Groups and belonging ...
From the first year infants, a group of kids (myself included) were moved directly to the third year, apparently due to overcrowding. Apart from one of us, who was much more socially aware, the rest struggled to make friends. We were a year younger than our class mates, which led to some resentment, similar to that expressed by those we left behind.
When they failed to move us to senior school a year early ~ leaving us to do the last year of junior school twice ~ it left us all basically friendless. This is probably why I've been a loner for most of my life, and may have been what led me to try and join groups … to “fit in”.
In the mid-Seventies I flirted with the slowly-dying Teddy Boy scene and look (never had a drape coat, but did like the crepe-soled beetlecrushers!). I was into rock ‘n’ roll, as were a few acquaintances at the time, but once they had left the scene the rest didn't last.
Punk Rock was starting to happen ~ initially in London ~ and I liked the look and the ethos. At 17, I did my first real style change to be probably the first punk in my home town. It wasn't really a group-based scene, but more a way for individuals to hang out. In Northampton, many of the art students at the college I visited (once weekly during my apprenticeship) had taken to the punk scene, and it was there that the band The Bauhaus was formed. I saw them one time at the Racecourse Pavilion … supported by Siouxsie & The Banshees!
I saw Punk as intrinsically working class ~ you could dress how you liked and be as scruffy as you liked (though it later degenerated into a fashion show for the middle classes, with their coloured Mohicans and fancy outfits aimed at either attracting or shocking tourists in Carnaby Street and Chelsea).
But it was also to do with attitude ~ generally doing anything you could to piss people off ~ something I managed with aplomb! It did get me into a bit of trouble, because now I was wearing a tag which made me a target for anyone who fancied punks as the latest victims of their urge to beat the living crap out of someone. I don't know whether or not it was the Sex Pistols' “God Save The Queen” that pissed people off so much, but we did get some backlash.
I remember going into a pub which I'd used infrequently with my new punk gear on (usually leather winklepickers, ragged drainpipe jeans, loose-fitting white t-shirt and leather bomber jacket, with the usual complement of chains and safety pins, etc.) when a few of the locals I used to know decided it was my turn for a kicking! My mate and I just about got away with a few bruises and no broken bones.
Another time, I was at a disco in the local rugby club ~ a little worse the wear through over-consumption of the new ale they had on ~ so I sat down to settle my stomach. I'd only just done so, when a rather large lass who'd had her eye on me decided to plonk herself down on my lap … at which point I promptly yomped-up all over her, to a tumultuous cheer from everyone else in the room, as this was a “punk thing” to do. Little did they know it was just the beer! Thankfully the bouncers hoicked me out, so I managed to avoid any further fallout.
The thing with being a punk was, no-one liked you! There were mostly only skinheads and rockers around back then, and neither liked the idea of punks being around. We were too new ... we didn't conform to what they considered to be a two-horse race ... so neither group could understand it and therefore fought against it.
I loved a lot of the music ~ Clash, XTC, Sex Pistols, Siouxsie, Elvis Costello, Devo, Ian Dury, The Damned, and many more. But it was mostly the attitude of mind that grew on me … and has stayed with me to this day. Don't trust anyone in authority (including parents, but except mine[!]) … and question everything ~ particularly if it's what the government has told you.
I was working behind the bar of the Windmill Club in Kettering ~ doing the Mod Nights once a week ~ and liked the music. Also, I liked the fact that most of the free females would hang around the bar to talk to me. So, I made a conscious decision to become a Mod ... but not just for the music, I wanted some transport ~ and couldn't afford driving lessons on an apprentice's wage.
I asked my Dad to let me get a brand new Lambretta on HP ~ he rejected the idea, but instead loaned me the money himself (which I did pay back to him, faithfully). I got a brand new Lambretta GP200 (India), took a one morning course at the old Grammar School to get myself used to riding it, then headed off to Oxford the same day to meet up with my girlfriend at her brother's house.
I had all the gear ~ ex-military parka (with five protective layers!), desert boots, pencil tie, etc. I think that although my mother didn't like the idea of me being a Mod, she was happy just to see me dressing better than I did as a punk!
Only thing I found out was ~ those young lasses who were after me as a punk barman, no longer recognised me, as I was now just another face among the many dressed as frogs! (Early lesson in love No.1!)
The Mod scene was fun ~ there was very little aggravation locally, though we did have some run-ins when we went on weekend rallies. I remember a Hell's Angels chapter deciding to turn up at Chapel St Leonards whilst we were all in Skegness. We could hear them in the distance!
Scooter rallies were a hoot! Imagine the feeling of being one of perhaps a hundred riding scooters around - either on roads or up and down the sea front. It was a blast. The Brighton rally was the best ~ shades of the original 60's beach battles.
Unlike punks, mods were very much tighter-knit, but with that came a level of rivalry, bitching and in-fighting I'd not experienced before. Everyone wanted to be “the ace face”! They all wanted to have at least one thing that was best ~ in fashion, scoot modification, girlfriend ~ which, as they all couldn't be top at something, led to constant piss taking of each other and doing-down anyone who was trying to make themselves stand out. (Not really my thing, but then I was never bothered about standing out for anyone's benefit other than my own!)
I found it was the riding I loved more than the scene itself. And when some local problems between young bikers (with "fizzers" etc.) and Mods started getting out of hand, I got our club ("The Distant Echo") to affiliate to the local branch of MAG (Motorcycle Action Group) and between us and the older bikers, we got the problems solved.
I got bored with the local Mods and decided to make a dramatic split ~ out went all the mirrors, side panels, crash bars … the standard double seat was changed for a single Snetterton, 22mm carb and air filter unit removed and replaced with a 32mm Dellorto with bell mouth and cage, head skimmed, stage four tuned, 26mm standard exhaust replaced by a 50mm expansion chamber (with roofing insulation stuffed down the side of the pipe as its only form of silencer!). It went like shit off a shovel after that. I got it up to 106mph on the A45 … only problem was, every time I went that fast, the points needed resetting. It got very tedious.
However, along with the scooter changes, there were the style changes … getting a No.1 haircut, twist-bleaching my new red-tag Levi jeans and jacket, buying some 20+ eyeleted Doc Martin's and turning Skinhead. That certainly got me away from them! And so, I joined a mate as one of Kettering's small group of skinheads (partly with the intention of preventing them from starting a British Movement group in the area ... but that's another story). This phase didn't last long, though I will say the skinheads were another tight-knit bunch, but one that looked after each other much more than the mods ever did ~ but I just couldn't get that they were all into reggae, ska, bluebeat, etc., yet were all intrinsically racist. It didn't add up …
I was still attending the MAG meetings, as I'd found that group had one mutual love ~ anything on two wheels ~ and that made them very easy to get on with. I realised my love for two wheels had only one further progression to make ~ I needed more CC's!!! So, the Lambretta was sold and I bought myself a Suzuki 750SE US Custom bike. A three-cylinder rocket with a cut-off Lazer exhaust that could rip anything off at a junction whilst I was sitting upright like I was in an armchair. The ultimate poseur's machine!
I hung around with some of the MAG crowd for a while, but wasn't into the bike gang/club scene, so essentially became a punk on a bike … without the regalia, of course. Just me, riding solo … I did go to a few bike rallies, but not many. My profile was a little too maverick and I just didn't fit in.
By this time perhaps I'd matured a little ~ the draw of groups had waned, though I still retained my love for bikes and had quite a few more until finally, one job came with a company car, so I had to pass my test (1st time!) to drive it.
Overall, I can't say any of these groups were really for me. Maybe I'm just too anti-social, but I'd like to think more because I've never been a sheep. I don't like to follow the pack, and rarely had the incentive to lead one …