The
day we all dreaded and hoped would never arrive finally dawned and the weather
matched my mood. It was dull overcast and miserable; heavy clouds were both
in the sky and in my heart.It was 14th August
1967, and in a few short hours Radio London would be silent for ever more and
the happy sounds would only be a memory.
I immediately turned the trannie on and was rewarded by the rich voice of Chuck
Blair, booming out as he presented his last Breakfast Show and doing his level
best to sound upbeat and happy. No easy task!
Reluctantly, I prepared for work and headed for the city with the radio tucked
carefully under my arm as I wanted to catch as much of the Pete Drummond Show
as I possibly could by taking frequent visits to the loo! As the morning disappeared
I phoned my best chum Geoff (a fellow Big L nut) who worked close by in Cannon
Street. I suggested that, in spite of the weather, we buy some sandwiches and
find a quiet spot by the Thames to listen to the final hour of broadcasting
in the history of the best music station the world has ever produced.
Well, needless to say, (...you're OK with wonderful Radio London) he agreed
instantly, so we both made our excuses at work and scurried down to the riverside
where we listened to all the tributes that poured in from the stars and DJs
- past and present.
As we listened we both shared tremendous pride at the sheer professionalism
and dignity that Big L showed both in its life as a station and in the way it
was saying farewell. Sheer class! The minutes ticked by all too quickly and
suddenly it was Paul Kaye announcing those never-to-be -forgotten words "The
'BIG L' time is three o'clock and Radio London is now closing down." The strains
of BIG Lil briefly filled the airways then.... silence!
It was a most incredible feeling, rather like a really close friend had died.
I supposed that was what had happened. Something that had always been there
for nearly three years had needlessly been taken away. It hurt then and, if
truth be told, it still does.
In something of a daze we trudged our way unsparing towards the office, both
locked in our own thoughts when we came to the same conclusion. It would a great
idea to go to Liverpool Street station so that we could meet the 'DJ Express'
and show our continued support for the station we loved so.
By six o'clock, we met up again and walked the short distance to Liverpool Street
station and could not believe our ears or eyes at the scene that greeted us.
It was sheer pandemonium with what seemed thousands - probably was - of people
shouting cheering and waving banners all over the place. Although it was noisy
and jammed with people there was not a hint of trouble and not once was there
any kind of threatening behaviour. To be honest the atmosphere was electric
and it was impossible not to get swept along and enjoy the demonstration for
free radio which we all so wanted. I remember going to a Beatles concert in
1964, where huge excitement existed, and this had the same feel, except under
the surface there was an undercurrent of sadness tinged with anger.
As we got used to the main auditorium being so crowded, we were able to jostle
our way around and find out who was there. Over on one side was Tony Blackburn
signing autographs and grinning broadly - no surprise there. A little further
away was the legendary Duncan Johnson looking somewhat bemused and a few paces
back, the ever-popular Keith 'Cardboard Shoes' Skues - everyone's favourite.
We tried getting close enough to chat, but such was the noise and masses of
people it was just not possible.
After a little while there was a surge as a train pulled in and we wrongly guessed
it was THE train. The excitement was growing and the crowd was becoming frustrated
by the continuing delay, but at last the moment arrived and with a mighty cheer,
our heroes emerged from the train looking completely overwhelmed at the reception
they were being given. The request had been for a few fans to turn up, not a
multitude. Clearly the DJs were totally overcome by the size and warmth of the
welcome they were getting.
All the DJs were mobbed and surrounded by hordes of people all wanting to talk
and ask questions.
What will they be doing?
Will they be joining Radio One or not?
Is there a chance Big L will be allowed back on shore?
The frenzy and excitement continued unabated, and had they all been major pop
stars, the scene would have been just the same.
There
was a lot of chanting and singing, pushing and shoving, but the message was
so abundantly clear. Everyone but everyone loved Radio London and its DJs and
none wanted it to ever stop or go away. The cameras were snapping; the BBC had
its TV cameras and lights and microphones all the place. The whole station was
hopping, as DJs were being interviewed for television news coverage.
Finally after much
handshaking and goodwill, the station started emptying out and somehow we had
found ourselves in deep conversation with Ian Damon (later to change his name
to Ian Davidson) as we walked over the footbridge to another platform. Then
for the second time that day there was nothing.
It was time to make our way back home to retune 266 metres on the trannie over
to Radio Caroline. As good as Johnnie Walker was (is), it was not my beloved
BIG L. Though the Beatles sang 'All You Need Is Love' at midnight, for me, 14th
August 1967, is the day the music died.
Hi Mary and Chris,
I'm new to the Internet and have just found you! I can't receive music on this WEB2U machine but otherwise accessed all parts of your site, and very quickly. I was late to Offshore radio, Autumn '66, but it rapidly became part of my life.
Yes, I recall Liverpool Street Station on that night and the incredible scenes.
When Chuck Blair and Mike Lennox had had enough adoration, I drove my car into the station, and with fans literally climbing all over it to try and stop me, I whisked them off to a flat in Chelsea.
Later on, I took them to a night club in Great Castle St. near Oxford Circus but declined their invitation to join them. I had met Chuck previously somewhere(?) and there seemed to be some empathy between us as I recognised that deep down he was a bit of a 'lonelyheart'. I was sorry to learn of his untimely death. He was a nice man.
I enjoyed those mad, happy few months and still have some memorabilia including the 8mm film of Big L. It's also nice to know that there are lovely people like yourselves who are dedicated to keeping the memories alive.
Love and best wishes, Miriam.