From Aces to Angels

Was ist der Showband?

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In November '65 we were fixed up with a tour of Germany, and it's an experience I (nor the rest of the band) won't forget in a hurry for reasons both good and not so good. Actually it's a story in itself, a story which amply demonstrates the resourcefulness of man in the face of adversity. Unfortunately, due to the limitations on space, I'll have to condense it a bit. There were eight of us on this trip, Tommy, Colm and Frankie Mc Menamin; Noel Porter; Billy and Jimmy Campbell; Rocky Henry, and of course, yours truly. 

  Around the fourth week in October, on a Friday morning we left Derry to travel to a gig in the Arcadia Ballroom in Cork. I remember it well for on that night the resident band was The Regal Showband, and playing lead guitar was none other than that popular exponent of modern rock/blues, Rory Gallaher, albeit before he became famous. He even barrowed an amp from us.
  Straight after the gig we hightailed it up the road to Larne, a round trip of six hundred miles, to catch the ferry to Scotland the following morning. By the time we reached there a violent storm was raging and all sailings were cancelled. Secretly I was glad, for I dreaded going to sea in those conditions.
  Anyway we sat in the van all day waiting for the tempest to abate, but it soon became clear that we were going nowhere that day, so we booked ourselves into digs for the night.
  Next morning it was reasonably calm, so after a long wait we finally got on board and set sail. On arrival at Stranraer we immediately headed off on the marathon trek to Dover, another five or six hundred miles, where we were scheduled to catch the ferry to Calais. Then just to make the trip more interesting, the van developed mechanical problems and we missed it.
  We couldn't afford to wait for the next ferry, so after a bit of wrangling we managed to get ourselves aboard a mail ship heading to Ostend in Belgium. Unfortunately  this vessel was not a roll on /roll off ferry, so the wagon had to be hoisted on to the deck in a big net and hoisted off again at the other side. Now the real part of the journey was about to begin. Ahead of us lay the arduous drive through Belgium, Holland, and up through Germany to our destination Kiel, in the north of the country.
  For the next couple of days we ate, slept and did almost everything else in the wagon. About the only thing we didn't do was go to the toilet. Around teatime that Wednesday, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Zombies, we arrived at the Star Palast in Kiel. Well maybe it's just nature's natural defences, but that trip now, like a half forgotten nightmare, is just a hazy blur in my mind. As soon as we landed we went straight into the office where we met the proprietor Manfred, and his right hand man, Bob. 

  The first thing they did was to take our passports and put them in the safe saying that it was the law. It was probably more because they were afraid of us absconding in the middle of the night, and, it probably was illegal. They were a bit miffed because apparently the club was open from 3 p.m. to 3 a.m. and we were supposed to be on stage. The twelve hour stint was rotated between three bands.
  The other groups sharing the stage with us in the Star Palast were a group from Belfast called 'The Stratotones,' (which included one of the Crymble family who owned a big music shop) and a German group called the Black Stars who were fronted by a vivacious young female vocalist called Gette (pro. Shetty). The arrangements were for us to play two weeks in Kiel, one week in a club in Luneburg, a few miles south of Kiel, and finishing up the last week in a club in Schleswig, a few miles north.
  Explanations were futile, and after taking some stick about arriving late (they both could speak good English), we were shown to our accommodation. This was a big bare room at the top of a flight of stone stairs and situated above the club. Well to say that this 'apartment' was a dump would have been putting it mildly, for it contained eight bunk beds, a table and very little else.
  After giving ourselves a quick wash, an hour later we were on stage doing our thing. One thing we were glad about was the fact that we didn't have to carry in any gear. It was a very good club and they already had an excellent back line (guitar amps, etc.) and P.A. system set up. All we needed to bring in were the instruments.
  Now we didn't know what to expect, for as far as I'm aware, we were the first Irish Showband to play the beat club circuit in Germany (although another local band, 'The Barristers' had played American Bases the previous August). The audiences there were used to listening to beat groups, both local and from Britain (including the Beatles and other well known groups of the sixties), and it was clear by the looks on their faces that they didn't know what to make of us either. We did play a fair lot of the current pops of the day, but we also played a few Irish tunes such as 'The Boul O'Donohue' and 'The Holy Ground.'
  It was songs such as these that confused them for they weren't sure what sort of dance steps to do. We were constantly asked to play a song called 'Wooly Bully' by a band named Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs, but unfortunately we couldn't oblige. This song was No.1 in Germany at the time and every band worth it's salt should have been able to play it. I can't honestly say that on that occasion of our German debut we went down a storm, as we only occasionally received moderate applause.
  Even on that first night I experienced something that I later regognized as culture shock. After leaving Ireland with it's conservative ideas and morals, seeing 'Frenchie' machines openly on display in the foyer of the club and posters in the toilets warning of the dangers of venereal disease, sort of caught me off guard. On top of that, it was strange seeing young people drinking, smoking dope and dancing in the middle of the afternoon, especially when the dancing from a sexual point of view, left little to the imagination. Well even at twenty three years of age I thought I was a man of the world, but I distinctly remember feeling that the whole ambience of the club was quite intimidating and even scary.
  Another member of the band (whose name I won't mention) also had a shock, a more painful one, not too long after we arrived. As he was coming into the club a burly man in front of him closed the door in his face. Whether it was deliberate or not is debatable but our angry comrade called out to him something like, 'Watch it Fritz!' Unfortunately our German friend understood English and our poor comrade ended up with a bloody nose for his pains.
  They weren't the only shocks we had that night on our debut, for after we'd finished playing, Tommy and Colm informed us that our old friend Manfred had declared that he 'didn't like the sound of the band' and informed them in no uncertain terms that we'd have to go home again.
His main beef apparently was that we didn't use the brass section enough. Who did he think we were anyway, Glenn Miller?
  We did have a contract but obviously Manfred didn't have much respect for such legal documents. We threatend to go to the British, Irish and American Embassies but he was adamant that we pack up and go. Then suddenly he had a change of heart and informed us that we could stay if we were willing to take a reduction in our fee. Well he knew, and we knew, that he had us by the b...s, er, excuse me, the short and curlies. We suspected that his apparent dislike of us was feigned to a certain degree and it was his intention all along to cut our geld (dosh), but there was little we could do.
  Up in the flat we had a meeting and decided that under the circumstances we didn't have much choice in the matter, so we voted to stick it out.
  As the week went on, the audiences, who were constantly changing but retained a fair percentage of regulars, seemed to warm to us, and in spite of the poor living conditions and less money, we actually began to enjoy it. Young folks, and not so young, came up to the stage looking for autographs and photos, and to our eternal shame they all spoke at least a little bit of English, while our knowledge of German was absolutely zilch.
  One group of girls even wanted the address of our fan club and wanted to know if we knew the Beatles personally. Of course we did, we assured them, so now we were elevated to the status of international stars. Unlike the Irish colleens I must say, when it came to matters romantic, the frauleins didn't mince their words.
  They could understand our Derry dialect reasonably well when we talked slowly to them without any background music. Speaking through the microphones was another story altogether, for then they couldn't understand a word we said.
  As a result of this breakdown in communication, Johnny Starr used to speak all sorts of gobbledygook from the stage. One night he announced 'Danke schon mein damen und mein herren, Ich haben sie (thank you very much ladies and gentlemen, I have a) request for all my friends at bingo in St. Columb's Hall and also for Maggie Mc Cay.' We were absolutely gobsmacked when somebody came up from the back of the club and informed us in a broad Derry accent that he knew Maggie Mc Cay. Apparently he was somebody or other Strain from 'The back o' the Wall' and he was in the merchant navy or something.
  There's an old saying in the Maiden City (one I was very sceptical of) that no matter where you go in the world, you'll always meet somebody from Derry. Well after that night I became a believer.
  For the benefit of younger readers and those not conversant with Derry folklore, Maggie Mc Cay was a well known Derry character in the fifties and sixties. She was an old lady who always dressed completely in black including a big black shawl and headscarf. She used to hang around Waterloo Street and wasn't averse to the odd swig of scrumpy and according to reports, had a motherly fondness for youthful sailors. In my young days I used to steer well clear of her for I was told that she was a witch.
  Not only did the frauleins come up to the stage, but to our horror and consternation some young girls actually had the temerity to try and follow us up to our 'apartment' after the club was over. Of course we being upright Irish Christians would have none of it and promptly told them that we 'weren't like that.' They followed us up anyway and we had to gallantly fight them off and forcibly close the door to keep them at bay. 
  Not at all discouraged, they were back bright and early next morning wanting to know if we needed any cleaning, cooking or other favours done. Again we being good living lads and suspecting that they had ulterior motives, chased them away. The cheek of them! There's no doubt in my mind that Germany could have been the undoing of weaker willed men than ourselves.
  In all seriousness though, I mentioned in my introduction that there were certain forbidden areas that I was not prepared to venture into. In this instance I don't mind disclosing that the sexual adventures of musicians is definitely one of them.
  Again on a more serious note, we had been warned to be wary of the 'groupies' as some of them weren't averse to relieving you of your worldly possessions, and in return leaving you something you could well do without.
  Notwithstanding our new found popularity with the punters, all of a sudden (surprise, surprise) even Manfred and Bob seemed all palsey-walsey. Now by this stage we referred to Bob as 'Black Bob' (not to his face of course because he was a tough looking nut). There was no racist slur intended either, for although Bob was coloured, we gave him the nickname because there was a famous dog called 'Black Bob.'
  By the beginning of week two we were well settled in. The fans were now actually shouting up from the floor things like 'Sing San Francisco Johnny' or requesting 'Skin Deep,' a drum solo, from Tommy. It was hard work right enough, because even when we weren't doing our bit on stage we had to be on standby in case any problems arose.
  Of course we had other problems like not being able to hack German food such as goulash and those horrible big sausages. We couldn't even seem to get a decent plate of poundies. It was mainly a self catering effort and we essentially lived on cereals, eggs and crispy buns. We supplemented our meagre diet with the odd plate of Pommes Frites ( French fries/chips) and 'braten kartofflen' (roasted or fried sliced potatoes).
  Across the street from the club there was a little coffee shop, and nearly every day we we went into it and ate a plate of their scrumptious apple pie and cream. One other thing we couldn't get was a decent packet of fags. German tobacco tasted and smelt like old burning rags. To be fair, I suppose the German people would have felt the same way if they had've been forced to eat Doherty's mince and smoke Woodbine or Gallaher's Blues.
  I have one abiding memory (which, at the time, I thought was a nightmare) of waking up with a start about five in the morning to see Rocky's face framed in the wan glow of a little gas stove as he boiled himself some eggs. He was convinced (and quite nervous about it too) that the Germans were about to start another war and that we would all be interned or something over here. It was brought home to us what he thought of the place when one night while writing a letter he asked how to spell 'concentration' as in 'concentration camp.' Well the living conditions were spartan but definitely not quite that bad. I mean they hadn't as of yet installed a gas chamber.
  We picked up a few simple German phrases (some of them not for the childrens' ears) which helped us to bond a little with the local population. There was one thing we conciously avoided and that was any mention of the krieg (war), and this was long before the era of John Cleese and Fawlty Towers. 
  There was one little phrase which caused a bit of amusement. It was 'wieviel?' (pronounced 'vee veel') which meant 'how much' as in 'how much does it cost?' or 'how much sugar in your tea?' Well to us it sounded like 'a wee feel?' and when spoken by a female our answer was usually 'Ya, bitte' ('Yes please!') accompanied by lascivious dirty old man type giggles. Of course the lady being perplexed by our mirth, invariably just gave us a funny look. There's another Derry expression, 'little amuses the innocent,' and that definitely applied to us in this case. Boy, and I'll reiterate, we were innocent and naive in those days.
  Still a communication problem existed when it came to anything complicated. This was amply demonstrated when Frankie and I decided to wire some money home.
  We arrived at the post office in the centre of the town, headed straight up to the counter and proceeded to give instructions to the person behind the glass. 
  'We wanny sen' some money home,' says we.
  The response was just blank stares for they hadn't a clue what we were on about. We then proceeded to speak 'proper' English but it didn't make any difference for nobody in the post office could make head nor tail of what we were saying.
  Eventually, after about half an hour of fruitless words and gestures, they managed to find a female member of staff who understood us. To the relief of all concerned we managed to send a few Deutschmarks back  home.
  The story doesn't end there, for when we got back to the flat, Jimmy and Noel, who were out when we decided to post the wives a few bob, declared that they wanted to send a few marks home as well. So off we went back to the post office and we swore that we saw looks of consternation on the staff's faces when we came in the door again. To compound our woes we couldn't find our original interpreter, so we had to start the whole tedious process all over again. Once more there were sighs of relief all around when we finally completed our business and took our leave.
  During the time we played in the 'Palast' a few high profile German and European bands made an appearance there. The biggest of these (as far as the Germans were concerned) was 'The Hep Stars,' one of whose members,  Benny Andersson, later went on to form the world renowned 'Abba.' Once or twice T.V. cameras were even present, so I'm sure there's footage of Johnny and the Jokers stached away somewhere in German archives.
  Meanwhile back in England the blues boom was gathering momentum and there were even a few blues artists doing the rounds in Germany, including 'Memphis Slim,' the well known American accoustic bluesman, and Muddy Waters.  Unfortunately, because of our own commitments, I didn't get to see any of these bands at all. There were one or two blues bands popping up in Ireland as well and the hankering to start my own blues band hadn't waned.
  Coming near the end of our stint in Kiel the boys decided to throw a little party after the show. Near the end of the night there was very little drink left but there were a lot of drunk men. Then somebody noticed that Frankie was missing, and as a matter of fact nobody could remember seeing him for a long time.
  A search was initiated and we eventually found him lying unconcious at the bottom of the stairs. At first we thought that he was just hopelessly inebriated but soon noticed blood on the floor and discovered that he had an ugly wound on his head. It was obvious then that he'd fallen down the stairs. How many he'd fallen down we didn't know but we decided to get him to hospital where he had a right few stitches inserted in a deep gash.
  The doctors suggested that he stay in overnight for observation, but Frankie, who claimed that he was in a mental hospital, had other ideas. He promptly signed himself out and still had the stitches in months (if not years) later. They sent the Jokers a few medical bills but as far as I'm aware, they're still waiting forlornly for their money. Next day he didn't remember anything at all about the incident but it certainly was an interesting end to our fortnight in Kiel.
  The set-up in Luneburg was similar to Kiel with the digs adjacent to the club. The weather had taken a turn for the worse for it was now very cold with six inches of snow. On this occasion we shared the stage with a group from Liverpool called 'The Connoisseurs,' a rather resourceful bunch of fellows as we were to find out later.
  The club itself wasn't up to the same standard as the Palast. It was smaller, a bit more dingy, and didn't have its own amplification set up. The hours were shorter though and as far as I recall we played an average of three hours a night compared to about four in Kiel. In terms of the accomodation it was just as rough.
  As far as the week in Luneburg was concerned, from what I can remember, nothing of outstanding interest happened. As a matter of fact it was dark and dreary, and quite boring. By this stage the novelty was beginning to wear off and we just played, slept and ate.
  One thing Luneburg did was to reinforce in Rocky's mind that World War Three was just round the corner, for in those days various armies were ensconced in Luneburg Heath, and it wasn't unusual to see tanks and armoured cars trundling through the town at all hours of the day and night. But while there, something made Rocky forget about the next war for awhile, and that was the news that his wife had just given birth to a baby girl. That was cause for a small celebration and I even think  he broke out and bought us all a drink.
  During our stay there, The Connoiseurs gave us a few lessons in survival techniques. They openly boasted about how they used to go into various shops, and while a couple of them distracted the shop assistants, the rest used to help themselves to the goodies on display. suppose it shouldn't have come as such a shock to us when on the night before the day they left, they stole the bulbs out of our headlights.
  It was a long week but thankfully it eventually ended and I didn't think any of us were sorry to see the back of the place. Maybe our next port of call would be a bit more exciting.
  The road to Schleswig was slippery and enveloped in a thick pea-souper. We couldn't see our fingers in front of our faces and we lost our way a few times. Driving on the right hand side of the road didn't help matters either, and on a couple of occasions I swore we were driving up the wrong side of the autobahn (motorway). It took us a lot longer than we'd estimated but eventually, with a sigh of relief, we arrived at our destination all in one piece.
  The club in Schleswig, I'm pleased to say, looked a bit more promising. It was a bit more upmarket than the one in Luneburg and a bit bigger. Again the building comprised the accomodation and, on this occasion, a restaurant where the bands could have their meals.
  The opening hours here were from 7 p.m. to 1 a.m. and  were split between two bands with a half hour break. At least that's what we thought. We weren't there very long until we were informed that the other band would be unable to appear. We thought they meant for just one night but it soon became clear that it was for the whole week. They said thay would try and find another band but in the meantime we would have to play ourselves.
  Again we found ourselves in a no win situation. We didn't mind playing a bit extra but five and a half hours was just a bit much and we said so. Eventually we came to an arrangement were we would play fifty minutes in every hour with ten minutes off. Including the half hour break this meant that we would now play approximately four and a half hours each night. We also negotiated a more favourable financial deal. It wasn't a lot but it was obvious that it was all we were going to get.
  The area we played in was upstairs while downstairs was the bar and restaurant. There was a juke box in the bar and the 'Wolly Bully' seemed even more popular here for it was never off.
  Well the audience in Schleswig appeared to really like us but it was hard work. I remember on our first night  one young man approaching me and declaring in broken English that there were 'Many mans in group.' We tried to explain to him that we weren't a group but a showband. His reply to that was a somewhat bemused 'Was ist der Showband?' '(What is a Showband?') We decided just to leave that vexed question unanswered.
  By the third night, while people were trying to talk to us during our breaks, some of us, including myself, were falling asleep at the table. By this stage of course the novelty had completely worn off and we just wanted to finish off the week and get home.
  On the day before we were due to depart, the management invited us to stay on for another week or so for a few extra bob. But like I said, by now everybody was anxious to get home so we decided to have a meeting of the board of directors and the shareholders. 
  After a lengthy discussion we took a vote on whether to stay or not and there was one dissenting voice. As we'd already agreed that the vote had to be unanimous, we gracefully declined the offer and decided to leave the following day. To be honest, even though I'd voted to stay on, secretly I was glad that we were going home (I didn't like to admit that I was feeling a bit homesick). Anyway if we'd stayed it meant cancelling a couple of dates we had back home, so maybe it wouldn't have been financially viable after all. That afternoon we went out the town and bought a couple of Christmas presents for our nearest and dearest.
  Yet we couldn't leave Germany without one last bit of drama, for that same night, Tommy, who didn't bother too much about women, pulled himself a beautiful fraulein. After the club was over, very excited and with a foot of snow on the ground, he headed off in the van to drive her home. About four in the morning we were rudely awakened by a pale faced Tommy who was in somewhat of a panic.
  Apparently in his amourous exertions the wagon sank into the snow and he couldn't get it out again. When we got to the spot we realised to our horror that not only was it stuck in the snow but it was also sitting across a railway track. Lucky for Tommy und der fraulein there were no trains running at that time of night.
  After a long time of pushing, digging and cursing we eventually freed the old wagon. Near six and thoroughly exhausted, we drove back to the flat and threw ourselves into bed. Later that day in early December, still bleary eyed, we packed up our bags, loaded up the gear and with a collective sigh, bade a tearful auf wiedersehen to dear old Deutschland.
  Once more we were on the rocky road to Calais. Again it was a long and tiresome run, but this time we made the ferry. On the trip to Dover the weather was terrible and for the second time in my life I was violently seasick.
  When we arrived in London I was still a bit green and shaky legged, while everybody else wasn't far behind me. Luckily the Mc Menamin's had arranged for us to stay overnight with some of their relatives, so we all had a decent night's sleep (the first in over a month). The following day, feeling a bit better, we set out on the last leg of our journey back to the green shores of Erin. We arrived in Derry around the 7th. of December.
  Well we didn't get rich, the work was hard, and we almost starved, but boy what an experience! Just as a matter of interest I decided to weigh myself to find out how much weight I'd lost. To my astonishment I'd actually gained five pounds. We also discovered that the money we'd sent had only just arrived a couple of days in front of us. We'd a hard time convincing our wives that we'd posted it two weeks previously. I haven't been to Germany since but I'd like to sometime, just to see if any of the old haunts are still standing.

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