The postman dropped a letter through the door from Loughborough
Town Hall. It listed the up-and-coming shows. Nights out are not often
considered these days, but one act caught my eye.
Guitar Heroes featured three guitarists/singers and a drummer.
My husband was equally interested in stepping back in time. All the music was
from our teenage era. A time when we were transitioning from child to adult
with raging hormone changes. This 60’s rock was what we listened to in bed on a
transistor, Radio Luxemburg frustratingly fading in and out. The same tunes we
learned to jive, twist, and shake to at Youth Clubs, the Palais de Dance and
the Il Rondo in Leicester.
Our Saturday trip to the Loughborough market found us at the
Town Hall reception desk enquiring after seat availability. We were not hopeful
as my husband is six-feet-four inches tall and requires end of row seats. Two
artificial kneecaps and a metal hip means he cannot squash into confined
spaces.
The receptionist came up with a positive, yes, she had two end
of row seats. We gladly booked them and paid up – a bargain at £20 each.
This evening performance, we both agreed, would be worth making
the effort of forfeiting the usual evening of Soaps and Quiz shows on TV. Our
social time these days usually involves daytime dog walks with a cappuccino at
a local beauty spot – all doors locked and bolted by 6pm.
We planned an early tea so that we could leave an hour before
the 7.30pm start. The dog began to sulk when he realised we were going
out and he was not coming along - practically unknown.
We arrived in Loughborough before 7pm and the ‘Parking Fairies’
worked their magic. We bagged the space as close to the theatre as it was
possible to get - Bunions and Hammer toes do not take kindly to evening shoes.
Slightly ironic that the show we were heading for would have been the cause, as
we danced the night away in four-inch stiletto’s and winkle pickers.
Amongst the first to enter the auditorium we were able to
‘people watch’ as folk arrived and took their seats. Our two seats were on the
front row. Seats we would avoid like the plague had it been a comedian appearing.
Right in front of us was a bank of massive speakers - was this the reason that
the seats were still available at the 11th hour?
By 7.30pm the room was full to bursting. People had filed past
us. Many with one or two walking sticks, crutches, push along Zimmer Frames.
Some on mobility scooters, others just hanging onto the arm of a partner.
Bent backs, crooked legs and feet dominated the audience. An
assortment of long-haired lads, obviously there aspiring to a professional
guitar playing level, added some youth. The youngest, a little boy about eight
years with long hair, smart tapered jeans, waistcoat, and black patent chukker
boots – a real dude who will no doubt be part of a group at some stage.
The lady who sat next to me arrived with her mobiliator. She was
very frail and could not let go of her support to pull down the flip-up seat. I
held the seat down for her to land upon, straightening her long cardigan as she
descended to prevent it ‘bunching up’.
Many with obvious disabilities had to ascend the stairs to their
seat. It was done with difficulty, guts and determination and everyone made it
to their seats for the start of the show.
Clothing was of all types. One elderly man with white pointed
toe shoes and a leather jacket struggled with the aid of two sticks, refusing
the lose his ‘rocker’ image.
Most of us elderly women wore flat comfortable shoes with
orthotics that enabled us to walk at all. Gradually, the area front of stage
became lined with folded walking aids and wheelchairs, stored out of the way
until the time came to exit. Some could not transfer, remaining in
wheelchairs/scooters, parked on the ends of the row.
As the music struck up, videos of the groups and artists were
displayed on a screen. Handsome young men, Eddie Cochran, Buddy Holly, Jimmy
Hendrix, Mark Bolan, their birth, and death dates displaying their tragically
short lives. Remembered always for their young, good looks by an audience now
wrinkled and grey.
It may have been a benefit that many of us were half deaf! Three
quarters of the audience were over 70 years, re-living their youth. The legs
and feet that had struggled to carry stooped bodies were swaying and tapping to
the music. Memories of Jiving when limbs were like rubber and stamina was
endless. When the ridiculous shoes became cumbersome, they were discarded next
to handbags that we danced around barefoot.
Mouths formed every word of each song. Heads and shoulders
swayed rhythmically as we were transported to a time when we were clueless to
limb pain. Our digits and joints had yet to grow bent and swollen, fine
movement taken for granted.
No money for a drink [back then], the cost of admission and the
bus fare home was all that we could afford. If desperately thirsty we would
scoop tap water in our hand to ‘wet our whistle’. Our pelvic floors had yet to suffer the
traumas of childbirth and excess weight.
The Disabled Toilet lay, surprisingly ‘vacant’. Most folk almost
certainly aware of the words “better to be safe than sorry.” Standing in a
queue is not an option for an ageing bladder.
Many people did not remove themselves to the bar during the
interval, it was just an effort too far. We were happy therefore to find
that Ice-Cream is still served during the interval. Gone are the days where the limitations were
Vanilla or nothing. Like everything today, the tubs are considerably smaller.
Eight flavours were on offer, a decision too far on the spur of the moment.
Without specs it proved impossible to read the small writing and the nearest
two were taken, just like mother insisted. Blackcurrant and clotted cream and
triple chocolate chip went down very nicely.
Far from the thrupenny cornet the ices were £3 each - £6 for two
ice creams! That was two weeks wages when I started full-time work. When we
eventually sussed out where the spoon was hidden (in the lid), it was too short
to reach the bottom. Sticky fingers were therefore endured for the second half.
We were seated for three hours. Pressure sores could have formed
in less time. Hopefully the movement prevented such a price being paid, the
exhilaration keeping our circulation moving.
Exit from the auditorium was a re-run of difficulties, backs,
legs and feet stiffened from sitting. Once up and moving, I suspect everyone
left with a song in their heart and a wealth of happy memories.
Far from our halcyon days, the only ‘Jump’ that night was from
the young Van Halen.
CW
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