July 10th, 1970
Having had Thursday to
spend doing nothing in particular was a small blessing. By the time we
got to Manchester around three o’clock Friday afternoon, the road crew
were busy setting up the equipment. I hadn’t had much of a chance to get
to know any of them except for Neil, who doubled as the stage-side
technician in the event something needed to be adjusted while the band
was performing.
To occupy the time we had before soundcheck, Cameron and I decided to eat at a small restaurant nearby. Three blocks from the venue, two teenagers crossed the street and called out to us.
“Are you Cameron Thom?” the taller one asked nervously.
“I am,” Cameron answered.
The two boys beamed. “My name’s David, and this is my friend Dave.”
Cameron extended his hand and smiled. “Well, you know who I am. This is Emily.”
We shook hands with the boys and Dave was obviously surprised at the firmness of my grip, having expected a woman’s handshake from me. “Dave and David. I love it,” I told them with a smile.
The two boys chuckled but seemed very nervous. “We were just wondering, Mr… Cameron, if we could have your autograph?”
“Of course! Have you got a pen?”
I watched as Dave fumbled for a pen and pulled out a photograph from his back pocket, handing both to Cameron.
“Is that you?” I asked Cameron, seeing the photo. He looked younger in it, though not by much. His hair was shorter and he was wearing a shirt with a frilled collar.
“That it is,” he answered. “Have you two seen Amoeba before?”
“Yes!” Dave exclaimed.
“Right here in Manchester, two years ago. You guys shook the building!” David added.
Cameron handed the photo and pen back to Dave just as I laughed. “Do you still have that shirt, Cameron? I would pay good money to see you in it.”
Before he could answer, David chimed in. “I might be able to help with that.” He pulled another photo out of his pocket and handed it to me.
It was a photo of Cameron, in the same outfit as the other photo, but standing outside of a building I assumed was the venue they’d performed at. He had a cigarette in his hand and looked rather amused.
“It’s yours now, Miss, but…” David hesitated for a moment before blurting out his request. “We haven’t got tickets for tonight and we were wondering maybe, if you could get us in?” They both looked at Cameron, who chuckled.
“Very ballsy,” I interjected. “Think we could squeeze them in?” I asked Cameron.
“I haven’t any tickets on me, but I think I can work something out,” he told them. Dave and David almost shook with happiness as Cameron pondered for a short moment. “Be at the loading door at eight-thirty, on the dot. If you can’t get in, tell them that we’ve told you this…”
When we got back to the venue after eating, Cameron made a point of telling the security manager of both Dave and David before the band went on for soundcheck. After roaring through three songs to make sure all the gear was in check, Cameron joined me backstage.
“Will security know?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of tea.
“They should. I told the manager to tell all of his staff about them, and the code words.”
“What do they mean, anyway? Marowfat peas and Devon pudding means nothing to me,” I elaborated.
Cameron chuckled. “Marowfat peas are just canned peas. And the other is Devon rice pudding.”
“So they’re just nonsense words that no Joe Blow on the street could guess.”
“Exactly.”
Riot Men pounded out their thirty minute set of original songs and hard rock covers, finishing at ten-thirty. I hoped Dave and David had been able to get in, though I wasn’t particularly worried that they hadn’t.
With a kiss from Cameron, Amoeba headed to the stage half an hour later. They blasted through the performance, including their own version of a song made famous in the 1950s by a local musician. Sylvia filled me in with the names of the original songs. Dust, Serpents in Her Hair, and Rough Trade were from the previous album that they’d toured for last year; Run and Full Moon were the fan favourites from Amoeba’s 1968 debut album.
Also on the set list was the title track for the new album Missing Persons, as well as Life Under Earth and Killing Joke. Every audience to see the band perform in the next month would get a sneak peek of the album, as it was set to be released the day we would be in Lyon, France.
The crowd went berserk for the last two songs played, and I knew why. Poignant lyrics delivered by Dale and roaring musicianship from the rest of the band were a surefire way to get the audience going. When the show finished and people began to go back to their previous activities of drinking, making out, and generally making a mess of the place.
Cameron was the last to walk into the backstage room, where Sylvia and I had been hanging out.
“Great show, boys,” he exclaimed happily. “We’re going well, let’s keep it going tomorrow,” Cameron added.
I hugged him and he gave me a swift kiss, before his gaze turned to the ruckus beginning in the corner of the room.
“God,” he mumbled, before heading off in that direction.
The fight escalated in minutes. It had been just a verbal disagreement about something, until Willie had to be held back from attacking Riot Men’s guitarist.
“Way to make an impression,” I could hear Dale mutter nearby, but I was too shaken to do anything but stare. The fists flailed and even Cameron got hit, but when Willie pushed Sylvia out of the way and she fell to the ground, I felt like I was losing my mind.
It was summertime. Liliane had gone out, as a rare treat with a friend for her sixteenth birthday, while I stayed home. I could hear the loud thuds as my father threw things at my mother and they hit the wall behind her, or, when she was too slow, they made contact with her body.
Liliane got home around ten-thirty, which was almost two hours too late for my father’s liking. He hit her, just as I got to the bottom of the stairs. I heard the crack as his knuckles popped against her cheek and she reeled back. She gave me a look I couldn’t understand, even if I’d tried.
He slapped her next, for not looking at him while he was yelling. The loudness was deafening, and I saw my mother in the corner of the room. She was frozen, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t stand up to the man who claimed to love us all but abused us more than anything.
I didn’t blame her, there wasn’t much my mother could do against a man like that. Except die.
I was a ball of screaming rage when I snapped out of my memory. I was on top of Willie, pummelling him with my fists and having no memory of approaching the fight.
I suddenly felt, rather than saw, dozens of pairs of eyes on me. I stopped hitting him and I closed my mouth, only to find I’d been yelling. The silence was jarring; Willie looked bewildered under me but didn’t move. I felt my insides crumble and my cheeks grow wet.
At the first sound of crying, Cameron was beside me. He put his arms under mine and lifted me off of the guitarist in one swift move.
“Emily.” His voice was strong yet tender. “I’m right here, Emily. It’s alright.”
I felt my emotions well up as tears ran down my face once more. My vision was blurring; Cameron led me away from the room. There was another hand holding me steady, but I didn’t know who. I only realized we were outside when the fresh air hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Cameron…” I whimpered.
“Right here, my love.”
The other hand let go of me and Cameron wiped my face with his sleeve. He put his hand on my cheeks and looked at me, his worry evident.
I tried to spill out an apology but all that came out was another sob.
“Thank you, Lee,” Cameron said quietly.
From the corner of my eye I saw Lee walk back towards the venue. Cameron led me onto the bus and sat down with me. Claude, the driver, left without a word as soon as he saw my state. Cameron’s arms were tight around me but all I felt was shame.
“Cameron, I’m-”
“I know, my love. I know,” he said soothingly. He stroked my hair and held me close to him.
I focused on the rhythmic beating of his heart to slow my own, and when I was calm enough, I spoke.
“I’ve never experienced that. I’m truly sorry, Cameron.”
He said nothing but gazed at me, a reassuring look on his face.
“I should apologize to Wi-”
“He deserved it,” Cameron interjected. “I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.”
A tear ran down my cheek and I closed my eyes. “I had a flashback,” I explained. “I was a teenager, and my dad was… he was beating my mom and sister. Yelling, hitting… Then I was on top of Willie, just hitting him and screaming. I’m so sorry,” I moaned, crying once more.
“Oh, my love… It’s alright. I’m the one who should be sorry. I brought you into this,” he told me. “I was too selfish to leave you.”
“You think I would have let you leave me?” I said with a little anger in my voice. Anger at myself or Cameron, I wasn’t sure.
“When’s the last time you’ve had a flashback?” he asked.
“It’s been over a year,” I admitted. “I usually just freeze.”
“See? Because I brought you here, you lashed out. Had I left you alone, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Do you want me to go back?” I asked in a quiet voice. I was terrified of the answer.
He rubbed my back and held me close. “Only if you want to. You can go to the house in Cairnie or back home. Or stay.”
“With you is home,” I told him ardently. “I’m just sorry about all this.”
“Don’t be. Abuse is damaging. You’re hurt, and you’ve been hurt for a long time.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“It’s not your place to be sorry,” he answered firmly. “It’s your place to heal, and I will do all I can to help you heal.”
We sat in silence for a while, until the rest of the band boarded the bus. Willie avoided my eyes completely, and I was glad for it. Sylvia squeezed my hand and though I appreciated the gesture, it just made me feel worse. Did anyone know why I had acted that way, other than Cameron and I?
I didn’t know.
To occupy the time we had before soundcheck, Cameron and I decided to eat at a small restaurant nearby. Three blocks from the venue, two teenagers crossed the street and called out to us.
“Are you Cameron Thom?” the taller one asked nervously.
“I am,” Cameron answered.
The two boys beamed. “My name’s David, and this is my friend Dave.”
Cameron extended his hand and smiled. “Well, you know who I am. This is Emily.”
We shook hands with the boys and Dave was obviously surprised at the firmness of my grip, having expected a woman’s handshake from me. “Dave and David. I love it,” I told them with a smile.
The two boys chuckled but seemed very nervous. “We were just wondering, Mr… Cameron, if we could have your autograph?”
“Of course! Have you got a pen?”
I watched as Dave fumbled for a pen and pulled out a photograph from his back pocket, handing both to Cameron.
“Is that you?” I asked Cameron, seeing the photo. He looked younger in it, though not by much. His hair was shorter and he was wearing a shirt with a frilled collar.
“That it is,” he answered. “Have you two seen Amoeba before?”
“Yes!” Dave exclaimed.
“Right here in Manchester, two years ago. You guys shook the building!” David added.
Cameron handed the photo and pen back to Dave just as I laughed. “Do you still have that shirt, Cameron? I would pay good money to see you in it.”
Before he could answer, David chimed in. “I might be able to help with that.” He pulled another photo out of his pocket and handed it to me.
It was a photo of Cameron, in the same outfit as the other photo, but standing outside of a building I assumed was the venue they’d performed at. He had a cigarette in his hand and looked rather amused.
“It’s yours now, Miss, but…” David hesitated for a moment before blurting out his request. “We haven’t got tickets for tonight and we were wondering maybe, if you could get us in?” They both looked at Cameron, who chuckled.
“Very ballsy,” I interjected. “Think we could squeeze them in?” I asked Cameron.
“I haven’t any tickets on me, but I think I can work something out,” he told them. Dave and David almost shook with happiness as Cameron pondered for a short moment. “Be at the loading door at eight-thirty, on the dot. If you can’t get in, tell them that we’ve told you this…”
When we got back to the venue after eating, Cameron made a point of telling the security manager of both Dave and David before the band went on for soundcheck. After roaring through three songs to make sure all the gear was in check, Cameron joined me backstage.
“Will security know?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of tea.
“They should. I told the manager to tell all of his staff about them, and the code words.”
“What do they mean, anyway? Marowfat peas and Devon pudding means nothing to me,” I elaborated.
Cameron chuckled. “Marowfat peas are just canned peas. And the other is Devon rice pudding.”
“So they’re just nonsense words that no Joe Blow on the street could guess.”
“Exactly.”
Riot Men pounded out their thirty minute set of original songs and hard rock covers, finishing at ten-thirty. I hoped Dave and David had been able to get in, though I wasn’t particularly worried that they hadn’t.
With a kiss from Cameron, Amoeba headed to the stage half an hour later. They blasted through the performance, including their own version of a song made famous in the 1950s by a local musician. Sylvia filled me in with the names of the original songs. Dust, Serpents in Her Hair, and Rough Trade were from the previous album that they’d toured for last year; Run and Full Moon were the fan favourites from Amoeba’s 1968 debut album.
Also on the set list was the title track for the new album Missing Persons, as well as Life Under Earth and Killing Joke. Every audience to see the band perform in the next month would get a sneak peek of the album, as it was set to be released the day we would be in Lyon, France.
The crowd went berserk for the last two songs played, and I knew why. Poignant lyrics delivered by Dale and roaring musicianship from the rest of the band were a surefire way to get the audience going. When the show finished and people began to go back to their previous activities of drinking, making out, and generally making a mess of the place.
Cameron was the last to walk into the backstage room, where Sylvia and I had been hanging out.
“Great show, boys,” he exclaimed happily. “We’re going well, let’s keep it going tomorrow,” Cameron added.
I hugged him and he gave me a swift kiss, before his gaze turned to the ruckus beginning in the corner of the room.
“God,” he mumbled, before heading off in that direction.
The fight escalated in minutes. It had been just a verbal disagreement about something, until Willie had to be held back from attacking Riot Men’s guitarist.
“Way to make an impression,” I could hear Dale mutter nearby, but I was too shaken to do anything but stare. The fists flailed and even Cameron got hit, but when Willie pushed Sylvia out of the way and she fell to the ground, I felt like I was losing my mind.
It was summertime. Liliane had gone out, as a rare treat with a friend for her sixteenth birthday, while I stayed home. I could hear the loud thuds as my father threw things at my mother and they hit the wall behind her, or, when she was too slow, they made contact with her body.
Liliane got home around ten-thirty, which was almost two hours too late for my father’s liking. He hit her, just as I got to the bottom of the stairs. I heard the crack as his knuckles popped against her cheek and she reeled back. She gave me a look I couldn’t understand, even if I’d tried.
He slapped her next, for not looking at him while he was yelling. The loudness was deafening, and I saw my mother in the corner of the room. She was frozen, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t stand up to the man who claimed to love us all but abused us more than anything.
I didn’t blame her, there wasn’t much my mother could do against a man like that. Except die.
I was a ball of screaming rage when I snapped out of my memory. I was on top of Willie, pummelling him with my fists and having no memory of approaching the fight.
I suddenly felt, rather than saw, dozens of pairs of eyes on me. I stopped hitting him and I closed my mouth, only to find I’d been yelling. The silence was jarring; Willie looked bewildered under me but didn’t move. I felt my insides crumble and my cheeks grow wet.
At the first sound of crying, Cameron was beside me. He put his arms under mine and lifted me off of the guitarist in one swift move.
“Emily.” His voice was strong yet tender. “I’m right here, Emily. It’s alright.”
I felt my emotions well up as tears ran down my face once more. My vision was blurring; Cameron led me away from the room. There was another hand holding me steady, but I didn’t know who. I only realized we were outside when the fresh air hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Cameron…” I whimpered.
“Right here, my love.”
The other hand let go of me and Cameron wiped my face with his sleeve. He put his hand on my cheeks and looked at me, his worry evident.
I tried to spill out an apology but all that came out was another sob.
“Thank you, Lee,” Cameron said quietly.
From the corner of my eye I saw Lee walk back towards the venue. Cameron led me onto the bus and sat down with me. Claude, the driver, left without a word as soon as he saw my state. Cameron’s arms were tight around me but all I felt was shame.
“Cameron, I’m-”
“I know, my love. I know,” he said soothingly. He stroked my hair and held me close to him.
I focused on the rhythmic beating of his heart to slow my own, and when I was calm enough, I spoke.
“I’ve never experienced that. I’m truly sorry, Cameron.”
He said nothing but gazed at me, a reassuring look on his face.
“I should apologize to Wi-”
“He deserved it,” Cameron interjected. “I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.”
A tear ran down my cheek and I closed my eyes. “I had a flashback,” I explained. “I was a teenager, and my dad was… he was beating my mom and sister. Yelling, hitting… Then I was on top of Willie, just hitting him and screaming. I’m so sorry,” I moaned, crying once more.
“Oh, my love… It’s alright. I’m the one who should be sorry. I brought you into this,” he told me. “I was too selfish to leave you.”
“You think I would have let you leave me?” I said with a little anger in my voice. Anger at myself or Cameron, I wasn’t sure.
“When’s the last time you’ve had a flashback?” he asked.
“It’s been over a year,” I admitted. “I usually just freeze.”
“See? Because I brought you here, you lashed out. Had I left you alone, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Do you want me to go back?” I asked in a quiet voice. I was terrified of the answer.
He rubbed my back and held me close. “Only if you want to. You can go to the house in Cairnie or back home. Or stay.”
“With you is home,” I told him ardently. “I’m just sorry about all this.”
“Don’t be. Abuse is damaging. You’re hurt, and you’ve been hurt for a long time.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“It’s not your place to be sorry,” he answered firmly. “It’s your place to heal, and I will do all I can to help you heal.”
We sat in silence for a while, until the rest of the band boarded the bus. Willie avoided my eyes completely, and I was glad for it. Sylvia squeezed my hand and though I appreciated the gesture, it just made me feel worse. Did anyone know why I had acted that way, other than Cameron and I?
I didn’t know.
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