Cabbie: Where ya from?
Mary: Minnesota.
Cabbie: Aye, and why did ya come to Liverpool?
Mary: We're here to see all the famous Beatles landmarks.
Cabbie: Aye, the Beatles. Did ya know that the Beatles are the second best thing ever to come out of Liverpool?
Mary, deciding to play along: No I didn't. What's the first?
Cabbie, with a dry delivery: Why the Liverpool Football Club, of course.
As the Mop Tops once sang, "I should have known better."
Ever
since I listened to the Beatles on the radio in late January 1964, I
have been a fan. (You already knew this via your vivid recollection of
my March 10, 2014 post, The Old Boy Raises One In Honor Of Mike Smith.)
Their three appearances the following month on the Ed Sullivan Show
sealed the deal. I determined some day I was going to make the
pilgrimage to Liverpool and see for myself where it all began. Now,
fifty-two years later, the chance has arrived. For three days we will
be in the city that the Beatles put on the map!
Wednesday Afternoon.
The Hotel Indigo is conveniently located near Pier Head, which along
with Albert Dock constitutes the famous Liverpool waterfront. On this
beautiful sunny afternoon, our first order of business is to ferry
'cross the Mersey. In case those words ring a bell, Ferry Cross The Mersey
was a huge hit for Gerry And The Pacemakers. What does that song and
that band have to do with the Beatles? Gerry And The Pacemakers was
another Liverpool quartet which overwhelmed the American music scene in
the first wave of the 1964 British Invasion. Before the summer of '64
was over, Gerry and the boys had cracked the Hot 100 on the US Billboard
charts four times, including two in the Top 10. Unlike any of the
Beatles' early songs, Ferry Cross The Mersey was actually about
Liverpool. And for the most important Beatles connection, Gerry And The
Pacemakers' manager was Brian Epstein, whose principal client was none
other than the Beatles. [For an additional tidbit about Ferry Cross The Mersey, see Note # 1 at the end of this post.]
The
River Mersey, about a mile wide, separates Liverpool from the Wirral
Peninsula, commonly referred to as "the Wirral," and empties into the
nearby Irish Sea. After leaving Pier Head, the ferry makes a fifty
minute loop with quick stops at Seacombe and Woodside on the Wirral
while the Pacemakers' song is pumped over the PA system. Gotta love the
Merseybeat sound! The ship provides the very best perspectives of the
Liverpool skyline, which is dominated by three large buildings dubbed
the Three Graces. This magnificent view makes up for the Wirral's
nondescript shoreline across the water, where the main attractions
appear to be ugly commercial and industrial admiralty enterprises.
Regarding the lyrics to Ferry Cross The Mersey, the lack of
interesting features on the Wirral convinces me that when Gerry sang
"... and always take me there, the place I love," he must have been on
the Wirral desperately wishing he was in Liverpool instead. [For an
additional tidbit about the Three Graces, see Note # 2 at the end of
this post.]
Wednesday Evening. After a
short stop back at the Indigo to unpack and put our feet up for a bit,
it is time for Happy Hour. Our plan is to casually meander over to
what's called the Mathew Street Quarter, where the famous Cavern Club is
a must stop for Beatle pilgrims. There is no shortage of interesting
pubs to try in this compact city, and each of the three travel books we
researched (Fodor, Frommer and Rick Steves) has their faves. One such
place which sounds intriguing along our pedestrian route is Ye Hole In
Ye Wall. I'll admit I am a sucker for any tavern with the olde English
word "ye" in its name; this one has two!
Ye
Hole is noteworthy if not famous for at least two reasons. First, it
claims to be the oldest pub in Liverpool, dating back to 1726. Upon
entering, one sees nothing which would raise a doubt about such an
assertion. The wooden floors and wooden walls separating the small
rooms, even the bar itself, look and feel as if they've been in place
for centuries. The pub's second item of notoriety stems from the fact
that, until 1975 when the city ordinances mandated change, the only
water closet was for the males. The men's room is on the main floor
but, sure enough, to reach the women's room ladies have to go behind the
bar and up a flight of creaky stairs. It takes me a moment to spot the
small sign posted on the wall at the end of the bar directing distaff
patrons to the women's room. I need to take a picture of that famous
sign without blatantly exposing myself as a tourist. As I get off my
barstool I brush against a well dressed gray-haired man who ends up
standing right in front of the sign for at least fifteen minutes,
chatting with the barmaid. Finally he leaves and I am able to capture
the sign, as Mary wonders if we'll ever go into any establishment
without me snapping a photo. In my defense, at least I don't use a
flash!
The temptation is there to enjoy a
second pint, but we wisely choose to have it in another tavern. As we
are leaving Ye Hole through the small entryway, I notice the cool murals
painted with large colorful curved lettering and dainty flowers on the
interior walls between the front doors, so of course I have to take a
picture of that too before we leave. What I don't realize is that the
same well-dressed man is standing out on the sidewalk, watching me. "Do
you think those paintings are worthy of a photo?" he asks.
I sense trouble, but I play it straight. "Yes," I answer. "Are you the owner?"
It
turns out he is not the owner, but he is the artist who painted all
those magnificent interior designs. He introduces himself as James Rice
-- I hope I am remembering his name correctly -- and after a chat he
agrees to allow me to take a picture of him in front of his work.
He is obviously pleased that Mary and I admire his creativity.
We
have time to try one more pub on our way to Mathew Street, where we
expect to eat dinner. After our pleasant experience at Ye Hole, we
think we might get lucky again. I've read about a bar en route called
Thomas Rigby's, so that is our destination. The main attraction there
will be a combination of interior quaintness and a garden courtyard.
Finding
any particular small pub in the canyons of Liverpool's town center is
not easy. Many of them are located in narrow alleys sometimes called
"wynds," "closes" or "heys." Most of those alleys are not found on
street maps, thereby requiring a lot of guesswork for an out-of-towner.
We walk right by Rigby's without realizing it, but after we eventually
draw that conclusion several blocks later, we spot it as we backtrack.
Rigby's
is your prototypical UK bar. Over 90% of the patrons are men,
especially in the early evening. There are no seats at the bar.
Customers can stand there while they place their order, and they can
drink standing up, but that's it. If they prefer sitting while imbibing
they must retreat to a table along the walls. The beer selection in
Brit pubs is usually above average, but unlike Ireland where Guinness is
omnipresent, there is no one malt beverage which has cornered the UK
market. Another feature which Mary and I both find to our liking:
Almost every bar offers half-pint pours for roughly half the price of a
full pint. This enables patrons who are unfamiliar with the offerings
to try several without floating away or bursting the bladder. In the
unlikely event I ever own a bar, you will find that customer-friendly
feature there.
At last we we are ready for
dinner. Mathew Street, a five minute walk from Rigby's, turns out to be
a disappointment, at least initially. We come upon Mathew Street
unexpectedly, as it is only a notch wider than those wynds and closes.
My first impression of this brightly lit corridor is that it reminds me
of a cross between Bourbon Street and Atlantic City. Okay, I've never
been to Atlantic City, but you get my drift, right? The adjective best
describing the place is "seedy." The street's length is only the
equivalent of a short city block. Loud music, some good some bad, some
live some recorded, is blaring from the bars and clubs along both
sides. Flashing neon signs light up the cobblestones, and hustlers
outside the doors are shouting enticements to attract foot traffic into
their establishments. The people promenading down the street are an
even mix of tourists, millennials and vagrants.
Mathew
Street draws the curious crowds for one reason. It was the home of the
Cavern Club where the Beatles played 292 times, usually in eight hour
shifts, before and after their various gigs in Hamburg. It was in the
Cavern Club where Brian Epstein first witnessed a Beatles performance
shortly before becoming the band's manager. Although the original
Cavern Club was brought down by a wrecking ball in 1973, a newer version
of the Cavern Club was erected just a few feet from the original. The
Cavern Club currently features live music every day starting at 11:00 in
the morning. Most of the artists are cover bands and tribute bands
whose repertoire is heavy on Merseybeat oldies.
Across
the street from the Cavern Club is the Cavern Pub, a small but popular
restaurant replete with photos from Mathew Street's heyday. Mary and I
had temporarily planned the Pub as a dinner destination, but the general
vibe of the surroundings causes us to go to Plan B. On the way down
John Street to Mathew we had passed a Turkish restaurant called Shiraz,
and they were doing a land office business, especially for a Wednesday
night. We decide to give that place a try, and luckily grab the only
unoccupied table. Shiraz is only the second Turkish restaurant I've
been in -- the other was in New York City -- but we know immediately
from the aroma that we've made the right decision. Every plate we see
coming out of the busy kitchen looks divine. Kebobs, curries,
adana, chops, barbecue, etc. The patrons seated on either side of our table are scarfing down their feasts like they haven't eaten all week. It is tough to pick something off the
tempting menu, so I wisely select the Shiraz Special Mixed Grill,
described as follows: "If you are finding it hard to choose, why not
try this generous mixture of adana, lamb, chicken and lamb chop?" Rice
and a salad accompany the meal. I enjoy every morsel. My rationale
for practically licking the plate clean is that we will have a twenty
minute walk back to our hotel. [For an additional tidbit on adana, see
Note # 3 at the end of this post.]
Thursday Afternoon. The
first thing to know about seeing Liverpool's Beatle landmarks is that,
despite the fact that there are any number of tours which will take
people around to all the sights, there is only one tour through which
you can actually gain entry to Mendips and 20 Forthlin Road, the
childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, respectively. That
tour is operated by the National Trust, which owns those two
residences. Because the National Trust tour presents that unique
opportunity, I took no chances, making our reservation back in July, two months before our trip.
Mendips
was the home of Lennon's Aunt Mimi, the eldest of five sisters
including John's mother, Julia. It was Mimi who, with her husband
George, raised John, mostly because Julia was too immature for the
responsibility. The two story home is one of the building's two units,
and is located on busy Menlove Avenue in the Woolten neighborhood.
There are only two other couples who have joined us on the tour. A man named
Colin, a National Trust custodian, is our tour guide throughout the
house, and is extremely knowledgeable about the Beatles' history. The
narrative he tells is almost as much about Mimi as John. She ran a
tight ship and kept things immaculate. She constantly prodded John to
take his school work seriously, alas, a losing battle. She was worried
about the friends John invited to the house, including Paul and George,
requiring them to use the side entrance. Mimi paid particular attention
to visitors' clothing, hair styles and accents, always aware of which
part of town they lived in. She did not want John influenced by the
wrong people. Mimi grudgingly allowed the Quarrymen, precursor to the
Beatles, to practice at Mendips occasionally, but her historic
admonition to her nephew lives on: "Playing a guitar is fine, John
Lennon, but you'll never make a living at it."
Colin
takes us around the four rooms of the first floor, with many nuggets on
Lennon's upbringing making his presentation riveting. Then he allows
us to explore the second floor, advising that we not all go at once due
to space limitations. He also suggests that we might want to try
singing in the front interior porch, just as John and Paul liked to do
because of the echo chamber effect. While the other two couples hurry
upstairs, Mary and I detour into the porch where I sing I Call Your Name
to her. It is one of the few songs the Lennon-McCartney duo actually
wrote at Mendips. Although it's not a weepy song, Mary starts tearing
up about half-way through. Guess I must sound pretty bad. [For an
additional tidbit on Mendips, see Note # 4 at the end of this post.]
The
minibus comes by shortly thereafter to transport us to 20 Forthlin Road
in Allerton. As the crow flies it is only about a mile from Mendips.
In fact, John and Paul used to sneak across Allerton Park Golf Course as
a shortcut between their houses. The differences between 20 Forthlin
and Mendips are very apparent. Other than London, Liverpool was bombed
more frequently during World War II than any other English city, no
doubt because it functioned as a primary seaport. As a result, there
are many neighborhoods in the city, Allerton among them, where the
government oversaw the hasty construction of residential housing to
accommodate the returning vets and their soon-to-be expanding
families.The multi-unit buildings along Forthlin Road reflect that
period in history. Unlike Mendips, which is one of only two units in a
semi-detached house, Number 20 is one of about a dozen two-story units
in its nondescript building. The entire length of the street is lined
with such uninspiring structures. Construction speed was more important
than creature comforts.
Our hostess there is
Colin's wife, Sylvia, who does an excellent job illustrating what
life was like there for Paul and his younger brother, Michael. In their
teen years they were raised by their father, Jim, after the unexpected
passing of the mother when Paul was only fourteen. (The song Let It Be is
written for said Mother Mary.) Jim did not make much money floating
among low level positions, but as a part-time musician he encouraged his
sons to take up various instruments. (Contrast that with Mendips,
where John's Aunt Mimi looked upon music as an intrusion upon her piece
and quiet!) In the living room at Forthlin sits an upright piano, the
same kind on which Paul composed many songs even before he met the
Quarrymen in 1956.
The National Trust has not
attempted to "spiff up" the house. For example, the appliances,
furniture, wallpaper and bedding are all of the same vintage as what the
McCartneys owned in the fifties. One immediate impression is how small
each of the rooms is at Forthlin. Paul and his brother shared a tiny
bedroom for most of their childhood. Sylvia pointed out a drainpipe on
which the McCartney boys used to shimmy to and from the second floor
bathroom window when they needed to be undetected by their father.
One
feeling I came away with from both house visits is that it was awesome
to actually be standing in the same rooms where Lennon and McCartney
collaborated dozens if not hundreds of times to make the sound track of
my late teen years.
The minibus drops us off
where we began, Albert Dock. From the perspective of yesterday's ferry,
Albert Dock appeared as a drab series of red stone buildings, what you
might expect from the converted warehouses that they are. But
approaching Albert Dock from the city side we quickly see a much more
interesting facility. An interior harbor, about the size of six
football fields where longboats of different solid colors are
picturesquely anchored, provides a haven from the swiftly flowing
Mersey. Along two sides of the harbor reside several shops, studios,
restaurants and small offices. Two highly recommended tourist
attractions which we did not have time to visit, the Merseyside Maritime
Museum (on the third floor of which is the International Slavery
Museum) and the Tate Liverpool modern art gallery, also reside at Albert
Dock.
After a delicious lunch of chicken
curry and a deli board at Smugglers' Cove, Momma Cuan and I continue our
Beatles bonanza inside The Beatles Story, the world's only permanent
Beatles-themed museum. I am thoroughly impressed with the Beatles
Story, which I would rank in my top ten -- maybe even top five --
museums I've patronized. It's the kind of place that is much better
than it probably needs to be. The museum, which is housed inside Albert
Dock, provides a wealth of information artfully and cleverly displayed
on easy-to-read displays, murals, plaques, paintings, dioramas and
picture captions. The emphasis is on the Beatles' formation and early
years, which meshes with my preference for the group's pre-White Album
catalogue. That is not to say that the last years of the band, and even
their astonishing solo careers, are not covered as well. Besides the
expected biographical information on John, Paul, George and Ringo, we
get to learn about many of the other people who were instrumental in
their meteoric rise: manager Brian Epstein; producer George Martin,
sometimes lovingly called "The Fifth Beatle"; John's first skiffle band,
the Quarrymen; original drummer Pete Best, whose mother, Mona, owned
the Casbah Coffee Club, where the Quarrymen and Beatles performed
numerous times; the Beatles' first manager, Alan Williams, who admits he
is "the man who gave away the Beatles"; Bill Harry, the founder and
principal writer for Liverpool's most important music publication, Mersey Beat magazine;
and Stuart Sutcliffe, the Beatles first bassist and Lennon's best
friend who left the band before they hit it big so he could pursue his
first two loves, art and Astrid Kirchherr.
One
of the displays located in a separate room of The Beatles Story is a
makeshift stage set up to look like the Beatles' concert arrangement,
complete with guitars, a drum kit with the band's name on the bass,
speakers and monitors. Mary is several minutes ahead of me going
through the museum, so she waits in the room with the stage. When I
finally catch up, she suggests that I get behind the drums for a quick
photo op. Good idea! Ninety seconds later, a pseudo security guard
comes in to tell us that I've set off a silent alarm. He is nice enough
about it, but we have to move on. Luckily, Mary has snapped the pic
before his arrival. The bottom line: The old guy, who fifty-plus years
ago used to drum to Beatles songs in his Minot basement, once again got
to pretend he was Ringo, if only for the briefest of moments.
*****
Note # 1: An additional tidbit about the song Ferry Cross The Mersey
by Gerry And The Pacemakers. The song was written by Gerry Marsden and
was the second biggest hit (# 6 on the Billboard charts) for the band,
trailing only their first US single, Don't Let The Sun Catch You Crying (#
4). There has been some discussion about the exact title of the song,
with three different possibilities. The title as it appeared on the 45
rpm label was Ferry Cross The Mersey. Those are the four words
clearly sung by lead vocalist Gerry in the song. However, there were
some pressings of the vinyl label put out by Columbia Records which read
Ferry 'Cross The Mersey. Those issues with the apostrophe are
collectors' items, as they quickly went out of circulation. Finally,
some commentators have espoused the theory that there should be a
punctuation mark such as a comma, a period or an exclamation point after
the word "Ferry" because, according to them, the song is a command, or
at least a strong suggestion. The singer is urging the listener to get
on the boat, pleading, "Ferry! Cross the Mersey."
Note # 2:
The Three Graces are the Royal Liver Building, the Cunard Building and
the Port Of Liverpool Building, all adjacent to each other at Pier
Head. On the top of the Royal Liver Building sit two enormous
sculptures called liver (pronounced LEE-ver) birds. The birds are Liverpool's most famous
landmarks, easily seen not only from the Mersey but also from portions
of Liverpool's town center. The legend goes that if the birds ever fly
away, Liverpool will cease to exist. Good thing the sculptures are tied
down to the roof with many cables, a necessity brought about by the
severe winds which frequent the area.
There are
two mildly amusing stories which relate to the birds. One is that the
original intent of the sculptures was to incorporate parts of the city's
seal which references King John, the royal who granted Liverpool its
charter in 1207. King John used an eagle for his own official seal, a
nod to his patron, St. John The Evangelist, whose symbol was an eagle.
However, that idea was miscommunicated to the sculpture's designer, Carl
Bartels, who fashioned the birds to look like cormorants instead of
eagles. Oops!
Secondly, the female bird on the
river side of the building is viewing the water, while her male
companion is facing the city. According to folklore, the female is on
the lookout for boats, while the male is searching for a pub.
Note # 3:
The restaurant Shiraz describes adana as "a renowned dish from
southern Turkey which is made from chopped prime lamb combined with
peppers, flat leaf parsley and flaked chili." The dish gets its name
from a major Turkish city close to the Mediterranean coast.
Note # 4:
The Beatles break-up in 1970 has been attributed to several factors:
the 1967 death of Brian Epstein, who had the ability to smooth over the
band's internal rough patches; the clashing egos and divergent musical
directions of Lennon and McCartney; the frustration of Harrison whose
music in large part was kept off Beatles albums; and, the ongoing
struggle for perfection which increased every year following the band's
1966 conversion from a touring band to a studio band. But the number
one culprit, if you will, which most Beatlemaniacs blame for the
quartet's demise was the omnipresence, with Lennon's blessing, of Yoko
Ono. Pages could be written in support of that claim, but in a nutshell
I will offer one sentence. When Yoko not only showed up for Abbey Road
Studio rehearsals and recordings but also rendered musical advice
appreciated only by Lennon, that was the last straw.
So,
Yoko was the bad guy. Okay. But before we cast too many stones,
consider this. Were it not for Yoko, Mendips probably would not be
available to generations of Beatles fans to explore. John lived there
from age five until age twenty-two (mid-1963). After the Beatles became
worldwide sensations, he bought his Aunt Mimi a home in the country so
she could escape his annoying fans. Between 1965 and 2000, Mendips came
under the ownership of several people, one of whom agreed to having a
film production crew drastically change the interior floor plan to make
way for their equipment. This remodeling convinced the National Trust
not to acquire Mendips like it had acquired McCartney's preserved home
on Forthlin Road. Two years later, Yoko came to the rescue by
purchasing Mendips and immediately donating it to the National Trust.
The home was "un-remodeled" to restore it to the way it looked when
young John lived there.
No comments:
Post a Comment