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.’

Growing up in the 60s...and the Tubeworks..

 So, it was June 1st 1966, and time to start work in earnest, in the C.W.Mills. With some apprehension I turned up for the 7-3 dayshift wondering what was in store for me. To my surprise, who was there but my mate Robert Nicol. It was great to see a familiar face. First memory I have though is of entering the C.W. (Continuous Weld) Mills and nearly crapping myself. The noise, steam, rancid air, dirt, overhead cranes flying back and forth with two and a half ton loads of tubes swinging back and forth like a hammock. Christ what is this place! The noise was deafening. I felt like running back home.

The first week was spent under the beady eye of foreman Jack Lynch, another crusty Jock, what did I expect? His sidekick Martin, forget his first name, was even worse. He treated us like we were reprobates on basic training in the army. Forever lurking around trying to catch us drinking tea or reading the paper instead of sawing the end off mountains of rejected tubes. Designed to bore us rigid! Martin proved to be a right miserable prick. Probably suffering a complex because he wasn’t smart enough to be a foreman. 

Alongside the saws was the ‘frazing' machine. Never did understand what the ‘frazing’ bit was supposed to mean. Basically it was a set of chains that you rolled tubes onto when they emerged out of the steam and mist of the cooling racks. The ‘frazing’ I suppose was a term describing the cutters tidying up each end of the tube. Easy enough if interminably boring. Jesus it was mind numbing. But. Silver lining to every cloud.. you shared the duty with your pals and worked an hour on and an hour off. The ‘Number One’ mill produced tubes of a quarter an inch and three eighths of an inch diameter, of varying weight. Took a bit of getting used to, and getting your hands burnt on the hot tubes was a regular hazard. As was the shrapnel flying out of the cutters and into the top of your glove. What a bastard that was!! God forbid if a piece fired into your eye.

Promotion in the mills was working your way along the frazing machines of the four mills which were alongside the railway wagons which were used for scrap metal running parallel to the Central Roadway. This separated the mills from the C.W. Detail department. Moving on to the cooling racks was the next step up and then jobs at the back end of the furnaces followed. On cold days, or nights, when the doors of the C.W. were open, the onrushing air would freeze your balls off.

My time on the frazing machines are memorable for a number of reasons. Not all great. First of all was nearly getting my head knocked off by a slinger on the number one mill. His job was to tie steel slings around a skip of tubes for the crane driver to take away, using sign language and signals. ‘Our’ slinger was a big guy called Tom Smith, a 50 odd year old Glaswegian. He had the misnomer of a nickname, ‘Dainty’. Sitting on a plank of wood set on a couple of bricks, with four other lads adjacent to where Dainty was going about his work, two decided to take the piss, Bobby Milne and Gavin Vint, or Squint as he was called. 

Sitting alongside these as Dainty was signalling to the crane driver, Taff Roberts, Bobby and Squint started heckling and when the crane took the tubes away, Dainty turned round and asked who the fuck was doing the shouting. He looked serious. Nobody answered. I made the mistake of shifting my ass from one cheek to the other, which with hindsight wasn't the brightest thing to do. He obviously thought I was going to confront him, and next thing, his fist slammed right into my face, right on the nose. My head was knocked back against the wall, blood pouring from my splattered nose, stars were circling. The lads took me off to the wash house to get cleaned up. Talk about a rude awakening to the ‘big outside world’ as our old schoolmaster Syd Owen had warned us about! Dainty did later apologise but word apparently went around the mills and he was probably fearing I would report him and he’d get the sack. Guys from the back end of the mills came to see if I was ok and to tell me it was out of character for big Dainty. He needn’t have worried. There was no way I was going to go crying to the foreman or manager that the big oaf had flattened me. Someone later asked me why I didn’t hit him back. I was 16, nine stone or something dripping wet, my nose had been splattered, I was seeing stars, and truth was, I didn’t feel like getting another belt on the nose! An early lesson it was. You’re not at school now.

Another lasting memory was when I was on the number two mill frazing machine, working with two inch tubes. Easier to handle but the shrapnel spitting out were even bigger! 

I was on nightshift when the slinger on this mill, a Welshman, Ernie Leaker, asked me as I was heading off to the canteen for my hour’s break, to get him some cigarettes out of the vending machine. When I entered the canteen, a group of lads were playing cards and I joined in. The hour flew by and of course, Ernie’s cigarettes had gone completely out of my mind. He was waiting for me on my return, gasping for a fag and was raging when I told him I’d forgot! When he calmed down he gave me another job to do, telling me to nip down to the Detail where the tea urns were, to fill up his billy can. And he gave me money for milk from the vending machines alongside. As luck would have it, I got talking with a pal down there, filled Ernie’s can up with hot water and then my mind went blank. What was it Ernie wanted? I stood there looking at the vending machines trying to remember, and bought him a packet of biscuits! Handing over his billy can he asked me where the milk was. ‘Milk?’ I said. I gave him the biscuits. Ernie went off his head, called me every effin’ thing, you name it. And stormed off to do the job himself, leaving me feeling gormless and.. well hopeless! I was never that bright on nightshift!

Conquering Snowdon

 

2014

“Got everything?” I asked Danny. I had been looking forward to this trip ever since my old Post Office buddy had sorted it and informed me whilst I was walking over that bridge in Teignmouth a month or so back. Taking my car, I picked him up and he came out of his house with four bags, plus a bag full of food. “Marie has packed us a load of sandwiches, biscuits, chocolate bars and a flask of coffee” Dan said. We were only going for two nights but this didn't really surprise me. Danny likes to be organised! Or to be more precise, Marie likes Dan to be organised! I’d sussed that out after we'd been on a couple of bike rides earlier in the summer. Puncture outfit, rain mac, bottles of water, sweets, pump, an ordnance survey map! We were only going to Stanion three miles away. And I have to say, we had one of our famous arguments, over which way to go whilst studying the said map over a pint in the Green Dragon at Brigstock. We ended up carrying our bikes over a ploughed field! Anyway, much to Danny’s surprise, or he would say, not, all I've got for the trip to North Wales is a couple of bottles of Lucozade and a change of clothes. Travel light that's me.

Danny is one of those blokes you often find yourself shaking your head at. We’d set off and half an hour later as we are belting along the A14 he exclaims; “Oh no! I've forgotten my shoes!”
Unbelievable. “Well it's too late to turn back now”, he tells me he's got a pair of sandals and a pair of trainers - and 'they'll have to do'. Too true.

Thing is, ever since we planned this trip to climb up Mount Snowdon he's been advising and warning me; “You've got to get yourself a proper pair of walking boots”. Which I did. Mind you this is normal for Dan. Having known him for so long, worked with him for years at the Post Office and been drinking buddies for years, I'm well aware of his idiosyncrasies. The guy cracks me up.

With all day to get to Llanberis which is the town at the bottom of Snowdon we took our time, had a short stop at a roadside cafe on the M54 where we had our picnic and then rolled into Llangollen for a longer break and to take the opportunity to explore this idyllic town just over the border from England. I called in here once a few years ago and was telling Dan what I remembered about it, the river, steam railway, beautiful little place and saying that it would be a good place for him and Marie to visit. He agreed. They like traipsing around the countryside and walking over hills and discovering new towns.

The River Dee flows right through Llangollen and this stretch is perfect for rafting, rocks and rapids making it a terrific course for enthusiasts. As luck would have it, we were having a pint overlooking the river from a pub balcony when two rafts came bobbling down. First one with about eight people on board made light work of it, weaving through with great style. The second raft was having problems, became stuck on some rocks just up stream. “This looks interesting” I said to Dan.

They managed to free themselves and then lo and behold, became wedged between two big boulders right below us as we stood over them enjoying our beer. They struggled to get free and then next second, they were off again and the raft tipped right over, dumping all the occupants into the fast flowing river. Before we could do or say anything, the rafters bobbed up from under the water and were swept along in the current right under the road bridge and away. Amazing. Great fun! We really thought they were up the creek for a moment! It did look a scary moment though and I have to admit, there was no way I was going to dive in to help. Can’t bloody swim anyway so I wouldn't have been much cop.

After the excitement and drama we set off for our next pit stop which was Betsy Co-ed, just a short distance from our destination. My cellphone had gone tits up, the screen was blank and I couldn't open the damn thing. Taking the opportunity for another coffee out of Dan's flask, another cheese roll and a biscuit I asked the girls at the reception desk of the hotel we had parked in, if they had the wit to open up a mobile phone. It was subsequently passed around the boys in the kitchen and then with the help of a knife we managed to prise the thing open so I could re-set my sim card. What a performance though.

We finally arrived at the Glyn Afon Hotel in Llanberis just before tea time, sorted our rooms out and then went for something to eat and a pint and to discuss the plan for the next day’s adventure on climbing up this mountain that was dominating the skyline. And the more I looked at it, the more I thought, Jesus, bollocks to this! These thoughts weren't helped by a number of people casting doubt over our intentions. Nobody appeared to believe we could make it to the top and back again! Ye of little faith I thought whilst thinking they could be right!

Now I'm not one of these people that think 'right, I'll bloody show you'. Couldn't give a toss what people think actually. Doubts had been sewn and I was trying to figure an alternative way of dealing with this!
Get the train up! Yes, that would be easier and settle for walking down. Trouble was, we couldn't be sure of getting a ticket for the train. We would have to wait and see.

We then went in search of a pub or hotel to see if we could find one with Sky Sports; we were hoping they might have the England v Uruguay World Cup match on. The Royal Victoria Hotel looked a very grand place, was busy, there was a television on the wall, but no football match. Weighing things up, Danny took the bull by the horns and to the astonishment of the locals surrounding the bar, asked the barman loudly; “Excuse me, you not putting the England game on?” The response was probably expected up here in North Wales!

“What? England?” Many stopped drinking and looked at the two of us. The barman then made Dan’s jaw drop; “Get out! your barred!”
Well I could see the twinkle in his eye, he was only taking the piss. Danny looked at me in disbelief. “You must know what the Welsh are like Dan” I said, trying not to laugh. He wouldn’t forget it.

The television station was duly switched on and we sat down in front of the television to enjoy the match best we could. The only ones in there that wanted England to win!

Next door a Welsh choir was rehearsing which was distracting, good as they were. But to our dismay, during a break in their warbling, most of the choir came through to the bar, carrying their beer with them. The door was right by where we were sitting watching the football.

They saw us sitting there, eyes glued to the match, glanced up at the television, saw that Uruguay were beating England, and promptly all started laughing and smiling like Cheshire Cats!
Danny looked at them dumbfounded; “Twisted bloody lot the Welsh, what’s the matter with them?” he moaned. I loved it. Funny as hell I thought! 

After the game, which England lost 2-1 to the delight of our hosts, we retreated to our own hotel for a more peaceful drink. A quiet Guest House on the road out of Llanberris, the Glyn Afon was ideally situated for sightseeing and very comfortable. Danny had picked a good one, and surprisingly, the people here were very nice, even if they did appear to ignore us and talk in Welsh. Danny thought they were ignorant. I told him that as far as I was aware, everyone up here in North Wales talked in their native tongue, particularly around these parts. He was having none of it. “They hear us speaking in English and deliberately communicate in Welsh so we don’t have a clue what they are saying. They’re probably talking about us!”

Didn’t bother me in the slightest but Dan was wound up about it!

One thing that was pleasant was the congeniality of the two young barmaids. Polite, efficient, friendly, everything that the barmaid in our local, The Rock, back home in Corby wasn’t! I’ll spare her name but she was slow, unattractive, disinterested, bottom line, she was a waste of space! Thankfully the Landlord, Big Gordon realised this too and soon jettisoned her! Well, to be served by two young attractive women who really enjoy their work, talk to you in English, laugh at Danny’s jokes...the contrast couldn’t have been any more different!

We made an early start to tackle Snowdon, still unsure whether to walk up the mountain and get the train back or the other way round. I had a great view of Snowdon from my room and the more I looked at it the more doubtful I felt about achieving our goal! 

Discussing this as we set off we had only gone around fifty yards before we started moaning. A road we were crossing suddenly assumed rush hour proportions! Four, five, six cars..seven...“Christ Almighty! were these cars waiting for us to come out of the hotel? Where the hell have they come from!” It was only a small village yet suddenly it looked like it was on a major thoroughfare through the heart of Wales! Must have stood there for over five minutes.

“You couldn’t make it up!” I said to Dan. He agreed.
To be honest, as soon as we realised we’d only just left our hotel and we were moaning like hell, we both started laughing!

We made our way to the station at the base of the mountain, the train was warming up to make the ascent and we looked at each other and said “bollocks to it”. The ticket cost £27 which seemed a bit much but as the train took an hour to to get to the top of Snowdon it did appear to be the right option, £27 or not. Surprising too. A single coach, single track. At times I wondered if it was going to make it as it groaned away. This was the best way to discover Snowdon I figured! Great scenery, breathtaking. Had to be the best option and surely easier to walk down rather than up and there was no way I could have managed doing both. We were lucky that it was a lovely warm day as well, heaven knows what it must be like if the weather was grim.

The train eventually arrived at the summit, and we were pleasantly surprised to find a cafe and a shop here as well. We both bought a couple of souvenirs, a mug, postcard, cup of coffee, had a photo taken. There was still a short way to go and it looked a bit hairy, having to climb around twenty steps on the side of the mountain to get to the pinnacle. You don’t realise how high you are till you reach this point. The valleys below seemed miles away. We asked a girl who appeared from nowhere to take a couple of photos of us having a breather. Felt real good.

The walk back down was harder than expected, a good five and half mile trek. If we were feeling the heat we were to be constantly amazed by hikers coming the other way. Younger than us Ok but to be carrying a baby on their back? Older people marching up the mountain past us? They must be on steroids was all we could conclude! Even someone striding past walking their dog! There was me and Dan stumbling down, having to sit and rest our legs, have a swig of water. We were knackered!
It was fun though following the train track as best we could. At least by doing that we knew we were going in the right direction! Three hours it took us!

The weather was kind all the same, too hot to be truthful and we took regular pitstops. One at an enterprising cafe around half way up which again, was somewhat surprising. I mean how do they get their wares up here? Obviously by the train I assumed. There wasn't much on offer, you couldn’t get steak and chips for instance, or a chicken curry. A ham sandwich was arguably the best snack along with a Mars Bar. Plus a cup of tea which was welcome.

A rest at the hotel to recuperate was required after our trek before going out to celebrate our achievement. This last night was also spent admiring the landscape of Llanberis. Really is a lovely little place with lakes and mountains all around.

Heading back home next day it was agreed that while we were in North Wales we might as well go and take in the village with the longest name in Great Britain, if not the world,Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. There’s a knack in learning how to say this and I’ve tried a couple of times but its too much of a tongue twister for me!

Situated on the Menai Straits, Anglesey it was only a twenty minute drive or thereabouts from Llanberis. Most definitely a tourist attraction and if for no other reason it’s well worth a visit just to have your photograph taken alongside the ridiculously long name. That accomplished we headed for home through the Welsh countryside and back to Corby, sidetracking briefly for a beer somewhere near Telford. Memorable also for Dan buying a crap CD by an apparently local country and western singer off a market stall. Which he insisted on playing in the car. Bloody rubbish it was, and Dan did admit ‘it a waste of a fiver!’

The Boys Are Back In Town.

 

The 1966 Rising Sons

The Boys Are Back In Town

No, not Thin Lizzy, but the Rising Sons, back after 56 years. Pete Buckby, Jim Gaffney, John Hemmings and Dewi Toleman will be rolling back the years and strutting their stuff this coming Saturday at The Corby Cons Club on April 23rd. Also appearing will be Dewi’s sister Ros, who nowadays resides in Swindon, as guest vocalist. Dewi returned to these shores last week from Australia where he has been for over 50 years. John lives Bedford way and Jim in Wimbledon. Pete, after a career touring the world latterly with the famed Canned Rock, returned to his roots in Corby some 30 years ago and can often be found, along with his wife Sue, sharing a Coca Cola in The Cons lounge. Dewi’s return to Blighty was the inspiration for the band, who in their prime, supported Otis Redding no less, to get together for probably one final swan song. Promises to be a great night full of nostalgia and the chance to meet old friends. A limited amount of tickets are still available at £5 each with the proceeds going to Lakelands Hospice and the ‘Charity Pot’, an organisation raising money to provide defibrillators for every club and pub in the town. Make sure you ‘Baby Boomers’ don’t miss out on this one off treat as The Sons recall their halcyon days playing many numbers from their set list from way back which included hits from The Hollies, Beatles, Beach Boys, Impressions, Dusty Springfield. And to cap it all, the Cons have a wide range and great selection of ales and wine. What more could you ask for? Apart from chicken or scampi in the basket, which went out of vogue when I was still a smile in my old man’s wotsits.. no, not really, but you get my drift.

See you all there!

Rising Sons

September 1966, The Rising Sons share the bill with Memphis legend Otis.

A night of nostalgia is beckoning with the long anticipated reunion of The Rising Sons at the Corby Cons Club on April 23rd. Not the Ry Cooder, Taj Mahal California based version of the band, but the Corby based quartet of Pete Buckby, Dewi Toleman, John Hemmings and Jim Gaffney along with special guest Ros Menham.  As it happens, both versions of the Sons operated around the same period of the mid 1960s and, ironically enough, both are having reunions in 2022. Ry and Taj getting together for the first time in 57 years to record an album, ‘Get On Board: The Songs Of Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee’, and Pete and the boys reuniting after the same time span to relive and revive their memories from when they were a regular support act around the country to such stars of the day like Otis Redding, The Yardbirds and The Hollies. 

Whilst Ry Cooders’ Rising Sons were a blues based outfit as reflected by their tribute to Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry, Corby’s Rising Sons were a harmony and soul group, one of the best, their career only cut short when members left to go to university. Belonging to the second wave of Corby Rock, they had followed the successful careers of the likes of the Size Seven, The Crusaders and The Midnighters, leaving an indelible mark on the local scene and far afield. 

For those who thronged to the dances and venues back in those halcyon days of the 1960s, the Festival Hall, Crow’s Nest, Nellie’s Bin, The Welfare, this night at the Cons Club in Cottingham Road on April 23rd will be one of pure unadulterated nostalgia. Tickets are priced at £5 with all proceeds going to the fund of the Lakelands Hospice and also the ‘Charity Pot’, an organisation raising money to provide defibrillators for every club and pub in the town. 

Steel Memories of the Counterfeit Stones

 

Posted By: Nick Dagger Corby, The Willow Arts Centre Saturday November 20th 04

After a fitful night in the Peterborough Travel Inn we set off at midday for Corby. It had been absolutely freezing in Spalding and although not quite Monkey balls weather this morning, it was still taters.

We've played Corby twice in the past, once in the Nags Head in August 96 and then the Festival Hall in Spring '98. Both gigs were very different and I didn't remember too much about the town. I knew the history of the place and that it had been a major steel town heavily populated by Scots who'd been brought down to run the mill. With the closure of the works in 81 the usual problems arose that such total upheaval brings.

It's the buildings. They're grey, decaying corpses. I visited East Germany in the early seventies and that was a country that specialised in soulless architecture but this was Northamptonshire. To my mind the greatest sin you can perpetrate on any civilisation is dull erection. We found the Willow Arts Centre. A square leperous building standing majestically opposite the precinct.

As we were led through endless corridors, Des the manager profusely apologised for the lack of heating. The boilers were not working. It was the second coldest day of the year and with 7 hours till show time, it looked pretty grim. Des, bless him had found a large dressing room and with two blow heaters was doing his best to make life comfortable for us. They'd freshly mopped the floor and combined with the hot air from the fan heaters, we had our very own weather system.

I was surprised to be told that this was indeed the Festival Hall but I hadn't recognised it. Two years ago the Council closed the venue and it was due for demolition but local protests prevented its demise and it has been taken over and run by volunteers. With lots of enthusiasm and private finance, the venue has been temporarily reprieved.

We had a substantial lunch in the Theatre's lounge bar. Certainly very big on portions, the takers of the, "all day breakfast" , soon found themselves staring at a heart attack on a plate. There was very little to see in the precinct other than the usual household names and so the rest of the day was spent in our temperate dressing room.

The main concert hall was freezing but alive with busy helpers building the stage, setting up lights, labelling seats. Eventually the hall heating arrived in the form of two Tristar engines. These giant calor gas heaters can heat a hall very quickly but they can also send the inhabitants into a stupor. So that was what we faced. Asthma in the dressing room, pneumonia in the corridors and gas poisoning on stage.

Actually there was one boiler working and it managed to get on stage and plant her rancid gob onto mine. It was worse than any "Bush Tucker Trial."
" I'm not a celebrity get [me] out of here!"

The audience was rowdy, a large number of whom went absolutely potty. It may have been the Calor Gas but we all came off stage with a slightly strange grin.

Pizza was munched and beer drunk in the lounge bar after the show and we finally set off for home at about 12:30.

Bye Bye Corby, Corby Bye Bye....

Nick Dagger (from Geezer to wheezer)

Atchooo