Chapter 10 High Noone

Here Comes The Rock (Star).

By Peter Noone

Some of you have been troubled recently, and some of you have been troubled for a long time, however, here at peter noone whirled nothing is sacred except the all mighty cinnabun.

Some amongst us are not!

Not what... you may say or think?

That is a start.

Always begin thinking before you open your mouth.

I do not always do this.

Sometimes I open my mouth to say “Hello Mrs. Wiggins isn’t it a lovely day?” And out of my mouth pops, “Cor blimey is that my Auntie Celias couch you are wearing?”

This has offended many people (and my Auntie Celia) as she cherishes that couch as if it part of her family, and she wears it to church on Sundays disguised as a dress.

I of course do not intend to be malevolent, just nasty.

Nastiness is what comedy is made of.

Polish people hate jokes about Polish people but like jokes about Irish people, so I only tell jokes about animals because most animals don’t understand English or Polish, and if you talk to them at all, they reward you with a wag of the tail, or whatever else they can lick.

I always try my jokes out on dogs first.

My dog is called “Ficelle” or “Your dinner is ready”.

If you want Ficelle to run home you just shout “Your dinner is ready” and she is home before you can say, “Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your Aunt. I’d like to dance with you, But with one leg I canvt”.

That was a polished joke.

I think dogs should have short names and long bodies.

If a dog is too short, then it’s mouth is too close to it’s behind and it will have bad breath.

Ficelle is a dachshund which is German for my nose is far away from my behind, but she still needs a mouthwash, so my theory is suspect.

Father McVey fired me as an altar boy because I noticed stuff like this and brought it to everyone’s attention.

Oh, and I always cried first at requiem Masses which upset the family of the deceased.

Most families want to start crying before the altar boy, who not only does not know the deceased, but has never met any of the family or friends present at the funeral. At the sight of a cassocked 12 year old complete stranger, in tears before the mass has even started, sets off the whole family crying, until Father McVey looks at you with that “I am starting the reformation in 15 minutes and you will be my first sinner” look, and I pretend that I have a sneeze and whooping cough to disguise the sadness at the gathered flocks loss.

I miss being an altar boy now, as I got to see close up the whole sacred mystery thing and I liked the smell of Father McVey’s Church.

I think my joke “Watch out father, your handbag’s on fire.” was one of my best ever, at the Benediction one Sunday, but only one person laughed and that was at me, being shown the door for being a sacrilegious buffoon.

I liked being a buffoon and it rhymed with my name.

Henry!

My grandfather (Tommy Noone) was the organist and choir master, and my fabulous Grandma(Dolly Noone) was the choirmistress.

You were allowed to call your Grandmother a choir mistress in those days, but nowadays it doesn’t even get a nod from a spell checker.

I used to get to sing along with them and whenever my grandmother would look over at me and whisper “Sing quietly you little bastard”, I would mime the magical Latin words and glance at Christopher Ince, as if it was him singing all the wrong words.

I learned at an early age to glance at the nearest person, whenever anything untoward occurs and I notice that it still works whenever I make one of my 3 mistakes a year in my live concerts.

They are my songs and I can do them any way I choose anyway, but if one of the others makes a mistake, I will usually cover up for them, so their girl friends don’t know that are less than perfect and can’t even sing in Latin.

I am not suggesting for one minute that St. Monica’s Church was my start in show business, but I did enjoy singing gibberish and making up new words to all the hymns and trying to get excommunicated so I could spend Sunday in bed like the Pagans at my school.

Pagans were always in detention too.

This was before they all joined what were called in those days Groups.

I enjoyed detention a lot, because for some reason all my friends went there too.

Being the cleverest student at my school did not allow me as much time for stupidity as I needed, but I was able to cram a lot in, especially on the days I didn’t get caught.

I spent many hours in the boys toilet at my schools learning how to smoke.

At first it was incredibly difficult and made me cough, but I kept trying until I could inhale the disgusting filth and hold it in my lungs like the very clever people who were in the movies those days and are of course long dead.

No one told me that the boys toilet was a bad place to hang out, and that all the teachers knew that that was where the losers all congregated to discuss how being able to inhale smoke and hold one’s breath and not inhale the air in the boys room at the same time, was a sure fire way to get the extremely beautiful nubiles at the nearby girls school to go to the cinema and let you put your arm around them on the first date.

My grandfather (Tommy Noone... yes same bloke) was also the organist at the local cinema in Urmston, and he played at the Saturday matinees in between the Flash Gordon movies and other fantastic 40 year old movies that they played for us lost teenagers.

Tommy would rise up majestically like the phantom of the opera from beneath the stage as he played “I do like to be beside the seaside” and “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts”, as the local “yobs” pelted him with ice creams and lollipops.

He played on courageously, perhaps obliviously, and completely ignored the horrible and nasty behaviour, by the illiterate hordes of cretins.

One Saturday afternoon I finally I got him.

He never knew it was me.

I got him.

On his right shoulder.

He was playing away.

One of the old favourites.

I can hear it now...

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...

Oh I do like to be beside the sea...

Oh I do like to be beside the...

(my half licked Walls Choc Ice is sailing in slow motion towards the organist as he magically emerges from beneath the stage as if we are in the cellar of an Andrew Lloyd_Webber musical)...

beside the om pom pom tiddly om pokm pom tiddy om pom...

Splat.

He stopped playing for just a second, and only continued with his feet on the pedals playing the out of tune pedals, and I panicked thinking he knew it was me, and would turn around and let everyone know that he was my grandfather and ruin the rest of my planned dates with all the really cute and lovely Urmston and Stretford girls, but he didn’t even turn around and in a fabulous and heroic and memorable THE SHOW MUST GO ON moment he just continued without missing a beat...

om pom pom tiddly om pom pom tiddly om pom prom.

and I began to eat all my ice creams after that day.

I had learned a very valuable lesson which was to serve me well throughout my career.

Never let anyone see you buy a Walls Choc Ice if you are going to throw it at your Grandfather.

Strange what nice young men get up to on Saturday afternoons, and luckily for Tommy, as well as practicing my long throws, I was also practicing to be a musician.

One who faced the crowd at all times.

And one who refused Ice Cream vendors at his concerts, if he was going to sing or play Beside The Seaside, or in Poland.

Now I was on my way to the Cavern, The Oasis, The Twisted Wheel, The Reform School, The Plaza, The Locarno, The Coffin Club, The Bodega, and my own tiddly om pom poms.

No more Saturday matinees at the Odeon.

No more penny trips on buses to Urmston for me.

No way.

It was now tuppence.

Feed the birds??

Not a chance!

Inflation.

Yes I was full of myself and had a plan to become popular.

This required a whole new wardrobe, a plan, and straight teeth.

That would come later.

That was the Bee Gees.

I suggest you pop over to HIGH NOONE and read all that has been written about the early Noonatic known as Herman, and his family of fun.

Soon I will be adding more and more chapters as I get into the Sixties and the British Invasion, with stories about the Beatles, The Dave Clark 5, The Animals, The drinking, the dancing, the Zombies, the 5 O’Clock Club, Top of the Pops with the Supremes, Roy Orbison, PJ Proby, Gene Pitney, The Rollin’ Stones, more Elvis sightings, more meeting the Beatles.

I think therefore I write I am I am.

The verses are all the same.

Only the tunes have been changed to project the innocence.

Come back and visit soon, and see you in chat!!!

Chapter 10 High Noone

Here Comes The Rock (Star).

—Peter Noone

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