Apart from singing hymns in Assembly and hearing two way family favourites on my parent’s wireless, the only other music in my life for the next four or five years was the live music I heard that leaked out of the public house next door to my home. It was classic East End stuff, and I would be in bed with the lights off not bothering to try to sleep as I heard the acts perform in a public house next door, loudly and clearly through the thin walls of my bedroom.
By the time I reached my last year in grammar school I was aware that I was missing any real knowledge of music and that this was not good. I had by then been listening to music on the pirate radio stations established on boats just outside territorial waters. I listened to Radio Caroline late at night, my mother’s small transistor radio pressed against my ear under the bed covers. There was some good stuff being played.