Just Another Friday Night In Memphis - Part 6

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Four weeks before Christmas 1970 my mother sold our house to my younger
brother without telling me and then gave me 2 weeks to leave. I was
dumbstruck at what I saw as their treachery. I had now not only been
deserted by my father, but also deceived by my mother and brother and
made homeless. Christmas was 2 weeks away and I felt lonely, unloved
and I must admit, a bit suicidal. It seemed I was doomed to be unhappy,
and the thought of my uncertain future plunged me into a pit of despair
that I didn't have the strength to climb out of.

Having no option I packed a bag and, with a friend, shared a flat in
Chelmsford for a bit, I remember the week we moved in it snowed quite
heavily and we didn't have any heating. Anyway Jean's father had died
in the November and we had been drifting apart, mainly because she
would never commit herself to me, and I had started to go out more with
friends. Just after Christmas my flatmate moved out to live with his
girlfriend and I ended up on my own, and I hated it! I've always
suffered from terrible loneliness and would sooner live with my worst
enemy than live alone. I slowly slipped into the way of life that young
men often do when living alone. I wouldn't make the bed, did little
cleaning and devised a way of reducing the cooking and washing up to a
minimum. I would empty a tin of stewed steak into a largish saucepan;
add half a tin of peas, half a tin of carrots and some tinned potatoes.
After heating I would then eat the lot with a dessert spoon straight
from the pan thus negating the need for a plate, knife and fork! Now
all I had was one dirty saucepan and a spoon. I refined this system to
what I felt was the absolute minimum by avoiding washing the saucepan,
this was achieved by leaving it outside the backdoor over night. I
would retrieve it every morning licked clean by next doors cat! I now
just had to scald it with the spare water left over from my morning
tea.

After a month or so of living alone Jean became a little concerned
about my welfare and eating habits and thought she would improve my
diet a bit. The chicken company that she worked at would let the staff
have any eggs that failed to hatch and every week she would give me a
dozen of these eggs thinking she was helping me to eat sensibly. One
Monday morning as I left for work I heard a noise in the back of the
car and looking in the rear view mirror saw an egg rolling backwards
and forwards on the parcel shelf. I only ever remembered the damned egg
when I was driving and I didn't actually remove it until it had been
there a week or two. It was a Friday and I'd got to work with the egg
still in tact. I took it into work with me and as I clocked in I began
to think of a use for the egg! Later in the day I told Fred about it
and his face split into a big grin.

'You mean you're really going to throw it at Monkey Bollocks?' Fred
enquired.

'Just watch me!' I replied.

Late in the afternoon there was a problem with a large strong-room door
and a management discussion ensued with several people gathered around
the door, which was supported by a purpose-built trolley. Monkey
bollocks was one of them! Fred kept watch and told me when no one was
looking and I let fly with the egg from behind a row of lockers. The
egg landed on the door and splattered the lot of them! The resulting
pandemonium was a delight to see with everybody pointing the finger at
everyone else. As was to be expected the final consensus was that it
was me, but nobody could prove it. It was such fun that I brought an
egg in the following week for a re-run, but this time I made myself
conspicuous as Fred threw the egg. This time another of the senior
foremen suffered a direct hit on the back of his head. I was in the
clear this time and nobody really knew whom to blame. The manager said
he would sack whoever was responsible but it didn't deter Fred and I.
On the following Friday after lunch everyone felt jittery and kept
glancing over shoulders. It was my turn again this week and I nearly
got caught. It had become a cause celebre by now and one wag who was a
talented cartoonist started a newsletter that he illustrated and posted
on the union notice board. 'The John Tann Egg News' it proudly
announced.

'Who is the phantom egg chucker?'

'Will he strike again?'

'Will the company up the reward for his identification?'

There followed a lengthy piece offering possible suspects and methods
to be employed to catch him!

Fred and I kept up the egg chucking for a further two weeks but
eventually it became too dangerous, sooner or later one of us was going
to get caught! And the sack! So after several weeks of hilarity we
called a halt.

On a Friday night in the following May I had been to London with
friends in the music business, (folksingers actually, one of them was
Mike who is now a writer and broadcaster. He's the presenter on the
Wednesday night folk programme on Radio2). My friend Nic was performing
at a club in the crypt of St.Martins in the Fields, Trafalgar Square,
and Mike and Tony Rose, had bookings elsewhere in town after which we
all met up at The Troubadour club, a famous venue for folk music, in
the Old Brompton Rd. All the folk 'royalty' of the day performed there
at one time or another, even Bob Dylan did a floor spot when he came to
England to appear in a BBC TV play called 'Madhouse On Castle Street'.
Nic and I left eventually for Capital Radio where he was booked for a
live broadcast, at about midnight I seem to remember. The presenter on
the show was Nicky Horne and both Nic and I took a dislike to him; we
found him to be a pompous, supercilious little guy who seemed to be
full of self-importance and talked down to everyone. Nic's portion of
the show involved a 5min interview and a couple of songs; the interview
bit was a farce with Horne reading from a sheet asking questions in the
form, 'Is it true?etc.' Nic had an acidic wit and gave him a tough time
which didn't go down too well. What with being 'live' Horne had no
opportunity to edit the broadcast. We didn't stay for the rest of the
show and left for home at around 12.20am. We didn't get back to
Chelmsford until the early hours and when I let myself into my flat
Jean, who had a key, was asleep in my bed. It was only a single bed and
I was tired and woke her up and asked her what she was doing there and
she said she wanted to move in.

Thinking about it now, I can't believe I was party to this, but I said
to her,

'What do you mean? You want to get married?'

She said, 'If that's what you want', then she turned over and went back
to sleep!

In the morning we went to the registry office and booked a wedding, six
weeks later we were married. It was the worst wedding I ever had the
misfortune to attend and it was supposed to be the best day of my life!
Originally Jean and I didn't want to make a fuss, but her mother tried
to get us to agree to a church wedding but as we were both
non-religious we believed church weddings should only be for believers
and I refused to make a hypocrite of myself for anybody. I think Jean
would have gone along with her mothers wishes if it hadn't been for me,
and perhaps she had always assumed that when she married it would be a
church ceremony with all that goes with it. In retrospect perhaps I
shouldn't have been so adamant but then again perhaps I shouldn't have
married her at all!

As the day approached her mother seemed to make more and more decisions
about the wedding and I resented it; I had begun to feel I was only
going to be there because a groom was necessary. I started to become
obstructive and belligerent and wondered whether I was making a serious
mistake. On the day of the wedding I'd almost made up my mind I wasn't
going to turn up and as the time approached midday, I stood in a
bookshop 200yrds from the registry office browsing aimlessly and
checking my watch. By ten past twelve, already 10mins late I finally
decided I would go through with it and walked to the office. There were
stony faces everywhere, especially Jeans and her mothers! The registrar
had married the next couple on his list in our place and was in the
process of marrying the second couple. We were supposed to have been
the 12 o'clock couple but ended up the 12.30 pair. The registrar took
Jean and I into the wedding room alone at first to check the paperwork
and after closing the door turned to walk behind his desk. As he turned
his back Jean kicked me in the shin as hard as she could and I had to
clasp my hand to my mouth to stop myself crying out, as it was I
groaned audibly and had trouble walking the few steps to the desk. We
were married in Chelmsford registry office on 26th June 1971. There
were maybe twenty-five friends and relatives present and as part of my
protest I banned any cameras, although one of my friends took one photo
outside after we were married. I never saw this photo until a few years
ago when it was given to me, and Jean has never seen it to this day.
It's not a picture I'm very proud of, in fact when I look at it now I'm
ashamed of myself, not just for the mess I look but because my general
behaviour was appalling. My only defence is that yet again I felt
unimportant, Jean certainly never told me I was important to her and I
desperately needed some care and affection; I was to wait a long, long
time, and when it came it was from someone I least expected!

We hadn't planned on a reception, partly because we couldn't afford
one, but Jeans mother insisted she pay for a wedding breakfast for us
at a local restaurant. I felt it was more interference and went along
with it under sufferance. The meal wasn't very good and at the end a
waitress wheeled a trolley from the kitchen with a cake on it and we
were supposed to cut it. At this point my behaviour reached its lowest
point and I refused to cut the cake, refused to make a speech and told
everyone Jean and I were leaving. At this distance I can see, and
accept, that I was a disgrace, and I'm surprised she didn't walk out
there and then.

On the following Thursday I came home from work and laid my unopened
pay packet on the table and suggested that she do the same and we would
pool our money and share everything. She frowned at me and said that
what she earned was hers. She eventually agreed that if I paid the rent
she would buy the food, an arrangement that was hardly to her advantage
as the rent was £5 a week and the food was almost as much, and seeing
that I earned £15 more than her she was out of pocket on the
deal!

We never shared anything! Ever!

For 2 yrs. I struggled with the marriage trying to make it work but
there was always a reluctance on her part to join in. Then by chance as
I was leaving my fathers house one Sunday morning my eldest brother
arrived with his wife Ena, the mother of Lynda, an old girlfriend I
hadn't seen for 5yrs and she said,

'Lynda is home from Australia, she said if I saw you to ask when you
were going to take her out for a drink!'

I smiled and said I'd give her a call, but I was a bit apprehensive,
partly because we were both married, I had never considered another
relationship and also because Lynda was my sister-in-laws daughter from
her first marriage.
That weekend I went for a long walk through the park and when I came
back to the flat Jean was reading the paper, I asked if we could talk,
she was irritable and said what about, never taking her eyes off the
paper. I asked her when she was going to start being a married person
and she said she didn't know what I was talking about and when I
suggested it might be better if we went our separate ways she agreed
instantly, still not looking up from the paper. I told her she could
have the flat and I would leave but she declined, saying she wouldn't
stay there and she would leave. After an uncomfortable 2 weeks I came
home from work one night and she was gone without a trace, no note, no
address, nothing!

I finally embarked on a relationship with Lynda a few days later; she
told me her doctor had sent her home from Perth to get away from her husband. She was living at her mother's home (my elder
brother's) in Southend with her 3yr old boy. After a very intense 3mth
affair she said she had to go back to Australia and sort her affairs
out. She told me she loved me and said if I came out to Perth she would
live with me until we both got divorced and then we would marry. Before
she left she came with me to book my flight (she had a return ticket
and flew back the next day, I couldn't get a flight for 2wks) and she
bought me a wedding ring, the only one I ever had. I spent the next two weeks selling most of my possessions, leaving my
flat and job and, on the 14th August 1973, boarded a BOAC VC10 bound
for Australia. All I had in the world was a suitcase and £300 pounds,
and I was filled with apprehension.

The only person who cared about me leaving was Julia and I went to see
her at her home the day before I left. I remember we parted at her door
and we were both close to tears, in fact I think a few were shed, I
remember her last words to me were, 'I just want you to be happy. If
you need any help call me.'

The flight suffered delays at Cairo and Bombay because it was the
height of the hijacking period when the Middle East was a boiling
cauldron of hatred. (No change there then!) After further stops and
delays at Colombo, in what was then known as Ceylon, and Kuala Lumpur
in Malaya, I arrived in Perth, Western Australia at 2.30am not knowing
if she would be there to meet me. She was ......with her
husband!

So, there I was 8000 miles from home, jet-lagged, tired, hungry and
standing in front of my 'lover' who just happened to have brought her husband along to meet me! Well, it turned out he was just another guy trying to make a go of his marriage to a woman who didn't love him. He'd booked a room
for me at a city motel for two nights and wouldn't let me pay the bill.
The following day he spent getting me a flat of my own, (he was an
estate agent), and he loaned me a car. Lynda had changed after going
home and was wary of me and wouldn't let me touch her, it's my belief she now had to face reality and I'd become an embarrassment. During my first week in Perth I wrote to Jean care of a friend telling
her I was sorry the way things turned out and I blamed myself for
everything. She eventually replied telling me it wasn't my fault as she
had been uncommitted to the marriage and had been fooling around with her boss. I was distraught, and after a
month when my cash was running out and I realised I had been duped into
going to Australia in the first place, I decided to go home to England.
I now had two failed relationships to contend with and I felt
worthless. I spent my last $7 on a telegram home asking for help from
Nic. He replied the same day telling me he had transferred the fare
home to my bank account in Perth. I arrived back at Heathrow with less
than a pound in my pocket, no home, no job and thinking I'd have to
hitch back to Essex and beg for help. I was 29yrs old and going nowhere
fast! I had told my father I was coming home in a letter several days
earlier but I deliberately didn't say when as I didn't want him
fussing, but he traced my flight and met me at the airport and took me
home to his house in Southend. I stayed a few days and was so depressed
about my future I left and spent the next 6mths sleeping on a friends
living room floor. By Christmas I had bumped into Jean at a mutual
friends house and we started to socialise, albeit fraught with
uncertainty, fears and very little else. She was sharing a house with 3
teachers and she had been out with other guys. Anyway one thing led to
another and one evening we made love on the front seat of a Mini in the
corner of a cornfield, I think it's what's known as a 'sympathy shag'.
Some weeks later she told me she was pregnant, and I had ruined her
life. I desperately tried to establish the date of our only contact in
7 months but to this day I'm not 100\% certain it was my child. As a
result of the pregnancy we agreed to give it another try and eventually
moved in together at her mothers house a month before the birth. Her
mother was hostile toward me and when the baby boy, Spencer, was 4mths
old we moved into a place of our own. Jean was a good mother to the boy
but a lousy partner to me, showing me no affection and frequently
telling me how I had wrecked her life. I tried my hardest to improve
things working 14hrs a day to earn more money for us but I would often
come home to an empty, cold, and darkened house on a Wednesday when she
would go to her mothers and not come home until late. This caused more
friction, as I felt secondary to her mother.

When I tried to talk to her about another baby she refused point-blank
to even discuss it. For over four years I broached the subject
regularly, every four or five months, but Jean was adamant. No way was
she going to have another child!

tbc