From Aces to Angels

The Big Time at Last?

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1968 opened with us playing once again in the Embassy on 6th. January, and once more we had the stage to ourselves. We had another great night and felt that each time we played, the more the crowd appreciated us. Unfortunately, I think it was on this occasion that Ferris took umbrage at my stage gear for when we came off  he lit on me. I was wearing a pair of torn and paint spattered jeans and an old blue anorak, which I just wore for a bit of a laugh, but I'm afraid that Bobby didn't see the funny side of it at all. He was quite indignant and said that if I didn't dress neat in future he would cancel all our gigs, which naturally left us feeling a bit miffed. But, alas, he was the big fish and we were only the minnows, so what could we do? Well it just goes to prove how peoples' attitudes can change, for these days torn jeans are quite acceptable and at one stage were even the height of fashion.
  Of course as well as gigging around the town and elsewhere, we were still whaling away at the club, and surprisingly, with no signs of boredom or feelings that we were playing ourselves out. It helped matters when musician friends of ours were regularly coming over to  'jam' with us. One other good thing about the club was the fact that as well as the hard core of regulars, there were always new faces appearing  nightly, so that kept us interested.
  The next big gigs we were looking forward to were the Pop and Blues Festival in Strabane a couple of weeks hence (I think they held it in the Town Hall, new territory for us) and the St. Valentine's Beat Show in the Embassy (on this occasion I considered hiring a dress suit). When I think of it now, maybe it wouldn't have been a bad idea. As it turned out, I just wore my usual jeans (clean) and Bobby didn't open his cheeper. Both gigs went very well and once more we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
  By now our hair had grown quite long and we had added quite a few new numbers to our repertoire. Numbers like 'Long Grey Mare' and the rather suggestively titled 'Shake your Moneymaker' by Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac who had just released their first album. We'd also added a couple by 'Taj Mahal' and a few more originals.
  In February I was approached by a man called Myles Sweeney on behalf of a local business man called Harry Doherty. Harry had started up an Agency called 'Harry O' D. Promotions,' had apparently heard about us and wanted to take us under his wing. Myles was a suave sort of character, an old Springtowner who was Harry's right hand man.
  I had a chat with Danny and Jackie and we all agreed that it was time to widen our horizons and give Harry and Myles a chance. Shortly after this, I went up to Harry's house in Lawrence Hill were we had a long discussion. As well as him relating all his smuggling exploits in years gone by, we came to a financial arrangement were he would receive 15% of our fees. Now all we had to do was to sit and wait until the dough started rolling in.
  Harry said the first thing we had to do was to cut a demo disc to send to record companies etc. This sounded great to us so he arranged it within the week. The demo was recorded in Thomas May's 'studio' in Great James' St., and that was something else. The studio was located on the top floor of the big grey building just above the P.O. sorting office (still there  today and under renovations at the time of writing) and consisted of a big bare room and a tape recorder.
  When we had our gear set up, Thomas asked us to play a number to do a sound check. As soon as we started up he almost threw a fit exclaiming that we were too loud. Well to cut a long story short, by the time the sound check was finished you could hardly hear us and everything sounded weak and thin.
  The recording techniques were primitive, for every thing was recorded on one mono track with no 'multi-tracking' or 'over-dubbing.' In addition, we had one mic. for vocals and one to pick up the rest of the instruments. The accoustics too were terrible with everything reverberating round the big room. We recorded the two songs in one take with very little enthusiasm or feeling.
  Initially we wanted to record a couple of originals but Harry and Myles advised us to do a couple of covers so we ended up with 'Dust My Blues' and 'Lookin' For Somebody,' a Peter Green composition.
  The finished product, while not just as bad as we thought it was going to be, nevertheless wasn't good and it left us feeling a bit discouraged as we didn't think it adequately reflected our sound. In fact the recording I did on the old reel to reel over at the club sounded better than the record.
  The disc itself was a weird looking thing. It was thick, and in size half way between a 45 and a 78 and seemed very old fashioned (it was called a 'acetate'. Nevertheless, we were stuck with it and would have to learn to live with it. We still have a copy (albeit now a bit scratchy and crackly) but I'm afraid that it's highly classified and not for general public consumption.
  The first two gigs Harry got us were complete and unmitigated disasters. One was in the Bridge Tavern in Dunloy and one in The Beehive, Killygordon, two venues to which we were completely unsuited and in which we died the death of Nelson. In fact the owner of The Bridge refused to pay us or at least cut our fee down. It didn't matter to him that there was snow on the ground and getting there in the first place was a bit of a nightmare. When I reported this to Harry he came out with the immortal line, 'Nobody does that to my boys,' but they did, and we're still waiting on our money. Well they didn't ask, nor did we ever want to, play either of those venues again, not if our objective was the proliferation of the blues message.
  It suddenly struck us that Myles and Harry had never actually heard us but had just gone on hearsay. We had another talk with them and it was obvious that we were a different proposition to what they had originally thought. We impressed upon them the fact that we weren't a beat or pop group and I had with me a handful of ads from the 'Tele' and other papers explaining the type of venues where we would be suitable. They took what we had to say on board and apologised for any misunderstanding.
  After that, as a result of the contacts I'd given them, they got us a few reasonable gigs including a couple of clubs in Belfast and other places where we went down a bit better. We also played an open air gig with a few big groups including the British band, Ten Years After. Any dodgy gigs and they consulted us first.
  On 23rd April Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac appeared in the Embassy and we were first in the queue to get in. We weren't disappointed, for they played a superb set of hard Chicago blues along with some wonderful Peter Green compositions including his big hit 'Black Magic Woman'(later to be recorded by Santana). Both Danny and Jackie were very impressed by John Mc Vie on bass and Mick Fleetwood on drums. They both swore that they were going straight home to practise.  
  The three of us left the Embassy feeling privileged by the experience of hearing such a great blues band. One other thing happened to me that night, I fell in love with the Gibson 'Les Paul' and swore to get one sometime. Although we were doing quite well now, it took most of my earnings to keep a house, a wife and four children. As Gibson guitars were quite expensive, unless I won the pools or something, I'd have to put it on the long finger.
  At this point in time, our entrepreneurial friend, Ken Gallaher, had embarked on a new venture. In partnership with a Spanish business collegue, he'd taken over a place in sunny Ibiza called 'The Zoom-Zoom Club.' Colm, along with Jackie Boyd then went off to play for the season in Ken's new club.
  Now that Colm and myself had parted company I ceased playing in the Casbah and Peggy got a couple of new musicians in. Musically speaking I didn't fret too much, but part of my livelihood had gone, and although it wasn't a lot, it still made a hole in my weekly income. 
  Over the next few months we continued to work nearly every night between the club and our regular outside gigs. We added a couple more to our tally. For example, in June Foyle College opened up a new campus at Springtown and gave us a few dates, which further opened up the blues message to a wider student audience. We also started gigging in massive urban areas like Magherafelt and Antrim.
  Around that time also (May,I think) we were approached by an acquaintance of ours, one Patsy Glenn, who was in charge of one of the local youth clubs. He told us he was trying to raise some funds for the club and asked us if we would be interested in taking a residency in St. Columb's Minor Hall on Thursday nights.
  Although the Minor Hall didn't exactly have the right atmosphere for playing the blues, we were only too happy to help out, so we agreed to play for six weeks, providing of course that anybody turned up. As we were already playing a lot of gigs around the town, we felt that we couldn't commit ourselves to playing indefinitely. We considered six weeks was long enough as we didn't want to play ourselves out. We reckoned by that time the audience would have been scunnered looking at us and we probably would have been fed up looking at them too. We thought that one residency was definitely enough.
  We agreed to his suggestion that the financial arrangement would be 50/50 big crowd or small. The hours were from eight to eleven thirty but he said he would get one of the club members to play a few records for the first hour. This suited us fine and it meant that we could now swagger on to the stage like big stars to a warmed up audience.
  Well so much for the big stars crap. The first night we played, there were about fifty people in the place (albeit appreciative) but he assured us not to worry as the word would soon get round. He was right, for the following week there was almost three times that number and by the end of a month it had risen to around two hundred and fifty. 
  Among the audience was a young man called Terry O'Donnell who was a budding drummer. I think he liked our music and came regularly to see us. Eventually Terry blossomed into an excellent drummer and became a member of another great band to come out of Derry, the excellent 'King Rat.'
  After six weeks, although the place was still going well, we informed Patsy that it was time to pull the plug before we became stale. He tried to talk us into another couple of weeks and at first we tactfully declined saying we were believers in the old showbiz adage, 'always leave 'em wanting more.' But he was very persuasive and we finally agreed to play for two more weeks. After that he thanked us and as far as I can remember, he got another local group to take our place. So that ended our season in the world famous Minor Hall.
  We pooled most of the money we earned from that session and shortly after, with a little help once more from our friends in the Provident, we bought ourselves some new equipment. It consisted of a P.A. system, a new bass amp set-up and a new 100 watt selmer 'Treble 'n' Bass amp for myself. Danny also upgraded his drums and was now the proud owner of a new Ludwig (or perhaps 'Premier') kit.
  I had to invest in a little 'distortion booster' for to my chagrin, I was unable to get the same sound from this amp as I did from my old one. I almost regretted trading it in but I had to make up the financial shortfall. This new amp, while having plenty of 'poke,' sounded a bit too 'clean' for my taste, but I suppose I would just have to work on my 'sound' again. Another notable event of that period was the appearance in the Embassy of another brilliant band, 'The Savoy Brown Blues Band' who, like Fleetwood Mac, played a brilliant set.
  Sometimes a little dose of reality doesn't do any harm. Our dose came hot on the heels of our success in the Minor Hall when we had a brilliant idea and decided to run what we called a 'blues matinee.' Ken was kind enough to give us the club for this undertaking on Saturday afternoons and even supplied a couple of staff to run the bar and cook the hamburgers. Everthing was now in place and we were ready to make a kill.
  We spent a week making up posters and pasting them up on every gable wall we could see. The first Saturday we all stood in the club excited and expectant. If we had've stood for a year it wouldn't have made any difference for on that first day about twelve people, a few of those our close friends, showed up and it was even worse the second week. On both occasions we still played but we decided to refund our customers their money.
  Well that was the end of that short venture for we realised very quickly that it wasn't going to work. In retrospect we know now that the idea was ill-conceived, because the club had such a bad reputation that no parents were goimg to allow their teenaged sons and daughters to darken its doors. It goes without saying that that little fiasco brought us down to earth with a bang and we never ran anything along those lines again. 
  As well as allowing us the use of the club's facilities, Ken also was kind enough to give my wife a weekend job in the cloakroom. Things between her and I hadn't gotten any better, in fact they'd substantially deteriorated to the point where for days at a time, and on a regular basis, we didn't speak to one another. What the problem was exactly was difficult to tell but we just couldn't seem to get along anymore. 
  She was a bit angry at me buying new gear saying that we had better things to do with the money. I suppose she had a point but we needed the equipment so I just lived in hope that things would improve. Regrettably they never did but just steadily got worse. There was one other happening that didn't exactly help to cement our relationship.
  One summer night, a younger brother of mine asked me if he, with a few of his friends (who were also ardent fans of the band), could hold a 'wee party' for one of the gang who was moving to England or somewhere. I'm in two minds whether to 'name and shame' him, but seeing that he was only fifteen or so at the time I'll refrain from dragging his character through the mud. I agreed to let them hold their little do, went out and left them to it.
  That night around eleven, and just before I headed to the club, I decided to call at the flat to see how things were going. Not to put too fine a point on it, the scene that greeted me was unbelievable. There were writhing bodies everywhere, and one character even tried to order me out of my own house. Empty bottles lay all around the place and there was a distinct aroma of illegal substances in the air. The children (and their babysitter) were all sitting up in bed wide-eyed and terrified. The party came to an abrupt end when I, in no uncertain terms, asked everybody to leave.
  The next day the neighbours informed me of the true nature and extent of the previous night's goings on. Apparently there were young girls and boys indulging in all sorts of shenanigans on the verandah and out on the grass. One neighbour even described it as 'a Roman orgy.' This fiasco almost got us evicted from the flats and like I said, it didn't do a lot for my marriage.
  Of course I didn't learn my lesson, for a short time later I took the same motley crew to a camping holiday in Portnoo in West Donegal. The following day I was back up to collect them again, for the same night that they arrived, the Gardai ran them out of town for God knows what other sort of debauchery. From a purely musical perspective, the best event was yet to come.
  In July, not too long after our miserable failure with the blues matinee, Harry and Myles announced that they were organizing their own open air concert in the Brandywell Stadium the following month and asked me if I would like to come up to discuss it. I thought this was a excellent idea and hot footed it up to Harry's house. They both were very excited about the idea and asked for my opinions.
  I asked them who was going to head the concert and they informed me that they had two brilliant bands from out of town lined up. They were also going to book a couple of local groups along with ourselves. I asked them who the two bands were, hoping that they might have been a couple of good blues or soul bands but how're ye Burke, it was complete wishful thinking of course.
  I nearly freaked when they told me it was 'The Cotton Mills Boys' and 'June and the Gamblers,' two country and western bands.' June Mc Laughlin was a local girl who once lived just a couple of doors from Danny and Jackie but who now lived in Longford or somewhere, so we were quite well known to one another.
  I tried to tell them that without meaning any disrespect to the two bands (who admittedly were very good in their own field), I considered them to be completely unsuitable for what they were planning. They assured me that both bands were big in Ireland (which was true enough) and they would draw a good crowd. I begged to differ and tried to persuade them to get a well known Irish or English pop or rock outfit to head the bill but they were adamant that they knew what they were doing.
  My worst fears were realised when on Wednesday 24th August the concert was held and it was a complete flop.
To be honest, there's not a great deal to tell about it except to say that all the bands, including ourselves were very disappointed. Each band (I think there were six or seven in all) played it's allotted time but only a couple of hundred people turned up.
  Well this wasn't the time for recriminations so I said nothing to Harry and Myles about it and they said nothing to me. But after the show I felt sorry for Harry as he was writing out the cheques to all and sundry. I told him to forget about us, but in fairness he insisted that we accept our full fee. Reluctantly I took it feeling extremely guilty.
  That must have given Harry a bit of a sickener for a short time later I think he and Myles Sweeney parted company and Harry gave up, completely disillusioned with the promotion business. Now we were without management. Once more I took over that end of things but I must admit that I never had the necessary business acumen to be a manager. Harry is since deceased although I couln't find out exactly when he died.
  Over the next couple of months as far as I can recall, nothing of world shattering importance happened except my first child started school and that was a bit of a handlin.' On the blues front we just continued to play whatever gigs we had and generally enjoy our music. It was a different story on the afternoon of Saturday the 5th of October.
  I was in the middle of a crowd on our way back from a match in the Brandywell when the hue and cry got up. Apparently a civil rights march, which was taking place from Duke Street to the Diamond, had been violently stopped by the R.U.C. and serious rioting ensued which had now reached the length of the city centre. For a couple of months previous there had been some political agitation, but by and large the general public had paid it scant attention.
  When we reached Fahan Street there were a lot of people milling about and a lot of noise coming from the Diamond area. There was also a strange assortment of objects lying about the road, like tailors' dummies, crockery and various items of clothing from hats to knickers. While I was trying to take stock of what was happening, from up the town there came a tremendous roar and the sound of a thousand feet running.
  Suddenly Butcher Gate disgorged a black mass of humanity with another black mass, namely the R.U.C. in hot pursuit. A young girl, whom I knew very well, ran past me and thrust a couple of items into my hand. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, and when I finally managed to get my wits about me I realised that I was clutching a blonde wig, a tambourine and a silver Ronson table lighter.
  Now me being a fine law abiding citizen and suspecting that these objects might just possibly have been looted, I immediately cast the offending merchandise from my person and ran into the house just as fast as my little legs would take me. I was no sooner in until I had to panic back out again. The reason being that there was now a menacing looking throng (and that was just the R.U.C.) congregated around the car park where the old wagon was sitting, so I had to move it, and pronto.
  Within a short time the situation had developed into a serious riot scenario with bricks, bottles and baton charges being the order of the day. I had never seen a riot before except on our old black and white T.V. but here was one now right on my doorstep and in full colour. It was quite scary and continued for the rest of the night. It was still going on when I left to pick up Danny and Jackie to go and play a gig over in Sea Eagle.
  That night it was very difficult to concentrate on what we were doing for our minds kept wandering back to the situation across the town and  how it was going. After the gig, at about two in the morning, we scurried back to see what was happening. When we reached the Bogside things seemed to have settled down a little bit, but there were still lots of people and groups of policemen in full riot gear standing about in the Rossville Street, Lower William Street areas. We couldn't  help but feel a little disappointed as we were kind of looking forward to a little bit of excitement.
  For safety's sake we parked the wagon at the top of William Street and made our way down to Duddy's cafe to partake of our usual nightly collation. Outside Mc Laughlin's hardware store (where I used to work, remember?) I stooped down to tie my shoelace. Suddenly I felt a sharp whack on my rump and a gruff voice telling me to 'keep f...ing moving,' or some other friendly request. I looked up into the big red face of a very angry looking cop and realised that I'd just been hit by a baton. Jackie and Danny looked on dumbfounded but wisely said nothing.
  Well he didn't need to tell us twice, for as I was about to say something, the look on his face told me to keep my mouth shut. Deciding that in this case discretion was the better part of valour, we walked on, me rubbing my arse and us all muttering curses under our breath. 
  Oh just before I forget, something unusual happened at the Sea Eagle that night. While I was howling away at the Bob Dylan number 'Highway 61 Revisited,' I noticed that the bass sounded badly out of tune. I glanced around and saw Jackie with a distraught look on his face twiddling at the machine heads on his instrument. All his twiddling didn't seem to make any difference, for the more he twiddled the more out of tune it became. Then he noticed that the guitar was becoming bow shaped and soon realised that the neck was parting company with the body (the guitar that is and not Jackie).
  Well that was that, for the instrument was now unplayable so he had to take it off and loosen the strings. Lucky enough it was coming near the end of the show so it wasn't too much of an ordeal to finish the night on my own. So while we were being thumped by batons and eating our pie and beans, the poor bass was lying in the van in two bits. Next day I got my hands on some carpenters' wood glue and managed to repair the ageing instrument.                                        
   About the middle of October Ken and the gang arrived back from their sojourn to the Balearics all looking tanned and shivering in the Derry climate. Ken thought that we were sounding great and said he was bringing a promoter from Portrush called Blundell or something to hear us. That was the last we heard of it. I heard a few interesting stories about the Zoom-Zoom in Ibiza but I'm afraid they'll have to wait 'til another day.
  Once again another year rolled inexorably to a close  with more civil rights marches and sporadic rioting in the Bogside and adjacent areas. Mind you, I'm not saying that I, nor Jackie and Danny took part in any of the more agressive activities but I must admit that occasionally we did sit down in the middle of the road, and rather optimistically sang 'We Shall not be Moved'.

                                                     End of the Line

  On Sunday 10th November we played what turned out to be our last gig in the Embassy. We had noticed that recently the Tuesday night beat sessions seemed to have been discontinued and more commercial bands were being booked. We also noticed that since January, Bobby Ferris had just given us one gig every three months instead of our usual one a month. We suspected, but couldn't be sure, that this dearth of bookings was connected to our altercation with him concerning my little sartorial indiscretion. Again it may have only been coincidence and not for that reason at all. Either way it put us on a bit of a downer.
  Following their modest chart successes with 'Black Magic Woman' back in April and 'Need your Love so Bad' in July, Fleetwood Mac now followed it up with another hit in December. This was another Peter Green penned instrumental, the classic 'Albatross' which reached the No.1 slot and stayed in the charts for twenty weeks.
  Strictly speaking, I didn't consider Albatross to be  blues but it was quite a nice tune and established Green not only as a songwriter but a composer also. As a rule we didn't play numbers that got into the charts because we felt that by doing so we were being sucked into the commercial end of the music business. We made one exception and that was 'Need Your Love so Bad' because it was a Willie Dixon number that we were playing long before Fleetwood Mac actually took it into the charts.
  Fleetwood Mac's chart success threw us into a bit of a quandary, for while on the one hand we were glad to see the blues getting a bit of publicity, on the other hand, we began to suspect that perhaps Peter Green was now beginning to think commercially. Then again maybe the band didn't have much control over the machinations of the record companies. On balance we decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and wondered what we would do if we'd a chance of getting a song into the top twenty.
  In December also, Colm took himself off to Liverpool to marry a nice English girl that he'd met on his adventures in Ibiza.
  Suddenly it was 1969 and after a few days break over Christmas and the New Year, we once more took up our position on the elevated podium of the Go-Go club. As the new year rolled on, since Ken came back from the Mediterranean, he decided to vary the nightly programme a bit by booking different bands at the weekends, including Steel Bands that he'd met while away. 
  This was fine by everybody except us of course, for unless we had some gigs at the weekends it meant that we were sitting at home on our arses. The Embassy now appeared to be booking more middle of the road bands on Sundays as well and I hadn't heard from Mr. Ferris about any more engagements. But the Embassy wasn't the only one. According to the ads. in the papers, some of the Belfast clubs were also going commercial. Strangely enough by this stage another couple of blues bands had appeared on the Derry scene including a band called 'Blues By Five.'
  Around the end of February we were approached by the manager of a well known Derry showband with a view to playing support to them for a few gigs. I have to exercise a bit of discretion here, so in order to avoid any embarrassment and for the sake of convenience, let's just call the man 'Davey' and the band 'The Fashion Showband.'
  We discussed the matter and at first didn't consider it a good idea for two reasons. First, we didn't think we would go down very well on the showband circuit and second, we weren't really keen on playing support. I suppose we were spoilt a bit because for a long time groups had been playing support to us. Then we had second thoughts and decided to accept Davey's offer because we thought it might open other doors for us. You never know who's listening.
  The first gig (in a well known ballroom not a million miles from Derry), was at the beginning of March and the Derry Journal was kind enough to give us a good write up once more. On the way to the gig we were a bit apprehensive for we weren't sure how we were going to go down. We still had memories of Dunloy and Killygordon. But as it turned out we needn't have worried.
  At the end of our set which lasted about an hour and fifteen minutes, the crowd stood and applauded for a long time. They cheered and shouted and wouldn't let us off the stage until we played another number. It was almost a standing ovation. Well it goes without saying that we were chuffed out of our heads and weren't sure what to do. I looked over at the lads in Fashion who at this stage were waiting in the wings to come on. They just shrugged so I decided to play another couple of numbers.
  After a further ten minutes the crowd once more applauded loudly but we decided to take our leave as the boys in the wings were obviously anxious to get on the stage and do their thing. Following that night, one of the best we'd ever had, not to put too fine a point on it, we were dropped like the proverbial hot potato. We just couldn't understand what had happened. Everybody could see that we went down well yet Davey didn't contact us again.
  A few weeks later we were informed by a source that we considered very reliable, that the reason we weren't asked to play support again was because of the fact that we went down too well. According to our source, one or more of the boys in Fashion objected because they considered that us going down well with the crowd reflected badly on them, so they put pressure on Davey to terminate his dealings with us.
  Well if this is true then it is very petty and immature in the extreme. It's also very unprofessional and does reflect on the band but not in the way they thought it did. For a start there was no guarantee that we would go down as well in every place we played, and as a matter of fact we ourselves suspected that it was possibly a one off. They didn't have anything to fear from us for we were a completely different proposition from a showband, and on the night in question they themselves went down extremely well with the audience.
  Finally, Davey and The Fashion Showband if you're listening, I'll just reiterate that what I've said was information given to us from someone we considered reliable at the time. If the information was false or inaccurate then accept our apologies.
  By late spring, almost as quickly as it had begun, everything seemed to be grinding to a halt. It was getting harder and harder to get gigs and it was beginning to dawn on us that once again 'the times they were a changin''. There were rumours that the Sea Eagle and Ballykelly Air Force bases would be closing in the near future and that would be another couple of good venues down the chute. 
  To add to our disappointment, in April Peter Green released another single, 'Man of the World' which again had a suspiciously pop feel to it. Co-incidentally, at the moment (Dec. 2000) this song is having a rebirth in the form of the background music for a T.V. drink/drive ad., albeit not the original version.
  The sporadic but less serious rioting continued until this time when it suddenly escalated after the R.U.C entered the home of Sammy Devenny and gave him a serious beating (one which he was to die from later). Now there was palpable fear and tension in the air as the spectre of the Apprentice Boys of Derry's march in August loomed menacingly on the horizon. But Ken and his retinue of musicians, waiters and waitresses didn't have to worry about that, for near the end of April they returned once more to the sunny climes of Ibiza for another season.
  By the summer, our gigs outside the club were very scarce and it became clear to us that the heyday of the blues was rapidly approaching a conclusion. As a consequence of this, playing in the club itself was now becoming a bit of a drag for there didn't seem to be much to look forward to. The simple fact was that nobody, with literally one or two exceptions, seemed to be booking blues bands anymore.
  One of the exceptions I mentioned was the Foyle Hotel in Moville, and our last gig there was a memorable event. As we made our way down the bumpy road to that quaint little seaside town, I think it was in mid June, the rain wasn't taking time to come down. It was a virtual deluge and the last time there was so much water around, Noah built an Ark. 
  We were driving along merrily and not too far from our destination when suddenly there was a loud bang and a hissing sound. We didn't need to be genuises to work out that we'd gotten a blowout. Well we just sat there for a while mouthing a few colourful expletives and hoping the rain would ease so we could change the wheel. By this time it was after ten and we were supposed to start playing about eleven. Ironically it was the first time  we'd had a puncture (about the only good thing we could say about the old wagon) and it had to be on a night when God decided to send another flood.
  After fifteen or twenty minutes it became clear that the rain had no intention of easing so we had no choice but to get out and change the wheel. We were on a hill and the water was running down the road in torrents. To make matters worse it was a very narrow part of the road and the flat tyre was on the side nearest the hedge. Then to add to our woes we noticed that there was a little drain running down the side of the road which was going to make it very difficult to change the wheel.
  Would you believe me if I told you that it was almost dark and we didn't have a torch? Anyhow I managed to squeeze in between the hedge and the wagon and began the operation. I was actually standing in the drain almost up to my knees in water but somehow I managed to loosen the nuts. As if the gloom wasn't enough, in addition, my long hair was plastered all around my face and I could hardly see what I was doing.
  I positioned the jack and began to pump the lever up and down when suddenly there was a crack. I felt like diving into the drain and drowning myself when I discovered that the jack was now in two bits and completely useless. Well that was that, now we were completely banjaxed. The only thing to do now was to find a phone somewhere, contact the Foyle Hotel and inform them of our sorry plight.
  Then Jackie and Danny noticed a house not too far from where we were. I walked up the lane, knocked on the door and after explaining our predicament, asked could I use the phone. The person who answered the door asked me to hold on for a moment. A couple of minutes later half a dozen burly men appeared round the side of the house and requested to be taken to the van.
  They had a torch with them and to cut a long story short, with the help of Danny and Jackie they physically lifted the van off the road while I changed the wheel. It was one helluva job but whenever it was done we thanked them profusely and continued on our way. It was now almost eleven and we should have been on the stage. We would just have to go on as we were, like drowned rats,  but by this stage we were past caring.
  After a miserable hurried half hour we finally managed to get the gear set up. The first thing I did was to explain and apologise to the crowd who were all milling about at the front of the stage. They gave us some good humoured ribbing, which, in spite of ourselves, helped us  manage a few smiles. 
  Around quarter to twelve, still soaking wet and under the steely glare of the promoter, we finally started playing and it was the most uncomfortable night's playing we'd ever done. In spite of everything, we did well with the audience and in days to come we had a good laugh about it. We agreed that our diluvian adventures were something to tell our grandchildren about.
  On the night 14th July we had a meeting in my flat to discuss the overall situation. I remember the date well, for that same day there was the sighting of a U.F.O. over Derry. This apparently, turned out to be a Sonde weather balloon and not the prelude to an alien invasion as some folks had feared.   
  We were one in our agreement that the blues boom in Ireland now seemed to be all over bar the shouting, and discussed where to go from here. We also agreed that we would not go commercial but would prefer the group to break up rather than play pop music. We concluded by deciding that we would try and contact some people who might consider managing us, a task which I did over the next week or so. But the answers were negative. We did find one or two showband managers willing to take us on but on the condition that we augment the band and go commercial.
  On our next meeting there was a general air of depression but the three of us were unaminous in our opposition to going pop. Danny and Jackie, who had obviously been discussing it, came up with the idea of going to England to seek our fortune. I pointed out to them that the blues boom in England also appeared to be coming to a close, and they suggested we get daytime jobs and play the odd gig at night. I said that if I had've been single like themselves with no wife or family depending on me, I probably would have jumped at the idea, but given my circumstances, that was something I'd have to think about. What I didn't say was that working during the day (other than in the music business) was total anathema to me. We concluded the meeting agreeing to continue playing at the club until I made up my mind. 
  In the latter part of July while I was still mulling over Danny and Jackie's proposal, Tommy Mc Menamin approached me to join the Green Angels, whose guitarist had just quit. This put me in a bit of a quandary. Besides work for Blues Etcetera outside the club being virtually non existent, there was also talk that the club itself could be coming under the hammer in the not too distant future. This would mean that both my wife and myself would be out of a job which wouldn't help our already strained relationship.
  I explained the situation to Danny and Jackie and they more or less said that they would respect my decision. I talked again to Tommy and told him that I was uncertain as to what I wanted to do, and I would need to think it over for a couple of days. Then he informed me that they were going on a ten day trip to Scotland the following week and suggested that I come along and decide when we returned. 
  I knew I couldn't vacillate forever, so on the spur of the moment I agreed and informed Danny and Jackie of my plans. As we were only playing a couple of nights a week at the club by this stage, and to be honest I got the feeling that they were both glad of the excuse not to play, they weren't too bothered. I think at that point we all suspected that that was more or less the end of Blues Etcetera.
  When I eventually met the Green Angels at a rehearsal in the bandleader's garage, Tommy introduced me to everybody. The man who ran the band and did most of the singing was Gerry Mc Clean (now deceased) from Ballymena in County Antrim. Sharing the vocals with him was John Mc Gonigle, brother of the famous 'Gackims.' The rest of the band consisted of Roy Addinell on trumpet (another ex-Johnny Quigley member), Mickey Conway from Magherfelt on tenor sax and Colm Connolly (an ex-member of the well known group, 'Sk'boo' from Belfast) on bass.

  My first few nights playing with the Green Angels felt odd. It was quite a shock going from playing the blues to songs like 'Simple Simon Says' and 'Little Green Apples.' I was like a fish out of water, for I didn't have much time to learn the current pops. On a more personal level, it was so different from playing with Blues Etcetera and I felt strangely down in the dumps. I reckoned it was a feeling akin to the one you get when you go out with a new girlfriend while still in love with the girl you've just broken up with. I'd never had that experience when I joined a new band before. But, I'd made my bed so I would just have to lie in it.
  On the twelfth August everybody's worst fears were realised, for all hell had broken loose back home. I remember sitting on a little hillock behind our hotel in the north of Scotland somewhere, listening to the wee 'trannie' and the newscaster describing how serious rioting and shooting had broken out in the Bogside area of Derry and then spread to other parts of Northern Ireland. Later that day we watched the unbelievable images on T.V.
  At one stage it was so serious that John, Tommy and myself were seriously concerned for the safety of our families and even considered abandoning the tour and catching an early boat home. Anyway we were going home a couple of days later, so we just stuck it out.
  The Derry we arrived back in was slightly different from the one we left ten days previous. It was complete chaos with burning buildings, barricades and soldiers and police everywhere. Well I thought the rioting from October '68 had been serious at times, but it was a picnic compared to what was happening now.
  As well as smoke and gas, a thick blanket of fear and apprehension hung over the whole town. What had just taken place was what in later years would become known to the whole world as 'The Battle of the Bogside.' With more than a little regret I thought to myself that although I lived smack dab in the middle of it, I had missed it. 
  For the next couple of nights along with everybody else, I was out on the barricades with our little piles of stones and bottles at the ready. It was a strange feeling, a mixture of fear and excitement as we waited for the impending invasion.
  Although it was impossible not to be pre-occupied now with the political situation and the fighting on the streets, I had to come to a decision whether to join Gerry Mc Clean's band or not. I knew by this stage that I had no intention of going to England so the decision wasn't too difficult. I didn't relish the idea of playing commercial music again, but after taking stock of my financial position, I felt I'd no choice. After giving it some more consideration I decided to throw in my lot with the Green Angels.

  I let Danny and Jackie know of my decision and they wished me the best of luck. I suggested that maybe they also could get jobs in other bands, or even a daytime job so that we could still stay together to do the odd gig. They thought the chances of that were slim and their best bet was to go to England. I suspected that Danny was beginning to feel the first twinges of youthful

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