The girl herself was a friend of the daughter of a restaurant Chef from Warrington. He had a lovely house somewhere on the edge of the town, and he had converted his cellar into a sort of nightclub in order, I assume, to stop his little girl from roaming. It didn’t work. We went there one night after a gig in Warrington. At the close of the night, we, including my lady, Joyce, from Roby, having spent a very enjoyable couple of hours eating, dancing and generally having a ball in this private night club, we completely wound down. However, Paddy decided that enough was enough, and that he wanted to head home to his lady, also named Joyce.

As it would only be about an hour or so, my Joyce said she would wait for me. Joanne, our delectable bit of totty, whom you may recall visited my cot in Paddy’s house, asked if she could come along for the ride. We dropped Paddy off at his house and headed back. As we reached the last part of our journey, about five miles from Warrington, she insisted that I stop. I’m afraid that within about thirty seconds, we were a touch more than flagrante delicto for about half an hour: in fact, when I passed that way the following week, I discovered that the dirt track we had parked across was actually a ‘b’ road, and any traffic exiting or entering would have caused more than a little coitus interuptus.

I also remember a time at a place in Chester; I think it was called ‘The Riverside’, or some such. It was a relatively regular gig, and one night, either we had left the club to get a little fresh air, or we were just arriving, and Brian Epstein’s car was outside. I have a feeling it was a Ford car, like a Consul. Trevor, in a rather childish spat, bent the radio aerial and broke it off. I think perhaps it was just because he didn’t like Eppie.

I also remember, at that time, there was a home, or halfway house, in Chester for (wayward) girls; girls who had become pregnant and whose parents had to decide whether they should be disowned or sent away to have the sprogs. Remember, this was the Sixties. Parents were a damn sight more moral than today: or is that hypocritical? The idea of pregnancy out of wedlock was a stoning offence. And anyway, quite a few of the girls liked to spend time at the club at the side of the river. Admittedly, most of them came to the club just so they could be bonked senseless. One night, while my date, a girl from Bootle, was sitting inside the club, I ended up in the back of the van with one of these ladies, whom I discovered, could definitely do with a closer shave. She had more stubble than most fellas. 

Around that time, we used to do pretty regular lunch-time sessions at the Cavern. One day, who should walk in but Mr. McCartney himself, but I have to admit, even though Paul was a lovely fella, hand on heart, the guy who accompanied him was of more interest. He was one of my heroes: I was introduced to him and he gave me his autograph, which I still have to this day. The one and only Chet Atkins, whose single, ‘D’jango’s Castle’, I had for many years, but of course, like lots of things, it entered the twilight zone, or the Bermuda Triangle, never to be seen again. I had a very early LP recording of Ray Charles that went the same way. Funnily enough, that same day, Paul autographed a table place card that I still have to this day: on one side, the card says ‘Reserved, gone to Wee-Wee’ and on the other side, 'Best Wishes, Paul McCartney'.

Another little incident which I’m sure must have lodged in Faron’s mind was a trip to the loo in a Liverpool club; I know it lodged in mine. (That really does sound strange, doesn’t it?) I seem to remember it was the Gladray Club, for some reason. Anyway, I had gone to the loo, and was standing at the trough, watering the flowers, when John Lennon walked in, and stood next to me. Then entered Faron, and stood at the other side of me. Lennon leaned forward and said, ‘D’you know sumthin’ Faron; you’re a great rock singer, just like me’. And Faron turned and replied, D’you know sumthin', Lennon, you’ll never be as good as me’.

If I was to tell you that Faron was a great admirer of Little Richard, it would be an injustice; an understatement of the first magnitude; a boo boo. We met the man himself at the Tower Ballroom in New Brighton. However, an encounter that should have gone down in Faron’s book of favourite occasions – didn’t.

We were sitting in a corridor by the dressing-rooms if I remember correctly. We were introduced to Little Richard, and he took an instant shine to Faron. Now, before I go any further, I should like to state, quite unequivocally, that there is not, has not, and I think, never shall be, any doubt as to where Faron’s sexual proclivities lay. I have known Faron now for some 40 years, and as far as I am aware, the only person I know who is at least as heterosexual as Faron – is me. Right, you’re now in the mood for what came next: we’re introduced to the great man, Faron’s idol; our idol: one of the undisputed rockers of all time, and he puts his hand on Faron’s leg, and makes a pass at him. In all the years I’ve known Faron, I’ve never seen him move so far so fast. This was our most admired idol and he turns out to be the kind of man that mummy had always warned us about. You can just imagine the amount of soul searching that went on that day. 

The same thing – well, almost the same thing, almost happened after some filming in the Cavern, but in fact, it backfired on the (perpetrator). This was much later, after Faron’s Flamingos had broken up, Faron had joined the Big Three, and I had begun my tenure as their road manager. There was a TV producer, or director, who had been to the Cavern to make a film about Liverpool bands during my time with The Flamingos. I particularly remember the recording, because it included Paddy Chamber’s famous ‘I was going to be a priest, then discovered girls’ speech.

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