Tag: writing

1963 The Beatles in Bradford

1963  age 17

For ages I’ve been telling people that I saw the Beatles at the Bradford Gaumont in 1964. This isn’t true; I saw them on the 21st of December 1963. It appears that this was the second time they had played in Bradford in 1963. They returned once more in October 1964, but I have no recollection of that visit.

Listening to music and learning about the ‘pop stars’ of the day, was a very different experience in 1963 compared to today. I first heard about the Beatles because they had a radio programme  at 5 o’clock every Tuesday evening on what was then the BBC Light Programme. This was really the beginning of their growth in popularity. Their first record, ‘Love Me Do’, was not a hit but the second one, ‘Please Please Me’ went straight to Number One and from then on any Beatles’ record went straight to the top of the Hit Parade.

I used to enjoy watching the popular music programmes which were on TV: ‘Top of the Pops’, ‘Six Five Special’, ‘Oh Boy’ and my favourite, ‘Ready, Steady, Go’.  It wasn’t possible to record programmes in those days and I can remember rushing home from Leeds, where I had spent the afternoon, hoping I would be in time to see the Beatles on a programme the name of which I’ve forgotten, one Saturday. 

The first record player I ever owned was an old wind up gramophone which only played 78 rpm records. When I was about 15 my auntie passed on an electric record player which had belonged to one of my cousins. On this I could play 45 rpms  and Long Play records. My mum wouldn’t let me buy any LPs but I did acquire quite a few singles and some Extended Plays  which contain four songs. I had a few Beatles EPs and I used to play them in the kitchen when nobody else was around. This wasn’t too bad for Beatles songs because the adults quite liked them but it became a real issue when I got into Bob Dylan when I absolutely had to be on my own to listen to him. That’s another story

In 1963, I was a student at Bradford Technical College, studying for  GCE ‘O’ Levels. I had been at Temple Bank school from the ages of 5 to 16. There is much more about my time at Temple Bank elsewhere. My school did not offer GCE exams at that time which is why I went to BTC.  We had the majority of our classes in the city  centre on Drewton Street which no longer exists. It was an old building and I think I heard that it had originally been Saint Bede’s Grammar School.

Our course was a two year one. Most of the students were from secondary modern schools which did not offer GCE and there were a few pupils from private schools who had failed their exams. We had to take six subjects. I chose English Language, English Literature, Spanish, Geography, Religious Knowledge and Biology.

A friend from my Spanish class and myself decided we wanted to go to see the Beatles. At that time the teenage girls in Britain were in the throes of Beatlemania. It was known that everywhere the group went they were mobbed by excited fans.  Buying a ticket to one of their concerts was quite an endeavour. Sue and I were not planning to go together; she was going with her friends and I was going with one of mine, but we did meet up to go and buy the tickets.

We had to go to the Gaumont on one Sunday evening.  The box office would open at 6 pm and the tickets would be sold on a first come first serve basis.  This meant turning up early.  We gathered outside the Gaumont and the queue stretched right around the building and goodness knows how far up Sunbridge Road. It was cold and dark and I didn’t realise how worried my mum was about my coming into town to buy the tickets. Fortunately, my sister‘s fiance had a van and my mum persuaded him to come and pick me up when it was getting late. He arrived around 10 or even later, we were approaching the box office but it was obvious that the tickets were running out. I bought two tickets one for myself and one for my friend whom I had persuaded to come with me. I felt relieved when Fred appeared and came with us to the ticket office. We bought our tickets and one of the staff members insisted that we put them away safely before going out into the crowd. I think the tickets cost 12 shillings and six pence.

The friend I went to the concert with, Kathleen, lived near us on the new Allerton council estate and we went to the same church. We became friends because her sister was in the church choir as was I and that’s how we met. To be honest we were both a bit strange. Neither of us had many other friends and we were really on the fringes of groups. We both thought we were better than everybody else. Many years later at her funeral her brother told me that he had to persuade her to go to the Beatles concert. I was absolutely enthusiastic about it but I think for her it was a bit too much like doing what everybody else was doing. 

During the concert, especially when the Beatles came on stage, there was a lot of hysterical screaming which was quite common at Beatles concerts then. Kathleen and I refused to scream; we were far too cool, although we did actually stand on the seats so that we could get a better view.

People young and old are still impressed when I say I went to see the Beatles. One day, though, someone will say, “Who were the Beatles?” and I’ll stop telling the story.

1947

My mum used to tell the story of her brother, Billy, who insisted that he was a year younger than everybody said he was. His reasoning was that during the first year of his life he was only 0. I can understand his thinking, perhaps it is a family trait. When I thought about writing about the first year of my life I was going to call it 1946 but I was born in the middle of November 1946 and most of the first year of my life was in 1947 so I’ll stick to that.  Uncle Billy would understand.

The winter of 1947 is famous for being extremely harsh. I was blissfully unaware of this, of course, as I was of any hardship that the people of Bradford were suffering a year or so after the end of World War II. I was unaware also that I had a mum, a dad and an older sister. The fact that my father had served throughout the war on an aircraft carrier and had experienced many life threatening dangers as the ship sailed thousands of miles around the world, was completely unknown to me in  1947.

Let’s name my family. Parents, Richard and Alice Clarkson, older sister, Moira. When I was born I believe it was my sister, six years old, who named me. She probably didn’t know but the name Susan was the most popular that year. Hence there are many women of my age who are called Susan or Sue or even Susie. I always felt somewhat disappointed that my name was so common and, ironically, my sister really disliked her own name because nobody else was called Moira. It was only in a conversation last year that we discovered that she always thought our mum had given her that name but in fact my mum told me that it was my dad. He had been doing some painting and decorating in a house and the family had a little girl called Moira who apparently was very sweet. He suggested the name to my mother. This issue of our names is quite interesting because I think Moira always wanted to fit in with everybody else whereas I always wanted to be different. 

My parents were married in 1936.  My mum was from an Irish family of mill workers. She grew up  ‘back o’t’ mill’ in the shadow of Lister’s Mill.

As far as I can make out my dad is from a Yorkshire family of mill workers. He was born in the magnificently named Tumbling Hill Street, very near the centre of Bradford. The university is now built on Tumbling Hill Street and I find that quite poignant. My dad, like many people in the early 20th century, was very clever but was unable to go on to further education because of the finances of the family.

My dad was born in 1908 and my mum in 1912. I know  World War I had an effect on both families but I have not yet found out what that might be. I know that my father’s parents, Emily and Bennett, married before either of them was 20 so my dad had really young parents. On the other hand my mum’s parents were older when she was born .She was the youngest of five. Her mother, Annie Cannon, died of Spanish flu in 1916. Her father Edward Cannon – I think they called him Teddy – died before my mum married.

I am at present finding out more about my family history through the Ancestry website.  Sifting through the regular emails from Ancestry containing hints about my relatives, I am becoming familiar with the names of my ancestors.  As well as my parents and grandparents, I am getting to know my great grandparents; Jane and James Clark, Richard and Elizabeth Clarkson, Solomon and Mary Longbottom and Michael Cannon and  his wife, my, as yet, unknown great grandmother from Barnsley. 

I don’t have family of my own although I have nephews, and niece, great nephews, great nieces and even three great great nephews and a great great niece. This is why I like to name and muse about my ancestors as they appear in the story of our family.   I have even discovered two great great great grandfathers who were born in the 18th century, Simon Clarkson and Stephen Longbottom. The search continues…

Back to the winter of 1947. Again I was completely unaware that I was born with a disability. At first they thought I was blind as my eyes had not formed properly but in fact I did have some vision in my right eye which has served me well over the years. It was an extremely difficult time for my mother. Not only was I born with poor eyesight and other health issues, but my dad was in hospital suffering, I think, from his first heart attack at the age of 38.  Sadly, our dad died in 1952.

Despite the harsh winter, the summer of 1947 was warm and sunny, at least if a little group of photographs taken in our front garden are anything to go by. My dad must have taken the photos because he isn’t in any of them. There is one with my mum sitting on the grass and holding a ball in front of me, I think to see if I was able to see and reach for it, and there are two with me and my sister. My favourite is one where I am in a small chair and Moira is standing behind me.  She is beaming, standing very straight with lovely blonde curls and in what I assume to be a very pretty frock. I am only a few months old and I seem to be intent on gazing at my foot. I think by that time they  knew I wasn’t blind. Apparently, my dad used to sit in front of me and roll a ball to see if I would see it coming. It seems that I was able to reach for the ball if it was on my right side but not on my left. I’ve also been told that my dad noticed that when I started to crawl I would knock into things on my left side, the side with the sightless eye.

In the garden on that sunny day with my sister, I could certainly see my foot and found it most interesting.

Here is a poem I wrote about this photo

Summer 1947

Baby

In the garden

Big sister, pretty dress,

Curly blonde hair, smiling sweetly,

Happy.

She looks

At her father

As he takes the photo

Of his two little girls, so soon 

Bereft.

He leaves

Few memories,

But precious nonetheless,

Of joyful days and bitter loss  

Hearts rent.