I'll never be able to think of Liverpool without the sensation of riding on Captain Fred's Submarine. This is because my one and only visit to the Beatles' hometown in 1999 for 'Yellow Submarine Day' was so full of thrills for me that it left me with the same euphoria as if the Submarine had pulled up to my front door and taken me to Pepperland.

That whole week, Liverpool was draped in yellow in honour of the Sub's re-release in its cleaned up, spiffy new colours on video once again finally, and on DVD with special features, plus a new Beatles CD! The first in the catalogue to be remastered!

So while others may describe Liverpool as drab and gray, I remember it as a sea of yellow hats worn by over 300,000 people thronging around the opening festivities, overseen by a towering Chief Blue Meanie. I remember feeling goose bumps as I watched the formerly 'starving artists' who were responsible for this emblem of colour, wit, music, imagery and mythology, as they were finally being esteemed and honoured in the manner they deserved.

The film has always been a favourite of mine, and like many of you, perhaps, I once believed it was the Beatles' finest achievement. Once I found out it wasn't made by my heroes, however, but rather by people just like me, a fellow 'starving artist', I determined that the rest of you needed to know the true story of the struggle behind its making. For while the Beatles are quite gifted fellows, and I still love and admire them dearly for the contribution to so much on this planet, they did not make this film. They did have a little conceptual input at the beginning during idea meetings, but few of their suggestions were used.

Throughout the 11-month chaotic production that followed in order to get the film completed on time for the pre-scheduled premiere at the London Pavilion, the boys determined to keep the film project at arms length. Other people were in charge and, frankly, they had enough to do with their own current projects and growing spiritual interests.

But when the film came out, little attention was paid to this fact. The media spawned the myth that this was another Beatles film and everyone assumed it was made by the Beatles. By this time John, Paul, George and Ringo had agreed that the film was a lot better than anyone could ever have imagined it would be and were quite happy to go along with this impression.

However, not even the Beatles could have rendered the miraculous achievement pulled off by this dedicated band of 10-15 people (with a fleet of 200 helpers, ranging in experience from art students to heads of animation studios across Europe). Their story is the story you see in Pepperland before the attack: one of love, camaraderie and very high hopes, pitched together with the determination of a bulldog and the craftiness of a Beatle.

Somehow they churned out enough drawings (hundreds of thousands) in half the time with half the budget of a standard animation feature, and they did it under enormous pressure to impress and even mimic one of the most popular groups of people in generations, all without the help and guidance of these same role models. 

Back in Liverpool in the summer of 1999, I looked up to the same balcony where the Beatles waved to their swarming mass on a homecoming in 1964. I'll never forget seeing my old and new friends waving like royalty, up there to cut the yellow ribbon. 

The crowning glory was watching the co-creators and crew who were able to make it to Liverpool for the premier, walk down a red carpet with flashbulbs popping and video cameras thrust in their faces. Reading the accounts of how these same filmmakers were treated at the original 1968 premiere of the film - the last of the big Beatle-crush premieres - I was pleased to see them finally able to be seen, recognized and applauded for who they were.

Other than Sir George Martin and Neil Aspinall, the two most recognizable faces to the crowd were Geoff Hughes and Roger McGough, partly because they are both Liverpudlians, but also because they are two of the most familiar faces as far as what they have achieved in their careers since the Submarine.

Geoff Hughes is, of course, better known to British television viewers for his scallywag roles, including Onslow in 'Keeping Up Appearances' and Eddie Yates in 'Coronation Street' though a few astute fans might recognize him as the blue football team in the 'Eleanor Rigby' sequence.

Roger McGough is one of Britain's best poets and was formerly a member of the Scaffold, along with Mike McCartney.

So how did they get mixed up with the hard-drinking bohemian lot of artists in Soho working around the clock for a year to finish 'Yellow Submarine'?

Geoff Hughes was a young actor merely answering the audition call for the voice-over parts for the Beatles. He remembers sitting in the waiting room to be called when one of the two guys chatting next to him turned to him and asked who he was auditioning for. He was also asked whether there was anything particular about the four distinctive accents.

In my book 'Inside The Yellow Submarine' Hughes explained, "While Ringo and George had quite hard Liverpool accents, John and Paul's were much softer. They had what we call posh Scouse accents. I explained that they had a tendency to have a rising inflection at the end of sentences and would also put the emphasis on the end of words, such as 'interesting' where they would put the emphasis on 'resting.'"

Just then Hughes' name was called and he went to see Al Brodax, the American producer from King Features and John Coates, head of the animation studio producing the film.

"The guy I'd been chatting to followed me in and asked me to tell John and Al what I'd just told him," Hughes said. "'That guy' turned out to be George Dunning, the director of the film and production company, TVC London, a respected Canadian experimenter with animation.

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