Nick's Story of a Rock n' Roller - in his own words

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There have been many attempts to write about various phases of Nick's life and music. This is Nick's own opportunity to set the record straight.

As hand-written by Nick Simper, and typed in by the Webmaster:

Chapter 1 : Frogmore House to Devon 1959
Chapter 2 : The Renegades
Chapter 3 : Rupert & The Delta 5
Chapter 4 : Rupert, Cliff Barton and 'Some Other Guys'
Chapter 5 : Going Pro
Chapter 6 : Regents and Bergeracs
Chapter 7 : The Summer of '65
Chapter 8 : Simon Raven and Ryman Office Supplies
Chapter 9 : The New Pirates!

Chapter 1 : Frogmore House to Devon 1959

I was born on November 3rd 1945 at Frogmore House Maternity Home in Norwood Green, Middlesex. My dad, Rupert, was a hardware store manager, and my mum, Clare, was a housewife, joining Dad at the shop when I went to Grammar School in Hillingdon. Together with older sister Liz, I had a very happy childhood growing up in working class, but still semi-rural Hayes. Like most families on post-war Britain, we would party at any excuse, playing the 78 rpm hit records of the day on an ancient wind-up gramophone. Liz played reasonable violin, but my musical ambitions stopped at the recorder.

I guess it all started with Lonnie Donegan. Like most young people in the 1950's, I was completely knocked out by the excitement of his records. Liz bought "Rock Island Line", "Stewball" and others. My first record purchase was Lonnie's "Gambling Man", on 78 rpm of course, which survived for two days until it was dropped and smashed in two!!

There is no doubt that Lonnie's influence began the guitar boom, and I soon began pestering my parents for one, a plea which fell on deaf ears. Most guitars sold at that time ended up in a cupboard, so I understood their reluctance to buy me one. However, Christmas 1957 saw me the proud owner of a plastic ukulele which, whilst being worse than useless, was at least the right shape!!

Liz, meanwhile, would regale me with stories of her trips to the Ken Collyer Club in London, where musicians would hold what they called "jam sessions". She built me a tea-chest bass from a box, broom handle and string, in true skiffle style, which I plucked while she cavorted around the living room strumming the out-of-tune ukulele, both of us boogieing along to the current Donegan hit.

It was not long before new sounds began to shape our lives. Tommy Steele, Haley, Paul Anka, and the one that really did it for me - Buddy Holly and the Crickets.

Whilst on holiday in Devon in 1959, I first heard the sound that would have a profound effect on my musical direction - an amazing disc called "Please Don't Touch" by Johnny Kidd & The Pirates, which I could not get enough of. Little did I know back then as a twelve year old, that one day I would be a member of the Pirates!

Chapter 2 : The Renegades

During the next few years, the music got even better, with amazing artists coming to the fore, such as Elvis Presley, Little Richard, Ricky Nelson, Gene Vincent, Roy Orbison, Eddie Cochran and the wonderful Jerry Lee Lewis. In fact we were spoilt for choice!

By now I had joined a gang of lads who met most evenings on the bridge over Yeading Brook, which was only 200 yards from our house. I was still at school, but most of the 'Bridge Mob' were a bit older and had started work. I was soon introduced to the joys of smoking, and the taste of beer, although mostly we drank "Jubbly" orange drink which only cost fourpence!

1960 was the year that it all finally happened. Dad had received a healthy bonus from his firm, so he decided to blow his windfall on a holiday in Jersey (Channel Islands). We spent a glorious fortnight at 'Parkins Holiday Village' in Plemont, famous for once employing Peter Sellers as entertainments manager. One of the high points was to be a talent show; one day Dad and I were passing the open door of a chalet, when we paused to listen to the man inside who was practicing his 'turn', strumming a guitar and crooning the words to "The Ballad of Jesse James". Dad, who was feeling benevolent after a lunchtime beer, turned to me and said "when we get home son, I'll buy you a guitar, and you can go in for talent shows!"

Well, I kept Dad to his word, and the weekend after our return saw us making our way to Southall Broadway. 'Musicraft' was a large record store which also sold instruments. Dad signed the hire purchase agreement, handed over the deposit, and out I walked, the proud owner of a Framus semi-acoustic electric guitar, costing the princely sum of 17 guineas!

From then on I saw little of the gang on the bridge, spending every spare minute in my room, practising instrumentals such as Duane Eddy's "Rebel Rouser", The Ventures' "Walk Don't Run", and of course the sensational Shadow's hit "Apache".

Dad insisted that I learnt properly and enrolled me for lessons with a middle-aged gent called Bert Kirby. Bert taught me to read music, but most of the sheet music was written for piano and not in the same keys as the records. I soon discovered that it was quicker to pick up the hit tunes by ear, so I dispensed with Bert, much to Dad's relief, as the lessons weren't cheap!

Pretty soon the word spread that I had a guitar! People regularly knocked on our door, just to have a look, and even at school my status was raised, being the only pupil allowed to stay inside at lunch break, as long as I was practising guitar!

One night I had a visit which was to change my life forever. Richard Bennett and Ian Nelhams were two lads that I knew quite well as they lived close by. What I didn't know was that they had a music 'group', and they just happened to be recruiting new members! Richard Bennett played rhythm, but he didn't own a guitar, so it was agreed that he could borrow mine, whilst I was relegated to playing their homemade bass guitar, known as the "Flatty" due to its lack of contours. Ian, usually known as "Nelly", or sometimes "Rubbernose", was a cousin of Terry Nelhams, by now known as pop star Adam Faith, which added (we thought!) a little bit of kudos to our group. Two other members, Lenny and Paul, left the group before I even met them, and I wondered if we would ever rehearse with a full complement. Soon, however, we were joined by a talented guitarist from Wembley called Ken "Jet" Lucas, on account of his black hair. We needed a name, so I came up with "The Renegades". We were on our way!!

Our HQ was the basement of the Bristol café in Southall which the owner, Jack, used as a youth club cum coffee bar. It had a small stage with a jukebox on one side and an out of tune piano on the other, and it was here as a fifteen year old, that I made my public debut, playing the only two notes that I knew, and lots more that I didn't know! It sounded pretty awful but the audience, made up mainly of friends, gave us a warm reception.

More gigs followed. Sometimes we hid our equipment in shop doorways whilst one of us hailed the bus. We knew that the conductor would never let us on if he saw the gear first!

One memorable night, when I had been promoted to lead guitarist, Nelly came up with the brilliant idea of placing my speaker at the opposite end of the hall, explaining that I would hear myself better. He carefully ran about 70 feet of cable from my amplifier to the speaker, strategically placed at the end of the hall. All went well for two tunes until someone shut the cable in the door and severed it! That ended that experiment!

Pretty soon, the lack of gigs and permanent members led to the disintegration of the Renegades. Whilst the trio of Bennett, Nelhams and Simper stayed firm friends, we went in different musical directions. I teamed up with Nelly, trying to form a new group, whilst Richard Bennett decided to form one of his own. One day Richard and myself went to the funfair in Battersea Park, where we bumped into two of his old school chums, Micky Willshire and Robin Scrimshaw, who both played guitar. Although they seemed a little reluctant, Richard talked them into starting a new group called "The Downbeats". Little did Micky and Robin know at the time that they were beginning musical careers which would see them both become important musicians who would play on many hit records.

Nelly and I continued to recruit new people, but those who showed promise were swiftly poached into the Downbeats, including singer Dave Kaye and bassist Ken Rankine (brother of Matchbox singer Graham Fenton), by Rich Bennett whose power of persuasion was far greater than ours.

The Downbeats were soon up and running, whilst Nelly and I got nowhere. It was time to call it a day. The Renegades were no more. My enthusiasm had not weakened though, and I threw myself into practising guitar as hard as possible. I had bought a Watkins Westminster 10 watt amplifier from Maccari's Music Shop in Wembley, so I felt ready for action.

This was my last year at Grammar School, and my studies conflicted with the time spent practising guitar. It was no contest, the guitar won! During this period I had got to know another local youngster who was a few years older. His name was Tony Ross and he was learning to play bass. I didn't know then that he was destined to become one of the most important bass players in the country and later, known as "Rupert" Ross, to be a huge influence on my life.

Chapter 3 : Rupert & The Delta 5

Tony Ross was a good-looking self-confident type of bloke, who was extremely enthusiastic about music. Sensing my own eagerness to learn, he invited me to his house in the next street on a regular basis, where in his bedroom he kept a small Vox amplifier and a Hofner Club 60 guitar - an impressive bit of kit!

He had already secured the bass player's job in a top local group called Pete Nelson & the Travellers, whose members were to include Johnny "Mitch" Mitchell on drums, Tony Hall on rhythm guitar, later to become one of Britain's best tenor saxophonists, and Vic Briggs on lead guitar, who later went to the USA with the New Animals.

Tony, whose nickname was 'Pip', used the bottom four strings of his Hofner for a while until he became the proud owner of a cherry red Burns Artist bass, "the next best thing to a Fender", as he was often heard to proclaim. Throughout late 1960 into 1961, Tony Ross took me under his wing, and together we went to see bands at local gigs and youth clubs, whilst he played me the most important records of the period by Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent and Ray Charles amongst others, showing me the bass lines on his new Burns, which I was eager to learn, even though I was still ambitious to play lead guitar.

To say that Tony Ross stood out amongst his peers would be an understatement. He seemed to have an aura about him that set him apart from others. He had an uncanny knack of foreseeing who would be big in music, and even which guitar models would be in vogue, and it was not long before it became obvious that he was developing a talent for playing bass which was to elevate him way above all the competition! As the Travellers grew in stature, it was not long before they decided to purchase new guitars.

Bert Kirby, my old tutor, had introduced me to a friend of his who was about to open a music shop in Hanwell, West London. His friend was a drum teacher called Jim Marshall. His little shop at 76, Uxbridge Road soon became a Mecca for budding musicians and top professionals alike, and it was here that I witnessed the three guitarists from the Travellers take delivery (after a six month wait) of two cherry red Gibson 335 guitars and one pink Fender Precision Bass guitar. I was present during this transaction only because I had agreed to buy lead guitarist John MacDonald's Futurama, which Jim Marshall had promised me at the trade-in price of 20 guineas.

Of course finding 20 guineas was out of the question, but Jim kindly let me take the guitar away on the agreement that I would pay £1 per week, precisely the amount that I received from my Saturday job in the local butcher's shop! Every weekend I would cycle to Jim's shop and give him a one-pound note. He would duly fill in the card, until one day, after half the payments had been made, he wrote in large letters - PAID! across the card, and the Futurama was mine!

This became a pattern of generosity which Jim showed throughout the early years of his business, and so it is no surprise that his customers stayed loyal, and later flocked to buy his amplifiers, making Marshall one of the most recognised names in the business!

Meanwhile Tony 'Pip' Ross went from strength to strength, and of course it was inevitable that he would be poached by a professional group. The Flintstones were one of the most exciting groups around. Based loosely on the 'Piltdown Men' and 'Sounds Incorporated', they toured constantly and were making a good living when they added Ross to their ranks. For some reason he dropped the name 'Pip', and as two of the Flintstones were named Tony, he was re-christened "Rupert", which he had sign-written in Gothic letters across the top horn of his Precision Bass.

I had now left Bishopshalt Grammar School with only 4 GCE O-level passes, and had no idea what to do with myself. My mother was working in Southall at Williams Brothers' Grocers shop, and they were short-staffed, so I became a fixture for several months, serving on the counter, boning bacon, cutting up cheeses and being the gofer!! This was a very happy period in my life, free of school, earning a few bob, and getting to know the local girls who hung around the shopping parade.

Soon I had an invitation to join a local group who were making waves around Greenford and Southall. The 'Cossacks' were formed around the three Lewis brothers, two of whom played bass and rhythm guitars, and Keith who was the singer - apparently their father had come into some money and had kitted the boys out with the best equipment. Bragging of my new appointment, I was amazed at my increase in popularity with the girls. This didn't last long however, as the Cossacks disbanded before I ever played a gig with them. Undeterred, I began networking between Hayes and Ealing, setting up rehearsals with many local players, trying to get a group going.

It was during a visit to Southall Community Centre, to watch the 'Jaywalkers' (who had an impressive guitarist called Ritchie Blackmore) that I bumped into two people who I had recently jammed with. Drummer Paul Tait and his bass playing pal Chas had secured a gig with a Wembley based outfit called The Delta 5. Paul explained that they needed a second guitar, and they had lots of gigs in the book. I needed no further persuading, and in a few days joined the Delta 5 line-up featuring Ricky Eagles on rhythm guitar, Ken Pickering on vocals with Paul and Chas on drums and bass. In no time we hit the road, playing every weekend. At last I was playing in a good group, and getting paid for it!


Nick Simper (guitar); with Ricky Eagles (rhythm guitar); Ken Pickering (vocals); Paul Tait (drums); Dave Hillyard-Jones (bass).

Rupert, meanwhile, continued to progress. It was always open house at 39 Ashford Avenue and Rupert introduced me to the sounds of the great lead guitarists such as Cliff Gallup, Scotty Moore and James Burton, as well as on the local scene Mick Green, Micky King and Big Jim Sullivan. The Delta 5 played some good venues, including the Ealing Jazz club, where we would pack the place on Wednesdays, whilst on Thursdays, new group the Rolling Stones pulled only a handful of people! Whilst many people praised my ability on lead guitar, I was beginning to realise deep down that I didn't have what it takes to be another Mick Green!

About this time, another friend and neighbour, Micky Haskell would bring round records by Woody Guthrie and Big Bill Broonzy. Mick was running a club at the White Hart, Southall, and one memorable evening we witnessed blues artiste Cyril Davies doing a solo spot. "Forget yer Bloody Hank Marvin", said Mick, "This is real guitar playing!" He wasn't wrong either!!

After a tour with the Everly Brothers and Little Richard (with the Flintstones being proclaimed Keith Richards' favourite group), Rupert Ross quit to join probably the most underrated but one of the most talented outfits in England, namely Carter-Lewis and the Southerners. Based upon the hit song-writing duo of John Carter and Ken Lewis, the group boasted a line-up of Rupert Ross on bass, Viv Prince on drums and Jimmy Page on guitar. Jimmy was shortly to leave and so Rupert drafted in local boy (from the Downbeats) Micky Keane. This was a big period for Rupert, as John and Ken were writing hits for lots of acts, and it was necessary for the Southerners to demo these songs in the London studio at Southern Music. Whilst the Flintstones had cut two singles and half an unreleased album with the legendary Joe Meek, Rupert now found himself playing the part of a session man.

He still showed an almost clairvoyant approach, raving about new groups that he'd seen on the road, such as the Beatles and the Pacemakers. He sported what later became known as a Beatle haircut, and to some of us it seemed as if he was from another planet.

Rupert's father, Ken, had started his own agency, 'Ross Entertainments', and at this time he was booking the Delta 5 and others into the local venues. It was during a Ken Ross gig at the Acre Hall, Northwood, Middlesex that a shocked Delta 5 and their audience learned of the assassination of U.S. President Kennedy in November 1963.

Whilst the Delta 5 carried on learning the trade, Tony Ross was undoubtedly becoming one of the country's top bassists. Playing mostly with his thumb, he was rapidly becoming a legend in his own lifetime…

Chapter 4 : Rupert, Cliff Barton and 'Some Other Guys'

..... However this was also the time when he started to get sick. At first it was no more than stomach pains, then nausea and sickness. He began to lose weight, but doctors were baffled as to the problem. One day he breezed into Jim Marshall’s shop, announcing that his illness had at last been diagnosed, simply a stomach ulcer! We were all visibly relieved.

By now I had secured a job as a trainee draughtsman at the Southern Electricity Board in Uxbridge, a great job designing electricity sub-station sites. Unfortunately the pay, six pounds and ten shillings a week, did not give me the financial clout to purchase the musical equipment that I needed. I had acquired a 1939 Austin Ten saloon car with the help of an eight quid loan from my Mum, which I was paying back at five shillings (25 pence) per week. I needed a rise!!!

I approached the boss, Mr. George Hendry, and asked for ten pounds a week. He gave me a one-word answer – no! I immediately gave two weeks notice and soon found a job at the local bakery, Chibnalls, as a wholesale and retail bread salesman, on a basic wage of sixteen pounds a week, plus commission. I was rich!

At the first opportunity I rushed down to Marshall’s shop where top guitarist Mick King, formerly of Cliff Bennett’s Rebel Rousers, was the new manager. I had already bought the Fender Amplifier that Micky Green had used on several Johnny Kidd hits, and I needed a guitar to match. I intended to order a white Fender Stratocaster, but Mick reminded me of the six month wait to obtain one from America and then drew my attention to what he considered a better buy, hanging on the shop wall. It was a Gibson Melody Maker, finished in yellow sunburst, and – the best part – it was only 96 guineas! Micky King added a short Bigsby Patent tremolo arm for an extra 14 guineas and I was sold!

For the last couple of years I had been trawling the clubs and pubs of West London, observing and picking up tips from dozens of different bands. There had been an amazing explosion of bands – known at that time as ‘groups’ – during this period, some of the most influential being ‘The Cossacks’, ‘Frankie Reid and The Casuals’, and the uniquely named ‘Cyrano and The Bergeracs’. Watching these outfits, I realised that half of the battle was having the right equipment. Well, with the kit I had now, I was king of the hill!

During early 1963 I met another musician who was to have almost as much influence on me as Rupert. Calling himself Cliff Curtis, after the legendary Crickets guitarist Sonny Curtis, his real name was Cliff Barton, and he was lead guitarist with local group ‘Ricky Wade and the Crossfires’. Cliff took me under his wing, much as Rupert had done, teaching me guitar licks that I had previously found impossible to play. He also talked me out of any ideas I had of being the next Hank B. Marvin, and lent me a stack of records to study, by people such as Ray Charles, Chuck Berry, Ritchie Barrett and Solomon Burke. R&B was the thing, he explained. He also took me to see two bands that he considered to be the most important and influential at this time, namely Buddy Britten and the Regents and Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, both powerhouse musical trios who paved the way for the later bands of the decade such as Cream and the Jimi Hendrix Experience. To say that I was impressed by these acts would be an understatement – I was completely blown away!! “Forget rhythm guitarists”, said Cliff, “they’re not needed!”. If anyone had suggested at this time that I would become a member of one or both of these bands, I would have said that they were crazy!

Once Cliff Barton had converted me to his way of playing and thinking, I was eager to impart my new found knowledge to the Delta 5, but my suggestions were only well received by the rhythm section, the other two being committed to being ‘all round entertainers’. My commitment to these new sounds led to several of us having a clandestine rehearsal with a couple of other like-minded musicians, including a great singer called Roger Peacock. Of course we were soon found out, and so the Delta 5 collapsed. I did feel a little guilty for a while, but not for long. I can remember feeling really honoured to receive a call from Cliff Barton, suggesting that we form a new group with me playing guitar and Cliff on vocals. With old friend Alan Hill on rhythm guitar and harmonica, and the bass and drums from the Delta 5, we proceeded to rehearse at Perivale Youth Club, in the school hall.

A couple of rehearsals later, it became obvious that we were not coming up to Cliff’s expectations and we decided to call it a day! Sadly, I saw little of Cliff after that. He went on to take up bass guitar and double bass, working with Cyril Davies, Long John Baldry and Georgie Fame. He soon established himself as one of England’s greatest bassists. Sadly, it seems that he also embraced the drug culture, and about four years later, whilst celebrating the success of ‘Hush’ with the other members of Deep Purple, I was shocked to spot a small paragraph inside the London Evening News, reporting Cliff’s death at the age of 24 years.

Paul Tait, Alan Hill and myself decided that we would stay together and form a new group founded on the style that Cliff Barton had taught us. After a bit of shuffling we found a good singer from West Drayton called Dave Taylor, who sang in the Cliff Bennett style. Just what we wanted! Then a talented pianist called Steve Cameron, from Greenford, turned up. All that we needed now was a bass player. However, bass players then were a rarity, whilst lead guitarists were ten a penny, and most of them better than me! The solution was obvious. Back to Jim Marshall’s shop I went and traded my gear in for a second-hand Fender Precision bass, and a brand new 50-watt bass amp with a 4x12 speaker cabinet. Finished in white rexine, it was one the first, if not the first bass rig, the design of which Marshalls still sell to this day. With the addition of ace guitarist Mike Payne, ‘Some Other Guys’ were born.

Drawing on everything that Rupert Ross had shown me, I began to make the transition to bass player. ‘Some Other Guys’ really clicked together, and after playing a few well-received gigs, it began to dawn on us that we really had something!

Meanwhile Rupert, although obviously still very ill, had landed a gig with vocalist Jimmy Justice. Jimmy had enjoyed several top ten hits and was at the top of his game, being about to embark on a tour of Holland. “Rupert’s moving up the ladder”, observed one of his former Flintstones colleagues.

By this time the unsociable hours of being a bread salesman were clashing with the life of a semi-pro musician. I wasn’t the most popular salesman at Chibnalls, having driven the 8 feet high van under a 7 feet high arch, tearing off half of the roof, so I thought it was time for a change of career.

Having secured an interview for a job in a London office, I set off early. With time to spare I called into Jim Marshall’s shop and engaged in small talk with ex-Flintstones guitarist/singer Rod Freeman. After several minutes the phone rang, and I watched Rod visibly wilt with the news. On the phone was Rich Bennett, my old Renegade pal, calling to announce that Tony Ross was dead. He had died of cancer in Holland whilst touring with Jimmy Justice. Needless to say, I never got to the job interview!!!

Chapter 5 : Going Pro

The death of Tony 'Rupert' Ross stunned everyone who knew him. It did not seem possible that one of the brightest stars of the pro music scene was no longer with us. Life, of course, had to go on. It continued to be open house at Tony's home. Pat Marshall, one of the Flintstones' saxophonists moved into the spare room and became a long-term lodger, whilst I visited regularly. Tony's parents lost none of their enthusiasm for the music scene, and proudly watched the rise of John Carter and Ken Lewis who, together with Perry Ford were now making waves as the Ivy League. Shortly afterwards, Jimmy Justice and his band returned from their tour and the pink Fender bass was returned to Ken and Jean Ross.

Initially they intended to hang it on the wall, but after some discussion decided that it had to be used. When they offered it to me, I was shocked, and then flattered, but of course I gratefully accepted and became the second owner of this wonderful instrument. After a chat with Jim Marshall, he showed his usual generosity by buying back the bass guitar that I had purchased from him several months before, thus helping a little towards the Ross's family outlay resulting from their sad loss.

I was still clinging on to the job at the bakery, whilst furiously working flat out during every spare moment honing the stage act of 'Some Other Guys'. On several nights a week we would rehearse at the Hayes Church Hall, polishing up our set list. My old school friend from Bishopshalt Grammar, Tony Tacon, had also knocked a group together known as the Javelins. I had taught Tony his first chords (from the Buddy Holly songbook of course) and helped out once or twice when they needed a guitarist. Tommy had been on the receiving end of an amazing stroke of good fortune by discovering an old Fender Stratocaster hiding at the back of a junk shop. The proprietor, knowing nothing about guitars, was open to offers, and handed it over for 30 quid!! Obviously Tony was happy with that result. He had blossomed into a useful rhythm guitarist, and the Javelins, with their new singer known as Jess Gillan, performed very passable covers of the hits of the day. Their regular gig at a local youth club was only yards from the church hall, and we frequently had to turn up the volume at our rehearsals to avoid being drowned out!

At the same time, we had acquired a manager through a friend of a friend, who claimed to know everybody in showbiz. He would frequently drop names such as Dick Rowe (of Decca records) or Brian Epstein, which initially impressed us no end. We felt that having a manager gave us extra kudos, but it soon became obvious that all these associates existed only in his imagination.

The early 1960's was a period when the music scene was exploding with new bands and new venues absolutely mushrooming. Lots of these groups were actually packing up work and turning professional, as in those days, if you had a decent sound that pleased the crowds, it was not necessary to have hit records. A good outfit could gain a reputation and work most nights of the week on that alone!

Of course, as the beat business expanded, so the 'Arthur Daley's' of showbiz gathered like vultures to swoop down in unsuspecting gullible musicians who, eager to just get on with the music, happily handed the business side of things over to these dodgy managers and equally dodgy agents. The modus operandi of many of these people was so simple that it defied belief! What they did was to charge the venues the highest price possible for their acts, whilst paying the groups half or less of that figure. To compound this outrage, they also extracted 10% commission from the artists' cut, which did not leave much cash to be shared between 4 or 5 skint musicians! To be fair, there were many straight and trustworthy agents out there, but I am sure there is not a single musician who hasn't been ripped off in the way I have described. The Delta 5 once travelled from Wembley to Sevenoaks in the Kent for the princely sum of 8 pounds. The normal practice for promoters was to post a cheque to the agent, thus ensuring that the group never discovered their true fee, but for some strange reason the Sevenoaks promoter handed the cheque to us. Imagine our surprise at seeing the figure of 25 pounds written on it!

When 'Some Other Guys' realised that their manager was not totally truthful, it was decided that revenge was needed. So we set him up by getting a pal with a flash car to pose as a top U.S. music mogul (using the dodgy agent's name), complete with big cigar and personal assistant. The poor guy went for it like a hungry pigeon, turning up in his best suit and tie. The crowning moment came when the 'American' impostor presented our dodgy agent's business card as his own, and arranged to have him telephone details of all the bands that he could muster, with the promise of U.S. tours. Our manager really thought that he had hit the jackpot, and we all held our sides trying not to laugh as we hid just within earshot. Of course one can only speculate as to what happened when he called the real agent! The very thought of it was reward enough for the times that we had been conned. The funniest part was that he never suspected us, even warning us that there was an American impersonator about, and to be very careful!!

Meanwhile 'Some Other Guys' continued to rehearse and play more gigs. The audience response was growing each time, which did wonders for our confidence. Steve Cameron quit one night after a row and was quickly replaced by an equally talented Hayes pianist called Dave Bone. Alan Hill had by now begun to show promise as a songwriter, presenting us with a soulful ditty titled "Sweet Talking Man". Armed with the new song, we booked some time at a recording studio in Rickmansworth, owned by the famous disc jockey Jack Jackson. Produced and engineered by Jack's sons John and Malcolm, the group recorded the new title, together with a cover of Benny Spelman's "Fortune Teller" on a two-track machine in about three hours flat! We felt the result was not half bad, and several acetate copies were cut for our manager to hawk around.

At the same time, Alan Hill had entered us for a talent show being run by the London Evening News, with the promise of cash and a record deal for the winner. Turning up to do our spot with a dozen other groups, nerves got the better of us and our performance was pretty dismal. As we slunk out dejectedly, knowing that we had blown it, I was compelled to hang back as the next act did their stuff, as they had a singer who really stood out from the others, with a powerful range that defied belief! His name, I discovered, was Ashley Holt.

By now I was beginning to feel that my ability on the bass was approaching a more respectable level than I had showed on lead guitar, and thought it was time to get myself accepted by the local musical fraternity. I began spending as much time as possible hanging out in the right places, musicians' haunts such as the Spiral Steps Café and the bowling alley, both in Southall, The Rendezvous Café and Ted's Café in Hanwell Broadway, and of course, the main place to be seen, Jim Marshall's shop. I would hang around and watch players trying out guitars, some of them big names such as Big Jim Sullivan, Judd Proctor or Mick Green.

One day, I dropped in with my Mum to pick up some strings, and as Jim came to serve us I became aware of some other people there, posing by the counter like gunslingers in a Wild West Saloon. It was Screaming Lord Sutch with three of his Savages - Rick Brown, Ritchie Blackmore and Carlo Little. Jim introduced us to Dave Sutch, who was probably the first pop singer to sport waist-length hair. During our conversation my Mum jokingly asked if his hair didn't sap his strength, whereupon Sutch replied that she hadn't read her Bible, for it was Samson's hair that gave him his strength! Mum was suitably chastened!

The highlight of the week was Saturday afternoon at Marshall's shop, when my old tutor Bert Kirby would check out the condition of the guitar stock. Bert was pretty adept at knocking out a jazz tune, and he would be joined in a jam session by such luminaries as Rod Freeman on guitar, Ken Rankine on bass and Johnny 'Mitch' Mitchell on drums. Saturdays at Jim's was like a musicians' social club, and I would drink in the atmosphere, rubbing shoulders with various members of local bands such as Cliff Bennett's Rebel Rousers and the High Numbers, shortly to become the Who.

By late 1964, new groups were appearing overnight to become the next big thing, and Some Other Guys certainly felt that all was going according to plan and that the big break would not be long in coming. For me though, everything was about to change. One evening I received a telephone call from Jim Marshall's son, Terry. He asked if I was interested in a professional gig. Naturally I was all ears and asked who with? His reply nearly knocked me over. The gig was with Buddy Britten and The Regents, one of my favourite outfits!

Within two hours I was knocking on Roger Pinah's front door. Roger was the Regents' drummer, who I vaguely knew as the bloke who used to sit in (and speed up) with the Delta 5. Surely, I thought, he can't be up for the gig? The following evening saw me proved wrong, as I witnessed the Regents' show at the Grosvenor Ballroom in the centre of Aylesbury. Roger Pinah had blossomed into one of the most visual and exciting drummers that I had ever seen, with Buddy Britten playing raw guitar behind his rocking vocals, Tony Richards pumping the electric piano, and about-to-leave bassist John Lawson providing the bottom end. The atmosphere in the ballroom was electric as the Regents played a scorching set to an enthusiastic crowd.