Bev Bevan : my first gig abroad with Carl Wayne and The Vikings

By Bev Bevan on Oct 21, 08 05:05 PM in

FOLLOWING my successful audition to become the new drummer for Carl Wayne and the Vikings, the next few days were hectic.

I handed in a week's notice at the store (which went down like a lead balloon) and needed to get myself a passport, which entailed taking a train to London and a taxi to the passport office.

Before I knew it, along with Carl Wayne, Ace Kefford, Johnny Mann and Terry Wallace - plus Carl's mate Allen Harris, acting as unpaid road manager - I was on my way to Germany.

We packed all our instruments, equipment, suitcases and ourselves into the band's Commer van, drove to the East coast and boarded a ferry.

I had never been outside of England or Wales before in my life, so I was naturally excited at the prospect of spending a month in a foreign country.

For most English people I would guess that their first trip abroad is to a holiday resort in Spain or France. For me it was Duisburg, situated in the west of Germany, close to Dusseldorf.

Duisburg has a population of around half a million, boasts having the biggest inland harbour in Europe and is one of Germany's biggest manufacturers of steel.

I had heard wondrous stories of The Beatles' visits to the Star Club in Hamburg - but this trip was to be nothing like that.

Following an exhausting journey, (and getting sea-sick on the rough ferry crossing), we finally arrived at the Storyville Club, just outside the centre of Duisburg.

We took a look around this place where we were due to live and work at for the next four weeks and soon realised that this was going to be far from the bed of roses and carnal delights we had envisaged.

The club itself was pretty dingy, but OK, and much like dozens of others that we'd all worked at in and around Birmingham.

But the accommodation was disgusting - ankle-deep in rubbish and fag ends, rat and mice droppings all over the place and unwashed towels and bedclothes. I don't know which band had been staying the previous month, but they must have been a scruffy, dirty bunch of individuals.

Us being the very opposite of that, we set about clearing the place up best we could - but it was still a dump!

I was also under the misguided belief that slavery had been abolished back in the 19th century, but apparently not. Every weekday we were expected to play seven 45-minute spots, from 5pm until midnight.

At weekends, we have to play TEN 45-minute spots, from 5pm until 3am! And this we proceeded to do.

The early sessions we were playing to virtually no-one, but at least that gave me chance to learn the new songs and we soon became a tight five-piece group.

The unsociable hours made eating dinner very difficult, but during the 7pm to 7.45pm slot we would suddenly become a four-piece whilst the missing one would prepare dinner of sorts for us to scoff down during the 15-minute break.

We lived on a diet of Corn Flakes, English tea bags, Coca-Cola and "speigel eii mit rost kartoffelin" ( ried eggs and chips).

Carl, Johnny, Ace, Terry and Allen were easy guys to get along with and we spent our spare time kicking a football around the club car park and walked across the Shwarnentor bridge to check out the impressive harbour and shop at the smart department stores in the city centre.

The English Pound was strong against the German Deutschemark in 1965 and we all came back with plenty of new clothes - the Teutonic style button-down collar shirt being our favourite item of fashion.

Meanwhile, we continued to complain about the living conditions to the club's manager and ended up playing the final week of our one-month stay at a sister club of the Storyville in the far more beautiful city of Cologne.

The hours were the same but the accommodation was a big improvement, and the club's clientele included a good percentage of American servicemen, who appreciated our repertoire mix of soul, blues, rock'n'roll and Tamla Motown.

So, my first month away from home, in a foreign country, passed very slowly, but by the end of July 1965 we were back in England and once again playing those familiar pubs, clubs, ballrooms, skating rinks, cinemas, town halls and youth clubs in and around Birmingham.

I recently came across a moth-eared, black and white photograph of Carl Wayne and the Vikings - Carl, Ace, Johnny, Terry and me - posing outside our group van.

It was a sobering moment when I realised that of those five smiling, ambitious, talented young men, only two now still survive.

Lead guitarist Johnny Mann was killed in a car crash in the 1970s, Carl Wayne died of cancer in August 2004 and Terry Wallace also died from cancer just a few weeks ago.