John Bonham

by Mick Bonham

  Above

  John (on tour) fourth from left

  Still, time was passing and the day finally arrived when John had to put all his belongings into a satchel and leave Lodge Farm School. This wouldn’t leave him too upset; John had never claimed to be an A1 student, always preferring to use his hands, rather than his head. This latter fact was made clear by the headmaster Mr Gordon Antiss, a tall lean man who ruled by the cane. At the final school assembly, whilst addressing the pupils, Mr Antiss said that John would probably not even make a good dustman. Now maybe he was right, but our John wasn’t going to hang around to find out – he was already a none too shabby drummer and was set on achieving a much higher accolade.

  During his transition from school to work, all John could think about was how to form a band and how he could earn money from playing his drums. At the time, this proved a bit more difficult than he’d have liked, and so he had to revert to Plan B, which was to find a band already doing the round, and in true John Bonham style, muscle in on the act. The best course of action for this was to hang around the Redditch Youth Club, which was about the only place where we could see bands and it was at this establishment that we caught up with The Blue Star Trio. The group comprised of Terry Beale and Mick Ellis, a pair of guitarists and singers who had played together after splitting with The Nighthawks, until someone suggested they might sound better if they had a drummer, so enter Bill Harvey.

  The Blue Star Trio played a mixture of pop and ballroom dance music and were becoming quite popular in the area, so much so that they were invited to an audition at the West End Ballroom in Birmingham, to see if they were good enough to play a season at Butlins. Unfortunately for them they narrowly missed getting the gig, and it wasn’t long after this that Bill Harvey decided to quit, leaving space for a new drummer. John was in.

  As reported in the local paper on 16 July 1963, the Blue Star Trio had been made the resident band at the Redditch Youth Club and every Wednesday night the hall was packed to the rafters with an enthusiastic crowd, who couldn’t get enough of Redditch’s answer to the burgeoning Liverpool scene. The ensuing write-up was so good that I wanted to go and see them myself, and yes, the hall was filled, but the night I went, it was filled with mums, dads, uncles, aunts and any other family members who could be roped in. And huddled in the corner, were the paying customers.

  Above

  John’s first newspaper article. Left to right: John Bonham, Terry Beale and Mickey Ellis

  This sudden fame did not bring untold riches, but something infinitely better; the adoration of young girls. With the era of free love still some way off, your best chances in those days of getting anywhere with the fairer sex was through being either a singer or a musician and, although being sought after by young girls in posh frocks and ankle socks may not quite have been Rock’n’Roll debauchery, it was a start. Over a period of time Mum and Jacko watched John struggle with his endeavours, but realising it wasn’t just a fad he was going through, bought him a full set of drums; a sparkling red Trixon set.

  Chapter 3

  THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

  “When I left school I went into the trade with my Dad. He had a building business, and I used to like it. But, drumming was the only thing I was any good at, and I stuck at that for three or four years. If things got bad I could always go back to building.”

  – John Bonham

  The 60s kicked off with a musical explosion, the aftereffects of which can still be felt some 35 years on. Yet it all seemed to start over-night and suddenly you had groups cropping up all over the place. There must have been at least two groups to every square mile and if a place sold alcohol and had a stage then you could guarantee there’d be a band playing there.

  As the music industry developed there was no way John was going to be left behind. Having successfully completed phase one, phase two entailed finding a job. This was a major priority as you couldn’t look flash without the cash, but what could he do? He’d never given his future much thought. This is where he made Jacko an offer he simply couldn’t refuse; “Let me work for you so I can earn some money and then I won’t have to borrow off you anymore.” Well I suppose Jacko thought nothing from nothing leaves nothing, so he started him as an apprentice carpenter. John would have to start at the bottom and do all the menial tasks about the building site then train as a carpenter like his father, thus moving slowly up the ladder of success.

  It came as a big shock for John to discover there were two seven o’clocks in the day and that he had to be up and ready for the first one. There would be no favouritism towards John simply because he was the gaffer’s son. He was to work a full shift, which started at 7.30am and finished at 5.30pm. It wasn’t quite as bad as it sounds, as you had a ten-minute tea break in the morning, half an hour for lunch and if you were really lucky, another cup of tea would be brought to where you were working at 3pm, usually served out of a bucket.

  John would find this all very hard, because he spent most of the day with his head in the clouds thinking about being in a band. This didn’t impress the Foreman, who gave John a lot of grief while he worked for Jacko. He was a powerful looking man, by the name of Eric Twinberrow, and he didn’t take any shit. He also had a sense of humour like a kamikaze pilot with piles. Twink, as he was known, kept a close eye on our John, who wasn’t appreciated, but he did stick the job out longer than we’d expected. I can imagine that it was on a cold, wet, windy day that saw John sitting there with rain running down his face and his fingers numb from cold that he decided, ‘Bollocks this for a game of soldiers’ and set off down the road.

  This minor set back to John’s career didn’t get him down because it didn’t get him up early either and the quest for a drummer’s life was still a dream he wanted to fulfil. He had realised that shops didn’t open until 9.00am which was a much more humane time to start work and would suit him much better. After tramping around the Redditch shopping centre for a couple of hours he happened upon George Osbourne & Son, a high class tailors and outfitters who were looking for an assistant. After tidying himself up and five minutes of bullshit, the job was his. He settled in well and the job allowed him to wear the smart suits of the day, which he loved. He’d spend hours in front of the mirror making sure the Windsor knot was just right, his trouser creases would cut paper and it was on with the cuff links and off to work on the bus.

  Starting work at 9.00am proved to be much more to John’s liking, as it allowed him to play with a band at night and not worry about having to get up at some ludicrous time the next morning. Along with the change of job also came a change of bands. He left the Blue Star Trio and joined up with Terry Webb and the Spiders, who were playing regularly around town. They could also get gigs at the Alcester Trades and Labour Club, where on occasions big named acts appeared.

  “When I was 16 I joined my first group. You’ll die at the name – Terry Webb and the Spiders. We used to wear purple jackets with velvet lapels. The singer wore a gold lame jacket, and we had greased hair and string ties. It lasted about a year.

  Then I joined a group called Way of Life. I got married, most of the others also got married, and it broke up.”

  What a band wore on stage was sometimes as important as the music they played and the Spiders were no different. They would go on stage wearing sparkling purple jackets with velvet collars and cowboy shoestring ties, while Terry would strut his stuff in a gold lame jacket. As luck would have it they were booked to support Brian Poole and the Tremeloes at the club, which would be a big night. The Tremeloes had already scored two hit singles with a cover of the Isley Brothers ‘Twist And Shout’ and a song called ‘Do you Love Me’, which had originally been recorded by The Contours. They were also the band Decca had signed instead of The Beatles. So the Spiders had to be at their best when they took to the stage that night.

  They rehearsed a lot, intent that no one would cock up the set and there was a lot of excited talk about this being their big break, but when the ni
ght was upon them, they set off for the gig in purple jackets and with frayed nerves. Everyone except for John, that is. Panic set in. All the instruments were there but they had no bloody drummer. Time ticked away and Brian and the Trems had arrived and were busy sorting out where all the gear would be set on the stage. With all the amps, speaker cabinets and microphones set it was noticed that John still hadn’t arrived because there was still a pile of drums and cymbals in the middle of the dance floor. Well the shit was ready to hit the fan now because people had started to fill the hall and beer had started to fill tables. Thankfully, Dave Munden, drummer with the Trems, set up John’s kit for him, then wouldn’t you know it, in walked John with that ‘what seems to be the problem?’ look on his face. On went his jacket, on went the show, and it was a very good show, but sadly not the break the band was looking for. All I heard about for the next three weeks was how the drummer from The Tremeloes had set his kit up, which really chuffed him to bits.

  Chapter 4

  BRUM BEAT

  Brum was fast becoming a cauldron of new bands and great venues and John knew if he wanted to get on he would have to get into a local band, and quick. The first major problem this new task posed was how to get his drum kit to Birmingham on a regular basis. He couldn’t carry it in a bag and onto a bus, so he needed to find a friend with a van. Back then, if you had access to a van then you were laughing, because every band out there needed a roadie. I use the term lightly because a roadie in those days wasn’t the bloke who wore a fancy pass around his neck, but a man of steel who would be able to drive all night, unload and load up all the gear, drink like a fish, listen to all the bullshit about when he would get paid and know where the nearest all night fish and chip shop was. One of the greatest exponents of this trade, who we would meet later, was Matthew Stanisewsky, better known as Matt Maloney on account of no one being able to pronounce his surname. Meanwhile, back in Redditch, there were only two people with access to a van. One, a very robust chap who sold hot dogs from the back of his van, when he wasn’t working with a band and who went by the apt name of Pumper Phil. The only problem with Phil was that he was already working with a band, Chances Are, formerly known as The Trolls and who featured John’s old mate, John Hill. The other was a close friend of John’s called Eddie Conoly, who didn’t actually have a van, but at least he could drive. Eddie got the job, so all they needed now was a van. Enter Jacko, who had a couple of vans he used for work, so John had a driver, he had a van and he was off to Brum.

  John immediately struck lucky meeting up with an old musical colleague, Terry Beale, with whom he had been in the Blue Star Trio and was now appearing regularly with The Senators. It didn’t take John long before he too was appearing with The Senators and not long after the band were asked to contribute to an album of local talent, named ‘Brum Beat’ to be released in 1964 on the Dial label. The band would choose one of Terry’s own compositions, an up tempo number entitled ‘She’s a Mod’, which not only allowed John to drum, but also to contribute backing vocals as well. There is a rumour that it was this song that prompted Steven Stills and David Crosby to go with Graham Nash, but I never heard it substantiated. Nevertheless, John was well chuffed that he had made a record, although it would be another five years before he would actually make the charts.

  ‘It didn’t take John long before he too was appearing with The Senators and not long after the band were asked to contribute to an album of local talent, named ‘Brum Beat’ to be released in 1964 on the Dial label.’

  Joining The Senators on ‘Brum Beat’ were similar local acts like The Crescendos, The Shakes, The Grasshoppers, The Solitaires and The Renegades, and although you may be thinking ‘Who?’ I have to say that some of the best musicians I have ever seen are still out there, spending hours travelling up and down motorways, cramped into the backs of vans. I still have a copy of ‘Brum Beat’ and still play it – but why shouldn’t I? John made me buy a copy with my own money. ‘Brum Beat’ may not have been a big seller (catalogue number DLP1 and I don’t know if Dial Records ever got to DLP2!), but through it John became better known around the city. And although it wasn’t the big break he was looking for, he enjoyed his time with The Senators, even if he always kept an eye out for a better band.

  From day one, John and I had always shared a bedroom, even though our house had plenty of rooms. It was just great to be able to natter about the day’s events and what tomorrow would bring. Another good reason for sharing was that if we had a fight, and Jeez we had a few, I hadn’t got far to fall or something soft to land on.

  Most nights he’d tell me stories about Birmingham from behind blurry eyes. The aim of most bands playing in Brum was to get on the ‘circuit’, the name given to venues owned by the Reagan family. These included The Cavern, Old Hill Plaza, Handworth Plaza and The Ritz in Kings Heath. These were the main places to play, and lesser venues included The Station at Selly Oak, The Selly Park Tavern, The Black Horse at Northfield, The Bull at Yardley and of course the Whiskey A Go Go in the city centre. There was always somewhere a good band could get a gig, a good drink and a good hiding if you were unlucky. Bands without a definite booking would drive around all the venues in the hope that the booked band didn’t show and you got the chance of a gig. Every band without a secured gig drove around the city in Commer 15cwt vans, looking like something out of a Keystone Cops movie. By the time you arrived at the venue you couldn’t get anywhere near, because of all the vans that were parked there. It was on a night like this that John and Eddie rolled up at the Old Hill Plaza, not to play but to have a drink and a dance. And it wasn’t a band that caught our John’s eye, but a young girl he’d end up spending the rest of his life with.

  Pat and Beryl Phillips were also on a night out and as they danced, John was watching and building up the nerve to ask for a dance. As they did, John’s attention was drawn to Pat, and it was she who he would ask if he could see again. From that night Pat and Beryl would follow John Bonham’s career and go to most of his gigs.

  Music was changing and so was the appearance of those who made it. Fancy suits and ties were cast aside in favour of bright clothes and a more flamboyant look. Loud clothes to match loud music. The Rolling Stones and The Who were now belting out a kind of music that kicked off a whole new ball game. Indeed, John had been so impressed when he saw The Who’s drummer, a young Keith Moon, for the first time on TV, that he began to experiment with fashion. He had some good ideas too. For his first creation, he had a milkman’s white jacket with patch pockets. Firstly, he took the pockets off and dyed the jacket yellow. He then dyed the pockets red, blue and green and then got Mum to sew them back on again. Not only did he have the bottle (‘scuse the pun) to design such a garment, but also to wear it on the bus! Next up was more elaborate – a long frock coat he had Mum make him out of some dark green curtain material, with lime flowers all over it. As you can imagine, he was often given a wide berth when waiting for the bus. But not by Harold Bagby, Harold was a smashing chap who lived a little way down the road from our house in Enfield Road and was blind. He would always stand and chat to John as they waited for the bus and although he couldn’t see John’s bright exterior, he could see deeper and liked what he ‘saw’. Harold’s dog was a different matter however, and would just whimper quietly.

  ‘John had been so impressed when he saw The Who’s drummer, a young Keith Moon, for the first time on TV, that he began to experiment with fashion.’

  John’s ‘piece de resistance’ would be an orange suede Levi style jacket with a black leather collar. He immediately dyed the collar green and I immediately fell in love with it. Luckily I managed to buy this jacket when John was stuck for a few readies and he reckoned it was a bargain for five quid, owing to its ‘one off’ status. Unlike John, I never had the bottle to wear it – all I wanted to do was hang it in my wardrobe happy in the knowledge that I owned such a garment. Or so I thought. Some time later John took me to a party in Dudley and to my surprise another partygoer w
as wearing an identical jacket. Quizzing the fellow, I enquired after his own jacket, to which he promptly replied that it was, “the only one of its kind and I got it off your kid”. Boing!! The fellow in question was Bev Bevan and John had given it to him so he would let him get up and play a few numbers with The Move. The occasion had been John’s stag night at The Railway Pub in Kings Heath, where The Move just happened to be playing. Another fond memory of that party was that John had gone mad about a record he had found, ‘Stay With Me’ by Lorraine Ellison. He played it over and over and over again, until everyone had gone home or fallen into an alcohol induced sleep.

  John’s wanderings around Brum eventually brought him into contact with another aspiring singer by the name of Robert Plant. Robert was a blues man with an unusual but powerful voice, that impressed John so much that he joined up with him in The Crawling King Snakes. Though their first get together didn’t last very long, I did get to meet Robert, although it scared the shit out of me. I’d been fast asleep late one night when John had brought Robert back to our house in Hunt End. My bedroom door was open when Robert came upstairs to use the toilet and by mistake came into my bedroom. I awoke to see a silhouette of what I thought was Jesus. With the long curly hair he looked just like the pictures I’d seen at Sunday school and immediately thought ‘HE’ had come for me. When I promised to stop wetting the bed he went away, but I remember putting the light on and leaving it on until morning.