This week, I’ve found myself struggling with Gout, which, when I get it, leaves me in a great deal of pain. I get it in my foot, which means I struggle to move about. On Wednesday, it was so bad that I couldn’t even get a shoe on my foot.
Not being able to do what I wanted to and being in pain meant that I couldn’t really concentrate on much.
The upshot of that meant that I decided to have an afternoon in front of the telly.
Being a huge Beatles fan, it was an easy choice. I love all the songs, know all the words and can sing along. It’s amazing how that little act can take your mind off the pain you’re suffering.
But here’s the thing, the minute one of the songs came on, I was transported back to my childhood.
In 1965, my parents moved us to a little Somerset town called Burnham-on-Sea, where we took over an amusement arcade on the seafront.
And my Dad piped music through the arcade to keep the punters entertained while they played on the machines.
We had a room at the end of the arcade, that we basically used to take breaks and Mum would cook dinner in there. It had a kitchen, table and chairs, a settee and some seats.
And on top of a unit, was my Dad’s reel to reel tape recorder and a record player from which he played the music in the arcade.
The Beatles were often played in the arcade and the ‘Hard Day’s Night,’ ‘Beatles For Sale’ and ‘Help’ albums were constantly played.
And hearing those songs again took me back to being a 5 year old and being in that arcade.
It was where my Mum taught me how to deal with money. She’d play games to teach me about giving change, how to give people the appropriate money for the machines. There were 12 pennies to a shilling, 24 for two shillings and so on. We’d sit at the table and she’d say “Here’s 10 bob. I want a shilling’s worth of pennies and a shilling of sixpences. What other money should I have in change?”
And that’s how we’d play. Then when she thought I knew what I was doing, she’d take me into the change desk and let me do it for real with her at my side until she was sure I’d be able to cope on my own.
And those are the kinds of memories I had yesterday as I heard the words of ‘I should have known better’ and ‘I’m happy just to dance with you’ were being sung in the film.
The Beatles were part of the soundtrack of my childhood. We had all the LPs.
In fact, the first LP I remember buying with my own money was ‘Revolver’ in the summer of 1966 with my birthday money.
A few years ago, I re-bought all The Beatles LPs again.
I’d had them all on vinyl when I was growing up, but when CDs came in, I bought them all again as CDs. But it was never the same. A CD didn’t feel the same.
During a period when I needed the money back in the 1990s, I sold all my Beatles LPs, after all I now had them on CD, but it was never the same, and so a few years ago, I started buying them again, one by one until I had them all again.
The Beatles remind me of how lucky I was as a kid. Their albums remind me of a golden time, of spending time on the beach helping John Tandy on the donkeys (I probably hindered more than helped), of playing on the beach with my friends, of being in the arcade, with my Mum and Dad, my brother and sisters and so much more.
Just hearing those songs reminds me that music has an ability to bring back those little important moments of my life, moments that, without the music, would have gone and never been forgotten.
But because of these wonderful songs, I get to go on a flashback trip to the past, a past in which I still have my Mum and Dad, a past in which, I have such precious memories.
And hearing those songs will probably always have that same effect.
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