"Music In Our Lives. Part 3"
by Ron Astle

Hello again, ready for the next chapter of the music in my life? I hope some part of this tale prompts you to look back at the music in your lives. It's like finding a treasure chest on a tropical island, break the lock and you may be surprised what you find inside.

It's 1955 and mother had settled into her chapel well, getting involved with committees and all those sort of things. The community hymn singing was scheduled only once a month, so it didn't take me long to begin losing interest, and anyway I was growing older - know what I mean. But I could never replace that wonderful experience; it stays with me to this day.

Anyway, school days, but not studying, were behind me, and working full time stared me in the face. Working 7:30am to 5:00 pm Monday to Friday with 30 minutes for lunch and two 10 minute tea breaks. Interviews and selection procedures completed, I was accepted as an apprentice engineering draftsman for 5 years of training, starting in September, so, it gave me time with my mates before we all went our separate ways.

Day one came around fast and my mother had me up at 5.30am to get ready, have breakfast and walk the half mile to Cardiff Road to catch the bus two miles south to the factory - it was like the middle of the night. "Must never be late" was ringing in my ears as I set off. The factory was in the Treforest Trading Estate, one among about twenty, and employed around 300 people

As the days went by, I started meeting many and varied interesting characters, this was the real world. School days were definitely over. Musical interludes seem to follow you at certain periods of your life, and I was always behind the pied piper. I met a chap named Terry, 25 years old and married with two snappers. He seemed so old and experienced to a raw 16 year old.
Music was piped throughout the factory at break times, and we spent many a period discussing tunes and artists as we ate our lunch. British big bands were his passion; Ted Heath, Johnny Dankworth, Sid Lawrence and the like were among the best at this time. As it transpired, in early autumn, Ted Heath was due to play the Sophia Gardens, a large ballroom in Cardiff. Terry treated me to a ticket, so I went with him and his mates and had a great evening, standing in front of the stage, listening to this great band and the singers, Lita Roza, Dennis Lotis and Dickey Valentine. I was hooked and life was good. Over time I was privileged to see and enjoy most of the other big bands, including the great Count Basie's Orchestra on his UK tour.

At home my father had invested in a brand new Radiogram. What a glorious day for our household! The day it arrived was wonderful, the cardboard covering hiding this magnificent machine. It was pure joy to watch my father anticipating what lay inside. The big moment arrived, and the machine was stripped and stood proud in the middle of the room. After deciding on its best position and inserting the electric plug, trials were imminent. It was a multiple player, up to ten 78's at a time. Would it work? Would my father allow me to operate his pride and joy?

The trials were a great success, with the sound of Roy Fox and his band filling the room. It was not the time to ask if I could try, I would have to pick the opportunity carefully. I may have omitted I had a Sunday newspaper round to supplement my meager apprentice wage. After giving my mother a slice, I still had enough to play around with. "If I were to buy a record, would you let me play it on your lovely radiogram? " I asked.

My father was a tough but kindly man. He wanted me to follow him into the coal mines, and to take up boxing and ballroom dancing at which he excelled. But our mutual love of music was the common factor and it won the day. Permission was granted, after I passed the detailed training course. The musical world was my oyster.

I loved Saturday mornings. Off to Ponty town center and the record shop. They had booths where you would listen to the record before you decided to buy. With only enough funds to buy one record - it cost seven shillings and sixpence - I was deliberate in my choosing. Taking them one at a time, you could spend half an hour or more listening to the popular records from the Hit Parade. I wasn't the only one doing it and the manager soon caught on and limited the number of "trials "before a purchase was finalized.

Popular music tastes were in flux. Big bands, with up to twenty personnel to feed, were not on the road as much, and "out of sight, out of mind" led to their gradual demise. Solo singers were the order of the day, and the likes of Eddie Fisher, Guy Mitchell, Doris Day and Patti Page were taking center stage. With my father loading up with dance band music, I began to favor the Hit Parade as my investment choice, still widening my portfolio.

About a year after I started work, a mate in the same year as I invited me to his youth club in Taffs Well, a pretty village alongside the river about three miles down the valley. It was only about ten miles from Cilfynydd, but a world away from the collieries and coal tips. It was fun to mix with different kids and learn from the various activities offered. I was a member for about two years and in that time a new musical adventure began and remains to this day. My love of jazz.

A bus trip was organized to go to Merthyr College, a town about 15 miles up the valley, the home of a big iron works, and the largest employer in those parts. North of Merthyr the river Taff meandered to the Brecon Beacons and a different environment, one of wild ponies grazing among the thousands of unfenced sheep, their ownership identified only by their brands. Lambing season started late January, they would then be sheared and dipped in the early summer, then enjoy a fifty one week holiday until next year.

I'm getting carried away; let's go back to the music. We were on our way to see Chris Barber and his Traditional Jazz band at the college assembly hall. A traditional Jazz revival had been sweeping the country since the late 40's and was still going strong. Tuning up of the band complete, I waited with bated breath- then magic. The ensemble work was marvelous and the solos improvised to perfection. The banjo player was Lonnie Donegan, later to enjoy fame with his skiffle group, and the female jazz singer, the effervescent Irish girl, Ottilie Patterson. We were all standing about enjoying the band, when I recognized the chap next to us as Acker Bilk, the clarinet player later to record "Stranger on the Shore "

As the evening went on, foot tapping, swaying and chatting, we got on well with him - he was about seven or eight years older than us, a gruff but friendly man. We understood he had his own band based in his home town in the county of Somerset, a heavy apple cider area, just over the English border. We asked if we could hire him and his band for a dance in the Taffs Well village hall. A date, time and fee were finalized there and then - another adventure was in store.

About a month later, six of them arrived at the hall in an old Riley car, the string bass and drum kit tied to the roof rack, all the other instruments stored in the boot. Setting up the gear on the stage took about fifteen minutes flat, and then Acker asked the way to the nearest pub, they needed to wash the journey out of their system before tuning up. The show commenced about an hour later and went on for three hours with a few breaks. We were the talk of the village, a great night for the locals, for us, and the youth club made a grand profit - everyone winners.

I was 18 and had the bug; I joined the Tongwylais silver band to learn to play the cornet.

This of course is an abridged version of what happened with my misspent youth; Linda (our editor) draws a very tight line. Next time, we form our own band; go to London to tour the jazz clubs, and discover pub piano players.

You blow in here, the music goes round and round - and it comes out here.