Why We Love The Beatles 26 0f 100

The queue was orderly in Matthew Street. After all, this was Britain. The drizzle was steady. After all, this was the North of England. It was lunch-time and many of the four-abreast queue were tucking into their ‘sarnies’. After all, this was 1961. He was just glad to be at the head of the queue: it wasn’t that big down there and there must be already about 500 people behind him waiting to get in. And once people started smoking down there, a bit of a ‘fug’ built up, to say the least. But the music was bl**dy marvellous. Whatever happened while they’d been away didn’t matter; it made you proud , especially proud, to be from Liverpool. Let’s just hope they don’t get so big they moved away. He turned up the collar of his raincoat: shame it wasn’t a leather jacket like the lads. And there was that cute girl who took in the coats; he’d managed to get her name last time: Priscilla. Well, she preferred Cilla. And that she worked as a typist and that she wanted to be a singer. She did have a lovely smile..Every time he lost his confidence to ask her out. Well, it wasn’t so much that, it was the mad scramble past the coat place to get to the front and hear them warming up and larking about. He fingered his entrance fee; it had been worth joining now he was coming here so much. Yeah and he wanted to avoid the wall where the water was dripping and a few rats had been seen. He wondered if she would fancy him: a trainee accountant? His job was secure, but to be honest it was boring. The girls went wild when the boys went on stage, with those great cowboy boots and leather jackets and they didn’t seem to care what they said. Rumour was, John and Paul could have any girl they wanted. Wow! There was no way he could afford clothes like that, though. And he’d been round to Hessys in Stanley Street to look at the guitars but even if he got one…Playing it? The lads were so clever. Rock n’ Roll. Ballads. Okay: so ask her out this time. Ask her out. Ask her out. You can do it. Ask her to meet you across the road. Tonight. At The Grapes. Easy. You can do it.
Come on. Open up. Looks like more rain. Dangerous on those steep steps. Oy. We’re on. Into an amazing cauldron of rock ‘n roll, up-lifting ballads, bee-hive hairdos, exultation to live fully, Liverpudlian wit, odd smells, amps blowing, over-flowing toilets, shared cigarettes, a promised ‘quickie’ before back to the office, a dream of being like them, a wondering if it can always be like this, a hope that she will meet you at The Grapes. But it’s the only way to live.
The Beatles at The Cavern.
That’s another reason we love The Beatles.