Torch56

Most sources, when referring to the original opening of the Catacombs, give November, 1968, as its inaugural date. However, from what I can recall, admittedly from hazy memory and barely registered conversation, the purple neon sign firmly secured to the club's outer wall came along sometime afterwards, in 1969. Temple Street, at that time, was a nondescript thoroughfare on the edge of Wolverhampton's commercial centre with buildings that were functional and beige in colour and character. The colourful addition to the club's outer wall was out of character with its surroundings but brought a splash of modernity to the 1950s feel of the rest of the street. Attendees at the club in those days, and I wasn't one of them, I should add, felt a certain proprietorial pride in this particular piece of street furniture that advertised this venue, that even then had a status and exclusivity, both in the town and beyond. In the 1969/70 period a regular Sunday afternoon session was held at the Chateau Impney, Droitwich with Carl 'Farmer' Dean spinning the sounds that were yet to be identified by Dave Godin as northern soul. Like the Catacombs, people came from beyond the club's immediate environs to hear the records that generally sank without trace sales-wise a few years earlier, but were now gracing the decks and commanding ridiculous prices when sold on. People coming from different towns was rarely a problem on the scene. Indeed, it seemed to add to the collective spirit of the experience and 'Where are you from?' was generally an invitation to indulge in friendly conversation, rather than the smack in the mouth that such an enquiry would elicit outside Old Trafford on a Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately, apparently, on one occasion, at the Chateau, a difference of opinion between some lads from Wolverhampton, and another group known as the Smethwick skins, led to some unpleasantness that resulted in a certain amount of bad feeling. So much so that the insults traded included a threat from the latter group that they were going to come to Wolverhampton and smash the Catacombs sign. Fortunately, no such event occurred and the sign remained intact and secure both to the building, and its place in northern soul iconography. All of the above is based on anecdotal evidence, and if any can endorse or challenge any, or all of this narrative, please feel free to do so. I'm on much more certain ground when it comes to the events of July 14th, 1974, where an attack on the sign was not so much an idle threat but a very real attempt to detach the sign from its supporting wall. Unfortunately, I was the only witness to this event apart from two would-be souvenir hunters who had come prepared to relieve Temple Street of its most impressive piece of street furniture. By 6a.m. on that morning I decided that the final hour of the last Catacombs all-nighter, indeed the last event to be held at the club, could do without my presence and I made my way down the stairs and onto the street outside, thus missing the Walter Jackson moment which came about an hour later, I understand. As I exited the outside door and stepped onto the pavement, the sight that greeted me was surreal to the extent that it took a second or two to comprehend what was going on. Two lads had thrown a rope over the top supporting bracket that connected the sign to the wall and were endeavoring, without much success, I might add, to pull the sign down to the pavement below. The sign was steadfastly resisting this attempt to separate it from its spiritual home and remained securely in place, I'm pleased to say. How long this struggle continued I do not know, as I turned away after taking in the scene, and proceeded on my way. However, ever since I have considered the practicalities around this venture and have reached the following conclusions. Firstly, this was no spur of the moment decision. They had a length of rope, not the sort of thing you would normally have in the boot of a car along with your adidas bag. However, to make a serious attempt to remove the sign, more equipment would have been needed: a set of ladders, a set of spanners would have been the bare minimum. Secondly, what would have happened had they been successful and managed to yank the supporting bolts from the wall? That sign was big. It would have been heavy. It was high up. I would not want to have been underneath it when gravity was unleashed to do its work. Did they intend to arrest its fall by somehow catching it before it hit the pavement, or were they simply going to allow it to hit the asphalt unchecked? In the first instance think: an extended stay in New Cross Hospital. In the last instance think: Del Boy and Rodney and the chandelier. The sign was eventually removed by people presumably better equipped and skilled than our ambitious souvenir hunters, and,, so I understand, spent the best part of the next three decades in the back of Max's shop in Wednesfield. A far cry from its halcyon days as a beacon to one of the most influential venues in the history of northern soul.

Starting on the right, the lad with the tatoo: I think his name was Johnny Daye, from Nottingham. I could be completely wrong. If anybody knows different, then please post. The other lad in the black shirt. Again, sorry to be so uncertain, cannot give you a name but I remember his face from the Cats. Think he was a Stockport lad. That town must have had the highest number of Northern Soul aficianados per head of the population than any other place in the UK. A mate of Pete Tilsley, I think. Can't give you a name for any of the girls but I remember the face of the one on the extreme left. I think she came from Codsall; a Cats regular 71/72. The Sheriff of Nottingham look-a-like in the red sleeves is Gary from Birmingham. See earlier posts and pictures. The lad about to be strangled is Ray Webster, a veritable wall of sound, from Wolverhampton who embraced all aspects of the scene with gusto. The first time I met him was in Alan S' shop on Stafford Street. He parted with two items from his collection and received the grand total of four pounds in return. Alan then played both records, one after the other. It was the first time I'd ever heard either of them. To say they sounded impressive would be something of an understatement. Just imagine, if you can, hearing both of these for the first time: Gonna Get Along Without You Now. The Vibrations. Too Late. Larry Williams and Johnny Watson. This would have been in 1971. Both records were originals; the reissues with the small 45 motif came out in 1972. Sadly, Ray passed away in 1978.

Here is a better image of the photograph that is on the cover of the Catacombs CD that has been referenced earlier in this thread. It's interesting because it's possible to identify precisely the location within the club that the image shows. The photograph has been taken from the dancefloor back towards the DJ booth and the two corridors that ran parallel towards the main exit/entrance. The main corridor began where the blue wall ends in the top right corner of the image. Unfortunately, all that can be seen is a dark squared-off void, probably because the flash was not powerful enough. This corridor ran the entire length of the club and went past the main access to the DJ booth and then two or three small alcoves before arriving at the bar area and then the entrance/exit/cloakroom area. From there a narrow staircase led to the outer door and the pavement on Temple street. The second corridor began immediately behind the girl in the orange trousers and was shorter in length than the main one, ending in the Gents' toilets and the bar area. Both corridors were flanked with black pew-like benches and were connected by the dance floor and further down by a connecting passage. The most interesting detail in this photograph is the aperture set into the facing wall which you can make out just to the right of centre. Note the lad in the white shirt holding a glass in his left hand. His head is turned away from the dancefloor because that gap in the wall provided visual access to the twin decks It was possible therefore to see records coming out of the boxes and being cued up before being played. Hearing great sounds was the main reason for being there, obviously, but actually seeing the vinyl with the different label designs added to the experience. Gradually, it was possible to assimilate knowledge, mentally noting titles and artists and the labels. Demos were different to issues, American labels tended towards the bright and colourful whereas their UK counterparts were much more understated in terms of colour and design. With virtually no other reference point to hand, what was played at the Cats registered in the format that was presented. I was surprised that Alan Day's copy of Per-son-ally was on UK Polydor, when for months I thought it only existed on US Tetragrammaton, because that was what Max had in his box. Richard Searling's black issue of Carl Douglas, Serving a Sentence of Life, at Va Vas, warranted close inspection because Pep used to play the green and white demo at the Cats. The layout of other clubs was far more straightforward because they were serving the purpose for which they had been built. The Catacombs, having been originally constructed to smelt lead, had a different feel to them. Old industrial premises, given a very rough and ready makeover, provided what turned out to be a venue that could truthfully declare it was the place, 'Where the sounds begin.'

Can't help with the identities of any in the main photograph. However, the bearded dancer in the smaller photograph is Gary from Selly Oak, whose blue van found its way to all the major venues in the early 70s. A keen surfer, he worked as a photographer for Birmingham Central Library. He had a good ear for a sound; Gloria Jones, Come Go With Me, was a particular favourite.

Based only on hearsay, apparently 'Yesterday (was just the beginning)' was played at Up The Junction in 1972. It was released in March, so the timing fits.

Yes, on reflection I think you're probably correct. The shirts are the best indicator. The penny round collars and the louder design of Froggy's shirt in particular suggest later than 1971. If I had to go for a particular year I'd opt for 1972. Froggy left the DJ roster at the Catacombs sometime in early 1972. He came from the Gloucester area so meeting up with Alan S would likely have occurred before their Saturday night duties. Who were/are the other two in the photograph? I have no idea or recollection of them. That picture is somebody's front room by the look of it so they were connected in some way to the two DJ's.

Alan S and Froggy circa 1971. Alan was a key DJ at the Cats from its early days through to 1973. In March 1971 he was involved in the serious road accident that cost his fellow DJ, Bob Crocker, his life. Alan himself was months in hospital with broken legs, amongst other injuries. While Alan was recovering, Froggy took on the responsibility of keeping the show on the road until Alan rejoined the roster later in the year. Bob and Alan also ran the R and A record shop in Stafford Street, Wolverhampton. By late 1971 Alan had re-opened the shop and was dealing in records. With no main stream means of acquiring knowledge about these obscure sounds, the shop, and the conversations therein, became an important supplement to the Catacombs itself, as a source of scarce information.

Froggy with not so secret sounds. DJ at the Cats from early 1971 to early 1972.

As I recall 'secret sounds' were not always given alternative titles but simply left blank. For example, I remember Froggy playing a British Columbia black issue with the title of the song and the artist obscured with a series of white stickers strategically placed. When the record started it turned out to be, Levi Jackson, This Beautiful Day, which was still available at that time from main stream record retailers. In early 1972, Dave Godin, in one of his articles in Blues and Soul, defended the practice but took the opportunity to 'out' two of his own examples as being Prove Yourself A Lady and Nothing's Worse Than Being Alone. He did not refer to any alternative titles/ artists' names that he had used in their place, which leads me to believe they did not exist. One example (though there may well be more) that defied this trend from the Catacombs era was Double Cookin' by the Checkerboard Squares. In 1974 this was given the much more appropriate, but entirely fictional, title of Strings A Go Go by Bob Wilson. By the late 70s 'secret sounds' had transmogrified into cover-ups which were far more prevalent, but, of cours,e by then the Cats was long gone. If Harvey Averne was a Catacombs secret sound, it's possible, if not probable, it was given no alternative title. The person most likely to give the most definitive answer to this query is Pep. He was in and around that DJ booth for years, and not just when he officially joined the roster.

Back to Harvey Averne: Normally, I would take claims of a record being played at a particular venue as simply a price-raising manoeuvre the part of the seller. However, if you have read any of the Owl's Effort fanzines produced by Richard in the late eighties, it cannot be denied that his knowledge of records was both impressive and extensive. As such, that does give the claim some credibility. Paying six pounds for the record in the eighties was a bold move but, given its current value, now appears a shrewd investment. Apologies: should read 'on the part'

re: Harvey Averne. Unless somebody has a specific memory of it being played, it's almost impossible to say. From 8 to half past some lesser known records would be played before the big ticket items were unleashed. I have very little recall of the majority of items in the former category, mainly, I suspect, because they compared unfavourably with what was to follow. Indeed the description of a record as a '8 to half past sound' was a pejorative term and indicated it would likely remain in that category. In 1971 Alan S did the early shift and when he was moved on, Max picked up that particular baton but the policy remained the same. One difference was that Max would signal the start of serious proceedings by playing a signature tune. The first one that I can recall was The Cat Walk by Gerry and Paul. At some point in 1973 this was replaced by Funky Chicken by The Fabulous Emotions.

You are right about the 1974 all-nighter being the only one but my memory of that night is that the dance floor, corridors and alcoves were rammed throughout the entire event. There were some significantly high attendances post-Torch and pre-Wigan, twelve months earlier, but that particular night, July 13th, 1974, was on a different scale. Are you sure we are talking about the same night? Once Wigan opened attendances at the Cats nosedived, as they did when the Torch and Up the Junction were offering an all-night alternative. The coach to Wigan used to leave from outside the Cats so there were nights when there was a drop off as some headed north, but not on that particular night as I recall. The advert I posted at the top of this thread is an advert from Wolverhampton's evening Newspaper, the Express and Star. Adverts like this appeared in the Entertainments and Leisure section every Thursday and Saturday throughout the period of the club's existence.

There was talk of an all-nighter to be held at the Catacombs in early 1972. The Express and Star advert clearly shows that the idea was around from at least late 1971. The all-nighter eventually occurred in February or March, 1972, or rather it didn't. If you go on the Catacombs Stamped Records thread you can read all about the all-nighter that never was. No flyer was produced, as far as I know. As I recall, the only flyer the Catacombs produced was for the final night in 1974.

There's quite a few on that list that merit almost iconic status. However, there are others that are more easily forgotten. Earl Guest being one of the latter category.

Catacombs' playlist, November 13th, 1971: It ain't necessary Mamie Galore I can't see your love The Ballads Gonna get along with you now The Vibrations Shades down The Detroit Emeralds Say it JJ Barnes I can't get enough Johnny Sayles Too late Larry Williams and Johnny Watson Let's have a love in Wingate's Love In Strings To win your Heart Laura Lee Cheyenne Promised Land Please let me in JJ Barnes Purple Haze Johnny Jones and The King Casuals I'll never fall in love again Bobby Freeman I'll bet you Theresa Lindsey The urge keeps coming Jo Armstead Nothing's worse than being alone The Ad Libs You get your kicks Mitch Ryder Pity my feet Kenny Bernard Out on the floor Dobie Gray I don't wanna discuss it Little Richard Foxy Earl Guest Soul sauce Cal Tjader The charge The TKOs Concerto for jazz lovers Sonny Stitt Ain't that terrible The Capitols Suffering city Johnny Copeland I'm gonna cramp your style Junior Wells Just ain't no love Young Holt Unlimited Ain't no more room The Kittens The real thing Tina Britt Baby reconsider Leon Haywood Check yourself The Intruders Soul galore Jackie Wilson A little togetherness The Younghearts

Express and Star, Entertainment and Leisure Section, November 13th, 1971.

In February, 1972, during the miners' strike of that year, power cuts of four hours duration were implemented across the country. Because of this, if the power went off at 6, you knew it would come back on at 10. This inconvenience disrupted social life as well as the economy and the Catacombs, in true Blitz spirit, simply kept calm and carried on. One night I recall a small crowd of us were gathered around the bar area, waiting for 10 o'clock to arrive. Three or four candles had been placed on the counter, and that was the only illumination in the entire club. The corridor and alcoves leading down to the dance floor were in complete darkness. Of course, the sound system was obviously down, there was no heating and it was bitterly cold. The electric pumps needed to provide beer were also out of commission, not that many were interested in pints of Worthington E in those days. Enter the tour de force that was Smokey. Somebody had a Discatron and a few records which was all Mr Stokes required to illustrate that no mains power was no reason to forestall proceedings, and he took to the floor in his usual style, his long black coat swirling around as Jo Armtead's 'Urge' kept coming. Dominic Sandbrook wrote of 1972's power cuts, referencing shortages of matches and candles, of long queues of traffic as traffic lights failed, of Piccadilly Circus being as dark and quiet as a graveyard. I don't recall any of that, but i do remember the image of Smokey dancing in that big black coat. R.I.P.

Details of Mark's funeral: Friday, 29th, October. 11.15. Bushbury Crematorium, West Chapel, Wolverhampton. WV10 7JG Thereafter, there will be a gathering at Bradmore Sports and Social Club, WV3 7ER

Now that you mention it...I can see where you're coming from, but, no.

Whiskyagogo may well have attended an all-nighter at the Catacombs in 1972. At least, he may have attended the venue on the understanding that that was the case. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be an all night session was cut short around 2a.m. and the attendees were informed that the night's entertainment was at an end. It was a decidedly abrupt end to proceedings, made more surreal by there being no official announcement that I can recall; the music just stopped and the news was simply passed around by word of mouth. As people gathered around the bar area, wondering what was going on, the news percolated through that the police had suspended the night because no all night licence had been applied for nor, obviously, granted. Whilst assimilating this unfortunate turn of events, I fell into conversation with Brian, a Cats regular at this time. He postulated a much more unusual theory, which, unlikely though it may seem, was much more interesting. Just adjacent to the Catacombs was Our Lady of Mercy Convent and according to Brian, there had been a complaint from the aforementioned convent about the noise, and that had been the reason why the night's jollification was suspended. Of course the two theories were not mutually exclusive. On reflection both seem pretty unlikely, but there must have been some reason. The non-application of licence theory seems the most likely, though I must admit that the mental picture of the Mother Superior on the landline to Red Lion Street, and giving the West Midlands Constabulary some grief, would not be amiss in an Ealing comedy, and is a much better tale. It's at least as likely as Chris Burton's story about the horse in the stable next to The Torch not being able to sleep as being one of the reasons The Torch closed down. Before the premature cessation of the event, the night was going well. Attendance was significantly higher than usual Saturday numbers, and it was clear that many had travelled on the understanding that the grey light of dawn would greet them on Temple Street at 8a.m. or thereabouts. Unfortunately that was not the case, and so July 13th, 1974 was destined to become the only all-nighter in the club's history. The playlist was of the era, as I remember, so, Sandi Sheldon, Too Late, Little Richard, Johnny Sayles, Mamie Galore, and others of that ilk, would all have likely been played. Two that were definitely played, and I remember specifically, were Free for All and Love, Love, Love. Both got multiple plays and prompted enthusiastic dance floor reaction. Philip Mitchell had just come out on Jay Boy and was being hammered at that time. Bobby Hebb was really taking off in terms of popularity and Alan S's blue UK Phillips issue on the deck signalled an even more frenzied response. As for a date for the nighter that never was. Well, Free For All was released on February 18th, so it was obviously after that. I'd guess towards the end of February or, maybe, early March. Unless, you know different. Having read just about everything that's ever been written about The Catacombs, I have not come across any reference to this event but hopefully this will stir the memories of others from that era. Of course, when it comes to attention to an all night event at the Cats, one night stands alone in terms of significance and attention. But that is another story. Not sure of the date of the picture below, but that's Brian in the brown suit.

Last time I saw him was at the Royal Stoke Hospital about 18 months ago. It seemed strange to see him somewhere that wasn't a venue. I didn't know him personally, but recognised him from The Old Vic in the late eighties. R.I.P.

With regard to what records were played at which venue first the thing I find most frustrating is the lack of dates given with claims. Here are my memories of some of the records referred to by Pep and when, and in some instances where, they were played. Four Larks Alan S was playing a Tower issue of this in the early months of 1972. Roy Hamilton. I heard talk of this through the summer of '72 but it wasn't played at the Catacombs until September and the re-opening after the Astra refurbishment. Alan Day had it at Up the Junction (Crewe) where I first heard it on August 5th. It was one of the top sounds of that era that you knew on first hearing merited its exalted status. The black RCA issue with Nipper and the phonograph, meant the record looked great as well. I think the orange reissue came out shortly afterwards which led to it being dropped from shortlists before the autumn was out. The Velours. Pep brought a demo of this to the Catacombs on a Wednesday night in the summer of '73. The bass led intro, the bells and the soaring chorus prompted instantaneous appeal and two plays that night, which was very unusual for the Cats. The following Saturday the record was accompanied by the mass handclapping of the assembled throng and its iconic status was assured. The other version by Frankie Valli became the version to play by the time Wigan opened in September, but it is but a pale imitation, to my ears at least Bob Relf. This was huge. For a couple of weeks, around July '73, this was the most popular record played at the Cats, and that's some accolade when you think of the array of top sounds that graced the decks at that time. Again, a record with a section where the instrumentation is stripped right back and the hand clappers fill the void. Sam and Kitty As I recall, around October/November Graham Warr came back from the States from one of his trips and there was a sudden influx of new sounds. George Carrow, The Glories, Johnny Moore, Earl Jackson Soul Twins, among others. Sam and Kitty was one of these and, I must admit for the first few plays I was unimpressed. It didn't stand out particularly but it was a staple item in any DJ set. However, thirty miles north of the Cats in Hose Street, Tunstall, dancefloor reaction was much more enthusiastic. I first went to The Torch in December 1972 and noted that four records stood out in terms of dance floor reaction. Eddie Parker was way out at number 1, but Sam and Kitty, along with The Shakers and The Triumphs, Walking the Duck, all warranted the rush to the dance floor. An impressive sight if you were looking on from the balcony. Dena Barnes, The Epitome of Sound. I remember these from the dog days of The Cats in June/ July 1974. Attendances had plummeted since Wigan had opened and the last night was only a couple of weeks away. These were two records that stood out at that time and it is fitting, given the news this week, that I recall a conversation I had with Smokie when I just bumped into him in the town, by St Peter's Gardens. I asked what current sounds met his favour and he referred to these two. A discerning choice with which I could only agree.

Received sad news yesterday that Mark had passed away. I first met him at the Wheatsheaf in Walsall in 1985 and thereafter at several venues around the West Midlands, including the 86 Club ( Bridgnorth) the Old Vic and the Black Horse (Wolverhampton) as well as the Central Hotel (Cannock) His taste in music extended far beyond the Top 500 and right to the end his passion for Soul maintained his spirit through the darker days he had to live through more recently. Unfortunately, motor neuron disease is an unforgiving companion and strikes arbitrarily and without compassion. Mark dealt with his misfortune without rancour, and extolled the work of the MND Association, which campaigns for greater awareness and further research into this affliction. A keen Wolves fan, who was there in the dark days of the 80s, he was also a union representative, at Caterpillar Finning, a role which he undertook with commitment and that he came to miss as his illness progressed. A sociable and engaging character, his indomitable spirit and easy laugh is sadly no more, but will be readily remembered.

Remember him from Stafford in particular due to his distinctive dancing style. If you google: Central Cannock 1991 Soul Night and go about 30 minutes in, you can see Duncan in a white top dancing to Johnny Rogers-Make a Change. He clearly had good taste. Difficult to grasp how somebody so fit and athletic (He was a martial arts practitioner and instructor) could be taken so young; he was only 56.