Original Version #2
From “The Mess” February 1974
By Barb Fenick
When I left London on August 12, 1969, I confidently
expected to return in a year. Hard as it
was to leave at that time, with Paul still going to EMI every day, it would
have been unbearable if I wouldn’t have already been planning to see him again
in 1970. Instead it was August 29,
1973 when I saw him next. Only fateful
circumstances, plus Becki’s intervention, and very rare luck made it
possible. It certainly was not
preplanned on my part.
Besides my well-known obsession with Paul, I am also
stricken with the Wanderlust. I must
travel or go insane. I chose the former
(no comments now) and therefore went to Europe in 1971 and 1972. Seeing Paul was always in the back of my
mind, but watching him unlock his gate rom a half a block away was as close as
I came. By then I’d been to London three
times, and my main purpose in going to Europe in 1973 was to see those parts of
southern Germany and Austria that have always fascinated my imagination. It looked as if London would not be on my
route this time. Five weeks later in
Vienna, Becki wrote to me from London that Paul and family would probably be
home by the end of the month and that I should really think about coming. There was a student charter leaving in two
days and I decided to take it. I wasn’t
able to reach Becki and Wayne from Austria, so my arrival was a surprise to
them. Circumstances were working for
them too; my sudden appearance kept them from leaving London on the 29th
as they’d planned.
That afternoon (August 28th), the three of us discussed
going to Paul’s house and actually ringing the bell (as opposed to merely
loitering on his sidewalk). The hard
part was in thinking of some intelligent opening. “Hi, we’re your fans, let us in,” just wouldn’t
wash. The right words always flee just
when you need them. Then I remembered
how in ’69 at Rich’s house, Richie and I had begun our conversation with him by
wishing Mo a happy birthday, and we’d brought a card, so that led right into
other things. Speaking of birthdays
reminded Becki that this was Mary McCartney’s birthday (Paul’s little one was
4!). Becki even had presents she’d
brought from America for the kids and we collected some of the things and set
off, not knowing what to expect. We didn’t
even know if they were back in London yet.
It was at least 8pm, when
we rounded the corner onto Cavendish Avenue.
We told ourselves that if his light was on then we’d assume he was home;
while in the pit of my stomach, I wished that we wouldn’t see the light, and be
spared the confrontation. But by the
most incredible luck it was to turn out that the McCartney’s would be at their London
home only 2 days in all of three months!
And we showed up on exactly those two days!
Half way down his block we could see that the lights were
shining in #7. Alone, I never, never
would have had the guts to ring his bell, but Wayne was with us, and he was
unanimously chosen to have the honour of disturbing the peaceful serenity of
the McC household. He ran the bell; 2 or 3 long seconds past and then a woman’s
voice came over the intercom. It was
Linda’ Wayne told her we’d come to celebrate Mary’s birthday. She laughed over that, “Mary’s birthday, huh?”
but even thought she could guess at our real motives, she seemed amused enough
by our explanation to pleasantly accept it.
Wayne added that we had birthday presents and things to give her, and
she said, Mary’s asleep, but she’d come to the gate. In a minute she was holding the gate open and
smiling, and looking as happy and friendly as I’ve ever seen her.
Heather stood beside her in a nightgown. Linda was in a cheerful mood, and said
conversationally, “We’ve just been stuffing ourselves with birthday cake.” She remembered (with a few hints) meeting Becki
and her Mom back in 1969, when she had coveted Becki’s scrapbook and
autographed it (Becki had since painstakingly enlivened it with her own art
work and was now making it a gift to them).
She didn’t remember me from 1969, saying how hard it was to remember all
the fans they’ve met. Heather chimed in,
“We remember the BAD ones,” and her mom added, “And the good ones.” She also told us that they had just come back
from Liverpool the night before, and that they were really tired, but that they
had to leave again on Thursday for Lagos, Nigeria to record. Wayne asked if there was any chance that we
could talk to Paul. About this point,
she mentioned that she would have to get back in or the kids would get out of
bed and a minute or two later little Mary and baby Stella (2 years) were
running around the yard behind their mom, giggling and squealing. I wonder what Paul was doing during this
time, with his whole family out by the gate.
Fortunately for us, Linda didn’t just brush us off with a
curt thanks for the presents, good-bye, don’t come back; instead she suggested
that we come back the next day and maybe we’d get to talk to Paul. She played it down a bit, by adding that it
might only be a quick hello-goodbye type thing, but we could come back. With the kids finally clambering around her
legs we made our goodbyes, with our thoughts already turned towards the morrow.
Linda is not the type who tells everyone to come back,
believe me! She has met enough Beatle fans to know that it would have taken an
earthquake, a flood and a holocaust combined to keep as away after almost
assuring us that we would see Paul.
We talked over our good fortune and our plans for the next day
at an 11pm dinner near Piccadilly. We were
so confident about the next day, our optimism was sky high and we literally
skipped down the streets that night.
August 29th was certainly the most hectic day of
our lives, what with changing hotels, buying presents for the kids, wrapping
them, then stopping again to buy flowers and a bottle of wine. We were carrying about as much as humanly
possible so we had to refrain from bringing a cake, a three-course dinner, or
the Taj Mahal! It was 4 o’clock before
we made it to Cavendish again.
Three girls were waiting directly across the street. So we put on a brave front and looked only
straight ahead. Don’t hesitate; just
push the bell as if we were expected.
The little pin that busted our bubble was that no one answered. What should we do? We didn’t want to be found just standing,
loitering in their driveway upon their return.
We decided to come back later, until a young neighbor girl came up to us
with Paul’s golden retriever in tow and informed us that they had all gone to
get their vaccination shots, but would be home any minute. No sooner said, than we looked up and there
was that bright red Lamborghini sports car of his racing down the quiet street,
and us in his driveway yet!
The whole family was in the car, the three girls wiggling in
the back seat. Paul bounced out of the
car with a cheery hello, looking handsome, fair, and clean shaven. It was such a shock, I can’t even remember
what he said as he unlocked the front gate and let Linda drive the car
inside. Before he could say goodbye and
close the gate, Wayne made some fast introductions, and told him how we’d been
there the night before and had some things to give them.
He looked at me with those big penetrating eyes of his and
asked me if I was Becki, and I just dumbly shook my head and pointed to Becki,
so I’m sure he was wondering, “then who the hell are you?” When he motioned us to come inside, I thought
I might be left on the sidewalk, but the three of us slipped in as he closed
the gate on the three girls (German) who were now calling his name. What a weird feeling to be on the inside.
We grouped around their car, very near to the front steps. The two little ones were chasing each other
around, and Paul was waiting to see what we had to show them what was so
important. Wayne called Heather and Mary
over to the other side of the car and privately showed them the painting Becki
had worked late in to the night to finish.
They giggled and oohed and awed, and said, “It’s mommy and daddy!” Paul was muttering under his breath, (but I
was standing right next to him) “really playing it up” and then gave into the inevitable
and invited us into the house, for the official unveiling of the painting,
saying “this better be good!” Becki
mentioned that I’d brought wine and Linda seemed enthused and just as friendly
as she’d been the night before.
All my sense were foggy and fuddled by now, here we were
walking up their front steps into their home with Paul and Linda leading the
way, trying to make polite conversation with us, and who knew what was going to
happen next?
Down the red-carpeted hallway into the dining room, where
Wayne put up the painting against a vase on a table. Paul and Linda stood back and admired it and
commented that it was a good likeness.
Then he turned to Wayne and asked him how long he’d been married and
added, “Still love her?” We seemed to
drift into the kitchen to put down all our packages and distributed them to the
kids. It was such a small kitchen and we
were all in there so close together.
With tiny blond Stella plopped in the middle of the floor unsuccessfully
trying to unwrap her package, and Mary sitting on top of the side counter
excited and busy with hers. Paul and
Heather were by the refrigerator talking quietly and then he came over next to
Mary, and less than a yard away from me.
As we watched the kids unwrap, I made small talk about the books I’d
bought for them to read on the plane, one was a pop-up book of African animals,
and they thought that was appropriate. I
demonstrated how the animals unfolded with Paul looking over my shoulder and both
exclaiming over it. Paul and Linda were
smiling at us all the time, trying to put us at ease. Heather was happy that she hadn’t been
forgotten, and I helped put the necklace with her initial on her, then I bent
down to help Stella get her package unwrapped.
Mary had unwrapped the coveralls that Becki had bought for Stella, but
Linda held them up to Mary and said, “They’ll fit Mary now, and Stella in two
years.” Paul, leaning against the
counter, asked Wayne where they were from and chatted with us very
comfortably. He turned towards me and
asked, “and who are you?” I was numb and
dumbstruck, but I blurted out, “I’m their neighbor!” as if that had anything to do with the tea in
China. Oh, for the chance to say
something more meaningful! I can only
guess that I was trying to communicate in a roundabout way that I was not just
some stranger Becki and Wayne had never seen before. It’s easy now to think of intelligent
replies, but at the time it was difficult just to retain reason enough to
remain standing on two feet.
Heather wanted to leave, and she wanted us to leave too, but
we weren’t leaving til Paul and Linda said we had to. We followed them back into the dining room,
with Linda saying how tired they were from the vaccination shots. Then Wayne spoke up and asked if we could
take some pictures before we went. “Pictures?” Paul questioned nervously (did he think we
wanted the ones on the walls?).
Photographs of us together we explained.
Paul mumbled, “No rest for the wicked,” but led us thru the back of the
house out onto the back steps. Six big
dogs jumped all over us until Paul appeared and then they all disappeared, I
know not where. Paul was still
muttering, and Wayne said, yes he realized that it can be a hassle, but we
really didn’t want to be a nuisance to them.
Paul said, yes you do. Wayne said
again, no really, we don’t want to seem a bother to them. Becki looked up at him and very freely told
him, “It means a lot to us.” That seemed
to change his perspective and he immediately softened, “yeah, it means a lot to
you,” he said very sweetly. He relaxed
and started telling us about some group he used to wait around backstage to meet
when he was a teenager in Liverpool and he reminded Linda of some similar
experiences of hers. It was as if he had
put himself in our position and remembered being a fan himself once and now he
wanted to make up for any peevishness on his part. As Wayne adjusted his camera, Paul began to
joke with Becki. He asked her if Wayne
was a good husband. I said, “Just so he’s
a good photographer!” Paul laughed, “yeah,
who cares if he’s a good husband right now…”
Linda had him by the arm, with Stella on her hip, with Becki
next to him and me next to her. For the third
picture Paul moved down a step and put his arm around Becki’s shoulder. He has a silly, fool-on-the –hill type
expression on his face. Then I moved
down to take some pictures, nervously trying to adjust all the settings on the
camera. It was such a dark overcast day,
I was afraid none of them would turn out.
I told Paul that, and he said, they’d better, or you’ll be kicked out of
the neighborhood! Luckily I got three
very nice slides of them, worth a thousand words each. The first one was blurry, with Paul and Becki
laughing so hard they moved. When we
first got the pictures back from the shop, and were able to hold reality in our
hands, we saw for the first time what they were really wearing that day.
After the photo session we went back thru the house,
noticing little things (framed photos of Heather and Mary on the wall, children’s
crayon drawings and newspaper clippings of Paul also on the wall, a fireplace
with greeting cards on top of it), impressions just flitting across our
consciousness.
In their front hallway we stood saying our goodbyes, the hardest
part of all. I thanks Linda for being so
nice and having us in, and then Becki emotionally hugged her. Paul was standing by the door, waiting, and I
could only shake his hand. Shaking hands
is so neutral, and I really wanted to show more feeling than that, but again I was
paralyzed into inactions, and the brief moment was lost. He had such a Mona Lisa smile on his face
that seemed to say, I know what you really want to do. I’ll bet he did! Becki had to follow my example and shake Paul’s
outstretched hand as well. We both
wanted to hug him or kiss him, but you have to be able to grasp opportunity in
the split second it is offered, but we hesitated and then Linda was holding his
arm again and it was too late.
They followed us out the door, and thanked us again for all
the gifts, and then waved to us from the steps as we let ourselves out the
gate. Once outside we didn’t know
whether to cry or jump for joy. It was a
strange happy-sad feeling.
The parts of that day that I have been able to put into
words are as real as the memories themselves, but they are of a different
substance and the photographs lend a tangible reality to what otherwise could
fade into a dream.
Wow! That's Barb back in 74! Amazing!!!!!
ReplyDeleteAwesome story, really is !
ReplyDelete