I jumped fully into the fast moving river called Punk and we went to Manchester to see all the Punk bands: The Damned, Adam Ant before he became commercial, The Ramones, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop. I really did see all the amazing new bands in this revolution called Punk. We had to fight through the streets of Moss Side Manchester ghetto to see the bands, that’s how determined we were. The venue was the Russell Club, which then changed its name to The Factory after factory records, and the driving force Anthony H. Wilson who I had the pleasure of meeting once. He was with the tongue in cheek Punk hit, ‘Jilted John’ by Jilted John! I took the Punk movement very seriously and the political and social comment in Strummer’s lyrics were the Gospel of Punk to me. It wasn’t something commercial to make money from the youth. A line in the song ‘White Man in Hammersmith Palais’ says, ‘You’ve got Burton suits, you think it’s funny, turning rebellion into money.’ This was aimed at the suits The Jam were wearing. This was a dichotomy Joe always had to battle with as The Clash achieved great success, therefore money, even though he did do a double album for the price of one and then a treble! Joe became a hero of mine, who I was later to meet at The Leadmill in Sheffield when I was completely different man. I was also to meet the original Clash drummer Terry Chimes in London and take him for lunch, giving him advice about getting a book published, as I was later to have success with a book. But hang on . . . I don’t want to jump the gun! We had to fight past black gangs, then dance to Reggae music together – punky reggae party. Bob Marley was a great track and sentiment and I did feel a minority, just like blacks did back then. Peter Tosh, from the Wailers, Steel Pulse a Rasta band from Birmingham, and lots of dub reggae were played. I love the track Joe Strummer and The Clash wrote after Joe went to the Hammersmith Palais. We bought resin and ash – then the pub scene came along. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Slaughter and The Dogs. I got involved in that. I first ran away from home when I was thirteen and left home again when I was eighteen, living in cars, living in a shed, and then got sent to a detention centre. This was for a scam in arcades. I could use a bit of wire, and voila! I could empty the machines, cash as well. They were bound to find out because, talk about thick as thieves, I didn’t even go to different arcades or amusement parks to repeat the scam. I went back and back to the same one and eventually got caught. Again, I went through the process I was used to as a boy, and I was off for a taxi ride handcuffed to two police officers, taking the scenic journey to Blackburn. Detention centres were part of the government’s drive with the short, sharp, shock treatment! I got taken to Buckley Hall Detention Centre in Blackburn. I went there with a sort of excitement and fear. I went through the whole process of putting my Punk attire into a box in exchange for the general prison uniform: cheap-looking denim jeans, a couple of T-shits, vests, underpants (Y-fronts in fact) and slip-on black leather shoes, not the height of fashion but good quality leather shoes. I always got bought ‘pleather’ as a kid. We then got taken in an escorted police van to Buckley Hall Detention Centre – we being the new recruits. I use this term because I was going to be army trained, whether I liked it or not! Part of the initiation was that when you were in your cell for the first night, all the other inmates would bang and scream abuse through your door, trying to scare the new recruits as much as they could. I was fortunate as the other two new recruits came from a heavily publicised case at the time. They had been involved in witchcraft and tortured and sacrificed animals to Satan. Cats! So these two guys got loads of abuse about this. ‘Cat killers, cat killers,’ everyone screamed as they came and went to evening classes. ‘Meow, meow, hiss, hiss,’ everyone taunted them. The next morning we were taken to our respective dormitories, to place our kit and start our induction. It was a three-month sentence, but you did two months then you got an EDR, which stands for ‘earliest date of release’. Why was it not called an EDOR then? I never asked! We were taught how to make our bed, in a special way of presentation. There was also a way of folding your kit, all very neat. The sheets were cotton and the blankets were nice and warm. I was clean, and managed to get on with the other inmates. I didn’t enjoy the gym; imagine how unhealthy I must have been. I was so skinny I had to run round in the shower to get wet! If I wore a red I got mistaken for a thermometer! But seriously, we had circuit training army drill style. Guys would throw up regularly or collapse. I was very fortunate not to. If you got caught cheating, for example doing ten press-ups instead of twenty, the gym instructor, who was an officer too, screamed at you, sergeant major style: ‘Come on you pansy, you horrible little man. Think you’re hard now, do you? We’ll get you in shape, and everyone else another twenty star jumps because of you, Eckersley!’ Star jumps are jumping up and down and making a star shape with your arms and legs. The gym was set up with weights, ropes and benches. You followed around the circuit and at each point it was written on a card how many and what you had to do. We did get good demonstrations beforehand. Anyway, I got very fit, very fast – I had no choice. We were taught to march, go on parade, be inspected outside in the courtyard and inside about our personal space. Again, if there was the slightest thing out of place, you got screamed at and your kit scattered across the dormitory. I learned to become tidy and organised, very quickly. Everyone worked during the day. We all started on cleaning floors, scrubbing them, wiping them down, polishing them. I thought the food, which we ate in a big dining hall, was great, and I struck up some good friendships in there. It was mainly through similar interests – my main love was music, and I connected well with people around this subject.

I jumped fully into the fast moving river called Punk and we went to Manchester to see all the Punk bands: The Damned, Adam Ant before he became commercial, The Ramones, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop. I really did see all the amazing new bands in this revolution called Punk.

We had to fight through the streets of Moss Side Manchester ghetto to see the bands, that’s how determined we were. The venue was the Russell Club, which then changed its name to The Factory after factory records, and the driving force Anthony H. Wilson who I had the pleasure of meeting once. He was with the tongue in cheek Punk hit, ‘Jilted John’ by Jilted John! I took the Punk movement very seriously and the political and social comment in Strummer’s lyrics were the Gospel of Punk to me. It wasn’t something commercial to make money from the youth. A line in the song ‘White Man in Hammersmith Palais’ says, ‘You’ve got Burton suits, you think it’s funny, turning rebellion into money.’ This was aimed at the suits The Jam were wearing. This was a dichotomy Joe always had to battle with as The Clash achieved great success, therefore money, even though he did do a double album for the price of one and then a treble! Joe became a hero of mine, who I was later to meet at The Leadmill in Sheffield when I was completely different man. I was also to meet the original Clash drummer Terry Chimes in London and take him for lunch, giving him advice about getting a book published, as I was later to have success with a book. But hang on . . . I don’t want to jump the gun!

We had to fight past black gangs, then dance to Reggae music together – punky reggae party. Bob Marley was a great track and sentiment and I did feel a minority, just like blacks did back then. Peter Tosh, from the Wailers, Steel Pulse a Rasta band from Birmingham, and lots of dub reggae were played. I love the track Joe Strummer and The Clash wrote after Joe went to the Hammersmith Palais. We bought resin and ash – then the pub scene came along. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Slaughter and The Dogs. I got involved in that.

I first ran away from home when I was thirteen and left home again when I was eighteen, living in cars, living in a shed, and then got sent to a detention centre. This was for a scam in arcades. I could use a bit of wire, and voila! I could empty the machines, cash as well. They were bound to find out because, talk about thick as thieves, I didn’t even go to different arcades or amusement parks to repeat the scam. I went back and back to the same one and eventually got caught. Again, I went through the process I was used to as a boy, and I was off for a taxi ride handcuffed to two police officers, taking the scenic journey to Blackburn.

Detention centres were part of the government’s drive with the short, sharp, shock treatment! I got taken to Buckley Hall Detention Centre in Blackburn. I went there with a sort of excitement and fear. I went through the whole process of putting my Punk attire into a box in exchange for the general prison uniform: cheap-looking denim jeans, a couple of T-shits, vests, underpants (Y-fronts in fact) and slip-on black leather shoes, not the height of fashion but good quality leather shoes. I always got bought ‘pleather’ as a kid. We then got taken in an escorted police van to Buckley Hall Detention Centre – we being the new recruits. I use this term because I was going to be army trained, whether I liked it or not!

Part of the initiation was that when you were in your cell for the first night, all the other inmates would bang and scream abuse through your door, trying to scare the new recruits as much as they could. I was fortunate as the other two new recruits came from a heavily publicised case at the time. They had been involved in witchcraft and tortured and sacrificed animals to Satan. Cats! So these two guys got loads of abuse about this. ‘Cat killers, cat killers,’ everyone screamed as they came and went to evening classes. ‘Meow, meow, hiss, hiss,’ everyone taunted them.

The next morning we were taken to our respective dormitories, to place our kit and start our induction. It was a three-month sentence, but you did two months then you got an EDR, which stands for ‘earliest date of release’. Why was it not called an EDOR then? I never asked!

We were taught how to make our bed, in a special way of presentation. There was also a way of folding your kit, all very neat. The sheets were cotton and the blankets were nice and warm. I was clean, and managed to get on with the other inmates. I didn’t enjoy the gym; imagine how unhealthy I must have been. I was so skinny I had to run round in the shower to get wet! If I wore a red I got mistaken for a thermometer! But seriously, we had circuit training army drill style. Guys would throw up regularly or collapse. I was very fortunate not to. If you got caught cheating, for example doing ten press-ups instead of twenty, the gym instructor, who was an officer too, screamed at you, sergeant major style: ‘Come on you pansy, you horrible little man. Think you’re hard now, do you? We’ll get you in shape, and everyone else another twenty star jumps because of you, Eckersley!’ Star jumps are jumping up and down and making a star shape with your arms and legs. The gym was set up with weights, ropes and benches. You followed around the circuit and at each point it was written on a card how many and what you had to do. We did get good demonstrations beforehand.

Anyway, I got very fit, very fast – I had no choice. We were taught to march, go on parade, be inspected outside in the courtyard and inside about our personal space. Again, if there was the slightest thing out of place, you got screamed at and your kit scattered across the dormitory. I learned to become tidy and organised, very quickly. Everyone worked during the day. We all started on cleaning floors, scrubbing them, wiping them down, polishing them. I thought the food, which we ate in a big dining hall, was great, and I struck up some good friendships in there. It was mainly through similar interests – my main love was music, and I connected well with people around this subject.

FURTHER EDUCATION, DETENTION CENTRE I started playing truant more and more. We unconsciously formed a school gang. All of us were having problems at home: cancer, divorce, death, alcoholism. My friend Paul Eckersley (no relation) who was being beaten by his father and going through his parents’ divorce used to steal from his parents and we started to go truanting together. Paul was much different to me in many ways. He was a little shorter but quite stocky, with red, tight, curly hair. We seemed to click from the word go. We were in the same class and having the same name helped, I suppose. Paul later went down the Hell’s Angel route, and also became a hard core drug addict like Roy Pickering and myself. We really didn’t seem to get any supportive help or counselling, just beaten with canes. Paul bought me lots of new clothes which I’d wear to go to our local cities, Manchester and Bolton. Paul used to steal the money from his dad’s pockets as he lay asleep after one of his drunken nights out, when he’d come in and give Paul, his mum and three other kids a hard time. I used to call for Paul. He lived near the old bus station at Leigh, right in the town centre in an old terraced house. I always waited for him in the back garden. They had a big, white pit bull terrier which looked very scary but was very friendly. You know what they say about dogs and owners? Well, this pit bull did remind me of Paul’s dad, who I rarely saw. Angry-looking, thick set, ready for a fight! Paul then encouraged me to try and steal some money from home. He told me of some hiding places. I checked and wow! I found a wallet with lots of crisp cash in it. And so I started stealing from my mother. We used to play truant, regularly. Wagging it, we called it, although quite sophisticated, we thought! We always wrote our sick notes and took them in from our parents. This was my first dabble at forgery, writing a sick note to my form teacher and forging my mum’s signature! I was good at this and never got caught playing truant! We also stole clothes from outside shops. I didn’t have many clothes, so I used to tell my mum that people were selling them at school because they were too big for them. I’d get the money and the clothes, so it was another bit of a scam. When I came home from school (or wagging it) there was no one there for me. There would be a note on the fireplace (just like the Oasis song): ‘Dinner on plate in micro oven. Put on for three and a half minutes, love Mum.’ Not microwave – we call ours at home now a ‘micro oven’ in memory, and laugh about it. I was all alone, getting no help or support, only beatings, which soon stopped as I started to stand up for myself. My uncle would come around to our house and beat me and beat me and all this was in the presence of my mum. I remember barricading myself in a bedroom, so scared and trying to protect myself. He was knocking some sense into me: ‘I’ll teach you a lesson, be good for your mum.’ I’d smell the alcohol on his breath. He was a very angry man, my uncle, always angry about anything. He later developed rheumatoid arthritis, which I believe (and research shows) is medically linked to unforgiveness and bitterness. It wasn’t all bad though. I remember school with fondness, I met some great friends there, not all of them got into trouble. I also remember the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. We all went to the East Lancashire Road from school to watch the Queen drive past and wave. Would I ever be in Her Majesty’s company again, or at her pleasure? I really didn’t have a clue about the future. The Sex Pistols released ‘God Save the Queen’ that year, in a mocking way. And on their first album they covered an Iggy Pop song, ‘No Fun’, and sang of ‘no future in God save the Queen’. Those words seemed to prophesy over many of our lives. I also met up with all the other rebellious people who were going through a lot of hurt and pain. Roy Pickering was a character. Although he only had one arm he could drive better than anyone I knew, chat the girls up better and fight better. When I say he could drive better, he used to take the compressor caps off his mum’s car so she couldn’t start it. She’d have to go to work on the bus and we could then steal the car and go joy-riding in it. We were all about thirteen or fourteen years old. At this time in my life we were shoplifting all the time – we’d have shoplifting competitions in Manchester. We’d steal things for ourselves and things we could sell. For example yo-yos were in fashion, so I took orders for them; we’d steal watches out of cupboards in shops; I stole a load of car keys from a car supplies shop and then we could steal out of cars. Then we discovered motorbikes. We’d buy old motorbikes – it started off with a little moped scooter and then progressed to a Honda 175 CB (we used to go out on the fields on that). The biggest I got was a Triumph 350 for a short while. This of course developed into more when I stole the Vauxhall Viva when I was thirteen. I drove to Manchester and through to Liverpool with pillows on the driver’s seat so that I could sit on them and see over the steering wheel. This brought excitement into my lonely, hurt and angry young life. I didn’t even think about any consequences. When you have nothing left to lose, or it seems that way, you take many risks and life-threatening decisions! This was to put my own life on the line and, sadly, other people’s, time and time again as I got older. Later coming back onto the estate we were seen by my friend’s brother who told his dad, and the police. So there you go; my first car-stealing expedition. We went and got arrested for that and I don’t think I stole any cars after that I first ran away from home around this time. I was thirteen and I slept on friends’ floors after they smuggled me in at night. We then started getting caught for shoplifting, Roy stealing his mum’s car, we just went crazy. In the end, Roy’s dad wouldn’t have him home and my mum wouldn’t have me home; we were too much trouble and embarrassment. So Roy and myself, rather than get bail like our co-defendants and friends, we got sent to an assessment centre at Atherton. This was like a massive school full of unruly young guys, up to age sixteen, I’d say. The rest of the population was all from around Manchester and Liverpool and everywhere in between. It was quite intimidating on arrival. Our possessions and clothes were taken; then we showered, were seen by the doctor and then sent to our dormitory. I didn’t really feel anything. The place was clean, the food was good. I soon settled in. I really enjoyed getting stuck into the schoolwork. The teachers seemed amazed at my grasp of English and my art really excelled. Woodend, as it was called, wasn’t a bad place. Just one or two of the teachers would really lay into (beat-up) some of the other boys. I had made a decision: I was going to keep my nose clean, and I did. We were there for three weeks. Roy and Paul got care orders, put in the care of the local authority. I was given a chance – I got my two years’ probation.

FURTHER EDUCATION, DETENTION CENTRE

I started playing truant more and more. We unconsciously formed a school gang. All of us were having problems at home: cancer, divorce, death, alcoholism. My friend @Paul Eckersley (no relation) who was being beaten by his father and going through his parents’ divorce used to steal from his parents and we started to go truanting together. Paul was much different to me in many ways. He was a little shorter but quite stocky, with red, tight, curly hair. We seemed to click from the word go. We were in the same class and having the same name helped, I suppose. Paul later went down the Hell’s Angel route, and also became a hard core drug addict like Roy Pickering and myself. We really didn’t seem to get any supportive help or counselling, just beaten with canes.

Paul bought me lots of new clothes which I’d wear to go to our local cities, Manchester and Bolton. Paul used to steal the money from his dad’s pockets as he lay asleep after one of his drunken nights out, when he’d come in and give Paul, his mum and three other kids a hard time. I used to call for Paul. He lived near the old bus station at Leigh, right in the town centre in an old terraced house. I always waited for him in the back garden. They had a big, white pit bull terrier which looked very scary but was very friendly. You know what they say about dogs and owners? Well, this pit bull did remind me of Paul’s dad, who I rarely saw. Angry-looking, thick set, ready for a fight!

Paul then encouraged me to try and steal some money from home. He told me of some hiding places. I checked and wow! I found a wallet with lots of crisp cash in it.

And so I started stealing from my mother. We used to play truant, regularly. Wagging it, we called it, although quite sophisticated, we thought! We always wrote our sick notes and took them in from our parents. This was my first dabble at forgery, writing a sick note to my form teacher and forging my mum’s signature! I was good at this and never got caught playing truant! We also stole clothes from outside shops. I didn’t have many clothes, so I used to tell my mum that people were selling them at school because they were too big for them. I’d get the money and the clothes, so it was another bit of a scam.

When I came home from school (or wagging it) there was no one there for me. There would be a note on the fireplace (just like the Oasis song): ‘Dinner on plate in micro oven. Put on for three and a half minutes, love Mum.’ Not microwave – we call ours at home now a ‘micro oven’ in memory, and laugh about it.

I was all alone, getting no help or support, only beatings, which soon stopped as I started to stand up for myself. My uncle would come around to our house and beat me and beat me and all this was in the presence of my mum. I remember barricading myself in a bedroom, so scared and trying to protect myself. He was knocking some sense into me: ‘I’ll teach you a lesson, be good for your mum.’ I’d smell the alcohol on his breath. He was a very angry man, my uncle, always angry about anything. He later developed rheumatoid arthritis, which I believe (and research shows) is medically linked to unforgiveness and bitterness.

It wasn’t all bad though. I remember school with fondness, I met some great friends there, not all of them got into trouble. I also remember the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. We all went to the East Lancashire Road from school to watch the Queen drive past and wave. Would I ever be in Her Majesty’s company again, or at her pleasure? I really didn’t have a clue about the future. The Sex Pistols released ‘God Save the Queen’ that year, in a mocking way. And on their first album they covered an Iggy Pop song, ‘No Fun’, and sang of ‘no future in God save the Queen’. Those words seemed to prophesy over many of our lives.

I also met up with all the other rebellious people who were going through a lot of hurt and pain. Roy Pickering was a character. Although he only had one arm he could drive better than anyone I knew, chat the girls up better and fight better. When I say he could drive better, he used to take the compressor caps off his mum’s car so she couldn’t start it. She’d have to go to work on the bus and we could then steal the car and go joy-riding in it. We were all about thirteen or fourteen years old.

At this time in my life we were shoplifting all the time – we’d have shoplifting competitions in Manchester. We’d steal things for ourselves and things we could sell. For example yo-yos were in fashion, so I took orders for them; we’d steal watches out of cupboards in shops; I stole a load of car keys from a car supplies shop and then we could steal out of cars.

Then we discovered motorbikes. We’d buy old motorbikes – it started off with a little moped scooter and then progressed to a Honda 175 CB (we used to go out on the fields on that). The biggest I got was a Triumph 350 for a short while. This of course developed into more when I stole the Vauxhall Viva when I was thirteen. I drove to Manchester and through to Liverpool with pillows on the driver’s seat so that I could sit on them and see over the steering wheel. This brought excitement into my lonely, hurt and angry young life. I didn’t even think about any consequences. When you have nothing left to lose, or it seems that way, you take many risks and life-threatening decisions! This was to put my own life on the line and, sadly, other people’s, time and time again as I got older. Later coming back onto the estate we were seen by my friend’s brother who told his dad, and the police. So there you go; my first car-stealing expedition. We went and got arrested for that and I don’t think I stole any cars after that

I first ran away from home around this time. I was thirteen and I slept on friends’ floors after they smuggled me in at night. We then started getting caught for shoplifting, Roy stealing his mum’s car, we just went crazy. In the end, Roy’s dad wouldn’t have him home and my mum wouldn’t have me home; we were too much trouble and embarrassment. So Roy and myself, rather than get bail like our co-defendants and friends, we got sent to an assessment centre at Atherton. This was like a massive school full of unruly young guys, up to age sixteen, I’d say. The rest of the population was all from around Manchester and Liverpool and everywhere in between. It was quite intimidating on arrival. Our possessions and clothes were taken; then we showered, were seen by the doctor and then sent to our dormitory. I didn’t really feel anything. The place was clean, the food was good. I soon settled in. I really enjoyed getting stuck into the schoolwork. The teachers seemed amazed at my grasp of English and my art really excelled. Woodend, as it was called, wasn’t a bad place. Just one or two of the teachers would really lay into (beat-up) some of the other boys. I had made a decision: I was going to keep my nose clean, and I did. We were there for three weeks. Roy and Paul got care orders, put in the care of the local authority. I was given a chance – I got my two years’ probation.

ST MARY’S SCHOOL, MY FAMILY AND MUSIC I had just failed the 11 Plus and went to St Mary’s Secondary School. We had all our old friends from junior school, but there seemed to be loads more children and I started to settle in quickly and meet new friends. I met another Eckersley there, Paul Eckersley, and John Simmons was my friend. His nickname was Jibbs and we hit it off. He has since told me his parents were as old as mine were and I don’t think he felt or got much love either. The pranks Jibbs did were very funny, simple things like making loud squeaking noises and keeping a straight face whilst the teacher would get increasingly annoyed. He also made up names for people so Michael Doyle, my friend from St Gabriel’s, would become Sir Arthur Conan Boiled Egg! A long connection from the Doyle to Boil but somehow this made it funnier. I also made up similar names and, looking back, we were trying to be intellectual, whilst showing very little interest in the subjects. Many teachers and students became our study and fun, often leading to discipline. We were caned across the hands, bruised, beaten – looking back on this I am sure this was abuse. I always got six of the best which was three lashes with a cane across each hand! The headmaster, heads of year or departments would mete out this discipline. The games teacher or PE teacher would also give us the cane for simply not excelling in sports activities! It was during one of these disciplines that I got whacked across my wrists which swelled up really badly. On this occasion it was my friend Roy Pickering and I. Roy only had one arm – he was a thalidomide child. Pregnant women in the early 60s could take the drug thalidomide to prevent morning sickness. A side effect was many children were born with a lack of limbs. Another girl in our year had two very small arms. Her name was Anne and she was always smiling and insisted on doing everything for herself! Anyway, I was enjoying school, having fun. I was starting to become a bit of a class clown, I think, in fact becoming a lot of a class clown. My reports always said I did very, very well, lots of potential in me, but needed to be the centre of attention. But looking back I think it was because I wasn’t getting any attention anywhere else, and the only attention I could get was by performing. I met up recently with my friend Jibbs who reminded me that I would impersonate other school friends and even make songs up about them and sing them. Would I do anything with these skills later in life? At this time, music began to play an important part in my life. The radio was on all the time at home, and music was a constant part of my childhood. The music of the 60s was a soundtrack to my life in my first ten years, then the music of the 1970s for the next ten years, which coincided with going on to secondary school. I loved The Beatles and other rock and roll bands in the 1960s. I also liked the music coming out in the 1970s, all the glam rock like Slade, Sweet, Mott the Hoople. I remember hearing ‘Roll Away the Stone’ at the local fairground just blasting out. This song really moved me and through such a powerful sound system, with the lights as well, it was just so powerful. I remember on one of our holidays hearing a song playing through the sound system. It was David Bowie’s ‘Life on Mars’. Wow! I was transfixed by this music and lyrics. I was to become a real Bowie freak – I was given a David Bowie (and a Motown Gold) album for Christmas when I was eleven or twelve, together with my first record player, which was a massive deal for me. I had my hair cut spiky like David Bowie had at the time. The cinema or ‘movies’ was a big part of everyone’s life back in the 60s and 70s. We used to go to the picture house opposite Leigh Market every Saturday lunchtime. That was the market my mum worked on every Saturday as well as working on a bread van every day. It was quite funny: we knew and described people by what bread they had – ‘You know Mrs Smith who has two toasties and bread cakes at weekends? Well, her sister’s auntie’s died!’ It was all very much Peter Kay type observational humour living. It was a fun upbringing, and we did find a lot of humour in who we were and what we did. Anyway . . . the movies. It cost sixpence to get in, if we paid. Most times we climbed through a window round the back and sneaked to our seats. Flash Gordon’s Trip to Mars and other serials were shown but, strangely enough, neither he nor any other film characters were heroes to me. Maybe that was something that was lacking for me as a child – I didn’t have anyone to look up to. I didn’t have ambition, or any role models, we just seemed to get on with it, life.

<H1>CHAPTER 2
<H1>ST MARY’S SCHOOL, MY FAMILY AND MUSIC

I had just failed the 11 Plus and went to St Mary’s Secondary School. We had all our old friends from junior school, but there seemed to be loads more children and I started to settle in quickly and meet new friends. I met another Eckersley there, Paul Eckersley, and John Simmons was my friend. His nickname was Jibbs and we hit it off. He has since told me his parents were as old as mine were and I don’t think he felt or got much love either.

The pranks Jibbs did were very funny, simple things like making loud squeaking noises and keeping a straight face whilst the teacher would get increasingly annoyed. He also made up names for people so Michael Doyle, my friend from St Gabriel’s, would become Sir Arthur Conan Boiled Egg! A long connection from the Doyle to Boil but somehow this made it funnier. I also made up similar names and, looking back, we were trying to be intellectual, whilst showing very little interest in the subjects. Many teachers and students became our study and fun, often leading to discipline. We were caned across the hands, bruised, beaten – looking back on this I am sure this was abuse. I always got six of the best which was three lashes with a cane across each hand! The headmaster, heads of year or departments would mete out this discipline. The games teacher or PE teacher would also give us the cane for simply not excelling in sports activities! It was during one of these disciplines that I got whacked across my wrists which swelled up really badly. On this occasion it was my friend Roy Pickering and I. Roy only had one arm – he was a thalidomide child. Pregnant women in the early 60s could take the drug thalidomide to prevent morning sickness. A side effect was many children were born with a lack of limbs. Another girl in our year had two very small arms. Her name was Anne and she was always smiling and insisted on doing everything for herself!

Anyway, I was enjoying school, having fun. I was starting to become a bit of a class clown, I think, in fact becoming a lot of a class clown. My reports always said I did very, very well, lots of potential in me, but needed to be the centre of attention. But looking back I think it was because I wasn’t getting any attention anywhere else, and the only attention I could get was by performing. I met up recently with my friend Jibbs who reminded me that I would impersonate other school friends and even make songs up about them and sing them. Would I do anything with these skills later in life?

At this time, music began to play an important part in my life. The radio was on all the time at home, and music was a constant part of my childhood. The music of the 60s was a soundtrack to my life in my first ten years, then the music of the 1970s for the next ten years, which coincided with going on to secondary school. I loved The Beatles and other rock and roll bands in the 1960s. I also liked the music coming out in the 1970s, all the glam rock like Slade, Sweet, Mott the Hoople. I remember hearing ‘Roll Away the Stone’ at the local fairground just blasting out. This song really moved me and through such a powerful sound system, with the lights as well, it was just so powerful. I remember on one of our holidays hearing a song playing through the sound system. It was David Bowie’s ‘Life on Mars’. Wow! I was transfixed by this music and lyrics.

I was to become a real Bowie freak – I was given a David Bowie (and a Motown Gold) album for Christmas when I was eleven or twelve, together with my first record player, which was a massive deal for me. I had my hair cut spiky like David Bowie had at the time.

The cinema or ‘movies’ was a big part of everyone’s life back in the 60s and 70s. We used to go to the picture house opposite Leigh Market every Saturday lunchtime. That was the market my mum worked on every Saturday as well as working on a bread van every day. It was quite funny: we knew and described people by what bread they had – ‘You know Mrs Smith who has two toasties and bread cakes at weekends? Well, her sister’s auntie’s died!’ It was all very much Peter Kay type observational humour living.

It was a fun upbringing, and we did find a lot of humour in who we were and what we did.
Anyway . . . the movies. It cost sixpence to get in, if we paid. Most times we climbed through a window round the back and sneaked to our seats. Flash Gordon’s Trip to Mars and other serials were shown but, strangely enough, neither he nor any other film characters were heroes to me. Maybe that was something that was lacking for me as a child – I didn’t have anyone to look up to. I didn’t have ambition, or any role models, we just seemed to get on with it, life.

UNEXPECTED BEGININGS Born ready; ready for a decade later to be christened ‘the swinging 60s’, at a time when Britain was poised for massive sociological change. I arrived at a time when the Conservative government was in the twilight of its thirteen-year rule, soon to be rocked by scandal and controversy. ‘Johnny Remember Me’ by John Leyton rang out from radios and juke boxes across the land, a No 1 soundtrack for my inauspicious debut. It was the year Bob Dylan relocated to New York and visited the gravely ill Woody Guthrie in hospital. Dylan vowed to keep Guthrie’s leftist humanitarian agenda alive. Guthrie was also a major influence in the life of Joe Strummer of The Clash, the only band that mattered to me as I grew up in the 70s. I was born in a working-class area of Greater Manchester, a place called Leigh, in Lancashire, on a council estate called Higher Folds. It was one of those estates almost built away from everyone else, separated by fields, woods meadows and the slag heaps – these were mountainous terrain for a young boy. As I recall this, the estate seemed in black, white and grey, as did the slag heaps. Made of a grey type of shale, it was the unusable material from the local mines. I actually made my entrance on the sofa of our semi-detached council house in Royal Drive on September 17th 1961. The youngest of five children, my brothers (Jimmy and John) and my sisters (Patricia and Irene) had all left home by the time I was born. I was the unexpected child, and I really felt like the unwelcome one; my earliest memories are of feeling like an orphan at times.

UNEXPECTED BEGININGS

Born ready; ready for a decade later to be christened ‘the swinging 60s’, at a time when Britain was poised for massive sociological change. I arrived at a time when the Conservative government was in the twilight of its thirteen-year rule, soon to be rocked by scandal and controversy. ‘Johnny Remember Me’ by John Leyton rang out from radios and juke boxes across the land, a No 1 soundtrack for my inauspicious debut. It was the year Bob Dylan relocated to New York and visited the gravely ill Woody Guthrie in hospital. Dylan vowed to keep Guthrie’s leftist humanitarian agenda alive. Guthrie was also a major influence in the life of Joe Strummer of The Clash, the only band that mattered to me as I grew up in the 70s.

I was born in a working-class area of Greater Manchester, a place called Leigh, in Lancashire, on a council estate called Higher Folds. It was one of those estates almost built away from everyone else, separated by fields, woods meadows and the slag heaps – these were mountainous terrain for a young boy. As I recall this, the estate seemed in black, white and grey, as did the slag heaps. Made of a grey type of shale, it was the unusable material from the local mines. I actually made my entrance on the sofa of our semi-detached council house in Royal Drive on September 17th 1961. The youngest of five children, my brothers (Jimmy and John) and my sisters (Patricia and Irene) had all left home by the time I was born. I was the unexpected child, and I really felt like the unwelcome one; my earliest memories are of feeling like an orphan at times.