The Vandike Club
This poem is from an unpublished collection with the title ‘Trout Fishing On Treasure Island'.
From the prefabs on Tamar Way
to the Vandike Club on Exmouth Road
where I saw Led Zeppelin
before they became norse gods.
Six foot two, wearing cuban heels
and a shit-brown suit I bump into
a trio of old schoolfriends
walking downtown between
the Noah's Ark and the barley Sheaf.
A couple of beers
under my Wild West Park belt
and we board the bus
to the Vandike Club.
On the way out to Exmouth Road
I stare into the future of the night
and see my friends hugging the bar
while i stand alone tapping my left foot
on the edge of the dance floor.
I was within walking distance of Robert Plant.
I was a refugee who rarely made it downstairs
from the boxroom to watch ready Steady Go
and dance the t.v. night away with Cathy McGowan.
I was a teenager in exile
from Two Way Family Favourites.
I was a stranger in a polyester shirt
the night I chucked Bing Crosby
for rock and roll.
Overdressed and conspicuous
like a mod on the streets of Modbury
I return the next weekend
in jeans and ripped jumper.
Mixing with working class
and middle class kids from Mannamead
and the Peoples Republic of Whitleigh.
Hanging out in the Vandike
I saw The Third Ear Band
but not The Camels Head Bangers
The Eurovision Snog Contest
Safe As Toast, Busted Flies
and Wasteland.
One night I scored a quid deal
wrapped in silver paper and got stoned
with Steve and Adrian in old railway tunnels
down under Kings Road.
The tunnels were an ideal rehearsal space
for an underground band so we strapped
on our guitars and started jamming
In The Court of the Crimson King
with Dead Rock Stars in the Afterlife.
Back at Exmouth Road
I fell asleep in the cloakroom
got kicked out by Pete Vandike
and spent the rest of the evening
tapping my left foot to King Crimson
and throwing up to the twang of
Twenty First Century Schizoid Man
on the edge of Devonport Park.
Smoked more pot
with Derek the disc jockey
Milky Bar Kid lookalike
and other chocolate themed friends
the night Fairport Convention played
and two coachloads of police raided
and found nothing but dust in my pockets.
The Vandike was hot and crowded that night
so I moved outside to get some air.
Some twenty folk-rock minutes later
when the police cruised down Exmouth Road
the Dansette in my head was playing
Sandy Denny singing Richard Thompsom's
Meet on the Ledge from Fairport's
What We Did On Our Holidays.
When I saw uniforms moving towards the Vandike
through the dodgy lenses of my stoned haze
I thought it was a bunch of brass band players
on a Salvation Army outing.
That night we had great fun
taunting the massed band of the old bill
as they moved us slowly down the street
towards the Devonport Road.
In the aftermath the police were slated
in the media for sending teenagers
home in the cold without hats and coats
which were left hanging overnight
in the psychedelic quiet
of the Vandike's cloakroom.
One night I was reading poetry there.
Probably The Cow Poem
when someone dropped
a glockenspiel on stage,
a subtle counterpoint.
This was the night Frank Charm
dressed as Father Christmas
handed out joints to all
the badly behaved children.
At the Vandike I saw family and Free
and an American band called Daddy Longlegs.
I saw Keith Emerson of The Nice
stick knives into his keyboards,
distorting Leonard Bernstein and America.
I saw Adrian Henri's band The Liverpool Scene.
Ten shillings to get in the door and take a ride
on a Tramcar to Frankenstein.
The night after I missed
The Bonzo Dog Do-Dah Band
a crew of urban spacemen waved to me
while driving through Stoke Village
the following morning.
Shortly after led Zeppelin and me
had made our debuts at the Vandike
I bumped into a blues harp player
by the zebra crossing outside Dingles.
The harp player who'd jammed
with Champion Jack Dupree
introduced me to the works of
Aldious Huxley and J.R.R. Tolkein.
The harp player blew smoke rings
and talked about smoking grass in Anns Place.
At first I thought Ann was a friend of his
but she turned out to be the name of a street.
Anns Place was where i met Albert Fischer
better known as the Bishop.
The night I mer Albert he read extracts
from Alfred Noyce's The Highwayman
while drunk on rough cider.
Around this time I rode the bus
from Honicknowle to Exmouth Road
humming Steve Miller's Quicksilver Girl
and Melanie's Bo Bo's Party.
I had a pocket full of joss sticks
and a season ticket for the Aquarian Age.
I was rocking and rolling up on Exmouth Road.
I was forty years away from becoming
a household name like Pink Floyd
and fish fingers.
Some nights I'd catch the last bus home
to watch Monty Python's Flying Circus.
Laughing my socks off while my mum
sat across the sofa from me and frowned.
My mum was keen on Val Doonican
and Jimmy Tarbuck while my dad
played mouth organ and liked
Sandis Shaw and bagpipe music
and read Robert Louis Stevenson
and James Fennimore Cooper.
I read The Desiderata.
The Narrow Road to the Deep North
and other Travel Sketches
and By Grand Central Station
I Sat Down and Wept.
I was the only member of my family
who ever went to the Vandike
and later the Roundhouse and Ronnies.
The weekend Jethro Tull appeared
they played virtually everything from This Was.
Up on the Vandike's small stage
Mick Abrahams, Cilve Bunker, Glenn Cornick
and Ian Anderson, standing on one leg,
left foot balanced above the right knee.
Playing the pirate, playing the flute.
A little bit of showmanship
for the council estate crowd
which was almost as good
as that Top of the Pops clip
of Bill Wyman's bass
sticking up in the air like a big finger.
That night while the fanfare
in my head played Copeland
The Buckingham Shed Collective
drove up to the club in a Ford Zodiac.
falling under the influence of rock and roll
after a long day potato picking in the South Hams.
When they walked down Exmouth Road
they looked more like tractor drivers
than rock stars.
When they walked into the Vandike
I was standing on the steps above the dance floor
tapping my left foot as Anderson's flute played homage
to Roland Kirk's Seranade to a Cuckoo.
I was a teenager with a bad haircut
when I first went to the Vandike Club.
After I saw Led Zeppelin I grew my hair
down to my shoulders but it didn't improve
my guitar playing so I switched to drums
and progressed from there to progressive rock
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