The Beatles Drive to Decca
December 31 – Sunday — New Year’s Eve. An uncomfortable 10-hour road journey from Liverpool to London—the four Beatles sitting hunched alongside their guitars, drums, and amplifiers in the back of Neil Aspinall’s unheated van—the journey made all the worse by bitter cold and falling snow | As ever—Brian Epstein travels down to London by train.
“OH, DIRTY MAGGIE MAE, they have taken her away and she won’t walk down snowy Lime Street anymore. Oh, the judge he…”
“Shurrup, John,” yelled Neil Aspinall. “I’m trying to concentrate up front, here. It’s like trying to see through a bloody blizzard, it is.”
“That’s because it is a blizzard, Neil,” yelled George Harrison. “It’s bloody f-f-freezin’ back here, it is. Isn’t there any more heat?”
“Just cuddle up and shurrup, will you. I’m doing me best.”
“Oh, driver Nelly Mae, he has lost his bleedin’ way and he won’t get down to London, New Year’s Day…”
“Bloody shurrup, will yer, John. Or you drive,” Neil shouted.
“Is that with or without his glasses on?” asked Paul.
“Where the fook we going to fellas?” yelled John.
“To London, Johnny, for our audition with Decca.”
“Whose turn is it to lie on top?”
“Mine, you bugger. Shove over.”
“I’ll be glad when I’ve had enough of this.”
“Me and all. It’s all right for some, though, isn’t it? ‘Eppy’ went by train. Probably had his breakfast and dinner on it, too, lucky swine.”
“Want another one of me cheese butties, Johnny?”
“No, ta, George. It was good of yer mum to make them up for us. I’d have starved otherwise. Got a spare ciggy, have yer?”
“How long, now, Neil?” called out Pete.
“In all this snow, I don’t bloody know, but we’re just coming up to a place called Watford. So, an hour or two, maybe.”
“Ten bloody hours of freezin’ me bloody balls off. We better get a warm reception tomorrow or I’ll start a bloody revolution, I will.”
“I think I’d just settle for a hot of cup of tea, at the moment.”
“Strike us a match will yer, I want to warm me hands up before I have another look at the Christmas card ‘Eppy’ sent me.”
A Happy New Year?
John pulled a crumpled envelope out of his coat pocket and eased out the card. “There’s a bloody snow scene on this, as well. He must’ve known.” He read the card out aloud in a posh voice, not unlike Brian Epstein’s. “ ‘John’…hand-written in ink, mind you…‘With all Good Wishes for Christmas and the New Year’. Then, in brackets, ‘Especially January 1st. Brian Epstein, 197 Queens Drive, Liverpool 15’.” He paused. “It’s lovely, just like a poem by a man named Lear.”
“We all got one,” drawled George. “Mine’s still on the mantelpiece, at home.”
“Ah,” said John, “but I bet you didn’t get any kisses on yours.”
Discover more in Tony Broadbent’s excellent book, The One After 9:09
The One After 9:09
A DISAFFECTED LIVERPOOL TEENAGER BECOMES INVOLVED WITH THE BEATLES WHEN HE’S HIRED TO HELP PREVENT THE MURDER OF THE GROUP’S MANAGER, BRIAN EPSTEIN.
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