THE RANDLE REPORT

A taster from my forthcoming memoir: 

GOLDEN PLAYGROUND: Summers of Love on the English Riviera.

1968 Maynard Ferguson Big Band

When we heard that legendary Canadian trumpeter Maynard Ferguson was in the country - he’d come to live at Oakley Green, near Windsor - and that his big band, which was featured on LWT’s Simon Dee Show, was scheduled to play Torquay, no power on Earth was going to prevent Rick or me from being there.

The gig at the Pavilion was life enhancing. To see so many great players in one place, and to hear them direct and unrecorded with Maynard’s extraordinary trumpet soaring above them in the stratosphere was proof-positive there was something out there beyond the mundane and the material.

Targeted by all those wind instruments, we really were ‘blown away’, and we came out after the encores in a mood to hold the moment.

While Maynard and the star players signed autographs at the stage door, others of the entourage were loading music stands, scores and instruments into a surprisingly disreputable old van outside the theatre.

‘What happens next,’ one of them inquired.

‘There’s an after party and some grub at a club in Paignton.’

Rick and I wasted no time and set off at our fastest walking pace the two-and-a-half miles for Station Square, arriving just as the old van began to disgorge the members of the band, who were then guided across the road to the club to sign in for the aftershow hospitality.

As they took it in turns to record their names in the visitors’ book, Rick and I joined on the end of the queue, signing on as the fifteenth and sixteenth members of the fourteen-piece band.

It didn’t worry us, and seemed not to bother anyone else, that we were half the age of the other members. We grabbed drinks and nibbles and sat among them, soaking up the stories and atmosphere, blissed out on being in such exalted company.

Unfortunately for us, the manager of the Blue Angel did think we looked a little out of place. He was (rightly) sure he knew us, and he kept looking at us from the other side of the club as if he meant to come and challenge us.

More fortunately, every time he did so, he was stopped in his tracks by some demand from the guests or catering staff.

Rick and I were both aware of this and knew the jig would soon be up. The scene was far too much like Edgar Kennedy determined to remove Chaplin from his premises.

Finally he got his way and blustered in the direction of the banquette we were sharing with one of the band. We readied ourselves to drop our glasses and finger-food, when the great bandleader appeared before us.

‘Everything OK, guys?’ he asked us.

‘Fine thanks, Maynard.’

Edgar Kennedy executed a perfect curve and went off to check the buffet table for napkins.