Being new on hear I would love to hear tales amusing or otherwise from any of you who have done something exceptional in the name of soul. For example missed very important events births/deaths/marriages to maybe go to a do,driven 250 miles to pick up a record anything Really I am just fascinated to see how keen people are/have been about their soul.

the reason I ask is living "darn sarf" I seem to spend virtually every weekend heading up the m1,m40 etc to get my fix of northern soul. And many times on the long boring drive home I have thought you know what why don't we just move "up,t,north" and solve the problem.

Found a record arranger in Los Angeles, flew across especially to see him..............pretty drastic meethinks.............

Met you two !!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

WiganBrian .

Met you two !!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

WiganBrian .

Hello mister yes we have shared a dance floor or two and always a pleasure. Come on Brian you must have some stories to tell

Set off to stoke niter and talked my mate into turning back because I had a spud (a hole) on the bottom of my sock! Hardly radical but would of meant no dancing...it was starting to rub to be fair!.....gave mr Freeman every excuse to take the p..s with phone calls as I was meeting him for a beer before the do.....happy days....Rob

"Kept the Faith" for 4 years in the early 70's while studying at a college full of Prog Rock fans.

 

I'm sure that Neil off the Young Ones was a composite of some of my contemporaries.

 

 

It was hard, damned hard. I am still waiting to receive my gallantry medal. Courage under fire and all that.

Walked in to a packed Greasers late night cafe in '69, just me my girl a Crombie and a suitcase, and put Marvin Gaye on the jukebox.

 

 - Kev

Walked in to a packed Greasers late night cafe in '69, just me my girl a Crombie and a suitcase, and put Marvin Gaye on the jukebox.

 

 - Kev

brilliant kev. And did they respond well to it?

Set off to stoke niter and talked my mate into turning back because I had a spud (a hole) on the bottom of my sock! Hardly radical but would of meant no dancing...it was starting to rub to be fair!.....gave mr Freeman every excuse to take the p..s with phone calls as I was meeting him for a beer before the do.....happy days....Rob

I know where your coming from rob, I always carry a spare pair along with spare shoes and jeans in the boot of my car (just incase I rip the arse out of them) which one of my mates has done! lol.

Edited January 14, 201411 yr by mark and donna

brilliant kev. And did they respond well to it?

 

Well he's not responded, guess he posted that reply in that bar in 69' & it's only just appeared...........

brilliant kev. And did they respond well to it?

 

They all bottled it (thankfully).

It was cold, we'd both left home with nowhere to go, and I was dying for a hot coffee to warm up with.

 

 - Kev

I know where your coming from rob, I always carry a spare pair along with spare shoes and jeans in the boot of my car (just incase I rip the arse out of them) which one of my mates has done! lol.

bout three month ago at the black bee the sole of my shoe came of.i was sat with just the upper resting on the sole i couldnt even cross the dancefloor for a piss thankfully a pal with a bit of foresight had a spare pair o brogues with him and came to my rescue

I Feel for you, I would be gutted if I drove two and a half hours and I couldn't dance due to a wardrobe malfunction hence the spare clobber in the boot.

Ask Pete S about his ill fated trip to collect a copy of the Chandlers - Your Love Makes Me Lonely. - Hysterically funny.

Edited January 15, 201411 yr by MrC

Ask Pete S about his ill fated trip to collect a copy of the Chandlers - Your Love Makes Me Lonely. - Hysterically funny.

 

People must be sick of this now, so just for more recent members, I'll relive it again

 

 

Here's an absolute disaster story from start to finish.

I bought The Chandlers on Colsoul from the States, it cost about £215 I think, I thought I could make £100 profit on it...anyway, the bloke I bought it off put the value on it at $300, so our lovely customs officers charged me £54 tax.

Anyway they don't bother delivering these, you have to ring them up to arrange a later delivery or a pick up. The parcelforce office is in Atcham just outside Shrewsbury which is about 25 miles away from me, but I thought it might be a nice ride out, and I could pick up a couple of italian job deep pan pizzas from

Telford (the only place they do them round here) on the way.

So it starts snowing just as I set off.

I decide to get petrol and cash at the same time so I don't bother going to the only service station on the way, and I get into Telford, park outside Deep pan Pizza and go off to order. Deep pan Pizza doesn't open for another 3 hours

So then I get back on the motorway and take the turn of for Atcham. I go 5 miles past the business park where I am meant to go, and end up in Shewsbury. I turn round and eventually find the place, hand over the money and take my record.

By now it is pouring down with rain and sleet.

I get on the motorway where I got off, and travel around 500 yards before the engine cuts out and I run out of petrol.

So I have to leave the warning indicators flashing, and attempt to climb 30 feet up this grassy bank, in the pouring rain, and I don't have a coat, just a jumper.

After about 10 minutes of one step forward two steps back comedy climbing, I get to the top of the bank, and there is a fence about 5 foot high with barbred wire on the top. Beyond that is a field, and a road. So I manage to get on top of the fence, get my balance, and leap off into the field, landing brilliantly flat footed in the mud and letting out a high pitched scream of pain.

I make it to the road and find a yokel, he says there's a garage about a mile down the road, so I run all the way to the garage.

Why didn't I phone for help I hear you say? Because my phone had run out of credit and I could not work out how to dial up and get more!  

I bought an empty petrol can and filled it up, and some kind soul overheard my plight, and asked me where I'd broken down. By the bridge I said. I meant a footbridge. he took me 2 miles back down the wrong way to the motorway bridge. I had to tell him we'd gone in the wrong direction, and after he dropped me off, he had to go miles out of his way to get off the motorway!

OK so far so bad. I poured the petrol into the tank, and spilled half of it on me, so when I finally got home, I put all my clothes in the wash and that included my favourite pair of shoes which are Vans, I had them imported as they stopped making that style about 5 years back. When the washing was done, the rubber soles were intact but the canvas had shrunk about 2 sizes so to get them on I would have had to cut my toes off.

By now I was feeling a strange pain in my ankle.

Finally I got to open up the package and get my hands on the Chandlers record. It was fucked. I saw straight away I was going to lose money on it.

As the last few days have progressed, my ankle has got bigger and bigger to the point where I went to the doctors yesterday to report that I had contracted elephantisis in one leg. She said I'd sprained my ankle.

Today I sold the Chandlers for £200, losing nearly £70 on the deal.

I heard it tell me to piss off as I posted it.

I sit here, a lone, hobbledyhoy figure, unable to get down the stairs because my ankle hurts so much...and it's all down to those damn Chandlers

Edited January 15, 201411 yr by Pete S

 

People must be sick of this now, so just for more recent members, I'll relive it again

 

 

Here's an absolute disaster story from start to finish.

I bought The Chandlers on Colsoul from the States, it cost about £215 I think, I thought I could make £100 profit on it...anyway, the bloke I bought it off put the value on it at $300, so our lovely customs officers charged me £54 tax.

Anyway they don't bother delivering these, you have to ring them up to arrange a later delivery or a pick up. The parcelforce office is in Atcham just outside Shrewsbury which is about 25 miles away from me, but I thought it might be a nice ride out, and I could pick up a couple of italian job deep pan pizzas from

Telford (the only place they do them round here) on the way.

So it starts snowing just as I set off.

I decide to get petrol and cash at the same time so I don't bother going to the only service station on the way, and I get into Telford, park outside Deep pan Pizza and go off to order. Deep pan Pizza doesn't open for another 3 hours

So then I get back on the motorway and take the turn of for Atcham. I go 5 miles past the business park where I am meant to go, and end up in Shewsbury. I turn round and eventually find the place, hand over the money and take my record.

By now it is pouring down with rain and sleet.

I get on the motorway where I got off, and travel around 500 yards before the engine cuts out and I run out of petrol.

So I have to leave the warning indicators flashing, and attempt to climb 30 feet up this grassy bank, in the pouring rain, and I don't have a coat, just a jumper.

After about 10 minutes of one step forward two steps back comedy climbing, I get to the top of the bank, and there is a fence about 5 foot high with barbred wire on the top. Beyond that is a field, and a road. So I manage to get on top of the fence, get my balance, and leap off into the field, landing brilliantly flat footed in the mud and letting out a high pitched scream of pain.

I make it to the road and find a yokel, he says there's a garage about a mile down the road, so I run all the way to the garage.

Why didn't I phone for help I hear you say? Because my phone had run out of credit and I could not work out how to dial up and get more!  

I bought an empty petrol can and filled it up, and some kind soul overheard my plight, and asked me where I'd broken down. By the bridge I said. I meant a footbridge. he took me 2 miles back down the wrong way to the motorway bridge. I had to tell him we'd gone in the wrong direction, and after he dropped me off, he had to go miles out of his way to get off the motorway!

OK so far so bad. I poured the petrol into the tank, and spilled half of it on me, so when I finally got home, I put all my clothes in the wash and that included my favourite pair of shoes which are Vans, I had them imported as they stopped making that style about 5 years back. When the washing was done, the rubber soles were intact but the canvas had shrunk about 2 sizes so to get them on I would have had to cut my toes off.

By now I was feeling a strange pain in my ankle.

Finally I got to open up the package and get my hands on the Chandlers record. It was fucked. I saw straight away I was going to lose money on it.

As the last few days have progressed, my ankle has got bigger and bigger to the point where I went to the doctors yesterday to report that I had contracted elephantisis in one leg. She said I'd sprained my ankle.

Today I sold the Chandlers for £200, losing nearly £70 on the deal.

I heard it tell me to piss off as I posted it.

I sit here, a lone, hobbledyhoy figure, unable to get down the stairs because my ankle hurts so much...and it's all down to those damn Chandlers

 

Still makes me chuckle - sorry mate!

Still makes me chuckle - sorry mate!

 

My lovely trainers, the toes curled up like a pair of Persian slippers 

Walked in to a packed Greasers late night cafe in '69, just me my girl a Crombie and a suitcase, and put Marvin Gaye on the jukebox.

 

 - Kev

Ha. Sameish area, probably around 72 I went to see Frankie Valli when You're Ready Now was a hit at the Cali in Dunstable. Hitched it there and a grebo van stopped and let me in the back with them. They hadn't noticed my crombie as I'd got very long hair and proceeded to tell me how they kicked all the local skins in around their area. I had bright red socks under my sta prest and brogues and was trying to cover them up the whole trip. They were either having a laugh or incredibly dumb; I got away unscathed.

Misfortunes we bring upon ourselves are doubly bitter.

 

He is wise who is warned by the misfortunes of others.

2007 was away at the Prestatyn weekender whilst the missus celebrated her 50th birthday at home

She still hasn't forgiven me for that

2007 was away at the Prestatyn weekender whilst the missus celebrated her 50th birthday at home

She still hasn't forgiven me for that

 

She's got three more years to get over it before you do the same again for her 60th.

2007 was away at the Prestatyn weekender whilst the missus celebrated her 50th birthday at home

She still hasn't forgiven me for that

 

Just remembered 2002 I was away at Cleethorpes Weekender and missed my best mate's 25th wedding anniversary do!

Nowadays I'm not quite as obsessed and appreciate that family and best friend should always take precedence over soul do's, (apart from Cleethorpes that is)

She's got three more years to get over it before you do the same again for her 60th.

 

Ha. Sameish area, probably around 72 I went to see Frankie Valli when You're Ready Now was a hit at the Cali in Dunstable. Hitched it there and a grebo van stopped and let me in the back with them. They hadn't noticed my crombie as I'd got very long hair and proceeded to tell me how they kicked all the local skins in around their area. I had bright red socks under my sta prest and brogues and was trying to cover them up the whole trip. They were either having a laugh or incredibly dumb; I got away unscathed.

 

Early 70's, Wolverhampton had one of the hardest Hells Angels chapters in the country. People used to say they ranked third after Windsor and the All England.

 

So crossing Wolves to  get to the Catacombs on a Saturday night could be an interesting experience. Should probably earn me a bar for the previously mentioned gallantry medal.

pete s that is a classic! a nightmare from start to finish. one of those ones where you could thrash the car with a big stick/bush in a basil fawlty style for having the nerve to run out of petrol. i'm sure most of us every now and then have found ourselves in the "perfect storm" where everything conspires against us. not funny at the time but they become the great stories we remember with humour  .

stubbsy you are a very brave chap for missing your mrs birthday and a significant one at that all in the name of soul. I to have committed similar offences in the name of scooter's but in my defence I was in my twenties (and mentally about 13  ) and didn't see an issue naffing off for the weekend leaving my other half with the kids, not big and certainly not clever  .

and when it comes to family/friends functions we just arrive early and leave very early .

 

People must be sick of this now, so just for more recent members, I'll relive it again

 

 

Here's an absolute disaster story from start to finish.

I bought The Chandlers on Colsoul from the States, it cost about £215 I think, I thought I could make £100 profit on it...anyway, the bloke I bought it off put the value on it at $300, so our lovely customs officers charged me £54 tax.

Anyway they don't bother delivering these, you have to ring them up to arrange a later delivery or a pick up. The parcelforce office is in Atcham just outside Shrewsbury which is about 25 miles away from me, but I thought it might be a nice ride out, and I could pick up a couple of italian job deep pan pizzas from

Telford (the only place they do them round here) on the way.

So it starts snowing just as I set off.

I decide to get petrol and cash at the same time so I don't bother going to the only service station on the way, and I get into Telford, park outside Deep pan Pizza and go off to order. Deep pan Pizza doesn't open for another 3 hours

So then I get back on the motorway and take the turn of for Atcham. I go 5 miles past the business park where I am meant to go, and end up in Shewsbury. I turn round and eventually find the place, hand over the money and take my record.

By now it is pouring down with rain and sleet.

I get on the motorway where I got off, and travel around 500 yards before the engine cuts out and I run out of petrol.

So I have to leave the warning indicators flashing, and attempt to climb 30 feet up this grassy bank, in the pouring rain, and I don't have a coat, just a jumper.

After about 10 minutes of one step forward two steps back comedy climbing, I get to the top of the bank, and there is a fence about 5 foot high with barbred wire on the top. Beyond that is a field, and a road. So I manage to get on top of the fence, get my balance, and leap off into the field, landing brilliantly flat footed in the mud and letting out a high pitched scream of pain.

I make it to the road and find a yokel, he says there's a garage about a mile down the road, so I run all the way to the garage.

Why didn't I phone for help I hear you say? Because my phone had run out of credit and I could not work out how to dial up and get more!  

I bought an empty petrol can and filled it up, and some kind soul overheard my plight, and asked me where I'd broken down. By the bridge I said. I meant a footbridge. he took me 2 miles back down the wrong way to the motorway bridge. I had to tell him we'd gone in the wrong direction, and after he dropped me off, he had to go miles out of his way to get off the motorway!

OK so far so bad. I poured the petrol into the tank, and spilled half of it on me, so when I finally got home, I put all my clothes in the wash and that included my favourite pair of shoes which are Vans, I had them imported as they stopped making that style about 5 years back. When the washing was done, the rubber soles were intact but the canvas had shrunk about 2 sizes so to get them on I would have had to cut my toes off.

By now I was feeling a strange pain in my ankle.

Finally I got to open up the package and get my hands on the Chandlers record. It was fucked. I saw straight away I was going to lose money on it.

As the last few days have progressed, my ankle has got bigger and bigger to the point where I went to the doctors yesterday to report that I had contracted elephantisis in one leg. She said I'd sprained my ankle.

Today I sold the Chandlers for £200, losing nearly £70 on the deal.

I heard it tell me to piss off as I posted it.

I sit here, a lone, hobbledyhoy figure, unable to get down the stairs because my ankle hurts so much...and it's all down to those damn Chandlers

 

 

Priceless!!!!!

 

would make a great script for a Mr Bean short film.

Along with Pete, I'll re-iterate this one for newer members...from 2009:

 

I remember I was generally very much a 'bus home' type kid after Wigan. It was cheaper, dropped me off virtually outside my house and didn't involve dealing with too many people the morning after. 

 

The problem with living in Warrington and being in Wigan that early on a Sunday morning was that there was a only a single bus that left Wigan Bus Station at 6.30am, then none 'til 12.30pm, which generally pre-empted the (bugger of a) walk home. It wasn't too bad as I'm sure it was all fields then and eternally sunny. 

 

The bonuses of leaving for the early bus were liberating a pint of milk and a paper from the knotted packages left outside the newsagents in the Arcade - anyway I digress.

 

This particular morning I had no money left at all and was in a bit of a state as the preceding night I had been at the contents of a small enevelope I had taken with me to sell - I seem to remember up around 3am as Searling announced that M's would be open in five minutes, then nothing til the moment I was outside The Casino in the daylight .

 

Having no money and being in a state left me with one option - jumping the train, as there was no way I was going to be able to walk the nine mile home this morning and there was no obvious way past the single decker bus driver without my fare home.

 

I recall wobbling down Fishergate in me long leather and bag and upon arrival at the train station, after a little recce, working out that I could get up to the platform by scaling, Spiderman-like, a massive piece of corrugated sheeting that was leaning from the base of a small wall up to platfrom-heaven. This had no doubt been placed there by some other gimp for that exact same reason.

 

There's a blank again here but I must have alighted the train as the next thing I recall is being near the toilet inbetween carriages, arms leaning out of the window and approaching Winwick Junction (Winwick being the village just outside Warrington where I lived) - all with an amount of dread within me, as I knew what I was about to have to do.

 

Now Winwick Junction is a place where the Wigan-Warrington train slowed down to about 10-15 miles an hour as it was crossing a junction/tracks and was the only point on this hairy-journey that would be forgiving enough for me to attempt some kind of parachute jump-like exit from the train.

 

Not good.

 

Anyway, there was no way round it, I'd come this far.

 

I remember biting my lip, grasping the 'Communication Cord' (the 'Use Only In Emergency' brake cord that ran the length of the train)....and pulling!?

 

F*ck me, I don't know if you've ever been on a train when a 'Communication Cord' has been pulled but it's a pretty violent way to stop a 107 tonne, quarter mile long of rampant iron and steel.

 

"SCREEEEEEECH!" - "BANG!"

 

I got threw against the bog door - and then the other way - and then back again....as the train attempted it's non-standard Winwick Junction stop.

 

Now fully alert, as the fear and the thoughts of the possible consequences of my actions had seemed to morph into an imaginary hand that dove right down the front of my early 80's underpants, grasped my knackers and shoved them up my a*se. Thetrain was almost at a stop now so I grabbed my bag, leant out the carriage, opened the train door and jumped.

 

I landed like a sack of sh*t and rolled through a load of gravel and weeds into a wire fence.

 

I stood up, looked down the length of the train toward the engine and to my horror saw about three or four guards hopping off the now stationary train and heading, rather noisily, my way.

 

I jumped the fence into a very dewy cornfield.

 

It was as I was wading red-faced and fear fraught through this wet cornfield with my bag held above elbow height and a number of pissed of British Rail workers in tow, that I realised how badly the lining in long leathers handle the addition of water to their make-up. It was like playing that bloody game on Crackerjack whereby when you answered a question wrong they stuffed cabbage upon cabbage on your already straining person (don't now if that makes sense? but anyhow.)

 

I could see in my immediate view on the other side of a fence an upcoming copse, a small wood and, the irate voices behind me getting nearer and (GET HERE YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!) louder, I began to think I may have an escape route of sorts.

 

In the distance I heard a 'BANG!! ....then another but in my present predicament it didn't register as anything life threatening at the time.

 

I jumped the fence and (BANG!!! again??) dragged my sorry wet arse into the first hiding of trees, there was enough cover for it to mask the sunlight and it became a little twilighty in there. "Great!" I thought as I headed a bit deeper in and looking around (BANG!!! again, louder this time - wtf) I could see our hi-vis wearing be-capped fiends (no spelling mistake, I was scared rigid) beginning to realise this may not be working out in their favour - and they began to bluster and swear at me as they gave up the chase.

 

I was now in a wood.

 

And the wood went BANG!!! a lot.  

 

It was at this point I saw my first farmer, out with his mates on a Sunday am hunt!!

 

BANG!!!

 

F*ck me, I'm gonna get shot now.

 

So, adopting a pose somewhere between a Ninja, an SAS infantry man on a mission to nowhere and a piss wet, drugged up teenager in ridiculous coat -with a bag - I set off deeper into the wood, my aim to somehow traverse the local pig-pickers out on their shoot, without getting a hole in my ass.

 

BANG!!! 

 

"Hey you!?"

 

I was spotted - "Arse!".

 

My mind had forgotten the little triumph that was losing our friendly BR fence-jumping team and I was back to square one - exept these f*ckers had guns. What I would have given for the fear of a hi-vis jacket now!?

 

With a group of unhappy farmers on my heels ("Get Orf My Land" an' all that) I went tree to tree, skulking, dipping and diving until I could see the light getting brighter - I must be approaching the other side of the wood at last.

 

Then ahead of me I could see the white painted wooden fence that I knew to be the fence that skirted the road opposite the old Winwick (Mental) Hospital (read into that what you will. I WORKED there, alright!), a mile or so from my house and with the voices of my irate hunters tailing off in the darkness behind me, I reached the fence.

 

"Thank f*ck for that!"

 

I breathed deeply, cobbed me bag over it, steadied myself and with a final mighty effort jumped over the fence and onto the main road.

 

Then I got knocked down by a car 

 

Suffering for your art? David Blaine don't know the half of it. 

 

 

Then I got knocked down by a car 

 

 

 

 

   

Some of these stories really could be turned into film scripts.  Add that one where I was running down the street in my long leather and baggy trousers with my hands in the pockets because it was cold, tripped on my flapping trousers, couldn't get my hands out of the pockets and cushioned the landing on the pavement with my face 

2007 was away at the Prestatyn weekender whilst the missus celebrated her 50th birthday at home

She still hasn't forgiven me for that

Sheer class ! 

Arrived for a nighter in Loughbourgh one saturday in about 87, got to the town hall only to be informed the nighter was last night. Twas 11.30 by the time I got back to the station, last train back to the smoke had left and so I spent the night kipping under a bench in November with only an addidias holdall and a levi denim for company  

Some of these stories really could be turned into film scripts.  Add that one where I was running down the street in my long leather and baggy trousers with my hands in the pockets because it was cold, tripped on my flapping trousers, couldn't get my hands out of the pockets and cushioned the landing on the pavement with my face 

 

Pete

That was the funniest story I've read on SS

Suggest you post it up again for those who haven't read it

Pete

That was the funniest story I've read on SS

Suggest you post it up again for those who haven't read it

 

I'd never be able to find it again mate, it originated on the old KTF site and that was the best one, I had to rewrite it for here but where it is, I've no idea..

barry another blinding story!! did not see the last bit coming  

Pete

That was the funniest story I've read on SS

Suggest you post it up again for those who haven't read it

 

Found it

 

I know people have heard me tell this one before and it isn't really to do with northern soul but it is related, remember when the fashion item to have was the long leather coat? Well I got one on my 18th birthday and I f*cking loved that coat, anyway a few months after I got it, I was coming home from somewhere on the bus, got off the bus and it was really freezing so I crammed my hands into the pockets of my coat and started to run home to get out of the cold. About a hundred yards from home, my flapping baggy trousers tripped me up and I started to head for the pavement but I couldn't get my hands out of my coat pockets and ended up hitting the pavement with nothing to cushion my fall. It was like a statue being pulled over. See, the dangers of wearing fashionable clothing! 

 

 

barry another blinding story!! did not see the last bit coming  

 

 

Neither did Barry.

Germany '74/5 time and Herford where I was posted was a rather small place so we used to wander over to Bielefeld on the odd occasion for a livlier bit of the nightlife. We're in this club with a reasonably well sized dancefloor and tables round the side on a raised area with a 3' or so iron railing round separating it from the dancefloor.

 

I'd been drinking all day and was having the proverbial good time when I noticed it was a black DJ so the obvious link and I wondered if he had any soul I could appreciate so went up and had a ramble chat with him. Turns out he had the Major Lance Live At The Torch LP, so I gets him to put Investigate on and was up on the floor giving it big licks. All would have been well and good but the German punters all got round clapping away cheering and encouraging me so I starts to get all giddy and runs up to the seating area climbs on the railing to jump off to finish with a backdrop flourish. Sadly as soon as my head hit the ceiling fan (only revolving slowly luckily enough), I fell in a heap on the dancefloor. Luckily enough just as those nice MP's arrived with my taxi home, which by the way I don't remember much of.

Once hitch hiked for 12hours to get to a nighter only to find the venue had been double booked and the nighter had moved down the road. I heard the last three records then it took me almost 18 hours to get home. Steve

 

Along with Pete, I'll re-iterate this one for newer members...from 2009:

 

I remember I was generally very much a 'bus home' type kid after Wigan. It was cheaper, dropped me off virtually outside my house and didn't involve dealing with too many people the morning after. 

 

The problem with living in Warrington and being in Wigan that early on a Sunday morning was that there was a only a single bus that left Wigan Bus Station at 6.30am, then none 'til 12.30pm, which generally pre-empted the (bugger of a) walk home. It wasn't too bad as I'm sure it was all fields then and eternally sunny. 

 

The bonuses of leaving for the early bus were liberating a pint of milk and a paper from the knotted packages left outside the newsagents in the Arcade - anyway I digress.

 

This particular morning I had no money left at all and was in a bit of a state as the preceding night I had been at the contents of a small enevelope I had taken with me to sell - I seem to remember up around 3am as Searling announced that M's would be open in five minutes, then nothing til the moment I was outside The Casino in the daylight .

 

Having no money and being in a state left me with one option - jumping the train, as there was no way I was going to be able to walk the nine mile home this morning and there was no obvious way past the single decker bus driver without my fare home.

 

I recall wobbling down Fishergate in me long leather and bag and upon arrival at the train station, after a little recce, working out that I could get up to the platform by scaling, Spiderman-like, a massive piece of corrugated sheeting that was leaning from the base of a small wall up to platfrom-heaven. This had no doubt been placed there by some other gimp for that exact same reason.

 

There's a blank again here but I must have alighted the train as the next thing I recall is being near the toilet inbetween carriages, arms leaning out of the window and approaching Winwick Junction (Winwick being the village just outside Warrington where I lived) - all with an amount of dread within me, as I knew what I was about to have to do.

 

Now Winwick Junction is a place where the Wigan-Warrington train slowed down to about 10-15 miles an hour as it was crossing a junction/tracks and was the only point on this hairy-journey that would be forgiving enough for me to attempt some kind of parachute jump-like exit from the train.

 

Not good.

 

Anyway, there was no way round it, I'd come this far.

 

I remember biting my lip, grasping the 'Communication Cord' (the 'Use Only In Emergency' brake cord that ran the length of the train)....and pulling!?

 

F*ck me, I don't know if you've ever been on a train when a 'Communication Cord' has been pulled but it's a pretty violent way to stop a 107 tonne, quarter mile long of rampant iron and steel.

 

"SCREEEEEEECH!" - "BANG!"

 

I got threw against the bog door - and then the other way - and then back again....as the train attempted it's non-standard Winwick Junction stop.

 

Now fully alert, as the fear and the thoughts of the possible consequences of my actions had seemed to morph into an imaginary hand that dove right down the front of my early 80's underpants, grasped my knackers and shoved them up my a*se. Thetrain was almost at a stop now so I grabbed my bag, leant out the carriage, opened the train door and jumped.

 

I landed like a sack of sh*t and rolled through a load of gravel and weeds into a wire fence.

 

I stood up, looked down the length of the train toward the engine and to my horror saw about three or four guards hopping off the now stationary train and heading, rather noisily, my way.

 

I jumped the fence into a very dewy cornfield.

 

It was as I was wading red-faced and fear fraught through this wet cornfield with my bag held above elbow height and a number of pissed of British Rail workers in tow, that I realised how badly the lining in long leathers handle the addition of water to their make-up. It was like playing that bloody game on Crackerjack whereby when you answered a question wrong they stuffed cabbage upon cabbage on your already straining person (don't now if that makes sense? but anyhow.)

 

I could see in my immediate view on the other side of a fence an upcoming copse, a small wood and, the irate voices behind me getting nearer and (GET HERE YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!) louder, I began to think I may have an escape route of sorts.

 

In the distance I heard a 'BANG!! ....then another but in my present predicament it didn't register as anything life threatening at the time.

 

I jumped the fence and (BANG!!! again??) dragged my sorry wet arse into the first hiding of trees, there was enough cover for it to mask the sunlight and it became a little twilighty in there. "Great!" I thought as I headed a bit deeper in and looking around (BANG!!! again, louder this time - wtf) I could see our hi-vis wearing be-capped fiends (no spelling mistake, I was scared rigid) beginning to realise this may not be working out in their favour - and they began to bluster and swear at me as they gave up the chase.

 

I was now in a wood.

 

And the wood went BANG!!! a lot.  

 

It was at this point I saw my first farmer, out with his mates on a Sunday am hunt!!

 

BANG!!!

 

F*ck me, I'm gonna get shot now.

 

So, adopting a pose somewhere between a Ninja, an SAS infantry man on a mission to nowhere and a piss wet, drugged up teenager in ridiculous coat -with a bag - I set off deeper into the wood, my aim to somehow traverse the local pig-pickers out on their shoot, without getting a hole in my ass.

 

BANG!!! 

 

"Hey you!?"

 

I was spotted - "Arse!".

 

My mind had forgotten the little triumph that was losing our friendly BR fence-jumping team and I was back to square one - exept these f*ckers had guns. What I would have given for the fear of a hi-vis jacket now!?

 

With a group of unhappy farmers on my heels ("Get Orf My Land" an' all that) I went tree to tree, skulking, dipping and diving until I could see the light getting brighter - I must be approaching the other side of the wood at last.

 

Then ahead of me I could see the white painted wooden fence that I knew to be the fence that skirted the road opposite the old Winwick (Mental) Hospital (read into that what you will. I WORKED there, alright!), a mile or so from my house and with the voices of my irate hunters tailing off in the darkness behind me, I reached the fence.

 

"Thank f*ck for that!"

 

I breathed deeply, cobbed me bag over it, steadied myself and with a final mighty effort jumped over the fence and onto the main road.

 

Then I got knocked down by a car 

 

Suffering for your art? David Blaine don't know the half of it. 

 

Priceless Baz. Hailing from Warrington, I'm proud of you son. When I lived in Culcheth, I sometimes wondered why there was a Mental Hospital in Winwick...

Circa 1977 when I returned from Holland, I went especially to Wigan to say goodbye to the Casino which I had heard was to be demolished. I never attended the events as I moved abroad, but I knew in years to come it would be revered. I stood outside and paid my respects to something that I knew would be spoken about in years to come.

 

Oh, and I cancelled my AVG"s on my pension and paid for a recording session in Detroit bla bla bla. We cut 4 songs and it cost just under £12,000 which equates to £3,000 per song including studio hire, union rate musicians, vocalists, mixing and mastering. I believe Spyder Turner will be performing 'Tell me (crying over you)' at Prestatyn if I am lucky....so full circle I guess. I wrote the song in 2004...so 10 years down the line etc.

Edited January 17, 201411 yr by Carl Dixon

Todmorden alldayer thumbing it back to Coventry i got really lost around Manchester then after hours and hours a lorry pulls up and gives me a lift within a few miles of my house.

Priceless Baz. Hailing from Warrington, I'm proud of you son. When I lived in Culcheth, I sometimes wondered why there was a Mental Hospital in Winwick...

 

When did you live in Cully mate?  I went to school there, my old stamping ground.

When did you live in Cully mate?  I went to school there, my old stamping ground.

 

So did I, and can't work out why I don't know you.

So did I, and can't work out why I don't know you.

 

You do Dave, I bought records from you at your gaff...near Twiss Green Lane if I remember correctly. I have asked you before if you remember but you never replied mate ;)

You do Dave, I bought records from you at your gaff...near Twiss Green Lane if I remember correctly. I have asked you before if you remember but you never replied mate ;)

 

I used to run the Gerard's little record shop in la village after I left Cully High Dave...I wish I could get back there for those racks of not in fashion sixties 7's that used to be in there haha...5 for a quid..all the bits I picked up out of it as a kid came round eventually...the Caesers, Johnny Barnes, Shep etc...not at all fashionable back then but I dread to think what else was in there ;)

You do Dave, I bought records from you at your gaff...near Twiss Green Lane if I remember correctly. I have asked you before if you remember but you never replied mate ;)

 

 

It must be part of the 'lost years' then LOL. It was certainly my parents place near Twiss Green Lane. Sorry if I didn't repond to a question, I'm not usually that rude. Then again, it is nearly 35 years since I lived in Culcheth.

 

The funny thing is, last time I was in Culcheth was the same night that you were running the Soul thing in that new (Well, new to me) bar on Common Lane, and I didn't find out until the Monday after. When's the next one, my parents are probably due another visit.

 

so that's you, me, Garry Farrington, Frankie Crocker (Although I have no idea if that's his 'real name', strange coincidence if it is), all from Culcheth. Anyone else lived there ?

Edited January 17, 201411 yr by Dave Rimmer

Pmed you mate

It must be part of the 'lost years' then LOL. It was certainly my parents place near Twiss Green Lane. Sorry if I didn't repond to a question, I'm not usually that rude. Then again, it is nearly 35 years since I lived in Culcheth.

 

The funny thing is, last time I was in Culcheth was the same night that you were running the Soul thing in that new (Well, new to me) bar on Common Lane, and I didn't find out until the Monday after. When's the next one, my parents are probably due another visit.

 

so that's you, me, Garry Farrington, Frankie Crocker (Although I have no idea if that's his 'real name', strange coincidence if it is), all from Culcheth. Anyone else lived there ?

Hi Dave. I know you too but not seen you for a while. Always used to chat to you around the gaffs, bought your magazine and we did a few record deals. We had the Culcheth conversation a few times. Went there on January 2nd for the first time since 1975 - much the same but more shops and restaurants: old schools demolished and new one sprouted up. I think there are soul events at the Sports Club from time to time so there are probably a good few soulies in the area.