On Tour with the Beatles (By Tony Barrow 1965)

 

On Tour With the Beatles

By Tony Barrow

Liverpool Echo

December 11, 1965

    During the course of their nine-day tour, The Beatles performed 18 concerts to a total of something like 50,000 faithful fans.

     Not being too keen on trains and having a definite dislike for air travel, they have driven from city to city in an impressive black Austin Princess whose windows have been darkened so that its passengers peer out upon a colorless twilight world, whatever the time of day.

     Very seldom is it until he is in his bed and behind a latch door does a Beatle finds privacy. Not that John, George, Paul, and Ringo seek solitude. They like some people and some noise about them, but a great many people prolong their stay in the presence of the Beatles until any less extraordinary mortals would explode with impatience. 

    Picture this typical dressing room scene: A hefty backstage employee dressed in an oversized gray jersey enters for the umpteenth time.

 Gray jersey:  More tea, lads? Anyone want another cuppa? 

A Beatle: I've had four.

 Another Beatle:  No Thanks.

 Gray jersey: How about you, Ringo?

Ringo: No.  None of us wants more tea. Thanks.

Gray jersey: I'll shift the cups then.

A Beatle: You do that.

Gray jersey:  I'll tell you what. Just before I do that, can I get you all to sign some more pictures for me?

     So many acts of superficial kindness on the part of those who find themselves in the proximity of a Beatle have secondary and more selfish motives. 

    They put up with plenty these patient Beatles. Above all, they put up with an endless battery of constantly repeated questions and still managed to offer smile-making answers.

 Reporter:  I believe your guitar fell off the back of your car. 

George: Yes, that's right, on the way up from London.

 Reporter: Did it get smashed?

 George: Yes, it got smashed. It was in pieces. It looked as though 10 lorries had run over it. 

Reporter: Will you be able to use it again?

George: Well....

 John:  No, he won't. It's out of tune.

     Now you see, then there are all the relatives that never are. At every theater, you'll find at least one cunning fan who will try to get close to a Beatle by claiming to be one of the family. 

 Stage doorkeeper:  Can I show in your cousin Julie, Ringo?

 Ringo, I haven't got a cousin named Julie.

 Stage manager: I've got your cousin, Diana, in the wings, waiting to see you. Paul.

 Paul: I haven't got a cousin, Diana.

    Of course, there are on the rare occasions, which tend to baffle the more experienced backstage.

Stage door keeper:  Hey, John, I know this is daft, but you haven't got a cousin called Stanley, have you? 

John:  Yes, of course I have! Is he here? Show him in!

    Some Beatle People fancy their chances of reaching their favorite by telephone. Usually, their attempts at voice disguise are more amusing. In Glasgow, a little Lassie with a heavy local accent tried to persuade a Beatle aide that she was Mrs. Cynthia Lennon calling from Surrey. In London, a youngster with a magnificent cockney accent assured the theater switchboard that she was Freda Kelly, The Beatles  Liverpool fan club secretary. An average of a dozen Miss Boyds, Miss Ashers, and the like call Stage Door numbers during the course of a given evening on tour. 

    At any rate, Beatles do not live splendidly wild lives. Seldom, if ever, do they go out on the town. After a pair of shows, they retire to their hotel and enjoy an ample meal in their rooms, talk a while amongst themselves or with close friends, and disappear to their beds around three o'clock.  They adore sleep and hate to be brought from their slumber before lunchtime, unless morning departure for the next destination is essential. They eat very little at the start of their day, and are usually on the road less than an hour after they are summoned from bed by a road manager. 

    In their dressing rooms, you will always find a television set, and if there is a Beatle in the room the set will be switched on. They love watching things like The Man from U.N.C.L.E. or The Avengers, but constant interruptions prevent them from watching anything from start to finish.

     One of the strange things I discovered on tour with The Beatles was that the majority of security campaigns that surround their movements are laid on without their knowledge and certainly not at their request. The cordons of police outside and the small armies of he-men stretched across the front of the orchestra stalls are there at the instigation of constabulary officials and/or the theater manager. Sometimes, from the boys' point of view, they do their jobs too effectively. The Beatles like to see something of their fans. They dislike to see an audience which is too thoroughly disciplined, or a street crowd held back as such long range that they can't even wave or be waved at. 

    As John puts it, "We see too much of some people and not enough of others," but I didn't ask him to be more specific. 

    Now, 50,000 Beatle People, after it began, the 1965 tour is over, and the boys are number one on the charts with "We Can Work It Out" and "Day Tripper."  50,000 Beatle People and four enthusiastic entertainers think it has all been worthwhile, and so do I.