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David and Paul in 2006 |
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Yet another time David and Paul were togther |
David at the Fest for Beatle Fans in Chicago giving a slide show presentation. |
I want to tell you
By David Stark
My parents took me and my brother to “Another Beatles
Christmas Show” at the Hammersmith Odeon on Monday 4th January 1965
as a special treat. My dad knew Dick
James’ accountant, which is how I think he got the tickets. We had a great view, but all I remember is
the non-stop screaming was totally deafening.
We could hardly hear the band, which isn’t surprising as Vox AC30 amps
and a 100-watt PA system don’t carry too far in big venues.
My first encounter with any of the group on a personal basis
took place the following year outside EMI Studios in Abbey Road. This was
around the time they were recording “Paperback Writer” and “Revolver” in April
1966, which coincided with the Easter holidays, I went to school in Elstree and
had a classmate who lived on Abbey Road just a couple of block away from the
studios. He was often telling me how he’d
seen the Beatles arriving, and also got his copy of the “Help” album signed by
them, which of course I was rather envious of.
So although I lived some miles away in Stanmore, I cycled all the way to
St. John’s Wood on day to meet up with my pal and wait outside the studios for
any Beatles to arrive. An expectant
crowd, mainly female, was already gathering and it looked as if we might be in
luck. I rested my bicycle against the
left-hand studio gate without thinking any more of it, and waited for something
to happen.
A short while later a bizarre sight on wheels approached the
studios from the direction of Lords cricket ground. It was a black Rolls Royce with a loudspeaker
mounted on the roof, while someone inside was loudly delivering a gibberish
commentary to all and sundry. It was
none other than John Lennon MBE, and as his limo got close to the studio
entrance I suddenly heard him say the
immortal words, “and get that fucking bike out the way!” over his personal
tannoy system. Naturally I obliged as
quickly as I could, as the car slowly
drove past us into the studio courtyard.
Lennon waltzed out and signed a few autographs before heading up the
studio steps and that was that. I’d got
off lightly for obstructing a Beatle, but had to wait a couple of years to meet
him properly.
One Saturday night in the autumn of 1970 or 1971, I was out
with my pal Vince trying to think of something to do for a laugh. We didn’t have much dosh, were dressed in
smell Afghan coats and jeans and didn’t fancy joining the usual crowd at the
Wimpy Bar by Edgeware Station. Vince had
recently got his first car, a Ford Anglia, s I came up with the idea of driving
to Hampstead to find where Ringo lived and asked him out for a pint. Yes, a ridiculous thing to even think of, but
that’s what made it more of a challenge.
I happened to know the name of Ringo’s street, but not the number of
which home.
As it happened, Compton Avenue is a small private road
opposite Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath, so we parked up and promptly rang
the bell of the first house on the left.
Who should come to the door but none other than Lulu with then-hubby
Maurice Gibb in tow. They were obviously
wondering why these two young scruffs were intruding on them, but couldn’t have
been nicer when I fibbed that we’d been invited to Ringo’s gaff but weren’t too
sure which hosue it was. “Ooh, he’s just
down the endo f the road on the right,” said Lulu, sweet as pie, ‘You can’t miss
it,” added Maurice, “it’s got a big double drive.” Success!
Could you imagine anyone, famous or not, giving that kind of information
to two total strangers these days? We
duly thanked them and headed a few yards down the road, where it was apparent
that if it was Ringo’s house (actually called Round Hill), then he was having
some kind of party, judging from the number
of cars parked n and around the drive.
Anyway we mustered up some courage, took a deep breath and
rang the bell. And who should come to
the door this time but Ringo himself. “How
can I help you lads?” he asked. “We were
just wondering if you’d like t come out for a quick drink with us.” I volunteered, feeling somewhat stupid but at
least sticking to the plan. “Er, thanks
for asking but I’m afraid we’ve got a few friends in tonight.” Ringo replied, looking somewhat puzzled by
the two young cavaliers on his doorstep.
“Thanks for the offer though. Another time maybe.” As he was saying all this, I suddenly saw
Eric Clapton walking past the back of the hallway. We then quickly said our goodbyes and Ringo
closed the door, as we headed back to the car laughing our heads off.
What on earth is going on with Paul's eyes in the second pic??!! Is that plastic surgery disaster? Or just an "off" pic?!
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