That original Outlaws band was a good line-up. Bill, Bob, Reg and me. Reg was a real rhythm guitarist. Not like most of them. In those days most of them were frustrated lead guitarists. He was my best mate in the band, and we still see a lot of each other today. Dave likes Reg, too. He’s got a great sense of humour and is always good company. I first met Reg at Higher Grade School. He was a year older than me but him and his mate, and me and my mate, Rodney Clark, used to knock around together. It was unusual to mix with anyone in a different year to you but we all used to laugh at the same things. It was coincidence that we ended up in the same band together. We lost touch after we left school then met again a few years later up the King’s Head (the birth place of The Outlaws).
I was with Reg when I learnt my first chords on the piano. Apart from having the same taste in humour we also had the same taste in music. He introduced me to the music of Jack Elliot and Derrol Adams. We both loved Big Bill Broonzy and Chet Atkins. We’d sit around for hours on end doing our best to copy ’em.
We were both Jerry Lee fans too. When we were at Butlins we found out there was a way of sneaking into the Viennese Ball Room after it was shut. It had a grand piano! We’d sit up all night singing and I began to get off some bits I thought sounded like Jerry Lee. How much like Jerry Lee it was I don’t know but Reg liked it and that gave me encouragement.
Bobbie Graham was a great drummer. A bit of a jazzer when he joined us, I don’t think he was too mad on Rock ’n’ Roll, (it wasn’t considered ‘cool’ then) and I don’t think he was too mad on me at the time, trying to get him to play like Jerry Lee’s drummer.
Perhaps I was too young to explain what I meant. I knew Bob was a better drummer than Jerry Lee’s but the feel wasn’t right. (I don’t even think the musical term ‘feel’ was used in those days, I just used to say, ‘It don’t sound right, Bob’.) He did eventually get into Rock ’n’ Roll (p’raps I wore him down) and there was no one to touch him.
Billy Kuy? Now what can I say about ol’ Bill? A bit short-tempered in his younger days (to say the least!) but you could have a laugh with him. He knew his instrument and was particularly good at chords. I remember saving Bill’s life once.
Me and Bill had just finished a gig at The Angel, Edmonton. Irish John, my stepfather, told me there was a party going afterhours over the top of the ‘Ex’. I asked Bill if he fancied going, his eyes lit up and off we went.
We had to walk through Edmonton Green on the way. Now Edmonton Green was renowned for pulling bits of stray after dark and Bill spotted a bit of stray. But the bit he spotted (Bill wasn’t to know and probably wouldn’t have cared anyway as he was three parts pissed) was the dodgiest bit of stray in Edmonton. Everyone knew her (except Bill).
Bill’s homed in and started giving her the ‘Billy Kuy chat’. ‘Bill, you’re mad,’ I tell him. ‘Come here.’ Too late. He’s back with her on his arm and a big ‘Look what I got’ smile on his face. He’s invited her to the party.
Anyway we’ve arrived, seen Irish John, we’re in. Straight up to the bar. Great. I’d forgotten about the bird, so had Bill. It was me and Bill, after-hours in a pub.
‘What d’yer want to drink, Chas?’
‘I’ll have a pint, Bill.’ I’ve gone off to the bog.
I’ve come back. No Bill. Now where’s he gone? He’s supposed to be getting the pints in.
I’ve looked round, and there he is. Rabbitin’ away nineteen to the dozen to some great big Irishman. The look on Bill’s face told me it wasn’t no matey conversation. Bill was wild-eyed, and by the look on the Irishman’s face he was none too friendly either.
I’ve gone to the rescue. As I’ve got near, I’ve recognised the Irishman, Big Mick, one of my stepfather’s workmates. Bill’s picked on a wrong ’un this time! I’ve moved in.
‘Hallo Mick,’ I’ve gone. ‘How ya doin’?’ He’s looked round, wild an’ all, but soon as he saw me he softened a little.
‘Chassy boy! How yer fluten doin’?’ Thank God he’s recognised me. I’ve breathed (for Bill’s sake) a sigh of relief.
‘Not too bad, Mick. What d’ya want t’drink?’
‘Oh, I’ll have a wee Scotch with ya, Chassy boy.’
I’ve done it! I thought. But no.
‘Oh no you fuckin’ won’t! We’ve got some business to finish!’ says Bill. Mick’s friendly look changed back to the wild one again.
‘You little git! Oi’l morder ye!’ he’s said, leaping at Bill’s throat.
‘Hold up, hold up, hold up!’ I’ve gone. ‘Look, Mick! Talk to me! What’s the matter?’
I’ve moved round the front so he can see my eyes. He’s dropped Bill.
‘He says I’ve been chatting up his girlfriend. Oi wasn’t! I swear oi was only talking to the woman!’
I believed Mick, but I couldn’t believe Bill. Getting all possessive over this ’ol bird! He’d forgotten all about her for the last hour. I’ve given him a look, as if to say, ‘Are you mad? This bloke’s three times the size of you! Bugger off quick while you’re in one piece.’
‘Look, Mick,’ I’ve said, ‘me and Bill’s been out and had a few pints. We’ve had a good time and Bill’s a bit pissed. Let’s forget it, come on I’ll buy you that Scotch.’
Mick would’ve gone for it, but oh no.
‘I’m not pissed, Chas.’ ‘Oh, shut up, Bill!’ ‘And your Irish mate’s a cunt!’
With that Mick’s gone for Bill in a big way, and he meant it. He’s lifted Bill up like a bit of rag and pushed him through the nearest door. Which happened to be the bog-hole. I’ve run in, and there was Mick with Bill on the floor, trying to grind his head in the piss trough with his boot. Bill’s head was jerking from left to right, deftly dodging every stomp, but it would have been only a matter of time.
‘Mick!’ I’ve hollered, grabbing hold of him. Mick’s turned round ready to take a swing, then saw it was me.
‘Mick,’ I said. ‘Leave him alone. He’s not worth the bother. Come and have a drink.’
Mick was torn between two emotions. Bill at last saw the light and was up and away. I dragged Mick to the bar and bought him that Scotch.
Bill did end up fighting someone that night. It was Freddy the Fly, a mate of ours. They had a punch-up all up and down Edmonton Market. I don’t know why, but it was the way Bill liked to round his evenings off.
Around 1962 the original Outlaws folded up. Reg decided the business wasn’t for him and settled down with a regular job. Bob joined Joe Brown and Bill buggered off somewhere or other. That left me and Mike Berry. If I remember right, the first new Outlaw was drummer Don Groom.
In fact I think he did a couple of gigs with Reg and Bill before they left. Mike got hold of Ray ‘Biffo’ Byhart to play rhythm guitar, so now we had drums, rhythm and bass. All we needed was a lead guitarist.
Mike heard about this lead guitarist who had been working with Screaming Lord Sutch. (Sutch had a reputation for finding good Rock ’n’ Rollers). But the guitarist would only consider joining if we took his piano-playing mate on too. We didn’t want a piano player, but we thought we’d get ’em down and if we liked the guitarist we’d talk him into joining us on his own.
They’ve