Oh, bleedin’ hell, the street’ll think she’s bein’ murdered.
‘Just let me come with you to the King’s Head tonight.’
‘No!’
‘Whaaaa!’
‘Alright, just be quiet. I’ll walk you to the bus stop but you can’t come in to the King’s Head. Let me get me coat and me bass.’ I was in and out like a shot and off we went up the street. All the time she kept askin’ ‘Why?’ I didn’t know why, I just knew I’d got fed up with her. On top of that the more she pleaded the more I didn’t want to know. At the top of the road I suddenly decided to leave her there.
‘I’m goin’ and you’re not comin’ with me.’
‘Whaaaaa!’
‘Alright! Stop it, I’ll walk on a bit further.’
Silence. ‘What am I goin’ to do?’ I asked myself. ‘This is goin’ to go on forever.’
I finally made the decision as we were taking a short cut through the alley to the bus stop.
‘I’m goin’, I said, and I went.
‘Waaaaaaaaaaa!’
I couldn’t have left her in a worse place. The echo between those two brick walls in that alley was deafening. This girl who once could twist me round her little finger, hollering like that! I was confused but I felt I was doing the right thing. Anyway, soon I’d be off to Butlins and having the time of my life. I lived for the moment and Butlins was the moment. But it was going to end only too quick.
At the end of the summer we came back home and I thought, ‘Oh well, it’s a shame that’s over but we’re bound to get loads of gigs, so it won’t be so bad.’ But two of the band got married and the interest waned. So did the gigs. I had to get a job.
Down the employment exchange I’ve gone with Billy Kuy. I was asked all the usual questions.
‘What did you like at school?’
‘Nothin’. Well, football and woodwork.’
‘Right, I can’t fix you up with a job at the Spurs, but there’s a job goin’ at a woodwork factory in Edmonton. Get down there.’
Off I’ve gone.
Now Billy Kuy had always worked in office jobs. He wore detachable collars and you never ever saw him without a tie. There were no office jobs going at the factory, but he was skint. He was no good at woodwork but the man at the employment exchange said they needed someone sweepin’ up, so Bill came too. On the way I’ve thought, ‘Oh well, makin’ somethin’ out of wood might not be so bad.’ I remembered making a split-cane fishin’ rod and a veneered cigarette box at school and I quite enjoyed it. We’ve turned up at the factory, Billy Kuy has been given a broom and off he’s gone.
‘Right, Mr. Hodges, come over here.’ It was a deck chair makin’ factory. Not very creative, but makin’ the best of it I am thinkin’ p’raps I can get into it. Drillin’ the holes, shapin’ the wood, fittin’ the canvas, sanding down and polishing and being proud of the finished product. Yeah, it won’t be so bad.
‘Right, Mr. Hodges, here’s what you do. See them sticks with holes in?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Well, put them round sticks in them round holes and bang a nail in to stop ‘em comin’ out.’
‘Right. What do I do next?’
‘That lot over there,’ he said, pointing to a mountain of sticks with holes in and hole-shaped sticks.
‘If you need any more nails, come and see me.’
I’ve never seen a bigger tin of nails! It was like a bad dream. There was I, left all alone with a pile of sticks that had to be banged together. A monkey would have been humiliated at the task. I made a start. In front of me was a dingy window that hadn’t been cleaned for years. Through it I could see a blurred vision of the bright autumn sunshine. I’m thinkin’, ‘This time last week I was at Butlins Holiday Camp. Heaven and Hell! Yes, that’s it, I’m in Hell. This is what it must be like.’
I’ve managed to get through to tea-break, then I saw Billy Kuy. That depressed me even more. The Jack the Lad of the band, number one bird puller, smooth talker, always wore a clean collar, man about town, looked a wreck. There he was, no collar, hair all over the place, red face, sweepin’ up. He’s come over to me with his broom.
‘Chas, I’ve had enough, I am fuckin’ off home!’
‘Go, Bill,’ I said. As much as he got on me nerves sometimes, with his smoothie ways and dapper habits back at Butlins, I didn’t want to see him like this.
‘Go, Bill,’ I said. ‘I’m gonna stick it out, I think.’
Bill’s gone. Dinner-time’s come and I’m fed up and depressed and everything. I’ve gone out to get me bike to go home for dinner. I can’t find me bike. Some bastard’s pinched me bike! Right, that’s it, I’ve had enough. How can I work with a load of thievin’ bastards! I’m not havin’ it. That’s the last time I’m comin’ to work here.
On the way home I began to feel happier. Although me bike was pinched it gave me the excuse to leave. ‘I mean, you can’t expect me to work with a bunch of thieves,’ I’ve told Mum when I got home. ‘I mean, what are they gonna pinch next?’
‘Well, you’ve got to earn some money somewhere, Chas,’ said Mum. ‘So you’d better start thinkin’.’ My usually easy-going Mum was right and I knew it. I’ve gone back on Friday to get me cards and me morning’s money and I’m just goin’ out of the gate when someone said:
‘Oi, you, come here. Did you come here on a yellow bike?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and one of your mob’s nicked it!’
‘Nicked it? We brought it in out of the rain. It’s in the shed over there.’
I felt rotten the way I’d run ’em down. I called ’em all the bastards under the sun and all they’d done was bring it in for me ’cos it was gettin’ wet in the rain. They weren’t so bad after all. But the thought of going back to that job filled me with dread. I couldn’t wait to get away from the place. But I was out of work and the band by now had split. What do I do next?
Just before The Stormers split we did a couple of test recordings and also backed a singer called Danny Rivers, (who we met at Butlins), on a couple of demos. Danny Rivers had a couple of brief spots on ‘Oh Boy’. He sung ‘Stuck on You’ on one appearance, but had trouble reaching the high note in the middle. ‘Tear’ was the word. The line was, ‘A team of wild horses couldn’t tear (high note) us apart.’ Jack Good got Dickie Pride to sing ‘tear’ behind the scene while Danny mimed the word. It worked. You’d never have spotted it if you didn’t know.
Danny was managed by Peter Yaquinandi who was a bit of a character. One night not many days after the bike pinchin’ episode fate took a hand. There was a knock on my door. It was Peter Yaquinandi, or ‘Yak’ as we called him. He was managing a singer called Mike Berry who had passed an audition with an independent recording engineer named Joe Meek. Joe was well impressed with Mike Berry but not too impressed with his band. Yak was on his way round to see the rest of our band. If he could get them back together, would I be willing to audition at Joe Meek’s as a backing