Despite spending more than twelve hours in the studio the day before, the group had to be up bright and early for a photo shoot for teen magazine Valentine, which had just run its first article on them. They arrived late at the magazine’s offices in Farringdon Street before taking a taxi to the University of London Union in Malet Street at 9.00am with photographer Derek Berwin. He took photos of them in the University’s swimming pool. After shots on the diving board, they all took the plunge, except Ringo, who couldn’t swim.
Also featured were Valentine staffers, Valerie Bridgestock, ‘Davy’ and ‘Clancy T. Smith’ - the latter two pseudonyms. Sid Hayden, who was ‘Davy’, recalled the day. “There was an office boy on the magazine whose name was Davy, and as ‘Sid the Rock and Roll Office Boy’ didn’t sound very good, I became ‘Davy.’ Valerie worked in the art department. I was also working for Jack And Jill and Playhour magazines. I’m holding a beach ball in one of the shots, while Valerie was wearing a swimming cap and holding a rubber ring. Like Ringo, I was also a non-swimmer. After the shoot I recall seeing them outside waiting to hail a taxi and nobody knew who they were. Every time we featured the Beatles in the magazine, sales went up.” (The photo spread appeared in the June 8th edition of the magazine.) Shortly after 11.00am, Berwin drove the group to London Airport in his Volkswagen Beetle. They boarded flight number STW134 arriving in Liverpool in the early afternoon. There was little respite as they then had to make the hour-long drive to Oldham.
An estimated 1,200 fans, many of whom had waited for over two hours, were turned away at the door for the group’s performance at the regular Tuesday “Teenbeat Special” at Oldham’s Astoria Ballroom at the intersection of King Street and Union Street. The ballroom had opened as the Grand Theatre in 1908, before being turned into a Gaumont cinema in 1937, when George Formby re-opened it. In 1962 it had been converted into a bowling alley upstairs and the ballroom downstairs.
The 2,000-strong crowd snaked down the road towards the Duke of Wellington pub, blocking the pavement. Police called in reinforcements after fans pushed down a steel guard rail at the Star Inn crossing, spilling dozens into the road junction and holding up traffic. They asked the authorities to open the doors early because of the mass outside.
15-year-old apprentice fitter John Williams was on his way home from Platt Brothers on the bus and saw people already queuing. “I dashed home, got changed and rushed back to the Astoria as quickly as I could. By this time the queue was very long. After about an hour, the doors opened and people started to go inside. As I passed the doorman, he put his arm across and said ‘That’s it, sorry. It’s full’.” Inside, the foyer was teeming with excited fans unable to get into the ballroom when the till jammed. The Astoria’s assistant ballroom manager Mr. S. Rose commented, “There were a lot of teenagers outside and a guard rail did collapse. Inside everything was orderly. Some teenagers did sit on other people’s shoulders, but everything was quiet. We expected this enthusiasm from the teen-agers and were prepared for it.”
Maureen Jones arrived and took her place in the queue. “Within a short time, the crowd had grown to hundreds and the police had to be called,” she recalled. “It was crazy! Nobody had expected it. The barriers outside were getting bent and girls who had fainted were being lifted out of the crowd. It was surprising to me, because I had been expecting just another normal Tuesday evening at the Astoria. I’m only 5 foot 1, and was being dragged down at one stage, so this tall lad with a girlfriend said, ‘Hang on to me’, so I did, and I held on to him till we got inside, still clinging to him! His girlfriend got in as well but she had been separated from us.
Inside the ballroom it was just a mass of people. I stood on the stairs at the side as did a few others, otherwise I wouldn’t have seen anything. Everyone was screaming. I’d always been very sensible, very self-controlled, but I found myself that night screaming along with them. I shocked myself to be quite frank. The atmosphere really got to me and I was caught up in the moment, what was happening around us. It amazed me that I would do something like that. It was electric, a stunning evening. On the bus on the way home, the noise was still ringing in my ears. I can’t explain it but you knew you had witnessed something special. I was only 16, and rather innocent, but I remember feeling quite stunned.”
On arrival at the ballroom’s Chaucer Street entrance, the group unloaded their van with the help of two local boys Bobby Leach and Rick Turton. The group did two half hour spots, for which Paul and George performed the bulk of the vocals, John’s already weakened voice made worse by his recording of Twist And Shout the night before. Among the mayhem one girl almost lost her dress, despite the efforts of bodyguards trying to prevent fans reaching the stage, who also stood on chairs and sat on each other’s shoulders.
In between their two sets they posed backstage for Evening Chronicle photographer Dennis Hussey. They also met John McCann, a business acquaintance of Paul’s father Jim. McCann passed a message from Jim McCartney to Paul and then invited them to his house following the show to have dinner and meet his children. After the performance McCann drove his Vauxhall Victor estate up to the side door. The group made a dash for it and McCann then drove them to his house in Windsor Road. Neil Aspinall followed in the van, tossing promotional post cards out of the window as he went. Fans eagerly picked them up. When the group walked into the McCann’s front room, they found a spread of tea and sandwiches had been laid on for them. Ringo sat down on the coal scuttle near the fireplace and dozed off. Pat Costello, phoned by one of McCann’s daughter, came round and ended up having her hand kissed by Paul. They left shortly after midnight and headed back to Liverpool.
“I started my career in photography when I was very young and by the age of 16 was Fleet Street’s youngest staff photographer. I was working at Fox Photos in the late ’50s, and shortly afterwards was offered a job as staff photographer by Fleetway Publications - the magnificent sum of £1,600 a year, a key to the executive toilet, and a parking space! I was in clover. Fleetway were based in Farringdon Street, down by Ludgate Circus. Fleetway House was a big building and all the magazines they had were based there. They had a big photographic studio where they did room sets and food and fashion. I did virtually everything else. Most of the work was studio based, although I recall going to EMI one day when they were holding a party for Cliff Richard’s 21st. I was assigned to do a picture for ‘Fabulous’, which was to be printed as a big poster. I set the camera up, with a cross on the floor where he was going to stand. When he came in, he asked what I’d like him to do, and I said just give me a ‘Hi!’ which he did, and I took two shots. Unfortunately after he left, I immediately realised I hadn’t had the camera on the right setting! I chased after him and told him I thought I’d screwed it up. The PR guys he was with said he didn’t have time to do them again, but Cliff insisted. He said, ‘No, come on, it’s his job.’ He said, ‘Take your time, check your camera, tell me when you’re ready. Take another one just in case.’ He was a charming, decent guy, and I won’t hear a word against him. He was genuinely concerned that going back without the pictures could be the end of this young man’s career. I’ve never forgotten that.
Another time I took Billy J. Kramer up to Norfolk. We were to do some pictures on a boat, the idea being that it was how he was spending his birthday, but when we woke up the next morning, it was snowing. The article wasn’t coming out until the summer, so we had to sweep all the snow off the boat and clean it up to get the pictures. There were very few outdoor assignments, most days I’d be in the studio, photographing the pop groups of the day.
One day when I arrived at work, they said, ‘Oh we have another pop group coming in, they’re called the Beatles.’ I’d never heard of them. I asked what had been organised, and they said we’d rented the pool in the basement of the University of London Union for an hour. They arrived at the studio, just a bunch of ordinary lads really, and we all jumped in a taxi to Malet Street. There was a writer with us called Valerie, who did a lot of pop stuff. The boys got changed and we took the pictures. They had funny hair, which got all wet. I didn’t take any pics of them in their trunks in the shower afterwards (imagine!), but I took some of them having their hair blow-dried. Time was short and by the time they’d got changed, we were rushing to get back to the studio. We did some more photos and mucked around for a while, then John suddenly said, ‘Oh f**k, we’re going to miss our f**king flight!’ They said, ‘Where’s our car?’ Apparently a car should have arrived at the studio to take them to the airport. At first I thought we’d messed up and were supposed to order this car, but they said no, it should have been organised by their side. So I said, ‘Well, I’ll run you to the airport.’ I had just bought an old white VW Beetle, which was parked in a little alleyway at the side of the studio. We all piled out, got into the Beetle and drove off. As soon as we got to the airport, they jumped out and ran away and I drove off.
It wasn’t until about two or three weeks later when the Beatles explosion happened that I realised what a photo opportunity I had missed! You never saw your photographs. It was always - take the photographs, hand your film in and get on with the next assignment. There was no job satisfaction from that point of view, other than the fact that you were photographing famous people and travelling.
I stayed with Fleetway for about three or four years, then left to work as an advertising photographer. I had clients such as Rolls-Royce, Ford, Jaguar and Martini, and competed in the World Championships for Underwater Photography, holding the title for three years. I was privileged to be asked by King Hussein of Jordan to photograph his family on many occasions, and I go back in my mind I think, ‘If only I’d got the Beatles to autograph the top of my white Beetle and shrink-wrapped it, I’d probably be a millionaire by now!’”
DEREK BERWIN, PHOTOGRAPHER, EPPING, ESSEX