Hurrah for good King John! (And I don’t mean Lennon!!! I mean King John of England from 1199-1216.) 750 years ago King John granted Liverpool a Charter so it could become a city, and so there’s a whole load of celebrations going on at the moment. Colin’s pal Charlie Roberts who lives in Rosebery Street in Liverpool 8 near Upper Parliament Street, was involved with organising some kind of street party and we were asked to play. It was a narrow little street all hung with flags and there were lots of people there.
John’s mother Julia had been to Garston Market last Friday and bought some check shirts for the group to wear. Unfortunately she didn’t get one each, just three, one for John, Eric and Len and so I was stuck with my white shirt and Colin wore some kind of pullover and Pete kept his jacket on as it was a bit chilly.
Things went pretty well although there wasn’t a proper stage but they had parked this coal lorry in the street and a cable for the microphone was fed through the front window on the nearest house with a loudspeaker on the window ledge of the bedroom, a bit crude but it worked OK. Charlie Roberts, who is a mate of Colin’s from work, he is also an apprentice at Guy Rogers’ in Speke, got his camera out and was taking some photos while we were playing. He’s promised to give copies to me. I will “upload” them on to the site as soon as I get them.
There were quite a few nice looking girls around and John was giving them the eye whilst he was singing and their Teddy Boy boy friends quite obviously weren’t too happy about this. Just as we were finishing Charlie came up to us and told us to get off the lorry in a hurry and dash into the house behind as a bunch of blokes from the next street had decided to give Lennon a good bashing for eyeing up their girls. They were an evil looking lot and we just grabbed our gear and jumped off the lorry and the front door of the house slammed shut behind us, so we escaped.
However the gang of Teds knew exactly where we were and they were still hanging round the front door. We were quite happy, having a brown ale and a couple of sandwiches and a packet of crisps, but after we’d been there an hour or so and the gang had still not gone away, Charlie’s mum decided to phone for the police. After about half an hour there was a knock at the door and a police constable in uniform stood there and said he would escort us to the bus stop. So we all piled out of the house and legged it along the street with all these townies doing their best to look hard, but not daring to do anything while the policeman was there.
Our bus back to Woolton, the 73, left from the end of Rosebery Street and the policeman stayed with us until the bus arrived, seeing us safely on board. That was a bit too close for comfort! I’ve heard of the likes of Johnnie Ray and Frank Sinatra having to be escorted by the police, but I never thought it would happen to the Quarrymen! Somehow I don’t think I’ll be mentioning all the details of today’s happenings to my Mum, or that’ll be the end of me and the Quarrymen. She doesn’t exactly approve 100% of me playing in the same group as “That Lennon” as she always calls him.