To a stirring soundtrack of Bonnie Tyler, Jennifer Rush and Colonel Abrams I left Middle school with my big blonde mullet and headed off to Bedlingtonshire high school which was a short walk from our house just beyond a triangle of beloved local landmarks The Clayton Corner (recently graced by Michael Portillo), the budge (a bus shelter where teens would hang out) and Lucifer’s nightclub (aka the Claggy Mat). The school’s location was perfect for me as it meant I could sometimes come home for lunch and catch a bit of Australian wartime soap opera The Sullivans on tv. Legendary tales loomed large of new pupils having their heads shoved down the toilet and riots in which angry pupils erupted onto the streets nearby and a local lass jumped on top of a car protesting goodness knows what - perhaps the miners strike, which was severely impacting the area, or the demonetisation of the halfpenny that had doubled the price of cheap sweets overnight. I was put into Simonside house with Mr Priestley at the helm, a gregarious character with snowy white hair who later got involved in local politics, and I settled in fairly well enjoying English, Maths and most surprisingly Pottery. Drama with Mr Marley and English with Mr Gray were so much fun. I had a lot of laughs at high school, fuelled by quotes from the Viz and a shared love of reciting lines from shows like Blackadder and The Young Ones. My classmates Lee Curtis, Philip Cheeseman and Lisa Davison still rank as three of the naturally funniest people I’ve ever known. At home me and my brother howled with laughter watching and re-watching The Pink Panther films and Airplane I and II - do you know what it’s like to laugh like that? Yes, yes I do.
While most of my memories are full of laughter and fun, there were tough times too. We sadly lost my grandad to cancer in the mid-80’s and this, along with the sudden death of a friend’s grandfather in a road accident, was the first time I was forced to think about death as a reality rather than an abstract concept. In a way this made laughter and friendship all the more vital as I found the loss and the proximity of death a difficult thing to process - that people who have always been there and who you take for granted can simply disappear from your life. Family, friendship, comedy, music, theatre - these are the things that still keep me going through the good times and the not so good.
Fragrances, like our hairstyles, were loud statements of strength and power. Poison was very popular - the name said it all, it was so toxic and pungent a smell. Coconut perfume from The Body Shop was a favourite of mine which lingered heavily in the air for days. LouLou, Insignia, Kouros, Obsession … the glamour these exotic odours brought with them were from a world of shoulder pads, supermodels and big city lights a million miles from Northumberland. In Simonside house I recall a very glamorous couple of girls with impressive hair a year above me who had a ring of confidence about them, one of whom was Jayne Middlemiss. Jayne went on to have a high profile and successful media career doing the kind of work I thought I was destined to do - interviewing pop stars and seeming to having a laugh mainly - however, I went instead with a heady mix of accountancy and being a part time Club organist. All the while I had an urge to be creative, always doodling with jingles, poems and songs for fun, then a couple of years ago I wrote some comedy for BBC Radio Newcastle and Jayne read the credits out at the end funnily enough, reading my name incorrectly as Lynne Parker which made me smile.
But back to the 80’s … I’d been taking keyboard lessons for a while with the Dick Slaughter School of Music in Ashington and we regularly took part in concerts at local old folks’ homes, often with the word “Green” incorporated in their name presumably to help paint a peaceful pastoral picture of old age. The audiences were always very welcoming as we played them a diverse range of songs from Black and White Rag (snooker theme) and Ravel’s Bolero (Torvill and Dean version) to music hall medleys of We’re Gonna Hang Out The Washing On the Siegfried Line and Two Lovely Black Eyes. Domestic violence had never been so expressively interpreted through the medium of the electronic keyboard. We learned to back singers, with Peggy Riddell, a gorgeous lady with a beautiful soprano voice, and Tommy Nesbitt, half of the duo Millican and Nesbitt who had a hit in the 60’s with Vaya Con Dios. I made my professional debut at Bedlington Community Centre around this time receiving £10 for rattling a few tunes out as part of the support of a show featuring Bobby Thompson and Maxi & Mitch, two excellent acts and while I probably didn’t appreciate their sheer class at the time (too busy running to the loo with my nerves and worrying about the opening notes to Tico Tico) I look back on this as a fantastic opportunity. I was recently able to recreate the photo of myself with Maxi & Mitch more than thirty years later at a Sunday for Sammy gig, which I was made up about. Other highlights include being MD for Billy Fane’s Lambton Worm Pantomimes, backing Ann Shelton at The Mayfair on the revolving stage and appearing on the same bill as Jarra Elvis. But those memories can wait until another day - today is my 50th birthday and I’m away to listen to some Blondie, Kate Bush, Boomtown Rats and Adam Ant with my hairbrush microphone.
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