I Want to Hold Your Hand

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

I Want to Hold Your Hand

By

The Beatles - 1964

I was born on a Saturday; you may recall what is said about Saturday's child in a well-known rhyme. To this day I still believe I have always worked very hard for a living; my first job commenced in 1964 as a paper delivery girl, at the minimum age required. Originating from a working class background where money was always tight, it was only natural I should earn my own spending money. Seven days a week delivering papers, morning and evening, rising at an unearthly hour each day for my thirteen shillings and sixpence (just over $1 I believe) to spend on records, clothes and going out seems like slave labour now, but at the time I didn't mind at all. Before pushing the papers through letterboxes I particularly enjoyed perusing the columns for any scraps of news regarding The Beatles. I still remember the sheer horror of reading about Ringo going into hospital to have his tonsils removed.

I don't remember much about lessons in school at this time; only being bored and the nasty and sarcastic manner of many of the teachers. The only 'A's I got on my report card and the only subject I excelled in was Physical Education. But even that was about to lose its appeal with the realisation as to why our P.E. teacher lived with another female member of staff. No prejudices, but it was not our imagination when we noticed how often she asked young girls to perform handstands against the wall and lingered around the showers in the changing rooms for over-lengthy periods of time. The ballet also went to the wind during this year after three successful honours awards in exams, when my ballet teacher hinted I may be growing too much to ever make a professional ballet dancer. Over-sensitive should have been my middle name.

But there were plenty of things to replace sport and dancing, though not all of them as healthy or innocent. Phil and I were growing closer, but there was still time for parties, music and seeing friends. Attempting to get into bars and clubs was becoming a habit, although if we did get thrown out or refused entry it was usually yours truly who was to blame. No matter what I wore, how I did my hair or how much make-up I painted on, I never could make myself look any older than my fourteen years. Something more mature women told me I might be grateful for one day.

We all attended School camp in Hampshire again that summer, which proved more difficult than the year previously. While Phil wanted to hold my hand, my female friends preferred to just have fun and I was stuck in the middle. There were petty arguments and tears, resulting in one of the more understanding female teachers taking me on one side to talk about the difficulties of growing up and balancing boyfriends and female friendships. She was very sweet and even gave Phil five shillings to take me for lemonade and a bag of chips.

Music was something special during this period; my best friend and I saw many performers live on stage, including The Kinks, Herman's Hermits, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Chuck Berry, The Yardbirds, Mary Wells, The Animals, The Hollies and The Beatles several more times, including the Christmas show in London. Yes, I still have all those ticket stubs, some programmes and a large box of other memorabilia. It must be worth quite a bit, although I know if I could ship it to America it would fetch a lot more. I can only fantasize about taking it there in person.

Ever the opportunist, my mother and her friend were quite happy to escort us to Liverpool on several occasions, where we'd travel all over the city to visit the childhood homes of John, Paul, George and Ringo as well as the Cavern club and other places linked with the group and other pop legends. Magical days indeed, in some respects

My parents were living pretty separate lives by then and there'd been some talk of divorce from my mother, which tore my tender heart apart. It never happened and I suspect the fear of my father returning to America and the possibility of his daughters going with him was one of the deciding factors. My parents worked during the day; at night Mum enjoyed a hectic social life and Dad tended to fall asleep in front of the television. At weekends he enjoyed working on his allotment growing a large range of vegetables, fruit and flowers.

It was in the summer of 1964 my sister met her husband-to-be while on holiday in Jersey. I remember my mother being horrified when sis threw over her long-time, local boyfriend Jim and also when she first met sister's new love, Clive. Mum's never really considered him good enough, but at the time it afforded her the opportunity to enhance her social life further, as my sister was only able to see her boyfriend at weekends due to the distance between their homes. This left plenty of evenings free for them to engage in ten-pin bowling, civil defence gatherings, dances and cinema visits together. Only in later years have we come to realise what a mistake it was to allow our mother into our social lives so much, but at the time it wasn't questioned and I have to admit she was mostly pretty good company and very modern in our eyes. It's a sad fact Mum has always lived much of her life through her daughters.

Being a teenaged schoolgirl I was not quite as useful to her at the time and was left alone a lot while my Mum was out and my Dad asleep. My social life, music and friends kept me happy enough, but I'd still write that awful, depressing poetry instead of completing my homework on nights spent at home. There seemed to be an inexplicable sadness inside which demanded release at times; a need to divulge darker feelings to someone or maybe I simply wanted someone to hold my hand.

Outside John Lennon's childhood home in Liverpool 1964. You may recognise one of his books in the window. There was a note by the side of it in a scrawling hand which simply stated 'John Lennon is not in.' Such a shame, but at least it enabled us to remove a small chain from his shed, which I still have.