Good Morning Little School Girl

This week it’s all been about The Essex Girls (formerly known as Beyond the Beehive). I’ve been editing the book for its new publishers, adding a couple of extra scenes, re-reading it all, reminding myself about Linda and Sandra’s exploits in 1965.

In the process I was working on the chapter Good Morning Little Schoolgirl. In the Sixties, at my school we had to wear a uniform. The colour was navy blue. The rules were very strict. A beret (that I always folded in half and clipped as far back on my head as possible) had to be worn at all times on the way to and from school, as did a navy blue raincoat or duffle coat. If the weather was warm we would go home in a navy blue blazer with the school’s crest on the breast pocket, or simply the navy jumper, navy skirt and pale blue shirt and tie that we had worn all day at school.  There was a summer dress of a strange shape and flowery material, but no-one who was cool wore that.  And it all cost money. My mum knitted my V necked sweater which was seen as rather risque. As the mini-skirt became popular rules were made that skirts could be worn no more than three inches above the knee.

Backcombed, beehive hairdos were frowned on, so neat mod hair worked well, and my class mate Corinne and I tried to perfect the Cathy McGowan Cleopatra hairstyle. Corinne was more successful than me.

I would walk home from school along the Main Road till I reached the parade of shops at the bottom of Patching Hall Lane, where I would meet my best friend Chris whose school, the Blessed John Payne, as it then was, was just up the road. In the picture she is holding a guitar which she did not own or play. And then we would walk home together, planning what we would wear when we went out in the evening to the Orpheus coffee bar.

And here is the song that inspired the chapter.

Advertisements

All or Nothing

I never was a great fan of the Small Faces – I think I thought they were too…. small.  But also that they tried too hard to be mod or something. But 50 years on I can see things through a Vaseline smeared lens, and I know all the words to the songs so when old school pals suggest a trip to see All or Nothing, the new Small Faces musical, I say yes quickly and find I’m looking forward to it.

We meet for dinner before the show – apart from a recent sighting across a crowded room a few months ago I haven’t seen Gayle and Amanda for almost 50 years.  Chris I haven’t seen for as long. We have had Facebook discussions as to what we should wear and we all agree we will wear something mod. They all look fantastic and I am the party-pooper who has failed to even wear a suede coat or chisel-toed slingbacks (I blame travel and accommodation problems). It is discouraging for the others, and indeed for me, because we are expecting a moment during the show when the cry will go up ‘Is there a girl group in the house that could come and sing a few numbers with us?’ We know that even though our seats are in the balcony this will not stop us and we shall become the Goldie and the Gingerbreads of Chelmsford and possibly be offered a contract before the night is out.  I only hope that my jeans won’t hold us back.

The show is just starting its regional run, in the Chelmsford Civic Centre.  As we go in we remember various shows we have seen here – mostly with The School. I am also wondering if this is where I performed with the Chelmsford Amateur Operatic and Dramatic Society’s production of The Crucible. For some reason it is all a dim memory. Amanda and I eschew the notion of a bag of Maltesers and have ice cream.

In the first half charting the early days of the group there is a lot of R&B (as it then was). Each time they pick up their guitars and tune a string or two there is that exciting feeling that comes with being at a dance with live music – Chelmsford YMCA, the Corn Exchange, a Youth Club on one of the estates. The Steve Marriott character sings well. Every now and again he hits a note with exactly the same sound as Steve Marriott and it’s like being back there, in the Sixties, in the Orpheus, Snows, listening to the juke box. I remember the snatched minutes,in my bedroom, listening to blues on the Mike Raven show on the pirate radio station Radio 390, hearing Muddy Waters, BB King, Howlin’ Wolf, thrilled by the music and entranced by the names, Peetie Wheatstraw, Sleepy John Estes.  Now to hear Boom Boom played very loud on stage is exciting.

In the interval we have a drink, idly glance at the memorabilia on sale and watch the unusual spectacle of hundreds of men queuing for the loos. They’re all here, most of them of a certain age. The discussion centres on our memories.  Is what it is happening on stage what it was really like?  The jury is out.  We all agree that the scooter in the foyer, adorned with a trillion lamps, is not anything any of us remembers.  The scooter boys we knew never had an extra lamp. We take photos.

          

The second half covers the move through the Sixties, via Mary Quant and op-art. We all agree we love the black and white dresses, coincidentally made by Love Her Madly, someone I follow on Twitter.  Straight and simple, we are all taken back to the happy days.

And then on through to hippies.  Hippie-dom was not my personal favourite era (not enough ironing) but others among us really like it.  At the end, our moment comes, there are repeats of the songs and people in the audience are pulled up on the stage and there is dancing.  We look at each other.  This is our moment.  Maybe.  I’m still drinking my interval wine, we’ve all got bags, and then there’s our coats. No, not today.  We probably need to rehearse a bit  too.

Gradually the show comes to a halt and happy punters leave the building. It has been a great evening.

 

Beyond the Beehive – reading allowed

img_5520-2

Some of you may remember September 2016 – gloriously hot days, a bit of rain, the start of Strictly Come Dancing.  But you may also remember 2 September when I appeared at an event in Waterstone’s Covent Garden and read the first chapter of Beyond the Beehive.  It was an event organised by Novel London

covent-garden-waterstones

You may also remember that the event was videod and I know many people were anxiously waiting for the video to come out so that they could share in the joy of the occasion.  Unfortunately, and I am convinced it was not my fault, something happened so that there could be no video.  However, you can listen to me reading Chapter 1 here (this link takes you to my website, scroll down and it’s there after the blurb about the book).  Sit down with a cup of tea and a Bourbon biscuit and remember the 60s, the clothes, the perfume, the mods, the music.

The London Book Launch for Beyond the Beehive is on Friday 28 October – contact me for more details.

Before that listen to an interview on Woman’s Hour on Thursday 27 October at 10am.

Be there or be square!

Be at the Beehive

img_5520-2   Two dates for your diary

1 October – Chelmsford launch party

Mark Shelley and the Deans – Chelmsford’s greatest product (after Marconi’s radio) – will be playing at the Chelmsford launch of Beyond the Beehive.

marks-shelley-and-the-deans-2

Saturday 1 October 6.30 – 9pm The Ideas Hub

It’s going to be a great night! Numbers will be limited so please contact me here  if you would like to attend.

img_0404-2

25 October – What it was like being a teenager in the Sixties

If you can’t attend on 1 October, or if you just can’t get enough of the Sixties, I shall be speaking at the Ideas Hub in the afternoon of 25 October as part of the Chelmsford Ideas Festival – What it was like being a teenager in the Sixties.  

25 October 2016 2.30 – 4.30 Ideas Hub  For more information check here

It could get wild!

mark-shelley-the-deans-3But it probably won’t.

Look forward to seeing you there!

Rebel rouser

On the evening of 12 March 1966 Cliff Bennet played at the Chelmsford Corn Exchange.

Chelmsford Directory 005Meanwhile, that afternoon Sandra and I went to Dace’s, Chelmsford’s main record shop, to buy Lee Dorsey’s latest single and Lou Christie’s, ‘Lightnin’ Strikes’.  But while we stood in the booth with the papier mache walls, swaying to the rhythm of  ‘Get Out of My Life, Woman,’ looking at the small discreet biro messages of love and protest – Me 4 You, shit – some lads we knew knocked on the window in the door and squeezed into the booth with us.  They said we should listen to something they had just heard.  They said it was the best thing around.  So we did.  It was the Graham Bond Organisation’s ‘St James Infirmary’.

Standing in that hot, airless booth, on a grey Saturday afternoon, surrounded by the smell of Avon perfume and Old Spice after-shave, it seemed like a deep, soulful song that spoke of all the emotions and tragedy that we experienced every day.  And Sandra ended up buying the Lee Dorsey and ‘St James Infirmary’.

Listening to it now, it doesn’t speak to me in quite the same way.  Having said that, compared to the Lou Christie, it’s a classic.