The Northern line
I lived at Eaton Place, Chalk Farm, every day was a nightmare, overcrowded tube full of city gents in nylon shirts, bowler hats and suits they had worn for at least a year all travelling to Bank. Nostrils got a battering. Sanity resumed as I cut through Dickens and Jones, my haven. The best store ever, the smell of Estee Lauder Youth Dew permeated the whole ground floor I would spray a new perfume every day.
The Fourmost were playing the summer season at the London Palladium, along with Cilla, and topping the bill - the great Tommy Cooper. The girls discovered that we could open our office window and at lunch time sit on the flat roof of the Palladium, the Fourmost would join us via the fire escape, such fun, that wonderful Liverpool sense of humour – “ a nice outfit, would look good in my wardrobe”! They always managed to embarrass Val and I as we walked past Liberty’s, “they know the Beatles” they shouted in very loud voices, of course we loved it.
Cilla and I went to the loo together, I don’t know why but we all did that, looking back I can never remember a time girls went alone. Anyway, I was applying my makeup and suddenly through the door came a cry for help, “have you got an ST”? so I rolled a Lillett under the door. What you do with this is not easy to explain but thank goodness Tampons were invented, embarrassment over.
Shakespeare’s Head at the top of Carnaby Street was the office local. The tribe had descended one evening, Billy J, Tommy Quickly, the Fourmost and the office crowd. Suddenly Tommy Cooper arrived, stood at the top of the two steps to the drinking area, everyone stopped what they were doing and started to laugh, he gave us a grin and said “I haven’t said anything,” his presence was enough to make everyone laugh.
Vic Lewis was bought out by Brian so another floor was taken over at Argyll Street. Vic was old school, a lovely bloke who brought in some great People, Don Black, Matt Munroe, Marion Montgomery, Johnny Pearson, a great mix which enhanced us all. Matt was great fun, my favourite story from him was after enjoying a very drunken night with friends, the following morning he decided to cook a full English breakfast for everyone, obviously still slightly inebriated he forgot parts of his anatomy were on show and suffice to say there was hot fat spitting from the pan – it was painful for weeks.
One of the new arrivals was a guy called Alan Isenberg, he arrived with a band called the Paramounts, great bunch of guys who turned into Procol Harem. One day Alan and I were asked to take over from a booker called Ken Ashcroft while he went on holiday. Ken spent ages explaining his system to us which consisted of numerous books written in an assortment of coloured pens. Ken left the room, I looked at Alan and his retort was “It’s like bleeding Foyles bookshop in here.” Needless to say, one pen and one sheet for each band were sufficient.
I was a non smoker, my Mother had always smoked so naturally I was against it. Unfortunately, I was the only person in the whole office that didn’t light up, needless to say I felt left out of it, and so I tried it but really didn’t like it. Then one day I decided to try inhaling, Johnny Pearson walked through the office as I pronounced my intention, please don’t do it Barbara, you will regret it for the rest of your life, guess what. He was so right, old heads young shoulders, will we never learn?
Gerry Marsden had a wicked sense of humour; we were all working away when a guy turned up to play his songs to Don Black. He looked quite strange, with a hunched back and a cane; he didn’t look like your typical songwriter. The door to Don’s office closed but within seconds it burst open as Don ran out being chased by the guy with blood spurting out of his mouth brandishing his cane. We all ran in different directions, I ended up in Vic Lewis’s office with the door bolted. Suddenly Gerry appeared killing himself laughing, “that was fun,” he and an accomplice had truly got us all.
The receptionist was a girl called Jan Gearing, smashing girl, slightly goth, she lived with a bloke called David Bowie, he would meet her at the office every night, the most entertaining character ever, we chattered most evenings, always knew he was special.
The Fourmost were playing the summer season at the London Palladium, along with Cilla, and topping the bill - the great Tommy Cooper. The girls discovered that we could open our office window and at lunch time sit on the flat roof of the Palladium, the Fourmost would join us via the fire escape, such fun, that wonderful Liverpool sense of humour – “ a nice outfit, would look good in my wardrobe”! They always managed to embarrass Val and I as we walked past Liberty’s, “they know the Beatles” they shouted in very loud voices, of course we loved it.
Cilla and I went to the loo together, I don’t know why but we all did that, looking back I can never remember a time girls went alone. Anyway, I was applying my makeup and suddenly through the door came a cry for help, “have you got an ST”? so I rolled a Lillett under the door. What you do with this is not easy to explain but thank goodness Tampons were invented, embarrassment over.
Shakespeare’s Head at the top of Carnaby Street was the office local. The tribe had descended one evening, Billy J, Tommy Quickly, the Fourmost and the office crowd. Suddenly Tommy Cooper arrived, stood at the top of the two steps to the drinking area, everyone stopped what they were doing and started to laugh, he gave us a grin and said “I haven’t said anything,” his presence was enough to make everyone laugh.
Vic Lewis was bought out by Brian so another floor was taken over at Argyll Street. Vic was old school, a lovely bloke who brought in some great People, Don Black, Matt Munroe, Marion Montgomery, Johnny Pearson, a great mix which enhanced us all. Matt was great fun, my favourite story from him was after enjoying a very drunken night with friends, the following morning he decided to cook a full English breakfast for everyone, obviously still slightly inebriated he forgot parts of his anatomy were on show and suffice to say there was hot fat spitting from the pan – it was painful for weeks.
One of the new arrivals was a guy called Alan Isenberg, he arrived with a band called the Paramounts, great bunch of guys who turned into Procol Harem. One day Alan and I were asked to take over from a booker called Ken Ashcroft while he went on holiday. Ken spent ages explaining his system to us which consisted of numerous books written in an assortment of coloured pens. Ken left the room, I looked at Alan and his retort was “It’s like bleeding Foyles bookshop in here.” Needless to say, one pen and one sheet for each band were sufficient.
I was a non smoker, my Mother had always smoked so naturally I was against it. Unfortunately, I was the only person in the whole office that didn’t light up, needless to say I felt left out of it, and so I tried it but really didn’t like it. Then one day I decided to try inhaling, Johnny Pearson walked through the office as I pronounced my intention, please don’t do it Barbara, you will regret it for the rest of your life, guess what. He was so right, old heads young shoulders, will we never learn?
Gerry Marsden had a wicked sense of humour; we were all working away when a guy turned up to play his songs to Don Black. He looked quite strange, with a hunched back and a cane; he didn’t look like your typical songwriter. The door to Don’s office closed but within seconds it burst open as Don ran out being chased by the guy with blood spurting out of his mouth brandishing his cane. We all ran in different directions, I ended up in Vic Lewis’s office with the door bolted. Suddenly Gerry appeared killing himself laughing, “that was fun,” he and an accomplice had truly got us all.
The receptionist was a girl called Jan Gearing, smashing girl, slightly goth, she lived with a bloke called David Bowie, he would meet her at the office every night, the most entertaining character ever, we chattered most evenings, always knew he was special.
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