Pete Townshend: Who I Am. Pete Townshend

Чтение книги онлайн.

       3 YOU DIDN’T SEE IT

      The memory of Mr Bowman came back to me when Mum told me about him years later. Rosie Bradley had kept Mum informed about Denny’s worsening state of mind, and in the end Mum asked Dad to go down there with her. Shocked at Denny’s erratic behaviour, Dad announced: ‘This is ridiculous – he can’t stay with her there – she’s completely round the twist.’ They decided instead that Denny had to come and live with us, until she got better. I sometimes think that if it weren’t for Denny’s obvious madness I might never have returned home from Westgate.

      In July 1952 Mum came to collect me from Westgate on the train – not with Dad, but with Dennis Bowman and Jimpy, whom I was delighted to see. On the way back on the train, though, it was clear my mother hadn’t prepared herself for having me back. My fidgeting irritated her, and so did my runny nose. Nothing I did seemed right. Dennis Bowman said quietly to her, ‘That’s a really dear little boy you’ve got there. Why don’t you leave him alone?’

      While I’d been away the kids my age in Acton had fallen into two gangs. Jimpy was leader of the larger group, his authority renewed by a weekly running race he always won. On the day I returned, by some miracle I nearly beat him, and was instantly promoted to Jimpy’s second-in-command. After the race I went over to the playground climbing frame, which was occupied by a menacing-looking boy who sneered at me. ‘You’re not getting on here, mate.’

      Normally I would have turned tail, but a new courage compelled me to challenge him. I climbed up, and when the boy pushed me I pushed back so hard that he fell. As he dusted off his trousers I could see he was considering teaching me a lesson, but someone whispered in his ear. He skulked away, almost certainly having been told I was a friend of Jimpy. Even then I felt happy and safe in a gang of boys, protected by a dominant male.

      Just as my childhood status was improving, the ground under me shifted again. It seemed I was going to lose one of my beloved parents. I didn’t get the details until years later.

      ‘Dad had agreed to let me go, and to let me take you with me. Then Dennis got a new job in the Middle East,’ Mum explained. ‘Dennis was an ex-RAF officer with qualifications abroad, very presentable, and because of the mess he got me into here he put his name down for a job outside the country. He finally got a position in Aden. Big money.’

      But then Dad had a change of heart.

      ‘As soon as Cliff knew it was Aden I was taking you to, he came back and said, “Sit down, I want to tell you something.” I had our tickets, yours and mine. Cliff said, “I’ve changed my mind; you’re not taking Peter. It’s too far away. Think about it, do you still want to go?” So I thought about it, and in the end I decided to give things one more try with your father.’

      I wondered what Mum meant by ‘the mess’ Dennis Bowman had got her into? Had she become pregnant? ‘Yes. I was in very bad shape in that respect.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d had some miscarriages.’ She paused for a long moment. ‘Self-inflicted miscarriages.’ After having one back-street abortion Mum had decided that from then on she would end her pregnancies herself. ‘I did it five times.’

      I was seven, and happy to be home again, back in the noisy flat with a toilet in the back yard and the delicious aroma of Jewish cooking from upstairs. It was all very reassuring. Jerry Cass still played his radio – the BBC Third Programme, classical music, mainly orchestral – incredibly loudly for fifteen minutes every morning as he shaved. (I still like to wake up to Radio 3, as it’s now called.) As I settled back into my old routine, life seemed full of promise. Dad was still often away on tour or at one-night-performances, but Mum was always around, sometimes distracted, but no longer willing to rely on Denny to look after me.

      In 1952 the Squadronaires began a regular summer engagement at the Palace Ballroom in Douglas, on the Isle of Man, that would continue for ten years. That first season we rented a flat for the entire holiday, and Mum, still extricating herself from her love affair, got a secret box number at the post office where she would collect Dennis Bowman’s daily letter.

      The one-bedroom holiday flat we stayed in was on the lower-ground floor of a large block. My bed was in the living room, an upgrade from the dining room. I would wake occasionally to Dad creeping about in bare feet, coming in late from a night in the bar, or trying to slip out.

      I loved Jimpy like a brother. He and I played fantastical and elaborate games. We were also great explorers. In Douglas, the capital of the Isle of Man, where Jimpy was staying with us, we discovered a crumbling old mansion surrounded by high walls that we climbed to steal apples. The house seemed abandoned. We managed to get into an outside room and, peering through a keyhole, could see an old vintage car. Through another keyhole we saw a table covered in what appeared to be treasure – old watches, tools, chains. We tried to force the doors, but they were absolutely secure.

      Being explorers was fun, but the biggest treat of all was watching the Squadronaires. This meant dressing up smartly and getting a few shillings from Mum for crisps and milk-shakes. Before the dances began we’d stand in the middle of the huge empty floor and bounce gently up and down – the entire floor was on springs. Then we were free to wander, listen to the music and watch the bouncing hemlines of the teenage girls dancing. Sometimes we’d practise dance steps of our own at the edge of the oak dance floor.

      On Sundays there were concerts at the Palace Theatre next to the ballroom, where the Squadronaires would accompany visiting artists, some quite special: Shirley Bassey, Lita Roza, Eartha Kitt, Frankie Vaughan, the Morton Fraser Harmonica Gang, and a string of comedians – even, I think, George Formby plunking away at his silly little banjo. I remember a novelty guitar player who strummed an electric guitar while playing a tiny harmonica in his mouth. He looked ridiculous, СКАЧАТЬ