During one of Clem’s work nights at the Tower Ballroom where he was a disc jockey, we spotted the Beatles arriving for their ‘gig.’ Four little black headed figures in black leather jackets were coming to the stage to ‘set up.’ 

They owed Clem money, three pounds to be exact. The conversation became heated, so out of curiosity I joined them. 

My boyfriend demanded repayment, and did all the talking as they humbly bowed their heads, barely saying a word. Paul suddenly pulled out the lining of his pockets and said “sorry we don’t have it mate. Honest!" 

The Cavern became a Mecca for the local students. It was a small underground cellar of an old warehouse, in a dark dismal alley. At night it became a sea of faces and bright lights. Our front, folding metal seats often vibrated with the pounding music. 

Groups from London often played the Cavern and seemed more prestigious than our local lads, at this time. 

The floor literally shook as we sat dangerously close. It seemed that Ringo and his drums would bounce from this tiny stage, and land in our laps at any given moment. 

Ringo’s musical talents were impressive, although his silly vacant expression was hilarious. He spent many an evening ‘making eyes’ and pursing his huge lips in my direction as my friend and I danced the twist! 

My sister Jean admonished, "if you ever bring HIM home, your mother will choke you!" 

As an art student, I worked part time at the Tower Ballroom café as a cashier. The lads often brought their trays laden with cellophane packaged goodies through the check out. Ringo’s attempts at flirtation were more amusing than annoying! 

Remembering my sister’s warning, I remained aloof! 

Manning the Tower spotlight one evening was John, the manager’s son. He fell for every girl who showed him attention, and was smitten with me for around two weeks. On this particular night, he ‘spotlighted’ myself and a friend several minutes at a time while we danced, leaving the "Fab Four" in total darkness. 

The language and yelling, which emanated from the dark and gloomy stage was unprintable! 

Paul especially, reacted angrily when the swooning teenage girls excitedly grabbed his ankles in an almost successful attempt to extricate him from the stage. He became ‘heated’ quickly, and his language was crude leaving no doubt as to his intentions. 

John was more patient but prone to being quick tempered and very sarcastic. 

Ringo the ‘clown’ was dopey, adorable, and silly. 

George was painfully shy and kept quietly to himself, barely raising his head to ‘view’ his surroundings. 

I was a sensitive sixteen year old. My best friend Diane and I enjoyed a rum and blackcurrant in the Tower bar one evening. We were seated in the almost empty room next to the Beatles. Shortly an ex boyfriend entered. He was a bouncer for the Tower, we were not on speaking terms, so he loudly stated that at sixteen I was underage and had to leave. 

The group of four at the next table snickered, giggled and nudged each other as I made a hasty albeit humiliated retreat, glass in hand.

Suddenly Brian Epstein, their new manager entered our lives. We sensed a ‘quickening’ an acceleration as though we were losing something, we’d taken for granted. He hovered around the ballroom which quickly emptied of its’ revelers, as one noisy Saturday evening concluded. I paused to hear the conversation of this imposing and confident foreigner, whom I sensed was in complete and irreversible control of our ‘lads.’ 

"Passing ships in the sea" was all I heard, as he gazed at the last few teens rushing to catch the late bus home. 

Soon afterwards, the lads left for Germany again. 

At seventeen I was alone, with my mother having returned to her native Jersey. For several months I worked in Jersey then decided to try my luck in London’s West End. I found a job in a fashionable store in Oxford Street, as a window dresser/designer. As I proudly related my experiences in animated detail to my friends and co-workers, I was thrilled to see the ‘lads’ in a postage stamp sized photo in a variety magazine.

Excitedly I passed the page around, but these people were unimpressed. Several weeks later, the lads returned from Germany and took London by storm. The world would know the Beatles. 

My co-worker said, "Glen, let me see that tiny clipping of your Liverpool lads again!" 

Apart from the Beatles but the same era, while living in Sicily we became friends with a Dave Greenfield who played at the military club each night. Dave came to visit, he'd drink beer, and read sci-fi books during the day, not speaking the language, and feeling rather lonely, I suppose. We invited them to dinner and toured around Mt. Etna at times, while they took photos, and had a great time. 

We corresponded for months until I became lazy, and moved to Wales, so I didn't realize he'd "made it" until my niece visited from England while we lived here in Colorado. They'd aspired to a Punk rock group called the Stranglers.

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