Jake Barton’s Diary. Me and The Beatles – True Story.

I kept a diary for two years, a very long time ago. I found them, in my dad’s loft, dating back to 1961 and 1962. After a quick glance, they were put on one side. I just found them again.

Pure gold!

I remember this so well. December 23^rd 1961, an ‘All-Nighter’ at the Cavern Club, the original one not the recent mock-up, in Matthew Street, Liverpool. I was still at school, stayed until way past midnight, had to walk home as last bus had gone, had spent all my money anyway, got into massive trouble when I finally got home. It was worth it.

The Cavern Club was mainly a jazz club in those days, but there were a couple of guest bands that the whole city was talking about. The jazz was dire, old people’s music, but there were these other bands who were LOUD and exciting. The place was packed, it always was, and I can’t remember anything that had happened in my life until then that even came close to that night.

The bands – we’d only just started to use the word ‘groups’ – oh yeah, there were Gerry and the Pacemakers, Johnny Sandon and the Searchers and a scruffy bunch who’d recently changed their name to The Beatles. I worshipped John Winston Lennon from the start, as did everybody else in my class at school. Paul McCartney looked young enough to still be in my class, Stuart Sutcliffe was the epitome of cool and all the girls screamed over Pete Best.

Gerry Marsden was a proper singer, even then I remember thinking he had a great voice, while Johnny Sandon – always Johnny Sandon AND the Searchers – was a tosser. He left the Searchers shortly before they went on to fame and fortune.

I saw the Beatles three more times in those early days, still well before they achieved global fame. New Brighton Tower Ballroom, again with Gerry and the Pacemakers as support, and twice more at the Cavern Club. Stu Sutcliffe had died of a brain haemorrhage and Ringo had replaced Pete Best as drummer.

I put stars around the date, 1^st July 1962, the music world was finally handed over to my generation; the first night at the Cavern Club without a jazz element. The Beatles, The Swinging Blue Jeans (I wrote ‘shit’ next to their name), Sounds Incorporated about whom I remember nothing and, oh joy, the one man who out-shone John Lennon for an impressionable youth, Gene Vincent. Clad in black leather, mike stand swinging around within inches of the audience, I remember it as if it were yesterday. Magical and I’m feeling the goose bumps as I write this.

A massive disappointment, the first ever appearance of the group who’d started to be called the ‘Fab Four,’ John, Paul, George and Ringo in Birkenhead, Hulme Hall. I’d underlined the details, couldn’t go after breaking my collarbone the day before. Not a happy day, as I can recall even now.

Later that year, 1962,The Beatles again, this time very evidently in awe at sharing the billing with the legendary Little Richard. Screaming out the lyrics of Long Tall Sally, with the piano in danger of crashing off the stage at any moment, sweat pouring off him, he was simple immense. The best live performance I ever saw, even now.

The Cavern Club wasn’t the only club to have live bands at that time. It was crowded, claustrophobic, rather dingy, low ceilings pressing down, but the atmosphere was unmatched. The lunchtime sessions were packed out, every live band night was a sell-out, but Liverpool was music mad and venues sprung up all over the city. I remember the Iron Door club in Temple Street, a vast barn of a warehouse where I saw the Searchers play, and other clubs sprung up, drew a crowd for a while, closed again. The Cavern Club was the best, without question. They closed it, eventually, I think to accommodate the new Underground Railway, and a replica opened several years later which is enough to persuade legions of tourists they’re standing in front of the same stage where legends once played.

I went past the other day. Had a drink in Flanagan’s Apple, took a group photo for some tourists from Slovakia, outside the Cavern Club. ‘This is it,’ they said, ‘Beatles were here.’

I wanted to say ‘so was I.’

But I didn’t.

I took their photo, moved on. Just another old bloke to them. Lost in his memories. Poor old bugger.