The Horseshoes by this time had drifted apart and I began playing with new musicians. I met up with Tony Ollard, a great guitar player. We began swapping ideas. We started playin’ gigs at the King’s Head, Edmonton – a good Rock ’n’ Roll gig. The King’s Head was a great meeting place (I also met my wife there!). There really were some good musicians in and around North London at that time and the King’s Head was a good place to find ’em on a Friday night. For a while I was in no regular band. Whoever was available just got together and away we went. Invaluable experience. The musicians got to know each other, swapped ideas, talked about guitars and Rock ’n’ Roll. I had found a crowd I could identify with. The bass guitar began to be talked about. Not many had seen one, let alone heard one, apart from on Rock ’n’ Roll records. I had seen one. Jerry Lee’s bass player had one. I fancied playin’ bass. I fancied playin’ double bass at one time, but it wasn’t practical. It wouldn’t fit in the luggage compartment on the bus like the old tea chest used to! On some Friday night gigs, four or five guitar players would turn up. We made a bit of a row sometimes. We were still young and our tunin’ quite often was not spot on. One night I tuned my bass strings down a couple of tones and played sort of bass lines. Were the boys impressed! So was I. A new sound! I had discovered a frequency range uncluttered by anybody else’s, and it sounded good. That was it, I was going to become an electric bass player. I saw an advert for a Hofner Bass Guitar that you could buy on the knock from Bell Accordions in Surbiton, Surrey. My Grandad signed as guarantor, the deposit was sent off and the bass guitar arrived.
I tried it out indoors in my little amp, playing along to records. It sounded absolutely fantastic! I couldn’t wait to get together with the boys at the King’s Head. Up Town Road I went early on Friday evening, amp in one hand, bass guitar in the other. I arrived, proud, at the gig.
As I was plugging in my amp, the rest of the boys were admiring my guitar. ‘Blimey, ain’t the strings thick. It’s fantastic.’ ‘You wait ’til you hear it,’ I said. I tuned it up sittin’ close to me amp and away we went. Did that bass sound good? It sounded fuckin’ terrible! ‘Fart, Rasp, Rattle.’ I couldn’t believe it. In my front room it sounded great but my poor little amp couldn’t cope with the rest of the band in that big hall. I never knew that a bass needed a bigger speaker and cabinets, etc.
‘I don’t think you realise what you let yourself in for, Chas,’ said Billy Kuy the guitar player. ‘You’re gonna have to fork out for a bigger amp and you won’t be able to carry it up and down Town Road like you can that one.’ I didn’t want to believe him but I knew he was right. It was an obstacle that had to be overcome. I was hooked on the bass guitar.
Now although I didn’t have a bass amp, I suddenly found myself in demand by all the bands that played down the King’s Head. Bands were willing to provide a bass amp if I would sit in with ’em. No one else in Edmonton had a bass guitar. It made their band sound professional and I weren’t complaining. I was earning money playing with all these bands. Playing the bass gave me the chance to work with nearly all the musicians around North London and eventually a band was formed which I was pleased to become a part of: Billy Gray and The Stormers. Me on bass, Reg Hawkins rhythm guitar, Billy Kuy lead guitar, Billy (Gray) Halsey singer, and Bobby Neate on drums. This was the band for me and I thought it was time I got a bass amp of my own. Bobby Neate had an open-backed van. He had to carry his drums but there was enough room for a proper bass amp. He agreed to lug it about if I got one. So I set to work.
Billy Kuy told me that the bass player with Dave Sampson and the Hunters, Johnny Rogers, had a bass amp for sale. He’d bought it from Jet Harris, the Shadows’ bass player. I’d seen Cliff and the Shadows when Jet Harris was using the amp. I thought it was fantastic. Johnny Rogers wanted £20 for the lot. I was round there like a shot and got it.
Now this bass amp was built like a little house and was about as heavy as one. It was about four foot high, three foot wide and three foot deep. A solid wooden box (two inch thick wood) within a box and the cavity was filled with sand. You can imagine the weight. It was made by Wallace in Soho Street. I think it was the first British bass amp ever made. Bobby Neate, who had promised to lug it about, looked a bit dismayed when he found out what he’d agreed to. But he didn’t back out and it came with us on the road. It had a sound and a half! (Some years later I gave that cabinet to some geezer I’d just met named Dave Peacock. He sawed a fuckin’ great hole in it, all the sand fell out and it ended up in his back garden. It’s probably still there now!)
Billy Gray and The Stormers began to get a name as the best band round North London. Through someone or other we heard that there were auditions going for Butlins Holiday Camps. We brushed up the act and went for the audition at the Majestic in Finsbury Park. There were some good bands there from all over London. We had competition. But a few days later we got a letter through saying that we had passed. We were to go to Filey Holiday Camp in Yorkshire for the 1960 summer season at £20 each a week. An absolute fortune for a sixteen-year-old and all we had to do was play music! I couldn’t wait to get there and it was to turn out even better than I had expected.
Butlins with Billy Gray & The Stormers
It was heaven. Parties every night, go to bed when you like, get up when you like, a new girlfriend every week. You’d watch ’em file in to the dance on the night of arrival, smile at the one you fancied and you were away! I never knew it was as easy pulling birds. Why didn’t I try this before? I wasn’t used to all this!
I’d had a couple of girlfriends in the past. I was courting a girl who I packed up just before I went to Butlins. I shan’t ever forget that. I was courting her for about three months. At the time I thought I was in love. We’d have rows and at the end she’d say ‘Go on then, go if you want to.’ And me like a fool didn’t, and would talk her round. I remember thinking if ever I wanted to pack her up it would be easy, she wouldn’t give a monkeys. One mornin’ I woke up and I remember thinkin’, I don’t want to see her anymore. There was no feeling or nothing. The worm had turned. So, I didn’t go round her house. It was easy. After a week I’d forgotten all about her. Then there came a knock on the door. I looked out of the window and it was her with her mate. I was getting ready to go up the King’s Head at the time.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want my Ricky Nelson records!’ she said.
‘Oh alright, I’ll chuck ’em out of the window to you.’
‘No, bring ’em down. I want to talk to you. Anyway, I might miss ’em and they might break.’
I didn’t want to talk to her. It was all finished as far as I was concerned. I didn’t want to break her records though. I went downstairs. They were only 45s. I thought I’ll probably be able to poke ’em through the letterbox. But they were just too big. I opened the door quick, stuck ’em in her hand and went to shut the door, but she was there pushing on the door from the other side with all her might to keep it open. I managed to shut the door, then: ‘Whaaaaaaaa’ she started cryin’. She just sort of switched it on. It frightened me.
‘Shut up!’ I shouted through the letter-box. ‘Whaaaaa!’ she said.
‘Shut up and I’ll come out!’ I shouted again. I thought the whole street must be