The Beatles on the Roof

by Tony Barrell

  As the group rehearsed on that Thursday in Twickenham, an exotic foreign show wasn’t off the cards altogether, and there was some talk about the sound equipment they might use on a boat. But most of the working day was devoted to some serious – and not-so-serious – playing.

  The Commonwealth conference was still in progress and in the news, and the topic of immigration was being kicked around again by politicians, the media and the British public. Right-wingers were arguing for an enforced repatriation of immigrants from the Commonwealth, hauling out the specious arguments that Britain was “too crowded” and was being “swamped” by all these conspicuously non-white people from India and Pakistan.

  It was at this point that ‘Get Back’ began to develop as a song. As he often did when working up a composition, Paul sang snatches of gibberish while they played; some of the words and phrases that emerged would be discarded and some would remain in the finished number. He riffed about Pakistanis, Arizona, California grass, Puerto Ricans and Mohicans, and introduced two characters, Joe and Theresa. Paul sang about somebody with an uncertain sexual identity, who thought she was a woman but was really “another man”, and other lines were present that are now preserved in the finished song. The chorus was now fixed as “Get back to where you once belonged”.

  Paul laughed and commented on the lack of meaning in the lyrics, though he was only following the long-established Beatles tradition of writing vaguely plausible words that scanned with the music. George commented that it wouldn’t matter if he used any “rubbish” for the text of the song, as The Band had done on their track ‘Caledonia Mission’, with its watchman, garden gate, magistrate and hexagram. But for a while, one of the lyrical themes of ‘Get Back’ would be a satire on racist attitudes to immigration.

  Sticking to the lyrical theme of ‘Get Back’, Paul began to improvise another song about Enoch Powell and his arguments for repatriation. The lyric had Powell telling immigrants to “get back to your Commonwealth homes”, and Ted Heath (leader of the Opposition, who had sacked Powell from the Shadow Cabinet the previous April) telling Powell: “Enoch, you’d better go home.” Harold Wilson came into the song at this point, saying something barely intelligible. The song’s chorus was simply the word “Commonwealth” called out by Paul, who was audibly amused when John responded with the word “Yes?” in a high voice with a distinctly proletarian accent – a quick-witted interpretation of the word “common”. Paul continued the number by name-checking various Commonwealth countries, including Pakistan, India, Australia and New Zealand, though one decidedly non-Commonwealth destination stood out: Tucson, a populous city in southern Arizona.

  The Beatles played ‘I’ve Got A Feeling’ again that day, spending a disproportionate amount of time rehearsing the end of the bridge, with its slowly descending bluesy guitar notes, to Paul’s strict specifications. It was clear that the lyrics of John’s section were still fluid: in addition to seeing the sunshine and pulling their socks up, people were still having “a facelift”. Paul was also sketching out the words to ‘Let It Be’ that day, and name-checked a British music paper as he threw in random lines for a solo piano performance of the number, singing “Read the Record Mirror, let it be.”

  The weather outside was dangerously changeable. That day, more than 100 vehicles were involved in pile-ups on the M1 and M10 motorways in Hertfordshire. Police complained that despite widespread warnings of hazardous freezing fog over England and Wales, motorists had continued to drive at high speeds, risking the safety of themselves and other road users. Sixty-three people were now in hospital as a result.

  It was still chilly on the next day, Friday, January 10, but the weather was mainly dry, with periods of sunshine. For The Beatles, this was the day when everything would change. Before it did, they played some more music and engaged in some jolly banter. That morning their music publisher, Dick James, visited the studios and he, Paul and Michael Lindsay-Hogg had a relaxed conversation that took in the previous night’s television and the table manners of young children. Paul was chuckling about Thursday’s edition of The Eamonn Andrews Show, a popular late-night chat programme, which featured the much-married actress Zsa Zsa Gabor and the satirist Peter Cook. When the presenter Eamonn Andrews asked his other guests for their opinions on Gabor, Cook replied – in front of her – that he thought she was a vain, untalented non-event.

  Later, Paul asked Ringo if Neil Aspinall had called him the evening before. Ringo said no, and Paul explained that the call had been about some “news on the wheeling-and-dealing scene”. It became apparent what he meant when George, John and Yoko arrived. George revealed that he had also received a call from Neil, who had been asking for a meeting with the group on Saturday. John, who said he hadn’t had a call, quibbled about the weekend timing. “Only because we’re busy every other day,” explained George.

  “What about evenings, you know, about seven or eight or something?” asked John.

  “But he was very excited,” said George.

  “Was he? Good news?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I’ll come for good news, you know. I don’t want to have any troubles,” said John as, several yards away, Paul ran through his pretty piano accompaniment for ‘The Long And Winding Road’.

  “It’s so good… He just told me briefly what it was. But I’ll just have to whisper it or write it on a bit of paper and you’ll have to swallow it,” joked George.

  “Is it anything to do with Pig over there?” asked John, referring rudely to Dick James.

  The news wasn’t to do with their publisher, though: it was that John Eastman had come over to London. The American lawyer, brother of Linda Eastman, was one of the potential saviours of the Apple business – although Allen Klein was still lurking in the shadows as well.

  Michael Lindsay-Hogg says that The Beatles opened up about their financial problems during their downtime at Twickenham. “I remember having lunch breaks up in the restaurant. Usually it would be the four of them, plus Yoko, plus me, and we were occasionally joined by lighting cameraman Tony Richmond, and sometimes people who came down, like Peter Brown, so we’d all sit and chat. And that’s when they started to talk, which I was fascinated by, about them being on their way to being broke. So much money had come in, but a lot of it had been spent on their philanthropic interests. Also, I think Brian Epstein had made deals that couldn’t be collected on. There were foreign royalties owing, and they weren’t really getting that much per album with the original deal. So they were worried about running out of money. That didn’t mean that they didn’t have their Rolls-Royces and their Mercedes or whatever, and it didn’t mean that they couldn’t plan to take a boat to Tunisia,” he laughs, “but they were concerned that much more was going out than was coming in.

  “I remember being in the control room one day during the sessions, and hearing John say to the others that he’d met this guy quite recently who was an American who looked after the Stones, and he thought it might be the guy to help them with their financial problems, and his name was Allen Klein. I also think that he was in George’s orbit, suggesting that he maybe could have a solo career as well as being one of The Beatles. He later organised The Concert For Bangladesh for George. And I think Allen was, partly through John and partly through George, finding his way to get to The Beatles. Now, he could offer them a lot: he was a shrewd negotiator, he’d been in the business for a long time – he’d been Sam Cooke’s manager. Some people didn’t like Allen much, but I think he was very funny and very charming.”

  Dick James informed The Beatles that Vera Lynn would be on television on Saturday evening, on The Rolf Harris Show, singing her latest single: ‘Good Night’, a song from their White Album. The 51-year-old singer was fondly remembered as the Forces’ Sweetheart who helped to raise British morale in World War Two with ‘We’ll Meet Again’ and ‘(There’ll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover’. Her cover of ‘Good Night’ turned the song into a waltz. “Sounds beautiful,” sa
id Dick.

  John said he was under the impression that Vera had covered Paul’s song ‘The Fool On The Hill’ from Magical Mystery Tour. Indeed she had, replied Dick: that was the B-side.

  “So let’s hope she gets a hit with that,” said John.

  There was already a cover of another White Album tune sitting at the top of the charts: ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da’, performed by Marmalade. But Vera’s new record didn’t even tickle the Top 40, proving that covering a Beatles song didn’t always guarantee instant chart success.

  The musical that George had planned with Derek Taylor was apparently still a going concern: George mentioned it again that day. He also had a conversation with Michael about Magic Alex, the Greek wunderkind who was “busy building the recording studio” in the basement of the Apple building.

  During the day’s sessions The Beatles played a faster-than-usual version of ‘Get Back’, with John sharing lead vocals with Paul. Later, around lunchtime, George reportedly had an intense disagreement with John, which may have been the last straw, what with the ongoing misery of the Twickenham sessions and plans for a forthcoming live show that failed to enthuse him. It was subsequently alleged in the Daily Sketch that this wasn’t just a verbal spat; that the two Beatles had a physical battle.

  “Well, I think I’ll be leaving… uh… leaving the band now,” he announced to John.

  “What?” replied his bandmate. “When?”

  “Now,” said George, adding some friendly advice: “Get a replacement. Or write in to the NME and get a few people.”

  George appeared briefly in the studios’ small canteen, up a flight of stairs, where his bandmates and Mal Evans and Michael Lindsay-Hogg were having lunch. “See you round the clubs,” he said.

  George had a small piece of Apple business to complete before he walked out the door: he talked to Mal about paying some musicians that were booked to play on the ‘King Of Fuh’ record at Trident Studios. Various people, including Kevin Harrington and Dave Harries, watched as George put on his coat before he headed purposefully for the exit. “I remember George Harrison walked out, because he was fed up; I don’t know why,” says Dave Harries. “And I remember that George Martin had just backed across the car park in his Triumph Herald and knocked a dent in the door of George Harrison’s Mercedes, and he didn’t have time to tell him he’d dented his car before George walked out in a huff and drove off.”

  Paul walked into Denis O’Dell’s production office and gave him the bad news. “That’s it,” he said. “We’ve split up. George has gone.”

  Mal Evans later wrote: “Of the four Paul was the most enthusiastic all along about doing the ‘live’ show. John would have gladly taken the whole production unit to Africa or America to find the right location. John and Ringo had mixed feelings about the plan, agreeing with Paul on a lot of the ideas but feeling this might not be the best way of making a 1969 Beatles TV film. George wasn’t keen at all. Ever since the last Beatles tour of America in the summer of 1966 he has considered ‘one night stands’ to be a thing of the past, a backward step for a group he believes should concentrate on perfecting recordings rather than churning out the same programme of too-familiar songs on stages here and abroad.

  “So on Friday at Twickenham George stated his case. Singing and playing together would always be fine with him and the last thing he was suggesting was any break-up of The Beatles. So that day, January 10, George didn’t want to stay at Twickenham rehearsing for a show he couldn’t believe in.”

  The Beatles could have packed up and gone home there and then, but they didn’t: there was the faint hope that George would return, and there was also the possibility, as he had suggested, that they “get a replacement”. John quickly suggested Eric Clapton, who was “just as good and not such a headache”. In the meantime, Paul, Ringo, John and Yoko plodded on with the rehearsals, though the purpose of the exercise had now become even fuzzier than it had been before, if that were possible. The four of them launched into an aggressive jam – described by Michael as “half an hour of anger and frustration expressed with guitars and drums.Yoko sat on the edge of the rostrum on the blue cushion which had been George’s and howled into his mike.”

  George drove back to Esher, where there was no Pattie to greet him at Kinfauns: she had gone to stay with friends, convinced that her husband and their glamorous French lodger Charlotte Martin were conducting an affair. George found Charlotte in the house alone and, possibly craving some kind of normality or continuity in his life, asked her to leave, then telephoned Pattie for a reconciliation. His surprisingly casual diary entry for that day, in red pen, reads: “got up went to Twickenham rehearsed until lunch time – left The Beatles – went home and in the evening did King of Fuh at Trident Studio”. It also briefly documents his evening, which was spent visiting the home of his old friend Klaus Voorman and his wife Christine, where he “had chips”. George and Pattie’s marriage would survive for the time being, but whatever trust had existed between them seemed irreparably eroded.

  That weekend, George got back into his car and back to his roots, driving more than 200 miles to see his parents at the bungalow he had bought for them in the village of Appleton, near Warrington. Travel would certainly have been an antidote to the stir-craziness of the Twickenham sessions, and his parents’ house and garden were something of a refuge for him – the place where, not long ago, he had been inspired to write ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’.

  That Sunday, January 12, all four Beatles, plus Yoko and Linda, convened at Ringo’s house to see if they could settle their differences. But there was more rancour and disagreement, and the meeting ended without resolution. On top of that, this was the Sunday that John had previously earmarked as a possible day for writing songs, after being challenged by Paul on his lack of new material. There was a consolation for George that day: the new Odeon multiplex cinema in London’s Panton Street was showing on all four of its screens the film Wonderwall, whose soundtrack he had composed.

  When the sessions continued the next morning at Twickenham, both George and John were absent. For much of the previous week, John had been noticeably taciturn. But that day, he gave an interview at Savile Row to the music journalist Ray Coleman in which he was extremely lucid and pessimistic about the difficulties at Apple. “I think it’s a bit messy and it wants tightening up,” he said. “We haven’t got half the money people think we have. We have enough to live on, but we can’t let Apple go on like this. We started off with loads of ideas of what we wanted to do, you know, an umbrella of different activities. But like one or two Beatles things, it didn’t work out, because we weren’t quick enough to realise that we needed a business brain to run the whole thing. You can’t offer facilities to poets and charities and film plans unless you have money coming in. It’s been pie-in-the-sky from the start. Apple’s losing money every week because it needs closely running by a businessman. We did it all wrong, you know, Paul and me running to New York, saying we’ll do this and encourage this and that. It’s got to be a business first – we realise that now. It needs a broom, and a lot of people there will have to go. It needs streamlining. It doesn’t need to make vast profits, but if it carries on like this, all of us will be broke in the next six months.”

  Back at Twickenham, Neil Aspinall paid a visit to the studios and was surprised and concerned to find only half the group present. Paul was accompanied that day by Linda, and as the tape recorders rolled, they had a long conversation with Neil and Michael about John’s relationship with Yoko, his current failure to communicate, and how this was affecting the group. They also talked about possible locations for the live show – again – and how it might be filmed, though nobody sounded fully convinced that it would really happen now. Paul said that because of the difficulties within the band everything was effectively on hold for the time being.

  The Beatles were closer to splitting up, there and then, than they had ever been. Even Paul, who had been so gung-ho about the Get Back project, was be
ing realistic and talking about a possible split.

  Before they broke for lunch, they went to the studios’ viewing theatre to see some rushes of the film they were supposed to be making. The mood improved slightly after John finally arrived at the studios mid-afternoon, and the three Beatles continued to develop ‘Get Back’, with Paul and John trying out surnames for the Loretta character in the lyrics – John suggesting “Loretta Marvin” at one stage – and Paul bringing in a mention of Tucson, Arizona, which he had already mentioned in their ‘Commonwealth’ jam. But they accomplished little else that day.

  Around this point, Derek Taylor intervened, contacting George and persuading him that he had a responsibility to see the film project through to the end. “I felt that George’s sense of decency could be touched,” Derek recalled later. “And it was.” George was apparently now in Liverpool, but planning to return.

  For the time being the mood of uncertainty continued, and on the next day Michael wondered out loud if the cameras should be turned off. “We ought to figure out, shall we go on filming and playing,” he said to Paul and John, “or do you want to rehearse or do you want to move into EMI and get out of this place and just do an album?”

  “Well, the thing is,” said Paul, “George is in Liverpool now and he’s coming back tomorrow.” He added that they should call a halt to filming, and the cameramen duly obliged.