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FURTHER
ADVENTURES OF THE LAD FROM SHERINGHAM
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ALBIE
AND NIPPER found themselves ‘kicking their heels’ following
the unexpected end of the cricket match on Aldborough village green!
Nipper, however, decided it was time for a ride on the pillion of
his friend’s brand-new Lambretta scooter. But where could they
go, Albie asked? His pal from the Art School knew just the
right place!
 HY
DON’T WE GO to Cromer?” Nipper suggested, climbing onto
the pillion saddle of Albie’s scooter. “That en’t
that
far, besides, there’s a group I know wha’s playin’
at the Rink.”
“Sounds
a good idea, that do,” Albie agreed with his friend, as they
tootled along the quiet country lanes. “But – where on
earth’s the Rink, then?”
“Wuh!
Hen’t you never bin?” Nipper laughed, as they turned left
at Doctor’s Corner and headed towards Hanworth Post Office
and the main road to Cromer.“You’re in for a rare ole
treat you are, an’ tha’s no mistake!”
As
they flew down the hill into Roughton – with the little round-towered
church on the hill, and past the chip shop with the tempting
smells of fish and chips wafting across the road – Nipper began
telling Albie all about the Olympia Rollerdrome, or the Rink
as it was known by the locals.
“At
the weekend they hev dances there with groups and bands,” he
shouted above the noise of the scooter. “I’re seen the
Barron
Knights and Gene
Vincent at the Rink, and
The
Hucklebucks an’orl – an’ tha’s just to name
but a few!”
“That
certainly sounds my cup of tea, that do!” Albie replied, glancing
back over his shoulder at his friend, as they leant over for the
left-hand bend opposite the old railway station, high on the hill
at Suffield Park.
As
they rounded the next bend, Cromer unfolded before them, with the
glittering sea not unlike a silver backcloth to the town. The last
surviving rays of the sun were sparkling on the calm waters whilst,
every now and again, the
lighthouse high on the clifftops emitted its warning beam way
out across the coast.
“Is
that much further?” Albie asked Nipper, as they scootered past
the parish church with its majestically-tall, flint-clad tower disappearing
into the gloom of the early-evening skies. His friend just shook
his head and, tapping Albie on the shoulder to attract his attention,
pointed to a road teeming with young people, who were all heading
down Garden Street to the Rink.
THE
OLYMPIA, A BRIEF HISTORY
The
history of the Olympia, in Garden Street, Cromer, can be traced
back to the early 1930s with a handbill – at present in Cromer
Museum – advertising the ‘Frivolous Set and their Jazz
Band’ playing at the Olympian Gardens on 8 June 1931.
A
few years later, the Olympia was attracting star turns of the likes
of Evelyn Laye, Max
Miller and Jack Hulbert, who appeared there in August 1934,
with tickets at 1 shilling, 2/- and 2/6d!
At
one time, the Olympia saw life as a cinema run by local businessman
Norman Troller – affectionately known as ‘Poppa’
Troller – who, it seems, in the early days of cinematography,
shared reels of film with the Electric
Picture Palace on Cromer Road Sheringham, carrying reels back
and forth by motorcycle!
Following
the North
Sea floods of 1953, a boxing tournament took place at the Olympia
Rollerdrome on 12 March, with the proceeds being donated in aid
of the Norfolk Flood Disaster Fund.
In
Albie’s day, however, Norman Troller and his wife, Hilda, ran
the Olympia as a Rollerdrome and dance hall.
The
Olympia
was a friendly place, somewhere parents could leave their children
for an hour or so’s roller-skating during the afternoon or
some evenings in the week, safe in the knowledge that Poppa Norman
and Hilda would see the youngsters in their charge came to no harm.
Saturday
and Sunday evenings, however, roller-skating gave way to live music
and dancing. Many local groups played there, perhaps for the first
time after being given the chance by Norman, who also booked several,
well-known ‘pop stars’ of the day – including The
Manish
Boys, starring a relatively unknown David Bowie!
Alas,
nothing is forever but, in those heady days of the early ’sixties,
few could have foreseen the Olympia ending its days as a ‘factory
for packing herbs and spices’ or ’ a furniture auction
sale room’! Thankfully, for Albie, Nipper and countless others
with such fond memories, those days were another twelve years away.
NIPPER
HAS A CUNNING PLAN!
When
Nipper and Albie arrived at the Rink that Saturday night –
on 27 April, 1963 – a local group from Aylsham, Barry
Lee and The Planets, had just arrived and were busy unloading
their equipment from a 1930s Morris tourer.
“I
hope that en’t too much to get in,” Albie said
anxiously, dipping his hand into his trouser pocket for some loose
change, “’cause I hen’t got much left arter fillin’
my scooter with two-stroke.”
Nipper
turned to him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Just
do as I do,” he said, tapping his nose as he
headed for the car loaded with the group’s guitars and drums.
“Hi,
there, Barry – how’ya gorn on?” said Nipper, shaking
the lead singer by the hand. “Let’s
gi’ ya’ a hand with all them there drums, shall we? –
here, Albie, cop hold o’ this!”
“Thanks, Nipper, me ole bewty,” replied Barry, slapping
him on the back. “See ya’ later in the Crown
an’ Anchor for a jar o’ two?”
Nipper
nodded and picked up the snare drum. Tucking it under his arm he
sprinted up the steps leading to the Olympia, leaving Albie to struggle
with the large bass drum and the high-hat cymbals precariously balanced
on top.
Just
inside the door stood Norman Troller, the proprietor, maintaining
law and order amongst the long line of eager teenagers queuing to
pay the entrance fee to Hilda, in the kiosk.
“Hallo,
Norman,” said Nipper cheekily, pausing in the doorway for a
moment with the snare drum under his arm. “Albie an’ me
are with The Planets!”
“OK,
you two,” laughed the Olympia’s proprietor, giving them
a knowing wink, “through you go – an’ be sharp about
it, tha’s time we got started!”
At
the far end of the hall was a stage where, already, the guitarists
were setting up their amplifiers and busy tuning up. Barry Lee,
on the front of the stage, was fiddling with the microphone stand,
adjusting it for height and testing the ‘mike’.
“One,
two – one two... Mary had a little lamb, she also had a bear,
I've often seen her little lamb, but I've never seen her...”
“Thank
you, Barry!” shouted Norman from the entrance hall,
“keep it clean will you – there’re youngsters
present!”
“I’ll
hev that from ya, Nipper,” said the drummer, taking the snare
drum. “An’ – where’s me bass drum? Hev ya seen
it?”
“Albie’s
got it,” Nipper replied, quickly disappearing amongst the crowd
of teenagers jostling to get a better view of the group at the front
of the hall.
Out
of breath from his exertions, Albie struggled up the steps to the
stage and placed the bass drum beside the percussionist, dropping
the cymbals with a discordant crash in the process.
“Hen’t
you brought the blimmin’ foot-pedal?” complained the drummer,
setting up his drum kit. “I need that an’orl – I
can’t play without it, can I?”
“S-sorry
– I’ll go an’ find it!” stuttered Albie, and
off he went.
“Where
on earth d’you think you’re gorn?” Nipper
asked Albie, stopping him just as he was about to go back to the
group’s car.
“I’ve
gotta find the drummer’s foot-pedal,” replied Albie, “tha’s
back in the car – then I gotta pay to come in...”
“You
what?” Nipper guffawed, throwing back his head and and
laughing so loudly it echoed around the dance hall.
“You
twit,” he said, taking Albie to one side, and whispering
into his ear, “we’re in now and in we stay
– arter all, why pay for suffin’ when you can hev it for
free?”
It
took a second or two for Albie to see the funny side, until he remembered
just how wily his old friend had been at Art School! He hadn’t
changed much, it seemed!
NEVER
BEEN KISSED?
Suddenly,
the lights in the Olympia ballroom dimmed, as Norman switched on
the spotlights to light up the stage. A myriad of dancing colours
reflected off the group’s guitars and drums, turning the hall
into a kaleidoscope of colour.
“Let’s
hev a bit o’ hush, shall we!” shouted Norman, stepping
up to the microphone. “Tonight we’re proud to hev Barry
Lee and his Planets all the way from Elshum – so, put
ya hands tergether, an’ give ’em a warm, Cromer welcome...!”
With
that, the group began to play a lively tune Albie hadn’t heard
before and the floor suddenly filled with jiving girls and boys
of all ages, some, who Albie noticed, were not in the first
flower of youth!
Albie
and Nipper stood to one side of the hall listening to the music
and tapping their feet to the rhythm.
“They’re
good, en’t they?” Albie shouted, above the noise of the
music. “I’m hoolly glad I came, an’ tha’s
a fact!”
This
was his first taste of real live music, and he was spellbound
as Barry Lee and the Planets played all the numbers in their repertoire
– from rock ’n’ roll to rhythm and blues. It was
definitely going to be a night to remember – he just
knew it!
Suddenly,
the music stopped, and Norman approached the microphone once more.
“I’ve
jist bin told,” he announced loudly, taking the mike
off its stand and holding it in one hand, “tha’s young
Jeannie from Shipden Avenue’s sixteenth birthday today!”
The
crowded dance floor fell silent for a moment as boys and girls alike
began looking for the elusive Jeannie. There, encircled by the spotlight,
stood a pretty girl flushed with embarrassment who, at that moment
in time, just wished the floor would swallow her up. But, worse
was to come!
As
she stood mesmerised by the powerful beam of light, Norman continued:
“Sweet sixteen! Never been kissed, squeezed
or cuddled!”
Suddenly
a crowd of eager young men surged forward and surrounded the unfortunate
sixteen-year-old.
“Hen’t
you never bin kissed?” laughed one of the boys, “we’ll
hatta see about that!”
“She
has now!” Albie laughed, as the group began to
play Sweet Little Sixteen [play
music]!
TIME
FOR A QUICK ONE
At
around half-past-eight,
The Planets finished for the evening with another group booked to
take to the stage at around nine o’clock. Whilst the groups
changed over, the Olympia began to empty for a while with many of
the audience, especially those dancing, heading for the nearby pubs
for some liquid refreshment.
When
Albie and Nipper left the dance hall there was already a long queue
snaking out the door of the chip shop on the opposite side of the
road, close to where Albie had parked his Lambretta down Corner
Street.
“We’ll
hev a half in the Crown an’ Anchor first,” Nipper told
his friend, “then we can get some chips, if you like?”
Albie
shook his head, still feeling rather bloated after his double
helping of beef patty at his friend’s house in Aldborough.
“I still feel rather full, but I reck’n I could manage
a drink – all this excitement hev left me parched, that hev!”
The
Crown and Anchor, in Garden Street, was absolutely heaving!
The popular group from Aylsham had attracted a great many of its
fans from the outlying villages, and they all seemed to have had
the same idea – a glass or two in the local!
Back
at the Rink, those youngsters below the age for intoxicating liquor
had congregated in the upstairs café – originally the
old cinema’s projection room – overlooking the dance hall
and stage. Joining the crowd of ‘teenyboppers’, Nipper
had to make do with a Coke and a bag of crisps, whilst Albie supped
his favourite beverage, a Vimto!
DANCE
WITH THE HUCKLEBUCKS
After
the break, a colourful new group took to the stage: Ricky and The
Hucklebucks – starting off with a lively instrumental number,
which was their signature tune, then quickly followed by a Johnny
Kidd and the Pirates number, Shakin’ All Over.
“There’s
suffin’ familiar about that guitarist,” Albie said, pointing
to the lad playing the rhythm guitar. “I
reck’n I might know him...”
“Give
it a rest,” moaned Nipper, “an’ just listen to the
music, will ya!”
But,
not to be beaten, Albie sidled up to the stage to have a word with
the lad.
“I
seem to know you from somewhere, don’t I?” he asked
the guitarist. “I can’t quite place you – but I never
forget a face...”
“Paston,”
replied the lad, with a laugh, “I’m Mick, and we were
at Paston
School together, remember now?”
“Micky
Starling? shouted an astonished Albie, “how could I
forget!”
“Yes
– and you’re Albie, unless I’m very much mistaken,”
Micky replied, gripping his plectrum in his teeth and re-tuning
his guitar. “Besides – I’d know those ears
anywhere!”
With
that, the group started playing their next number and Albie wandered
off to find his friend from Aldborough. But Nipper had completely
vanished into thin air!
Asking
around, Albie discovered his friend had gone off with Barry Lee
and The Planets!
Feeling
rather lost, Albie just stood and watched as those on the dance
floor cavorted in time to the music. However, he had to confess
to being rather baffled by the number of girls dancing with
one another. Didn’t they have boyfriends to dance with, he
wondered? Some were even dancing on their own!
So,
taking to the dance floor, clicking his fingers and jiggling away
to the music, Albie began wiggling his hips and gyrating in a wholly
disgraceful manner – at least, his parents would have thought
so had they been there, which, thankfully, they weren’t of
course!
Close
to where he was ‘dancing’ was a fair-haired young lady
on her own, who eventually glanced in his direction and gave him
a big smile of encouragement.
Then,
as she moved in right up close to him,
Albie began to feel quivers down his backbone, then he got
the shakes down his knee bone, followed by tremors in
his thigh bone, until he was ‘shakin' all over’!
“You
dance very well,” she told him, at a break in the music,
“you’re obviously quite an expert...”
“Wuh
– yes, I s’puz I am!” he heard himself saying.
“I’ve certainly had quite a lotta practise, but
you en’t half bad yourself – do you come here often?”
She
laughed at his usage of that age-old, evergreen, cliché,
then took him by the arm.
“I’m
Diane,” she said, flicking her hair back. “I come to the
Rink when I can, but not every week – usually on my Saturday
off.”
Off
what? thought Albie. Then she quickly explained she worked
as a waitress at the Tudor House Restaurant in Church Street, which
made him begin to think of his stomach.
“Whatta
about some chips?” he suggested. “Would you like some?
All this dancin’ makes me hoolly famished that do.”
HAPPY
VALLEY REVISITED
Each
with a bag of chips, Albie and Diane sat on the seats of his Lambretta
scooter, parked close to the chip shop, enjoying each other’s
company as well as their supper. Then they walked, hand in hand,
down the slope towards Cromer
pier and along the promenade.
“Do
you work full-time at the Tudor House?” Albie asked Diane,
making polite conversation in an attempt to learn more about her.
“I mean – you’re not still at school, are you?”
“Heavens
no!” Diane replied, seemingly a bit taken aback by his
questioning, “I intend to do something with my life,
not stuck in a dead-end job – I’m studying Fabric design
at the Art School...”
“Not
the Art School?” he asked, incredulously. “Not
the one in Norwich, surely?”
His
new-found friend nodded that, indeed, it was.
“Do
you know, you’re never gonna believe this – I spent three
years there!” Albie continued, as the strolled along the moonlit
promenade towards the old
Lifeboat House. “I studied Graphic Design – and now
I’m a fully-fledged designer at Jarrolds!”
“Doing
postcards, calendars and things?” she teased.
“Naah,”
he replied, shrugging his shoulders, “nothing as trivial
as that – I’ll have you know I’ve done work for Patrick
Moore, and I’m now designing a cookery book for Nancy
Spain – you’ve heard of them, I s’pose?”
“No-oo,”
Diane replied, “who are they – entertainers on the telly?”
Heading
along the deserted East Parade, they began to walk up the steep
incline of the Gangway, eventually strolling through North Lodge
Park before emerging on the Overstrand Road. At the end of a sandy
lane, they stood in the moonlight for a few minutes on the edge
of a little wood.
Overhead,
the moon tinged the leaves on the trees with shimmering silver confetti,
whilst through the gently swirling branches, flitted beams from
the lighthouse standing sentinel on the hill, casting eerie shadows
about their feet.
In
innocent solitude, close to where they were standing, was a little
sign half-hidden amongst fern and fallen leaves with words, faded
and well-worn by Time’s relentless journey, which read, quite
simply: ‘Welcome
to Happy Valley’!
As
Albie read the small sign, in his mind he harped back to when he
and Nicole, his French girlfriend, had stood more or less on the
same spot. Romantic feelings overtook him as he drew Diane close
to him.
“No,
no – No,” she said, wrenching herself away
from him, “I’m really not ready for any commitment
– besides, I’ve got my studies to think of – I’d
quite like us to be friends, if that’s alright with you?”
“I’m
so sorry,” Albie blurted, feeling his face redden in the darkness
with embarrassment at having hurt her feelings.
“I
should be going home,” she continued, as they walked
back into town. “After all, I don’t want to miss my ’bus...”
“I
wun’t hear of it,” said Albie, being such a gallant fool
where young ladies were concerned.
“I’ll
take you home on my scooter if you like – where do you live?”
he continued, thinking she lived somewhere nearby in Cromer.
“Wickmere,”
Diane replied, taking his arm again. “If you’re absolutely
sure it’s not taking you out of your way?”
Albie
gulped to himself. “Wickmere?”
“No
trouble at all!” he laughed, “tha’s on my way home!”
LOST
IN THE STICKS!
Finding
Wickmere was no problem, as Diane knew the way home like the back
of her hand. But once they’d waved good-bye to one another
Albie was left sitting on his scooter, close to Wickmere
church, in total darkness! And the middle of the North Norfolk
countryside at night is as dark as the grave at the best
of times, even if you do know where you are – and Albie
didn’t!
Signposts
can be most deceptive, even if you can find one –
and Albie couldn’t! But it would have made little difference
if he had as none had his destination inscribed upon them.
He had to admit it – he wasn’t at all sure which way to
go!
Then,
recalling Patrick Moore’s book of Astronomy – his first
job at Jarrolds – Albie decided to navigate by finding the
Pole star.
“Now,
which one is it?” he asked himself, gazing up into the
Heavens. “Now tha’s Ursa Whatsit, an’ this one’s
Beetle Juice... but, where’s the Polaroid one?”
Eventually,
giving up the idea, he pointed his Lambretta in, what he hoped was,
a northerly direction and spluttered off along a winding country
lane. Suddenly, out of the darkness of the night, an even darker
shape loomed up in front of him – a Second World War aircraft
hanger.
“Thank
Gawd,” he said, recognizing the hanger that had been left over
from the war on Matlask
airfield, to where, as a boy, he’d often cycled and explored
the derelict buildings, overgrown with brambles. “At
least I know where I am now – so, I shan’t be too
late home...”
THE
WANDERER RETURNS
“What
on earth time o’ night do you call this?” his father
shouted angrily, as Albie arrived home a little after eleven o’clock.
“Your mother an’ me hev bin gorn frantic –
where hev yew bin orl all arternoon an’ night? Yew’ve
got some explaining to do, my boy!”
And
he had, and all!
NEXT:
Albie is deprived of his usual Saturday morning in bed as he has
an unexpected visitor.
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