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| ISBN-13: | 9781901447699 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Cherry Red Books |
| Publication date: | 01/01/2001 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 360 |
| File size: | 746 KB |
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The Legendary Joe Meek
The Telstar Man
By John Repsch
Cherry Red Books
Copyright © 2000 John RepschAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-901447-69-9
CHAPTER 1
Bumpy Beginnings
Newent is a small country town. It lies midway between Gloucester and Ross-on-Wye on the edge of the famous Forest of Dean. Nowadays it is more of a tourist trap than anything else, offering holidaymakers a bit of history and ample rambles, one of which climbs to the top of nearby May Hill where you can view ten counties.
Quaint, twisting streets with mellowed brick houses lead to the Market Square and Newent's prize attraction and symbol of the past: a 16th century Market Hall on oaken 'stilts'. In spite of its name Newent is old, dating back at least to pre-Saxon times, and during the Middle Ages it rose to fame as one of the main Market Towns in North-west Gloucestershire; Welsh farmers used it regularly as the next stop after Ross-on-Wye on their trek to the Gloucester cattle market. But that is all a long time ago, and apart from a few skirmishes in the Civil War and the church roof falling in soon after a service in 1674, not much has happened since. It has lost most of its former glory as a Market Town and, though the farming tradition continues, the town's revenue now depends on sightseers passing through rather than sheep.
The present population has swelled to 6,000 but the Newent of 1929 had less than half that and everyone knew everyone. At No. 1 Market Square on April 5 that year Robert George Meek was born.
He was the second son of Alfred George Meek, better known as George, and Evelyn Mary, better known as Biddy. They were living in a rented 3-storey terraced house with George's mother. George was running a fish and chip shop but had aspirations towards owning property; although the Meek family had been settled in the area for the past 100 years they had never been landowners, and he had plans to change all that. His three brothers had been killed during World War I, whilst he himself had been invalided out a month before Armistice Day with shrapnel wounds and suffering from shellshock. His £400 disability grant had given him independence and paid for four acres of pasture-land and some cows; the milk he had driven around the village with a horse and cart, ladling it out of a bucket. This was to be the first of a long string of jobs for George. After a while he had grown bored with it, so decided to hang up his ladle and run a taxi service instead.
Then it was in 1927 at the age of 30 that he had met his bride-to-be at a local dance. Biddy Birt had been a 24 year old teacher from a large family in Huntley, in the Forest of Dean, and she had taught all subjects and played the piano in the primary school there. They made an unlikely pair: George, a tallish, stout fellow of 15 stone; Biddy, a frail 5'1". He was a typical farming type, outspoken and free with his fists, whereas she was quiet and persevering. When she gave up her teaching career to marry him she could not have picked a more appropriate name for herself.
They set up home in Huntley with Biddy's father, whom she was nursing through the last months of a terminal illness. Then when he died, George brought her home to live with his mother at the Market Square.
It was at this time that they had had their first child, Arthur, who was named after one of the sons George's mother had lost during the War. A year later their next child Robert was born. He in turn was nicknamed by George's mother after another son she had lost: Joe. The name stuck.
As is the case with many mothers whose first child is a son, Biddy had set her heart on a daughter next. So when Joe arrived she tempered her disappointment by treating him as one. He was given dolls to play with, his hair grew long and he was kept mainly in dresses till starting school at 4. His mother had intended sending him as a girl but when he realized certain irregularities his protests to her got him into shorts just in time.
The first few years for the blue-eyed, brown-haired boy were marked by a series of moves as his father slipped ever hopefully from one job to the next. From postman to bookie to fish and chip merchant to butcher, he went on to move the family over to Bussage on the other side of Gloucester where he had five lorries hauling sheep flock up to London, and rags back down to the paper mill at Stroud. Then they moved to nearby Churchdown, and there was just enough time for Joe to start school at the primary before the family were whisked back to Newent for another round of fish and chips. By this time they had added two more children to the fold: Eric in 1932 and Pamela in 1934.
But for Joe, 1934 was more significant as the year he first showed an interest in music. Although the Meeks were hardly a musical family (in spite of Biddy's talent for playing the piano, the twin devils of no piano to play and no time to play it anyway had effectively put paid to that), Joe had heard enough on the wireless to warrant his clamouring for a gramophone, and mentioned it on a private recording of his life story several years later: "It was one of those toy gramophones with a celluloid soundbox and a key to wind it up. And I remember I'd seen it in a shop window and asked for it for Christmas; and as quite often happens my wish came true and I got this gramophone for Christmas with some children's records. I used to play this all the time, and it was quite obvious to my parents that this fascinated me, and when I was 7 years old they bought me a proper gramophone: a portable type that used to be very popular about twenty years ago. At this time I used to be fascinated with making things out of shoe boxes like puppet shows and slot machines and all sorts of things, and I used to try and experiment with my gramophone, and I discovered if you played the record at the end on the run-out groove you could shout down the sound chamber and the sound would be imprinted in the grooves. And I thought that I'd discovered something marvellous, and of course I was really doing just what Edison had discovered years before."
The following year his passion for messing around with bits and pieces brought him his first electrical success when he and aschoolfriend, Gerald Beachus, rigged up a light in his grandmother's garden shed.
Over the years, Granny Meek's house at the Market Square had often been a handy refuge in between moves, and they were now living with her on a permanent basis. She had given Joe the shed, a converted cowshed at the bottom of the garden, and whenever time allowed he would be hidden away in there wiring and rewiring. But at the age of 8 he thought of something that would put him right in the limelight.
From watching the local amateur dramatics he hit on the idea of staging his own Saturday afternoon shows for children in Newent. His only previous stage experience had been a fleeting appearance with Arthur, two years before, as a pixie: during an evening of singing and recitals at the Churchdown Mission Room they had been in a sketch called 'Daffodils and Pixies' in which they danced around some mushrooms. Now it was Joe who was calling the tune and he encouraged other children to bring along fancy clothes to the shed, where they would enact scenes from the plays they had seen or anything he had thought up. A neighbour of theirs, Mrs. Gladys Dallow, recalls: "He was always with girls, and whenever possible he'd be always dressing up in a woman's clothes. Sometimes his mother wouldn't allow him to have hers but his old granny would say, 'Don't you worry Joe, you can have mine.' He loved dressing up and having an audience, and he used to look quite nice. He looked like a girl and he used to prance about with a theatrical touch and flowing skirts." They often staged shows close by in the old cattle market, but with other youngsters around like John Bisco, who was certainly not a member of their guild of players, it could be a risky business: "He was always dressing up as a girl, pratting about, and we played hell with him. We'd try to mess everything up and pull his leg and chase him."
If there were rehearsals before the performance, everyone would be sworn to secrecy so neither the audience nor the John Bisco's would know what to expect. To compensate for the colossal entrance fee of a halfpenny, a large notice was placed outside advertising the main attraction: Free Refreshments. In the interval Joe would get out his wind-up gramophone and play records.
There was also a magician's act for which he would wear a tall black hat and perform conjuring tricks, and there were plays that he would make up as they went along, usually in the style of Murder In The Red Barn. Anything with a bit of stabbing in was especially popular; indeed, his two favourite subjects were mystery and witches, and he did not have to look far for inspiration.
It was a highly superstitious area, particularly in the huge Forest of Dean with its thousands of acres of woodland where witchcraft was rife. Perhaps due to the forest's relative isolation some parts have barely altered during the past 150 years, and in nearby Lassington Wood witches' covens are reputed to be around to this day. Witching in the Middle Ages was punishable by death, and there are said to have been hangings and burnings in the area – some as close by as Newent Market Square where Joe was now living. Stories of mystery proliferated, mainly of ghosts still keeping up regular appearances ever since the Civil War: the man in the old Tan Yard who was seen walking around without his head; the woman in white who caused a car crash on Ross Road; of nearby Conigree Court, where "all sorts of things have been seen". Besides those, there were also the more current goings-on such as the gypsy who had recently been found hanging in Highnam Wood and the headless torso that had been fished out of the river at Haw Bridge. And of course, there was the most famous story of all: that of Dick Whittington, three times Lord Mayor of London, who in 1371 had set off on his travels from up the road at Pauntley. Joe lapped it all up and it provided him with a rich source of material.
It was quite clear by now to whom he owed certain aspects of his character. Although he had inherited a singlemindedness from his father, as well as the fiery temper – "with a fuse so short it was nearly non-existent" – his father was nonetheless easygoing, whereas Joe would launch into each new activity with a passion bordering on obsession. And in contrast to his father he was shy and had a strong instinct towards being on his own; after school he would race home, not to play with friends as his brothers did, but to tinker and tamper alone in the shed. Even his mother who was a very hardworking woman lacked Joe's dedication, but it was to her that he felt closest. Unlike his brothers he was not turning out to be the robust son his father expected of him, and it was to her that he looked for love and affection. But he could not monopolize her time. There were three other children, a husband and an aging mother-in-law besides Joe, plus all the responsibilities that being a wife and mother entailed. And there was something else.
The £400 grant George received for his disability was little consolation for the suffering he and his family would have to endure as a result of his injuries. The horrors he had undergone whilst serving in the Royal Field Artillery in Belgium's bloodbath at Passchendaele, culminating in a terrifying experience when his horse was blown up beneath him while transporting a field gun, had profound effects which would stay with him for life. After the War, it was to be a full five years before he left military hospital to return to his mother, and then again he had to acclimatize. Violent outbursts of rage in which he would smash anything that came to hand were only gradually overcome by his mother's firmly tolerant understanding. Helping him out with his milk round and generally shielding him from life's trials she had been able to ease his anguish. And she was no stranger to such frowns of fortune. Her husband Charlie had emigrated to Canada just before George was born, leaving her behind with nine children and sixpence to feed them on. He had promised to send for her as soon as he had bettered himself as a lumberjack. He never did, but sent money instead. Bringing up the children alone as well as she did earned her the accolade of "a better woman never walked in a pair of shoes". She had hoped that when George got married he would stay in good health, and for a while he did, but he found he had to avoid jobs which entailed taking orders. It might have been a direct result of his other bitter experience in the War when shortly before receiving his injuries he had been ordered to step up and replace his dying brother on the field gun.
More significantly, as the pressures of family life grew, so once again did his problem. Joe's schoolfriend and confidant Gerald Beachus would sometimes hear about it from Joe: "Every now and again things would set him off. Maybe a door would bang and thatwould take him back to the Somme, and he'd go a little bit crazy – shouting and raving. Joe's mother would get the brunt of that. I think she was like in fear of him because she didn't want to upset him to start him off. Either she'd manage to get him shut in the bedroom and everyone would get out of the way and leave him to calm down or the doctor would turn up and give him a pill or a shot in the arm. He could be violent. But he would never touch the old granny, his mother; the old granny could talk to him as her son and she could get him to do what she wanted him to do. Then if he didn't calm down within a certain period the doctor would come, who knew of course all about him. Sometimes he would be in this state for a week or ten days. Then once he'd come round he'd be perfectly back to normal. But it only took that little thing to set him off. I wasn't allowed to knock at the door in case it brought onanother attack. Instead Joe would call round to me or we'd arrange a time for me to be outside his door. He used to say, 'You mustn't tell anybody because they'll think he's mad.' But it was virtually a war injury, so they called it 'shell-shocked'."
On the other hand, unless he was crossed George was one of the most generous men around, handing out money to anyone in need or giving fruit away to children. But at home he was very much in charge. As one of their neighbours puts it: "He was the dominant lord and master; he'd speak and she'd jump." George's symptoms were not continuous but they did occur with sufficient frequency to warrant caution from the family. Although Biddy understood him and worshipped the ground he walked on, the children were often frightened of him. Their young, impressionable minds couldobviously be affected in many ways: for Arthur and Eric, both hardy, down-to-earth lads, it served to toughen them up; Joe was softened. It alienated him from his father and pushed him nearer his mother. And very subtly he absorbed some more of the Meek temper.
He was a strange mixture of jovial Joe and melancholy Meek. When he was happy there was no one around who could laugh more. As one of his schoolfellows explains: "Joe found things funny. He had a great sense of humour and was quite a giggler. We would laugh at him rather than with him, but he'd take it in good heart." This feeling of being different, coupled with his determination to follow his own controversial pursuits, could not help but distance him from other boys of his age. If he wanted to play-act a wizard in his shed or parade in front of an audience, then all around him had a good time, but others said it was girlish and called him a cissie; if he spent spare time pottering about alone in the shed, then he felt better occupied than playing marbles outside or running about with the boys, but this was deemed unnatural and labelled him an 'outer'. And even when he did make the effort to join them, perhaps for swimming, he would sometimes get scragged by other boys removing his swimming trunks and covering him in mud, baiting and baiting him till he blew his top. Of course, all this teasing, along with the obvious contrast between himself and his brothers, served to underline for him a fact he was becoming only too aware of: that he was the odd one out at home and one of the odd ones out in the town.
Being called a cissie naturally upset him, and for a sensitive home-loving mother's boy it presented all sorts of difficulties. He would go to his mother for comfort but could not always depend upon getting it. His mother was a sweet woman with a special fondness for him, but he sometimes put her in a tricky position. She had to exercise discretion when she gave him affection and soothing words, for should she be seen doing so in George's presence, this would be looked upon as namby pambying him, making him even more unmanly, and George wanted his sons men. Added to this, Joe was a little spoilt by her and though he was generally as good as gold and, unlike his naughty brothers, never caned in his life he sometimes behaved in a spoilt manner. Arthur would not always tolerate this behaviour, and being a strong, hardy youngster and the kind of country lad who walked around with a ferret in his coat pocket, was in a position to make his opinions felt. For this reason Joe did not usually get on well with him, and although Arthur got him out of many a scrape at school, he was just as likely to send him home crying to his mother. By the same token she could not take sides with Joe against Arthur in the presence of her husband for fear of upsetting him. In Arthur the firstborn, George saw himself, so Arthur was his favourite. Pam, being the only girl, was spoilt by everyone. So, if Biddy played the devil's advocate and her judgment swung in favour of Arthur, Joe would feel betrayed. He was becoming frightfully sensitive and would withdraw into himself and seek solace amongst his wires and batteries.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Legendary Joe Meek by John Repsch. Copyright © 2000 John Repsch. Excerpted by permission of Cherry Red Books.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page,Introduction,
Prologue,
1. Bumpy Beginnings,
2. Picture-Painting In Sound,
3. "His Job Of Balancing Was Out Of This World",
4. "Rotten Pigs! Trying To Take My Secrets",
5. The House Of Shattering Glass,
6. Records Made For The Hit Parade,
7. The Sound Of RGM,
8. "It Sounds Like He's Singing At The Bottom Of An Empty Well",
9. Up, Up And Away,
10. "I'm Still The Bloody Governor!",
11. Operation Heinz!,
12. Incident At Madras Place,
13. Major Banks Marches Off,
14. "You Are In One Helluva Mess",
15. To Be Or Not To Be?,
Epilogue,
Appendix,
Discography,
Index,
Acknowledgments,
Copyright,