GO BACK IN TIME with Ringo11: story of the century!!
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actually the layout of paul's house has given me a bit of trouble. i got it almost right when i first described how i saw it, but months after that i read many years from now (which i've only read the first bit of. i always find i read beatle books to about 1960 and then i put them down again) and i've had to subtley shift bits. i hope no one's noticed, but you shouldn't have cos if you knew what it was like before you started reading then you would have seen it like that, and if you didn't then it doesn't matter anyway!
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FORTY-FIRST INSTALLMENT You and Paul are walking down the street in Liverpool, side by side. It?s been a long day, what with trying to earn money by playing music at the market with a hat out in front and then getting arrested and then unarrested and the girl who shakes her biscuits and all that larking around. But here you are now, it?s late afternoon, the streets are almost empty. You just walk and chat, about nothing in particular, and you?re not really going anywhere special. Eventually you?ll end up back at the McCartney family home, but for now you just walk and chat, chat and walk. And it?s the most natural thing in the world. You find yourself thinking as you chat. You think about the guy you?re walking beside. You think about the way you thought about him before all this. Before you mysteriously got transported back in time to 1959, before you just happened to find yourself in Liverpool, before you ended up sleeping in the same little bed as this guy you?re walking beside. He used to be almost unreal to you. Like some untouchable being from above, almost. It would have been impossible to really imagine walking down the street with him, not least because there is that 44 year age gap. The Paul McCartney you used to ?know? is a completely different man, some sort of god or something, yet? he?s also the same guy. The things he does, little things like the gestures he makes when he speaks, the way he laughs, his voice, his walk, these things are so familiar to you, and feel like they always have been. Sometimes when you look at him speaking to someone else you can see Heather?s husband, Bea?s dad, a 17-year-old in a 62-year-old?s body at the same time as being a 62-year-old in a 17-year-old?s body. He?s kind right to the heart, and you know that that?s something you could never really know when all you had was a superstar. It was something you could only really know now, as you walk down the street with him. Sure, he?s capable of being mean, or selfish, or egotistical like anyone else, but as you listen and nod you just know, like receiving a vibe, that this guy is real to the core. Every now and again he says something ironic or something clever and gives you that modest little smile. As he talks he waves his hands about like he always does, cocks his head in that unique little way. Every now and again he points something out on the street or in a shop window that will be the spark to start another wandering conversation. There?s a spring in his step that you find as refreshing in the setting of these drab grey streets of this old city as the sharp note in a bluesy rock and roll number or the howling scream let loose from a tilted head on your favourite live DVD. Sometimes he?ll say something silly and if you look at him in the right way he?ll give that wink coupled with a little grin that you have seen him do in 1963 and 2001 alike. Yet above all, above all your knowledge of his future, above the fact that you know his public life inside out, that he?s in all your wildest dreams, that you?ve known his face since before you can remember, in fact despite all that, he?s just, well, Paul. Simple. Just a nice guy to be chatting to as you walk down the street. ?Do you?? he asks. ?Hmm?? You haven?t heard a word he?s been saying. ?You alright?? ?Oh. Yeah, I was just thinking, off in a dream, you know,? you explain. He gives a little chuckle. You keep walking.
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that's fantastic !!! wonderfull!!! love it...love it...love it!!!! Did I already say I love it? I was born in 1959.
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HoneyPie59:
that's fantastic !!! wonderfull!!! love it...love it...love it!!!! Did I already say I love it? I was born in 1959.
you were? cool! i really wish i could go back there and see what it was all like. i'd miss my lap top, but only for a while. i'd have to write on a typewriter!
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*bump* Must. Have. More. Story... Your writing is addictive.
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Frenia:
*bump* Must. Have. More. Story... Your writing is addictive.
literally laugh out loud! it's a nasty trick, putting cliffhangers at the end of chapters dan brown does it, and look how well he's done. he can't even write good prose. the davinci code? you know it? he just writes action movies in book shape. you really can't put his books down till you've got to the end, which doesn't take long, not because you love his writiing but because you have to know what happens!
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by the way, if you start feeling dizzy or your eyes hurt, try and look out a window for half a minute in every ten or so. this thing has taken on a life of it's own and is now almost 55,000 words long. here's another 1,157. FORTY-SECOND INTALLMENT It?s Friday afternoon and you?ve been walking along the streets of Liverpool with Paul, just chatting and thinking. The excitement of having been arrested is long since forgotten and you must have been walking for hours. The light is starting to get low now that the sun has set, and it?s starting to get cold. You can?t help shivering a bit. ?Here, have my jacket,? Paul offers. You consider refusing but decide you?d rather stay warm. Besides, you do like being treated like a lady ? no guy you know from the twenty-first century really knows how to be a gentleman. You put on the jacket. ?Ta,? you say. It has a pleasant smell. Not fragrant as such, just a nice person smell. Natural-like. It?s warm too, and after a short time you stop shivering and he starts. ?We?d better be getting home or we?ll freeze to death!? he says. You put your arm around his waist in a friendly sort of way and he puts his around your shoulder. You feel him shiver again. ?Sure you don?t want your coat back?? you ask. ?Gerraway! I?m not cold.? ?Then you must be scared or something,? you laugh. ?Okay, maybe just a little bit cold then.? He smiles. ?We?ll be home soon anyway, just another couple of blocks. I hope our Michael has the soup on; I?m dying for something warm to eat... That reminds me!? ?Mmm?? ?I was supposed to get bread! It completely slipped me mind!? he says. ?Still got the money?? you ask. ?Yeah, it?s still in my pocket,? he tells you as he sticks his hand in the pocket of his tight pants (with a bit of difficulty). ?Think you can survive for a bit longer? We can nip to the shop on our way home,? he suggests. ?It?s you I?m worried about? then again, you?re more likely to be able to survive a bit of a chill than an angry hungry family,? you joke. ?Alright,? he laughs. Still arm in arm you head for a corner shop. When you arrive, the man in his white grocer?s coat is just about to turn over the sign on his door. Paul sticks his foot in the gap and sticks his head around the door. ?Er, just after a loaf of bread,? he says to the man with a hopeful smile. ?Alright then, but make it quick. And I hope you have the right change,? the man says as he opens the door and lets you into the shop. It?s slightly warmer than outside and you can see the bar heater cooling on the wall near the ceiling. Most of the orange glow is gone and it makes plink plink sounds as it cools. It?s a little shop, and all the merchandise is behind the long counter. The grocer man pulls out a loaf of bread and takes the money from Paul. ?Lucky, that?s the last one. If Mrs Barraclough hadn?t cancelled her afternoon tea you?d have been out of luck son. Baked fresh this morning it was,? he says. ?Thanks very much,? Paul replies. ?Yeah, ta,? you say as you head out the shop door. You look back and see the man turn the sign over and disappear into the shop. The lights go out as he goes up the stairs at the back to his little house up above. As you walk down the street to Paul?s house you smell all the cooking in the little houses. You see lights come on behind lace curtains, but they are dim because they are coming through the open doors of all the little front rooms from all the little kitchens. You turn the corner into Paul?s street and he takes his arm off your shoulder. You look at him and he gives you that ?you know very well why? look. You smile to confirm that you do. When you reach the house you go in the front door. ?Hello!? Paul calls out. ?What took you? Did they keep you in after class?? comes the fatherly call in reply. ?No, we went for a walk,? Paul tells Mr Mac as he and you enter the kitchen. Jim rolls his eyes and gets the soup off the stove where it has been keeping warm. He puts it on a straw mat on the table and sits down. Paul helps you out of his jacket ? it?s really quite warm in this little dinning room ? and you both sit down at the table as well. You hear thumps coming down the stairs and Mike rushes in and takes his place as well. ?Ladies and visitors first,? says Paul?s dad as he hands you the ladle. ?Tomato soup, hope you like it. It?s only the stuff from a can.? ?One of my favourites,? you say as you dish yourself out a bowl and pass the ladle on. ?Paul, could you get the butter please?? James Snr. requests. Paul does what he?s told and puts the butter dish on the table with a knife. He gestures an offer to butter you a slice of bread. ?Yes please,? you say and he holds the knife in his left hand (of course). You smile to yourself. He does one for you and one for himself and then passes the knife and butter to his father. When everyone has all the food they need you all tuck in. The soup is lovely and warming and very tasty too. Everyone has seconds and you finish off the pot and the loaf of bread between the four of you. As you follow Paul into the hallway to go up the stairs, you almost jump out of your skin when the phone rings beside you. Phones had proper bells in those days and they?re loud. Paul is already half way up the stairs and you?re standing right beside it. ?Well, are you going to pick it up then?? he asks you. ?Are you sure?? you ask. It?s not your house after all. ?Go on!? You pick up the phone. ?Hello? McCartney residence,? you answer. ?Oh, yes, just a moment ? it?s for you,? you say as you hold out the receiver to Paul. He puts down the bag, rolls his eyes and takes the phone off you. ?Yeah?? he asks the guy on the other end. ?Oh, right, I think we can, yeah. Okay, see you then.? He puts down the phone. ?That was Ken; the guy who plays bass for our band sometimes. He says they need us to play at the Casbah club tomorrow after dinner. That?s the basement where we played just after you first got here. How does that sound?? ?Great,? you reply. ?What are we going to do for the rest of the day?? ?We?ll meet up with John and go and visit a friend of his from college. And we?ll see if he?s magiced us up any money while we?re at it.?
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MORE PLEASE RINGO11 Cheers Chrissie
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WOOT! WOOT!
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very good story indeed, i've just uploaded new images of the Beatles. I hope you enjoy them as i do. http://www.mgbrooksworks.com. just recently purchased a print when the beatles were together on 1960 with autograph signaure Pete Best in it, there will be more to come
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Michael G Brooks:
very good story indeed, i've just uploaded new images of the Beatles. I hope you enjoy them as i do. http://www.mgbrooksworks.com. just recently purchased a print when the beatles were together on 1960 with autograph signaure Pete Best in it, there will be more to come
very nice!
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FORTY-THIRD INSTALLMENT The next day you get up quite early to cross the golf course to Mendips. It?s an overcast but mildly warm day and you don?t have any instruments with you so no need to catch a bus or anything. It?s a pleasant walk, despite getting your feet a little wet from all the dew still on the grass. It certainly is nice to be surrounded by green for a change. One thing about being in a big industrial city is that stone and brick seem to provide the majority of the scenery. A few birds are singing in the trees and a few keen golfers are out in their knitted vests, practicing their swing. You reach John?s place and head around to the little porch at the back. Paul knocks on the door and it?s almost immediately answered by Mimi. She doesn?t say anything to either of you. Instead she turns and yells into the house. ?John, your little friends are here!? She then gives you and Paul a politeish smile. Paul gives her a look. He knows she knows he doesn?t like it when she calls him John?s ?little friend?. A series of thumps and crashes from the house indicate the arrival of John and he appears behind Mimi with a clod cap on backwards, glasses half way down his nose and a sock on his hand. He?s holding a spoon. He blinks at you and goes back into the house. When he comes back out and pushes past Mimi the cap is on properly and the spoon and glasses are gone. He?s now wearing socks on his feet and shoes as well. You all say goodbye to Mimi and head off on your way. ?Where are we going again?? you ask. ?Stuart Sutcliffe?s place. He?s a mate of mine and he got our gear back from them pigs for us. He?s good like that,? John explains. You know about Stu and you can?t wait to meet him. The bus pulls up in a scruffy street of older houses and you all follow John off it and into a building called Hillary Mansions. It sure doesn?t look like mansions. It looks like pokey wee flats. Because it is. You reach a door with a 3 on it and John just marches right in. Paul follows and you tag along behind. It?s not all that light inside and certainly not very clean. When you have had a little bit of time to take in the room and its clutter you see a very large canvas on a battered easel with a rather small young man jumping to paint to the very top. He notices John leaning against a wall, arms folded, looking cool, and Paul and you milling around looking messy. The young man pauses, brush poised, and, standing perfectly still, fixes his gaze on John, who also stands perfectly still looking back. Then Stu moves his gaze to Paul who begins to look a little self conscious, and finally he notices you. As his gaze falls on you, as it did with the others, he lifts his head and changes his facial expression. You make a huge effort not to be put off by his calculating stare. You try and keep quite still and look back, resisting the urge to look at your feet. As you stand there being calculated, you do some calculating of your own. This is Stuart Sutcliffe. He is short, he is thin, he has some freckles on his pale face, he is dressed in very comfortable clothing yet manages to look very cool in it. ?Your instruments are in the other room,? he says moments before he stirs and his gaze softens and moves away from you. You have a sudden feeling of release. ?Ta,? says John. ?They ask who you were?? ?No,? says Stu. So far this conversation is a very unique one. Both parties speak in clipped tones and neither really looks at the other. ?Anyone could have bloody taken them,? Says John. ?They were in a back room. No one could see them,? Stu says. John just leans. Stu looks at you again, and then at Paul. ?Er, she?s a cousin,? Paul blurts out. ?Load of bollocks,? says John. You make a decision. You reach into your pocket and pull out your card wallet. You sift through for your ID card which you hand to Stuart. He studies it and raises his eyebrows. Then he looks at you again. ?I like your hair,? he says as he hands you back your card. ?It?s easier to wash,? you reply. That was the right thing to say. Stuart smiles and puts down his brush. He moves from where he was standing for the first time since you came in. He flicks his head at John on the way past him, and John follows him into another room. You hear mumbled conversation and they come back. You and Paul are still as you were, looking a bit sheepish. John now has your rice tin in his hands. He gives it a shake. Stu motions to everyone to find somewhere to sit. He goes to the turntable he has set up and on his way past Paul gives him a nudge and a wink. Paul rubs the back of his neck. You sit on a bed/couch/thing and the others also find a small, relatively grime-free spot to perch on. Stu puts an Elvis record on and sits too. ?So, twenty oh four eh?? he asks, looking at you. It takes you a while. ?Oh yeah. Two-thousand and four. Yeah.? ?Flying cars?? You shake your head. ?City on the moon?? You shake it again. ?Not even Big Brother?? ?Nope. Sorry.? He shrugs. ?But blue jeans?? You look down at your legs. ?Well?? you ask. ?They suit you. Don?t look so jealous Paul.? ?Gerraway,? Paul retorts. You hide a smirk. ?So how did you guys end up in a cell anyroad?? asks Stu. You take turns telling bits of the story, filing each other in and adding a bit of interest using a little artistic licence. In no time at all the conversations flow and you?re all getting on like a house on fire. Stu shows you some sketches he?d done at the ballet school. Wobbly lines and scratchy shading, in the right hand, can create a wonderful amount of beautiful expressive movement and feeling. You have a pang of sadness that this artist never got to show the rest of his potential to the world.
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Thanks Ringo... I was waiting for another chapter. I wonder...where do you find all those things you have to know to write the story (sorry don't know the english word for it). You mention certain places...certain houses...and so on. Do you make them up...or do you have a book where you all find it in? I think your writing is brilliant
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WHEE! I LOVE IT!!!
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HoneyPie59:
Thanks Ringo... I was waiting for another chapter. I wonder...where do you find all those things you have to know to write the story (sorry don't know the english word for it). You mention certain places...certain houses...and so on. Do you make them up...or do you have a book where you all find it in? I think your writing is brilliant
reading, documentaries, just things i picked up, some of it's made up with help from pictures and images in my head. it's from all over the place, that's the key. i've never been to liverpool, but i'd like to go. i'd like it even more if i could go in 1959! i appreciate your compliment! cheers!
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FORTY-FOURTH INSTALLMENT You?ve met a lot of people since you were miraculously sent back in time (you?d previously thought that this kind of thing only ever happened in stories!) who you never dared to dream you?d ever meet. Stuart Sutcliffe has got to be one of the most intriguing. You can tell Paul?s been trying hard not to go a little green around the edges as you and Stu have sat there chatting away about everything under the sun. You learn of art school, and of how he got kicked out of his previous dwelling for sub-letting and burning and butchering furniture. When it comes time to go you can?t help feeling disappointed at the prospect of not continuing to talk with this wonderful guy. All the same, you decide, he?s not a patch on Paul. Pity Paul doesn?t know that. ?Come on, we?re gonna be late,? Paul says as he stands up and stretches. John pulls a face at him and gets up as well. ?I?ll give you a hand with your stuff. The bus will be here any minute. I didn?t realise we?d been talking for so long!? Stu says as he looks at his watch. You and the lads go into the other room to get the gear you need to play at the Casbah. ?Are you coming?? you ask Stu. ?You must be joking! Do you know how long it takes to finish a diptych the size of that?? he replies and indicates the huge canvas he had been working on when you first met him. ?Oh, okay,? you try not to sound too disappointed. You all haul the guitars and things down to the street and an instant later the bus appears around the corner. ?By golly, that was close,? Paul says in a pseudo American accent. You suppress a Maccattack. You had almost thought it impossible to love him even more. You were wrong. You wave out the bus window to Stu as you get further away. ?Don?t look so worried,? you tell Paul when you see his face. He contrives to look twice as worried. You grin and give him a friendly pinch on the arm. He hugs his arms around his shoulders and leans away from you. John coughs loudly. You arrive in Hayman?s Green for the second time in your life. Not that you can really remember the first time anyway, it all seems so long ago because you?ve seen and done so much since then. Again you hear the music coming from the basement of number 8. You help the lads carry their gear in and this time the person at the door just lets you past with them. There is no band in the corner with the bare stained boards. The music you heard is a record playing, probably one put on by Mona Best herself. As your eyes adjust to the dim light (it happens at least once in every good story) you see a guy across the room notice the band come in. You notice George is with him, sitting at the table. The stranger stands up and starts to come over. He?s a Buddy Holly type, quite slim with glasses, wearing a cardigan with a tie. You recognise him from somewhere but you can?t place where. ?You?re late again you know,? he says to John. ?Are we? How about that!? John replies. ?Hey Paul, Ken says we?re late again.? Ken Brown. You were right about recognising him, you?ve seen a photo once. ?If you?re going to be like that,? he begins. John shoves a guitar case in his arms. ?Here, cop a hold of that will you, there?s a good lad.? He reluctantly helps the boys get their gear over to beside the stage area, where people move away to make room. ?Hey, you ?aven?t by any chance found us a proper drummer yet eh Ken?? enquires George. ?Gerraway, where would I find one that?s not already in a better group?? Ken replies. ?What about Pete?? you ask. ?Pete Best? He doesn?t even have a kit. He fancies himself in a band and we let him play for us once when he borrowed some drums. I don?t even think he?ll be here cos someone told him his playing was crummy last week,? Ken explains. ?Just because this is his mam?s place he thinks he should be in a band and pull all the birds,? George puts in. ?We don?t need a drummer anyroad, the rhythm?s in the guitars,? Paul says, putting of a strong scouse accent. ?And the bass,? says Ken as if he feels left out. Paul ignores him without looking like he?s trying to ignore him. Everyone?s busy setting up gear and as you watch, unnoticed, you realise you haven?t had much to eat and it must be past dinner time. The time comes for the band to start playing. Paul, George and John on guitars, Ken Brown on bass. The record stops playing and Paul, who?s standing in the middle with the mic, taps it and greets the audience. He introduces the first song and as they play a couple of people stand up to dance. After a few numbers, John perches himself on the edge of a chair and plays sitting down. He?s on Paul?s left, Ken hovering near him. George is on the other side. You see someone with a camera, a real old funny one, and you tug her sleeve. ?Can I take a photo?? you ask. She looks at you funny but hands you the camera anyway. You?re sitting near the stage in front of George, with lots of people around you. You can?t move anywhere better and the camera doesn?t have a very wide lens so framing the shot is difficult. You can?t get the whole band in. You find the best you can do is three out of four, so poor old George misses out. You get Paul in the foreground, singing into the mic, John and Ken behind him and to the right. When you hand the camera back to the young lady you notice she has a notebook too. She must be a small-time reporter. You thank her and smile politely. She looks at you strangely and moves off again. You don?t see her taking photos at all or even writing things down so you presume she?s not doing a story here, just being entertained after work. You get more and more hungry as the gig goes on. You enjoy watching the guys play and goof around on stage, but you do feel a little tired. When all the gear is collected after the gig and you step out into the crisp air the sky is darkening. From here you all go your separate ways. You and Paul catch the bus home.
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I love it.(and I'll say that again! )
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*bump* I love your writing!
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Yay!! I'm all caught up....this is great!
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you guys are so enthusiastic! it always makes me laugh