Booted and Suited. Chris Brown
the transition from a boy to a man – getting past the gorilla in a suit at the door of the Bali Hai bar.
‘I well remember my elation, aged about 16, at getting my first “brown split” in a mug with a handle, not a sleever, in the Bali Hai bar in the Locarno, after getting past the bouncer. If I remember rightly, the bouncer used to stand at the entrance to the bar by the totem pole.’
Another mod from back then, Chris Powell, was so enamoured with the Locarno that when it was demolished in 1997 he managed to salvage the famed totem pole as well as many of the signs from the ballroom, including a bright-red one that will be remembered by many. ‘The bouncers’ warning sign… this was positioned opposite the DJ. If there was any “trouble” within the Locarno, a panic button would be hit and the area in which the trouble was located would be illuminated. The DJ would then broadcast a coded message to the bouncers and the trouble would be “politely” dealt with.’
Chris lovingly restored the totem pole and it now adorns his garage. ‘We used to put out our Embassy dog-ends up the nostril on the pole. When I painted it, I found one still in place!’
Chris recalled a famous night in Bristol in 1967 when the doyens of the mod movement paid a visit to the Locarno. ‘1967 was a very special year for me. London had begun swinging the previous year, England were the World Cup Champions and I turned 15. While London had its trendy discos and clubs, Bristol had always lagged behind, with gigs taking place at the Corn Exchange and occasionally The Top Rank opposite Bridewell nick. However, this was all to change with the opening of the New Bristol Centre and particularly the Locarno towards the end of 1966.
‘At last, Bristol had an entertainment centre to be proud of and a decent venue for bands to play. I was introduced to the Locarno by a school friend by the name of Chris Reeves, who had already sussed out the location and the fact that Monday nights were for 14–18-year-olds, and that it was the place for chatting up the local Bristol talent. This was heaven to two 15-year-old single-sex schoolboys. If you were really lucky, you might even get served a half of Woodpecker in the Bali Hai bar.
‘The Locarno became our Monday-night haunt. Smooth wasn’t the word, what with our blue mohair suits (£15 from John Collier in Broadmead) with slant pockets, ticket pocket and rear centre vent (the longer the better), the obligatory Ben Sherman shirt and the thin tie, we were the business – or so we thought. However, real mods rode on Lambrettas, not the number 8 bus from Kingswood. Word came about that the mod band of the moment, The Who, would be playing the Locarno in May 1967, and Chris and myself decided to attend. The first obstacle was the entrance price of 8s 6d (yes, 42p in today’s money). However, a plea to my parents raised the readies and I was off.
‘The queue stretched all the way down the steps and halfway up Frogmore Street, and attracted the main “faces” on the Bristol scene. After about an hour, I reached the front of the queue, deposited my 8s 6d and met Chris inside, slap-bang in the centre of the balcony. Class seats for a class band.
‘The Who were scheduled to start at around 8.30pm. Eight-thirty came and went, as did nine. Eventually, at just gone ten, they appeared – Roger, John, Pete and Keith. They may have been there in body, although I have grave doubts whether they were really there in spirit, as they all seemed to be on another level – I never had that problem with my illicit half of Woodpecker. The level of sound that reached what remained of the crowd’s eardrums was deafening with the boys going straight into “I Can’t Explain”, swiftly followed by “Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere” and the mod’s favourite, “My Generation”. This was class. This was history in the making.
‘Around that time, The Who had a reputation for smashing their equipment and this evening was to be no different. Pete made short work of the loudspeakers with his guitar, and Keith demolished his very impressive drum set with a ‘small’ charge of explosive. After a quick repair/replacement job, they proceeded on to “I’m a Boy”, “Happy Jack” and their latest hit “Pictures of Lily” and then they were gone. Forty-five minutes of sheer quality and I was travelling home on the number 8 bus. Within two years, The Who were playing gigantic stadia, with even higher plains to reach.’
Chris then explained how he came about owning the various mementos, including that totem pole. ‘During 1997, I learned that most of the New Bristol Centre was to be demolished to make way for student accommodation‚ and I found myself again in Frogmore Street for one final look. I took the escalators (now sadly broken) up to the old Locarno and was amazed to find the entrance ajar. The site foreman very kindly allowed me to take a walk round the old haunt before the bulldozers moved in and also agreed that I could have the old gents “Stag Room” sign that now adorns my bathroom!
‘I spent about an hour in the Locarno before it was finally sealed, taking photos and reminiscing about the Sixties. I stood on the stage where so many class acts had performed and excited Bristol’s youth – none more so than The Who – and wondered if demolition was the only way forward for the building. But then again, The Who would probably have wanted it that way!’
Once the lads finished posing under the illuminated ceiling of the ballroom, it was time to pose on the streets of Bristol. Jim Burnham – the mod who had a close encounter with the Never boys’ fruit wagon one night and who’s still very much part of the latter-day mod scene, recalled, like Adge and Chris, that Monday was one of the main nights of the week. ‘Coming out of the Locarno on Monday nights, and seeing all the scoots parked outside the Hatchet pub – maybe 30 of ’em – magnificent! Then we’d start ’em up – the noise and smell of two-stroke engines echoing around the buildings, then we’d just ride up and down, past the Entertainment Centre, maybe three or four times, just showing off and trying to impress the birds. No crash helmets in them days either, maybe a bobble hat if it was a bit cold! To me, as a 16-year-old, it was pure joy – scooter heaven!’
Sixteen seemed to be when these lads came of age; it was then you were able to buy your beloved ‘scoot’. Chris Powell remembered the significance of reaching that momentous age. ‘Once you’d reached the magical age of 16, you needed to get yourself a scoot, and you could either do this from the motorbike section in the Evening Post on Friday, or visit one of the dealers. The two main dealers in Bristol were King’s and Grey’s which were situated in Stokes Croft. Both had vast stocks of Lambrettas and Vespas and one shop always priced theirs in “guineas” which was an old term and related to 21 shillings (£1.05 in new money). This made the bike look cheaper than it was!’
Chris, like the younger lads I had interviewed, recalled the clothing. Much of it was similar to the skinhead/suedehead gear of a few years later. ‘Suits were generally made to measure at places such as Burton’s, Hepworth’s and John Collier. Cost around £15–£20 all in, mainly two-piece, three-button (covered) with slant pockets, and a ticket pocket. Rear vent – as long as possible. These started around six inches and progressed higher and higher, as Jackie Wilson sang, up your back with some ending between your shoulder blades! Fourteen-inch bottoms with no turn-ups. Colour: dark with a nice herring-bone weave; sleeve buttons: anywhere between three and six on each side.’
My brother Mike also recalled the long, long vents in the jackets which sometimes gathered unwanted attention from certain lads in the dancehalls. ‘You want a long vent, do you? Well, fucking ’ave this!’ as they proceeded to rip the jacket in half. Not surprisingly, it was at that point that the bouncers’ red light would often be illuminated and the gorillas in the mist would earn their pay.
It’s incredible to think that the clothing from four decades ago can be remembered in such fine detail. I might be wrong but somehow I can’t see today’s ‘yoof’ getting all dewy-eyed remembering their present-day attire in 40 years’ time – Ecko trackie bottoms made out of a nice nylon/polyester mix purchased from JD Sports for a tenner… not quite the same as one of Burton’s finest, but then again I’m biased. And I’ve got half a brain.
In the mid- to late Sixties, Bristol became the centre for entertainment for youngsters from all across the West Country. Colin Birch was a young mod who lived in Yeovil at the time and, as well as the Locarno, remembered other cool hang-outs. ‘Bristol was the Holy Grail of entertainment and scootering