Tales From the Road -Trevor Wright

Trevor Wright talking about Granite’s adventure to Velbert, Germany 1973

Jake Pressley, Trevor Wright & George Cockroft
The Corby Folk Four

“Being old friends of the Kirk brothers and Jake Pressley, I went along for the ride. We picked up Bip Wetherell and his new bride Elaine in London, they were still on honeymoon! The Velbert gig was part of the annual crossover and celebration of the twin town association. Granite played in a big marquee erected in the town square. Before they played their set, following a local band who were crap, a German official came over and asked Jake who was going to present the band to the audience. Looking straight at me, Jake said, ‘He’s the one, our manager!’ Somewhat taken aback I  nonetheless agreed to do the honours but before I walked out to give them some spiel, Bip spoke up and informed the official that they wanted all the lights switched off before the intro. In German, the official told Bip that he ‘no can do. It’s against all health and safety regulations.’ ‘Look’ Bip said, ‘it’s only for a few seconds at the start of the show.’ The official was adamant, ‘Not possible’. To everyone’s amazement, Bip then told him that if they couldn’t turn the lights off, Granite wouldn’t play. At that, he scurried off and returned after seeking judgement from a higher source, ‘how many seconds?’ he asked. ‘Just a few, maybe ten at the most’. The show was saved at the eleventh hour! I walked out to the front of the stage, ‘Ladies and gentlemen’, I wasn’t sure about greeting them with Frualiens and Herrs! ‘It’s been a real slog to get here, the snow on the ground, treacherous driving conditions, cooped up in the back of a van. But now the sun is shining, it’s a glorious day and everyone’s smiling. Please give a warm welcome to the band all the way from balmy England, GRANITE!’  Rapturous applause filled the marquee when following those few dark seconds, the lights went up and the band roared into the Blood Sweat and Tears classic Spinning Wheel. The brass section of Jake on trombone and the Kirk boys on trumpets right to the fore. Granite really were a class band, the twin guitars of Bob Grimley and Pete Bonas who incidently married the girl from the Old Spice advert on tele! Spike Gowen on drums and Chris Newman on bass providing a solid rhythm section, and of course Bip on keyboards.

After the show the German asked me if they’d do another gig a couple of days later. I told him I’d doubted it as they all had to get back home to go to work. They all had jobs to return to even though for a short while they were contemplating going full time with the band. ‘That’s no problem, we’ll pay them’ he said.

‘Will 800 deutschmarks do it?’ 

‘I don’t know’ I replied, ‘what does that work out in English? I’ll have to see them first, I still can’t see it though.’ 

‘Make it a 1000 deutschmarks then’.

 ‘Yeah, I think that’ll do it!’

Granite

Hard Road for Nidge

Hard Road for Nidge

First 'real' band for Thrapston's Nigel 'Nidge' Hart was the 49th Parallel, an Oundle based combo featuring his best mate Robin Chambers on bass, "a guy whose name I've forgotten on guitar" and Mick Moore on vocals in 1972. "Mick went on to play in Germany with a number of bands and tragically died at a young age, a victim shall we say of the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. Playing drums was all I was interested in. I was lazy at school, not really interested in any subjects, subsequently when I left it was with no qualifications and no idea where I was heading. If somebody had told me then that one day I would play and count among my friends, Procol Harum guitarist Mick Grabham, Dick Parry, Pink Floyd's sax player on the Dark Side Of The Moon, Wish You Were Here albums, Foreigner keyboard player Rick Wills, I would have laughed at them!"

49th Parallel failed to accrue any measure of success, as illustrated by the accompanying aside to the photograph of their debut in Nidge's scrapbook; 'This is the one and only gig 49th Parallel did, and we didn't get paid for it!' A change of name and musical direction was needed, maybe the inspiration for The State Of Mind and playing harder edged Cream and Jimi Hendrix material. Nidge was now playing a twin bass drum kit, a rare commodity on the local scene, and rapidly building a reputation as a rock drummer. The band's preferred heavy rock style saw them change their name yet again, to a more suitable Brain Damage and striving to reach a wider audience, they moved en bloc to Liverpool where they lived in 'digs' in the district of Aigburth, south of the city. Signed to the Playlord Enterprises Agency in Manchester 'playing really heavy rock in Black Sabbath style' they secured gigs at prestigious venues such as Liverpool's Cavern Club, capturing an enthusiastic audience and fan base. It was an exciting time for Nidge and his pals in the rarified atmosphere of the world famous basement where the Beatles and other 60s rock stars learned their trade. 

 In truth the Cavern in 1974 wasn't actually the genuine article, the original club having been closed down in 1973 after failing to keep up with health and safety regulations but it was a near as dammit replica, a small and sweaty cellar, and still in Mathew Street, the entrance just 15 yards further up the road. Author Clive Smith found himself there; 'on a blind date in 1970. My mate Ralph fixed me up with his girlfriend Colette's best pal Barbara. It was a nightmare! Every time I opened my mouth to speak, they burst out laughing, "don't he talk funny!" and I thought that was rich coming from them with their thick scouse accents! After a long night we ended up in the Cavern, which was exciting, until I took a seat on a bench and my arse became all wet. Standing up, it was then I realised I'd sat in a pile of sick! That was the final straw and I bade farewell to the three of them. "Where you goin'?" they asked as they tried to control their hysterics. I'm f-----g off! That's where!" 

Nidge; "We lived in Liverpool for about a year, great city and great people. My abiding memory of the Cavern is the club being jam packed and the frenzied reaction of all the girls. It was brilliant, they used to try and tear all our clothes off! Let’s say, we all pulled." Brain Damage returned south twelve months later, exhausted, and went their separate ways. Following a short period of recuperation Nidge was back behind his kit with another outfit fronted by guitarist Tony Haselip, playing the pub and club circuits as Flash Harry, 'which soon evolved into Gemini'. In fairness to Tony Haselip, he realised Nidge was wasted playing the steady four beats to the bar 'pop' stuff and when brother Mick, bassist with Corby's premier rock band Bumper were looking for a drummer Tony had no hesitation in recommending Nidge for an audition held in the Raven Hall. Beforehand though, Nidge decided to take the opportunity to catch Bumper at the Central Hall in Kettering. "That sealed it for me, I thought they were fantastic."

Mick Haselip

Bumper had morphed from Hard Road following the departures of Ned McGuigan and Barry Monk and recruitment of 'Nidge' and guitarist Bob Grimley. They had a tremendous following and were clearly heading in a direction beyond the realms of most of their peers. Stuart and Jimmy Irving had gained invaluable experience playing for a year with Marty Wilde and touring Germany with Alas Jon Smith. Bass player Mick Haselip was regarded as one of the finest bassists in the county, Bob Grimley recognised as one of the best lead guitarists around.

The boys entered and won through to the finals of the National Folk/Rock contest held at the Roundhouse, Chalk Farm, North London in July, judged by a panel which included DJ 'Whispering' Bob Harris and Jimi Hendrix's bass player Noel Redding. 

Bumper were given plenty of support in their quest to win £2000 worth of equipment and recording time. Their brand of aggressive rock built them up a good following in Corby. Coach loads of supporters travelled to see Stuart Irving 24, Jimmy Irving 23, Mick Haselip 25, Bob Grimley 25 and Nigel Hart 21 do battle.

Attired in matching 'Godfather' gear, “the Prohibition era dress seems to pull in the fans” said singer Stuart, “we always try to play to our audience, this is why we have such a good following in the town. We go out there and grab them by the neck. That's the way they want it so that's the way we play to them.”

Bob Grimley; “We were a bit concerned at first, all the other bands were greeted with loud cheers and shouting from their followers when they took the stage. When it was our turn it was more a mooted silence. We couldn't understand it. Then all of a sudden a crescendo of noise resonated around the arena when the hordes of Corby fans made their entrance. Turns out the coaches had been late getting away from Corby Rugby Club. They were well oiled by the time they arrived at the Roundhouse - and didn't the rest of the crowd know it!”

Bumper played two of their self penned numbers as well as their arrangement of Paul McCartney's ‘Norwegian Wood/Rock Show.’ They came in a respectable third to collect a prize of £150 plus a voucher for musical equipment, behind second place Please Y'Self Skiffle Band from Matlock and the winners Stallion, who, said the Melody Maker wit, 'galloped through'!

Afterwards Bob Grimley was magnanimous; “It was a great day and the group was very happy with what we got. We would like to thank everyone who followed us throughout the competition.”

Bob's brother John was witness to the event, recalling; “The Roundhouse, that does bring back memories. We all left the Nags, I think it was a Sunday afternoon, in a coach to travel down. Franny Lagan was on the bus as well. Stinking hot day so the cans of beer were not quite as cold as they should have been. I remember we all had a bloody good time in the Roundhouse even though Bumper failed to win the day.”

Also present and seeking out fresh talent was Gavin Dare of Rebel Records, who operated from their studios, owned by Monty Python star Michael Palin, in Covent Garden. Nidge; "Gavin Dare signed us up for a record deal after watching us rehearse. We were taken out to a flash restaurant in Covent Garden for lunch to celebrate. Felt like the big time had arrived! With hindsight we maybe should have hung on a little longer. After the Roundhouse gig, Bob Harris came back stage and whispered in that inimitable style of his, that he'd like to record us. Bob was presenter of TV's biggest rock programme Old Grey Whistle Test and it's fair to say we could have been down for an appearance which would have been a real thrill and opportunity. We had to tell him we were tied up with Rebel." Under the eyes of engineer Andre Jackeman, who was the composer of Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life, Bumper cut enough demos to record an album which also included a single, Ballerina. All compositions written by the Irving brothers. They were recorded later in a studio in Wimbledon and released in 1978. 

Gavin Dare was supremely confident in the band's chances; “Bumpers agreement with Rebel Records will last three years if both parties are happy after an initial six month period. They play the kind of music that will sell records all over the world. Over the last six months we have seen around 300 bands and none of them are up to the same standard as Bumper. We are just sure they are going to make it. They are all talented individuals who can get together and make the most incredible sound. With our contacts overseas we can almost guarantee releases all over the world.” Announcing that he is planning to take the band to the international MIDEN festival in Cannes, France in 1977, Dare added, “I can see Bumper emerging in the same image as 10cc and Queen.”

All seemed to be going rosy. Bumper giving their home fans a rousing performance during the Corby's Annual Arts Festival week. ‘Bumper stole the show' the Evening Telegraph reported; 

'A packed Festival Hall erupted with enthusiasm when the boys gave what was probably their best performance in Corby yet. Sassafras had a hard job to follow the Corby band. About 800 people turned out for the concert, though until Bumper went on stage to the usual infectious acclaim, a large part of the audience was crammed into the bar downstairs. The band's show reached new heights with a phenomenal performance of their piece de resistance ‘Norwegian Wood/RockShow’. And drummer Nigel Hart stunned the audience with a superb drum solo in another number.'

The success of achieving third place in the Roundhouse propelled the band forward and signed up by the Barry Collings Agency in Southend, other clients included Pilot and Love Affair. The band was booked for gigs all round the country, sometimes in week long residencies at hives like the Madison Club in Middlesbrough or conversely, one night stands, playing and traveling on a grind which had to take its toll, and eventually would do. As the Irving brothers couldn't drive and both Bob Grimley and Mick Haselip liked a drink, driving duties for the white transit van was designated to the youngest member of the group, Nigel Hart. Nidge; "I didn't mind at first, I was a non drinker anyway, but I have to admit to feeling put on at times. I did around 90% of the driving. A typical night was when we played a club in Barrow-In-Furness, where we were on stage from 1 till 2.30am and then I had to drive back down to Northamptonshire right after. It was absolutely knackering! This was a normal sort of schedule and arduous. I had dreamt of the lifestyle but soon realised the reality was not what I expected. It gradually wore me out and in the end I quit." Nidge had no regrets in turning his back on possible stardom, and missing out on the experience of recording the album, preferring to remember the times when they rocked the audience with a great rocking sound. "For me, Stuart Irving was arguably one of the most underrated vocalists around. He could really bump the audience up, had great stage presence and personality. It was a treat to sit behind those boys and watch as they stirred everything up. Magic."

Nidge moved to Cambridge around 1981 after splitting with his girlfriend and gained his HGV licence. Continued playing around the Cambridge area in 'all kinds of bands, dance bands, complete with dickie bow! Hotel work, Night Clubs. "We had a residency at the Crown and Cushion in Great Granstead every Tuesday. It was mobbed virtually every week for nearly five years. The band was called Private Line and featured at various times a number of top class and well known rock musicians. Rick Wills who was a 'jobbing bassist' a session man, had played with Cochise and Foreigner. Guitarist Mick Grabham was another ex Cochise man who was better known for his work with Procol Harum. Don Airey ex Whitesnake keyboards. Dick Parry a sax player had played on the Pink Floyd albums, Dark Side Of The Moon and Wish You Were Here. I can still recall sitting there on drums and looking at Dick play and thinking who this guy had worked with, it knocked me out! We eventually became Los Amigos and played as a trio before I moved back to Thrapston in the early 90s. My next band with a quite appropriate name was High Mileage!

Following the departures of Nidge and then bassist Mick Haselip, Bumper changed their name to Scenestealer. Their replacements were found after placing an advert in the Melody Maker. Bob Grimley recalled; “there seemed to be hundreds interested in the job, the phone never stopped. Norman Hickens stepped in for Mick who had joined his brother Tony in another Corby band, Chrome Molly, and Tony Norris who came from Derby took over from Nidge on drums.”

Just as the boys were getting restless with the lack of news concerning the release of their debut album which had been recorded in August, and a cancellation of a tour of Germany, they received this update from Rebel Records.

'We thought it was time we wrote to you to let you all know what is happening with Scenestealer around the world, but firstly to look back over the past few months. From the time of recording the album until now has probably been the hardest for all concerned. At the end of August the album was mixed and ready for presentation. The UK reaction was not favourable but nevertheless acceptable and owing to heavy commitments of EMI the release date was constantly being changed. This position now seems to be rectified and a release is promised for early in the New Year (1978).

The gig situation has gone from bad to worse and with the latest episode regarding the German booking we can understand your reactions. With reference to the German tour Barry Collins informs me that he is trying to recover this work by directly booking you as opposed to sub contracting the work. Failing this he assures me that he will make sure there is a minimum of £500 worth of gigs for December. Well, how do we stand now? What is there to look forward to? Let us explain.

With a highly professional album in the can we can look forward with confidence to a fast moving, star making, and highly profitable 1978 but this is going to require a concentrated effort on all sides. Why? Because of the phenomenal reaction to the album throughout Europe. We have just returned from Germany where they think you are one of the best bands they have heard in a long long time and are planning to back up this statement by arranging TV, radio and personal appearances for you, to coincide with the release. They assure me that the release will be in early January and we have no reason to doubt them. There is a marvellous team operating in Germany, and they are 100% behind you, so if we can give them the same sort of co-operation, there is no problems at all..

We had the same reaction from Holland and at the time of writing, have planned to visit them on Monday the 12th December to discuss Scenestealer further and they also have a fantastic team that are behind you 100%.

We feel sure that you will agree with us that we are now on the threshold of something big and only by giving all of our support can we obtain the success that we all so richly deserve. We have no doubt that you play your part and you know us well enough to play ours.

Don't be despondent lads, there's not much longer to wait. We take this moment to wish you all and your families a very merry Christmas and a real REBELious New Year!’ 

Rock On!

Signed, 

Gavin and Dave

Hue

Hue

Perfume River

Research told me; ‘Hue was the nation’s capital under the Nguyen Dynasty emperors for 150 years until the early 20th century.’  Always good to get some background I feel when you travel to these locations. Not that I’m a history buff to that extent but I don’t want to be completely ignorant when my guide Ying is so enthusiastically explaining the goings on and lineage of the families involved in the pagodas we are about to visit. 

One thing I remembered to do, reluctantly I add, was to wear my Levi’s today. You have to keep your legs covered up in these religious zones - I was informed beforehand. Didn’t ask why, but this is the Far East and you have to follow the rules. No problem. Except that the heat was unbearable and there’s a certain pleasure in having a bit of wind wafting up your trouser leg. And to top that, when we arrived at our first port of call, a pagoda of which I didn’t catch the name, where thirteen emperors are immortalised, virtually everyone was wearing shorts! Translation may have been lost somewhere along the line was my only explanation. 

It was a nice pleasant journey sitting in the back of my air conditioned cab to the outskirts of Hue. Ying explained that all thirteen emperors here have their own significance for different reasons, which I fail to recall. Well it is hard work! The pagoda is impressive but they do like their steps here I noticed. Just as well I’m pretty fit and I’m pleased to say I managed the three flights of stone steps into the clouds without having a heart attack or gasping for breath. The views were lovely though when you reached the top. Statues are in abundance as well as artefacts and paintings which Michelangelo would have been proud of. All very good and it was here, I think, may be getting mixed up because they are all similar, that the figure of Confucius sits proudly. Showing my ignorance here but the only time I had heard of this chap was in the Kung Fu films in the 70s. So, to enlighten us all I had to check him out. 

Turns out Confucius was a Chinese philosopher who emphasised personal and governmental morality, correctness of social relationships, justice and sincerity. 

‘His followers competed successfully with other schools only to be suppressed in favour of the Legalists during the Qin dynasty. Following the victory of Han over Chu after the collapse of Qin, Confucius's thoughts received official sanction and were further developed into a system known in the West as Neo-Confucianism, and later New Confucianism.’

There you are; Learn something every day.

“Confucius is credited with having authored or edited many of the Chinese classic texts. He championed strong family loyalty, ancestor veneration, and respect of elders by their children and of husbands by their wives, recommending family as a basis for ideal government. He espoused "Do not do unto others what you do not want done to yourself”.

Confucius is widely considered as one of the most important and influential individuals in shaping human history. His teaching and philosophy greatly impacted people around the world and remains influential today.’

Though I appreciated the time, trouble and enthusiasm of Ying, as we moved on I told him I was more interested in visiting the railway station at Hue than another pagoda. Which sounds a bit lame but I have a fascination for railways. Threw him a bit as he does have the Trailfinders itinerary and timetable to follow but he accepted my request and said we would make a detour which wasn’t too far out of the way as it happened, and it was on the way back towards the city. Fine. 

You never know what you’re going to come across in Vietnam and all of a sudden we were held up in a traffic jam, mainly of scooters, which were waiting patiently by some crossing gates. Taking advantage, I jumped out of the taxi with my iPad in time to catch the train, the Hanoi to Saigon Express, exploding through on the single track. Amazing it was, the power and speed, and people hanging around yards from the railway line without a care in the world about their health and safety.

The station was literally around the corner and I was quite surprised to find an almost western looking complex. Not on the scale of Euston or Marylebone but one that would compete with any branch line station back home. I managed to snap a few photographs while Long waited patiently in his cab, engine running and being pursued by a traffic warden. Yes, that surprised me too. Westernisation is infiltrating into these Far South Eastern countries I realised. 

After this slight diversion we travelled on to the Imperial Citadel, opposite the Thein Mu Pagoda with the War museum alongside. This was more what I had come to see.  

A tour of the temple and the grounds revealed damage to buildings that had remained from the Tet offensive of 1968. Standing there taking this in was thought provoking. How many lives were lost, the terror of the campaign. Nothing you can imagine unless you'd been there. Made me think, the images we saw on the news all those years ago, made it seem as if it was just another war film. A tour of the museum which was laden with American tanks, guns, helicopters and aircraft only emphasised this. 

The destruction and terror these inflicted you can’t imagine though obviously you can say the same about the weapons of every war. Nonetheless we are here in Vietnam and this is the war that was on the news every night through our adolescence. Graphic newsreel of the horrors and later with the films seared the images into your brain. So much to take in over here and talking to Ying brings it home even more. His dad fought for the South Vietnamese, his uncle, his dad’s brother, for the Vietcong. Families split in two by their beliefs. Fortunately for Ying they both survived though whether they ever re-united I don’t know. Ying told me that the military used to enter villages and children from the age of 13 were all taken away for military training. No choice. No Option. Mostly they were used to rebuild and re-camouflage the Ho Chin Minh Trail which ran from North Vietnam all the way through Laos and Cambodia to Saigon after the American B-52 Bombers had done their best to eradicate the trail. 

In 2019 its hard to imagine what was occurring here 50 years previously. 

‘The Battle of Hue was one of the longest and bloodiest battles of the Vietnam War. Between 30 January and 3 March 1968, eleven battalions of the ARVN, the Army of the Republic of Vietnam, four U.S. Army battalions and three U.S. Marine Corps battalions defeated 10 battalions of the People's Army of Vietnam and the Viet Cong.

By the beginning of the North Vietnamese Tet Offensive on January 30, 1968 – coinciding with the Vietnamese lunar New Year – large U.S. forces had been committed to combat operations on Vietnamese soil for almost three years.

Highway 1, passing through the city of Huế, was an important supply line for ARVN, US, and Allied Forces from the coastal city of Da Nang to the Vietnamese Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). It also provided access to the Perfume River at the point where the river ran through Huế, dividing the city into northern and southern parts. Huế was also a base for United States Navy supply boats.

Considering its logistical value and its proximity to the DMZ only 50 kilometres away  Huế should have been well-defended, fortified, and prepared for any communist attack. However, the city had few fortifications and was poorly defended.

While the ARVN 1st Division had cancelled all Tet leave and was attempting to recall its troops, the South Vietnamese and U.S. forces in the city were unprepared when the Viet Cong and the PAVN launched the Tet Offensive, attacking hundreds of military targets and population centers across the country, including Huế.

The PAVN/Vietcong forces rapidly occupied most of the city. Over the next month, they were gradually driven out during intense house-to-house fighting led by the Marines and ARVN. In the end, although the Allies declared a military victory, the city of Huế was virtually destroyed, and more than 5,000 civilians were killed (2,800 of them executed by the PAVN and Viet Cong, according to the South Vietnamese government). The communist forces lost an estimated 2,400 to 8,000 killed, while Allied forces lost 668 dead and 3,707 wounded. The losses negatively affected the American public's perception of the war, and political support for the war began to wane.’

Nearby the Citadel is the Perfume River, the scene of much activity described in the paragraph and I informed Ying that rather than spend an hour walking around looking at more statues and religious artefacts I’d rather take a ride down river. On board the Junk, as I took in the views including several water buffalo wallowing in the cool of the river, the captain, a Vietnamese lady, was quick to impress on me she had a family of five to feed, she had little money and survived by selling her wares on the boat to people like me! Enjoying the steady cruise she pestered me, in a polite way with a lovely smile and demeanour and I eventually succumbed to her tale of strife and she managed to extract a couple hundred thousand Dong out of me for a fridge magnet and a short sleeved shirt. It was only around a tenner in English money. 

Did have a crack with her though and she was well pleased she could feed her family again. Ying sat there impassive, with a knowing smile on his face. Seen it all before! 

Back at base, I freshened up before heading out for a drink and something to eat. After wandering around for a while taking in the buzz of Hue I came across a bar that intrigued me called The DMZ. The De-Militarized Zone Bar. Someone with enterprise over here I thought. It was busy and I perched myself on a stool with a good view of the street which was rowdy, noisy, music blaring from all the bars, people everywhere, scooters, bikes, cars blaring their horns. Whilst sitting here I looked up and discovered a map that covered the whole ceiling, a map of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Wow. Painted in green to depict the jungle it looked amazing. Taking this in an old guy suddenly appeared from outside, stood staring at the ceiling before making his way towards me and the toilet just beyond. I noticed his cap and shirt adorning the badges ‘California Vietnam Veterans Association’. 

As he walked past me I couldn’t resist asking if he had been stationed here during the war. Obvious I know with the badge broadcasting it but how else do you start a conversation! He was very obliging, Paul his name was. ‘I was based at Da Nang in 1965 until 1968. First time I’ve been back. After 54 years.’ I could tell he was emotional and proud. ‘There’s a group of us sitting outside, why don’t you come over and I’ll introduce you.’ Well, I felt honoured and shook their hands, listened to these old guys, yes they were older than me! I felt quite humble. Felt sort of poignant. I was trying to imagine how they were feeling, returning back to their past where they witnessed so many horrors. They told me they had visited some of the sites, said prayers for their comrades. I guess they wanted to exorcise some demons but they were enjoying themselves. And they had survived.
The experience meeting these G.I's felt like a bonus for me. I had wanted to come to this country for years, to learn more about Vietnam and the war, visit places I'd only heard or read about, seen in the documentaries. I was enjoying every minute of it.

 

Next trip was to the more leisurely paced resort of Hoi An, ‘where I could rest and have the whole of Friday to myself to relax by the Hotel pool or the beach’ - Trailfinders. 

Well I wasn’t sure about that. Friday seemed like a wasted day to me… 

What was more exciting was the four hour drive over the Hai Van Pass to Da Nang en route to Hoi An.

Vietnam

Vietnam

March 1st. St David’s Day. Inevitably thoughts go with my family. My long gone parents. My granddaughter Polly in Sweden who’s 6 today. My brother Jim who’s 84. One end of the scale altogether. The Welsh don’t go overboard with the celebration of their patron saint, not like the hysterics that accompany the Irish and St Patrick’s Day but when it comes around I always think of my folk. 

Ive landed in Hanoi, 17 hours after leaving Heathrow for this Vietnam adventure. Its half eleven in the morning, the heat is more than welcome after the cold of the winter at home. The Trailfinders guide Zing, not the correct spelling but near enough, is standing in the Arrivals lounge of the airport. Emerging from the exit of the customs a throng of people stand holding placards with names on. They look like a herd of manic football fans. Seeking some form of recognition there amongst them was Zing. Holding a placard with my name on it. Like magic. A welcome sight. Its a funny sort of feeling, similar to waiting for your suitcase to emerge from the dark tunnel of the baggage hall. Don’t know why I always feel surprised when it turns up after a long haul flight with a break and connection in between. ‘Your baggage will go straight through sir’ I was assured at Heathrow. I had a two hour break at Dubai to contemplate, rest and recharge for the second 7 hour leg of the journey. Tiresome but if you want to visit far off places there’s no other way, and Ive long come to terms with it. Zing takes me to the taxi and off we go. On the way Zing outlines the agenda and itinerary for the next couple of days, starting tomorrow. I’m weary but listening. Can’t wait to get started but thankfully the afternoon is time for me to catch up with some zzzz, settle in at the Silk Path Hotel, situated in the ‘old quarter’ Zing informs me. 

Zing

I estimated I’d been up for 36 hours at this point, I was exhausted. An early night was on the cards, a nap, a shower, some fresh clothes and I decided on a stroll around the immediate vicinity of the Silk Path to get some sort of bearing and also some food. My first impression of Hanoi, like so many others I guess, was the mayhem that ensued on the streets. ‘There’s over 6 million scooters in Hanoi’ Zing had informed me. Unbelievable! Thus the quality of air was far from acceptable. Pollution hung like a cloud over the city. Crossing the road i discovered was taking your life in your hands. No control, no right of way, take your chance. Like trying to make your way through a swarm of bees, car and hooter horns blaring incessantly, scooters cutting everyone up, from all angles. I would become amazed at the mania and the fact that all the time i was going to spend in Vietnam over the next two weeks, I wouldn’t witness one outbreak of road rage! Back on the roads in Britain there’d be carnage, murder. Something to admire I figured.

One thing I was looking forward to on this holiday was the food. Vietnamese food. The flavours are something to behold. So after walking around for an hour I found a restaurant/ cafe not far from the hotel. A local beer, ‘Hydra’ and a meal of stewed chicken and ginger was ordered. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what to order, couldn’t figure the menu out, I was too knackered to concentrate. But, I was confident the Vietnamese cuisine wouldn’t let me down. It did. The chicken was awful. ‘Must have been a pensioner of a chicken’ I thought to myself. Tough as old boots. I struggled through it, enjoyed the accompanying salad, drank my beer up and went off to my bed. I went out like a light.

Zing and his driver Hung turned up prompt. The humidity was high, not helped by the fumes emanating from the million scooters which permeated the air. You can understand the use of face masks around here. What was amazing, amusing, bewildering, was the way that everyone over here sees the scooter as a mode of transport akin to a van. Every second or third  scooter had three, four people on board. Children clinging on as they skirted their way through the chaos of the road. Scooters with sacks, bags, boxes, trees, even a full blown fridge freezer tied on the back! Anything was strapped on one way or another. Amidst the maelstrom was the occasional rickshaw, women carrying their wares over their shoulders, cars and taxis tooting their horns, scooters responding likewise. Standing looking out of the foyer while I awaited for Zing and Hung, I thought ‘this place is mad’. A Scottish couple Billy and Rachel from ‘near Loch Lomond’ swapped tales and their thoughts with me. They too thought the place was crazy.

Off we headed for the first port of call, the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh, the father of Vietnam. Ho, referred to as Uncle Ho rather than Dad in these parts is revered everywhere you go. The leader of the North Vietnamese who enlisted the Chinese and the Russians to help in the cause for reunification of the north and south, to fight against the colonisation of the French and then America, is deified. Ho lies in state in the mausoleum at Hanoi. “Do you know’ Zing enlightened me, ‘there are only three leaders in the world who have had their bodies embalmed and lie in state?’ Well I didn’t and couldn’t have told him but apparently its Ho Chi Minh, Lenin and Chairman Mao. ‘All communist leaders’. When we arrived there was already a queue three blocks long. We joined the queue. ‘This is the best time to come’ Zing informed me. ‘The queues in the afternoon can stretch for over three kilometres’. Well, it must be worth it I figured. The queue moved slowly, police and guards with their armoury ushering everyone in line, stone faced. Eventually we were there, an ordinary looking square building. Filing through, past the prostate figure of Ho we moved, never stopping, you’re not allowed to dwell, take photographs. Exiting the hall, the queue still stretched beyond as far as the naked eye could see. Makes you wonder. People come and stand in line to pay homage, stand in the heat, which was 37o this day, as the procession gently continues. And being a westerner, I couldn’t help but think, ‘why?’ Vietnam is a Buddhist country, religion is high on the list of priorities, you have to respect that. 

Outside after visiting Uncle Ho

Moving on, next stop was a wooden stilted house where Ho lived. He preferred to live an ordinary lifestyle rather than inhabit huge grandiose palaces. You can view his bedroom, living room, kitchen, library. Set in an impressive garden with lakes it is modest but impressive. Ho saw his days out here, passing away in 1969 aged 79. ‘Remarkable’ says Zing, ‘he smoked all his life, yet still lived till 79’. When the average lifespan for the Vietnamese was ten or more years less. 

Visits to a temple or two followed, I couldn’t keep up, marvellous buildings that they are, impressive artefacts belonging to various emperors and Zing, and Hung, full of admiration and keen to show me more were somewhat surprised when I asked politely if, instead of visiting another temple, could I visit the Hanoi Prison? 

We had strolled around the Trúc Bạch Lake in Hanoi, which is a bit of a misnomer, it’s more like a sea, but no, Zing assured me it was a lake. ‘It’s where the American pilot and future senator, John McCain was recovered from after bailing out of his doomed jet, shot down by a missile in 1967’.

‘McCain fractured both arms and a leg when he ejected from the aircraft and nearly drowned after he parachuted into the Lake. Some North Vietnamese pulled him ashore, then others crushed his shoulder with a rifle butt and bayoneted him. He was then transported to Hanoi's main Hỏa Lò Prison, nicknamed the Hanoi Hilton.

Although seriously wounded and injured, his captors refused to treat him. They beat and interrogated him to get information, and he was given medical care only when the North Vietnamese discovered that his father was an admiral. His status as a prisoner of war made the front pages of major American newspapers.

McCain spent six weeks in the hospital, where he received marginal care. He had lost 50 pounds, was in a chest cast, and his gray hair had turned white. McCain was sent to a different camp on the outskirts of Hanoi In December 1967, placed in a cell with two other Americans who did not expect him to live more than a week. In March 1968, McCain was placed into solitary confinement, where he remained for two years.’ - Wikipedia

The facade of the Hilton remains intact, the grounds at the rear of the jail have been redeveloped but the cells and dormitories, for want of a better description, remain. For authenticity life-size figurines chained and locked together in rows give an indication of the hell it once was. Built to accomodate French prisoners during the Indo China war it is a harrowing sight. And the guillotine in a separate room is a reminder of the fate beholden of those who didn’t oblige by the rules. For all the macabre resonance of the place, it is still nonetheless fascinating. But, by all accounts, during the Vietnam War, Americans were treated with civility, which still doesn’t give the impression it was a place of leisure, a two star hotel. Definitely not a great experience. And not one John McCain would agree with either I suspect.

Finishing proceedings off today, Zing and Hung took me to a theatre, all this was the agenda, to watch a ‘Water Puppet Show’. Have to confess I wasn’t that bothered, I was feeling knackered but nonetheless I persevered. Not my cup of tea, the show lasted around half hour, the puppets emerging from behind a curtain telling the story of ‘national history’, dancing and swishing around in water while a combo provided background music and song, which was more to my liking. 

Now that the official itinerary stuff had ended I had time to roam around and discover how the Hanoians lived, the conditions, the poverty. Claustrophobic, the ‘old quarter’ is as far removed from the civilised world we live in back home in Blighty. 


I came across a railway station where people walked aimlessly along the tracks, no barriers or health and safety here. If a train comes along, you take a step back while it goes through. The station was nearby an imposing gate, entrance, to an official looking building, which turned out to be the Ministry of Defence. Two soldiers were on guard. Taking the opportunity to take a picture, they chased me away. Not before I got a snap though. 

I meandered around the oppressive streets looking for a clue for a direction to my hotel. Disorientated though not flustered, I always figure you’ll get there eventually, I moreorless stumbled across the Silk Path and headed for the bar. A nice meal and a couple of beers, ‘Hydra’, some cabaret from a couple of young girls playing interesting instruments and to my surprise a rendition of Elvis’ ‘Its Now Or Never’, I retired to catch up with some much needed rest. Jet Leg was kicking in.

How Long Bay? Or Halong Bay!

Next leg of the tour takes us to Halong Bay situated in the Gulf of Tonkin. Which is where the American destroyer USS Maddox was reputedly attacked by North Vietnamese Navy Torpedo  Boats. True or not, it gave President Johnson the excuse to step up America’s involvement in South East Asia in 1964. This was going to be one of the highlights of my trip which included an overnight stay on the cruise ship Victory Star. 

Fairly early start was called for and up early I awaited Zing and Hung whilst taking in the mayhem again on the road outside. It’s really funny. You wait wondering what is going to turn up next. Hung arrives and away we go. I’m settled in the back seat of the taxi and five hundred yards or so down the road, Hung pulls up. ‘Oh, he must have forgotten something’ I ponder. A conversation, slightly agitated, ensues between Hung and Zing and next thing, Hung is opening up the boot, getting my case and bag out, depositing them on the side of the road, uttering something that sounded apologetic as he opened my door, gets back in and drives off! Confused and Zing looking as bewildered as me, Zing explains he said something that Hung took umbrage to. Hung apparently told him he doesn’t need the money, get someone else and he’s got more things to worry about..etc. Well, there’s nothing I can do. Zing apologised, told me he’d book another taxi, not to worry, ‘let’s go and get a coffee’ and promised we’d make the departure time for the cruise I was booked on at Halong Bay which was around 12.30. Well I wasn’t worried, take these things in your stride as you do. Nowt you can do about these blips! We did seem to await an age for another taxi to arrive so meantime I took advantage and snapped a few more scenes of the bedlam occurring on the road. And even better, a train coming through across the road alongside a row of terraced houses where just five minutes previously I’d checked out and found people walking along the railway line, sitting on the track, women hanging washing out, barely two feet from the railway. You just can’t help but smile, laugh and imagine how this would go down back home! As someone said; ‘Health and Safety would shut the whole country down!’

After a delay of getting on for 45 minutes, the second taxi duly arrives and the driver introduces himself, ‘Good morning’ he said with a huge smile, that’s one thing I’ve noticed, everyone appears to be happy over here. “I’m Hub’. Well, again, that tickles me. Love the names! 

The drive takes over three hours, a good opportunity to take in the views of the countryside, the rice fields, various trees and plants which are indigenous of South East Asia and particularly what most people associate with in Vietnam. Images of ‘Apocalypse Now’ and ‘The Deer Hunter’ are conjured up.

Deposited on the quayside, Zing and Hub disappear for the night and I sign in for a short boat ride to the ‘mother’ boat, the Victory Star out in the bay. I was looking forward to this, the boat was quite large, my room more than adequate, dining room and bar sufficient, tidy. So, it was time to chill, a nice cold beer and relax on the upper deck to enjoy the cruise. The photographs you see in the brochures must have been taken around here I surmised, huge rocks jutting out of the sea, all around. Reminded me of the James Bond film, ‘Man With the Golden Gun’ think it was. Magical. Lunch was being served around 5pm giving you time to acquaint yourself with the boat, other guests. One I met was a lady from Birmingham, on her own, she’d even been to Corby which was amazing. ‘I appeared in an athletics meeting there’ she said. There you go, always someone you come across isn’t there? We shared a few conversations which was pleasant. She was finishing off her holiday in Cambodia it happens.

Lunch was mainly a concoction of fish, shrimps, squid, catfish. Lovely, if you like fish. If you don’t you’re stumped! I do.  

We headed on out into the Gulf, a fish farm was our destination. Now I remember an episode with one of these in Thailand. Trying to climb a ladder from a makeshift raft, which was made of oil drums strung together on a few pallets. I ended up clinging for my life, feet on the raft and my arms outstretched hanging onto the ladder steadfast. No way was I going to let go! Panic from above and somehow with the help of my family I scrambled up to safety. Shaken and stirred! To paraphrase Mr Bond.

This fish farm was reached by a rowing boat, six in a boat and a young lady with one of those funny hats on, can’t remember what you call them, rowing for all her might. The water was calm and we were out for around an hour as the lady rowed us around villages of fisheries, in the middle of nowhere, sort of sight you don’t see at home thats for sure. Unless there’s something similar I don’t know about off the coast of Hunstanton.

Twilight was coming in as we made our way back to ‘mother’. Dinner was served at half seven so that gave us time to freshen up, read, change. Sea Bass was on the menu, salads, bean sprouts, and of course, the staple diet of rice. As the evening wore on, many went up on the top deck, drinking bottles of Tiger, quietly speaking amongst themselves in groups. I had a nice chat with Miss Birmingham before heading back to the bar. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to be heading for their bunks, they did mostly look older than me but I can’t say I saw any cups of Ovaltine doing the rounds. I perched myself on a barstool, had a great chat with the barman and polished the night off with a large Grand Marnier. Perfect.

Next morning it was a slow cruise back to base where Zing and Hub were waiting to take me on a four drive to Hanoi Airport for the flight to Hue. On the way we stopped a couple of times, once for a wander around what Zing described as ‘Vegetable Fields’. I soon gathered he meant what we call Allotments. It was interesting to see different plants and the rice and lemongrass being grown in rows that on first sight just looked like overgrown grass. The smell gave it away though. Love the smell of lemongrass. Farmers and villagers rely on their products produced in these fields. When you consider the lowest paid workers in Vietnam are on £180 a month, you can see why. 

We also stopped at an oyster farm to see how the workers, young girls, extract pearls from the shells and how necklaces, rings and whatever are made. Never seen that before, quite amazing really. Delicate. 

One more stop to the airport was at an outlet where you could buy anything from a dress, mug, pen, picture to a cup of coffee. Could have spent a fortune in here and I did buy some more gifts. I was still trying to get used to the money and exchange rate. When you are charged a million Dong for a picture you stop and think about it. Then realise it’s only about £28!

Travelling around you soon realise everyone is always trying to sell you something. And I’m a sucker. Three days in and I’d already filled my suitcase up with presents for the kids!

The flight to Hue was only an hour. I’d bade farewell to my companions Zing and Hub. Had a photograph taken with both, one which was amusing with Hub clinging on to me as if he didn’t want me to go. At Hue I was meeting up with Ying and his driver Long. Lovely guys, lovely welcome you get over here. The flight gave time to reflect on the way it was going so far. Although temples, pagodas and tombs were on the list once more at Hue, I was more interested in the war museums and history of the Vietnam War, and informed Ying so. Hue was a prime target for the Americans and they did their best to destroy it. I was wanting to see some evidence but of course the war ended in 1975 and chances are that over 40 years later, much has been restored, rebuilt. 

My hotel, The Alba Spa, was down a back alley of a street, thats the best I can describe it. Leading up to the main thoroughfare, a good quarter of a mile away, you walked past an array of houses, shops? The locals sitting around smoking, selling fruit, vegetables, meat, coffee, perched on tiny chairs and tables, inviting you in to their shack or to purchase a pineapple or a bunch of bananas. And of course, the street was like a highway with the scooters, cycles and cars tearing up and down. My thoughts were interrupted when a scooter pulled alongside and the chap, a young guy, asked me if I was looking for a lady. ‘No’ I told him, ‘I’m looking for something to eat’. “I can get you a nice young lady for two dollars’. ‘Really?’ I replied without breaking step. ‘Yes, I can bring her to your hotel’. ‘No thanks” I replied again. ‘What about a ladyboy?’ Christ almighty. Do I look like a prick or something? Desperate? ‘Bog off’ I said, ‘I’m going for something to eat’. Well, funny episode it was, it reminded me of Bangkok and I guess its alright if that’s what your after. I was more interested in a plate of soup! As they would say back home. Must be an age thing. The bars were crowded, music blasting your eardrums, rubbish music at that. Same everywhere, drum and bass monotony, youngsters screaming, having fun I suppose. Coupled with the humidity, it was knackering. I settled for a meal in a bar which was quiet, enjoyed my noodle soup and headed back to the Alba Spa Hotel for a beer and a Grand Marnier to finish off. 

Tomorrow was going to be busy again. I was looking forward to visiting the war museum and Citadel. Less so, another temple but I was prepared to go with the flow!

Argentine bound

February 14th 2017

Found it hard to sleep too well with the thought of being roused at 3am by the alarm clock. I had a long day ahead of me, three flight changes to encounter in a 15 hour journey. Jeff had kindly offered to take me to Cape Town Airport at this ungodly hour and I was surprised to find Jeff downstairs before me, reading his laptop. I’d had a fantastic time during my two week stay in South Africa, Jeff and Naomi had looked after me unbelievably, as had the boys Dillon and Rufus, who had also very kindly given up his room for me. Now it was time to continue my trek across the southern hemisphere to South America. 

The roads were empty, as you would expect in the middle of the night but we made the airport in plenty of time. I bade Jeff farewell, thanked him for everything and hoped we ‘d catch up later in the year back home. 

The first leg was a flight to Johannesburg for a connecting flight to Sao Paulo, Brazil. Problems weren’t anticipated.  But you can never assume anything….at 4am in the morning you don’t need any perturbation. Checking in, the girl behind the desk didn’t recognise my flight number! Explanations that I had booked everything through the international company Trailfinders and that all should be straightforward fell on deaf ears. Growing a tad anxious, it was eventually discovered that South African Airlines had changed the flight number and that I could proceed! Well, thank you! That was a good start, just as I was beginning to think I might have to call Jeff back!

The nine and a half hour flight to Brazil was good. The plane was half empty which enabled me to sprawl out over two seats and pass the time reading, listening to my iPod, watching a film, eating etc. My mindset, having spent nine hours on a train from Memphis to New Orleans six months previously was that this flight wouldn’t be a problem at all. The flight was smooth and it was interesting when we reached the southern continent of America and flying over Sao Paulo, my first glimpse of Brazil from a few thousand feet, it looked very enticing and I made a mental note for the future. Rio and Paulo could be an idea for a holiday sometime.

If I was daydreaming and thinking how wonderful life was, reality brought me back to the present when I disembarked and sought out my connection to Buenos Aires. Turned into very near a nightmare!

Sao Paulo is a huge airport on three levels, and I visited each one, two or three times, getting nowhere fast. Nobody it appeared, spoke English. Nobody could understand what I was asking for even when I showed them documents stating I was looking for the Argentine Airlines Check-Out. 

‘Up the elevator’ I was told, in Spanish, ‘no, wrong area, down the elevator’ the woman at the enquiries desk informed me. Trailing my suitcase behind me, I walked back and for, up and down stairs, up and down lifts, to all three levels, getting more frustrated by the minute. Eyes peeled, there was never a sign anywhere indicating where the Argentine Airline was situated. I began to wonder if I was in the right airport! Or was it a conspiracy, i know Brazil and Argentina are great rivals in virtually everything but had relations dropped to such a level that they didn’t want to acknowledge each other at all?

Exasperated, tired and bothered walking around like a headless chicken, and time passing by, relief came unexpectedly when I spied an official looking young bloke leaning against a wall. He looked as if he was wanting something useful to do, had a handful of documents in his hand, I approached him with some weariness. Showing him my flight docs and asking if he could point me in the right direction I was pleasantly surprised when he answered me in my native tongue. 

‘Yes, you’re on the wrong floor’, then, ‘come, I’ll take you there’. Well that was a very nice gesture, what a nice young chap this guy was. I had the feeling, as we made our way about two miles away from where I had been hanging about, it did seem two miles! This guy had seen me wandering back and for aimlessly for the last half hour or so. He took me directly to the Argentine Check out, even jumped the queue to explain to the desk girl, which drew some dodgy glances from others in line but what the hell. I was past caring about minor things like that. Boarding pass in hand, this young chap even took me to my departure gate and wished me well. Sometimes you do think, people can be so nice. I wished I could have thanked him more for his help, bought him a drink or something, but he walked on and left me feeling humble. Whoever you were kind fellow, you restored some faith in humanity for me!

The final leg of my journey was a two and a half hour flight on what I could only describe as Argentina’s answer to Ryanair. Aerolineas Airlines don’t have a great track record, I was later to learn. The plane was rather decrepit, like a crate compared to what I’d flown on to get this far, crammed. People coming on board with suitcases that were ridiculous, stretching credibility to the limit. Surely they should have gone in the hold? So bad, the flight was delayed while these cretins jostled and farted around trying to store these things in the overhead compartments. Didn’t need this. 

The flight was bumpy, turbulence quite bad but by now I was past caring. Never bothered me much anyway. I’ve long accepted that if the plane goes down there’s sod all you can do about it, so why worry and get stressed about it?

We arrived at the airport Buenos Aires has delegated for ‘internal’ flights, that is from neighbouring South American countries. Made little difference to me, I was too knackered to take this snippet of useless information in. 

Finally passed through Passport Control and retrieving my luggage I took a minute to take in the fact that at long last I had arrived and was actually standing in a place way on the other side of the world. Seemed like a million miles away from Corby, but very exciting. A taxi to my destination, the Hotel Crillon was another half hour passed and first impression was, that it didn’t look that brilliant!

Looks can be deceiving though and in fact it was very comfortable, people very nice, welcoming. 

Settled in, the heat was quite intense, humidity was high, I dragged myself across to a bar on the corner opposite the Crillon. Busy, the bartender was very polite and smiling, obviously enjoyed his job I figured, I sat outside on a table to relax and watch the bustle that was all around me. I was in the centre of the city, right next to a park, on one of the main streets apparently. 

Enjoyed the time chilling with a very acceptable pint of cool Patagonia beer and it was time to get some zzzz. And to look forward to the week ahead of me, discovering the delights of Buenos Aires and a three day trip to Montevideo, Uruguay to boot. Very satisfying. I slept well.

HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED

HIGHWAY 61 REVISITED

Echo Arena, Liverpool May 8th 2017

Bob Dylan, walked on stage, played his set, walked off, nearly two laters later, and never uttered a word. Now, Dylanologists will know that since the 1960s this is par for the course. Bob never went into the show-biz baloney of ‘Hello Wembley..’ Everybody havin’ a good time?’ etc etc

Part of the mystique surrounding Dylan is his embracement of non conformity. It’s been a long time since Greenwich Village, Newport, Isle of Wight in which Bob has morphed and crossed musical borders many times.

1981

Last time I saw him was 1981 in Birmingham, touring on the back of his spiritual albums ‘Slow train Coming’, ‘Shot Of Love and ‘Saved’. Some of the material may have been a surprise but the band and his performance was still up there. At the Echo Arena, it could be that many in the packed audience may have been disappointed. The show started well with ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright’ from ‘Freewheelin’, the crowd responding with all the enthusiasm of old. “We love you Bob!” a voice rang out which was almost an intentional reminisce of the cry of “Judas’ at the Manchester Free Trade Hall in ’66. It brought loud cheers and laughter. Bob remained unmoved. Tonight’s set was a ramble through some of his 2000s albums which many, if they would admit, had never heard of. ‘Duquesne Whistle’, ‘Scarlet Town’, ‘Early Roman Kings’ from 2012’s ‘Tempest were well received. Interspersed was the rapturously received ‘Highway 61’ and ‘Desolation Row’, bemusing arrangements of ‘Tangled Up In Blue’ from 1974’s ‘Blood On The Tracks’ and the anthem for Civil Rights ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’. It was obvious that the crowd were restless, many came expecting to see the Dylan of old, guitar and harmonica strung around his neck, speaking pearls of wisdom, songs of protest… frequent trips to the bar was witnessed all night, irritating it was as rows of people were constantly asked to let some ignoramus by, carrying a tray full of pints. Dylan is now in his middle 70’s, been 60 years on the road, stockpiled a massive catalogue of songs. He sits down for most of the night behind his piano, the electric five piece band driving him along, until he steps out from behind the shadows, takes a stance like Gene Vincent of old, right leg straight and stiff behind him…and sings a selection from a recent album release called ‘Triplicate’ - his take on the Great American Songbook. And to be honest..it was crap. No Bob, you’re not Sinatra or Bennett, leave it out. Nobody wants to hear it. They want to hear the stuff that you’re known for, not only the 60s and 70s albums but from ‘Infidels’ ‘Modern Times’ ‘No Mercy’ ‘Slow Train Coming’. Wouldn’t be Dylan though if he conformed, or did the expected. I mean, can you imagine Dylan entering the stage and yelling out Tina Turner style ‘Hi everybody!! I said HYYYY Everybody!!!”

As if to remind everybody that he was still the Dylan of old and not drifting off into middle age or indeed old age cabaret, he came back for the encore and brought everybody to their feet with ‘Ballad Of A Thin Man’, arguably the highlight of the night. Whatever you think of Dylan, he still has a presence of the icon we all know, one of the greatest 20th century poets and artists. Who knows if he will return. If he leaves it another five years or so, Zimmerman might just be walking on stage with a Zimmer frame! Don’t think I would like to see that.

1961 The Year Telstar Launched The Tornados

1961 The Year Telstar Launched The Tornados 

The world was tense as the so called 'cold war' continued to worsen with the Soviet Union exploding a Hydrogen bomb during testing in the Arctic Ocean north of Russia, and then masterminding the building of the Berlin Wall, the 'Iron Curtain', separating East from West Berlin. America responded by sending a battle group to Germany and Americans and Russians glared at each other across the border. The escalation of the threat of nuclear war was very real; many Americans built backyard fallout shelters. Many in Britain followed suit. Gerry Breen of Corby even went so far as to write a letter to the Home Secretary Rab Butler to enquire about the possibility of a grant to build a shelter in his back garden in Kingsthorpe Avenue. 

The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament went into overdrive with marches on U.S. air bases and a march from Studfall Green to the Town Centre in Corby.

America also caused anxiety when financing anti-Castro Cubans for an invasion at the Bay of Pigs in April which was an unmitigated disaster, less than three months after John F. Kennedy assumed the presidency in the United States. The CIA-trained forces of Cuban exiles invaded southern Cuba in an attempt to overthrow the Cuban government of Fidel Castro but were defeated by Eastern Bloc trained and equipped Cuban armed forces.

The same month Russia took a giant step into space by launching Yuri Gagarin, aboard the Vostok spacecraft into the stratosphere, the first man to go into the unknown. America reacted by getting their first astronaut off the launch pad, Alan Shepard. Whilst the Soviets rejoiced in their success, Gargarin completing an orbit of the Earth, Shepards’ efforts were mocked as he returned after just 15 minutes in his ship Freedom 7.

The space race was now off and running in earnest, capturing the imagination of people in the music industry. The first British instrumental record to top America’s Billboard charts was Telstar by The Tornados, a catchy instrumental named after the newly launched communications satellite. A group in Sweden called The Spotniks, which I guess is Swedish for Sputnik, (Russia's satellite), had a minor hit with Have Nagila. A group in Corby called themselves The Astronauts, but unfortunately, never took off.

The music industry was in a state of comatose with the rock 'n' roll fever now long since dissipated and a jazz boom re-emerging. We were all awaiting the next big thing, whatever that was going to be. Nobody would have known that a band making its debut in a dank and dirty cellar in Liverpool called The Beatles would become the music industry's saviour. But that was still two years away.

The Melody Maker were optimistic when claiming that the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Elvis Presley was at long last getting ready to come over to Britain for a long awaited show, even committing their front page to an exclusive. Its Now Or Never some pessimists opined. Well they were right. Elvis never did make it to Britain, even if some people did claim to see him in a chip shop in Chelmsford. 

Meantime, the 'package tour' continued to provide entertainment and a rare opportunity for pop fans to see their heroes in the flesh. A traveling conglomerate of acts traveled around the country and called in at various Granada cinemas, including Kettering. Topping the bill on November 7th was Billy Fury, a regular visitor to the charts with a string of hits such as Halfway to Paradise and A Thousand Stars. The supporting acts included Eden Kane, Joe Brown and the Bruvvers, Tommy Bruce, The Allisons, The Viscounts, The Karl Denver Trio, Georgie Fame and Peter Jay and the Jaywalkers. Tickets were 7/6 5/6 3/6.

The following night’s edition of the Evening Telegraph had the reporter asking; 'Were the girls in your office or factory complaining of sore throats this morning? Did they sound a little hoarse? If so they were probably among the 1500 teenage girls at the Granada. They nearly raised the roof off.' The ET hack then gave his own personal reflection by stating; 'Fury turned in a far more polished performance than the last time he was at the Granada, but he has a long way to go before he catches up with Adam Faith, Cliff Richard or Tommy Steele. I can’t visualise him topping the bill at the London Palladium. Eden Kane’s the same. Seems to lack personality that would make him a great entertainer. The Viscounts did better on the scream zone, equally as did Tommy Bruce. Though you’d have to ask the teenagers why. Sex appeal alone seems to be the answer. It can’t be his voice or personality. Joe Brown was a lot better though he does appear to have stolen some of his act off of Tommy Steele. Best voice of the night was undoubtedly that of Karl Denver. The Allisons were disappointing; their act was mediocre in both content and presentation.'

It’s easy to say with hindsight but it was no surprise that The Beatles would cause such a sensation when they finally arrived in 1963.

Billy Fury backed by the Tornados

Tottenham Hotspur made history by becoming the first team of the century to win the elusive 'double', the league championship and F.A.Cup. Stepping out at Wembley in the Leicester City team to face the Spurs was Corby born full back Len Chalmers. Playing out their dreams on Studfall Green on Cup Final morning, the ten-a-side group of youngsters were having a 'half time' break and discussing the afternoon's prospects for Leicester when Ian 'Bomber' Wilson told of a premonition he had. For a number of years the Cup Final had been jinxed with a serious injury to one of the participants, broken legs, a broken neck. Ian said that Chalmers would be this years' victim. Bip 'Billy Whizz' Wetherell, Stan 'Snowball' Watkinson, John 'Crutch' Crawley and the rest of the boys laughed. "I'm telling you" said the clairvoyant Bomber. And sure enough, Len suffered a bad injury following a clash with Spurs' winger Terry Dyson as early as the 15th minute. In the days before substitutes, poor Len became the unwelcome 'passenger on the wing'. Spurs took advantage and won the Cup, and the Double, by defeating Leicester 2-1. 

Other highlights from 1961 was the abolition of the farthing coin after eight centuries. With it ceasing to be legal tender, you could no longer go into a sweet shop and ask for eight blackjacks or bellboys! The First electric toothbrush was produced by a company called Squibb and George Blake, a 'super spy' was imprisoned for 42 years after being exposed as a Double Agent, working for MI6 and the Soviet Union.