We had a manager: well actually, manager was one of the nicer terms used to describe him. I’m afraid he would not have won a popularity contest with the boys. I remember a photograph was published on the front page of the Mersey Beat magazine which showed a profile of two persons singing and playing, on stage, at the Cavern. (The real Cavern, that is, not the imitation in town today). The picture, which was lit contre jour, that’s French for back lit, supposedly made the subjects anonymous; but it didn’t work. It was so obviously Nicky Crouch and Paddy Chambers, that a blind man would have recognized them. The headline, which left nothing to conjecture, was ‘The 50% men’, and was quite a decent expose on the activities of some of the managers of the day.

When our manager heard about the article and eventually read it, he went ballistic. He threatened to sue the Mersey Beat and everyone involved. I suggested that he think very carefully before taking any precipitate action, as any such action would not only positively identify the boys in the picture, but would cause questions to be asked by other bands – including bands he had, or wanted to have – about his business methods. I, and the band, honestly believed that in other hands the Flamingos would have survived and succeeded. 

Still, the past is a foreign country – they do things differently there.

We did one show, in Rochdale, which I have got to tell you, was incredible. The main people on the menu were Eden Kane and Mike Sarne. I met Mike some time later while I was with the Mojos, when we were at Butlins in Clacton, making the film, ‘Every Day’s a Holiday’. But for now, back to Rochdale. Mike was, of course, late. He was the star of the show after all. My gear was set up on stage, tested and faultless as usual. (Sounds really arrogant that, doesn’t it, but it really is true. My gear never let my bands down). But, on that night, almost everyone else’s gear did let them down. And it seemed that I was the only one in the place who had any idea how to fix the stuff. Right up until the curtains opened, I was sorting out electrics.

The trouble was that I was so engrossed in what I was doing, that I was not aware that the curtains had opened. All I heard was the usual ‘testing, testing, wun, two three’, and then the dulcet tones of the MC came over my PA system, “Before we begin this evening’s show, we would like to thank the man who made this evening possible”. “YEAHHHHHHHH”. I was on my knees at the rear of the stage, and when I turned, the curtains were open wide, and the theatre was full to the eaves. I was off the stage almost as fast as a Faron faced with a Little Richard. The annoying thing was that, when the local newspaper ran the story of that evening, it said ‘The undoubted star of that show was the electrician, who was constantly onstage repairing equipment’. Firstly, I was not the theatre’s electrician, and secondly, I was not constantly on stage. After my introduction, I never went near the stage until it was time to wrap up. 

One eminently important member of the audience that night was a talent spotter guy who had heard about Faron’s Flamingos and wanted to see first hand. At the end of the show, he came to the dressing room and introduced himself. He told us that he was interested in representing the band, and came up with some superb ideas. Of course, when the band approached our manager, who shall still remain nameless, we were laughed out of his office. His reasoning went thus: the band was income: his contract was iron-clad: he was not really interested in whether someone else could give the band the world on a plate. It was pathetic really: basically, it was like one of those old badly acted Frankenstein movies: You know the one:

You’re mine - all mine – HaaHaHaHaHa. If I can’t have you, nobody else shall have you – AhhhhhHahaha. 

Cuts to dark tower – thunder and lightning flashes. 

Sad really. 

He was not prepared to give the band their freedom, and the band knew that without it, they would never get on. After that, the rot set in. It was the beginning of the end for Faron’s Flamingos, another one of the best bands Liverpool has ever produced.

Trevor and I were the best of mates. He had actually been the catalyst when I turned pro road manager. Up until Faron’s Flamingos I had worked part-time with bands, while serving my time with my father. I had found it very difficult to explain to my father that enough was enough: that I wanted to get away and travel and experience things that I had no choice of seeing or doing if I just stayed in Bootle and painted. I still hate painting and decorating to this day. Funnily enough, my wife Beth works for Stephen Shillitoe Design Consultants, an up-market interior design company from Southport. So any decisions on colour schemes in our housed come from her. D’you know something? It suits me fine.

Anyway, I discovered that Trevor had visited my father’s house in Bootle and explained, in ways that I was unable to, that I would be far better off growing away from my much hated way of life and doing something that may, or may not last, but which would give me infinitely more enjoyment and life experience than burning off 100 year old paint in dust-filled, ancient, decrepit houses, and wielding a paint brush forever more. It wasn’t always like that, but it was a lot.

Next thing I knew, I was working full time for Faron’s Flamingos. I really did miss painting grotty old houses NOT!
Copyright David Conlan

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