From Aces to Angels

A Brief History of People and Events

Click Images to View Details

Precise times are impossible to establish, but I will now do my best to chronicle the comings and goings of musicians and events that took place in The Jokers Showband. 
  As far as I can recall, in early '64 after the demise of Louis Conaghan and a couple of other saxophonists, a fourth Mc Menamin brother, Frankie, who was just learning to play the sax, and who also did a bit of vocalising came on board. There was also a change of bass player when Jim Phelan's place was taken by Jim Cooper. Then Liam Black dropped out of the picture to be replaced by Brian Mc Laughlin. A (very) short time later I think Brian was offered early retirement on the grounds that he was either unable or unwilling to play the trombone. 
  Shortly after that, Noel Porter, an excellent bass player, replaced Jim Cooper. Then Tony took his leave and a short time later Frankie was joined by a great rock sax player named Benny Duddy. Around the same time, Patsy Canney departed and his place was taken by Billy Campbell. 
  I can't remember exactly how long Benny stayed, but I don't think it was more than a few months. Because we assumed that he was in permanent, or at least for a reasonable length of time, we got a new band photo taken, believe it or not, up an electricity pylon in the fields above Gobnascale. We also ordered new band jackets, and because Benny was quite tall and well built, it meant that any new members would probably find his jacket a bit on the big side. When he left, Frankie played sax on his own for a while (phew, I'm getting a bit out of breath here so I think I'll digress for a moment).

  Noel Porter was a very likeable lad and was the only Protestant in the band. I felt sorry for him at times because when it came to a bit of good humoured religious banter, he was heavily outnumbered. Nevertheless he could give as good as he got and this leads me on to say a few words about religion and bands generally.
  By and large the membership of bands in Derry consisted mainly of people of the Roman Catholic persuasion. But there were also a few bands whose members were of the Protestant faith. Occasionally there was a crossover when one or two Protestant musicians would play in what was perceived as a Catholic band and the converse was also true.
  Catholic and Protestant musicians I've talked to freely admitted that because of the circumstances prevailing, as a rule, they felt more comfortable playing in bands populated by their co-religionists. I personally, don't have any religious axe to grind nor haven't had for a long time, but to an extent I could understand that view because, and I hate to admit it, I felt the same at times myself. I didn't like this state of affairs but sadly that was reality.
  However, I feel that this was more of a political issue rather than any disagreement about religious theology, because a lot of musicians of both persuasions went to neither church nor chapel. Unfortunately there was a perception that if you were a Catholic you were also a Nationalist and Republican. If you were a Protestant then you were a Unionist and a Loyalist. Neither of these was necessarily true but such is the nature of the beast.
  So just to conclude my sermon for the day, I suppose that on both sides, even in the world of the Showbands, there was the odd bigot. To the best of my knowledge, there was never any serious confict on religious grounds between Catholic musicians and their Protestant counterparts. Now that I've got my breath back let's move on.                   
  The next to join our merry band of minstrels (I think) was saxophonist Danny Mc Laughlin. Danny was an excellent musician, soft spoken and very easy to get on with. At a later date when Danny took his leave, Frankie found himself once again in the role of solo sax player.
 The final change in that period, as far as I'm able to tell, was when two new members arrived in the late spring/early summer of '65. They were Jimmy 'Johnny Starr' Campbell (no relation to Billy) on lead vocals, and Tommy 'Rocky' Henry on trombone. As well as his 'trom', Rocky had one other prized possession, his little old car that he'd christened 'Burke's Law,' a humourous comparison to the big car (I think it was a Rolls Royce) in the 60's T.V. series of the same name. With the arrival of Johnny Starr we now reverted back to the title of 'Johnny and the Jokers.'
  There's an amusing story associated with all these comings and goings. One day we arranged for a photographer to come and take a few publicity snaps while we were rehearsing in the West End Hall. Unfortunately the day he arrived we were a man short (trombone, I think), and as some promoters were sticklers for having seven members in the band, we weren't sure whether to call the session off or not.
  Then somebody had the brilliant idea of bringing in a 'dummy.' So following his suggestion, we went down the stairs with the intention of asking the first person we knew (providing he looked the part of course) to stand in for the missing brass man.
  Luckily enough, after a couple of minutes we saw somebody we knew and press-ganged him into having his photo taken. He agreed on two conditions, him 'being on the Bru an' all,' that we don't use his right name and he keeps his back to the camera. So after slinging Frankie's sax around his neck, the anonymous one was immediately catapulted into his fifteen minutes of fame, albeit the back of his head being the star.

  Now with the changes in personnel out of the way, let's get down down to the interesting events of the same period.
  Early in September '63, something happened that temporarily interruped my musical career. This particular event, as far as I was concerned, was more distressing than interesting. I was walking home from a visit to the dentist, when at the bottom of Fahan Street I met my wife. I knew immediately by the expression on her face that something was wrong. Nervously she informed me that Ken, my sister Kathleen's husband, had just died in England. It was a terrible shock made worse by the fact that they were just three months married and he was only in his early twenties.
  It was agreed that my mother and I would go to England to be with my sister. In the meantime the Jokers agreed to get somebody to 'deputize' for me, for I wasn't sure how long I'd be away. As it turned out we were away for a week (although it was almost two weeks before I was back on the road), and I can say now that it was one of the longest and most harrowing weeks in my life trying to comfort Kathleen and help to make all the funeral arrangements. It was made even worse by the fact that I hated flying, but under the circumstances I didn't have much choice.
  We arrived at the house in Ladbroke Grove in London, where they were staying with Ken's relatives, and the scenes of  grief were horrible. It transpired that Ken, who was from Dublin and in
 the Royal Navy, collapsed and died while playing a football match. A subsequent autopsy showed that he died from a ruptured artery in the brain.
  One week later, after helping Kathleen sort out her affairs, with a deep sigh of relief we came back to Derry. The icing on the cake came whenever the car bringing us back from the airport broke down and we had to hire a taxi in Antrim. It was an absolute nightmare for Kathleen, and it certainly wasn't a week that my mother and I would like to have to live through again.
  Later that year, or perhaps early spring '64, Billy had bought himself a massive Bird organ that, even when dismantled, took ten men to carry. He also got himself an amp to plug it into. Cumbersome it may have been but it was a novelty and certainly added a new dimension to the sound of the band. And Billy wasn't a bad player either.
  Instrumentally, I had moved on to Burns guitar and then to a Kay semi-solid complete with Bigsby tremolo arm. I'd also moved up to a bigger amp, another Selmer. Now I had a massive thirty watts of power at my command. Colm, who'd started out with a 'Hawk' accoustic now owned the Hagstrom guitar that I once strummed. He also bought an amp identical to mine.
  In April 1964 a very important event in my life took place. The birth of my first child, a bouncing baby daughter. It goes without saying that I was running around like a dog with two tails for awhile after that.
  In the early hours of one cold November morning that same year, I arrived back from a job replete with my usual bag of freshly baked baps straight from the searing ovens of the West End Bakery. This early morning onslaught on Rossville Street after the gig was common practise (and almost a social occasion) among Derry bands, who, after giving the secret knock, were allowed access to peruse the myriad delicacies on display. If they wished, they could buy them at knock down prices. Everybody had their favourites, and mine was baps and jam puffs.  
  I made myself a pot of tea, spread about a quarter of an inch of butter on four of the steaming buns, (I'd pay for this in later years) and sat down to scoff the lot. I switched on the wireless to listen to some music and hear the news that was due shortly. After the pips, the first thing the announcer said was that there had been a serious accident involving a showband. I stopped chewing and listened as the newsreader continued.
  I nearly choked and almost collapsed into a state of shock and horror as he read the horrible details. There had been a crash involving a Derry band, The Statesiders, and a lorry, in which six people had been killed, four of them the Mallett brothers, and a couple more seriously injured. The fact that four of the dead were brothers made it even more ghastly. I felt sick to my stomach and went off my breakfast completely. 
  I rushed upstairs, woke my wife and told her the awful news. She also went into a state of shock for we both knew the people concerned. As sleep was now out of the question, we sat up to hear the next news bulletin. We subsequently learned that the other two people who had been fatally injured were Danny Mc Laughlin (not the Danny that played in the Jokers) and Willie Harrison.
  Nearly every musician in Derry, along with representatives of bands from all over Ireland attended the heart-rending event that was the funeral. Funds were set up and fund raising dances were held throughout the whole of Ireland at which musicians willingly gave of their services for free. I remember thinking that no matter how much money was raised, it wouldn't have compensated for the loss of loved ones, especially in the case of the Mallett family.
  For a long time after that tragedy, a lot of bands, including ourselves, felt extremely nervous about going out on the road again. Even today a couple of musicians I've talked to freely admit that thay still haven't fully come to terms with it. From a personal point of view, up to the present day, the only other single local incident that instilled in me the same feelings of horror and sadness was Bloody Sunday. Little did we know that a few  months later, we ourselves would be involved in an accident, albeit nowhere as serious as the Statesiders crash but still quite traumatic. I'll elaborate on that incident later. In the meantime back to the Jokers' story.
  In February '65, British singer named Julie Rogers came over on an Irish tour and we were asked to back her. She'd had a hit the previous August with a song called  'The Wedding' and another one called 'Like a Child' in December. We were introduced to her in the City Hotel by bandleader Ted Foster who was also her manager. I think he may also have been her husband but don't quote me on that.
  A rehearsal had been arranged and the first thing he did was to hand out a bunch of orchs. At that particular moment in time the only ones who could sight read were Tommy Mc Menamin and Danny Mc Laughlin. I could read a little but not up to the standard that he expected. When we told him this and asked if he had a recording of Julie's numbers, he seemed a little peeved and told us he hadn't.
  The rehearsal went ahead anyway and after a few hours of lugging we had put together a reasonable programme. Some of her songs we were familiar with, but were less familiar with others. Still they both seemed happy enough, so we were ready  to roll. 
  For the next ten days or so we were on the road playing two gigs a night, her only local date being in the Cameo (later called 'The Stardust' and now St. Eugene's Parish Hall) on the 26th February. It was hard going at times rushing from one gig to another (not meeting our schedule on occasion) but it was good experience. The fact that we didn't have to lug any gear, except our instruments from venue to venue made things a little easier.

  Before Julie came on stage we usually played a couple of numbers and then introduced her on. It was a great buzz pretending that we were the stars of the show, although in fact we were at times subtley reminded by Mr. Foster that we were just the backing band. Still, the audience were none the wiser, and sure there was no harm in a little bit of self delusion occasionally.
  She went down extremely well everywhere she played, and although there was the odd clanger dropped here and there, everything went fairly well. There was a non-musical clanger that we all remember very well. Noel Porter, who was only a novice in 'eg-latin,' at the time, made an uncomplimentary remark about Julie thinking she wouldn't understand. Well Miss Rogers was within earshot and she shot Noel a look that would've cut cold steel. Noel sort of shrunk into the corner while we slunk out of the dressing room on to the stage.
  At the same time that Julie Rogers was touring, another big female star, Dusty Springfield, was doing the circuit in Northern Ireland. Dusty was an even bigger star than Julie and boasted three or four hits over the previous couple of years.
  On the last night of the tour both singers appeared on the same bill in St. Mary's Hall in Portadown, and that was fun. While we were waiting in the dressing room, a heated argument started between the two stars. At that point Ted Foster and Dusty's manager asked us to kindly wait outside while they sorted it out, for by now they were near to blows.
  Well we had our ears stuck to the door trying to suss out what was going on, and, judging by the sounds emanating from inside, they were now on the brink of  hairing one another. As far as we could gather, Julie accused Dusty of stealing her songs and Dusty counter claimed by accusing Julie of the same thing. We suspected that drink might be involved and, of course, a little bit of professional jealousy.
  Eventually things quietened down and Ted asked us to go on stage and get things going. To be fair, on stage there was no sign of anything untoward and both girls went down a storm. At the end of each girl's set, the crowd clapped and called for an encore, completely unaware of the drama that had been enacted previously in the dressing room.
  After that Julie Rogers had one more minor hit, 'Hawaiian Wedding Song' (she seemed obsessed with songs about weddings) and then disappeared back into obscurity. As for Dusty, well I don't need to tell you that she went on to be one of the biggest female singers in the world and sadly died of cancer in March 1999.
  We derived a good bit of publicity from this and I remember reading in a southern Irish newspaper that we were about to cut our first record and it was to be one of my songs. All this was news to us, but this new found fame must have went to my head for I decided that I wanted to be a songwriter. I had thought about it before but this was the spur. One pre-Julie Rogers blurb even referred to me as 'the band's Lionel Bart.' I already had visions of us appearing on 'Top of the Pops' or 'Ready Steady Go.'
  I remember sitting down, and over about a week I had the lyrics of about six songs written. I was completely stumped when it came to writing the music. I just drew a blank. Then I saw an ad in a British music magazine offering to put music to lyrics. Immediately I packed the lot off for evaluation. For the next few weeks I was on tenterhooks waiting for a reply.
  Eventually it came and it informed me that they would put music to my words for ten pounds a go. Well ten pounds in the sixties was a lot of money and way above my means, so that was that. I tried to think of some way to raise the money but we had more important things to pay for. Crestfallen, I threw the letter in the bin.
  Then I decided to try again. After days of humming and strumming (I didn't even have a tape recorder to record my efforts) I managed to come up with a melody of sorts for one of my lyric sheets. I played it to the boys in the band to a mixed response but it was never mentioned again. Recently I hoked it out again after thirty five years and updated it, but frankly, I don't think that it's going to reach number one in the pop charts.
  Shortly after the Julie Rogers tour, in the early hours of the morning we were on our way back from a gig in Dungloe. We had just crossed the customs post at Killea and were driving towards the area known as 'the Glen' near Nixon's corner. It was a very cold morning but the roads appeared to be free of frost or ice. We drove into the bends of the Glen about fifty miles an hour and Tommy Mc Menamin touched the brakes to slow down. As soon as he did, all hell broke loose. The next few minutes seemed like an eternity and everything went black.
  Unknown to us the Glen was like a skating rink with black ice and as soon as Tommy put his foot on the brakes we skidded, mounted the footpath and hit a wall. The van then overturned and skidded on its side for about a hundred yards coming to rest on the grass verge on the opposite side of the road. Another couple of yards and we would have been over the edge of a fairly steep drop. All this time the only things I was aware of was a horrible crunching noise and not being able to move because somebody was sitting on top of me.
  When the careering wagon finally stopped, we all scrambled out through where the windscreen used to be, dazed and not sure where we were. A quick examination of ourselves and of one another confirmed that nobody had been seriously hurt, physically anyway. We'd only suffered cuts and bruises, the worst being a head wound which needed a few stitches.
  As far as my own condition was concerned, I'd been sitting next to the window with Noel Porter sitting beside me. When the van toppled over, Noel crushed me against the window (which unfortunately for me was the side nearest to the ground). I discovered that my arse, which was now a mass of cuts and scratches, had broken  the glass and scraped along the ground. To boot, the back of my trousers and Y-fronts no longer existed. Instinctively, to calm our nerves, we all reached for the fags until somebody happened to notice the petrol running down the road. We hastily moved away up the road for a reek.
  We unloaded the van and after a good bit of struggling we managed to get it back on its four wheels. Eventually a passing motorist gave some of us a lift into the town where we contacted the police. When the cops arrived at the scene they were going to do Tommy for careless driving, claiming that there was no ice on the road until they themselves skidded into the ditch.
  Although that incident could have been a lot worse than it was, it left us all fairly shook up for a few days. When I look back at it now I smile for when I reached home my wife had to spend a couple of hours gingerly extracting the gravel from my torn and painful buttocks.
  Not too long after that incident, I, personally, almost came a cropper again, this time in style. I'd completely forgotten about this until Colm brought it back to mind, and even then it was still very hazy.
  As far as I can recall, we were walking down Oxford Street in London just generally sight-seeing when we noticed a big sign above a theatre proclaiming that Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames would be appearing there that night. Georgie Fame was quite big at this time and I was so busy looking at the sign (and I daresay probably distracted by all the Dolly Birds), that I jaywalked out into the middle of the road. Suddenly there was a screech of brakes and a van the same as our own (now a Commer) just stopped inches from me. I literally ended up with my hands on the bonnet in an attempt to stop it.
  A head popped out of the window and called, 'You all right mate?' or words to that effect.
  I couldn't believe my eyes for it was Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames presumably en route to the theatre. Georgie himself was driving and for a couple of moments I just stood and gaped, then muttered something like, 'Aye I'm okay.'
  He then drove on down the road leaving me wondering whether I should be shocked or honoured. 
  Considering the number of groups and bands on the road and the huge mileage accrued, as far as I'm aware, there were relatively few serious accidents. Again I remind the reader, that this was probably due in part to the lesser number of vehicles on the road then. Nevertheless we, and presumably a lot of other bands, were involved in umteen minor accidents like skidding off the road into the ditch or disappearing down the odd pothole in Donegal. Musicians in general dreaded the onset of winter, for this was the time when most accidents were likely to occur.
  The perception by the general public (and insurance companies unfortunately) was one of drink and drug crazed idiots careering around the roads in the dead of night. In spite of this view, I found that most drivers took a very responsible attitude to driving, and refrained from drinking while doing so.
  But alas, there were exceptions to the rule. There was (and still is) a small minority of drivers who imagined they were supermen and thought they could drive with a skinful. Their attitude was 'Oh I can hold my drink better than he can,and I can drive just as good with drink as I can without.' As far as I was concerned they were selfish morons who showed complete disregard for themselves, their passengers and other road users. If I suspected that somebody was drinking while driving, even to this day, I would not get into that vehicle.
  There were also a few bands were being a certified alcoholic was a pre-requisite to becoming a member. I don't drink myself, but I have no objections to sitting around for an hour after the gig while the lads have a gargle. But some bands took this to extremes and sat about for four or five hours until the proprietor actually had to throw them out on occasions. Now to me that behaviour was completely unacceptable and I left a couple of bands because of it.
  From  early '65 on, despite our accident, all appeared to be well in the Jokers' camp. The band seemed to have settled down, was doing good business, and everybody seemed happy.
  While alcohol was the preferred fix among musicians, I won't try and deny that a few pills were popped as well. Having said that, as far as I was aware, on the showband scene there was no widespread hard drug problem.
  Here is a little anecdote from my musical archives (and it causes me a bit of pain and embarrassment just to relate it) so I hope the reader will forgive me if I digress for a moment. In order to protect the guilty, the name of the band concerned and its members thereof shall remain anonymous.
  Early in my career as we were passing through Sligo en route to a gig in Achill Island somebody asked, 'Are we stoppin' for some Dollys?'
  I looked around quizzically, 'Dollys?' I asked.
  'Aye Dollys,' came the reply, Dolly Mixtures, want a few?'
  'Naw,' I answered, 'I'm not fussed on Dolly Mixtures, I prefer Liqourice Allsorts.'
  There was a little titter of laughter as the van came to a stop. Three of us jumped out and headed towards the shop. I opened the shop door but the other two went on a bit into the chemist.
  'We'll be wi' ye in a minute,' they said.
  'Ok,' says I, and goes on into the shop.
  I bought myself a bar of whole nut and a little bag of Liqourice Allsorts and went out into the van again. A couple of minutes later the other two came back smiling and waving a little bag in front of their faces. I handed round the Allsorts.
  'Want a Dolly?' One of the lads asked.
  'Naw don't like 'em.'
  'You'll like these,' they said and poured them out into their hands.
  Then the penny dropped. There were white, yellow and mauve coloured 'Dollys' and I knew that they were drugs. Christ did I feel foolish.
  Most of the boys took a couple. Some took white, some took yellow and some took mauve.
  'Go on Shimmy, tik wan or two. They'll not do you any harm and I guarantee that you've never experienced Dolly Mixtures like these before.'
  At first I hesitated, and then not to appear to be one  of the boys (I think they call that 'peer pressure' these days) I popped a couple of the yellow ones, which (I subsequently learned) were Benzedrine (an amphetamine). The mauve ones were 'Purple Hearts,' (an even stronger stimulant) and I can't remember the name of the white ones (Dexedrine perhaps?).
  About an hour or so later I became conscious of the fact that I was talking a lot more than usual. By the time we reached the gig everybody was buzzing, and that night on stage (after popping another 'Dolly') I jumped up on the piano, lay on the floor and indulged in a series of wild antics totally foreign to me.
  On the way home from the gig I chatted until I was hoarse, something completely out of character for me, for I usually talked for a while and then went quietly to sleep. When we arrived back in Derry around nine in the morning, the bandleader let me take the van home with me and I spent half the day washing and cleaning it. By mid afternoon all of a sudden my boundless energy deserted me and I collapsed into bed completely exhausted. I didn't surface until late the following day, and had to fend off a few awkward questions from my parents.
  Apparently, I later discovered, there was a small network of chemists dotted around the country who were prepared to provide the bands with their regular supply of 'Dollys.' Except for a few puffs of a joint in later years, that was the only time I ever experimented with non-prescription drugs. Of course there were times when we used to stuff ourselves with other 'stimulants' like 'Pro-Plus' that you could buy legally. We might as well have stuffed ourselves with Rennies for all the effect they had.
  Notwithstanding the dangers of being out on the road in the middle of winter mentioned earlier, to a lesser degree there were other physical dangers associated with band life. One little incident immediately springs to mind.
  One beautiful summer's night we arrived to do a gig at a marquee. I think it was in Athleague in County Roscommon or somewhere in that area. We arrived a bit early and as there seemed to be a lot of noise and clapping emanating from the big tent, we decided to have a gander (or as they say these days, 'check it out').
  We walked in and sat ourselves down near the front. Up on stage there was a sharpshooter who called himself 'Kit Carson' and to the delight of the crowd, he was shooting at everything in sight. We had no sooner sat down until he directed his attractive female assistant to pick a member of the audience to help him out. To my horror she walked straight to me and gently taking me by the arm, invited me up to the stage. I protested strongly and tried to resist, but to intense 'encouragement' from the audience and the rest of the band I soon found myself on the bandstand with a balloon stuck to my head.
  When I was a child Kit Carson was one of my heroes, but now as he drew a bead on me from down the floor, I suddenly went off him. I closed my eyes and as my legs began to shake I heard a crack and the balloon exploded like a bomb on top of my head. I tried to smile wanly as the crowd cheered but it wasn't over yet. As I tried to walk off the stage the assistant gently led me back up again.
  This time he stuck a fag in my mouth and not to put too fine a point on it, I almost shit myself. Again I closed my eyes and waited for what seemed an eternity. As the sweat began to run down my face, once again I heard a sharp crack and the cigarette flew out of my mouth. Well I don't know whether he genuinely shot the fag or whether it was some trick. Either way it left me a bit wobbly legged for a while, and the boys didn't let me forget it either.
  Within this period we had been back and forth to England and Scotland several times. On one of these trips I bought my first blues albums, one by Josh White, a sort of folk blues, one by Muddy Waters and the other a Chicago type blues album featuring various artists. We also visited a few London clubs including the famous Marquee were we saw some very good artists like Stevie Winwood and Alexis Korner.
  Judging by the forthcoming events on the advertising posters, which featured people like John Mayall, Edgar Broughton and Paul Butterfield, the blues revival in England around this time was well under way. On the jazz front, we also visited a couple of clubs including the world famous Ronnie Scott's were the music was fabulous and the drinks expensive. Occasionally we lingered outside a few other club type establishments in the Soho area but then decided to resist temptation and go home for a cold shower.
  These great bands inspired me to get down to some serious practising and I spent hours every day trying to learn blues guitar techniques. I bought a few more albums, including ones by B.B King and John Lee Hooker. I also bought myself a couple of 'blues harps' (little harmonicas used in blues music), and blew 'til my lips were twice their normal size.
  It took me quite a while to get the hang of playing the guitar and harmonica at the same time. I then had to acquire a holder for the harps, for I didn't think it would look very professional if I went on stage with my harmonica taped to a broom handle. 
  They also inspired me to get something going, so when we came home Colm, Noel and myself decided to form a little rhythm 'n' blues group with the intention of playing the odd gig whenever we weren't out with the Jokers.
  As there was a band already called 'The Animals,' we decided to call ourselves 'The Humans.' We thought our best bet would be to try and get ourselves a residency somewhere, so we approached the manager of the Leprechaun restaurant (known by locals as 'The Lep'), which at the time was always packed with beatniks and other bohemian types. We thought it would have been an ideal spot but unfortunately the manager didn't agree on the grounds that it would be too noisy, and anyway he didn't have a license for entertainment.
  After trying one or two more places without success, we eventually got the Clarendon Hall (where I practised with Paddy Canney) in Prince Edward Street to run a gig every Monday. It wasn't exactly the type of place we envisioned but it would have to do. 
  In a blinding flash of inspiration and originality, we opted to call it 'The Cavern Rhythm 'n' Blues Club.' The programme we played consisted mainly of numbers by The Rolling Stones, Chuck Berry and such artists. Again it wasn't exactly what I wanted but at least it was a start. The old problem of the A.C./D.C. mains still existed so we had to use an old transformer which played havoc with the electrics.
  The crowds fluctuated in number, but I can't honestly say that it was ever packed, so we made very little money. Nevertheless the three of us enjoyed our weekly blow out, notwithstanding the fact that the 'Cavern' never achieved the same status as its namesake across the water in Liverpool. We kept this going for a couple of months but eventually because of one reason and another we were obliged to play our farewell gig.
  In the meantime Tommy and a couple of other jazz orientated musicians formed a little jazz club in a room above what is now The Sandwich Company in the Diamond. It wasn't a club in the sense that it was open to the general public, but more a place where musicians could get together for a 'jam' and a gargle. There was a drum kit and an amp set up most of the time, so all you had to do was bring along your instrument and your little bottle. 
  I sat in a few times but as modern jazz wasn't my strong point I'm afraid I didn't make much of an impression. I remember gazing in awe at a Dublin man named O'Reilly (whose first name I can't recall) as his deft stubby little fingers with the nails bitten down to the quick, fingered the strange chords of songs like 'Laura' and 'A Foggy Day.' Then I decided to do something about it, so out came my jazz chord encyclopaedia once more. This time I embarked on a bit of intensive study. I read it in more detail and was able to make a bit of headway. 
  Within a few weeks, to my utter amazement, I was able to play a fair number of new chords and tunes including the aforementioned songs. Now feeling a little more confident, I then began to really enjoy my little visits to the club. My musical education was given a further boost when I was invited by Tommy to sit in on the Big Band rehearsals which took place in Johnny Quigley's Hotel in Foyle Street (now the Peking Pagoda Chinese restaurant).
  Finally, just another couple of pieces of information relevant to this period. My wife's grandmother, who was in her nineties and who also shared the house in Wellington Street, sadly died while I was on a trip to Scotland. I also got myself a mongrel dog which I christened 'Joker' who, it transpired, hated binmen and who, to her consternation, followed my wife's aunt to work every day.

<<Back ---- Next>>