Chapter Fifteen
Once Theo had set his kit up at the White Hart in readiness for the lunchtime gig, he wandered over to Tim who was reading the paper and sipping a pint of ale at the bar.
"Hi Tim."
Tim responded by smiling and placing his paper down on the bar.
"I was thinking about expanding my repertoire and maybe taking up the guitar. You know, just to compliment the drumming, and in case I ever wanted to write my own songs or something..."
"Well that's where the money is." Replied Tim
"Where?"
"Songwriting. Get a song on the radio and you're laughing."
Theo hadn't really thought about that. "Yeah, I suppose so. So anyway, as I say I was thinking of taking up the guitar and you know how you've shown me a few chords in the past? Well I was wondering if maybe you could teach me a bit more, just basic stuff, nothing fancy..."
"Do you have a guitar?"
"Er no." Theo had imagined making a trip to the junk shops in Bath to pick up a cheap second-hand one.
"Well I'd be happy to loan you one, I've got a fair few as you know. Thinking about it, I've got one that would be just right for you, with a nice easy action. As for lessons..." he inhaled sharply, "Weeeeeell, I could do Tuesday evenings after band practice if that's any good for you?"
"That would be fantastic. Thank you."
"Great! Learn the guitar and you've got a friend for life."
-
Once the lunchtime gig had finished, there was no sign of Wells, so Theo dismantled his drum kit and lugged it outside and piled it on the pavement. After ten minutes of waiting, an ancient green 2CV came creaking down the road. It stopped outside the pub and Wells unfolded himself from the driver's seat.
Theo looked through the car's rear window. "I don't think we're going to get it all in there."
"Course we will! Positive mental attitude dear boy." replied Wells.
They spent the next ten minutes loading, unloading, and then reloading all the drums, cymbals and stands until they found a combination that worked. With each failed combination, Wells and Theo giggled a little bit more, until by the time they had successfully loaded the drums, they were both in hysterics. Even with all the loading and unloading, the only combination that worked involved Theo sitting with the floor tom on his lap in the front passenger seat, and the boot being left ajar to accommodate the suitcase filled with stands.
They drove carefully down the High Street and turned right onto Theo's road. He glanced up at his bedroom window as they passed and noticed that today at least he'd had the good sense to leave it open.
They continued their journey along the A4 towards Bath for another couple of minutes and then Wells slowed dramatically to take a sharp right down a narrow lane. The lane led past the occasional dwelling and eventually became a dirt track. They nudged along the track for another minute and then came to a large stone-built farmhouse with a front garden made up entirely of vegetable beds. A wheelbarrow filled with recently uprooted carrots stood by the front door, a pair of gardening gloves lying on top.
August parked the car in a gravelled area to the right of the house and the two teenagers unloaded the drums from the 2CV. Wells motioned towards the top floor:
"I've knocked up a practice area in the attic space, it's a bit basic I'm afraid, but the acoustics are actually pretty good. Only problem is that it's at the top of the house. Ha!"
With that, an elderly man appeared at the front door. He looked at the pair and said "Is my Sunday afternoon peace about to be shattered?"
"'Fraid so dad" replied Wells, "This is Theo, my first recruit."
The elderly man walked slowly towards Theo and shook him by the hand. His handshake was crushingly strong. "Welcome, I've heard a lot about you."
"Really?" replied Theo, feeling both surprised and flattered. His cheeks began to redden.
The elderly man walked back towards the wheelbarrow, put his gloves on and nodded towards the drum kit and said "You two are on your own with that lot I'm afraid. Have a good session."
With that, Theo and Wells lugged the kit through the house and up to the attic. The further up the house they went, the less homely it felt. The ground floor had an impressive tiled hallway that led off to rooms with coir carpets, crammed bookshelves and saggy leather chairs. But the first floor seemed sparse by comparison, with unvarnished bare wood floors and whitewash walls. By the time they reached the second floor the interior looked practically derelict. Theo assumed that the enthusiasm for renovating this old pile had disappeared somewhere between the ground and first floor.
The attic room was big but low ceilinged. It had a thick brown shag-pile carpet on the floor and flattened cardboard boxes or egg cartons attached to the walls. At the far end of the room, a large white bed sheet had been attached to the curtain rail above the room's largest window. On it Wells had spray-painted 'X-tradition' in black capital letters. The lettering had no curves, giving the logo an almost Egyptian feel, which didn't seem quite right to Theo.
Deciding that the room was too dark and gloomy for a summer afternoon jam, Wells took the bed sheet down and folded it up. Thinking on his feet, Theo said "Perhaps I could have a go at creating a logo, you know, in case you're not happy with umm... what you've already got..."
"That would be great, cheers. This one is pretty ropey, just something I knocked up on the spur of the moment. Art's not really my thing." replied Wells as he started to roll a joint. "Fancy one?"
"I'm fine thanks" replied Theo.
He assembled his kit while Wells rolled and smoked a small single-paper joint. Once he'd finished he strapped on his guitar and plugged it into a small Marshall amp. He then twiddled with some knobs on a bright orange effects pedal, retrieved a plectrum from its resting place between three strings on his fretboard and strummed out a few basic chords to check that the guitar was in tune.
Satisfied that it was, he turned to Theo: "Okay. Well as I said, I've written a ton of stuff, lyrics mainly, and I've also got some melodies but I haven't actually got round to marrying any of them together. I'm hoping for something a bit more freeform than the Planets, you know, more of a democracy and not just one or two members dictating the musical direction. Anyway, I'll just start riffing some of the melodies I've come up with and you join in and we'll see how it goes."
With that Wells started to play. Theo hadn't actually listened to the tape Wells had given him the previous night but he couldn't imagine that Crass or The Subhumans sounded anything like this. The music he was playing was slow, melodic - almost classical in its structure. There was no obvious time signature and one melody seemed to segue into another. Theo wasn't quite sure what to do, or how to contribute. But then he noticed that all Wells' melodies featured extreme shifts from low to high notes, almost like a siren perpetually shifting from one key to another. It felt to Theo that there was middle ground that needed to be filled, and the best way to do that was to counteract the treble screech of the guitar with bass notes, so he started to play along, populating Wells melodies with floor toms, bass drum, and the occasional snap of the snare. Once he had established a beat, Wells looked at him and nodded his approval.
After ten minutes or so, Wells stopped playing and rolled another joint. Once finished, he grabbed a microphone stand that had been out of sight in a dark corner. He added a mic and plugged its lead into the Marshall amp.
"Right, might as well try an actual song, seeing as we're here" he said, strapping the guitar back on. "This one's about the Falklands 'war' and what a sham it was, which is bound to go down well in an army town like Lyncombe ha ha!"
Wells stabbed at the guitar, and this time it did sound like what he imagined Crass or the Subhumans to sound like - fast, brutal, in straightforward four-four time. After a couple of bars, Theo joined in, trying to imagine what Topper Headon would do if Strummer and Jones presented him with this tune. He kept it simple, similar to the drumming on 'Brand New Cadillac'. Wells seemed to appreciat
e his efforts and he started to move his head and body in an angular fashion. Then he started to sing:
What are we really fighting for?
Or is it that you need another war?
To take our minds of the hurt and the pain
To cover up your evil reign?
Then a quick guitar break and another verse:
Soldiers are your pride and joy
You treat them like a fucking toy
You tell them that their cause is true
But it's either that or the dole queue
And then a key shift and a subtle change of tune, so presumably the chorus:
The wishes of the islanders are paramount
But is that what you really care about?
You want to keep the poor in their place
Kept away from your master race.
The song continued, but Theo was unable to make out many more of the words, especially in the middle eight section, which seemed to involve a lot of shouting. After a protracted guitar solo, Wells sang the chorus once more and the song came to an end. Theo managed to halt at exactly the right point, which seemed to impress Wells.
August took off his guitar and sparked up a fag. "Phew, what do you think?"
"Yeah, I like it, real energy" Theo replied, sounding as positive as he could.
"Nice one. So you don't mind being in a band that has views that might be potentially unpopular with 'the mainstream'?"
"It's all about the music August." replied Theo. This was the first time he had called his new bandmate by his given name.
"Cool. I mean it's fairly obvious that the Falklands belonged to Argentina, so it was no great shock when they tried to take them back."
It had been a shock to Theo however, but only because he thought the Falkland Islands were off the coast of Scotland. Once he realised they were in the south Pacific - right next to Argentina - it made a little more sense to him.
"So a lot of the songs I've written so far are in a similar vein, you know, snapshots of modern Britain, highlighting some of the injustices that people have to suffer."
Theo nodded in agreement but couldn't think of anything intelligent to say.
Wells sat down on the floor with his back against the wall even though there were a couple of comfy-looking chairs in the room. He started to roll another joint but then stopped mid-flow and looked up at Theo.
"Shit, what day is it?"
"Um, Sunday" replied Theo.
"No I mean the date: what is the date?"
"Er, I'm not sure, the 30th maybe, or the 31st. Why"
"Shit" With that, Wells quickly got to his feet. "Back in a minute."
He ran out of the room and down the stairs. Theo waited for a few seconds until he heard a door slam and then Wells running back up the stairs. When he re-entered the room he had a couple of tickets in his hand. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten! Crass tonight at the Trinity in Bristol. I've got two tickets. Fancy it?"
Crass. In concert. The thought terrified Theo. He knew a little bit about the band: that they lived on a commune, that they were pacifists, that they had a small but devoted following. They were anti-Thatcher and anti-nuclear. But everything about them seemed so ugly to Theo - the shocking black and white imagery, the slogans, the brutalist logo. It was so confrontational, completely the opposite of Theo's easy-going, romantic outlook. And on another level, the thought of being at a Crass concert made him fear for his physical safety. Weren't they anarchists? Didn't they believe that property was theft? Did that mean he might get mugged?
The offer didn't really appeal at all. What he really wanted to do was go home and watch the Antiques Roadshow with his mum and dad, but this was an opportunity for a night out with August Wells, so he said "Sure, that sounds great."
Wells went on to explain that he had bought the tickets a while back and had completely forgotten about them. The second ticket was meant for Sophie but she had gone to visit an elderly relative and wouldn't be able to make it back in time. He looked at his watch - it was now seven pm and the concert was due to start at eight. "Shit, we better get a move on; I'll see if dad can give us a lift to the station. Do you want to phone your parents?"
They both headed downstairs, Theo to use the phone and August to chat to his dad. After much debate, August's father agreed to take them, once he had finished his dinner. With five minutes or so to kill, they both headed back upstairs where Wells began to roll a succession of joints. Theo looked down at what he was wearing: white baseball boots, drainpipe Wrangler jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Suddenly he felt very unpunk.
"Do you think I'll be all right like this? I mean wearing these clothes? Maybe we could stop off at my house and I could change into something else?"
"It doesn't matter what you look like pal, but if you want to wear something else, I've got a pile of t-shirts in my room and you're welcome to borrow one." With that, Wells motioned for Theo to follow him and they headed downstairs to August's room on the next floor down. It was larger than Theo's, with two huge sash windows looking out on to the rambling back garden. The windows were closed, but the room still managed to smell fresh, Theo noticed with some annoyance. Each window sill was lined with books and papers, with more on the floor below them. Two guitars - one acoustic and one electric - stood against one wall, with a large double bed in the middle of the room. The bed didn't seem to have any legs though - it was lying directly on the floor, which struck Theo as odd. Where did he hide his booze? The room was painted white, and was very bright even at this hour. Theo was pleased to see that Wells also eschewed posters, the only wall decoration being a small A4-sized picture of Karl Marx with a slogan beneath it which was too small for Theo to read. Wells made his way over to a chest of drawers and pulled out some t-shirts.
"Right, what do you fancy? I have this Crass logo one, or there's this Amebix one, or this Dead Kennedy's one." The Dead Kennedy's t-shirt featured the bands 'DK' logo which Theo quite liked so he asked if he could have that one. "Sure." Wells threw it over to Theo.
Not sure what to do, Theo put the t-shirt down on the bed. But then he realised that Wells was expecting him to change where he was, so he waited until he was looking away and then took his yellow t-shirt off and quickly replaced it with the Dead Kennedy's one. It smelt wonderful.
Wells then headed towards the door and said "back in a sec, I'm just going to get some provisions." Whilst he was gone, Theo had a sudden urge to rifle through Wells' clothing to see if he could find his stash of checked shirts. If he's not wearing them anymore, I will, Instead, he wandered over to the Karl Marx poster to read the quote underneath: "From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs." Theo chose not to attempt to process the meaning of this statement, assuming it was something to do with philosophy, which he had never been able to get on with at school.
Then he migrated towards the window and saw that a lot of the papers he'd spotted when he first entered the room contained handwritten song lyrics, each one written in capital letters, and each one containing scored-through lines and arrows pointing to additional text in the margins. He could only make out a couple of titles: 'Green Unpleasant Land' and 'Wishes of the Islanders', which Theo assumed was the song they had jammed earlier. He heard the door open and turned round to see August entering the room with a bottle in one hand and a big smile on his face.
"This should do us." The bottle was old and dusty, the sort of thing that his dad might break out at Christmas.
"Oh right, what is it?" He asked.
"Port old boy, port. Dad's got a crate of it in the cellar, I'm sure he won't miss one bottle." With that, Wells grabbed a canvas rucksack from the back of his chair and stuffed the bottle inside, first wrapping it up in a couple of the t-shirts that he had previously offered to Theo. Now that they were ready to go, they bounded down the stairs to the hallway where August's dad was waiting for them, keys jangling impatiently in his hand.
The drive to Chippenham train station passed m
ostly without words. It was not an uncomfortable silence however, as both August and his father filled the car with leg tapping and classical humming respectively. Theo spent the time looking out the window, watching the countryside fly past. Once they arrived at the station, August thanked his dad and told him that they would get a taxi back home. Theo thanked Mr Wells too, who responded with "No problem boys, enjoy yourselves and be careful."
The advice to be careful was unwelcome, as Theo was already anticipating all sorts of terrifying scenarios involving punks, skinheads, knives and knuckle-dusters. What did Mr Wells know? Had he read about violence at Crass concerts in the papers? If so, why did he let his son attend? But on the other hand, maybe he just meant "be careful" in the broadest sense, in acknowledgement that the world could be a risky place.
The two teenagers made it to the train platform with only a minute to spare and found an empty four-seater table in the Second Class carriage. They both took a seat by the window and looked out of it as the train departed. Once they were underway, Wells looked around to make sure there was nobody looking and took the port bottle from his rucksack. "Chances are the cops will search this bag, so we better make some headway."
"Cops?" Replied Theo.
"Yeah, nothing to worry about. There are often cops at Crass gigs, but there's never any trouble."
This response soothed and alarmed him in equal measure. "Never any trouble" was good news clearly, but it also filled Theo with guilt that he now belonged to a section of society that needed policing.
Wells took a long glug from the bottle and passed it to Theo. The black liquid tasted almost like vinegar, but realising that the choices were either this or sobriety, he glugged deeply and passed the bottle back to Wells.
Emboldened by the port, Theo asked about August's plans for the future, post-school.
"Well my dad wants me to go to Oxford, to the same college he went to." Wells explained "But I think I'd rather go to Manchester - they have an excellent political science course there that I'm really interested in. The Oxford course is a bit staid by comparison. I had what they call a 'pre-interview' for Oxford the other week where you get interviewed by an ex- teacher who tells you if you would cut the mustard or not at an actual interview."
"And did you?"
"Apparently so. But like I say, I think I'd rather go to Manchester. How about you?"
Theo's week of work experience at an estate agents' in Bath now seemed rather paltry in comparison, and he decided on a course of wish-fulfilment rather than honesty: "I'm hoping to study architecture down in Brighton, assuming my grades are good enough of course. And if not, maybe just concentrate on the music side of things, you know, form a really good rock band or something..." You and me August, you and me...
August failed to take the bait and instead nodded absent-mindedly. "Right, right. How about girls? A good-looking chap like you must have a couple on the go?" Theo's eyes widened and he could feel his cheeks flush. It was the first time he had ever been called 'good-looking', and he liked it. Involuntarily, he pulled his face into a kind of grimace, trying to emulate Wells' chiselled cheek bones, but then relaxed them when he realized he couldn't actually talk like that. "Sure, I'm seeing this girl called Martine, she's—"
"Oh, from Atworth? Yeah, I know her. Umm, nice girl."
"Yyyeah, her." Wells' familiarity with his girlfriend knocked him off balance. Maybe it was a good thing that he knew Martine - it proved that she was someone worth knowing. But then an image of Martine talking to the older, blond-haired, stone-wash denim guy at the Steal Guitars gig came to mind, and he started to worry that maybe Martine knew too many guys. Theo daren't ask August straight-out if he had slept with her, instead he concentrated on the bottle of port.
By the time the train drew in to Bristol Temple Meads, they had managed to down virtually all of the port, and they both felt unsteady on their feet as they made their way from the platform to street level. August had not actually been to the Trinity Theatre before; all he knew was that it was within walking distance of the train station. They took it in turns to ask passers-by for directions, but Wells was too stoned to remember what they said, and Theo had difficulty absorbing directions when sober, let alone after a half bottle of unfamiliar black alcohol. But by going in the general direction of the first pointed finger offered up by the people they asked, they managed to get to the Trinity by about eight thirty.
Of all the scenarios Theo had played out in his head, the one that presented itself to them as they arrived was of course unforeseen: that the venue seemed deserted and eerily quiet.
"Bollocks, hope I haven't got the date wrong" said Wells.
Theo on the other hand hoped that he had. But as they approached the old church building they saw a girl with spiky orange hair staggering out of the large front doors and attempt to light an already half-smoked joint.
"A-ha" looks like we're in the right place after all." Theo's heart sank. August called over to the girl: "Hiya, we're not too late for Crass are we?"
"Nah" replied the girl, "but you just missed the support act - some reggae band. You want some of this?" The girl held the spliff out towards them. Wells replied that he did and she handed it to him. She looked back towards the church. "They're serving food in there now."
"Really? Food?" said Theo. He was just thinking that he needed something to soak up all that port. That food might be available at a Crass gig was an outcome he had certainly failed to envisage.
"Sure" she replied. "It's all vegan mind."
"Do you want your ticket?" Wells asked? "I might just stay out here for a while?"
Theo took the ticket from Wells. His nervousness had dissipated now that food - even vegan food - was on offer, and he walked up the Trinity steps with a renewed optimism that the evening might not be as bad as he first thought. As he climbed the stone steps, the venue doors opened and a wave of punks in muted grey and green combat gear came towards him, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. This was not what Theo had expected Crass fans to be like. He noticed a couple of policemen standing to one side of the entrance chatting amiably to a couple of punks with huge mohicans and "The Exploited" written on the backs of their leather jackets.
After presenting his ticket to a heavy-set biker at the front door, he made his way into the venue proper, which was about as big as his assembly hall at school. The stage was at the far end, and was decked in white sheets with various spray-painted slogans on them. In front of it was an audience of approximately 200 people milling about and swigging from cans. This gave Theo hope that there might be booze on sale, but then he remembered his primary objective of food. He looked around and saw that to the left side of the hall was a recessed area with bright strip lighting illuminating what appeared to be a canteen. A group of punks were huddled around the entrance to this area. Theo headed towards the group and as he approached the familiar aroma of cooked rice greeted him.
He stood at what he assumed was the back of the queue and waited. It moved slowly but after a couple of minutes he could make out the food options available: there was a huge cauldron of rice surrounded by several smaller pans containing sauces ranging in colour from yellow to green to dark brown. There were also small flat loaves of bread, which Theo had never seen before. The girl in front of him was served and then it was Theo's turn. He wished he'd listened to what the girl had asked for, as he did not know what any of this stuff was called. A man wearing what looked like a green canvas waistcoat over a naked chest asked him what he wanted. Too shy to ask what the options were, he pointed to the one that looked the most like Bolognese sauce and said "Can I have that one please", to which the man replied "rice or pitta". Theo didn't know what pitta was so he asked for rice.
The man spooned rice onto a paper plate and then ladled over some of the sauce and handed it to Theo. He stood there waiting for the man to tell him how much he owed, but instead he served the person behind him. Unsure what to do, Theo looked around for a till but there didn't s
eem to be one. He grabbed a plastic fork from a nearby table and wandered back towards the rear of the hall and stood there while eating the apparently free food. He was certain that the sauce was not Bolognese, but other than that he had no idea what it was. As he ate, he could feel balance being restored to his body, the stodge banishing the bitter taste of the port.
He finished the food and was about to go outside to find August when the hall lights dimmed. A small cheer came from the audience but it was clear that the band were not coming on just yet, instead, a makeshift screen at the side of the stage lit up as classical music began to play over the PA system.
An image of an atom bomb exploding filled the screen.
Oh God, thought Theo, anything but this, anything but this...
What Theo feared was an onslaught of images depicting the aftermath of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He knew these images well: Sylvie was membership secretary for the local CND branch, and the house was often filled with leaflets and flyers containing these terrible images: the buildings that were wiped out; the ones that remained standing. The shadows on the ground. The school children gone, the factory workers gone, the housewives gone, the hospitals gone. All gone in an instant.
The problem was, once Theo saw these images, he could not get them out of his head. Deformed babies in sample jars, or skinless victims on gurneys plagued his consciousness for days afterwards. How were you meant to enjoy yourself after witnessing this? So to avoid contaminating his brain, he headed back outside, just as another throng of people including Wells and the spliff girl poured into the hall. Seeing Theo, Wells shouted out "Hey, they're about to go on, where are you going?"
"Oh, I just need to get some fresh air" he replied. "I'll catch you up in a minute." With that, he made his way down the steps. He passed the two policemen again, one of whom said "You seem to be going against the tide pal!" Theo laughed in response but said nothing. He made it outside and stood on the grass unsure what to do next.
He heard a huge roar, which presumably signalled the end of the Hiroshima film and the start of the gig. So once again he made his way up the steps and past the two policemen, neither of whom noticed him this time. He opened the double doors to the hall proper at exactly the moment that Crass began their first song, and he was hit with a barrage of fierce fuzzy guitar and shouting. This was what he expected Crass to sound like. He stayed at the back of the hall, enjoying the view this gave him, not only of the band but of the audience as well, who showed their appreciation by punching their fists in the air, or pushing those around them, or just dancing with their heads lolling from side to side.
He looked down at his feet and saw several cigarette butts strewn across the floor. He thought of picking one up but realised that he didn't have any matches. Then his mind turned to booze. Was there any on offer? He looked around but couldn't see a bar, and the canteen area now seemed to be abandoned. He scanned the floor again, and to his delight there were beer bottles and cans everywhere. He made sure that no one was watching and started to test cans for contents, and when he came across a heavy one he picked it up. He scrutinized the can as best he could for any signs of ash or fag butts and once he was certain that there were none, he began to drink.
He was now in his favourite state for watching live bands: alone and with a can in his hand. If he were accompanied by others, he would feel the need to make conversation, which was always tricky when the music was loud. He knew he was missing an opportunity to be with August, but he figured he'd catch up with him in a few songs time, so for now he was happy to just people-watch.
After a couple more songs, he secured himself another cast-off lager and made his way into the crowd. Now that the he was nearer to the band, he could feel the basslines pounding through his body, making the overall sound more forceful.
He studied the black and white banners behind the stage:
NO WAR
DESTROY POWER NOT PEOPLE
NO AUTHORITY BUT YOURSELF
But the thing that fascinated him most was the Crass logo itself, which loomed over the band from a huge sheet behind the drum kit. The closest approximation to it was the swastika, but Theo knew that Crass were not fascists, and that the swastika had originally been an ancient eastern symbol meaning peace or something similar. The logo was circular with a cross in the middle and an intersecting diagonal line on top of the cross. It was simple and brutal, the sort of logo that could lead armies. He had seen it on several school rucksacks and t-shirts, but never this big before. And now he saw that at the top and bottom of the cross, where the circle met it, were two snake heads, almost as if the logo were eating itself. What did that mean, he wondered?
Then he studied the band themselves. Like their audience, Crass wore army fatigues and had spiky hair. They looked older than most bands that Theo had seen (apart from Blues Train of course) but had more energy than most, throwing themselves about the stage and leaning into the audience. The singer was wearing a canvas waistcoat similar to the guy who served Theo at the canteen. But looking at him now, Theo could see that this was the guy who served him at the canteen. What was he doing on stage? Had he just leapt up and joined in? He guessed that this was the sort of thing that happened at Crass gigs.
He managed to find himself a virtually full can of Guinness and looked for August. He pushed his way through the crowd and found him with the orange haired spliff girl. August was leaning forward, his ear next to the girl's mouth. He was nodding enthusiastically at whatever it was she was saying. Not wanting to interrupt, he stood next to them and continued to watch the band, glugging occasionally from the can of Guinness. When the current song ended, the crowd cheered and Wells and the girl applauded, their hands high in the air. Wells looked around and noticed Theo. He gave him a hug and introduced him to the girl. He did not hear what her name was but he shook her hand anyway. Buoyed by the hug, he offered his can to Wells who drank heavily from it and passed it to spliff girl who then passed it back to Theo. The next song began and Wells and the girl started to dance, and Theo, now quite drunk, joined in.
When the spliff girl offered him her joint, he partook willingly, and then went off to find himself another discarded can. He spent the rest of the gig on his own, woozy with alcohol, sat on the floor at the side of the hall. He watched the audience, he watched the band. He watched people come and go. He watched Crass leave the stage to loud applause and he saw the lights come on. What time was it? Where was August? How was he going to get home?
He was happy to delay all these questions if he could just find himself another beer, but all the cans around him now seemed to be empty. Had he finished them all off? Realising he needed the toilet, he begrudgingly got to his feet and followed the exit signs. As he walked, he felt an arm around his left shoulder and another around his waist. He looked around and saw August to his right and the spliff girl to his left.
"Time to get you home pal." August said.
-
Theo felt a cool breeze against his face as they left the gig. August and the spliff girl walked ahead and Theo followed, taking deep breaths of the night air. Within twenty minutes they had reached Bristol Temple Meads. He watched as spliff girl wrote something on August's hand, then they kissed and she got into a taxi. Then he and August took the steps up to the train platform.
The air had now turned decidedly cold, and it had a sobering effect on Theo. He looked at August, his hands in his pockets, staring into the middle distance. "What happened to spliff girl?"
"You mean Michelle?" August replied crossly.
"Oh yeah, sorry. Michelle."
"She had to get back to her halls of residence. She's a nurse. You won't tell Sophie will you?"
"Of course not." Theo replied.
The train came and they got on. There didn't seem to be any other Crass fans on the train, or any other people of any kind for that matter. They took a table seat and watched the orange lights of Bristol recede into darkness.
"Fucking awesom
e weren't they?" Wells said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief.
"Yeah." Theo replied, trying to muster as much enthusiasm as he could. "Ooh! The bloke who served me at the canteen got on stage with them and sang along to some of the songs. I suppose he's a massive fan or something."
"That was Penny Rimbaud," replied August, "He co-founded the band and writes a lot of the lyrics. It's like a collective - they all help out where they can."
"Oh."
Theo felt foolish but comforted himself with the fact that he probably wouldn't remember any of this conversation in the morning. With nothing else to say, he kept quiet and thought of Martine. What would he tell her of the gig? Would he even mention it? He found it hard to describe events to people who weren't there, and often got tongue-tied. He doubted if she had even heard of Crass.
He looked out of the window but saw only August's reflection looking back at him.
Suddenly the carriage lit up with white light, and a terrific CLACKA-CLACKA-CLACKA sound filled the air. Another train was passing on the adjacent track. The shock made both teenagers sit upright. August frowned and looked at Theo. Theo smiled back. August then reached into his rucksack and pulled out a folded sheet of paper and a pen. He unfolded the blank paper and laid it out on the table. He began to write. Theo watched as he inscribed four words across the top of the page in capital letters:
THE DEAD WHITE SKY
And then, underneath:
CHORUS (BEGIN WITH):
UNDER A DEAD WHITE SKY
I DON'T WANT TO DIE
WHAT KIND OF BOMB IS THIS
THAT TURNS A MAN TO MIST?
Theo couldn't make out the rest, but August continued, his writing steady and measured. Only occasionally did he look up for inspiration. He turned the page over and continued. After about five minutes he folded the sheet of paper back up and put it back in the rucksack.
Theo wanted to read the lyrics, and the booze had emboldened him: "Can I have a look?"
"Sure." August took the paper back out from the bag and handed it to Theo. He unfolded it and began to read, nodding his head as he did so. A question began to formulate in his mind. He looked up at Wells:
"Mind if I have a go at writing some music to this?"
August looked surprised "I didn't know you wrote music."
"Well I don't. I mean I haven't yet. But it's something I'd like to do, you know, to expand my repertoire and all that."
"Sure!" With that, Wells reached into the bag and pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to Theo. "Would you mind copying them out first though, I don't really want to lose the original."
Wells handed the paper and the pen to Theo, who started to copy the lyrics on to the fresh sheet of paper using the same block capitols. He was conscious that his writing was not as neat as August's, and he found it difficult to keep on a straight line. Once the lyrics had been copied, he handed the original back to Wells.
"Let me know what you come up with." Wells said as he put the paper back in the rucksack.
The train began to slow down, and a voice came over the tannoy: "Chippenham. Chippenham is your next station stop".
There was a taxi rank outside the station. Wells walked towards it and Theo followed. They got in a cab and Wells gave directions, first to Theo's house and then to his.
"Been busy today?" asked August. Theo wondered why, as they'd spent practically the whole day together. But then the taxi driver answered:
"Dead quiet pal. I'm gonna call it a night after I drop you two off."
Was this what other people did? Make conversation with strangers? Or maybe August already knew the driver. Yes, that was the most likely explanation.
As the cab chugged to life Theo became aware that he hadn't offered to pay for the Crass ticket, or the taxi for that matter. He decided not to mention it.
When the cab pulled up outside Theo's house, August put his hand on Theo's knee and said "Thanks for coming. I'll give you a call in a day or so. I'm going to see Tom from Downward Spiral tomorrow, he might jump ship to play bass, and then we just need a rhythm guitarist and we're sorted."
Theo said goodbye and got out of the cab. He guessed the time at about midnight, and all the lights at home seemed to be off. He put his key in the front door as silently as he could and walked into the dark hallway. All was quiet inside so he made his way upstairs. He passed his parents' room and saw that their light was still on. He called out "It's only me. Goodnight." And when he heard a familiar "Goodnight dear," in response, continued to his bedroom.
He entered his room without putting the main light on. Instead he felt his way slowly to his desk and turned on the angle-poise lamp. He aimed the lamp at his record collection and sat down by the singles boxes. He craved the familiarity and the comfort that these songs would give him. In particular he needed their colour and their melody - two things sorely missing from the Crass gig. First he looked at the coloured vinyl collection, which he kept separate at the back of one of the boxes: the lime green of 'Jimmy Jimmy' by The Undertones, the orange of 'The Day The World Turned Dayglo' by X Ray Spex, the red of 'Furniture Music' by Bill Nelson. Then he looked through the rest of the collection: 'Planet Earth' by Duran Duran, 'Echo Beach' by Martha & The Muffins. He pulled out 'Kings of the Wild Frontier' by Adam & The Ants. On the cover, Adam Ant's face was tanned, with a white stripe across his nose and feathers in his hair. None of Crass were that brown. He put the single back and continued to look.
Next he pulled out 'See You' by Depeche Mode. No deficit of colour here! The cover featured a cartoon drawing of a man underneath a streetlight looking up at a girl in her room. It was hard to imagine imagery more far removed from what he had seen earlier this evening. He took the record out of its sleeve and placed it carefully on the bedside turntable. He made sure that the volume was set low and listened.
Synthesisers and drum machines waltzed along in perfect harmony, and a man not much older than Theo's sixteen years sang words of unrequited love.
He leant against the side of his bed and quietly sang along.