Now This is a Very True Story. Jimmy Jones
you know the church in the meadow?’
He said, ‘Yes, very well.’
The driver said, ‘Well if it’s any help to you I reckon you could pull her. She goes down there every morning at six o’clock for morning prayers; you get yourself down there and you can ’kin’ chat her up.’
The fella said, ‘I’ll give that a try.’
So he got himself a big white wig, a ’kin’ beard, Jesus sandals. Quarter to six he’s standing behind a ’kin’ tree, waiting. It’s still dark. He sees this nun walking across the meadow so he jumps out from behind this tree.
She says, ‘Jesus!’
He said, ‘That’s right my child. And you are married to me,’ he said, ‘and I have come down to earth to consummate the marriage.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you’ve picked the ’kin’ wrong week.’
So Jesus says, ‘That’s a ’kin’ nuisance, I’ve got the horn now.’
She said, ‘Well I don’t mind taking a bit up the back.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘all right’, so her turned her round, lent her up against a tree and wallop, he’s given her one up the back. But when he was finished he was overcome with remorse. He thinks to himself, I’m a dirty bastard I’ve ’kin’ rumped a nun.
So he turns to her, takes off the wig and says: ‘I’m sorry, sister. I’ve got a confession to make. I’m not Jesus, I’m the bloke off the bus.’
The nun says to him: ‘Well I’ve got a confession to make and all, I’m not the nun. I’m the bus driver…’
It’s true! I’m doing that on Stars On Sunday ’cos it’s religious…
I WAS BORN at a very early age on 9 February 1938. My mother was in labour so long the midwife had to shave her twice. I can’t believe I spent two days getting out of there and the next 72 years trying to get back in. It’s the only hobby I’ve ever had, and it’s cost me a fortune. Read on…
I was the sixth child of a family of seven. I had four elder sisters – Jean, Anne, Margaret and Mary; but Mary is the only one of the girls still alive. My brother Patrick was already in the RAF when I was born and Dad was never home, so I was raised in a house full of girls. I grew up being bossed around by women… Nothing changes.
My brother Pat’s still going strong. He’s 14 years older than I am, so he decided to call me The General Nuisance, hence my family nickname is The General. I had two brothers born after me; one was named Anthony, but unfortunately he died at birth, and my younger brother, Michael, is still with us.
The worse thing about growing up poor in a big family full of sisters was the hand-me-downs were hell. Imagine turning up for PE in the wrong colour knickers. I wore a dress until I was 11.
I had a happy childhood, though, and I was spoilt rotten by the older girls. It was like having four mums – most of the time. The other thing to remember though is that when a load of women live together their cycles tend to get in tandem with each other, so for one week every month I felt like getting on me bike and fucking off myself. Except I didn’t have a bike, we couldn’t afford one, and you can’t get far with a hoop and a stick.
We were a very religious family. Mother, Jean, was Irish and a devoted Catholic. Albert, my father, was raised a Protestant but he converted. They met in service, mother was a chambermaid and father was a waiter in a private house in Southampton. He was originally from Godalming, in Surrey, mother was from Dublin.
I was born in Southampton – so I was destined to be a saint. What went wrong?
When I was three months old, the church moved our family to Rainham in Essex, just on the borders of the East End. I didn’t see much of my father after that because he became a merchant seaman. He sailed round the world eight times. By complete coincidence mother had eight children. He only came home to dip his wick! Lecherous old bastard!
I nicknamed him Percy because he kept his money in a little purse… But he was a proper Percy Filth. Like father like son, says my wife Marion. Percy applies to my life too, as I have a lot in common with that film, Percy’s Progress. You might not believe me but it’s 12 inches, and I don’t use it as a rule.
It was the war years and at the age of seven, I became an altar boy at La Salette church in Rainham. Luckily none of the priests ever tried to alter me. La Salette was a US Catholic church with connections to Lourdes. I only signed up because I like cricket. Well, they did have a bat in the vestry…
Because I lived the nearest to the church and Mum was such a staunch Catholic I always got the 7.30 mass.
We had several American priests there, and I got on exceptionally well with one of them in particular by the name of Father Hayes.
Being a Catholic, I was educated by nuns. I went to Roman Catholic schools, St Peter’s School in Dagenham and the St Ethelburga’s Catholic School in Barking. I was full of mischief even at primary school. I wasn’t a really bad kid, but I was cheeky. I got up to things and tried it on.
I was beaten by one nun for smoking when I was seven. In those days the nuns wore black habits with a big long leather belt and I can still remember the pain. Sister Stephanie caught me with a roll-up smoking in the toilets and she gave me a good hiding with that leather belt. She slapped me across the back of my legs with her strap and that did me a favour because from that day on I’ve never smoked again.
It annoys me when all these do-gooders say you mustn’t give kids a good hiding. That’s why they don’t know how to behave anymore. I’d bring back conscription. Give ’em all 18 months in the Kate – the Kate Karney, the army.
The other great hiding I got at school was by the music teacher, Sister Dominique now isn’t it marvellous how you can remember these names all these years later? She gave me a hiding with her belt that Max Mosley would have paid good money for. My crime this time was not paying attention in music classes and as a consequence I went on to become a singer – so it works!
Another favourite punishment was to make us take off our shoes and socks and stand bare-foot on the radiator. So naturally, I behaved myself in winter, but when it came to the summer I was a right little bastard.
At that time I really thought I was going to be a priest. As well as being an altar boy, I was singing in the choir, and as certain orders of priests travelled the world, I was convinced that this was the thing to be. But when I found out I couldn’t be Pope I said ‘Fuck ’em.’
Seriously, when I was nine, Sister Dominique said to me, ‘I think God has given you a natural talent to entertain. God gave you your voice, use it.’ She taught me about how to breathe when you sing, saying, ‘If you learn to breathe correctly you will sing correctly’.
That same year, still aged nine, I was singing in a talent competition at Rainham Working Men’s Club and a fella came up to me and said, ‘I want you to join my band.’ He went and saw my Mum and sorted it out. Luckily for me it wasn’t Jonathan King. His name was Mr Gregory – I always called him that. The Gregory Family had a band called The Hilly-Billy Pennies, which makes them sound like they should have all had red necks, no teeth and discarded fridges on the lawn outside of their trailers, but they were actually a very good country and western band who played extensively in the local area. And when I say local, I mean Rainham Social Club, Rainham Working Men’s Club, and the Silver Hall Social Club in New Road… Rainham. You could do a tour and still be home by nine o’clock.
Top of the shop in those days for us was the Dagenham Working Men’s Club, which was considered the number one venue on our little circuit. We used to do odd nights there. There was never any wages or anything else like that but they were good days.
Then at the age of ten I was poached by another fella for his band, the Rainham Nitwits. They were