My first dalliance with the capital was the day my mum took me to my choir school audition. I think it was a Wednesday or Thursday. She’d told my school I was sick and we got the train down. I’d been brave stepping out into the traffic to hail a cab like I’d seen in the films. It’d been a strange day. I was auditioned by a man (DL) who had made me feel very relaxed and comfortable. I sang my hymn and he got me to sit on his knee. Didn’t think much of it – had never happened to me before. He was much later on convicted of indecently assaulting boys at a couple of schools.
The rest of a day was a bit of a blur. I recall mum asking where we could get some lunch and the prim and proper school secretary said there was a newly opened American restaurant opposite the Cathedral. We went in for a hamburger and chips and left It was quite glitzy and we were served very quickly. My 1st McDonald’s c 1980. On the way back, we went past my school in the taxi and my mum told me to crouch down so I wasn’t seen.
I got the letter asking me to start after the Easter holidays 1981. So I spent some time with kids who were a year older than me. Then I moved back a year to fit with my true peers.
Opportunity and privilege were the words at the heart of my stay. My dad was obviously incredibly proud, telling everyone he could. I’d had a picture taken for the Birmingham Evening Mail (“The Voice of an Angel”). With a partial address printed, my sister got a dodgy call off the back of it (GDPR and safeguarding?). One of his friends stopped me on holiday and he and asked me what it was like to sing at Charles and Di’s wedding. Confused, I said it was great! Guilt obviously followed after he went away thinking I’d done it, however that Christmas we were taken to Guildford for a Carol Service. I was surprised when we processed in to see a TV camera. Then when we’d got to our places Charles and Di arrived at their seats. To say I was surprised (and relieved my lie to Bobby Wynne had been exonerated) would be tame in comparison to my mum in her living room in Brum seeing my mug walking past the ITN news reporting on the carol service.
Other highlights included: the visit of Pope John Paul II (1st mass and Wembley Stadium in the royal box); a gig in Poitiers, France having had a picture taken with the captain of the Herald of Free Enterprise (terrible tragedy happened shortly after) when my mate and I had got lost on board. Bonus. A mass in Köln,Germany for an Archbishop’s anniversary, where we sat on a stage motionless for over 2 hours during speeches in German before we delivered our number.(copious amounts of apfelsaft followed and I bought a Dada car and some 4711 Cologne for my mum): a tour of Holland in December 1983 – brass monkey weather – stayed in the Cok International Hotel in Amsterdam (NOT what you’re thinking, but, its USP was a couple of cockerels in the courtyard which woke every bastard person in the place at some godawful time in the morning); various concerts around London and the South East; singing for the Lady Mayoress of Westminster (before financial scandals) as well as the Speaker of the House when we visited Parliament, sang in his place and had a great tour: the tour of the USA in 1985 (later post will deal with this). To coin a phrase, it was the best of times . . .
. . . And it was the worst of times. I was incredibly homesick. I would go into a state of shock and denial as we got close to London on the M1 whenever I was dropped off. I would cry and plead not to leave my mum, which I think contributed greatly to her mental health problems. There was always an element of adventure – opportunities arose to go to free concerts in the evenings at the Festival Hall or Albert Hall, announcements of concerts, TV programmes, tours and recording of albums was always exciting. Late night recording session in church with a magic 15 seconds of silence at the end of a take as the echoes petered out down the church and we’d hold our breath hoping there wouldn’t be a siren.
This was all sitting alongside the long nights laying awake thinking of how alone I was. The other thing that occupied my mind was London being in danger. There was an awful lot of publicity at the time about Central London flooding, and the London Thames Barrier was subsequently opened. Also there was nuclear war. The nights I contemplated being at the epi-centre of a nuclear bomb drop. These were the days of CND, Frankie’s Two Tribes and Cold war dying throes. When the wind blows by Raymond Brigg showed the effect of a Nuclear blast / Winter on people and it stuck with me. In reality I wouldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds and instantly vaporised, but to a child it worried me. There was definitely a tranquility to being in the centre of the city early in the morning or very late at night the distance we were away from Victoria.
My parents visited me whenever they could. My dad would finish work and lock up by 12.30 and they’d tear up the M1 for close to 2pm for visiting. Usually they came every fortnight and take me out to ‘see the sights’ and ply me with crisps and sweets that I wasn’t allowed. By 2 on a Saturday I’d have done 2 instrument practices, a choir rehearsal, sang Mass, had our early morning run and done my homework. Routine was handed to me on a plate and I have kept my reliance on it as much as I could to this day. I see it as my support crutch, as much as my constraints which stop me from freestyling in life. The guilt I feel for causing my parents to sacrifice their weekends is huge. I would make demands over where we’d go, what they’d buy me, and what they must bring up. Business was never very easy for both of them and it would have caused a strain on their finances and relationship. And my sister was witnessing all of this. There was the factor of visiting London frequently which I think would’ve been cool in a small way, but then there was the crap travelling. M1 with my mum smoking there and back – Newport Pagnell services on Christmas Day and Easter Sunday. She never complained – even when the back window of the car shattered one journey and she had to travel back to rum with a coat over her head surrounded by glass. They all deserved a bloody medal. No tablets, phones,etc. Just a Walkman or the crap radio. My parents were spoken to by the Headteacher who observed my behaviours and advised them to cut back on the visits. It wasn’t healthy for either party.
I have a hundred and one more stories about my time in London, as well as the times I have returned since. But that’s enough for now.
As I said before “it was the best of times and the worst of times”. It was a bustling metropolis that always offered an escapism through the parks, Church services and recordings, and those precious visits from my family. As a 7 year old, I was frightened by a lot, but as a 50 year old I don’t love the place, but I appreciate it. We’ve got a history. I won’t deny it though. From having that 1st McDonald’s to eating Caviar at St James’ Palace with the Duchess of Kent, it wasn’t such a bad gig.