I found this story online here http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/south-australia/chantals-brush-with-the-beatles/story-e6frea83-1225979491550 I added the photo because it is Paul meeting fans in Adelaide Australila in 1964
IT was 1964, the Beatles were coming to town and at Adelaide Girls' High we all knew about it.
The Beatles were the big thing. Everybody had a Beatles uniform - we wore duffle coats.
We used to go down to the Beat Basement in Rundle Street, put on the jukebox and listen to `I Want to Hold Your Hand', `Please, Please Me' and `She Loves You' and all that.
School told us we were not getting half the day off to see them and we were to attend school unless seriously ill and we had a note from our parents.
But my parents were not going to let me see the concert.
I didn't have the money, and I wasn't allowed out.
So I went to school in the morning, and at morning recess - the Beatles hadn't quite arrived - I checked out of class, changed into my duffle coat, and went to the Adelaide Town Hall.
There we chanted in unison: `We love you Beatles. Oh, yes we do. We don't like anyone like we love you.'
remember the drone of it was unbelievable.
We knew they were staying at the South Australian Hotel on North Terrace, so everybody was manoeuvring to walk down there afterwards.
In the bedlam a journalist came up and said, `What do you think of the Beatles coming?'
I piped up and said, `We are here without our school knowing because my school's a prison.'
I didn't know who I was talking to. They took us up to the The Advertiser building and interviewed us - we thought the Beatles might see it.
For the rest of the day I went to the hotel and hung out opposite on the Parliament steps, screaming, screaming, screaming. We stayed there until school finished, when I had to catch the bus home with my sister.
I got to the bus stop and my sister said, `My dear girl. You are in serious trouble.'
Why?', I asked.
`Mum went home and saw your clothes missing and came to the school. You weren't at school. When you go home, you've had it,' she said.
So that was it.
I thought about running away. I wasn't going home.
I got a friend who lived in North Adelaide to help out.
I said to her, `I've got to come with you. My parents are going to kill me, and if you don't take me, I'll stand in front of a bus.'
In the two or three hours it took my parents to find me, I was planning where I was going to go: Queensland, Perth.
I was 14.
Then there was a sudden knock on the door.
Standing there were my mother, father and the Greek Orthodox priest.
They took me home and I sat at the family table while my three uncles lectured me. My father lectured me. Everybody lectured me. I didn't say a word.
My father said in his Greek accent, `Who are these insects? These Beat-less?"
I went to bed that night heart-broken. The next day I thought, `I'm going to teach everybody a lesson.'
My parents went to do the Saturday shopping and while they were out, I thought, `I'll do myself in.' Or pretend to - I didn't really want to.
I found some back elixir, camphor-smelling stuff called ligament ointment they used to rub on sore muscles. It stank to high heaven. I made myself a cup of coffee, just put a couple of drops in and made sure all my mouth smelled.
Anyway, the thing made me start to throw up. And then I started saying `Oh, I'm going to die!'
My uncle threw me in the car and drove to the Royal Adelaide Hospital, waving a white handkerchief so he could drive fast.
My mother tried unsuccessfully to make me vomit.
They took me into emergency, strapped me on a bed, and then they stuck this tube down my throat.
Some psychologist came in to see me and I just gave him the silent treatment. For about two hours he tried to coax me to talk.
My father and mother were crying, and the psychologist said to me, `Look, you've got to start to think about growing up. And you're hurting your parents.'
I said he didn't understand what it was like to be a Greek girl.
They discharged me from the hospital and I was home for the weekend.
On Monday, I went to school, but what I didn't know was on the front page of The Advertiser were my quotes that `my school is a prison.'
There were no names but I got suspended for a week, and was stripped of my House vice-captaincy.
The Headmistress actually came to the house during the week to ask me what was going on with me.
And I said to her, `I hate you. I just love the Beatles. And I don't care what all of you say, one day I am going to meet the Beatles, and there's nothing you can do about it.'
Fast forward to 1969 - I arrived in London on my 19th birthday.
I was staying with Bruce Welsh from The Shadows and his girlfriend Olivia Newton-John.
One day Bruce and I bumped into John Lennon and Yoko Ono.
John goes up to Bruce and says, `Hello, Bruce, how are ya?'.
He introduced me. I was like jelly.
John was just very nice and polite - he could have even ignored me, but he didn't.
He said, `Hello, how are you?' , we shook hands.
I remember he had a white Rolls Royce with an aerial - now, that was the most! I'd never seen one that had a television in the car. I mean, in 1969 that was way beyond anything you'd ever imagine.
Later that year I got a job at the Revolution Club - it was the Beatles' club, named after their song `Revolution'.
It was a very, very posh, ornate Renaissance type of club. It had a balcony at the top, a round dance floor, the mirror disco balls. It was membership only, and it was mainly all famous clientele.
I met just about all of the famous people from the `60s there - from Tom Jones to Kenny Rogers to Elton John to the Rolling Stones and The Who. I heard Elton do his first album release at the Revolution. Every band that was around at the time was there.
The Beatles did not come in every night. Paul McCartney never came. It was John Lennon and Yoko mainly that would come in.
I wasn't allowed to serve them because I was a junior waitress, but I'd walk past and clean a glass or something because I was such a fan.
As I entered the club one night I noticed Ian `Molly' Meldrum sitting outside.
When he learned I worked in the Revolution he just about kissed my feet.
"Ca, ca, ca, can you ga, ga, ga, get me in ?" he stammered.
"I've been waiting for days."
Buzz and Giraffe, the two doormen, were Aussies. So I went in, and I asked them if Molly could come in. `Oh, all right, Chunky, just for you,' they said - Chunky was a nickname John had given me.
So Molly came in, and he had a drink.
He was standing near the cashier and chatting nervously, waiting.
I got the head waitress to go and ask Beatles' manager Tony Bramwell if Molly could meet the band and they were introduced. Molly was carrying a drink and as he approached the table he fell over and spilt the drink on John Lennon. What a clutz!
John just laughed and then invited him to sit down. And I think from that day, they became the best of friends.
John was always nice. When I served him, he would always say `Thank you.' and he didn't have an attitude.
I met George and Ringo too, but that club was so full of famous people after a while it was just like normal. I mean you saw Rod Stewart, you saw Small Faces, you saw Wilson Pickett, Jose Feliciano. The resident band was Hot Chocolate. I remember George Harrison's `My Sweet Lord' was always playing at the club.
I think because of that club, I was never impressed by fame.
But I did fulfil my dream of meeting the Beatles.
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