When the music died.

I watch The Daily Politics most days and they usually have a little “guess the year” quiz; today I got the answer right as it was 1958; I knew that because one of the songs they played was “Teddy Bear” by Elvis Presley. That was from the film Loving You which blew my mind at the time. I had heard Elvis on the radio and I hadn't heard anything like him. But to see him in that movie must have influenced a generation. I knew I was still at school when I saw the film so the question was easy.

I left school in December 1958 age 15 and started work a week after my birthday. I worked at a place called Oswald Bailey which was an Army & Navy Store; I think they were supposed to be army surplus but it wasn't; it was new stuff which included camping equipment, work boots and, heaven forbid, dungarees.

I worked as a warehouseman – guess where? Yes in the warehouse; I had to climb steps and ladders to reach boxes of shoes and the warehouse manager would put his hand up my leg; the dirty bastard. He was a well built fella with a lisp and I would kick out at him. It didn't put him off as he was always at it but I still kicked him and sometimes I would connect.

The guy driving a railway truck would ring the bell once in a while and I found out that my dad was usually their boss; they all seemed to like him and the lisp found out too and wondered why he hadn't given me a job and I said be careful where you wander you might get lost – okay I had a smart mouth! 

“Wonder I said – not wonder!” Yes he said I shaid!!

One day my dad rang the bell and I told the lisper that my dad was at the back door and he must have thought I had told him about his wandering hands as he looked a little nervous as this blue eyed Irishman looked him up and down.

I was at Oswald Bailey's when the music died; Buddy Holly – February 1959 and I was the only one in the place who even knew who he was; it happened again in 1980 when John Lennon was shot; I was working with a load of squares.

With John Lennon I was working on the night shift at a bakery trying to get some money together to pay back taxes. Most of the other workers there were ex-cons, Pakistanis and Indians and of course they had heard of The Beatles but not individually.

But back to Oswald Bailey's – the warehouse manager would send me across to Woolworth's at the Bull Ring for ice buns and those days, no matter what anybody ever tells you about them, were terrible. It was a terrible place to be where everybody knew their place with their shiny shoes and Brooks Brothers suits. Their short back and sides where the only spice they ever had on their tables was Daddy's Sauce.

Olive Oil was only sold at the Pharmacies – people cleaned their ears out with it - but there was rationing because of the war and that was the price we had to pay.

The only rebels were the teddy boys and up to about 1957 they were drafted in to the army, navy or air force where they had their hair cut off; and then when they were demobbed they had changed; no longer rebellious. 

We didn't know any better – I was in the army cadets at the time and 16 year old sergeants would shout down my ear on their journey to being full time mature bullies; because that's what they were and are; they have to bully the soldiers as they need to make an obedient squaddie out of them so they would jump when told and kill. I would hear phrases like “when I shout shit, jump on the shovel.”

Of course I reached the age of 16 and I was the 16 year old sergeant but managed not to be a bully. Later I joined The Royal Warwickshire Regiment (TA) which actually paid us as they filled our heads with propaganda. I did quite well as I used to teach map reading and weapon training in the cadets so it all came easy and I took the selection course for something called the SAS.

Lots of times we would show up in civvies and in those days I would wear a black shirt and white tie. So others said I looked like a spy so guess my nick name; James Bond. I had never heard of him, of course, as this was way before the movies and sometimes in later years I would see one of the others and I was still known as Jim.

But back for the last time to my days at Oswald Bailey which didn't last long as after a few months I went to work at the post office as a messenger. 

My mother always wanted me to work at the post office as it was a job for life and, to be honest, you didn't have to work. I went along with it because I wanted a job on the motor bikes.

The post office had a youth club and at lunch time we would go to the club to play tables tennis and snooker and listen to the records; the number one in the charts was It Doesn't Matter Any More by Buddy Holly. The song still haunts me now.

I was sent out of the town centre to one of the burbs and I was an indoor messenger delivering mail from office to office and the office we worked in was where we played table tennis every day for the year I worked there till I was old enough to work on the motor bikes; why didn't turn out to be Andy Murray?

I can't believe that was such a long time ago even though I can still sprint – no longer 100 yards but 50 when the bus is at the stop, but those years, even though they were dark days with politicians calling the press by their surnames and everybody knowing their place, I learned a lot – I learned to retaliate to sexual advances from older men – and there were a lot of them – and I learned what work was; by not doing any: I never thought that doing up to 100 miles a day on a motor bike was work; playing table tennis every day was work and when I became an actor I didn't really class it as work. But it was even though most other people would class it as play.

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.