As the end of my first P2 term loomed, I spent less time working (getting through my deadlines in decent time, it seems) and more time with Lisa and friends.
“Mike & Mandy” mentioned in the Friday 3 December entry were friends (and soon to be flatmates) of Lisa’s at North Staffs Poly. That evening in the Students’ Union might have been the first time I met them.
I have no recollection of the “not good at all” UGM on Monday 6 December. My guess is that Truda Smith and her reactionary forces were seeking to subvert our Keele Action Group purposes.
The fiends.
Mind you, the thought of any Constitutional Committee meeting followed by a UGM does not fill me with delight, in hindsight. I am reminded of the quote attributed to Oscar Wilde: “The trouble with socialism is that it takes up too many evenings”. Or, in my case, too many meetings.
In that very last week of term, it seems that Alan Gorman joined us for at least a couple of those sociable (kin contrast with the socialism) evenings. I remember Lisa and Alan getting on well; they shared a quirky sense of humour which possibly explains how both of them were able to tolerate me so much.
I recall some late evenings in the flat listening to some of my comedy sketch tapes and laughing like drains together. But I’m pretty sure that kicked off in the second term. I’ll write more about it then.
At the end of this first term, the event that sticks in my mind the most is the Wednesday 8 December entry which mentions the Thunderbirds night.
I think there must have been some sort of cinema release of a feature length Thunderbirds compilation or something around that time. I think they also repeated the original TV series (but that had been and continued happening periodically for decades).
Point is, there was certainly a bit of a cult following vibe amongst students for Thunderbirds at that time.
We (which means me, Lisa, Alan and I think Ashley Fletcher was with us that night -possibly others too) went to a screening somewhere on the campus. It might have been Film Soc. in the Chancellor’s Building, but I have a feeling that this screening was in the Union or possibly a Horwood Refectory job.
I recall a lot of “audience participation”, for example with students proffering unsolicited advice on romance in the direction of a hapless Tracy youth (I think Alan). Mind you, I think Keele students on the whole had got the hang of such things a bit better than the befuddled marionette.
It was all in good humour and (in our case certainly) a form of reverent mockery. We liked Thunderbirds. We also liked to laugh at Thunderbirds.
I haven’t changed all that much in this regard, forty years on. During lockdown, Janie and I watched a few old episodes through the Wayback Machine to cheer ourselves up. Still good.
If you just want a taster, this launch sequence is wonderful, although it has been much parodied since:
On Friday 10 December the term formally came to an end, although I stayed up at Keele for a further 10+ days, which I shall report about in the next enthralling episode of “Forty Years On”.
Keele Students’ Union With Thanks To Paul Browning For The Photo
My November 1982 diary continues mostly to document a set pattern of student life that term. I was going out with Liza O’Connor, whom, it seems, I would see two or three times each week. At that time she was still living with her family at The Sneyd Arms, so I quite often describe walking her home late at night; which presumably staved off the wrath of Geoff O’Connor – no student (or offspring) wanted his wrath.
In the end, it was me who proposed the motion – much to the chagrin of Union President Truda Smith, who afterwards gave me a metaphorical handbagging…or do I mean “metaphorical hairdryer treatment“…or do I mean a metaphorical “handbagging with hair-dryer within” treatment? Truda was not happy. Pete Roberts seconded the motion, which probably gave the motion the political gravitas we thought it needed, as he was the immediate past Education & Welfare sabbatical and he said that he thought the quality of our education and our welfare was at risk from the cuts.
The diary entry suggests that the result was a solid win on the vote:
Monday 15 November 1982: Busy day – writing speech etc. UGM went well – motion passed well etc. Paul & Mike came in after.
I’m not sure who Paul & Mike were in this context. Was it you, Paul Evans? I don’t remember you being into the politics much but perhaps the issue of the cuts floated your boat. For Mike, a bearded fellow in a duffel coat springs to mind but I don’t honestly remember for sure. Pete Roberts, Simon Jacobs or Jon Gorvett might help me out here. Or perhaps not.
J-Soc Friday Night Meal, Friday 26 November 1982
Whose blithering idea was it to attempt this at Keele – a University with a tiny, mostly secular Jewish community?
Actually I have a funny feeling it was sort-of my idea.
Following the success of the International Fair the previous summer and the “joint venture” I had fostered with Tony Wong of the Chinese Cultural Society, I was very cognisant of the fact that other cultural societies had centred their cultural offerings around food, whereas J-Soc had not really done so.
Further, we had some enthusiasts for doing a meal in the form of, if I remember correctly, Michelle Epstein (who was in her second year) plus a couple of newbies – Annalisa de Mercur (who became a good friend for many years, during and after Keele) plus Julie Reichman.
In short, I think it was my idea that we do food and “the girls” turned the idea into something with deeper cultural significance – a heimisch Jewish Friday Night meal.
…our event wouldn’t have looked or sounded anything like the vid below either:
My recollection is that the event “got big on us”, with a lot of work in the planning and the aftermath. The event dominates my diary from the Tuesday before until the day itself and even seemed to dominate until the Monday after.
I don’t even remember where we held the dinner, although something tells me that there was a facility in Horwood that we could and did use for events like this. Or, if not, possibly the Lindsay Hexagon.
I remember being delighted to leave much of the hands-on running of the event to “the girls” and feeling, by the end of it, that I was happy to leave J-Soc more generally in their very capable (and more enthusiastic than my) hands.
The attendees for the event included several people from the Chinese and Arab cultural societies, plus my own entourage (including Liza O’Connor & my new flatmate Alan Gorman, who came from Catholic backgrounds), which might have been fascinating and/or beguiling for them.
“Hastly” Day After The Big Event, Saturday 27 November 1982
Hastly [by which I think I meant “hassle-strewn”] day. Shopped in afternoon – Liza and Chantelle’s friend stayed for dinner. Went to union – got quite drunk…took L home quite late
The fact that I mention Chantelle’s friend in this context means, I’m pretty sure, that there must have been some sub-text. I don’t really remember, but I suspect that I was pretty “duncatering” by the Saturday and/but ended up preparing the Saturday dinner in question. “Got quite drunk” was probably a way to let off steam in the union after the catering stresses of the preceding few days.
The subtext is probably lost in the mists of time, but if I had a grump on in those days, people around me would have known about it. Actually I’m not sure the obviousness of my grump has changed much in the forty years since.
On the Monday I was “sorting out J-Soc stuff still” which probably irritated me, although I did find time in the afternoon to “visit Anju”.
But it is mostly work for the next few days, so I sense that I felt that I was behind where I wanted to be with my essays and the like. Either that or some sort of interpersonal grump that I was too polite to write down and which is now, mercifully, long-since forgotten.
Thus, the die was cast in many ways for the Keele year that, in my case, was known as P2 – i.e. my third year at Keele but my second of three principle years of undergraduate study. Liza’s dad was the landlord of The Sneyd Arms. Liza had just started studying design at North Staff Poly but, at that early stage of her student journey, was still living with her folks above the pub.
Liza features a lot in my 82/83 diaries.
I am struggling to remember Chevonne & Rani but I think they were fellow law students. I was studying Jurisprudence and Criminology that year; I think they were working with me on one or other of those disciplines.
A fair bit of domestic stuff, “shopping, laundering, cooking etc”. I also recall Ashley [Fletcher] was a very regular visitor that term. He lived off campus (or was it Hawthornes still?) but he was Treasurer that year, so was often about the main campus perhaps seeking refuge from the Union!
Thursday 21 October 1982 – Rushed today – Hassan pulled out of J-Soc last minute…
Much as I had been a bit press-ganged into joining Constitutional Committee, I had been press-ganged into Chairing the Jewish Society that year. Hassan was a shaliach – a sort of roving rabbi – who was supposed to look after student communities and/but – from my recollection – was culturally at variance with the mostly liberal, barely or non-practicing Jewish community at Keele and quite often did not show up when expected…nor did he turn up unannounced.
Saturday 23 October 1982 – Busy day – went shopping for carpet etc. Cooked meal for L[isa] in eve…
I cannot recall buying a carpet. I think it was probably something that people would now call a rug, presumably to try and make the lino-floored living room of Barnes L54 seem more homely. I think I detect Chantelle’s influence on this rather more domesticated tone to my diary than that which followed after her departure from Barnes L54.
Well, there’s some working, there’s some “not going out” and there’s Liza coming over midweek. I seem to have been settling into a slightly less “every night in the Union” pattern and more of a “get the work done during the week” pattern.
I love my description of the UGM as “quite good but dull”. I’m delighted for all our sakes – readers and writer alike – that the detail that led to that adjectival description is lost in the mists of time.
Thursday 28 October 1982 – Busyish day. WPR in afternoon – tutorials etc – Jewish Society – Ashley came along – went to union after
I hope someone out there can let me know what WPR might have stood for in that context. It must have been very important – I noted it in my diary. It must be obvious what WPR stands for, it is just my waning powers of memory letting me down once again.
If ever we needed evidence that Ashley Fletcher was part of the Jewish conspiracy…not that there is or was such a conspiracy of course…that 28 October diary entry is incontrovertible proof.
In truth, I seem to recall that I was on a mission to try to expand the influence of the cultural societies (which were all pitifully small) by making joint membership arrangements with some of the other groups. In particular, I recall plotting this with Tony Wong, who was my opposite number at the Chinese Cultural Society. Ashley was in favour of this and happy for the union grants, which were capitation based, to thus be increased to reflect the expanded memberships. My purpose in bringing Ashley along with me to J-Soc that evening, if I recall correctly, was to demonstrate that my idea had official Students’ Union blessing.
Saturday 30 October 1982 – …went to Chinese evening -> Union ->…
I recall that the Chinese Cultural Society, at that time, was better than J-Soc at ensuring that food was an integral part of a gathering. I decided that evening to try and change up J-Soc in that regard for future events.
Sunday 31 October 1982 – …KAG meeting in eve…
I am pretty sure that this was the evening when we engaged the services of Pete Roberts to help with our KAG master plan. I’m sure there were several of us at the heart of KAG, but I only clearly recall Simon Jacobs and Jon Gorvett being there.
Still plotting after all these years (not Stephanie, obvs) – me, Simon & Jon
Having failed to persuade Truda Smith (President) that she and her new committee should take some direct action to show the student body’s disquiet at the harsh University grant cuts – we would take a resolution to a UGM mandating the committee to take action.
The world as seen by Pete Roberts that evening?
The meeting that afternoon was help in my room in Barnes L54. The rest of us had gathered, then Pete arrived fashionably late, having clearly imbibed or partaken of some mind-changing substance that day.
I especially recall the reaction of Alan Gorman, my nonplussed fresher flatmate, when afterwards we chatted in the living room about Pete’s arrival.
I sensed that he was not all there. He was mumbling about a pink rat…and Simon…or perhaps it was a pink rat named Simon. I pointed him towards your room which seemed to do the trick.
I have ever since used the “named pink rat” line when alluding to someone under various influences, not least in my 1994 lyric about the rave scene:
Still, despite seeming to be away with the fairies, Pete was cognitively strong and sensible enough to turn the tables on me.
Our plan was to have Pete (who was the most recent former sabbatical Education & Welfare Officer) propose the motion and I would second it.
Pete persuaded us that it would be much better if I proposed it and he seconded it. The logic behind that table turning is lost in the mists of time, beer and goodness knows what else. I fail to see the logic now but that was the deal and that is what happened…
…stay tuned!
Perhaps Pete Roberts remembers or has a different take on this story. I’m still in touch with him…at least I was before this write up!
Postscript
Pete Roberts has indeed been in touch, writing the following explanation, which clears the whole matter up very satisfactorily indeed. Thanks Pete:
Hey kids, never try to explain something when under the influence.
Perfectly reasonable explanation. ‘Rat’ was a flatmate in Barnes. His superpower was that he had a pink rat costume. He only had to go for a short walk in it to be dragged into a party. It wasn’t all fun; he had to hurl drinks into his ‘mouth’ and whatever missed would fill up his wellington boots. I’m amazed he survived Fresher’s Week without drowning..
By 1982, the annual Gentlemen (of the right) v Players (of the left) cricket match had become an iconic feature of Keele Festival Week. It was many years later that I learnt that this “tradition” had only started a year or two earlier. Keele traditions were a bit like that back then.
The Roping In
I made a pigs ear of writing this event up previously, combining my memories of the 1982 match with the 1983 match, having forgotten that I ended up playing this match three illustrious times while at Keele; my last appearance being 1984.
My mistake was spotted by Mark Ellicott, whose name I had delicately left out of my previous write up of this first occasion, as it was for an “intoxicated” Mark that I was hurriedly found and roped in as a late substitute. Mark pointed out that it must have been 1982, as that was the summer during which he was caught up in all this stuff and he was involuntarily on sabbatical from the University the following academic year. Mark later went on to be a Students’ Union sabbatical, stretching his Keele duration yet further.
On the topic of this 1982 cricket match, my diary entry merely says, with surprisingly little enthusiasm:
Got roped into playing cricket all afternoon.
Here is the Mark Ellicott substitution bit of the story, as I originally wrote it, before Mark got in touch. Naturally I have now cleared with Mark the idea of attaching his name to the story:
“I got a knock on the door early afternoon…a certain wild-haired student (even more wild-haired than me), who latterly – more latterly even than me – became a sabbatical, had been experimenting with an acidic chemical – presumably something to do with his subsidiary or extra-curricular studies – and had accidentally ingested rather too much of the stuff…
Mark Ellicott two or three years later
…he might have been experiencing something like this:
In short, the accidental acid victim was away with the fairies and I was in the team.“
Mark describes his experience slightly differently, presumably starting the evening before:
It was on Results Day for finalists in the summer of 82. I had scored two tabs previously and was working that day as a waiter in Oysters wine bar serving up bottles of wine etc to celebrating finalists. I dropped one tab whilst working idiotically enough and after ten minutes when nothing was happening even more idiotically dropped the second. Thereafter it all gets hazy, but like you I have kept a diary since I was a kid so can refer back. I must have wandered away from my workplace because the next thing I remember is wrestling with an anonymous young woman outside the Computer Science lab. Then it’s several hours later and I’m sitting in the Union bar with Truda Smith, Mark [Bartholomew], Simon [Jacobs], Anna [Summerskill] etc. I’m completely incapable of speech at this stage. I hear Truda’s disembodied voice explain to people “he’s tripping, keep an eye on him”. Next thing I recall I’m hiding under a bush by Keele Hall and Mark and Simon come looking for me, find me, and gently return me to the Union and a disco where I have a vague recollection of ‘dancing’ to ‘Say Hello Wave Goodbye’ by Soft Cell. Then I’m at a party in Stoke talking to a woman who runs a chippie. Completely brilliant day that was !
When I gently suggested to Mark that I might link his name with my cricket-career reviving incident, he replied…
…please go ahead and use my name. I’ve never been embarrassed about my psychedelic experiments then.
The Match Itself
Under the circumstances, I didn’t expect much of a role for The Players and got pretty much what I expected.
I was reminded of this 1982 match in August 2018, after Adil Rashid had a rare “thanks for coming” (TFC) test match – i.e. he did not bat and did not bowl in the whole match – a very rare event in test cricket – written up here…
…but not quite so rare an event in beer matches. Indeed, both the 1982 & 1983 Gentlemen (of the right) v Players (of the left) match at Keele were TFC matches for me. I did not bat; I did not bowl, but…
But the ball tends to follow the team donkey. I recall the Gentlemen doing rather well against us at that stage of the match, with Mike Stephens (Secretary 1980/81) batting well & properly, along with a beefy, sporty fellow…I think his name is Steve Bailey, who had been the Chair of the Athletic Union, providing some humpty to the innings.
I’m pretty sure the above picture shows “the humpty chap”, Steve Bailey, at the 1980 Christmas Ball – apologies if I have grabbed a picture of the wrong humpty chap.
Three times the humpty chap lifted the ball skywards in my direction. Three times I failed to catch it. One of those misses was a juggled attempt which failed even after several potential reprieves. One I think I lost sight of completely, perhaps even running the wrong way.
Toby sent me to backward point instead, where he suggested that catches were far less likely but I might at least save some runs if I continued to put my body (the only asset I seemed to be bringing to the party) on the line. I think I brought my skiff of ale infield with me.
A few balls later, Mike Stephens executed a firm, albeit slightly uppish, late cut, which should have hurtled to the left of a diving backward point for four…
…but the diving backward point, me, somehow contrived to dive at the correct moment and the ball contrived to stick in my hand. A stunning, potentially match-turning catch.
It might have looked like a left handed version of this one from school a few years earlier, c1979, for which I was the photographer, not the catcher.
I recall Mike Stephens stomping off in an uncharacteristic huff of “it’s so unfair. He can’t catch for toffee…”
I have no photos from the 1982 game, sadly, nor the 1983 nor 1984 ones, but this one from a year or two earlier, thanks to Frank Dillon, should give the reader a pretty good feel for the look of the mighty Players team.
With thanks to Frank Dillon, this picture of an earlier “Players” team, probably 1981
If anyone out there has any more memories and/or photographs of our festival week beer matches, I’d love to hear from you.
For the benefit of people who were not at Keele back then, the term “P1 Year” referred to second year students who, like me, had opted to the the Foundation Year (FY) in their first year. P stood for “principal” I think.
Those who didn’t enjoy the cognitive and recreational benefits of FY would describe their undergraduate years as T1, T2 and T3 – T standing for “three” I think.
Before I trawl my diary for that May period, I’d like to talk a little about the vibe in my flat, M65 Barnes. The diary is silent about it, so unless I describe it soon, my P1 year will be over, M65 will be demolished and I won’t have told you about our quirky group of four.
Barnes M65 From February To June 1982: Me, Ahmed, Margaret & Jo
…not least, I was very keen to secure a flat for the following year and guessed that, with two of us electing to continue to have a Barnes flat, we’d get first dips on the vacant ones due to the M Block demolition.
Ahmed Mohd Isa was the member of that flat who wanted to stay on in a Barnes flat and was due to be my flatmate beyond 81/82. He was part of the small Malay community at Keele in those days – I got to know that crowd well through Ahmed that year and then subsequently. I’ll write more about that gang separately. Most of them lived in a flat in Q Block Barnes, while Ahmed I think had been allocated to M65 entirely by chance at the start of his Keele career.
The other two in M65’s last year were named Margaret and Jo. Margaret was from Manchester I think – while Jo was from the South-West if I remember correctly – Hampshire perhaps.
Both of them were vegetarians who disapproved of (but did not prohibit) my meat preparation and eating in the flat. I remember one occasion when a really bad smell started to pervade the kitchen and the girls became convinced that I had left some meat to rot somewhere.
Jo wandered around the kitchen, sniffing in a rodent-like manner behind cupboards and fittings, determined to find my errant flesh product. In fact, she discovered something especially foul-smelling that could not possibly be attributed to my carnivorousness. Behind the corner cupboard/pantry shelf, Jo found a decomposing cabbage, which she delicately removed from the flat at arms length with one hand while holding her nose with the other hand.
But the girls did have an absolute golden rule in the flat and woe-betide either me or Ahmed if we broke this rule: complete silence between 19:30 and 20:00 when Coronation Street was being broadcast. Margaret was the strictest enforcer of this rule. “Shhh”, she would hiss if either of us was so thoughtless as to want a glass of water or to grab a spoon and go back to our room during that broadcast. They would both sit in a leaning forward posture – usually with heads propped forward between fists, to ensure complete concentration and maximum proximity to the tiny screen of their portable black-and-white telly.
I’m pretty sure that Tony, who moved out to allow me in, had been to some extent at war with the girls, which was the main reason he moved out – but I didn’t have direct evidence to support that theory.
Margaret and Jo were finalists and in many ways were quite tolerant of both me and Ahmed as stop-out non-finalists, although we were both reasonably respectful of their need for some peace and quiet for revision.
They had some interesting friends, the most eccentric of whom was a posh lad known as “Dips”, who was the young country gent type and was known on occasion to drive his Land Rover across the playing fields – a recipe for getting caught red-handed and fined as his was almost certainly the only vehicle on campus that would leave tyre marks of that exact kind.
Who knows, 30 years later I might have re-encountered Dips at the Mollington Point-To-Point
It’s a shame I have no pictures of that flat or any of that crowd.
Given It Was The Business End Of That Academic Year, I Don’t Appear To Have Done Much Business For At Least A Couple Of Weeks
Here is a transcript of the first scrawl-ridden diary page:
In truth I don’t recall doing readings for Jon Gorvett and Mark Ellicott, but I am in touch with both of them forty years on, so I’ll ask them if they remember me reading for them.
I also don’t recall what ailed me – probably just a debilitating cold.
Thursday, 13 May 1982
Easyish sort of day – did some work but not too much.
Contrived a suitably easy night.
Friday, 14 May 1982
Went to my tutorial and straight off to London with Rob [Schumacher?] and Simon M[orris?].
Lazy evening with Ma and Pa.
Saturday 15 May 1982
Did some taping etc today. Lounged a lot – spoke to some people.
[Cousins on mum’s side] Hannah [Green], Sidney [Pizan], Jacquie and Len [Briegal] came for dinner – very pleasant evening.
Up till very late washing up.
Sunday, 16 May 1982
Rose quite late – had lunch – taped, lounged and spoke to more people.
Completely lazy evening – good break (from what? – Ed).
I guess the dinner with cousins was a slightly belated 60th birthday event for mum.
I particularly like my sarcastic note to self, which I must have written more or less immediately after writing the phrase “good break” asking myself, “from what?”
Self aware, that comment.
I hardly seem to have been over-exerting myself in the summer term of my P1 year, perhaps because there were no exams of any consequence that year – just finishing off some written work.
Sunday 17 May 1982
Return from London in the morning – spent the rest of the day writing my last essay of the session.
Tuesday, 18 May 1982
Essay went in.
Went to Anju [Sanehi]’s in the afternoon – decided to give film a miss – lazy evening in instead.
Wednesday, 19 May 1982
Easyish sort of day – spent whole evening in union – drank quite a bit etc.
Thursday, 20 May 1982
Did some work today – not too exerting though.
Lazy evening in tonight.
Friday 21 May 1982
Lazyish day today – did very little.
Spent quite a bit of time in union (EGM etc – chatting). Boozy afternoon and evening.
Went to film [McVicar – thank you Tony Sullivan for keeping records]– disco – back to Anju’s for tea.
Saturday 22 May 1982
Big shopping spree today – a late start.
Went to union in evening and to disco with Simon [Jacobs], Jon etc etc. Earlyish night.
Sunday, 23 May 1982
Easyish day – did very little – spent most of evening in the union do very little really – cooked a lot.
Monday 24 May 1982
Easyish day – mainly in union. UGM in the evening – a goody I feel.
Joe [Benedict Coldstream] came back after.
The mood of my May 1982 diary, which uses terms like “easyish” and “lazy” rather a lot, suddenly changes on the next page or two.
More Speed, Less Haste: The Rest Of May 1982
I sense that I rather realised that I really did need to get a bit of work done that term. I also remember quite clearly that I attempted at least one terrible technique for getting stuff done.
In short, although the diary is fairly quiet about it – the next week went a bit weird.
Tuesday 25 May 1982
Busy day of work – did quite a lot. Stayed in in the evening and did quite a bit more work.
Wednesday 26 May 1982
Busy most of the day getting ready for flat inspection. Did a little work – watched football [European Cup Final – probably a big screen job in the ballroom] & film [probably a TV broadcast not Filmsoc]– ok.
Thursday, 27 May 1982
Flat inspection today – last tutorial – [Union election] counts – FA Cup [Final replay] – cheap beer – futurist disco* dash home for supper// and all nighter of talk and writing.
Friday, 28 May 1982
The day seem to flash by – went to Pete [Roberts]’s office in ‘noon – took early night.
Cheap beer and hanging out with friends is more likely to have been my motivation for the football matches than the football itself.
I have no idea what a Futurist Disco might have been – presumably not futurist music as I now understand the term:
Social Committee preparing for a futurist disco?
…but the symbols suggest I had a good time and then retreated to take some speed to get me through a period of intense talking and writing. I remember this stupid experience well – it was the second and last time I experimented with that dangerous stuff. I remember feeling at the time that I was getting through loads of writing and getting loads done, only to realise that, after having lost a day-and-a-half, that I had written utter drivel and would need to rewrite everything I had attempted to get done that way.
I also chewed my lips to shreds…again.
Not a good idea, Speed in the hope of cognitive productivity. Certainly not for me – I would now advise against it.
Saturday, 29 May 1982
Rose late – lazy sort of day.
Went to union -> Mark’s [Bartholomew this time I think] with Si [mon Jacobs], Johnny Rothman [who must have been visiting Simon] etc. – stayed till late…
Sunday, 30 May 1982
… Went to Amphitheatre in the early hours. Got out about 8 am.
Went to bed – got up for a few hours and went back to bed!!!
Monday 31st of May 1982
Lazyish day about place – tried to work in eve.
Tuesday, 1 June 1982
Quietish day. Tried to do some work. Saw film [The Deer Hunter – thanks again, Tony Sullivan] in eve.
Yes, I remember wandering off in the early hours, after that ad hoc party of Mark & Simon’s, with a chap whose face I can picture but whose name I’ve forgotten and we ended up jabbering some sort of a theatrical role play of our own devising in that amphitheatre until well after sunrise. As with my speed-induced writings, it seemed terribly profound when we were doing it and then on reflection the next day was mere drivel. Still, it was fun and every Keele student should have a spring or summer nighter down the amphitheatre under their belt before they leave Keele.
On rereading my diaries forty years on, I realise it is just as well I didn’t have too much serious academic work or examinations to prepare that term – I was well off the pace in the spring of 1982.
Before I talk about the festering and fomenting, I’d like to share a few thoughts on the sounds that were the soundtrack of my time at Keele that spring.
I was listening to some popular music of the time, naturally, but also I had started collecting and listening to albums spanning the late 1960s to that time.
I acquired Astral Weeks by Van Morrison around that time and listened to that wonderful album a lot. Here is the title track:
I was listening to several more recent albums too. Dare by The Human League and Wilder by The Teardrop Explodes are two examples of albums I almost played to death back then. A lot of us did.
As for the contemporary hit music of the time, I was playing the following mix tape a lot in the run up to and over the Easter Break:
Thursday 15 April 1982 – Easyish sort of day – festered quite a lot. Went to the Union in the evening.
Friday 16 April 1982 – wrote motion today etc. – showing it around quite a bit – went to Union in the evening – OK.
Saturday 17 April 1982 – Went into Newcastle during day – lazy afternoon. Went to Union in evening. Sally & Liz came back for coffee after.
Sunday 18 April 1982 – Rose rather late – did some work today – festered in the evening.
Trying to get my head around the fomenting involved in “writing a motion and showing it around”, I had a Zoom the other day (forty years on – April 2022) with Jon Gorvett and Simon Jacobs, both of whom I recall were involved in that fomentation (or whatever one calls it). I am delighted to inform readers that their recall is as hazy or hazier than mine. We managed the following vague recollections:
Sally & Liz were friends of Mark Bartholomew and we suspected that Mark was the Machiavellian figure behind this attempted grassroots student pressure on the committee.
Liz was skinny (I can sort-of recall her face even) whereas Sally was not;
That motion (whatever it was – something to do with “the cuts” – the exact content is long since forgotten) didn’t succeed in the summer term of 1982, but we learnt from it and fomented differently and more successfully the following term (autumn 1982) – I recall the second fomentation more clearly and you’ll read about it “forty years on” in the unlikely event that you are still a reader by then;
Monday 19 April 1982 – worked reasonably hard today – lounged around somewhat as well. Went to Union in evening – Liz came back for coffee.
Tuesday 20 April 1982 – Did some work today – went to Union – quite crowded – left quite early.
Wednesday 21 April 1982 – Did some work today and went to town. Easy evening in. Simon & Jon came round quite late.
Thursday 22 April 1982 – Easyish day – loads of people back etc. Went to Union in eve – lack to Rana’s [Sen] after for coffee etc.
Friday 23 April 1982 – Easyish sort of day – saw quite a lot of people. Union in eve – Jon, Liz & Sally came back after disco.
Saturday 24 April 1982 – Went to town. Andrea [Collins, now Woodhouse], Mary [Keevil] and Karen came over in afternoon. Went to Union in evening – OK. Jon came back after.
Sunday 25 April 1982 – Rose late – did a fair bit of work today. Went over to Rana’s for a while – worked quite hard.
Monday 26 April 1982 – Not bad day. First day of lectures. Lindsay in afternoon. Went to bar. Simon, Jon & Liz came back for coffee etc.
Early that term, I recall taking a tumble on the slope that led to the Chancellor’s Building from the Lindsay Hall end, while rushing to get to a lecture or tutorial on time.
A little dazed, I soon realised that someone had hoicked me up and I was being stared at by none other than “ABC” Dick Hemsley, asking me if I was alright. “Yes, I’m fine”, I said, embarrassed to have found myself in such a vulnerable circumstance with one of the better-known right-wing villains of the campus. “No”, said Dick firmly, studying my reactions carefully, “I think you might have bumped your head. Really, are you OK?” Thankfully I hadn’t banged my head and most of the bruises were to my “left ego”. That incident stuck in my mind, because it made me realise that Dick, despite our opposing political views, when it came to the crunch, was instinctively concerned about my welfare.
Possibly term seemed like an anti-climax; possibly the weather got to me – I have never much liked icy-cold weather and this was a proper cold spell.
The diaries – which are shown at the bottom of this piece but upon which I shall not expand this time – suggest a relatively dull phase – at least in my mind…
…until the Ronnie Scott & Friends Jazz Night on 16 January, which was a hugely memorable event in all sorts of ways.
Ronnie Scott co-founded the legendary Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in the late 1950’s. It was already an institution by the early 1980s and we were truly blessed that Ronnie liked visiting student venues and especially liked the vibe in the University of Keele Students’ Union Ballroom. I saw him perform there several times while at Keele – this was the first of those times.
The following clip, from some time in the early 1980s, is pretty close to what the ensemble looked and sounded like at Keele that night:
For those who know little about Ronnie Scott/Ronnie Scott’s and would like to know more, the following hour-long Omnibus film from 1989 is quite comprehensive and almost of that time:
There is am even more comprehensive 2020 documentary movie, which I have seen and can confirm is a very interesting watch, which you can find out about on IMDb here.
My memories of this particular January 1982 evening at Keele are a strange mixture of clear and blurry. The diary entry only tells a small part of the story:
…went to Jazz Night in the evening. ** got pissed during and after!!
This suggests that only alcohol was imbibed at our table, although in my mind there was also whacky backy involved. Perhaps that was because Ronnie kept saying, “I must stop smoking this stuff” whenever he muffed his jokes/lines, which he did with charming frequency.
We sat at tables in the style of a jazz club like Ronnie Scott’s and I remember it all seeming very grown up and sophisticated at the outset. I think we drank wine and cocktails rather than beer at our table, which is probably why we got pissed unusually quickly.
I was at a table with, I am pretty sure (in reducing order of sureness): Miriam Morgan, Heather Jones, Ashley Fletcher, Helen Ross and one or two others. One person who was certainly at our table was a rather exotic-looking (to me) gay female with whom, for reasons I cannot with hindsight fathom, I started to dance. I’ll guess it was initially her idea, because dancing isn’t something I can imagine myself ever having spontaneously initiated.
Mercifully, this Jazz Night was long before the age of smart phones, pocket video cameras, TikTok and the like, so there are no moving pictures of our “performance” – indeed not even any stills to my knowledge.
It probably looked a little like the following clip at first, except that John Travolta is a very capable dancer trying to look awkward, whereas…
We danced in an increasingly frisky manner as time went on, until a pivotal moment when I suddenly felt drenched. Someone from a nearby “Tory Boy” table tipped a jug of water over us with the entreaty, “you two need to cool down”.
I’m not sure who did the tipping; it might have been Mark Ellicott (who still sat at Tory Boy tables back then) or it might even have been ABC Dick. Whoever it was, the gesture was done without menace and with a witticism thrown in, such that we and everyone at the tables around us found the joke funny, so we joined in the laughter and redoubled our frisky efforts.
Strangely, I ran this story by Simon Jacobs and Jon Gorvett just the other evening – forty years on. Both of them confirmed that they were not there on this evening.
Yet Simon, who usually claims not to be able to remember anything about our Keele days, immediately identified the young woman in question as “Nicola from Crewe and Alsager College”, which of course was the right answer. Respect, Simon, respect.
Nicola ended up going out with Miriam, which I think brought the Miriam and Heather era to a close, although I might be muddling the sequencing and/or duration of that episode. Others might well be able to put the record straight.
My diary states clearly that we all carried on drinking after the Ronnie Scott Jazz Night had concluded, but the frisky dancing with Nicola was definitely merely a “moment in time” thing during the jazz night.
Postscript – Remembering Nicola
Within minutes of me posting this piece, Ashley Fletcher commented on FB, reminding me that, a couple of years later, he shared a place in Newcastle with Miriam & Nicola, who became and were still very much an item after that January 1982 time.
Diary pages for the week or so leading up to Ronnie’s below. For the completists. There’s a prize if anyone can work out who or what I went to see on Tuesday 12th!
Postscript – Remembering Nastassja
Following an entreaty from Kay Scorah that she wouldn’t sleep until the 12 January diary entry mystery was solved, I gave the matter some deeper thought. Then I looked at the Rosetta Stone for a while. Then I concluded that the pathetically scrawled four-letter word, which I had thought all along was probably the title of a film, given that Tuesday evening was film night…
My teenage hormonal head would have been full of Nastassja Kinski for a few days…until Nicola came along. Sorry Nastassja.
You can sleep now, Kay.
Postscript To The Above Postscript – Remembering Tash, Tess & Nastassja
The mention of Tess generated quite a postbag and I realise that I was mistaken in attributing the 12 January scribble to that film. John White writes:
Don’t think that says Tess btw. The word begins with an s and ends with an h. Sure it wasn’t a person?
But I was buoyed by Jon Gorvett’s memory flash, inspired by my mention of Tess:
Anyway, also bizarre that you should mention Heather Jones, Tess, Nastassja Kinski and crushes all in the same post, Ian, as I recall both myself and Heather taking a sudden interest in Thomas Hardy around then, after Kinski had appeared on the cover of the version of Tess of the d’Urbervilles on sale in the Keele bookshop. Noticing this, we both later confessed to a massive crush on the said daughter of the great director (and massive child abuser, I see now), leading ultimately to enormous enthusiasm for Cat People, when that hit the screens later that year.
…so I responded as follows:
100% sure it was Tess. Memory flash corroborated by Jon Gorvett, who said that note brought a flood of memories. Gilted Jon (by Truda) and gilted Heather (by Miriam) both salivated over Ms Kinski at that time. My handwriting was truly appalling at the best of times and I often wrote up diaries when pissed or stoned.
But I did see Tess around that time – I’m guessing it must have been the film shown 15 January, which I don’t name – I simply describe it in my diary as “boring”. Frankly, I do recall finding the excruciatingly long Tess movie boring in every regard except for the visual charms of Ms Kinski.
Mark Ellicott has managed several of London's iconic venues, including Dingwalls, The London Astoria and more recently Heaven. He cut his teeth as Keele Students' Union Social Secretary in the mid 1980s. But Mark arrived at Keele as a clean-cut, Tory-boy. The Royal Ball in December 1981, Mark's first term at Keele, might have seeded Mark's dramatic transformation. I am thrilled to host Mark's guest piece, in which he reflects on that starry night, forty years on.
The naiveté of youth!
As a Fresher in my first term at Keele, in the autumn of 1981, I was weirdly excited, as were many others, about the prospect of the Royal Ball in the Students Union almost exactly 40 years ago to the day.
At the time Princess Margaret was Keele’s Chancellor and she had periodically in the past ‘graced’ the Union with an attendance at one of its events. I wasn’t particularly pro or anti monarchy at the time, but as an eighteen year old still adjusting to an independent life it did appear to be a vaguely thrilling thing to be a part of. So I eagerly bought my ticket and a day or two before the event headed into Newcastle to hire an evening outfit.
Ticket holders – the cost was £8- were advised to arrive before HRH at a certain time – ostensibly for security reasons but I suppose also because it would have looked a bit weird if Mags had had to jostle her way into the Union building competing with hundreds of students and getting asked by the SU porters for some photo ID in order to gain admission.
Everyone was dressed in outfits that veered from the completely over the top to the over formalised absurd. I count myself in the latter category. Sort of Primark meets Brideshead Revisited meets a downmarket magician about to perform in a provincial working mans club.
Some unsavoury looking guests at the ball
HRH arrived resplendent in pink at eight and the then Social Secretary Eric Rose, dressed in a natty black and white suit, introduced her to the Union Committee.
Margaret Rose & Eric Rose
Some members of the Committee, like Treasurer Steve Townsley, took a stand objecting to the whole circus and stayed away boycotting what they and many others felt to be shameless kowtowing to a discredited person of enormous privilege. That was not my view at the time but it was a view that I came to share.
Margaret, once she had worked out who the VP Internal and NUS Secretary and the Chair of Constitutional Committee etc. all were, was then led onto the dance floor by SU President Mark Thomas for an awkward ‘dance’. Mark, a genial Welshman who it was impossible to dislike, looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up whilst HRH just looked indifferent and blandly into the distance with a thousand yard stare etched into her face no doubt having had much experience of similar situations. She shimmied around the floor quite fluently but would periodically flap her arms so that she semi resembled a goose or a swan preparing for flight.
Mark & Marge – Mark wasn’t normally the clenched fist type
I’m not sure she was entirely aware she was doing it but it did look quite funny. I tried to get close to the couple but I got too close and a burly looking security man intervened and shot the sort of look at me that you would normally reserve for those things you see laying on their back at the bottom of a pond.
The intention was I suspect for the look to reduce transgressors to a pile of smouldering ash and to think twice about any possible future spatial intrusion. My friend Paul, a Wolverhampton lad, and already drunk intimated to me he was going to try and ‘get off’ with her. He was optimistic about his chances following her recent fling with a twenty something young man called Roddy Llewelyn. Naturally I encouraged Paul to pursue his dream but I was not confident of his success given the goons around her.
Once five or ten minutes of this nonsense was concluded Margaret was led upstairs to meet the star performer for the event, Newcastle born Alan Price.
Price sang sort of music hall stomping pop anthems that in the 60s were inexplicably popular and who retained for whatever reason some popularity on the student circuit long after his heyday had come to an end. Rather like Gary Glitter and Edwin Starr in that respect. Although I obviously was not invited myself to join Mags and Pricey in their enclave away from the masses downstairs, I was a witness to her much later emerging onto the balcony to watch his performance wobbling unsteadily and needing to be supported by one of the security men, who had shot me the filthy look a while earlier. I’m told she and Mr P indulged in a vast quantity of whisky and that she was flirtatious to the point of nigh on asking him to unzip her dress at one point. That I would have paid extra to see.
Alan Price’s performance was immediately forgettable. Just turgid tuneless fairground ditties that like those bubbles kids make with those bubbles machines which are there one minute and then……pah…just disappear the next. Five minutes after he had finished his entire show had been forgotten.
HRH was supported out of the building looking a little bit like she found something hilariously amusing. It was very apparent that she was pissed out of her head. She seemed to be cackling at one of the bins at one point. This sort of thing happens when you are drunk. I have been there myself. For some reason when off your nut a banal everyday inanimate object can suddenly appear like the most amusing, laugh out loud, clutching your stomach thing ever.
She dropped her cigarette holder as she left. The holder was about a foot long and looked like the sort of thing Noel Coward would have used. One of her flunkies picked it up for her and as he got up he lightly banged his head on her chin. She was peering down at him watching him retrieve it and stood just a little too closely. She smiled at the collision, although again this would have been because she was soused. Had she been sober he would no doubt have been whipped and beaten and made to crawl around on all fours for a month or two.
The Ball continued without her but it was by now a rather dull anti-climax. I went home whenever it finished feeling vaguely deflated.
It wasn’t my last interaction with our Chancellor.
Barely six months later as an indirect consequence of me and a friend trying to sack her from this titular position I got myself suspended for a year from the University.
But that is a different story. For another time.
Ellicott transforming……Ellicott transformed.Ellicott, the hair presumptive
My memory of this event was triggered at lunch the other day (October 2017) when Patrick Moore came up in the conversation.
“Oh yes, I interviewed him when I was at Keele”, I said, “I didn’t find him all that impressive”.
Janie ticked me off afterwards for being (or at least seeming) churlish about the matter, especially as Alan and Sue (who had brought Patrick Moore into the conversation) were obviously keen on him.
On reflection, I couldn’t recall why I had been unimpressed by him. But I could recall that I had recorded the interview and had digitised the tape a few years ago, without really listening to it again at that time.
I promptly listened to it carefully – you can hear it too if you wish:
Listening to the interview brought back a flood of memories and also made me feel very badly about my teenage impression of Patrick Moore. Because I realise, on listening to the recording, that the unimpressive contributor is me, not him.
I was under-prepared for that interview and Patrick Moore to some extent interviewed himself.
In my defence, the reason I was under-prepared was because I hadn’t expected to conduct the interview until later that day. I certainly hadn’t expected to conduct it in my own little study/bedroom.
Being me, I went to Ron Maddison’s office early afternoon on the day of the interview/talk just to confirm all the arrangements. It turned out that Patrick Moore was already there with some time on his hands. They both suggested that I could conduct the interview there and then. I explained that I would need my tape recorder and notepad, at which point Patrick Moore volunteered to come with me and be interviewed in my room.
I told him that my student room was less than salubrious, especially when I was not expecting guests, but my protests seemed to make him all the more eager to take this opportunity to observe how students really live.
Patrick Moore, the man who usually wielded the telescope towards the stars, was choosing to observe student life under the metaphorical microscope.
So we marched from the Astronomy Department to Lindsay and my very humble little room, F4.
I remember telling him, along the way, that I had planned to prepare the questions that afternoon so was under-prepared. He told me not to worry and that between us he was sure we’d cover plenty for my article.
I remember making us both a coffee when we got to my room. I possibly even had some biscuits to offer.
If you listen to the interview, it sounds a bit like a John Shuttleworth interview, but without the music. You can hear the sound of the coffee mugs being moved around. It is very folksy sounding, which indeed it was.
Some of my questions and interjections are positively cringe worthy, but on the whole I sense that I had roughly worked out a skeleton for the interview in my head and we worked through it – perhaps not as methodically as I would have planned, but the interview does cover a lot of ground. He was clearly a seasoned interviewee who could have conducted his own interview without me.
The recording runs uninterrupted for over 15 minutes, until c17:20, at which point I began stopping the tape periodically to try to make sure we were covering everything I wanted/needed for my article.
At 21:25 I ask a particularly ill-phrased question about black holes, followed by, during the embarrassing seconds that followed, the clear sound of someone knocking and entering the room. I remember this clearly. It was my neighbour, Simon Ascough (Sim), who was quite taken aback to see Patrick Moore in the room.
Sim had presumably popped in on a matter of extremely urgent student importance. Perhaps to recommend that we listen to In A Gadda Da Vida (yet again), possibly to suggest a mid afternoon spliff or quite possibly both. But I think (mercifully) that Sim’s request went unspoken; in any case I turned the recorder off at the moment of the knock.
At 23:55 comes the laugh out loud moment on the tape, when you can clearly hear the sound of a female (or females) being chased around the corridor of F Block. Again I turned off the recorder. I remember Patrick Moore asking me if my friend, having found me otherwise engaged, had decided to chase girls instead?
What I should have said was, “no, that’ll almost certainly be Richard Van Baaren and Benedict Coldstream chasing girls around the corridor”. But I didn’t say that. In fact, I think both Patrick Moore and I had a fit of the giggles for quite a few moments before I switched the recorder back on.
My only other profound memory of this interview was playing the recording to Paul Deacon during the summer holidays soon after the event. Paul is a DJ, voice recording artiste and a superb mimic; Patrick Moore is certainly one of Paul’s voices.
I remember Paul playing over and over again the bit at the beginning of the interview when Patrick Moore says, “and then along came Mr Hitler”, mimicking it better and better each time, until I begged Paul to stop. Perhaps it was the Paul comedy aspect that dampened my enthusiasm for Patrick Moore.
Subsequent contribution – May 2019: Dave Lee, who was the interim editor of Concourse in the months prior to the interview, has been in touch by e-mail to remind me, “If I remember you said at the time of Patrick Moore that he farted and stunk the room out. That might have been a distraction!” Oh yes, I now recall Paul Deacon including fart noises in his impersonation. Maybe it was the flatulence that diminished my opinion of the fine communicator that was Patrick Moore.
One of the strangest things about this very memorable event was that I didn’t register it at all in my diary, so I cannot be 100% sure of the date on which his lecture (and therefore my interview) took place.
It looks to me as though my diary got quite a long way behind at that stage of that term. To be fair on my 18-year-old self, it was a busy time. Uncle Manny (dad’s older brother) died suddenly a couple of week’s earlier, so I needed to go home unexpectedly to help with family duties and attend the funeral & shiva.
It was also essay and exam time – not ridiculously onerous in Foundation Year (FY) but I had been behind anyway (show me the FY student who wasn’t) and the Uncle Manny business had set me behind further.
I do recall, indeed my diary shows that, I was doing my own fair share of girl chasing at that time – not the screaming and corridor running type of chasing I hasten to add – with a kindly third year named Sandra. But that is another story – now to be found by clicking here or below:
Forensics on the scrap of paper emblazoned with the legend “Patrick Moore Interview” inside the cassette box reveals the following on the adverse side:
I’m guessing that the interview would have been a couple of days before the Jazz Night, as the following week there were lots of exams, so I am guessing that the interview was one of those quieter days between the essay deadlines and the exams; 27th or 28th May.
Here is a picture of the tape, box and legend itself:
If anyone reading this has any more information (or recollection) of that Patrick Moore visit, not least the date, please do chime in.
For some reason, I don’t seem to have kept the article that emerged from the interview, although it might yet emerge from some further archaeology through my old note pads and scrap files. If anyone has a copy of the Concourse article that resulted from the recorded interview, I’d love to see it again.
So, having dredged back the memories, I take back unreservedly my sense that Patrick Moore was unimpressive. Patrick Moore was the commensurate professional and incredibly natural/unassuming in the peculiar circumstances of this interview. My teenage self possibly mistook unassuming for unimpressive; that was poor judgement on my part.
The recorded interview is also an interesting thirty minutes in itself. Here’s the recording again.
I recovered this Hoover Factory memory vividly at a pilot of Rohan Candappa’s new performance piece on 31 October 2017:
What Listening To 10,000 Love Songs Has taught Me About Love. It’s an exploration of love, and music, and how the two intertwine. it’s also about how our lives have a soundtrack.”
I listened to the cassettes Graham made for me a lot in that final term of my first year at Keele. I especially liked the Hoover Factory song, even before the events of mid May.
Wednesday 13 May1981
I was in the Students’ Union that evening (as usual) when I got tannoyed.
The sound of Wally across the tannoy saying:
would Ear Narris come to reception please. Ear Narris to reception…
…became a commonplace in my sabbatical year…
…I even have a towel emblazoned with the legend “Ear Narris”, a gift from Petra…
…but this was probably the first time I had ever been tannoyed in the Students’ Union.
It was my mum on the phone. My father’s older brother, Manny, had died suddenly of a heart attack. I was needed at home. Rapidly. Traditional Jewish funerals are conducted very soon after death and that branch of the family was/is traditional. I went to bed early, knowing I would need to make a very early start (by student standards) the next day.
Thursday 14 May 1981
A flurry of activity.
Early in the morning, I went round to see a few academics to reschedule my essays and excuse myself from a tutorial or two. I recall the topology tutor (professor?) seeming incredibly strange. Twice I told him that my uncle had died and twice he said back to me, “I’m sorry to hear that your father has died”.
Once I had agreed my absences and extensions, I legged it to London, having arranged to stop off at the place near Euston where the religious paperwork for births, marriages, deaths and stuff used to get done. Woburn House if I remember correctly. Anyway, I was suitably “family but not immediate family” (the latter are officially in mourning and are not allowed to do stuff) to help get the paperwork sorted out.
I learnt that Uncle Manny was (officially) born in Vilnius, although the family hailed from the “twixt Minsk and Pinsk” Belarus part of the Pale of Settlement. The family might have already been on the move by the time he was born or that answer might, at the time, have seemed more acceptable when the UK arrivals paperwork was being done.
When I got home, I recall that Grandma Anne, 88/89 years old, was in our house and in the most shocking state. Apparently Uncle Manny had collapsed in her kitchen and she was unable to get past the collapsed body of her son to try to call for help. A nightmarish scenario that would seem unlikely & overly melodramatic if used in fiction. Grandma Anne never really recovered from the shock of this event and didn’t survive that calendar year.
It was the first time I had witnessed death at close hand. I was very small (8 or 9) when Uncle Alec, the oldest of the four brothers, died; in truth I had been shielded from it. But this time I was very affected by witnessing and being part of this family bereavement.
From left to right, Uncles Manny, Michael and Alec
Friday 15 May 1981
The funeral, at Bushy Cemetery. We were driven out as part of the funeral cortege of course.
I had only been to one funeral before – as it happens at the same cemetery – that of Bernard Rothbart, a teacher at Alleyn’s – perhaps two years earlier. I’ll write that one up for Ogblog when I come to it.
I’m not sure I had ever been out on the Western Avenue before – at least not knowingly and not with senses heightened. In fact, I’m pretty sure I had no idea where we were until I saw that magnificent Hoover Building loom into view.
Oh my God. That’s it. That’s the Hoover Factory…
“Yes, dear”, said mum. “Your ‘Uncle Josh’ used to work for Hoover”.
I don’t think mum got the point.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the line from the song, “it’s not a matter of life or death. What is? What is?” Because my family was suddenly experiencing something that really was a matter of life or death. And people really did, profoundly care who does or doesn’t take another breath. I wanted to understand, but Elvis wasn’t helping; his song was just stuck in my head.
Hoover Factory remained stuck in my head for the rest of the day…the rest of the week…the rest of the term.
And the rest of that term turned out to be a very eventful few weeks indeed for me:
some time off after the exams before starting my holiday job – I came back to London for a while to see friends then back to Keele to enjoy the end of academic year festivities. I recall reading Catch 22 in the glorious sunshine, sitting on the grassy knoll (Keele’s grassy knoll is a safe space), in front of the library and chapel. I read loads, for the pleasure of reading and had a really good time for several happy weeks.
