BEATLES CONFIDENTIAL

This is a collection — a hodge-podge, admittedly — of photos, of stories (culled from reminiscences of some who were there) about Liverpool and Hamburg pre-'64, and of facts and opinions on the women who had more to do with the Beatles than is probably realized; essentially, this is a fan's assemblage of little-seen and little-heard things about the most heard-about group in the history of music.

1959 British suburban divided highways — called "dual carriageways" — are possibly the world's most boring streets. There's none of that piquant infestation of neon which seems so inescapable in America, no street cruising, not too many intersections. Just mile after mile of neat, well-metalled roadway, edged with endless brownbrick lower-middle-class / middle-class semi-detached houses which are still, for several obscure reasons, considered desirable residences in this still-United Kingdom of 1959.

Mather Avenue, Liverpool 18, is a typical example of the genre. It's a main suburban artery, connecting well-to-do Allerton with lower-class Garston and even with (downright nowhere) Speke, where local lads get apprenticeships in the factories if they're lucky. John Lennon, a tenth-grader at Quarry Bank Grammer School for Boys, lives with his aunt almost exactly on the dividing line between Allerton and Garston, almost opposite the Police Academy, in fact. But he's not at home, nor at school, thereby risking admonition and possibly formal beating. He's sitting in The Coffee Pot, which is a twee Allerton shoppe where twittery ladies sell portions of caffeine by the fluid ounce, talking with his friend Pete Shotton.

Shotton is blond, curly-haired, John's pal and backer-up. In fact they're both skiying. "Not at school to-

Curt Gunther - Camera

day?," asks the proprietress, bringing further colas. She disapproves. "No," says Lennon shortly, lighting a cigarette. She sweeps off primly. Lennon and Shotton start whispering and giggling. Suddenly Lennon says "Fuck!" loudly and leaves the shop, not stopping to pay. Shotton shrugs and pays for both.

This story is not important.

1960 Upper Parliament Street is downtown Liverpool, on the edge of arty Liverpool 8, about ten minutes' swagger from the Art College, where Lennon and Stu Sutcliffe attend. Sutcliffe paints but Lennon hangs out, unwilling to commit himself to anything so tangible and permanent. At the top end of Upper Parly, before it nosedives down past the Cathedral to meet the dock road in a sea of squelchy cobbles and bits of packing cases, stands the Rialto cinema. It is not yet destined to become a bingo hall.

Down Upper Parliament Street, past spades in doorways, past illegal but tolerated shebeens (Irish expatriate booze clubs), walk three lads, obviously from the Art College despite the new leathers. Nobody outswaggers the locals on Upper Parly, even when it's raining. They're going to the Jacaranda to drink a little coffee and worry about a drummer. The drummer they're going to hire — though they don't know it yet — is the lonesome, introverted son of the Jac's owner.

Curt Gunther - Camera 3

1961 Hamburg. John Lennon and Pete Best (for it is he) are standing on a tumbledown balcony one story above the Grosser Freiheit, action-packed alley off the Reeperbahn. Behind them is their doss, a seedy bunkhouse provided absolutely free of charge by the management of the Top Ten, where the Beatles are playing. To show their appreciation of this largesse, Lennon and Best, giggling, pee in unison high in the air so that the fine spray falls on the Hamburgers who are promenading slowly underneath, checking out the girl-wrestling photos on the strip club foyers. With muffled hysteria, Lennon and Best collapse back into the sanctuary of the doss. "You're a bastard, John," says Someone.

They do in fact succeed in being deported — but not for peeing, for setting fire to the wallpaper of the doss (which has been hanging in shards, begging for a constructive match, for years).

1962 Hamburg. Lennon, Gerry Marsden (of the Pacemakers), plus two others are playing Brag (three-card English Poker) in the doss. They're now working at the Star Club (opposite) for significantly more money, rumoured to be as much as forty pounds a week, paid in Deutschmarks. Lennon gets up, goes to the bathroom for a slash; on his way back he notices the sleeping form ot another musician, from the South African group Tex Roberg and the Graduates. The guy has just come off shift at the Star, and is totally unconscious, with a glass of water beside his bed. Lennon, on a whim, pours the water over the comatose drummer, rejoins the game, chuckling. After one minute the drummer, hair wet and slicked over his head, pads coolly into the knocking-aboutroom, bearing ... a glass of water. This he calmly empties over Lennon. Lennon stands up, seizes (empty) beer bottle, lays bottle violently across scalp of soaked drummer. Silence.

"Yeah," says the drummer (Afrikaner heads are solid enough to take the impact). "Yeah...well, there's four of you, aren't there?". He walks away contemptuously. So do the other three card players. Lennon is left with his unplayed hand.

1963 Birmingham. The Beatles, having had a small single hit with "Love Me Do," are touring on a mass package topped by Helen Shapiro, Yiddisher child-star with that big Bing Crosby vocal range. Three of them (plus Shapiro) walk into the hotel dining-room to get some food before taking a cab to the theatre. They are refused admission because of leather jackets. McCartney makes a scene, and a local newspaperman, in the corner being bought dinner by an interview subject, writes it all down. The following day the incident makes seven lines down-page in a few national daily papers.

1963. The Blue Angel, Liverpool. One of the city's two ongoing nightclubs with any real action. Downstairs, where steak sandwiches can be consumed by candle light, George Harrison is standing at the bar, bethronged byclubgoers. "Please Please Me" (The Beatles' second single release in Britian) has just entered the charts, at 16. "It's jolly good, George," says a patron. "I reckon it might go as high as...say, ten" suggests another, brightly. (He obviously means to be encouraging.)

George raises an eyebrow. "D'you really?" he says politely. "I think it might go higher, meself."

m a corner Ringo Starr, recently recruited drummer, is talking to four girls at once. His hair is still greased back over his head in a Dingle D.A. 1963. Huyton (pronounced "Highton") , sleek countrified Liverpool suburb, constituency of M.P. Harold Wilson and home of Paul McCartney, whose 21st party is being celebrated by a large number of people. John is being rude to wife Cynthia. Gerry Marsden takes him aside, 'i'll work you over, John," says pint-sized Marsden, "if you shit on Cyn any more." He says it nicely.

One hour later, down in the main lounge, which is jammed with people, Lennon finds himself knee-to-knee with Bob Wooller, manager of the Cavern Club. Wooller smiles, leans closer to John. Lennon suddenly explodes into movement and Wooller goes down in a heap. There afe cries of outrage and a press of bodies. Wooller, cooedover, is taken home by six friends. Lennon, sullen and silent, is taken home by Cynthia. He later pays Wooller damages for assault.

1964. Liverpool. Beatles return for tumultous civic reception and public welcome after putting Liverpool on the world map (as many locals then thought). The triumphal drive is sullied somewhat by leaflets claiming that McCartney is paternally responsible for a certain recent unacknowledged birth. The leaflets slag off the Beatles, demand compensation. It all is later hushed up.

Meanwhile, in the Town Hall, another scene is caused by Hard Day's Night co-star, actor Wilfrid Brambell, who apparently hasn't been invited to dinner.

It is the last time the Beatles are to return to Liverpool for any reason other than concert commitments.