Twelve Quid a Night

By Brian Calvert and Tony Foster

It is the 1950’s and rock and roll is spreading over the world, even in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, England - an old coal mining town noted for its beautiful cathedral and Wakefield Trinity – its Rugby League football team.
David is a musical genius though he's not fully aware of it. He’s also a social misfit, close to being on the Autism Spectrum. He runs his own rock and roll band doing gigs in pubs and working men's clubs around Yorkshire. What's different about him, and his band - The Dawnbreakers, is that they sound exactly like the original American recordings by Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, the Coasters, etc. Without any formal musical education, David manages to hear all the different parts played by the world's top artists and bands and reproduce them; teaching the members of the Dawnbreakers.
The band goes from strength to strength, fueled always by David’s relentless drive for musical perfection. He takes on new members – a vocalist Doug and rhythm guitarist Alan. Doug has a much more gregarious nature and wants to be an entertainer. Alan is content to learn at the master’s feet. Tension builds as Doug tries to change the band into more of an entertainment act – resisted by David, still tied to musical perfection
David gets an offer from one of England’s major recording studios to be, in effect, their musical director for new bands that are coming on the scene fast and furious. While they might have a good-looking singer with long hair and a lip-curl, some of them don’t have much musical talent. David’s job is to arrange and provide backings for them and make them sound professional on their recordings. It’s a major move for him and his wife Louise – to the big smoke – to London. Practically unheard of for a young fellow from Wakefield. It’s the start of session musicians. The same is happening in America.
He leaves the Dawnbreakers and starts his new position. He creates fabulous backings for the recordings of a new up-and-coming band called The Bugs who make the big time in the UK. In a period helping them out when their lead guitarist is injured, he goes on tour with them and meets his idol – Chuck Berry, playing with the Bugs as Chuck’s backing band.
The pressures of the job and the touring get to him over time and he starts doing drugs.
He misses the birth of his son while he’s away and, in a depressed state, tries to kill himself. Thankfully he is rescued, and this begins a healing process, aided by his wife Louise.
The formative years of the band members are explored, including life growing up in the 1950’s; teenage life in Yorkshire; feeble attempts at sex; performing in pubs and clubs; the early ‘skiffle’ days; competing in the UK national talent competitions; song writing; meeting Chuck Berry; David’s move to Australia; Doug’s success as a major UK entertainer with his own national TV show and David’s reconciliation with the band members he dumped long ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Calvert
• Release date: Feb 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463160176

Book preview

TWELVE QUID A NIGHT

Brian Calvert and Tony Foster

Copyright © 2019 Brian Calvert and Tony Foster

All rights reserved.

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Dedicated to all those young guitarists who started in the 1950's, some of whom went on to be greats, others who could have. And remembering, with great affection, George Eyre.

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

FOREWORD

The 1950's was a time when it seemed that every other teenage boy played the guitar, was learning to play, or knew someone who played. There were no instructional video or audio tapes, indeed, video tape players had not been invented, and the only audio tape was reel-to-reel; used only by the hi-fi gurus. You were on your own with a chord book, a tuning fork, and your ears. God help you if you didn't have a good ear. If you could afford lessons, you probably wasted your money, because it was odds-on you got a big band-style teacher, who wanted you to play 9ths, 13ths, and diminished chords, while all you wanted to do was to be able to play your favourite Chuck Berry lick. It probably took you a month to figure out the licks and solos from one 78 record, but when you had, the whole world knew, because you played them non-stop, forever.

The authors, both born in 1940, were teenagers in 1955 when rock and roll music burst forth onto the world. They were hooked immediately, and still are. They performed in various groups in the late 1950's and early 60's. Brian dropped out in 1962 to pursue his career in computing, then picked up his Fender Telecaster again over 25 years later in 1988, and plays for his own amusement, recording both guitar and orchestral work in his home studio. Tony became a teacher, but went on from one group to another, including single and duo acts, and is still active as singer in a blues band in Wakefield, Yorkshire, England.

This novel is loosely-based on their experiences in various groups over the years.

CHAPTER 1

David felt his heart rate rising as they came up the hill and saw the stone-faced semi-mansion at the top.

Doug's letter had said take the York road through Selby for two miles, past the pub called the 'Selby Arms' then head left up the road to Kirkwoodgate. The house was almost exactly one mile up that road, on a rise.

This must be it, he said to Louise, winding down the car window, It's big - the right size for a national TV star; cars everywhere and every light in the place turned on. Old Doug's not worried about the electricity bill. Yes this has to be it, he concluded, and they turned into the drive.

Inside he was tight and nervous. He'd been yawning a lot in the car - with him a sure sign of nerves. He had not seen some of them for about 15 years. His mind replayed their last meeting as if a video tape had just been inserted. It was that audition session at EMI which had ended in him going berserk, so much so, he had found himself in hospital being looked after by a stomach pump.

He switched off the engine and watched the steam rising into the cold air. It was 7.0 p.m. on a frosty cold December night in 1980 - a different world to the December they had left behind in Adelaide, Australia. It was probably 30C in Adelaide: beach weather.

I don't think I can face them. He turned to Louise with heavy eyes, I just can't do it, this was a terrible mistake, I'm so sorry. Louise was ready, she had thought something like this might happen. I know, she murmured, putting her arm into his. It's going to be difficult for the first ten minutes, but then you'll see things will work out OK. We talked about this back home, remember, and the therapy was to think of the group at its best, with everybody playing good, and having a terrific night. That's what people here will be remembering. Everybody remembers the good times, and somehow, the bad times get programmed out. You can do it my love, let me help you, come on. She got out of the car and he followed her, heaving his battered old guitar case out of the boot. He held hands with her as they walked up the drive, noses and ears feeling the cold already and their breath appearing in front of them as little personal clouds.

They rang the bell - again and again. The music was loud inside. Sounds like a noisy party, David said, trying to act normally, but still feeling very apprehensive. A shape appeared behind the frosted glass door, and Doug came out.

Yes said David, feeling better as soon as he saw Doug, Definitely the right place. Just look at the old bugger - he's still got all his hair and looks all of 25. Happy Birthday Doug from Down Under.

Doug bounded down the steps and put his arms around them both. David Clark he exclaimed, David and Louise Clark, he corrected himself. You finally made it, come in, come in.

He dragged them in shouting as he did, Hey everybody, hey, quiet. Look who's arrived from the other side of the earth. C'mon, look who's here.

David felt like a goldfish. The fear came back and he tightened up, his face set in a small, rigid smile. People appeared from nowhere and the entrance hall was soon filled. Hey, it's David, Hi David, Louise, how are you?. The questions came from all sides. Doug steered them into the lounge, still with his arms around them. A mini-cheer went up and the greetings came thick and fast again. David and Louise waved, smiled and shook hands as if they were the Royal Family.

It's really great to see you both, Doug said. How have you been? Are you keeping him under control Louise, he smiled. Everything's just fine, thanks, Louise replied, sensing the serious, unsaid question being asked. Isn't it David?, Yeah, just great David said, only half listening, increasingly embarrassed by all the attention and trying to talk to four people at once.

Hey, listen folks, Doug yelled, leaping on a chair. Hey, quite down, calm down. It's not the bloody Pope - its only our David.

He grabbed their attention quickly, David thought admiringly, and beamed a big smile at them as his voice commanded silence. Plenty of the old magic left there, thought David. Let him get in and settle down Doug continued. He'll be here for a week so you'll all have plenty of time to catch up with him. They've flown nearly 12,000 miles to be with us and I expect they're buggered by now, so why don't you just all find who you were last talking to, or chatting up, and carry on. And if you find a willing partner, don't forget to let me have her phone number!

I'm just going to get some drinks he said to his wife Maureen, Look after them, love.

Maureen put her arms around them and kissed both of them. It's so good to see you both again. Fifteen years. God, it sounds like a lifetime.

She had put on a bit of weight but still had that fresh, cheeky look of years ago. David started to get jaw ache from continuous smiling as he found face after face from the past in the crowded room. Doug really had pulled the stops out. There was Cosh - sagging jowls and nearly bald, but unmistakably Cosh. Looking as unmoved as ever, he winked at David, at least he seemed friendly enough. There was 'young' Alan - looking remarkably the same as when David had seen him last about 15 years ago. Hair still blond and curly and giggling as usual. David smiled again and unconsciously said G'Day Alan, how aarre you, in the Aussie accent he had grown to use. Can't understand thee, Alan shot back in a thick Yorkshire accent. He came over and shook David's hand, looking him straight in the eye. Tha's looking really good, tha' nos, he continued the Barnsley twang and kissed Louise.

What are you up to these days, David asked, fighting inwardly to remain normal and ask some everyday questions. I've completely lost touch. Are you working, playing or what?

Doug meanwhile was talking seriously to Louise - head held down to hear her replies. David could hear bits as he and Alan talked, but it seemed pretty normal stuff about their kids, and life 'down under'. It was weird, after all these years of relative normality, how he still listened hard when he thought someone was talking about him. Between all that, Doug was asking how Louise was, in an obviously more-than-usually-interested way. Louise was flattered at the attention, but it was probably just his smooth talk she thought. I haven't forgotten you know, he said, and winked at her knowingly. I couldn't exactly send flowers on our anniversary though could I? David wouldn't have understood.

David found a can of beer in his hand. Is it fit for an Aussie to drink? he asked, looking at it. My God, it's Fosters, I am honoured. Not really old son, Doug responded, It's available everywhere here now, since your man Paul Hogan came and did those ads.

Good Health Doug said, raising his glass with the others. Great to see you both. I know I've said it a couple of times, but it really is great. Is everything OK? Is life treating you well? How's your guitar shop in Adelaide? Are you playing any gigs? I'm still doing the odd TV spot but I'm really semi-retired now.

Steady on, steady there, David laughed, looking around in bewilderment as others still pushed in and shook his hand, clamouring for attention. He began to relax, Louise had been right, it was almost as if those terrible events had never happened. People were being very nice to him, either the past had assumed less importance in their lives, or they were on their best behaviour.

The beer had acted quickly and he was already feeling a bit light-headed. Probably a combination of beer, jet lag and lack of food.

Let's sit down and catch up slowly, he said to Doug. I feel a bit bushed from all that flying and it feels like everybody's on top of me demanding attention.

Doug and Louise looked at each other warily, but Louise smiled and shook her head; signifying that David was OK really.

They settled down on the carpet near the fire, with Alan and his wife Faye, Maureen and Doug.

David looked around them quietly. It's been a hell of a long time he said seriously. "You all look fit and well, apart from the start of a beer belly Alan. It's great to see you all again. He raised his can to them and drank. The aerated bubbles went up his nose and caused a pleasant tang on the back of his throat. He looked at Louise and smiled. She smiled back - David was back in the group again.

CHAPTER 2

David's future had been decided one Sunday morning 25 years previously during his paper round. As he was delivering around the local housing estate he heard an unbelievable sound coming from one of the houses. He jammed on the brakes of his push bike and squealed to a dead stop. The music grabbed him instantly. What is that? he thought, suddenly excited. What is that? Whatever it is he thought, I dedicate the rest of my life to it. Well sinca ma baby left me. Bam Bam. I gotta new place to live. Bam Bam. It's down at the end of Lonely Street, that's Heartbreak Hotel, well ba-a-a-by. There was a jangly metallic sound on the record which gave him the same shivers as 'Wings of a Dove' and 'Jezebel' only more so. He knocked on the door of the house and eventually a half-dressed man answered. Can you please tell me what that music was on the radio? David asked somewhat self-consciously. Yer what said the man, and David repeated his request. With a look that simply said Idiot, the man disappeared inside and came out after a moment to announce, Some new American crooner called Elvis Priestley or some such and pushed the door closed scowling.

Elvis Priestley, alias Presley, who was to become an international legend, soon experienced a dramatic increase in record sales in Wakefield - David bought all the records he'd made - all two of them.

It was 1955 and a different world. Slim Whitman's 'Rose Marie' was top of the Hit Parade; 'Blackboard Jungle' had just been released and Malenkov had resigned as President of Soviet Russia.

David had always loved singing. He'd sing along with anything or anyone at any time, driving his mother and father mad. When he was about nine years old his mother had taken him to St. James' church on Denby Dale Road, Wakefield, and persuaded the choirmaster to have him in the choir to Do something with his voice

He soon grew to like the choir because he found the singing so easy - the hymn tunes were terrific and the feeling of all those voices around him sometimes gave him shivers down his spine.

Mr Scott was the choirmaster - a tall thin man who was both kindly and firm with the lads. They knew how far they could go with him before he exploded into anger. Sing from here he would explain with his fingers pressed against someone's forehead. Let the note come out through here - not from the back of your throat.

David could never understand this - as far as he was concerned, the sound definitely came out of his mouth not out of his head - however he did his best to produce the full, round tone and Mr Scott became very happy with him. David had a beautiful boy soprano voice - not unlike the voice of Ernest Lough - of 'Oh for the wings of a dove' fame

On Sunday mornings, (there being no need to rush off to school), David would lay in bed in his attic bedroom and practise the scales which Mr Scott had taught them. This was a labour of love - he would effortlessly soar up and down them, changing keys and changing the sequences of the notes -playing little games and making patterns of an ever more complicated fashion. It was great to start a new pattern, work through the scale with it, and see how it ended up -sometimes with a note impossibly high. Listen to him again. David's mum said to Jim, his Dad. Jim was still in bed trying to catch up with sleep lost through many shift changes in his job at Spencer Copper Wire Works. He's like a little lark up there. If he doesn't do something one day with that voice, he'll have wasted God's talent. Shut up love Jim groaned, I was on late shift last night. Does he have to go on and on like that - it's not music at all.

After choir practice on Wednesdays, the boys would sometimes hang around the organ, picking out notes and having competitions about who could sing(screech or otherwise scream) the highest note . David and one of the other lads used to tie usually at F above top C, but the screeching would die away quickly when Mr Scott came back. Goodness me lads he'd shout. I can hear you out in the graveyard. It sounds like a mob of hungry hyenas. You'll ruin your voices forcing them like that then, when they break, you'll be neither a bass nor baritone. This fear of the unknown - of the mysterious coming period in their lives when voices 'broke' and other peculiar things happened - as rumoured by the older lads in the choir - soon stopped the screeching, and Mr Scott, unaware of their thoughts, believed it was him they were obeying.

David was a success and was chosen for solos and descants and the like - often having to stand out in front of the choir facing the stern faces of the congregation and perform. He daydreamed he was Ernest Lough, and sang his heart out to no one in particular.

This went on for about six years interspersed with many giggling bouts amongst the choirboys while the church services were in progress plus other childish pranks such as making farting noises and so on. It grew to be a way of life for David, and he went into a little world of his own during each Sunday service - watching the trees swaying through the church window as the automated, droning voice of the vicar drifted into the distance. The religion did not make much impression, indeed the sermons were, for the most, boring. But in David's world he was a choirboy at Westminster Abbey; the equal of any Ernest Lough. The rest of the choirboys in England in tiny parish churches just like St. James', all aspired to his greatness and wished they were him. His dream voice effortlessly soared over the others as he sang the descants. As he daydreamed, he became a world champion at re-arranging the letters in a little plastic word game which he played - rapidly hiding it in his cassock when the vicar turned, having heard the muffled clickity clacking.

At school, music lessons turned into chaos as David, now nearing sixteen, wanted the teacher to play the 'Mambo' and other pop tunes of the day. Mambo, Mambo Italiano, Mambo. David would chant from the back of the class -encouraging a few of his unruly mates to chant with him. 'Mambo Italiano', by Rosemary Clooney, was the best-selling single at the time. Poor Miss Greenslade was often beside herself trying to teach these rough louts the finer points of good music. One day she took David on one side after class. You know you've got some talent she preached at him, why don't you help me with the class instead of messing around at the back. It's bad enough having to teach the groaners, who've no hope of ever singing in tune, but it's really such a waste when I find someone like you mucking around like you do. David was unrepentant and remained uncooperative. If she couldn't play the music he wanted she could get stuffed.

Eventually David's Mum was required to attend the school and was told that he'd been banned from music lessons. At about the same time, he decided to give the choir away - feeling it was a bit cissy and totally boring(no Mambo there either). Mr Scott was quite upset. If you'd just give it a bit longer your voice will start to break and I can put you with the altos he implored, trying hard but failing to prop up David's waning interest - none of them understood the powerful urge within him to do the Mambo!

David's musical training, apart from scales and hymns in the choir and an abortive attempt to read music at school, was all from the radio from which, over the years, he eagerly soaked up the Trumpet Voluntary, Handel's Messiah, Kathleen Ferrier and latterly Frankie Laine. Every week there was a Frankie Laine half hour on Radio Luxembourg which David listened to avidly - even the advertising by people like Horace Batchelor touting his 'Infra-draw' method for the pools. The alternative to Luxembourg was BBC radio which was a joke in David's view. You had to listen to 'Nellie the Elephant', and 'wallpaper' music like Edmundo Ross and Billy Cotton for what seemed like hours before you heard a rock and roll song.

David would sing along with Frankie, copying to perfection every bent note, slide and intonation. All day I faced the barren waste, without a taste of water, coooooool water. The song 'Jezebel' was also an exciting favourite. He made his young voice as big as he could, copying Frankie, but had problems with the low notes and cursed his voice for not breaking yet. At nearly sixteen he wanted a beard and a big voice - to be a man.

Once on the Frankie Laine track - in many ways the original rock and roll ballad singer - the rest was inevitable. On a family holiday in 1954 at a boarding house in Blackpool, David heard, and then spent the whole week singing 'Earthangel' (by the Crewcuts) and driving everyone mad. He also made huge progress that week in another area- succeeding in holding hands with a girl at the Friday night film show in the lounge.

After Elvis, all David searched for on the radio from then on was more Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, Little Richard and the hundreds of American rock and roll/blues artists who seemed to suddenly appear from nowhere. Frankie Laine was dead and gone for good as far as he was concerned. These newcomers generated even more excitement.

After leaving school in a fit of rage clutching 5 GCE O level passes, with deliberately botched exam papers in the other 3 - by scribbled Goon Show doodles all over them, David found his way into an Electrical Engineering apprenticeship with the Central Electricity Generating Board (CEGB) at Leeds. This is the thing for you lad his Dad declared. A career with a future in an industry that's expanding. Not like me; pulling hot wire of out a machine eight hours on a shift Being mildly interested in things electrical - he'd actually made a one-valve radio and dozens of crystal sets - David went along with this career choice quite readily. Electrical Engineer sounded just fine.

However his ambivalence disappeared when he arrived for his first day at the huge cavernous disused power station in Leeds, and discovered that for six months solid, he'd have to do metalwork - something he'd avoided like the plague at school. Hours spent in filing pieces of metal flat - like REALLY FLAT - so that when you rubbed them on an ink pad, the whole surface was blue - no high spots. Accurate to five thousandths of an inch the beaky old supervisor Mr Goodge used to snap. It's no good bringing me this lad, you've got hours of work still to do on it. Get your head down and brighten your face up Huh thought David, Listen who's talking you crotchety old goat Mr Goodge had long, thin features, permanently screwed into a scowl as he paced up and down between the workbenches, shoulders hunched, poking his face into everybody's work.

David had also discovered Lonnie Donnegan and all the skiffle artists now, and finally resolved he had to be part of this music. Spurred on by the utter frustration of the metalwork shop each day, and copying what he'd seen on TV, he bought himself a tea chest, a broom handle, and the thickest piece of square elastic he could buy. In one exciting evening at home, he rigged up a tea chest bass in the cellar and produced the most glorious bass notes by snapping the elastic. He rapidly discovered that new notes were produced by bringing his left hand down the broom-handle over the elastic - thus shortening the elastic.

In no time at all, the tea chest bass was carted off to work on the train and secretly installed in the depths of the power station, amongst hundreds of large, old disused transformers. Workdays were now a joy and a bladder problem was invented to enable frequent trips to the toilet to be made - its location being outside the workshop. David spent many happy weeks secretly playing his bass and singing, in his mind, all the rock tunes he knew. He found notes on the bass which seemed to go with the tunes, and sort of sounded like the record. (With a lot of imagination, which, when you're high, is plentiful).

The CEGB also had a billiards room, frequented by the apprentices at lunchtime. Ignoring billiards, David would commandeer the old honky tonk pub piano in the corner, and with John Saxon, one of the lads with whom he was friendly, would bum his way through 'Heart and Soul' - David playing the melody and John the simple harmony. They didn't know, or care, what key they were in, or what the notes where. We start three keys up from that keyhole John would say - identifying which notes to start on. It was like magic - it sounded terrific, the simple arpeggios repeating over and over again. But not so to the billiard players who would groan in anticipation of yet another rendition of the same tune. For Christs sake don't you two buggers know anything else, Malcolm would shout. Pack it in you're driving us nuts. Oblivious to all forms of criticism, David would continue on his own while John opted out - valuing his mates before the music. One day, David was angry and upset to find that someone had sabotaged the piano inside, causing the vital keys he used to be inoperative.

But at least he still had the tea chest bass. But not for long.

Mr Goodge and the assistant supervisor were having morning tea . Frank said Goodge, I've been hearing a funny sound on and off for the past few weeks. It's a bit like music, but deep and muffled. I can't tell where it's coming from over the noise in the workshop, but I reckon someone's brought a radio in. Have you heard it?. No replied Frank, Can't say that I have, let me know when you next hear it and we'll see where it is.

The next day, Goodge went for a leak, and on his way back heard the muffled, bom, bom, bo-bom, bo-bom noises that worried him. Back in the workshop he said Frank, come with me and we'll get to the bottom of this. I can hear that radio somewhere. Off they went, weaving their way through the black and grimy transformers in the semi gloom of the old power station. The bom bom became louder but was echoing and difficult to pin down. Suddenly, around a corner, sitting with his back to them, they found a boy, hunched over a box slapping something on the box and making a deep booming sound. Well now laddie snarled Goodge, Looks like we've caught you at it red handed. What do you think you're up to in here, eh?

David's little musical world collapsed in a heap. He tried every lie in the book to wriggle out of trouble - feeling that slightly numb feeling of fear when you're discovered doing terrible deeds. But I was only trying it out he whined, I found it out here. Rubbish lad scoffed Goodge with his face still scowling, this has been going on for weeks, and now we know who the culprit is. You're going to catch it in the neck now my lad, and no mistake.

David had to see Goodge's boss, who was to be found high in the administration offices in the old power station. The riot act was duly read, with lots of talk of future career and David acted contrite and apologetic. Phew, he thought on his way back from the office. I just scraped through that one.

Funnily enough, the tea chest bass wasn't removed, and in a few weeks, when the incident had been forgotten, temptation was too much and David, nonchalantly clutching a spanner and looking like he was on an errand, soon slipped back into his old habits: this time playing quietly and hiding the bass deeper in the transformers. In less than a week his career was all over - discovered again, he had no excuses left. A letter was sent home, and he had to appear with his mother at the CEGB Head Office in Leeds, where a very understanding Personnel Manager explained to him that budding Electrical Engineers don't play basses. Both parties agreed to part company, and David resolved to buy a guitar - which he'd identified as the shiver-making jangly instrument in Heartbreak Hotel and other rock numbers. Bugger being an electrical engineer - he was going to be a rock star.

With no job but with a few pounds of pay out money, David went to Leeds, found any old music shop, and bought the first guitar the salesman showed him within his price range. He felt as tall as a tree