We didn’t think of Merseyside as special in those days, and didn’t really appreciate the emerging talents of the Beatles, we were just too busy getting on with our lives, I suppose. Actually, the London groups playing in the Cavern were much more appealing, and had super accents!! I was visiting one at the Cavern one night when the Beatles passed by in their break. The room was only 10 feet by 10 feet, so they graciously moved me aside while they had a ciggie on their break.
I was dating a disc jockey, Clem Crabtree of the Iron Door Club, which was located next to the Cavern. This was where we met one grey rainy day, for coffee. Alone, we envisioned a peaceful and romantic interlude in the tiny, empty ballroom. However within five minutes we were rudely interrupted by four belligerent lads, complete with sets of drums, wires and microphones they set up their ‘gear’ amid exaggerated noise and laughter.
Clem loudly shouted as we departed, "give them a job and they get big headed!" The Beatles were unfazed.
Another incident at the club, involved a loud pounding at the door one evening, Clem as night manager excused himself, in order to investigate. Upon returning, he explained that a lad named Ringo was frantically trying to gain entry in order to join his ‘band,’ but obviously was in the wrong club. He raced next door to the Cavern, albeit late for his ‘gig!’ Clem just shook his head in disbelief. <…> During one of Clem’s work nights at the Tower Ballroom where he was a disc jockey, we spotted the Beatles arriving for their ‘gig.’ Four little black headed figures in black leather jackets were coming to the stage to ‘set up.’
They owed Clem money, three pounds to be exact. The conversation became heated, so out of curiosity I joined them.
My boyfriend demanded repayment, and did all the talking as they humbly bowed their heads, barely saying a word. Paul suddenly pulled out the lining of his pockets and said “sorry we don’t have it mate. Honest!"
The Cavern became a Mecca for the local students. It was a small underground cellar of an old warehouse, in a dark dismal alley. At night it became a sea of faces and bright lights. Our front, folding metal seats often vibrated with the pounding music.
Groups from London often played the Cavern and seemed more prestigious than our local lads, at this time.
The floor literally shook as we sat dangerously close. It seemed that Ringo and his drums would bounce from this tiny stage, and land in our laps at any given moment.
Ringo’s musical talents were impressive, although his silly vacant expression was hilarious. He spent many an evening ‘making eyes’ and pursing his huge lips in my direction as my friend and I danced the twist!
My sister Jean admonished, "if you ever bring HIM home, your mother will choke you!"
As an art student, I worked part time at the Tower Ballroom café as a cashier. The lads often brought their trays laden with cellophane packaged goodies through the check out. Ringo’s attempts at flirtation were more amusing than annoying!
Remembering my sister’s warning, I remained aloof!
Manning the Tower spotlight one evening was John, the manager’s son. He fell for every girl who showed him attention, and was smitten with me for around two weeks. On this particular night, he ‘spotlighted’ myself and a friend several minutes at a time while we danced, leaving the "Fab Four" in total darkness.
The language and yelling, which emanated from the dark and gloomy stage was unprintable!
Paul especially, reacted angrily when the swooning teenage girls excitedly grabbed his ankles in an almost successful attempt to extricate him from the stage. He became ‘heated’ quickly, and his language was crude leaving no doubt as to his intentions.
John was more patient but prone to being quick tempered and very sarcastic.
Ringo the ‘clown’ was dopey, adorable, and silly.
George was painfully shy and kept quietly to himself, barely raising his head to ‘view’ his surroundings.
I was a sensitive sixteen year old. My best friend Diane and I enjoyed a rum and blackcurrant in the Tower bar one evening. We were seated in the almost empty room next to the Beatles. Shortly an ex boyfriend entered. He was a bouncer for the Tower, we were not on speaking terms, so he loudly stated that at sixteen I was underage and had to leave.
The group of four at the next table snickered, giggled and nudged each other as I made a hasty albeit humiliated retreat, glass in hand.
(Rag Days, Beatles & the Tower by Glen Vollmecke for Mersey Beat)
