When I was a little boy, way back home in
Liverpool...
St
Silas Primary School,
High
Park Street,
Toxteth,
Liverpool
L8 3TR
Original
school building (above) and St. Silas today (below)
Ringo
attended this school, a few hundred yards from Admiral Grove between 1945 and
1950. When he was 6 years old he was hospitalised suffering from peritonitis
and having undergone two operations ended up staying in hospital for twelve
months.
Young
Richy started on 25 August 1945, his mother Elsie walking him there from Madryn
Street that first day.
Unfortunately he hated it from the moment he arrived:
School
is an event in my memory. St Silas's School. I'm not sure if I actually
remember my first day, or if it's because my mother has told me so many times.
She took me to the gate that first morning - it was just up the road, a couple
of minutes' walk. In those days your parents took you to the gate and then just
said, 'Well, on your way.' (There was no sitting with you in class, getting you
settled, like we did with our kids.) And I have a vision to this day of a huge
building - the biggest building on the planet - with about a million kids in
the playground, and me. I was pretty fearful.*
He
walked home at dinner-time announcing to a surprised Elsie that they had
finished for the day. I walked home for
lunch - as kids we could walk anywhere we liked back then; there was no danger.
Supposedly, I came home and said, 'We've got a holiday.' In my little way I
said, 'That's it for today, mum.' She believed me until she saw all the other
kids walking by the window going back to school after lunch and said, 'Get out
of here.' I don't remember ever enjoying school. I was always sagging off; I
was only in school for about five years in all*. It would certainly not be the last time he
tricked her.
The
school had four teachers and a head, between them teaching 200 children aged
between five and eleven. The number of children to each class was ridiculous,
Richy's teacher at the time Tom Cross later recalling he had a class of 42
pupils and "on the other side of an eight foot high curtain Mrs Martin had
46".+
From
1944 school children aged 11 were entered into the Eleven Plus examination, and their test results determined the sort of secondary education
they received until the age of 15. In the late Forties the choice was either a
technical college, a secondary modern or, for those bright enough, a grammar
school.
Unfortunately
there was little expectation that any of the pupils from St Silas would go on
to a grammar school and few actually sat the test. Tom Cross "This was not
high-grade teaching of interested pupils. We were trying to give them the best,
most rounded education we could manage but there was no expectation we'd get
them through the Eleven-Plus. The (children) lacked any real stimulus at home:
it was clear that education was not taken seriously there (in the Dingle).
These were solidly working class Liverpool homes and most of their fathers were
good honest sons of toil. In some cases the mothers also worked"+
Most of
the children from St. Silas went on to Dingle Vale, the large secondary modern
school at the Aigburth end of the Dingle.
In the
summer of 1947 Richy Starkey fell ill. Suffering from fever and a pain in his
stomach which caused vomiting he was taken by ambulance to the Royal Liverpool
Children's hospital with suspected appendicitis. It was actually far worse. His
inflamed appendix had burst spreading bacteria throughout his abdomen -
peritonitis. he doctors treating him discovered upon opening him up that his
appendix had actually burst: At six and a half I was very ill with peritonitis;
it was a huge drama. We were all at home and I was dying with pain, so there
were quite a few of the family around. The doctor came and suddenly these
people were lifting me up, putting me on a stretcher and carrying me out of the
house. I was put in an ambulance and whisked away. When we got to the hospital,
a woman doctor examined me, pressing on my side, and it was the worst pain I've
ever felt.
As they
went to put me to sleep for my operation, they said, 'Is there anything you
want?' I said, 'Can I have a cup of tea?' They said, 'You can have a cup of tea
when you come out of the theatre.' It was ten weeks later that they gave me the
cup of tea, because that's how long it took for me to come round. They'd gone
in and found I had peritonitis. That was a heavy operation, especially then.
They told my mother three times that I'd be dead in the morning. That was hard
for her, and I realised later why she was so possessive. I was very lucky to
survive. Even after coming round, I was barely conscious for long periods.
Hospital
was a boring place. It becomes your world when you're in for a long time - and
I spent two years in there (the second year was when I was thirteen). Suddenly
that's your life. You get in a routine. You have all these friends who are ill
as well, and then you start getting on your feet and you lose touch with them.
My mum would come in practically every day, and my grandparents.*
Elsie
with Richy during his hospitalisation
Richy
even received a visit from his estranged father: I'll never forget my dad
coming in: he stood there with a notebook, because my birthday was coming up (I
was six years old, going on seven), and he asked me 'What do you want, son?'
and he wrote it all down in this notebook! I never saw him for years - he never
bought me a damn thing. He wasn't in my good books.
I was
put in a cot, so I got very good at picking things up with my feet: pennies,
bits of paper, anything that fell out of the cot. When I'd been in the hospital
about six months, I was really getting better and could have come home in a
couple of weeks. I'd got a little toy bus for my birthday. The cot had sides
on, and the kid in the next bed wanted to see the bus so I leaned over to get
it. It was about four feet off the ground and I leaned too far, fell right out
and ripped open all the surgery scars. That was a dangerous time. They kept me
in for another six months for that.
I was
in hospital for about a year and after that I was convalescing, so I didn't go
back to school for two years. There was no catching up at school in those days.
I was always behind at least a year. No teacher put his arm round me, saying,
'Well, let me deal with you, son.' I was just stuck in a class, always behind.
I was the joker, and would make friends with the biggest boy in class for
protection. I started to hate school even more, and it became easier to stay
off. My mother would pack me off to school, but I'd just walk around the park
with a couple of school friends. We'd write little excuse note.... but always
get caught because we couldn't spell.*
Unsurprisingly,
his schooling suffered, badly, and when he returned to St Silas he was way
behind all the other children: I didn't learn to read until I was nine. My
mother couldn't take much interest in that because she had to go to work, but I
was taught by a girl who used to look after me, Marie Maguire. She was the
daughter of my mother's friend Annie, and she used to mind me when my mum went
to the pub or the pictures. Marie taught me to read with Dobbin the Horse. (I
can read, but I can't spell - I spell phonetically.) I regret not learning
earlier: it means that your knowledge is so limited. I never took Latin. John
(Lennon) took the Latin and the painting.*
During
his research for "Tune In" the Beatles' historian Mark Lewisohn discovered a note dated
21.11.47 regarding Richy in the St. Silas school records, which may indicate
that the school thought he had actually left, through
"sickness". But return he did,
in summer 1948, after a year away, and in time to be photographed with the rest
of his classmates. The photograph of him at school only surfaced in 2009.
St.
Silas class III (?), 1948-9. Richard Starkey is seated bottom left.
Ronald
Wycherley was a classmate of Richy. He achieved stardom as Billy Fury, managed
by pop impresario Larry Parnes. Liverpool's earliest rock and roll (and film)
star, he equalled the Beatles' record of 24 hits in the 1960s, and spent 332
weeks on the UK chart, despite never having a chart-topping single or album.
Wycherley
had come to the attention of Larry Parnes when he attended a concert in
Birkenhead hoping to interest one of Parnes' artists, the singer Marty Wilde,
in some of the songs he had written. Instead, in an episode that has become pop
music legend, Parnes pushed young Wycherley up on stage right away. He was such
an immediate success that Parnes signed him, added him to the tour, and renamed
him 'Billy Fury'.
It has
been suggested that Fury's rapid rise to prominence was due to his "Elvis
Presley-influenced, hip-swivelling" and at times overtly sexual and provocative
stage performances which he was ultimately forced to tone down. In October
1959, the UK music magazine, NME, commented that Fury's stage antics had been
drawing much press criticism.
Interestingly,
I recently came across the St Silas school class photograph on a website
dedicated to Fury. The photograph attracted media attention because of the
Ringo connection but Fury fan Jean Todd suggests that the photo could also
include the eight year old Ronnie Wycherley. Jean wonders if the young Billy
could be the boy in the dark shirt, fourth from the left on the back row.
Nobody appears to have confirmed this to date.
After jettisoning
Fury's backing band the Blue Flames, Parnes held auditions in Liverpool for a
new group at the Wyvern Club (later known as the Blue Angel) in Seel Street on
Tuesday 10 May 1960. The pre-Ringo Beatles were one of the groups who
auditioned and remarkably, we have a visual record of the audition thanks to
local photographer, Cheniston Roland:
Stuart
Sutcliffe, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Johnny "Hutch" Hutchinson and
George Harrison at the audition for Larry Parnes, Tuesday 10 May 1960.
Billy Fury (center) and Larry Parnes (right) watch The SiIver Beatles audition.
Long
John and The Silver Beatles, as they called themselves on this day, impressed
Parnes enough to be offered the job for £20 a week, reportedly on the condition
that they sacked their bassist Stuart Sutcliffe.
John Lennon refused and the
band left after Lennon, apparently slightly awed by the presence of a genuine
star, had secured Fury's autograph (John's head can be seen top right of the
photo above).
In May,
Larry Parnes came to town, auditioning. He was the big London agent. His acts
nearly always had a violent surname. There was Ronnie Wycherley who became
Billy Fury; and a less furious guy you have yet to meet. A sweet Liverpool guy
- the first local man who made it, in our eyes. (Paul McCartney)*
This
was not the first time their paths had crossed. In 1958 the pop impressario
Carroll Levis held an audition in Manchester, promising the winners a spot on
his weekly ATV show and the Quarry Men - at this point just John, Paul and
George - renamed themselves Johnny and the Moondogs, seemingly on a whim, and
decided to have a go. Waiting their turn to audition George spotted another
Liverpool lad who'd made the journey, Ronnie Wycherley and chatted with him.
Ronnie was the cousin of George's best mate Arthur Kelly so they may have met
previously.
The
poster above advertising Billy Fury's summer season at Great Yarmouth features
two support acts who would later be able to call The Beatles their backing
group, Johnny Gentle (1960) and Davy Jones (1961).
Three
years on: Ronnie Wycherley with former classmate Richard Starkey and the other
Beatles at the start of their own rise to fame in 1963.
In
1973, Fury appeared as 'Stormy Tempest' in the excellent film "That'll Be
The Day" starring David Essex and Ringo Starr. The film was roughly based
on the early days of The Beatles and, particularly in the holiday camp scenes,
Ringo's other former group, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes (whom the Stormy Tempest
group were said to be modelled upon). Fury can be seen bottom left on the
poster below.
Rheumatic
fever, which Billy first contracted as a child, damaged his heart and
ultimately contributed to his untimely death. He was plagued with heart
problems through the later part of the seventies. After returning from a
recording session in London in the early hours of 28 January 1983, Fury
collapsed in his home in London during the night. His manager Tony Read found
him unconscious the next morning. He was rushed to a hospital, but died later
in the afternoon at 2.10pm. He was only 42 years old.
As always,
the city of Liverpool was slow to honour one of its greatest sons and it was
not until twenty years after Billy's death that recognition came. In 2003 a
bronze statue was unveiled at the National Museum of Liverpool Life. The
sculpture, by Liverpool artist Tom Murphy, was donated by 'The Sound of Fury'
fan club after the money was raised by fans. Today, the statue can be seen
alongside the Dock Traffic Office at Liverpool's Albert Dock complex on the
waterfront.
Billy
Fury's guitar in the National Museum of
Liverpool Life, Pier Head, Liverpool
(photo left).
Source:
Updated
with quotes from the following books in 2016:
+"Tune
In" by Mark Lewisohn
*
"The Beatles Anthology" by the Beatles
Links:
Info:
http://www.stsilasschool.co.uk/contact.asp
Billy
Fury:
http://www.billyfury.com/tailpieces/index2.htm
http://www.thesoundoffury.org/
http://www.thebillyfuryfanclub.org/
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