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HAMBURG

AT Massey& Coggins – the Liverpool electrical firm where he landed his first job, winding coils – they nicknamed Paul ‘Mantovani McCartney’ after the well-known classical conductor because of his long hair. Ringo, a favourite target for local bullies, got badly beaten up as he walked home one night from the Admiral Grove pub in the Dingle district of his home city because he wouldn’t give them the shilling (5p) each demanded. On the road George became depressed when he felt the others were pushing him into the background. John used to cry himself to sleep when his thoughts turned to the mother who had abandoned him.

All of that is gleaned from the notebooks I wrote in endlessly during my first days (well, mostly nights) with the Beatles at the back of the Star Club, a dive of a club in the Grosse Freiheit off Hamburg’s notorious Reeperbahn in 1962. I was there as a temporary roadie for Little Richard (it’s a long story, but I’ll come to it) and the ‘Fab Four’, as the legendary American rocker named them, were working their passage in the music business.

It was a shaky start (John didn’t trust ‘reporters’) but we got on well once we discovered we had two things in common: all five of us were crazy about rock’n’roll – and we were hungry. Little Richard’s fat salary solved the latter problem – we ate in his dressing room and he charged the food to the club owner, Manfred Weissleder.

We were of similar age – two of them were older than me, two younger (John and Ringo were born in 1940, Paul in 1942, George in 1943 and me in 1941). Oh yes, and we all took ‘uppers’, amphetamines which loosened tongues particularly when washed down with strong German beer.

The main topic of conversation on the first day was … the Beatles. ‘Our manager Brian Epstein says we’re going to be bigger than Elvis,’ snapped John. ‘So one day you’ll have to queue up with the rest for an interview with us.’

That day had not arrived, however, and I went through the familiar ritual of asking them about their musical aspirations. Who was their greatest influence? ‘Little Richard,’ said Ringo aware that the singer was within earshot, ‘Chuck Berry,’ said George. ‘Elvis,’ said Paul. ‘Yeah, before Elvis there was nothing. He’s the King,’ said John in a quote that was to be re-published many, many times over the years, although it was actually a barb aimed at Richard whose shrill response was ‘Ah, am the King of rock’n’roll.Ah was singing rock before anybody knew what rock was. Sure Elvis was one of the builders, butAh was the architect.’

‘Sure thing, g