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+ Mildly spook cont'd 2 (12/02/2008 - 17:11:46)
+ Mildly spooky cont'd (11/02/2008 - 13:51:24)
+ Mildly spooky (10/02/2008 - 13:58:22)
Mildly spooky
I thought I'd start a blog to accompany this site, particularly now things are edging towards publication. Problem is, the book as originally envisaged is a big subject, too big for me to knock into shape without giving up my day job and spending months re-writing, visiting locations, and all the rest of it.
With this in mind, lately, I've been taking time out and skipping into London to do some last minute research. It's been interesting, but oddly, each time some vaguely spooky things have happened ..
First incident was just after I'd tracked down and visited the former home of Tara Browne (immortalised in a Day In The Life; 'he blew his mind out in a car ..'). The house itself is at the end of a secluded mews in ultra-posh Belgravia, not far from Brian Epstein's former residence. It's a strange edifice, a hodge podge of late Georgian and '30s 'nautical' architecture, with a few turrets and towers thrown in. I lurked there awhile, soaking up the vibes, then headed off around the corner towards Victoria Station. Hadn't walked more than fifty yards or so, when from the corner of my eye I noticed a flat-screen TV in the window of a local real estate agents. Startlingly, it was showing old '60s newsreel footage of the Beatles. Why on earth this footage should be on display in an estate agents' window, I have no idea. But there it was. So unexpected, it brought me out in goose pimples.
A week or two later I had another research 'window', and made an appointment to visit the British Telecom archives to rummage through old telephone directories in the hope of pinning down a few Beatles-related addresses. Got there at the appointed time, 11 am, only to be told to go away and come back at 2pm. Turns out an MP was touring the facility, along with various BT bigwigs, and the visit was overshooting by an hour or two. Was I livid? You're damn right I was. Apoplectic? Well, close. But whatever, I had to scurry off and sink a coffee or two, read the paper, and generally wander like a loose canon through the fabled streets of London. Around 12.30-ish, I called the archive and asked if the bigwigs had left. They hadn't. So there I am on the Strand, with more time to kill. I turn, and right there, in my face, is a large poster of John Lennon. It's one of those billboard things you can stand on the pavement to advertise things, and this one was advertising an exhibition of John Lennon photos, with an arrow pointing down an alleyway nearby. Hello, I thought, another bit of Beatles spookiness ..
Brilliant exhibition, as it turns out. All previously unseen prints, mostly Yoko-era images, and not cheap (£400 and up). But the ones that really got me were two evocative shots of Lennon as a boy of ten or eleven standing outside his Aunt Mimi's house in Liverpool, obviously amateur shots, but taken by someone with a real natural talent. There was one medium close-up, taken from a low angle, with strong light from one side, giving his face a strangely angelic look. Quite moving, really, and if I'd had £400 to spare I would have snapped it up there and then ..
Two days later I grab another unexpected time window and high-tail into into town for more research at a west London library local history section. I'm searching for the exact addresses of two clubs, the Pigalle on Piccadilly (location of the Beatles' only proper London club gig) and the ultra-exclusive Club dell' Aretusa (aka Arethusa) on the Kings Road, another Beatles haunt. After a couple of modestly successful hours, I finally track down the Pigalle, but not, frustratingly, the Aretusa. Out of time, I head back home by underground. The train pulls in to Waterloo and, inevitably (when you're in a hurry to get home and pick the kids up from school) the driver announces over the intercom that he's ahead of schedule, and we're just going to have to sit around here for a while. This being London, we all sit silently, staring straight ahead. Minutes pass. The carriage doors are left open. There is no noise .. except for the sound of a London Underground employee shuffling along the platform, singing to himself. He gets closer, and as he passes by our carriage I can finally hear what he is singing .. Yellow Submarine.
Spooky enough for you? Wait till you hear this. I get home, and later that evening my daughter says her best friend will be away all week with her class at school at some residential 'adventure' school or other down in Kent. Oh, I say, half interested. What's it called? You'll never guess what she said. Yup, the Arethusa Venture Centre.
Cue eerie Outer Limits-type theme music ..
So where exactly was the ultra-exclusive Club dell' Aretusa? I already knew it was on the Kings Road. But where? It's not listed in the phone directory for 1966 (the year it opened) or subsequent years. Nor is it mentioned in the normally exhaustive Kelly's directories for the era. But, finally, today in fact, I nailed it, thanks to a very helpful lady called Shirley who works in an archive normally off limits to the public.
As for the precise address and why it was relevant to Les Fabs, well, you'll just have to wait till the book comes out, of which more anon ..
Posted @ 13:58:22 on 10 February 2008 back to top
