With the Beatles
Cynthia’s boyfriend David was always slightly better off than most of the young men in Monica Road. A self-employed heating engineer, he worked hard, was always very well dressed and had nice cars, often brand new ones. David bought one of the new Vauxhall Vivas which was his pride and joy, and most Sunday afternoons after lunch, he and Cynthia would take Mom and Leah for a drive out of smelly Birmingham to somewhere more amenable like Stratford-on-Avon or Warwick.
On one of these occasions they had just reached the end of Monica Road, preparing to turn left opposite the Rootes factory, when a motorcade came up the Coventry Road, heading in the opposite direction towards the City Centre. There were several police motorbike outriders, a couple of police cars and, in the middle, a big black limousine. As they watched it go by, Cynthia spotted the baleful face of Ringo Starr gazing out of a rear side window:
“It’s the Beatles! It’s the Beatles! Look! Look! It’s the Beatles!”
This was at the very peak of Beatlemania, in 1965. Cynthia was a member of the Beatles Fan Club and used to religiously study the little monthly newsletter they sent out. The latest Fab Four album was never off the turntable, and she would have to order every album or single in advance if she was to get them; they always totally sold out on the first day of release, rocketing straight to number one in the charts.
On seeing the Beatles cruise past, with the reactions of the racing cyclist he was, David made an instant decision, slammed the car into gear, turned right instead of left and somehow managed to squeeze his car right behind the limo, inside the cordon of motorbike riders. As they proceeded up the Coventry Road, the four moptops in the back of the limo realised they had interlopers and took to waving and grinning out of the back window, giving David the thumbs-up signal. Cynthia was in heaven and, it must be said, Mom and Leah were pretty impressed, too.
The Beatles in a limousine (c) Plymouth Herald
It transpired they were on their way from Elmdon Airport to the Alpha TV Studios on Lichfield Road in Aston. As they got closer to the studios the crowds of hysterical teenagers on the pavement began to grow. At first there were just a few dozen waving and cheering, but by the time they reached the studios the road was blocked with hundreds of hysterical girls breaking through the police cordon and stopping the motorcade for a few moments as the irritated bobbies carried screaming, weeping, urinating teenagers out of the way. Immediately outside the studios, the girls stormed through the cordon en masse and began climbing onto the vehicles, tearing at the door handles and hammering on the windows. David found his spanking new Vauxhall Viva, his pride and joy, disappearing under an avalanche of sweaty teenagers. They were climbing on the roof, pulling at the windscreen wipers, trying to wrench open the doors. Some of the girls assumed Cynthia must have been one of the band’s girlfriends and started spitting at her and shouting abuse. It was all starting to get pretty hairy.
There were big loading bay doors at the side of the studios. The Alpha TV security men and police had rehearsed well, they quickly threw the doors open, the motorcade shot inside and David, Cynthia, Mom and Leah found themselves in a locked courtyard with any number of policemen, security guards and, of course, the Beatles! They only had a brief moment to speak with the band, who found the whole situation hilarious: “That was Ace” to quote what John Lennon told Cynthia while Mom was chatting with Paul McCartney. They never had time to ask for autographs before the lads were whisked inside, for fear of the mass of girls battering the gates down and pouring in.
The Beatles inside the ATV Studios, Birmingham (c) Birmingham Evening Mail
Now, here was a dilemma. The police found themselves with two bemused middle-aged ladies, an overexcited and emotionally drained teenage girl and a likeable young man mourning the state of his grievously battered motorcar. One would imagine the easiest course of action would have been to let the unwanted guests go inside, stand quietly in the corner with a cup of tea and watch the recording, but no, that’s too easy. Instead, they elected to form a new motorcade, surround the Vauxhall Viva and explode back out through the gates. Which was what they did. The family once again found themselves battling through the throng on Lichfield Road, but this time things were a lot calmer, without the Beatles being present. The girls were more curious than anything else.
The police escorted them as far as the Bull Ring and then waved their farewell as the battered Viva limped its way back to Small Heath. Mom said it was quite funny as they parted company, with people watching and wondering who the hell it was that was so important that they needed a police escort, and if they were that important, why was their car such a wreck?
David sold the Viva soon afterwards, I don’t think he got a very good price for it.
A Vauxhall Viva Mark One (undamaged)
As Lennon and McCartney put it 'money can't buy me love', however money CAN buy me a coffee to help out with the production and hosting costs of this blog! Why not buy one?
