My StepBrother was a Beatle

 

Photo by Linda

My Stepbrother was a Beatle

The McCartney Observer Winter 1982

(Taken from British "Feature" published 3-18-83)

Written by Ruth McCartney

My stepbrother Paul McCartney was overplaying an unfamiliar role but doing so in deadly earnest. his poker-voiced announcement was out of character, "Well, Sis, it's high time I got to know more about this young man you might be marrying."  The three of us were gathered in the spacious lounge at "Rembrandt, the fine old family house on Cheshire's swish Wirral peninsular, which Paul had presented to his father, Jim, 14 years earlier.  After my mother Angie became Jim's second wife in 1964, I spent the next 12 years of my unusual childhood at Rembrandt as part of the McCartney family. 

Now, it was near the end of 1977. Jim McCartney had died in the spring of the previous year. I was a fairly mature, independent but impressionable 17-year-old, and a suddenly paternal Paul was showing surprising concern for the future well-being of his teenage stepsister. I suppose he imagined he was doing his dad's duty, if only for one afternoon. Taking up the traditional stance of a protective father about to assess the true caliber of some potential son-in-law, Paul stood stiffly before the fireplace. A few feet away stood Mike, the man I thought Imight be marrying. In his arms, he was holding very awkwardly and by the wrong bits, the several-month-old baby of Paul and Linda, little James. Paul had given a confused Mike brief custody of the tiny child, maybe as some obscure sign of man-to-man goodwill. I shall never forget the comic contract between Paul's stern frown and the state of the gear he wore. His feet were bare without socks beneath big, baggy grey trousers. he was wearing battered old slippers and patterned braces. The stained sleeves of his blue lumberjack shirt were rolled up unevenly beyond each elbow. Mike waited silently for Paul to initiate a conversation. At last, he did with, "I've heard a lot about you, Mike, from Sis here. but what do you do and stuff?"  I never did marry Mike. Nor anyone else, so far. But I shall keep vivid mental pictures of that odd confrontation long after I forget the color of Mike's eyes!

I have a mass of childhood memories of my upbringing at Rembrandt in close proximity to a pop superstar. There were as few as five meetings between Jim McCartney and my prematurely widowed mother, Angie, before the couple decided to marry in November 1964.  Angie used to take me with her to Rembrandt. The lounge appeared to me to be the size of a cricket ground, and the telly looked as large as any cinema screen I'd seen. One evening, my mum carried me from my bed and I remember her whispering that this was Paul as I was passed on to a new knee. I thought to myself, "My cousin has wallpaper like you in her Wendy house!" I had seen rolls of Beatles' wallpaper before, but not the original article!

Beatlemania produced strange side effects. My mum was forbidden to send out any laundry. Jim feared fans would pinch souvenirs. the other Beatles - particularly John and George were frequent visitors. George spent a lot of time at Rembrandt teaching me a bit about Indian music when I was learning to play the piano. He drew diagrams for me, little boxes with signs in, to show the strange structure of the music. Jim seemed to be in much awe of his Beatle son. He would warn Mum, "Don't let Ruth wear that while Paul's at home." It was all down to "don't say this" and "don't risk that" when Paul was around. There was an arrival ritual to be observed so that Paul might avoid BEatles' fans still lurking near Rembrandt far into the night. He would telephone the house when he had left London, reporting his progress from a motorway service station. Two hours later, we would darken the whole place, open the garage doors, then wait quietly in an unlit kitchen until we could hear the sound of an approaching Aston Martin. Paul would kill the car lights completely at the top of the road. The navy blue vehicle would glide into the garden, and I would race out to secure the gate behind it. What a performance!

Paul's early nickname for me was Scabby because my knees were so frequently grazed after falls. "Come on then, Scabby!" he would cry.  "I'll take you for a dive." I looked forward to rides with Paul, although it meant climbing into the back of the 2-door Aston and squeezing up behind the driver's seat, sharing the cramped space with Paul's huge, old sheepdog, Martha. The car contained an amazing little record player, a revolutionary gadget in its day. This became a favorite toy of Paul's, although it destroyed some of his best records. You 'posted' your singles into the thing horizontally. Unfortunately, someone had put the player far too close to the car's heater, and this started melting his records after 10 plays!

When someone in the family wasn't too well, Paul cuold be awfully kind-hearted. My gran, Angie's mother, Edie, was fetched home by private ambulance for her 80th birthday. Paul had masses of flowers delivered. Once, when I had broken my leg, Paul bought me a lovely little Scottie, which we called Hamish. If a member of the McCartney clan was going into the hospital, Paul would say, "Get a private room. Tell them I'll settle the account." The cash for everything came out of a joint account held by Jim and Paul. Into this account came Paul's music publishing money from Northern Songs. Frequently, after a chat with Paul, Jim would pay bills for relatives. A nephew might be having the phone cut off, or a sister might need a new piece of furniture. Much later on, after Paul and Lidna had married, a financial affiars man came from London. He went through all the household expenses and told my mum that Paul and Linda wanted to know what it cost to run Rembrandt so that they could make a specific annual allowance. The joint account was closed at that stage. 

During my first three years at Rembrandt, Paul brought his actress girlfriend Jane Asher to stay for long weekends. To a small girl, watching through childhood's rose-tinted eyes, the blossoming romance between Paul and Jane looked like some long, hot summer which could never end. They used to take me with them everywhere. They appeared to share a tremendous kick out of adopting "Mummy and Daddy" roles towards me on these outings. During school holidays, and always at Christmas time, I was taken to visit them regularly at Paul's London home in St. John's Wood. There, in the large, untrimmed garden behind the house in Cavendish Avenue, Paul, and Jane helped me nandle my first proper bike. Jane shot a roll of cine film later at Rembrandt, showing the same ritual of Paul holding the back of my bike saddle and running me round the edge of the lawn. At one point, he let go, and I fell off. Paul used to take great glee in trotting out this film time after time in front of family and friends. I would have to watch myself repeatedly stamping my little foot in temper beside the fallen bike. 

Paul was mellow and gentle, much more relazed than usual, when Jane was at his side and the other Beatles were absent. Although I remember her as a fairly forceful young lady, Jane allowed Paul to make the running, which suited him. Looking back now, with the wisdom of an adult, I realise that there were constant signs of discontent. A kid of my age paid little heed at the time, but I used to overhear some fierce quarrels. Jane would finish up going off for a long, sad walk on her own. Paul would stalk out across the drive to his car, slamming the heavy door hard as he kicked down on the powerful accelerator. 

The couple's idea of pleasure during their Rembrandt weekends differed. Jane was contnet to be alone with Paul and she loved the Cheshire countryside. She was truly happy when riding a horse or collecting wildflowers. Sometimes, she and Paul would spend their whole day exploring rural lanes on the pair of mopeds Jim and Angie kept for them. Often, Paul became easily bored by such excursions. He revealed his preference for sessions with old mates. He liked to visit a New Brighton pub and join the gang late at night curried eggs back to somebody's house. It was Jane who introduced Paul to the elegance of Savile Row suits, classy shoes, and silk hankies. I think he depended on her as a guru to expand his gregarious ambitions beyond the pubs. On reflection, I reckon they were like a pair of leopards, each striving hard to change the other's spots. They failed to find a middle meeting place. But I felt awfully sorry when they split up in 1968, less than a year after their official engagement. 

In such circumstances, a child selects to forget unhappy scenes. My mind concentrated upon all the treats I had enjoyed and how Jane had taught me to knit. I went to my wardrobe and took out the clothes Paul and Jane had given me the previous Christmas. I laid the small camel coat, the kilt, the sweater, and the suede handbag across the foot of my bed. Long after the clothes became too small for me, I treasured them as my deepest emotional reminder of the happy times with Jane and Paul. And I still use that suede handbag today, 15 years later. 

We continued to see plenty of Paul after that, but, for one reason or another, the relationship grew less smooth. I cannot say whether Paul's nature changed when the Beatles began to disband. Obviously, there were new influences upon him - including those generated by the new lady in his life, the American photographer Linda Eastman, whom he had met in New York with John. The differences betwen Linda Eastman and Jane Asher were substantial and fundamental. Doctor's daughter, Jane was a typically reserved English lady with a simple ambition to pursue her acting interests within the serious theatre. Her circle did not include anyone other than Paul from the pop music business. Linda turned out to be a typically toughened New Yorker, her personality sharpened by the pressures of her chosen career. She had wide experience of show people, her close friends raging form Warren Beatty to Mike Jagger, Otis Redding to Van Morrison. 

Indirectly, the marriage of Paul and Linda on March 12, 1969, was to have much influence up on my life.