Putting together this series has, to some extent, been a strange experience in that it is necessary to immerse in a fairly distant past for lengthy periods - attempting to relive the days, of course. I have no day-to-day diary to produce endless facts and figures, but can recall a few highlights.

A great many of the outstanding performers appearing at the Centre were not ‘imported’ directly, but booked from other bodies for a night or nights at the club.

Many will recall the wonderful May, 1965, weekend which brought us Buck Clayton, Joe Turner and the Humphrey Lyttelton band for a weekend of ‘Kansas City Jazz’ (I actually overheard Humph telling Buck that this would be their finest night as they first descended the stairs). Bookings for the consecutive nights, Saturday 22/Sunday 23, was the way we tried to do things. As previously observed, consecutive nights gave us an intimacy and the relaxing sense of musicians and supporters being together that a single could never do. Frank Dixon, writing for the ‘Manchester Comet; was always keen to get an angle of his own to publicise forthcoming events, and I was able to give some information.”.., and I promise you, I’ve told no one else this one, Frank. It’s your exclusive.” I’d discovered somehow or other that Joe Turner’s birthday was on the 18th whilst Humph’s was on the 23rd itself. So Betty (Faulkner) was going to produce a birthday cake to present on the stand. Not a conventional one, of course, but an extremely large one for Big Joe and the very tall Lyttelton. “Joe’s birthday party forms part of an evening of Kansas City jazz,” wrote Frank under a photograph of Humph and Buck ‘sounding a birthday fanfare' That in itself was nothing to do with the music but, I believe, is a fine illustration of our attitude - a gimmick of a thoughtful nature was ultimately conducive to finer music - and we did hear some fine stuff over the weekend.

Rex Stewart looked like being a very different experience from what we were accustomed. Staying at the Millgate Hotel, next door but one, and whilst having booked him for the night, we had never met, although my recognition would be instantaneous. Approaching him in the foyer, I introduced myself and attempted some small talk of the ‘glad to have you with us; standard. His cynical looks of distain and disbelief took me unawares, and what seemed like a three mile walk to the bandstand in uneasy company did not bode well. (“He must have thought that I was you", I told a chortling Jenks a little later). On stand, however, the frowns disappeared and Rex was in very reasonable form. His extreme lower register cornet growls - more than most he tended to stay in middle/low register much of the night - very much as I remembered from recordings. Vocally, he came up with some surprises, including a very Armstrong-like Hello, Dolly, although St. lames Infirmary seemed a touch like Calloway.

Unless one is of unlimited means, it is difficult in younger years to possess a balanced collection of recordings of everyone that might be appreciated. In my case, Bill Coleman was something of a blank in 1966. Present on some of the Luis Russell’s and a few of the Fats WaIler’s was about the lot in my collection then. John Chilton brought his new discography of Bill down to the MSG (we sold quite a few at the door) and so, in due course, omissions from my shelves were duly rectified. Coleman’s outstanding command was a revelation, and it often surprises to discover someone of later years performing so well in a
self-demanding way. A switch to flugelhorn for part of the session produced similar taste, originality, and the elusive swing. A thoroughly satisfying evening. The Bruce Turner Jump Band did the accompanying on that tour, and Bruce announced yet
again that he had decided to disband and was due to join Acker Bilk in the near future. With the benefit of hindsight, that proved quite a reasonable and fruitful move. It simply seemed outrageous to those of us around at the time.

The news that Terry Lightfoot was to do a national tour in accompaniment of Vic Dickenson seemed a somewhat odd choice to me. Personally, I was not too happy when the supporting band for the Kid Ory concert hall tour of 1959 was announced as the Lightfoot band. Never having doubted the leader’s enthusiasm or his own technical abilities, it is probably just personal taste or prejudice. To many who acquired tastes earlier than ‘Trad boom’ years, it was probably natural to resist sho nship and prefer substance. We went along with the booking but, in small compensation, booked our own second night (which, actually, occurred first on our schedules) with the Alex Welsh band. Readers must sense that my bookings were somewhat over-reliant on this band. However, the group was of such versatility, inspiration and technical command that you always knew that they would prove themselves.

It is fair to say that the sheer amount of interesting occasions in such a brief period was memorable for the enthusiastic audiences. To see an enraptured and almost completely silent body collectively stand and raise the roof at the climax of some outstanding performance was a thrilling sight. Would you see that today? Imagine, out in the street, a double-line queue of people chatting and discussing the potential of what they were about to enjoy as the doors were opened. Forming anything up to about half an hour before the usual 7pm evening opening, this jovial body might occasionally stretch from the main door, round the corner and down half the length of the next street. Somewhat reminiscent of those city centre queues we used to see in the pre-TV age of the 1940s. There was the usual behind-the-scenes preparatory work prior to opening, enabling the earliest to claim a favourite seat near the stand.

Once settled down inside, there was as much a mixture of people from all walks of life as in any other crowd. A group that is well remembered was dubbed the ‘Scottish Contingent’ by the committee and were first attracted, I think by the Pee Wee Russell evenings. This vociferous group, with such broad accents as to be initially difficult to those not raised North of the Border, considered any evening to be something of a failure unless the band succumbed to the loud, hearty requests for After You’ve Gone (not just an outfit such as the Welsh band, from whom you might reasonably expect the number, but any group). Come to think of it, there was a bearded man who only appeared on New Orleans nights who, when a band ended a number would usually shout, “Walking With The King.” I presumed this to be a request, and not merely a boast. I apparently caused some unintentional offence to our Scottish friends one night, which only became apparent when the rumblings turned deeper and faced in my direction. This continued for a few perplexing evenings, and Jenks was his usual comforting self, assuring me that “it was the general affect I had on people.” Feeling that some move on my part was necessary to alleviate the discomfort, a master-stroke came up. Finding myself with two copies of the Venuti-Lang 78, After You’ve Gone (the one with Jack Teagarden and Benny Goodman), I presented them with the more worn of the two. Apparently, I had accidentally hit on the very recording that had inspired them with their frequent request, and they hadn’t come across it in years. Instant arms drooped-over-the-shoulder friendship!

Under the heading of ‘Blues By The Riverside Sunday Times columnist Derek Jewell noted the ‘blues invasion’ and current visitors Jimmy Witherspoon, Mae Mercer, Memphis Slim and Mose Allison. In his August 9,1964, piece, Jewell revealed: ‘The crucial experiment was made
last Spring, when the Manchester Sports Guild brought Henry ‘Red’ Allen and sent him memorably around the clubs'.
Witherspoon stayed with Ernie Garside over a weekend in September and appeared at Club 43 during the short period that the sessions were held at the MSG. In a quote from a local newspaper, ‘both the teenage Rhythm and Blues fans, and the older jazz fans, appreciated ‘Spnon As reported earlier in this series, Mae Mercer appeared in our jazz cellar. ‘Mae sang so fiercely and with such emotion that her performance was truly moving', said Oldham Evening Chronicle’s Chris Lee. At about the same time, Chris remarked, ‘Jack Swinnerton, the jazz booking manager at the Sports Guild, told me that the club had been offered Mose Allison, the American pianist/trumpeter/singer for a date later this month. He said, however, that it was unlikely he would book Allison'. Well, I didn’t and no longer recall why. Perhaps it was just unsuitable for the schedules.

Authentic American bluesmen were enjoying overdue recognition, and touring the clubs - a side effect of the current popularity of such as Manfred Mann and the Rolling Stones. This was probably why promoters tended to offer these performers the teenage music centres at first, and seldom to such as us. And I basically preferred it that way. It would be easy to ridicule as pomposity today, but we considered ourselves and members as people of some taste and sophistication and, whilst the music of the bluesmen was attractive to a good many of us, there was an absolute brick wall in my determination to keep the Beat music audience out. Struggling to the bar through a heaving mass of teenagers basically at odds with our tastes in most things, as this post-war generation has often and largely continued to be, was a nightmare scenario.

Chris Lee, the local writer with the greatest knowledge of, and sympathy with, the blues performers, was naturally somewhat unhappy in seeking out favourites in pop music coffee clubs, and made an anguished appeal: ‘I would have thought that the Manchester Sports Guild, normally a very enterprising organisation in the jazz field, who did book Champion Jack Dupree, might have thought it a worthwhile service to its members'. Memphis Slim was apparently critical of the lack of British promoters willing to back his many countrymen keen to undertake visits. Lee’s distress was compounded on the John Lee Hooker night, when the performer displayed extrovert showmanship, capturing his youthful audience with uncharacteristic style and presentation. ‘If pop music clubs affect all blues singers as they appear to have affected Hooker, let the blues singers appear in jazz clubs where they do not have to adulterate their music to get recognition'.

Our standing was such at this time that, following such pleas, we felt it a duty to explore possibilities. Jack Dupree had become something of a regular by now, always came across quite enjoyably, and we held a most interesting one-nighter with Jesse Fuller who, of course, was a ‘one-man-band needing no doubtful accompaniment with weird sounding names.

The loss of all MSG correspondence files, as previously observed, is a handicap at times in
reminiscing, and details of discussions with celebrated expert in this field, Paul Oliver, are long gone.

Various items have come to light in recommendations that I observed in committee reports. The suggestion of a line-up of Chicago blues artists is potentially most tempting. Memphis Slim, Little Brother Montgomery or Sunnyland Slim (piano, vocal), Willie Lacey (guitar), Ransome Knowling (bass), or Willie Dixon (bass, vocal), Washboard Sam (washboard, vocal). Selecting for a quartet backing Victoria Spivey or Lonnie Johnson was
suggested. It never happened, of course. Could we do it today, it might be possible I would rush down to be first in the audience.

A gradually deteriorating financial position was becoming abundantly clear by late 1965, and readers will recall my hint, some episodes previously, of the disruption and break in continuity of regular nights caused by such features as American musicians or expensive bands on the ‘local’ Friday and Sunday nights. “At the moment, the younger generation are growing up and do not appear to be following any set musical pattern,” Jenks was to observe at the 1965 Annual General Meeting. Actually, what he meant was that they were deserting our jazz cellar, and he didn’t know why. We, nearer to that generation, knew precisely what was happening, as the media saturated us with such as the Rolling Stones, etc.

‘The jazz section has experienced a very difficult and changing period. In the twelve months, jazz enthusiasts have seen and heard such greats as Pee Wee Russell, George Lewis, and Earl Hines (all of whom were brought over by the Guild) Wild Bill Davison, Buck Clayton, Joe Turner, Vic Dickenson, and has also had visits from the more expensive bands of Barber, Ball and Bilk. All this has undoubtedly enhanced our reputation as a jazz centre, has given us considerable publicity but, at the same time, has proved a mixed blessing'. In his same report Jenks also mentions aspects that I have already pondered, such as no dancing, and audiences who only support the premier nights.

I was there simply because of a wish to support jazz occasions and all aspects of it, and had no income from such endeavours. For Jenks, the MSG was a livelihood, and many of the staff were wholly or partly dependent. This should be fairly assessed.

“We’re going to build this place up as a centre for good jazz, regardless of what happens to be popular at any time.” “We do not, under any circumstances, feature Beat on the Guild programme of music.” Two previously printed quotes from Jenks, but then we come to the days of worrying reality.

Let us now move to the reality of evolving times and this well-remembered (by me) and somewhat tense meeting of the Entertainment Committee of 7 October, 1965. Whilst the minutes are recorded with the readily detectable humour and style of John Pye, the underlying seriousness is not in doubt.

‘The meeting was called at the request of L.C. Jenkins who, at the outset, stated that he wished to discuss the question of Beat music. He had been approached by three organisations who wanted to run functions featuring such music... was it right to reject these offers under the present circumstances? P. Hill enquired what nights were in question and whether extensions were required. L.C. Jenkins replied that Thursdays and Fridays were the nights, and that extensions would be probable. J.H. Pye stated that he would have no objections to these functions taking place in the ballroom, but felt it was essential to ensure that the music was toned down. Speaking with great feeling, J.B. Swinnerton opposed any such interference with artistic expression. L.C. Jenkins thought that it might be difficult to measure ‘noise’ and suggested that perhaps the answer was to hold these events in the jazz cellar, moving our regular features into the ballroom. After a long and dramatic pause, J.B. Swinnerton spoke. He did not, he said, agree with any interference with our regular features. We were attempting to build Friday nights, and moving up and down-stairs would be against our best interests. He also reported that Thursdays were now beginning to build and the same thing would apply there. After these forceful utterances, the meeting was left in no doubt about Mr. Swinnerton’s position - he would not be interfered with. Mr. Blundell then suggested that we should experiment - let the organisations concerned have the use of the ballroom, with no stipulations regarding ‘noise' He thought that by shutting the windows, we might protect the patrons of the Millgate Hotel. L.C. Jenkins and J.H. Pye opposed this, and P. Hill pointed out that under such an arrangement, we stood a good chance of suffocating half the audience'.

That exposure of internal wrangling had to come, to appreciate the commercial pressure just outside the doors. Interference with the operation of jazz nights had been narrowly defeated, but there remained the nagging doubt that ‘the neighbours might complain’ only saved the day, and not my recorded protests.

Whilst I was to regain contact with the jazz side briefly in the MSGs later years, it becomes appropriate to recall my departure from the centre, and the aftermath, in the next issue.