On Being a 1960s / 1970s Drummer
Chapter One
I suppose it all started in the 1950s when I first discovered music – Buddy Holly, Elvis etc. came later in the decade – but early on I remember ‘drumming’ with two dinner knives on the kitchen stove in our RAF married quarter to Jimmy Shand, Johnny Ray and others who were on the radio then. When my father was posted to Thorney Island (he was a Handley Page Hastings pilot), I met and became friends with Mike Smith, who was learning guitar, and was a fellow pupil at Chichester High School for Boys. We used to practice in his bedroom – him on guitar and me on record player lid – playing Shadows’, Spotniks’ and Ventures’ numbers. Roy Chalkley, another schoolmate, joined us on rhythm guitar, along with John McIlwrath on bass guitar, from the Bourne School – all our fathers were in the RAF, stationed at Thorney. To 1963 and now we were a band – and yes, by now I had a full drum kit! We called ourselves The Codas – and we knew we were going to be big! Which was another of the reasons I quit school (as well as KD).
Our first public performances were at our respective schools and at the Thorney Island Youth Club – we became quite popular! But only playing instrumentals was a little limiting, so we looked around for a singer. Rick Willis, a serving airman, joined us. Now, we were five and going places! Our repertoire included numbers from the Rolling Stones, Cliff Richard, Billy J Kramer and of course the Beatles. Our gig-range expanded: we had a regular spot at the Savoy Ballroom in Southsea on Saturday mornings, the Star Club (I think it was called) on Commercial Road above Burtons (?), and once we even played in Arundel Castle at the Duke of Norfolk’s Ball. We also played at a Birthday Bash in Chidham Village Hall – now there’s fame!
Roy’s father was posted overseas, so Pete Finch from Shoreham (also a School pupil) joined us on rhythm. Then, just as we knew we were almost certain to be offered a recording contract (surely?), disaster struck – two more of our fathers were posted: mine to Yorkshire and Mike’s to Malaya. So that was the end of the band. Who knows what might have transpired? Rick went on to be a radio/TV DJ/presenter, Roy an attaché in Africa and Mike is an artist and musician living in the West Country; Pete still lives in the Shoreham area and I believe is still playing – of John I know nothing, apart from the fact that he was, until recently, still living in Sussex. I went on to serve 34 years in the RAF, serving round Europe and the Middle East. During my 15 years in Berlin, I formed and/or played in four other covers/rock bands, two of which gained far greater success – one even had a recording contract with Hansa records. But that’s another chapter.
Chapter Two
I was 17. I had left school under a cloud – I told the headmaster where he could put his school when he wouldn’t let me take Maths, French, English and Geography in the 6th form (‘You cannot mix Arts and Science subjects – you’ll have to drop maths’. Yeh right – my best subject! Goodbye.). My father didn’t speak to me for some time after that! I bummed around for about a year – mainly in labouring jobs – when, one day I was hit by a lightning bolt – if I joined the Fleet Air Arm as a pilot, that would pull the birds, wouldn’t it? So, I boarded a bus from Doncaster to Sheffield, to Castle Market Buildings wherein were all three Ministry of Defence Careers Information Offices (CIOs). I went to the Naval CIO. ‘I’d like to be a Fleet Air Arm pilot, please’. To cut a longish story short, I passed the aptitude test with flying (sic) colours, likewise the medical, but failed the eye test – apparently I needed glasses! ‘I’m sorry, you can’t be aircrew, especially not a pilot, if you need glasses. You can be anything else…?’ ‘No thanks!’ and I left and went next door to the Royal Air Force CIO. ‘What can you offer me?’ Before the sergeant on the desk could answer, an officer came out from his lair and said: ‘Are you any good at languages?’ ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘I did do Latin and French at school and achieved a grade 2 in French GCE.’ ‘Excellent!’ came his reply, ‘Follow me.’ Suffice it say, after telling me as an RAF linguist I would likely as not be working in embassies around the world, I took the Queen’s shilling and signed on the dotted line. I mean, James Bond or what – that would pull the birds, wouldn’t it?
I went home and told dad and he was overjoyed that I had enlisted (he had served 33 years as a Transport Command pilot), but wasn’t sure what a linguist would do – he had no idea that there were such beings in the RAF! So, he called an ex-RAF colleague, who worked in the CIO in Hull, who said he would be over the next day to tell me what it was all about. After hearing my story, he told me I had been told a few ‘untruths’, as he put it, and in fact I would probably be taught Russian and German (or perhaps Polish) and spend most of my service life in Berlin or Lincolnshire, with perhaps the occasional foray into deepest, darkest Rutland and Cambridgeshire! He said he could ‘un-enlist’ me, but I decided to keep my shilling and go ahead anyway. That, to skip a year of basic and language training1, was how I came to arrive in Berlin.
Chapter Three
Berlin! July 1967. Royal Air Force Gatow (an ex-Luftwaffe flying station, now the home of Number 26 Signals Unit (26SU)), where I was to work and live, on and off, for 15 of my 34 years in the RAF. I was just 18. I smoked, had just found alcohol (I know, I was a late starter!) and I was single, therefore had no ties – well, apart from my allegiance to Queen and country of course! I thought I had died and gone to Heaven! Again, I will not bore you with details of my job, living conditions, the food and other such trivialities (for more detail, read Dave Manton’s aforementioned book), but will stick to that which the title of this tome refers – drumming.
Within a few months I joined a bunch of other like-minded RAF guys and we formed a band – The Bone Idols. We found ourselves a practice room and learned a few numbers. The only thing I remember about this band was that Lee Bennett was the lead guitarist (and quite good he was too), Tony (?) was on rhythm, I played bass guitar on a couple of numbers and drums on some others (I cannot remember the other drummer’s name – old age creeping on I guess) and that we only played once in public! Thereafter the band split (I don’t know why) and I answered an advert in the local military rag for a drummer, and joined an otherwise all Army band. There were five of us (lead, rhythm, bass, drums and lead vocalist – who had an excellent voice), but we didn’t initially have a name. However, one evening we played at an Army Officers’ Mess tented function and there we found our name. The toilets were down a long corridor (hidden from prying eyes!) and outside them were circular signs (which coincidentally were the same diameter as my bass drum!). So, for our next gig we had become The Ladies Powder Room! We played at several more Army functions and also at one of the annual Anglo-German festivals, held at Tempelhof Airport. But, as is the way in the Forces, a couple of the guys were posted and the Ladies Powder Room was no more.
Now I was at a loose end – I needed to drum! So, I got together with a couple of guys whom I had met in the UK during language training and who were in the same trade as me (Mike Carpenter – originally rhythm, but later bass (who was to become over the years my best mate) – and Pete Melville, rhythm). We started rehearsing some numbers and soon were joined by John Young – also a linguist – as our vocalist, and by an excellent guitarist (undoubtedly the best musician in the group) – Phil Burgon (son of another linguist). This, then, was the birth of the Orange Box. We had all played in other bands so new what needed doing – rehearse, rehearse, rehearse! This we did for six months until we were very good and then we played in public for the first time. They liked us! Over the next few months we increased our repertoire, our venue list and the amount we were paid (!) and the line-up changed a couple of times (again, military postings interfered with the band line up). Phil and I were still there, Marvin Camper (an ex US GI) joined as lead vocalist – he was an excellent singer, able to sing anything from Beatles to Led Zeppelin, Glen Campbell to Black Sabbath; in addition Phil Boyle (also a useful singer) replaced Pete Melville on rhythm. We utilised four and five part harmonies and, because of our initial and continued rehearsing, became (in the words of a local German newspaper) ‘probably the best semi-professional band in Berlin’. We were a covers band, playing mostly stuff from the English and American hit parades, but also quite a bit of other more varied music (Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath and similar). We also by this time had started writing our own songs – in fact one of the songs written by yours truly became a firm favourite at several of the clubs in which we played (Shady Milady is its title). We played at many military clubs and messes (both British and American), and in German concert halls and clubs (youth, local and night) – a couple of which were sited on the world famous Kurfurstendamm (Kudamm), in the heart of Berlin. Bigger venues included The Deutschlandhalle (one of the biggest concert halls in the city), the Sportpalast (another big one), Centrum 2000, and the Rathaus Schoeneberg. One of the clubs on Kudamm was ‘The Park’. We didn’t know it before we played there, but it had a reputation as a drug den! But, I need, at this juncture, to give you a little background information.
Before the band could play in any non-military club, it had to be vetted by the RAF police. We used to submit a monthly list to the RAF police HQ on camp and they would say ‘yay or nay’. In addition, the CO of RAF Gatow allowed us to perform (and for those of us in the RAF, wear our hair perhaps a little too long) – only if we contributed to his ‘Benevolent Fund’ – so, 5% of all our earning with the Orange Box, went to said fund – which was used to help local charities and such like. Now, back to the main story.
We arrived at The Park (which, as stated above, had been vetted by the police – apparently!) to set up our equipment and immediately we could smell drugs – none of us had ever taken any, but we knew of them and could recognise the very distinctive smell (Gerry Scott (also a linguist), our manager, told us on many occasions, that if he ever caught any of those of us in the military taking drugs he would (and I quote.) ‘Beat the s**t out of us and then report us to the military police!’). There was a guy on the door wearing an old Army great coat, into the lining of which were sown some 20-25 pockets, in each of which was a syringe containing ‘who knows what?’. Even the old lady WC cleaner offered us drugs! Another quick break from the story – Mike, the bass player, and I had recently both married (more of that later) and our new wives were with us on this occasion. We sat them at a table near the stage and then commenced our gig. It wasn’t long before we realised there was something not quite right! We played for half an hour or so and we were not getting the usual reaction. This time – nothing! No reaction – no dancing, singing along and, more to the point, no applause. We took an early break to discuss what was happening. As we were talking we listened to the music coming over the in-house PA system. It was heavy and drug-inspired – and consisted of about two chords! We went back on the stage, took up where the in-house PA faded and played the same ad-lib number for 45 minutes (I made up some words and we gave it the title of The Park). I was hitting my drums and cymbals in a frenetic manner, Mike to was hitting the cymbals with his guitar, Pete was kicking his amplifier which, because it was old and had valves, was crackling and making all sorts of weird and wonderful noises; Phil produced feedback and a continuous cacophonous lead break; Marvin sang and/or screamed now and again. We were applauded off the stage for our second break.
During this second break, Mike and I noticed an individual breaking open a packet of 20 (normal) cigarettes, and laying the tobacco on a line of cigarette papers he had stuck together; he then produced two tablets which he melted in a large spoon over his cigarette lighter, before pouring the liquid over the tobacco. He then rolled up the papers, forming a large reefer. After taking a few drags, sharing it with his mates, he offered it to our wives! Before we went back on stage, Mike and I put our wives (Sue and Gwyneth) into a taxi and sent them home! We finished the gig – playing lots more similar rubbish – and went home, stinking of drug smoke, but chuffed we had come out of a bad job with our reputations (and RAF careers) intact.
Our manager, Gerry Scott (also a linguist) decided the time was right for us to go professional. There was a little problem however – three of us were in the military (Mike, Phil Boyle and me). That was not a problem for Gerry – he offered to buy us out of the military (about £1,000 per person at that time!). But, as stated previously, Mike and I were now married and, in addition Mike had a son and my wife Sue was pregnant. So, we turned down his offer – we couldn’t take the chance that all might go sour. Who knows what might have happened had we taken that leap?
A little while after that Mike Carpenter was posted and Colin Hall (another linguist) joined us on bass guitar (to this day, Colin is the best bass guitarist with whom I have had the pleasure of working). In addition, we played a five-hour gig at the Silver Wings Club (a US military establishment) without Marvin, our singer – he just didn’t turn up! So, we sacked him! Phil Boyle, who had the best voice of the remainder of us, took over on lead vocals, with Phil, Colin and I doing the harmonies; I also sang some of the easier and raucous numbers! We went on, from strength to strength. Gerry Scott was also posted and another linguist friend (Frank Baker) took over as manager.
Another memory was of our recording session in the British Forces Broadcasting Service (BFBS) studios – also in Berlin. I still have the five tracks we recorded (four written by me, one by the original members of the band – Shady Milady, Dreamin’, Space, Morning Glory and Strike! In that order). They were recorded by the BFBS sound engineer on reel-to-reel 8 track recorders, then, at a later date, transferred to cassette tapes and later on to CD. The sound quality therefore leaves a little to be desired! However, they are ours/mine and I am justifiably proud of them.
All good things, unfortunately, must come to an end. In 1972 I was posted back to the UK, and Colin and Phil (Boyle) were demobbed and also had to return to the UK – and so The Orange Box folded – it was great while it lasted and I have some fantastic memories.
Chapter Four
After a 14-month Russian course in Rutland, I was posted back to Gatow. Phil Burgon was still there – he had married and lived in the city – and we picked up our friendship where we left off. By now we both had children, but both still had this insatiable yearning to play music. We were at a function on camp with Frank Baker (our ex-manager) and our respective wives; the band playing were average to say the least. I can’t remember who said what to whom, but the conversation went roughly: ‘We could do better than that!’ ‘Why don’t we then?’ ‘Colin and Phil Boyle are still around.’ (They had both moved back to Berlin as civvies and lived in the City) . And that was the embryonic start of our next band, to be named KOFF.
I suppose you could say KOFF took over where the Orange Box left off – close 4-part harmonies, good musical skills and the lust for being able to play great music and receiving applause for doing so. The only real difference between the Orange Box and KOFF was our new lead singer (Alan Heyward, a friend of Phil’s and an ex British Army lance corporal, who was probably the best male amateur/semi-professional singer I have ever heard). There isn’t much more to say about KOFF – better than the Orange Box musically, but with the same intense camaraderie. It was formed in 1973 on my return to Berlin and was still going strong in 1975 when I was casevaced (transport a wounded man from an area of military conflict to an area where medical care can be provided- American English) out with suspected Tuberculosis. When I left, a far better drummer took over (Bob Howells, an ex-US army technician, who subsequently taught music at the Free University in Berlin). I got to see them on a few occasions; they were very good and I was immensely proud that I had co-founded the band. They went on to make a single (the B side of which was a number written by Phil Boyle with help from me), which unfortunately didn’t get anywhere, and eventually they split up.
Chapter Five
So, the summing up. I got to play music and hang out with some great guys. Mike Carpenter was probably the closest friend I’ve ever had – he was more like a brother to me and I was devastated when he passed away in 2007 after a battle with stomach cancer. Phil Burgon, also a great friend and one who I see on a regular basis; we go to concerts together – sometimes on our own, sometimes with our wives; we write music together – usually Phil does the music and I the words, but not always; we get on like the proverbial house on fire. Colin Hall – once a great bass guitarist (he probably can still play), and now a great linguist, with his own translation business – he is also a Visiting Professor of German at Dundee University. Phil Boyle – great rhythm guitarist and singer; a man with a wicked sense of humour, who was also taken far too early. Gerry Scott and Frank Baker – two great guys and managers, with whom I have sadly lost contact. There are others: Mike Smith (an excellent musician and now artist); Roy Chalkley (rhythm guitarist) now an attaché somewhere in Africa; Peter Parry-Williams – roadie for the Orange Box, good friend and best man at my wedding in 1969; lastly, but by no means least, my great friend Gerhard Boelke and his wife Gisela. We met at a club where the Orange Box played (Gerhard was a Disk Jockey there and pushed hard for the band to get us gigs at other clubs in the same company); he and I are still great friends, and Sue and I like to think of ourselves as the English section of his family.
So, what of now? Now I still write music, songs and poetry, but I haven’t played for some ten years or more – the last band I played in was a blues band (Blue Sync). Given the chance I would probably play again, but that is now unlikely. So, song writing and poetry it is, along with crossword solving and compilation, socialising, armchair sport (cricket and rugby) and being with Sue, my wife, who has had to put up with a lot in our 47 years of marriage. To use the words from one of my songs (written in Berlin in 1974 and performed by Phil Burgon (who also did the arrangement), Al Heyward and me in David Bowie’s studio in Berlin- see 2 below):
You I Love
To you I give my everything –
You take my love and give it back to me.
For you are my everything –
You I love.
With you I’m in ecstasy –
You took my love and turned it upside down.
You are my fantasy –
You I love.
There’s nothing I would rather do
Than be here by your side,
For you’re the very meaning to my life.
There’s nothing you could do or say
To make me change my mind –
I love you, I love you, I love you –
You I love.
For you I’d do anything –
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do or say.
For you are my everything –
You I love.
With you I’m in paradise –
You took my life and turned it inside out.
Yes, you are my guiding light –
You I love.
- There are those far more skilled at putting pen to paper who have written about basic and language training in the Royal Air Force in those days, so I shall skip this period (one excellent read is ‘I Was A Cold War Penguin’ by David Manton (a friend of mine) available in paperback or on Amazon Kindle.)
- We got to use this studio because Phil Burgon’s younger brother Peter was a sound engineer there.