June 21, 2024
The trip was 60 years in the making.
From the time I first heard the Beatles on the radio in 1963, I was smitten by this exotic band from a faraway place. I pored over all the teen fan magazines, and became more and more intrigued with the lads from Liverpool.
I later realized that they were a product of their upbringing in a gritty port city. And I longed to see the place with my own eyes.
Meanwhile, my sister Mindie was as wild for the Beatles as I was, and the two of us talked about them constantly, only stopping long enough to run out and buy their newest album (usually every week), and play it from start to finish, again and again. We memorized all the lyrics and the order of all the songs on the albums.
Let’s be honest. We were young girls (I was 13 and Mindie was 10), and the Beatles had the whole package: talent, good looks, and irrepressible spirits. Their witty and irreverent responses to reporters only made us love them more.
Yep, they were our heartthrobs. Paul, the cute one, was our favorite. But as the years went on, I was continually attracted by John’s political mindset, and by George’s spiritual bent.
The passage of years didn’t diminish our ardor for the Beatles. If anything, we became more obsessed. And the Beatles continued to evolve in their creativity. In a relatively short time, they upended our idea of popular music, again and again.
Although we didn’t get to see them perform as a band, we did see Paul McCartney multiple times — and still go to his shows, along with fans from three generations.
Dedicated Beatlemaniacs that we are, Mindie and I discovered that the internet offered us unlimited access to facts, photos, and obscure lyrics by the Fab Four. We still send each other clips of remastered songs and interviews that help us glean even more tidbits about our guys.
Throughout the years, we’ve dreamed about making the pilgrimage to Liverpool and walking in their footsteps. We almost did it the year I turned 70, but, as John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
This year, Mindie turned 70 and we decided that it was now or never. Having lost a number of family members and friends, we both realized that there are no guarantees — except that we will die as Beatles fanatics! We made ourselves a promise to visit Liverpool in May of this year. Mindie’s husband Doug (my brother-in-law) decided to join us.
It’s important to emphasize that we literally grew up with the Beatles. They felt like family. Back in February 1964, when they first graced our shores and performed on the Ed Sullivan Show in NYC, they brought a huge helping of joy and fun to a grieving nation, mourning for President John F. Kennedy, who had been assassinated in November 1963. And we were a part of that.
Once we decided to take our trip, we dived into planning, as if it were a postgraduate research project. Since we were going overseas for the first time in more than 40 years, I suggested that we add London to the itinerary. It’s only a train ride away from Liverpool, and there’s plenty of Beatles lore there, too!
My sister divvied up the research tasks among us: Liverpool for her; London for me; and transportation for Doug.
My son Julian, who is a host at community radio station KOOP in Austin, was over the moon about our trip. He suggested that I call Rush Evans, host of the station’s Beatles show, who had recently been to Liverpool. Rush graciously shared fascinating stories about his trip. I scribbled madly as he gave me all kinds of Beatles-centric things to do in Liverpool and London.
After three intensive months of planning, it was time to do what my late husband Greg used to advise: “Stop packing and take the trip!” So on May 15, my sister and brother-in-law flew direct from Los Angeles, and I flew direct from Philly, on red eye flights. We rendezvoused in London the following morning.
Despite our long plane rides and jet lag, we were pinching ourselves at being in the U.K. Doug had arranged for us to be picked up at Heathrow by a private car and taken to Euston station in London, where we caught a late afternoon train to Liverpool, the starting point for our 10-day Beatles extravaganza. The two-hour train ride was delightful. We rode through a gentle rain, as we passed farmland and lovely fields.
It was also a great introduction to how civilized life in England is. We went into gales of laughter each time the announcer on the PA system would say, “If you see something, report it, and we’ll sort it!”
And then we arrived in the high-ceilinged Liverpool train station. OMG! We practically fell on our knees and kissed the ground. We had reached our own Mecca.
We checked into A Hard Day’s Night Hotel, the only Beatles-themed hotel in the world, which had wall-to-wall photos and videos of the Beatles over the years. Unfortunately, it was disappointing in some ways (dark hallways and a mildew smell in my room; electric outlets in inconvenient spots; a coffee bar that rarely opened before noon; and trash trucks and revelers who kept Mindie and Doug up at night).
However, our hotel’s major calling card was its proximity to Mathew Street, the alley that is home to The Cavern Club, The Liverpool Beatles Museum, and numerous pubs and cafes dedicated to the Fab Four. You might think of it as Ground Zero in the history of the Beatles.
In the next four days, we packed in a smorgasbord of activities. Even more important than the places we saw are the feelings they evoked in us. I found my eyes welling up with tears when we visited the childhood homes of Paul McCartney and John Lennon. We went into their bedrooms and gazed at their posters of Elvis and Buddy Holly, along with John’s giant poster of Brigitte Bardot. I felt their presence. Afterward, I was melancholy.
Seeing the kitchens and old appliances in their homes — some of which reminded me of my own childhood home — was incredibly intimate. I felt as if we were trespassing on a very private scene.
Yoko Ono, who was vilified by Beatles fans over the years, purchased Lennon’s home when it became available and gave it to the National Trust, to protect it, and open it up to John’s adoring public.
We had been watching the weather in Liverpool and London for weeks before our trip. We were prepared for highly changeable conditions and plenty of rain. However, part of the magic in our trip to Liverpool was its unexpected, beautiful weather: sunny and around 50-60 degrees every day, except for our first day.
One of the best parts of Liverpool is the incredibly friendly Liverpudlians. We had a jolly, enthusiastic cab driver who took us to the Mossley Hill suburb where Penny Lane is located. He had us jump out to take photos in front of the famous street sign, and then proceeded to show us the roundabout (that’s a jughandle, for you Jersey folks!), where we saw the Penny Lane barbershop and a beautiful statue of John Lennon. It was charming and touching beyond words.
When you sing “Penny Lane,” the next song that comes to mind is “Strawberry Fields Forever.” Lennon based the second song on his childhood memories of playing in the garden of Strawberry Field, a Salvation Army children’s home in Liverpool.
So you can — ahem — imagine — how thrilling it was to visit Strawberry Field, right after seeing Penny Lane. It’s located in the suburb of Woolton. The garden is lovely, quiet, and peaceful and encourages meditation. Signs with Lennon quotes surround intricate red gates, which have become a symbol of Strawberry Field. On one end is a gazebo, with a mural and a mandala of IMAGINE, much like the one in Central Park in NYC. I felt as if I was in an altered state, which is so fitting for the song, with its psychedelic overtures.
The same day, we visited the Liverpool Beatles Museum (formerly known as the Magical Beatles Museum), located” in a three-story warehouse. It was “chocka” (a Liverpudlian expression) with memorabilia from the early years of the Beatles. I had the uncanny feeling of being transported back to the 1960s; only this time, I was in Liverpool. It was and captivating and overwhelming.
I was astonished to see so many young people at the museum. They were clearly as enchanted as we were. It warms my heart to know that younger generations are discovering the Beatles and loving them. Regardless of the country you live in, the Beatles music is an international language. And it has withstood the test of time.
Before I went to Liverpool, I had no idea that the original Liverpool club where the Beatles played was the Casbah Coffee Club, a subterranean cave in the suburb of West Derby. They frequented it back when they were John’s band, the Quarrymen, and Pete Best was their drummer.
This club was at the top of Rush Evans’s list of off-the-beaten track haunts to visit. I’m so grateful he clued us in! Mindie arranged for us to have a private tour. Our guide was Roag Best III, whose dad, Roag Best, was Pete Best’s half-brother. In fact, Pete’s mother, Mona, created the club and became the first female rock promoter in England. Roag’s father, Neil Aspinall, was a longtime manager for the Beatles. So it’s truly a family affair!
Listening to Roag’s colorful stories was like falling down a rabbit hole. I was stunned to hear about the intricate web of connections in the history of the Beatles. This was no run-of-the-mill tour; it provided tantalizing details that we were hungry for. (The club needed to be painted inside before opening, so the Beatles offered to do it themselves.) At the end, the three of us bought unique commemorative tee-shirts, which Roag had printed up himself.
On Saturday night, we went to a show at the Cavern Club, which featured bands who do impressive covers of Beatles music. It’s another cave-like venue, with posters from long-ago shows, side-by-side with current fliers. I was ecstatic that we were dancing along with the crowd at the club featured in every book about the Beatles.
I should also mention that the music of the Beatles could be heard everywhere. People on Mathew Street broke into song, with everyone singing along. It was also the weekend of the final game of the Liverpool Football Club (that’s the name of the team), and their red tee-shirts and scarves were visible on jubilant fans. They won their game and we were delighted to be there for celebrations at local pubs and outdoor gathering spots.
Speaking of celebrations, an aside: I’ve never before seen so many groups of women, all dressed in matching hats and costumes, celebrating birthdays, graduations, and other milestones. On the night when we went to the Cavern Club, a group of older women in matching housedresses and wigs with curlers danced and shimmied outside the pubs on Mathew Street. It was impossible not to join in! (See my photo at the beginning of this post.)
The evening included live music blaring from every spot along Mathew Street, including the unexpected Springsteen song, “Dancing in the Dark,” and the “Macarena,” which my sister and brother-in-law danced to.
Another day, we visited Albert Dock, the former location of a thriving port, and now the home of numerous cafes and restaurants, including a variety of outdoor ethnic spots. It was there that we noticed a strange sight: hundreds of locks, of every size and description, hanging from the rope on the bollards that separated the pedestrian promenade from the Mersey River.
I looked it up and discovered that the locks are a symbol of love, and people leave them to profess feelings for loved ones, alive or deceased. The weight of these locks is causing maintenance problems. When the local authorities proposed removing the locks, a hue and cry went up among the Liverpudlians, and that idea was quickly banished.
Speaking of the Mersey River, those of you who lived through the 1960s British Invasion may recall Gerry and the Pacemakers’s song, “Ferry Cross the Mersey.” I’ve always loved its haunting melody and lyrics. What a soulful experience to actually take the ferry across the Mersey! When you embark, and at every stop along the one-hour ride, they play the song. It just about brought me to my knees.
After that, we posed in front of a bigger-than-life-size sculpture of the Beatles in their early years. Nearby, a busker who played the same three Beatles songs again and again, attracted our attention and we chatted with him. He professed his love of Americans and was happy when we gave him a tip in American dollars.
And then we visited one of the most inventive museums I’ve ever seen: The Beatles Story. Owned by the Mersey Ferry, it covered every stage of their lives, as the Beatles, and as individual performers.
There was an entire room depicting the Beatles and the Maharishi; another for John Lennon’s living room at the Dakota in NYC; a recreation of the Cavern Club; a room full of records and a recording studio; a huge Sgt. Pepper display; a room devoted to Brian Epstein and his contributions to the Beatles; and on and on.
You may be familiar with the slogans, “Keep Austin Weird,” and “Keep Portland Weird.” Truth be told, Liverpool runs circles around both of them — and I’ve visited the two cities, so I know!
I feel very close to Liverpool. In some ways, it reminds me of my home, Philly, which is also a port city. Both are gritty in nature and attitude. Both have been gentrified. (In fact, looking at photos of Liverpool prior to our trip, I was concerned that the modernization of Liverpool might wipe out its working class roots and flavor. It did not.)
Both cities have their own vernacular, unique words and expressions. In fact, I typed up a list of Liverpudlian words that are “Scouse” — as unique as the meat stew they are named for. I threw in some of the words when chatting with the locals. For example, when you are disappointed, you say that you are “devoed.”
One difference between Philly natives and the people in Liverpool is that the Liverpudlians are uniformly friendly. If they spot you poring over a smartphone or a map, they immediately come over to see if they can help. I remember one instance, when my sister and I were trying to locate a restaurant that was supposed to be at a specific address, but was not. Two young guys came over. They looked like what we used to call leather boys or hoods. One was dressed like Brando in The Wild Ones. But he was as friendly and helpful as could be.
Liverpool is a magical city. It is welcoming from the get-go, but it takes spending some time there, for the city to open its secrets and its heart to you. When it was time to say farewell and take the train back to London, I didn’t want to leave. Returning to the Liverpool train station four days after our arrival felt like a lifetime of experiences — and emotions — had taken place.
When I was younger, I enjoyed visiting many countries and cities. But none holds the spiritual place in my heart that Liverpool does. Liverpool is the home of my lifelong favorite band. And it represents a time in my life and in the world that has largely vanished. However, Liverpool reveres its world-famous Beatles. It has done a phenomenal job of preserving its historic music sites and sensibility and the essence of the 1960s.
Liverpool is like a lovely nosegay that I clutch close to my breast. It has become a part of me.