the Rangers Supporters Club one evening and right in the middle of a song the MC stepped  up on stage, grabbed a microphone only to announce that the hot (Scotch) pies had arrived! I also got involved  with Ray Richie for a while playing drums in his backing band, again short lived. It was during this time I was  introduced to Dave Martin who was the guitarist with a cabaret band called ‘Paperweights’ who were looking for a  drummer after their original drummer Johnny Heron had left. Joining them was great fun and we had a very  polished act playing different songs that I was used to such as ’Piece of my Heart’ by Erma Franklin. We all wore  red jackets like the Four Seasons and looked like a crew of red coats from Butlins! We were very friendly at the  time with Mick Harper who had been singing with ‘Paperlace’ from Nottingham and now had his own band based  in Corby. Dave and I went on to be good friends and hanged out socially when the band wasn’t playing. We used  to go everywhere in his Ford Escort van which was bright red. He came with me to York for a weekend once  staying at my cousin’s place as I wanted to introduce my cousin’s husband to him, another Dave, who was a  professional drummer on the Mecca circuit and had a residency at the local ballroom called ‘The Cats Whiskers’. Paperweights used to practice at the Corby Boys School on the same night that St. Cecelia who practiced in a  different room. We always used to pop in and out of each others rooms to see how each band were progressing  and the banter and sarcasm was rife. I was again acquainted with my old school friend Graham Smith who after  the band’s  demise went back to his old job as carpenter at the steel works. 

St Cecelia

Shortly after St. Cecelia packed up and Paperweights had gone their separate ways, I decided to trade in my kit  for a secondhand Premier kit in black pearl which I bought from the music shop in Kettering. The sales assistant  was also a drummer a lot older than myself who took great delight in trying to educate young lads in ‘Groups’ from  his wealth (apparently) of drumming knowledge and technique. I was asked shortly afterwards to get together with  some other musicians who I knew to form a band for a gig at some young farmers college in Lincolnshire which  was being managed by ex St. Cecelia’s Keith Hancock’s entertainment agency called ‘KeRi Enterprises’. All the  gear  went in a van before us and we were transported to the gig in Keith’s red Jaguar which majestically pulled up  at my house to the surprise of my neighbours all rubber necking to see what was going on! Although more commonplace these days, Jaguars, especially red ones were a rarity in 1970’s Corby! 

My final musical ensemble before I left Corby in 1977 for Leicester to take up a residency in the resident band at  the Grand Hotel on Granby Street was a band called Karnival. This was run by Dave Noble, the younger brother  of Barry Noble, a respected cabaret singer at the time. We used to practice at Dave’s parent’s pub in Isham, just  outside Burton Latimer. Barry wrote us a song called ‘Pink Tiger’ which we played at gigs and it was destined to be recorded and released by Barry but never did really happen. 

Barry Noble

I’m 72 now and still playing drums, but battling with Arthritis in both knees and my right hand, however, still able to  play to a very good standard while I’m sitting down, but the hunking of kit in and out of the car and venues will be  the reason I shall pack it in eventually, not the actual playing! I have three kits now - I have downsized to having  had five at one point - and my wife keeps telling me I can only play one at once. Yeah, right.

 

                                                  

 1995

                 Corby Radio

I was involved with the Corby Town F.C. programme, editor for a season in which I won the ward for best programme in the Southern League, much to my surprise. My friend Bip Wetherell was Chairman at the time and kept this a secret up until the night of the Awards at the Rushden and Diamonds Football Centre. 

Bip was also a presenter of Corby radio which had established an annual month long licence from the BBC. It would later be granted a full licence but these were early days. One match day at the Rockingham Triangle Bip asked me if I’d like to come along as a guest on his morning 10-12 show. I was quite excited about it but also nervous. “I’ve never done anything like this before” I said, “I don’t know’. Bip, a local legend through his disco days and as an entrepreneur in the town assured me it’d be fun. ‘You’ll be on in the second hour, I’ll ask a few questions, you select ten or twelve records you’d like me to play, memories they give you etc. Nothing to worry about.’ ‘OK’ I said not knowing really what to expect. I’d never even spoken through a microphone which scared me a bit but I thought ‘well I can only make an arse of myself’ and decided to get over my nerves and try to be interesting. After all choosing music you’d like to play on the radio sounded like a dream for a music nerd like me. The following Thursday morning I arrived at the station housed beneath the block of flats opposite the Strathclyde Hotel in the Town Centre. Bip was already on air and preparing to introduce me to the Corby public as some sort of celebrity. Not sure about the celebrity bit, all I was known for, relatively, was being a contributor to a local monthly magazine I worked on with my friend David Black which was very popular, and as the editor of Corby’s football programme. 

Memories Bip asked me and I spent the week leading up to Thursday going over various events I could connect with music. Easy!

Putting my headphones on I heard Bip go through his routine sitting right opposite me on the console. ‘This morning I have a very special guest, a lifelong friend of mine blah blah..’ I heard myself respond with ‘Morning Bip’ and wondered what the hell I sounded like! You can hear your own voice and I didn’t particularly like it, do I sound like this? I’d never thought about how people perceive you and your accent. Mine was a cross between Welsh and more prominently, Scottish, a hybrid of sorts. 

Well I was here and I thought I might as well enjoy it, the main thing I was worried about was slipping up and coming out with swear words or saying something crude. 

Fancy a bit of Alma Bip?

What I remember was I started off with The Shadows’ ‘Apache’, a classic early British instrumental which was the inspiration behind many up and coming musicians all over the country. Bip had suggested this as he knew the story behind my family’s association with the Shadows who were the biggest band in Britain in the early 1960s. Also that the drummer Brian Bennett had married his wife Margaret who used to live in the house I lived in, 15 Teesdale.

That was a good story worthy of telling I decided and thus started rabbiting on air  about it. The Shadows stopped over at number 15 when we were kids as they criss crossed the country on tour. Often parking their car in our driveway which gave us something to crow about. One day in 1962 when their massive hit “Wonderful Land’ was top of the charts Hank Marvin and Brian stayed the night with Brian’s in laws, and news rapidly spread. The Corby Leader turned up for an interview and photograph as over a hundred excited kids parked themselves outside by the hedge with autograph books. A photo was taken of Hank and Brian by the fireplace which I have a copy of to this day. 

Thinking about this I told the story, hoped it wasn’t boring and concluded by telling Bip and the listeners I was thinking of getting a Blue Plaque up in my house. Blue plaques explain who lived here or something however innocuous happened here. Bip looked on wondering what I was going to come out with. ‘I”m thinking of getting a plaque above my toilet with an arrow pointing downwards, with the words, Hank shat here!”

I thought it was funny and Bip did too, despite nearly falling off his chair! Taking his headphones off he cried ‘you’ll get us taken off the air!’ He was laughing his head off as well as shitting himself! I had no idea there was a protocol and everything was monitored  or whatever.  Never mind, I ploughed on. A postscript to this was later when my mate, Stuart Allen, told me he was listening in as he was riding his bike to work at the Royal Mail Office in Rockingham Road, and nearly fell off when I came out with ‘Hank shat here!’ He thought it was hilarious. 

I can’t remember what else I played but there were a few more stories to tell and one concerned a date I had in December 1965 with a girl called Babs. She had been going out with my mate George who I was working with in the offices at the steelworks. George was a charmer, full of himself and pulled the girls no bother. He told me one day, almost bragging, that he was going to finish with Babs, knowing full well I had a crush on her. Babs had blonde hair, was petite, gorgeous, everyone fancied her. I took the bull by the horns and called in on her on my way home to inform her of his intentions, and to ask her out myself! She didn’t believe what George had said but after a little more chit chat I asked her if she fancied going out with me instead, to the pictures, the Odeon on Rockingham Road the following night. To my surprise, and delight, she said yes! Next day at work I told George he was finished with Babs, and that I was taking her out! He went mad. Called me everything. We fell out for a bit, but it’s a wonder he didn’t take a swipe at me. 

Anyhow, what film was on at the Odeon? ‘The Early Bird’ starring Norman Wisdom. Not a fan, and neither I guess was Babs but we spent the best part of the film snogging in the back row anyway. A success it was and on the way home I asked her if she fancied doing the same the next week. She said yes once again, I was thrilled  and I thought I was on a winner. Can’t remember the film that was showing that second week, except that it was Norman Wisdom again! More slapstick rubbish. That was disappointing but nonetheless, afterwards, in time honoured fashion, I asked her the immortal question, ‘will you go with me’. This was the 1960s, we were 15, naive as hell. She said no!! I couldn’t believe it, I was distraught, and for ever afterwards, I blamed bloody Norman Wisdom on ruining what I felt was a blossoming romance!

I told this story on air to the the tune of ‘The Story of John Hardy’ by the Sir Douglas Quintet. (They were on Top Of the Pops night before I took Babs out the first time and I loved it).

It was another good yarn I thought and for the life of me I can’t remember what other tales I came out with, or selections I chose for Bip to play that hour, except one, Alma Cogan and ‘The Train of Love’. It wasn't a favourite of mine or anything but I had this idea about playing something quirky. Being self indulgent if you like. Alma was known as the ‘girl with a chuckle in her voice’ and I thought this record was gormless enough to maybe surprise a few. Think it did! Crap record and I did wonder what Bip made of it! I thought it was quite funny. 

The hour flew by and despite my nerves I enjoyed it. Think Bip did as well but he’s always known my sense of humour and penchant for bullshit!

“Gizza job!” 1970

 

“Gizza job!” 1970

'Major' thinking 'you here again?'

I was working in the C.W. Mills, been there for getting on four years. It was six months since me and Sue had finished and I was feeling in a rut. I was twenty years old feeling like I was going nowhere. One of my pals, Robert ‘Ralph’ Ralston had left the C.W. the previous October and gone to Liverpool to start life anew. He too had grown tired of life in the Tubeworks and decided to bite the bullet and move on. Though I didn’t fancy going that far, as the weeks went by in the New Year I was feeling more and more desperate to get out and move on too.

With the dawning of spring thoughts turned to working on a building site. Out in the fresh air, shirt off in the sun. Away from the claustrophobia of the Mills. Construction of the Crown Building in the Town Centre might have been near completion but I enquired if they wanted any labourers all the same. 'No' was the answer.  'Bollocks to you then' I thought. 

Talking about this to Ted Foster, my buddy at work, he was of the same mind and a couple of weeks later, the two of us handed in our notice after being told we could start work on a Wimpey building site on the Earlstrees industrial estate. Elation was immense. 

I had taken a lot of stick off my parents about jacking in the 'Works' but holy shit, did they expect me to stay there for the rest of my days? Writing myself off at 20? I needed to get out and see what was happening around the world - and what a rude awakening it was! 

First of all the job with Wimpey went down the pan. Turning up full of anticipation about what we would be doing, driving dumper trucks, helping brickies, digging holes or whatever else they did on a building site, the Irish ganger who had given us the green light a week before, looked at us as if we were aliens! Didn't remember us! Dismissed us with a wave of his hand; "those jobs have gone!" Well is this what it was like in the building industry?

It was the beginning of a merry-go-round of jobs. Shanks and McEwan was next. There was an article in the Evening Telegraph telling of Shanks getting the contract to dismantle the overhead iron ore buckets that went to the steelworks from quarries as far a field as Desborough and Rothwell. Why we thought we would be given a job on this or one of their building sites I don't know. Instead we were plummeted right back into the steelworks doing shit jobs; tarmacking an area next to the BOS plant, which had replaced the defunct Bessemer Plant. Next day inside the BOS plant concreting a platform. You couldn't imagine worse conditions. Thick dust and acrid yellow smoke belching everywhere was the norm! On the third day of this adventure we were in the Rolling Mills, resplendent in grubby overalls, wearing waders and a helmet to shovel shite from a gully way underneath the massive rolls into a bucket which was hauled up by your mate by a piece of rope. 'What the fuck am I doing here?' did cross my mind. When an Irish, yes another one, ganger brought us all together at the end of the day to inform us; 'more good news' I awaited with baited breath. "We're working 12 hour nights next week in the Blast Furnaces, knocking out bricks!" Irish said excitedly. That was it. Off I went to see Shanks' labour officer to ask for a transfer. He looked at me astonished, laughed and told me I had no chance. 'OK’ I said, ‘if that’s the case you can keep your job, I’m off” and I went home.

Mam gave me more stick. "What are you going to do now?" she said with a hint of exasperation. My brother Alan who was landlord of the Open Hearth pub came to the rescue by telling me to work more hours part-time behind the bar. Which led to me getting a start as a chippies' mate on a water tower that was being built on the Corby to Kettering road. A regular in the bar, Neil McNab, a carpenter, fixed me up. Great stuff, until I discovered I was working at around 40 feet in the air, prancing about on scaffolding and hanging over the side of the central section with one arm whilst Neil pushed bolts through shuttering to which I was supposed to screw nuts onto. My legs turned to jelly just thinking about it. Health and Safety? Neil sensed I wasn't comfortable or ecstatic and we switched jobs in the afternoon. The ironic thing about this was, having spent all day crapping myself pissing about on planks up in the sky, when I came down at the end of the day, I slipped on the dregs of a bloody teapot that had been thrown out of the hut and fell over, catching my hip on a sodding oil drum! I wasn't happy.

Traipsing home I passed another building site by the Phoenix pub and on a whim, nipped in to see if there were anything going. To my delight I was told I could start next day so I returned back to the Water Tower to tell the gaffer, a miserable cockney bloke with a bad attitude, I was finishing. He wasn't happy. He paid me, grudgingly out of his wallet, a fiver. Thank you I said, and walked off. 

Firman's were the contractors on the Phoenix site, a Peterborough company made up of guys from surrounding small towns and villages, all lacking the 'Corby' sense of style and humour. Another miserable shower in other words, led by a ganger called Charlie Harper. This guy was legendary as a bad ass! He took an instant dislike to me. Thought I was a reprobate I reckon. Then again he probably thought the same about all the Corby guys on the site. Never talked without scowling, face like a smacked arse, Harper was always sneaking around looking for layabouts resting behind piles of bricks or down a trench. 

I was put to work with a couple of pipe layers, right funny characters they were too. One was an old Irish feller called Hughie who once the Phoenix opened its' doors at half ten, was away. 'Tell Harper if he's looking for me, I've gone to the shops to get some fag papers'. I wouldn't see Hughie again until half two when the pub closed! I'd be hiding down the trenches, peeping up now and again to keep an eye open for Harper. I'd go home for dinner and come back, still no sign of Hughie. When he did return, stinking of ale, he'd spend most of the time rolling his fags and cracking jokes, Harper couldn't stand him. Hughie cracked me up. How the hell we managed to lay pipes I'll never know. We didn't lay many, I remember that. Harper did manage to get Hughie moved to another site near the Welfare Club in Occupation Road. Within days I heard he'd been given the boot. They couldn't keep him out of the Club!

The highlight of my time with Firman's came when I was gazing mesmerised watching two bricklayers building a wall. I felt I had to congratulate them on doing a great job for some reason. Then I stepped over it, and knocked the bloody thing down with my knee! I couldn't believe it, and neither could the brickies. Called me all the useless pricks, you name it, under the sun. I did feel a prick I have to admit. 

The crunch on the 'Phoenix' job came when I was assigned by Harper to help a Geordie lorry driver unload a stack of gable ends. The Geordie had me in stitches as he argued and took the piss out of Harper. I thought it was hilarious, brilliant. He was intent on taking his time, it was a lovely sunny afternoon and he took advantage to do some sun bathing, shirt off and lying down on the back of his lorry. Well there wasn't much else I could do, so I joined him. This was the life I thought. Harper was grimacing and growling under his breath. "Tell him to fuck off Clive" the Geordie shouted to me. I laughed out loud. What a hoot. Harper didn't know how to handle guys like this. Probably thought he would end up with a sore face if he wasn't careful. I was willing Geordie to stiffen him.

Next day, Harper came prowling, looking for prey. Somehow I knew he was looking for me. When he did, he sacked me. I didn't care. 'Fuck you!'

Around this time on another site, the Lincoln estate, news filtered through that a Kettering bloke had been sacked and took a dumper truck to get home. Sheer class. Well, being only ten minutes from home instead of eight miles, I didn't need a dumper.

Mam was by the sink when I came home; "What you doing here?" she asked with a disbelieving look on her face. "I've had the sack..." Cue more earache. I'm convinced she was thinking I was a waste of time!I was quite pleased actually. I was planning on hitching it to Liverpool next day with my mate Wilf to see a European Fairs Cup game against Ferencvaros of Hungary. Until Alan showed his face again. Alan called in every day at mam's looking for a bite to eat and a cuppa. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"He's had the sack" mam fired in before I could open my mouth.

"What? Now what are you going to do?"

"Well I'm off to Liverpool tomorrow for starters" I said, "I'll look for another job when I get back".

He looked at me just like mam had, not quite with despair but disbelief. "Right" he said, and went into the hall where the phone was. I heard him rabbiting away. This sounded ominous.

"I've just had a word with the manager at the Lancs (Lancashire Steel Plant in the steelworks); you've to go down this afternoon for an interview. And if he asks when you can start, you say tomorrow!"

Fucking hell. Alan had spent 15 years in the Lancs before going into the pub trade in 1967. He had a good name down there it seems. I was dreading being asked the fateful question, I even had the feeling that Alan had already told him I would start tomorrow!

Why I didn't tell Alan to fuck off I don't know. Well I do really. He'd have battered me!

So the trip to Liverpool went up the spout, the Reds got beat 1-0 anyway as it happens and I trudged miserably down to the Lancashire Steel plant next morning.

I was welcomed almost as if I was an escaped prisoner. The boss, who's name was Braybrook, had a gleam in his eye. "Ah, so you're Alan's brother" He looked at me with relish, as if he was going to give me some goddamed boring job that would do my head in. And he did. Bottom of the rung I was passed around for the next few weeks working with all sorts of characters, doing nothing in particular. Another boss, Harry James, his name sticks in my head because he shared a name with an old band leader from the 30s or something, asked me every week if I would mind doing a backshift or nightshift the following week. Christ, that's the last thing I wanted to do. I had told them at the outset and repeated it all the time that what I wanted was a constant day job. Think I was getting on their tits in the end. I wasn't quite living up to Alan's reputation. That's all I heard; 'How's Alan?' 'Alan was a good worker'.. I couldn't escape him! Everybody wanted to know about Alan! 

Eventually my luck held out. Harry James asked me if I was still after a day job. "You know I am” I said. "Right, come with me". Relief at having the weekly routine of 'what job I would be on next week' over and done with came with a mixed feeling when I was told the guy who's job I was taking had just had a heart attack and had been doing the dirtiest and smelliest job in the whole plant! 

What a title too. Bog Ore Assistant! What the fuck was that. Well it was a job of cleaning gas tanks out. One a day. Two levels in a big 20 foot square tank, each covered with six inches of peat, which had to be shovelled into the back of a lorry and then fresh peat spread around to replace it. Thing was, you only had an hour and a half to do it as apparently the peat would eventually ignite after being exposed to the air. To do the job I was given a fireman's jacket and hat! No overalls. Had to supply them myself. Which was a joke. As if I was going to spend money on buying overalls. It soon became a cause of debate and argument. 

The charge hand Nobby Clark came and told us each day which tank we were cleaning. One particular morning I was hungover, had a headache and I was wearing a pair of white jeans. Hadn't really bothered to change from the night before. Clark came by, never much of a conversationalist, told us; 'number 12 today'. Sipping my coffee, I stopped him in his tracks; "got any overalls Nobby?" He turned around, amazement on his face with me sitting there looking as if I was going to a disco. 

"You supply your own overalls" he said with a look as if I'd asked him for a fiver.

"You should supply the overalls" I countered.

"What have you been wearing since you've been doing this job?"

"That's besides the point, would you do this crap job wearing white jeans?"

This was obviously beyond his comprehension. 

"That's your problem. Number 12 tank is the one to be done today" he said abruptly and went to walk off.

Cocky bastard I thought; "It's not my problem, it's your job to find me overalls!" I shouted at him.

This really fired him up. "You'll have to manage without overalls then!"

"No" I said, "if that's the case, you'll have to get someone else to do the job, I'm not doing that manky bloody job dressed like this!"  

Just then, with Clark looking totally exasperated, the foreman Ron Sismey came by, looking perplexed. "What's the matter?"

"I told him, I wasn't going to do the job today without any overalls".

Sismey looked at me, puzzlement written all over his face. Don't think he could believe my white jeans either. To be honest I've no idea why I was wearing them in this filthy hole either if truth be told. My head was still banging and I'm thinking; 'Don't need this bullshit'.

Sismey turned to Clark and told him; "find him some overalls"

Clark looked defeated. Fuck me, is that it? End of story? All this arguing with the charge hand and the foreman comes along, and sorts the problem out just like that. Sismey commanded my respect after that, nice bloke, no fuss, spoke pleasantly. Clark didn't have a clue.

I was working with a Scottish feller called Toner who sounded as if he'd just got off the bus from Glasgow. Couldn't resist taking the piss and talking broad Jock back to him. He looked at me one day and said; 'you're aff yer fuckin' heed'. 

It was a day job and I was happy, to a certain extent. The stench from the tanks when you took the lids off was unbearable. What a pong. It permeated everything you were wearing, embarrassing at first. We started at seven and sat on a wooden plank perched on a couple of bricks against a wall drinking tea and reading the papers until around half nine when we would make a start. The job took us up to eleven o'clock and that was it. Leaving four hours to kill! At first I walked around looking for people to have a chat with but invariably they would shy away, 'fuck me' they'd say holding their nose. It was that bad. I grew bored rapidly. One day I was walking around the perimeter of the plant, which was surrounded by a big steel slatted fence. This did feel like a prison camp! Suddenly, my eyes lit up. There was a slat missing in the fence. 'I'm sure I could slip through there' I thought, 'I'll give it a go tomorrow'.

This was brilliant and for the next few months I disappeared out of the Lancs and walked through the steelworks which took about half hour and then into the White Horse for a couple of pints and a game of darts! Magic. Splendid way to take your lunch. Until a manager stopped me one day...

"Can I have a word?" Oh no, I had a gut feeling what this was all about.

"You were seen going through that hole in the fence yesterday". Bollocks, some bastard has shopped me. Trying to stay composed, I asked him; "What hole?" all innocently.

"You know what hole!"

"No I don't" Bollocks again as I could see my pint in the White Horse being knocked on the head. You couldn't get out of the Lancs except past the Patrolman on the front gate. Realising I was going to admit fuck all, he let the matter drop with just a warning. And I went round the back of the building to check the fence. Bastard! They had filled the gap in.

Feeling downcast, news came that the Lancashire Steel plant was going to close in two months. That didn't bother me in the slightest but the next bit of news did. We were all getting transferred over to the Tubeworks! That meant three shifts again! God almighty, can't I escape from this place?

When the time came, in February 71’, I went along and started on dayshift in the EWSR. A month later, I was off again. Couldn’t stand it, pissing about putting tubes through a paint machine. Jesus H. Next stop was with the Fusiliers at McAlpines in Kettering. 

That’s another story.

My love life at this time was at a standstill until out of the blue my old mate Ralph got in touch to ask me if I fancied another blind date. He was beating Cilla Black by about 30 years at this game! It was Ralph who had fixed me and Sue up with a blind date in 1968. He had endured a pretty rough time since he had moved to Liverpool. Kicked out of his digs on Christmas Day because the landlady claimed he hadn't paid his rent. He was constantly shifting from digs to digs. He failed to get any work for months but vowed to prove everybody wrong and stuck at it. Then he met Colette. No doubt Col saved his life. Maybe she was thinking of doing the same for me! Colette's best friend Barbara was set up for me when I went to stay with Ralph in his latest digs in Sunbury Road. What a date and weekend it proved to be. 

I hitch-hiked it to Liverpool on  the Friday before the football season kicked off and planned to hitch it to Burnley next day for Liverpool's first game. Ralph's digs was just round the corner from Anfield. He was staying with a lovely couple, Gordon and Brenda. They had two little girls and welcomed me with great warmth. 

After getting settled in Ralph and I met his girl Colette and her friend Barbara in the Old Campfield pub just after seven. The place was heaving, an old guy was clanking away on an upright piano, smoke filled the air, and the chatter was relentless. The pub resembled something out of a cowboy movie. We joined the girls, was introduced and straight off, Barbara looked at Colette and screetched, laughing out loud; "Don't e' talk funny!" Fucking hell, thanks a mill, never made me feel a divvy!

We were sitting alongside each other on a bench seat so conversation was going to be hard enough, never mind about the din.

Every time I opened my mouth, Barbara yelled, "don't e talk funny!" pissing herself. It didn't help that Ralph and Colette thought it was hilarious too, creasing up every time! I began to feel inhibited and I could see that this was going to be a waste of time and resigned myself to seeing the night out.

After a while we headed off to the city, had a couple of drinks in a den called the Mona and then, best of all, to the Cavern. This was what I'd been excited about all day. Going to the Cavern. Where the Beatles and all the other Mersey bands played and started.

By this time, things had calmed down, it was obvious me and Barbara were not hitting it off and we made our way down into the basement cellar to see a band from Manchester on stage. It was just as I'd seen it in the music mags and papers. I felt as if I had arrived in a place of worship. Rows of wooden benches. Wow. The smell of sweat and stale atmosphere added something too.

Taking a pew, my joy evaporated. My arse was wet! What the hell? I stood up to inspect, and saw that some dirty get had spewed up all over the seat! And I had just sat in it. That completed a miserable night! Deflated I told Ralph I was going. 

"Where?" he asked astonished.

"Back to the digs" and I left the three of them there to carry on enjoying themselves. I wasn't that bothered, it was about half one by this time and I was up early next morning to head off up the East Lancs Road to Burnley, then making my way after the game to Nottingham by train for my niece Fiona's christening on the Sunday, before hitching it to Blackpool for the Monday night game with Liverpool. An interesting weekend it was. 

And an interesting year really!

Eric Haydock…views and memories of a Hollie

 

Clem is a great drummer, there was an elite back then, class drummers. Clem, Brian Bennett, Phil Seaman, Tony Meehan, Ginger Baker. They did sessions as well as play with bands. Not because they were cheap. The studios would call the guys in to get the job done quicker. The managements were signing everybody up at the time. All the bands were going down for a session and you had to get it done in the time that was allowed. They’d say there’s three bands in today, you’ve got to 1.30. The Hollies recorded in Studio 2 at EMI and I remember them saying to us ‘come on lads, the Beatles are in at two and they’ve got priority!’ Thing was, the bands wouldn’t be used to playing in a studio or recording. The singer might get it after a couple of takes, the bass and guitar might too but the drummer, that was a different thing. They couldn’t keep time, they would have to speed up and the producers would say, ‘we can’t have this, get Clem in, or Tony Meehan’, or whoever. That’s what happened with our first drummer Don Rathbone. It was the management who decided he should be replaced and Don went into that side of the business. Clem would come in and ask ‘what have you got?’ They’d say, ‘here, look at this, listen to this, the demo, and Clem would say, ‘right that looks ok’ and he’d get it done. Piece of piss! Then pick up his £12! Here, sign here, you had to sign everything at EMI. Clem would take his £12 and he’d be off, probably to another session at another studio. 

The Hollies never used session men after Bobby Elliott came in. Bob was a great drummer, bit flash, he’d swing his arms, crash the cymbals from below, twiddle the sticks, it was all show but Bob was great. It was all in his wrists. You never saw his arms move, unless he was putting on a show! Brian Bennett was the same, and Tony Meehan. Technicians.

I left school and didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do. I never learnt anything. I only learnt about stuff when I left! That was the secondary school education. If you failed the Eleven Plus you were fodder, thats’ all. I went
to a factory, got a job, I asked, ‘what do I do?’ they showed me, and that was it. No skills or anything. If you were on piece work you could earn a bit more. The turning point for me was when I went along with a mate to see The Shadows who were playing a gig at a theatre that’s long gone now in Stockport. As soon as the curtains opened, there they were. Meehan’s kit looked brilliant. And the three Strats of Jet, Hank and Bruce pointed up in the air, Fantastic! ‘That’s what I want to do!’ I said. ‘That’s the job I want!’ I couldn’t play the guitar, there was no musical knowledge in my family but I got a guitar and formed a band with some mates. Then a proper guitarist joined and I was relegated to the bass. That’s what happened back then. I’ve since asked loads of bass players over the years and they all say the same. ‘I was relegated to the bass too’. We are all failed guitarists! You were told, ‘just go boom boom’ thats all they wanted to hear, boom boom’. And you did.

I had a Fender Precision Bass to start with but preferred a Jazz bass guitar. I got Vox to make me a 2 x15 amp. Bass gear was so poor back then. Playing through an AC30 amp, by the end of the night the speakers were hanging out.

Jet Harris had an expensive six string bass, cost £199 which was a lot of money back then, you could buy a terrace house for £250. But Jet couldn’t cope with it and he switched to a Jaguar Bass and tuned it down. I bought a six string, it took six months to get here from California. They didn’t fly them here then, came by boat around the Cape Horn. When it arrived it didn’t have a case! I carried it around in a cardboard box for six months! Then I discovered that the new strings would cost £30 too, a hell of a lot of money back then. They weren’t mass produced and like many of us did, I boiled the strings in a pan to clean them up when they were getting dirty. You’d get another 100 miles out of them then.

First band I played with was Kirk Daniels and the Carpenters. I was getting fed up playing the usual stuff and said I like these harmony singers, two part harmonies. Thats why the Everly Brothers were unique. I was walking around an area of Manchester with my mate, we were Teddy Boys. He called himself Honey Bunny and I called myself Crash Craddock! We walked past this club and could hear this singing coming from the basement. I said ‘Who’s that?’ My mate said ‘its a record’. No it’s not I said. Then they finished singing, perfectly, together, in harmony. Not this crash bang wallop that bands did at the end of a song. We went to look and it was Graham Nash and Allan Clarke. I asked them if they fancied joining our band. ‘What do you play?’ they asked. I said well its the usual stuff, bit show band type of thing but we've got this singer who does Billy Fury, Elvis. But he doesn’t hit that high note, that magic top C. That falsetto that Nash had. Thats why you never get any Hollies tribute bands, they can’t get that top C note. You drop the keys and its not the same. Its nothing. They asked how much we were getting. I said a few bob but there’s plenty of work. 

Eric, Bip and Fido

First time we met the Stones was at the first Top of The Pops show. They had a barney with the Blue Jeans but it was more tongue in cheek. They were cocky, had a bit of an attitude but the lads from up here, up north, didn’t get too bothered about it. ‘They’re alright.. ’ they said, ‘they’re just pussycats’. It was an image Andrew Loog Oldham was trying to cultivate for them. He knew that musically they weren't that good. Bill Wyman recalled in his book, the first time the Stones played up north, at the Top Rank in Middlesbrough. They were making their mark, playing in London, ‘we were the new sensations’ Bill said, ‘then we played this gig in Middlesbrough. We had our gear all set up, guitars, AC30 amps, drums, mics, and this band came in. A Manchester band. One of the guitarists brought a sideboard in. ‘Whats that?” Bill asked. ‘Thats my amp’ he said. I asked ‘what do you mean?’ He opened the cabinets and there were two 8” speakers in them! Then he opened a drawer and there’s a little Linear amp in there! Then another guy came in with a Tea Chest. ‘Ive got a 15” in there he said to Bill. Toe rags they were Bill said! They went on before the Stones and tore the place up. Story goes that later, when they were back in London, Oldham told Mick Jagger ‘Mick, I was at the gig with the Manchester band and I tell you what, I’m not being funny but, Mick, you better to learn to dance! Quite frankly, for the rest of your life, you've got to dance your fucking arse off! Because you’ll never be able to sing like those lads! Never in your natural’ Brian Jones was a good leader but he had too many daggers in his back.

We did a tour with The Outlaws which featured Ritchie Blackmore. What a guitarist. Absolutely brilliant player. The Outlaws were backing Heinz. The tour with the Dave Clark Five was fun. They were everything I hated about the business. A manufactured band, put together because they were good looking, a good size and Dave Clark couldn’t play drums to save his life. I loathed them. it was a 18 week tour with them and The Kinks who had been booked on the bottom of the bill. The Dave Clark Five were the headliners. Within a couple of weeks ‘You Really Got Me’ was released and powered its way to the top of the charts. And the Kinks were getting bigger receptions and it became a resentment. We had been playing for years before the DC5, had more hits and they were going around like the BIG stars, aloof. Dave Davies hated them as much as I did. Dave was a wild man, different to his brother. Ray was more studious and serious. It came to a head at a theatre in Norwich when me and Dave decided we’d had enough of the DC5. ‘I’ll put an end to this lot” I said. We got some bolt cutters and cut their power cable, killing their act stone dead! As Graham Nash said in his book ‘Wild Tales’, ‘served the f——-s right!’ They never mixed with anyone on that tour, never joined in. They thought they were the fucking Beatles! The Kinks were great. They weren’t last on the bill for long. Mick Avory was a lovely guy, got on great with him, like brothers! During that tour they acquired a manager who for some reason decided they should have an image and told them to do a Shadows like goose step on stage! Well, when we saw them doing that we all fell about laughing! ‘Fuck me Ray’. ‘I know’ he said. “Fuck that manager off, get your red hunting jackets and stand up and rock!’ We were pissing ourselves. 

The songwriting in the Hollies was covered with the front three, Nash, Clarke and Tony Hicks. As you know, the bass player and drummer are always at the back. We never got any of the credits. Bobby Elliott said to me ‘you know Eric, we could have wrote fucking ‘My Way’ and it still it wouldn’t have made a B side!’

And it was me that started the band, which was finally acknowledged by Graham Nash during an interview we did in America. That was the first time we’d gone over to the States and when we arrived we discovered that our agent hadn’t sorted out visas for us! So we couldn’t work. It was frustrating to say the least and we were interviewed on the tele. ‘Who started the group’ the guy asked Graham. ‘That guy at the end of the line with the cowboy hat on his head’ pointing at me. ‘If it wasn’t for Eric we wouldn’t be here, we’d be working some other job’. 

We’d had a number of top ten hits, million sellers, toured incessantly, Europe, America, constantly on the road and yet we were skint! I couldn’t see how this was. We came back from a six week tour of the States and I went to see our management about getting some money for a house I wanted to buy in Hazelgrove. I had a mini at the time. When I went to the office in Tottenham, I saw a bright yellow E-Type Jaguar outside. This isn’t right I thought. ‘How much is the house’ he asked. ‘Two and a half grand” I said, three bedroomed house’. ’You’ll have to get a mortgage’ he said. ‘Where’s all the money we’ve been making?’ I asked him. ‘There isn’t any money’ he said, ‘There’s bills to pay, and don’t forget there’s five of you in the band’. I walked out. ‘Ive had enough’ I told the others. They thought I’d cool down  and get on with it but I couldn’t. They would work for nothing. I wouldn’t. Its a familiar and typical story of the music business though. One big fucking rip-off! There were some gigs and recording sessions to fulfill and they asked Jack Bruce to replace me but he turned it down. They got Bernie Calvert eventually. Lovely lad is Bernie but meantime I had a phone call from the Kinks management. It was a Friday night and they asked me if I would be interested in joining them to replace Pete Quaife who had his own issues. Must be something with us bass players! The Kinks had a gig in Southport. Anyway, I told them I had one gig to complete with the Hollies and I’d have to turn them down. As soon as I put the phone down, I thought to myself, ‘what the fuck have I done?’ I should have joined them. I got on great with them all, Mick, Ray and Dave. Their manager told me that for some reason I had a calming effect on the brothers who were always fighting and I’d be great for the band. Biggest regret of my life that was!

Allan Clarke was a funny individual, always seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. He never mixed with the fans, sign any autographs afterwards or anything. He’d be straight out after show. He had his problems. And he was in and out of the Hollies all the time later. When his mate Graham Nash quit the band, he took it very badly. He was devastated. They’d been friends since school. Clarkie’s wife then became very ill which obviously didn’t help. They went to America to live for a while, a care home type of environment in South Carolina. Plenty of sun, heat, but there was nothing to do but look out of the window all day long. They came back, Allan was drinking heavy, smoking. That’s what knackered his voice up in the end. His voice was shot and he had to pack in. Doesn’t keep in touch with anyone anymore. He was a great singer, it was a great shame.

When Nash left the Hollies, which was a year after I left, they were at the crossroads really. The songwriting which was shared between the front three had dried up. You get to the stage like in the studio, you’d be looking at each other for ideas, what can we do next? Graham was a prolific writer though and coming out with stuff like ‘Marakesh Express’, ‘Our House’. Which he later recorded with Crosby, Stills and Nash and achieved great success. When he took these songs to the boys in the Hollies they said ‘we don’t want to play all that hippy shit’. That’s what caused the split. We had become friends with the Mamas and the Papas when in the States and Graham had seen the way ahead for him. He took up with the fat girl, Mama Case…you had to be a brave man to take that on!..but that was Graham. If he could get a toe in, he’d do it! I still believe that if the Hollies had recorded Graham’s stuff it would have been them as the superstars, not Crosby, Stills and Nash but there you go. 

After I left the Hollies I put together another group, an eight-piece, Haydock’s Rockhouse, playing heavier rock stuff. We had a Hammond Organ, a horn section. I loved it, thought it was great but trouble was, it was too big. Too unwieldy, getting around gigs was a lot of hard work and the money was spread around eight of us, it was untenable really. The other thing was that when we played, people would be shouting for us to play the Hollies stuff! We couldn’t get away from it. Because they saw the name Haydock they thought they were going to get a Hollies show. Hank Marvin and Bruce Welch of the Shadows had a similar experience when they formed a trio with John Farrar to go in a new direction as a harmony group. You can’t get away from your past, the fans won’t accept it. Rockhouse was a great band though - we recorded a few things which are collectors items now! 

I spent four years in the High Courts battling over the rights to the name The Hollies. I put a group together and went out as Eric Haydock’s Hollies which attracted attention from the lawyers. Clarkie, Hicksy and the boys tried to stop me from using the name Hollies. We had toured Australia three times when they suddenly insisted we should be called Eric Haydock Ex Hollies. It caused a few arguments with promoters and what have you and in the end it went to court. Cost a fortune! We were going down really well in Australia, and the thing was, The Hollies didn’t go there, it was too far for them then, they couldn’t be bothered. Anyway, the only winners in these disputes are the lawyers. They love it. ‘Hey there’s someone down the road using your name! I’ll issue a writ against them.’ That’s another grand! It was finally settled and I won but the case cost me thousands. I remember the judge saying ‘I’m going on my holidays now, six weeks, can I say something? It amazes me, do you know something? I have to be frank about this. I love your music, think it’s great but you could have all settled this argument about the name over a pint of bitter in the pub across the road. See you boys!’ In other words, the lawyers are taking your trousers down and shafting you, just like the agents, making thousands out of you, you’re exploited right up to the hilt. That’s what they do.

Playing the Cavern, Liverpool was an experience I have to admit. It was a shit hole. It was always packed, crammed with youngsters, a great atmosphere. There was a vegetable market in Mathew Street above the Cavern and the walls would drip with sweat and the smell from above! Stank! Dressing room was tiny. Stage wasn’t much bigger. When you were packing your gear away at the end or next morning, there was urine and sick on the floor. Awful.

Ready Steady Go was a great gig. Every Friday night it was on. It was like having an afternoon off. Do your spot, miming. You didn’t get any satisfaction out of it though, it wasn’t like playing a ‘live’ gig. It was a good time though.

Meeting Kinks legend Mick Avory

Mick Avory was the drummer with the Kinks from 1964 - 1984. His self deprecating humour and laconic wit shone through during an interview at the Core Theatre, Corby in 2017.

‘First time I met Clem was at the Pye Studios when I was there with the Kinks. The producer Shel Talmy was using Clem and Bobby Graham in the studios. Later on I got to know him better when we used to play golf at the South Herts Golf Club.

It was only by accident I started playing drums. If my dad hadn’t bought me a drum kit I wouldn’t have thought of it. I used to go to senior scout meetings where they had a dart board and small snooker table there. They also played all the traditional jazz records and stuff there as well. I was told by older blokes that I shouldn’t have been there; ‘you’re supposed to be fifteen’, I was only thirteen but I lived in the same road as the bloke in the scouts who was forming a band. 

He had said to me, ‘come along if you want. The guy on the drums doesn’t want to play, it was only a drum on a chair and a scrubbing brush and stick or something, it was pretty crude. He also had a really good washboard player. So I did and quickly thought this is fun. We did the Lonnie Donegan and skiffle stuff. We didn’t have any transport and our gigs were local like at Cigarette Island in East Molesey and at Eel Pie Island. 

I had a job delivering stuff in a home maintenance store which lasted for over five years. Later, in 1962, I was working with a kid who’s dad was a chimney sweep, a drummer and also an accordion player. He came round my house one day to sweep the chimney, saw my drums and said to my mum; ‘ah, you’ve got a drummer in your house’. She said ‘yeah, my son’. He said; ‘well I can get him some gigs at functions and stuff if he’s interested.  So I played with him for a while. 

Then one day the father rang me and said he’d seen an advertisement in the Melody Maker about a some guys forming a rhythm and blues band and were seeking a drummer. ‘Why don't you go along’ he said, ‘they’ve got a gig at the Marquee and the bloke you want to speak to is Mick Jagger.’  So I said I’d go round and see what it was all about. ‘They’re all youngsters’ ‘dad’ said. ‘there’s no good me going round, I’m 62.’ So I went, and met Jagger and them at the Bricklayers Arms in Wardour Street. First of all, they wanted a drummer to do the gig but really they were looking for a permanent drummer.  

I said; ‘well I’ll do the gig but I’ve got a day job and I have to travel right across London so it was a bit of a drag for me. I told them I didn’t want to waste their time so go and get somebody else.’  And I never heard another dickey bird from them! But who knows what would have happened if I’d have took it on?

I was still living in Moseley Hill when I joined the Kinks. They were another rhythm and blues band back then. That was the fad around London, bands like the Yardbirds, Downliners Sect, Gary Farr and the T-Bones, Pretty Things. The Kinks suited my style, which was a jazzy blues sort of rhythm. The day after I joined the Kinks I was on Ready Steady Go! Then we got managers and I thought ‘this won’t last long’ but decided I’d go along with it. Ray and Dave Davies, and Pete Quaife were always playing around, acting gay, and I used to think regularly, ‘Ive had enough of this lot and I’ll be glad to get back to my girlfriend’. 

The infamous fight at Cardiff’s Capitol Theatre followed on from a fracas the night before; ‘I had a fight with Dave after an argument about something, can’t remember what it was but Dave was worse for wear on drink or drugs. He had a fiery nature, used to blow hot and cold and we quickly got into a scrap. It got broken up. I’d got him down and then as I let him up, he ran his tooth right across my face. He was so off his head he wanted more. I thought, fuck that, and a couple of the boys held him down, and I ran off down the stairs. Anyway, next night, as I counted a number in, he turned round and booted my drum kit, scattering them across the stage, I don't know how he didn’t break his leg. I only had the hi-hat left, and I picked it up and whacked him right over his head with it. He went down and I thought..I’ve got to get out of here.. so I  ran out of the theatre, went down the road and found a cafe where one of the Kinks roadies found me. I was all upset and worried. I asked him if Dave was alright. He said… ‘unfortunately..yes’.

I went home for awhile, I thought I’d killed Dave and the police were looking me and Clem played on the Kink Kontroversy album which was due for recording shortly after the Cardiff gig. We had to patch things up in the band though because we had an American tour coming up. The managers got me and Dave together and we talked about  the problem and if we wanted to carry on. So, we put our sensible heads on and we did go to America. Which was a disaster…but that’s another story!

Clem also stood in for me to play gigs with the Kinks periodically in the early days when I first joined the band. They all thought how loud he was. Even Dave, who was a loud guitarist at the time, complained; ‘Gor, ain’t he loud!’ 

My problem, to begin with was, I was a bit jazzy and as things got louder and louder, and with the drums not mic’d up, I couldn’t play loud enough. It was fucking ridiculous. My hands used to bleed!

The Kast Off Kinks, myself, John Dalton, Dave Clarke and Ian Gibbons have been going for 23 years. My favourite number is probably Victoria, not my favourite to play, its just a nice song. I do a comedy routine singing Dedicated Follower of Fashion. I come out from behind my drums carrying a bag like Roy Cropper in Coronation Street, with a fancy jacket in. Its part of the act, an idea Chip Hawkes of the Tremeloes came up with when we were working with them in Germany.  He said ‘do you think you can sing Dedicated Follower of Fashion? I said ‘well I’m not a fucking singer but I’ll give it a go. I haven’t got a high range but I don’t think there’s too much in that song’. I had the words written down and went through it, made a few bollockses here and there, but after a while I told them… yea I could do that. It seems to go down well with audiences for some reason.’

‘Last time I saw Clem was when we went to Belgium in 2014. I was with this lot, the Kast Off Kinks, playing with the Swinging Blue Jeans. We met Clem at the airport and had a great chat. He loves meeting the old guys, Pete Oakman, Alan Lovell and all them. We were also at the funeral of singer Danny Rivers when we said; ’who’s next to climb in the box?’ 

Mick; ‘I’m still enjoying playing, wouldn’t want to do it every week. We decided to cap the gigs at around 70 a year which is about a gig and a half a week. They are usually in blocks. if one comes up during the middle of time off its a pain. I prefer gigs around my home in Moseley Hill, Richmond, Barnes. And I usually play the 60s All Stars shows as well when they come up.’

‘I’ve done some interviews which have been sent to me through the post. I type them out, and always fuck them up! The computer never sends it or something else happens and I have to start all over again.’

‘I’ve had a lot of influences as I’ve gone along. In the Rock world in the 60s, Clem was an influence, as was Bobby Graham. I never took much off them though, you think well that’s quite a nice thing and you try to emulate them. 

Bobby Elliott of the Hollies is another one. He used to tell me off for nicking his licks. I said to him ‘I’m green to this business, I’ve got to start somewhere.’ We occasionally have a get together to play golf. Micky Burt who was with Cliff Bennett, and Chas and Dave is another who joins us, It’s like a drummer re-union. 

Brian Bennett was another influence. Brian’s done well writing film scores and jingles for television. He wrote the theme tune to the Golf show on television.He also co-wrote Cliff Richard’s hit Summer Holiday, adding an extra string to his bow.  It’s a good job he wasn’t in the Kinks though, he wouldn’t have got a look in even if he could write! 

It was great to be part of all the Kinks hits but when you look back you think some of it could have been better recorded, but it wasn’t the  best recording facilities at the time. Some of it was a bit flat, there wasn’t enough time to spend on it. Thats why they used session musicians though, ain’t it?  So they could get the job done quick time.’