Mean Fiddler Macca Miracle

Mean Fiddler Macca Miracle

By Leslie McCutcheon

“Who will meet you at the airport?”  I was asked over and over by my friends and family members when I announced that I had decided to move to London for half a year of work.  “Nobody,” I would reply simply, rather enjoying the somewhat shocked reactions I was receiving when I announced my plans to move to this enormous city half way across the world; a metropolis where I knew nobody, had nowhere to live and, most pointedly, where I had no visible means of support.  Most amusing was that everyone else’s main concern was who was going to meet me at the airport – the least of my worries.

So what on earth possessed me to embark upon this rather unusual venture?   I will be the first to admit that my love and insual  body, had nowhere to live and, most pointedly, where I had no terest in the Beatles and the Rolling Stones had sparked my initial fascination in England long ago.  When I first visited Britain three years ago, I was immediately captivated by the city and simply knew I’d be back someday.  Never would I have expected to be moving there.  I had six months to live and work in the city of my dreams.

My first two weeks were hectic and stressful.  However, I was very lucky to have met up with four other girls who were going through exactly the same thing, so we (helped) each other through those initial hardships.  By the end of my second week there, I landed two jobs!  My main job was as receptionist in an estate agency just down the block from 94 Baker Street, where the short-lived Apple Boutique attempted to flourish, and also just a short walk to Ringo’s one-time flat on 34 Montague Square.  As a matter of trivia, it just so happened that our office was marketing this very flat  At the same time, 57 Wimpole Street, where Paul had lived with Jane Asher’s family was up for sale as well.

My other job was as an usher at the Hammersmith Odeon, where the Beatles 1964 and 1965 Christmas Shows were held (and where George and Eric Clapton first met!).  It was this job that provided me with some of my most memorable experiences during my tenure in London.

The first major concert I worked was Bob Dylan, in which I was fortunate enough to catch his sound check.  At the end of his final show there, George Harrison and Ronnie Wood ran up and showered him with flowers.  Sting played 5 nights at the venue, and I once had the privilege of seating Eric Clapton in my section.

So where do the Beatles fit in to this story?  Well, a few days after Sting’s concert in April, my friend Katie came from the States to visit me.   I took her on a tour of all the notable Beatle sights in London and we spent three fabulous days touring Liverpool.  Back in London one afternoon, we wandered up to Paul’s St. John’s Wood home, where a young woman emerged from the imposing gates announcing to us, “they don’t live here any longer.”   Our initial guess was this was one  of Paul & Linda’s daughters, saying what would be a rather obvious remark t those inclined to hang around outside.  Why would he have sold the house which he’s owned since 1966?

On Tuesday, May 7^th, when I returned home from work, Katie anxiously announced that she had heard on the radio that afternoon a scoop:  Paul was to play a “secret” gig at a small cub in North London.  Unfortunately, the tickets had sold out within 30 minutes, around noon that day.  Well, we were in no state to give up that easily.  The following morning I phoned around to give or so radio stations inquiring about this gig.  No one had any clue as to what I was talking about.  The BBC was stumped and even MTV Europe, who proved most helpful as far as actually looking into the possibility that I say perhaps have been onto something that they didn't even know about, had not heard a thing about any supposed “secret” McCartney gig.  Finally, Katie figured out that she had heard the announcement on Capitol Radio, so I immediately phoned them and found out that our destination on Friday, May 10^th, at 8pm, would be the “Mean Fiddler” in Harlesden.

I managed to get off work at 3:30 that day and arrived at the Mean Fiddler with Katie at around 4:30, about one hour too late to see Paul arrive for the sound check.  We waited outside, and after a while, Paul’s band members emerged from the alleyway alongside the club.  Before we knew it, Paul and Linda appeared.  Everyone who was in line with tickets for the gig went crazy snapping photographs.  Since we didn't have to stay in the line (since we didn't have tickets), we were able to get right next to Paul as he was escorted into his car.  He was very friendly and waved to the crowd of adoring fans.  Katie took a classic close-up photo of him in the vehicle.  I stood there as the car pulled away with tears running down my eyes.  We were absolutely beside ourselves with excitement.

Though this would have certainly been enough to keep us happy, we still opted to hang around longer, just in case the club would take pity on us and let us inside after all.  At around 9:20, after the line of ticket-holders was admitted, we were informed that we could actually go in, for only ten pounds (about $17).  We were shaking with delight.  I can still recall that intense feeling of excitement, disbelief and utter relief as Katie and I were handed our tickets and as we entered the tiny, jam-packed club.

The second we stepped inside I felt as if I had slipped into a dream.  It didn't seem real.  It was evident that we would not have a chance to see anything from floor level, so we hurried upstairs to a small balcony where I miraculously secured a couple of positions on top of a small bar stool.  From where we stood, we were elated to discover that the band was directly below us and we had a perfect view of the entire band!  They were squeezed onto a tiny stage not more than 20 feet wide.  The club’s capacity was around 600 people.  We knew that this was indeed something very special.

Once Paul took the stage everyone went wild.  He was not more than 15 feet from us, and we made eye contact with him and Linda several times.   Paul was instantly at ease with the warm, enthusiastic crowd, constantly joking and chatting with audience members.  The crowd chanted, “Gertrude!  Gertrude!” when Paul got to Linda as he was introducing the band.  When asked for an autograph by someone in the crowd, he responded, “as if I haven’t got anything to do up here.”

The first half of the show was “unplugged.” And the second half was the “plugged in” set, with Paul playing his old Hofner bass (the one with the original 1966 playlist taped to the side).  It was the most amazing concert I have ever seen, and as close as one could come to feel the excitement of seeing the Beatles at the Cavern.  The atmosphere was so intimate yet electrifying; nearly nine months later I still savor the thrill of it.  And had Katie not been listening to the radio at that exact moment, we would never have been there.  It had to be fate.