Jethro Tull The Early Years

Jethro Tull The Early Years
http://www.xyzz.freeserve.co.uk/index.htm
Book Update April 1st 2002
In this site there are a few more of my ancient old photos and 34 pages of
extracts from the book. Many thanks to all those people who have helped me to
get this into the mainstream.
click here to see

extracts from my
book
Since I could not obtain permission from Ian to reproduce any of the songs,
poems, photographs or the 'funny drawings' that he gave me I thought that I
would include one of my own. It's called
Boy Meets Girl
Yvonne Nicholson July 1997
All the best,

Yvonne Nicholson
34 pages, 16,810 words taken from 219 pages of manuscript
Extracts taken from
An unauthorised memoir
Yvonne Nicholson
1
For those who do not know Ian Anderson, he is that wild looking musician who
stood on one leg playing the flute. These days Ian Anderson is an old man of
rock and roll and in the year 2002 still performs his music all over the world. I
imagine that touring is not a financial necessity for Ian since he is now worth a
large fortune. I hope that some where inside he is still the same 'old soul' I
remember from our youth, who even then conjured up an image of the eternal
travelling player.
As Ian Anderson's girlfriend from the mid-to late-Sixties, with the friendship still
ongoing until the mid-Seventies, I was part of that period in Jethro Tull's history,
which marked the foundation of their success as a band. When Ian told me over
lunch in 1991 that he had little or no recollection of that chapter in his life, it
occurred to me that I might be one of the few people who had retained a lasting
memory of those times. Although I am not a Jethro Tull fan as such, I did spend
some years supporting Ian's work. Knowing him and the other band members
left an enduring impression on my life, one which I believe fundamentally,
changed me forever.
Since my memories from that period in my life have always stayed somewhere
in the background of my mind I concluded that I had a story to tell.
I have decided to put a few small extracts from my book on the Internet for the
many people who have e-mailed me and shown an interest in this period in the
John Evan Band/Jethro Tull history. Although writing and researching for this
project has been an interesting and cathartic experience for me, I am also
pleased to have moved on from it.
I was disappointed to find that three main British publishers who took a serious
and promising interest in the full version of my book, finally bowed down to the
conclusion of their sales departments and decided that a book on Jethro Tull
would not attract enough sales for them.
Contrary to that opinion I still firmly believe that this story from a broad and
historical perspective has much to offer a wider public.
Yvonne Nicholson
I first saw what was then The John Evan Blues Band play on December the
20th 1965. Since Ian was born on August the 10th 1947 and I was born on
March the 16th 1949, that would make us eighteen and sixteen years old
respectively. I have it recorded in a diary for that year that my friend Kathy had
read the cards for me during the afternoon of the same day and they
prophesied that I was about to meet a man who would change my life. On that
cold December evening, over thirty or more years ago, I saw Ian Anderson for
the first time.
Jeffrey Hammond, the bass guitarist in The John Evan Blues Band, John Evans
(the organist) and Ian Anderson were all educated at the Blackpool Grammar
School for Boys. They were all academically bright, and Ian left school clearly
capable of a place in a good university.
Ian's parents wanted him to go to university, or so his mother told me in
conversation the first time we met. But Ian and the boys in the band had other
ideas.
A vintage letter arrived with me recently on the 21st of February 2002; thirty-four
years and thirteen days after Ian sent it to my mother.
My mother had been clearing out the house and came across a bundle of
letters, which included this old letter from Ian. She sent it to me the following
day.
Six pages of writing and another of Ian's pencil sketches; the letter is dated
Thursday the 8th of Feb 1968.
Addressed
Ian Anderson
No fixed abode
But can be reached care of Yvonne for the next two weeks.
He says that he is going to find himself a cave in Chelsea in London, preferably
on the Embankment so he can watch the sun set over Battersea Power Station.
Ian goes into some detail about what is happening in our relationship, which
surprises me. It indicates that he trusts my mother. There is a lot of band talk
too and he writes that things are going very well.
He says that they have great receptions with the band, mostly due to his
enormous overcoat and his carefully cultivated tramp image, which promises
great things for the future.
He starts the letter by calling my mother Mrs and then asks if he may call her by
her Christian name. All tongue in cheek because he always called her by her
Christian name. Reading this letter for the first time quite lifted my spirits. Ian
finishes the letter by asking my mother to write back but tells her to make it
interesting because he can think of nothing worse than a dull mother-in-law.
Yvonne Nicholson
Some of the letters that Ian wrote almost daily during the period between June
1967 and the 22ndof October 1968 (before he went on his first US tour) clearly
show who he was then. He manages to paint in words a very honest and
engaging picture of himself.
Ian, Jeffrey and John all lived within reasonable walking distance of Blackpool
Promenade.
There was always a stark atmosphere in those seaside flats and houses. Even
in the height of the summer you could feel the dampness of the sea around you;
the grey mistiness of the sky's reflection; the haze of salt and sand always
leaving a sticky touch to everything, and rarely were the seagulls not
screeching, echoing the empty seascape beyond them.
I had cousins and aunts and uncles who lived a couple of roads down from
where Ian lived; my mother and father grew up nearby and my father and his
brothers owned businesses on the promenade. So, I had been familiar with the
territory throughout my life. Ian was a relative newcomer to this part of the
world, moving to St. Annes-On-Sea from Edinburgh in 1958 when he was
eleven years old. Although many of my relations have lived in and around
Blackpool for four generations, I am intrigued by the fact that my descendants
originally sailed from Norway in Scandinavia to Skye in Scotland in the
seventeen hundreds and lived there for several generations.
St. Annes was a place for retired people in the main. The usual tourist didn't
visit there and the sand dunes near to where Ian lived were a good place to get
away from the more lively crowds of Blackpool.
Forgive me for temporarily abandoning Ian and the rest of the band to fill you in
with my impressions of our hometown. I do so because I think that it is
important to know where we all came from and the influence that it might have
had on our lives and creativity. A lot of my friends' parents were dependent on
the income that they received from the summer tourists. They ran boarding
houses and holiday camps or sold rock and candy-floss. They worked hard to
give people a good time year after year. Blackpool was and still is about
entertainment. I used to think that it was a brash place, a place that many of us
wanted to escape from to find a more sophisticated way of living. Now when I
return to Blackpool I feel proud to be one of its many children.
Most of us who lived in this British northern holiday resort felt a sense of
detachment from the tourists who inhabited the summer months. The young
and the not so young were letting off steam after their hard working year in the
inland towns and were often unbearably raucous. Holidaymakers sat in deck
chairs, hoping to be tanned by the sun, but more often blown painfully sore in
the wake of the harsh, salt-sea winds. Others wore knotted handkerchiefs on
their heads, or kiss-me-quick hats, and slept soundly while their children
watched Punch kick hell out of Judy and The Baby.
Yvonne Nicholson
4
Punch was a significant character to me as a young child, the show being
generally only a stone's throw from where my father ran his amusement arcade
along the promenade opposite Central Pier. I can still hear Punch's insidious,
piercing little voice inside my head:
'That's the way to do it! That's the way to do it!'
This puppet show which dates back to the beginning of the 17th century,
performed in brightly coloured, striped, canvas stage sets, was yet another
poignant feature of the environment in which we grew up.
My father's amusement arcade, then called The Bee Arcade or My Dad's
Amusements ('My Dad' referring affectionately, or otherwise, to my
grandfather), was the oldest arcade on Blackpool Promenade, until it was pulled
down shortly after my father retired in 1987. Before Grandfather Nicholson took
over the whole building in 1937, he had owned a side show on the forecourt. A
'racing greyhound game', a machine where several people would stand around
placing penny bets.
My grandmother sold candyfloss close by.
Before that my grandfather had owned a side show on Central Pier called
'Slotum'. 'Roll yer penny down a hill and slot 'em into slots'. If you won, the prize
was a Pekinese dog, which my grandfather carried under his arm while his
young sons ran barefoot around him.
My father also describes the side-show next to them. It was called 'The Coons
Parade'. 'An African' my father told me, 'an unusual sight for Blackpool in the
thirties, paced up and down, behind a net, his tall, leather hat showing above,
while people threw cricket balls at him, winning only if they managed to knock
his hat off'. On the other side another uncomfortable sight of a man, (white) who
sat on a bench over a tank of water, above him a target which if accurately hit
on the bulls eye promised to send him backwards for a wet dunking.
Needless to say, no one ever won the dog, the man on the bench never landed
in the water and the guy behind the net, while perhaps suffering the indignity
and humiliation of racial curiosity, came to no physical harm. Bearded ladies,
strongmen in chains, fat tall ladies, snake women, tattooed women, 'The Giraffe
Knecked Women', The Wild Man From Borneo', fortune-tellers, people who set
fire to themselves before jumping off the pier, the calf with two heads, the sheep
with six legs and 'Andy the Juggling Sea Lion Man', were all part of the scene.
From these colourful beginnings my grandfather had begun to build a small
fortune. During those years, my fathers childhood home was 95 St Helier Road,
coincidentally the same road that Jeffery Hammond later grew up in. There
were many of the famous Blackpool boarding houses down St Helier Rd, so
some that lived there tell tales of their childhood spent sleeping in the bath
during the height of the season.

Yvonne Nicholson
During the years of my father's childhood, the Bee had been a thriving hotel and
restaurant. During the years of my childhood when my father began to run the
place under the tyranny of my grandfather's weekly visits, the many bedrooms
were more or less devoid of furniture and for the fifty years that my family ran
the place the majority of the upstairs rooms had never been cleaned. It was a
rambling, decaying, multi-storey Victorian building with lots of atmosphere;
above the two main amusements areas were empty rooms and endless, dusty,
winding hallways. The years of dust and emptiness lent an eerie stillness to
those long corridors and rooms, broken only by the clatter of children's feet,
running from imagined ghosts. I went there many times as a child and, to my
great excitement, usually found myself lost during my secret adventures around
the place. There was always somewhere new to explore. A wooden wardrobe
that hid a rickety staircase that led to another floor of empty rooms. Another
secret staircase at the back of the building led to a ladder, which led to a
platform that took you to a hidden workshop somewhere in the eaves of the
building. In the workshop, which I discovered on only one occasion, there were
people that I had never met before, or since, who were quietly working away at
some job or other for my father.
In the Bee there was always some mystery to furnish an only-child's
imagination. Endless corridors led to a room packed from ceiling to floor with
small, multicoloured wires that my father had connected to another room
housing several record turntables and hundreds of records. Records were
played manually by one lone operator in response to requests from the ground
floor. From a circular block of several sound rooms, members of the public
would dial up their record requests on telephone dials. In the operating room,
these choices were displayed in lit-up coloured numbers on a sort of telephone
system switchboard, then somehow or other mysteriously piped back down.
Sounds complicated? It was; but it worked, and I proudly showed off my father's
ingenious electrical invention to my friends. They in turn informed him of the
kind of music that the kids wanted to hear.
There were rooms full of 'swag', as my dad used to call it: cheap toys that we
would pack into little boxes to be put in the slot machines for prizes. Other
rooms were littered with canvas sacks full of pennies. As a child, I used to love
taking my friends there, and we would fill our pockets with as many coppers as
we could stuff into them. Here, I always felt like a rich kid with street cred.

Yvonne Nicholson
The same flat, monotonous recording of my grandfather's voice enticing you to

have 'fun upstairs' must have played continuously and repeatedly in the Bee for
about fifty years:
'Upstairs for fun. Upstairs for laughter. All the fun of the fair is upstairs.'
'Upstairs' was where the Hall of Funny Mirrors, the Ghost Train and the 'What
the Butler Saw' machines lived. Behind some red velvet curtains hid a disused
theatre housing hundreds of old 'working models'. Working models were antique
penny slot machines that displayed mechanical scenes from this or that bygone
age: a graveyard scene with the waking dead, or an execution scene, and many
others I can't recall. Along with all the usual one-armed bandits and slot
machines, the ground floor contained the rifle range where my friends and I
became skilled at a very young age in hitting the bulls-eye, and the pin-ball
machines where we developed the art of clocking-up massive scores.
My mother who also recalls fondly her own childhood summers in Blackpool
spent sharing her home with a troupe of five midgets, an acrobatic act called the
'Mighty Atoms', clearly remembers walking with Ian Anderson down Bonny
Street (at the back of the Bee) in the early days of our relationship. She thinks
that they were probably on their way to see me at the end of one of my odd
working days in the cash box, exchanging pennies for people to play on the slot
machines. Of this experience of walking with Ian for the first time in public, she
says, temporarily unaware the true shades of her own colourful history
'Men with long, flowing, auburn hair were few and far between in those days, in
the mid-Sixties. I remember Ian's hair blowing in the wind and saying to myself,
'I don't care if he looks different from everybody else, I like him.'
She also says that he was a pleasure to be with. On reflection, my mother
remembers that she personally liked the freedom that the Sixties brought: in her
words, 'Freedom without grot, no heavy swearing, no horrible violence like
today.' She says that it was the first real sense of freedom after the Second
World War. Up until this new liberation that she felt Ian somehow represented to
her, everyone dressed like his or her mother and father. Mum confessed also
that she really wanted to be a part of that freedom and that many of her
generation and my grandparents' generation really wanted to be part of it too.
She recalls the joy of dancing with my father and I to the music of the 'Beatles'
in our sitting room. Because of the war, she said, they appreciated and envied
this breath of fresh air more than we did.

Yvonne Nicholson
As they do today, the old green and cream trams shunted up and down the
promenade from Squires Gate to Fleetwood, taking people to The Pleasure
Beach with its death-defying rides and the continuous, inane, insane,
mechanical 'Laughing Clown', to the Blackpool Tower with its Animal Circus and
wonderfully ornate Ballroom. The sound of dour, monotone northern voices
repeatedly calling you to this or that side-show could be heard all along the
Golden Mile and up and down the three piers. The 'Clown' that rocked
disturbingly in circular belly-laughing movements was thankfully restricted to the
confinement of his glass case, and was, in a strangely ridiculous way, a revered
part of our lives: you could not visit the Blackpool Pleasure Beach without
paying homage to him.
Recently, the editor of a large publishing company (who is also the author of
several rock biographies) told me that he spent his childhood holidays in
Blackpool. After talking to me and subsequently ploughing through my work, he
was inspired to write down his own memories of Blackpool.
He reminded me of other aspects of the hometown of Jethro Tull that I had
forgotten to include. He told me that this seaside town had had a marked effect
on him and singled out the waxworks museum (which stood right next door to
my father's amusement arcade) as leaving a particularly strong impression on
him. Apart from the ordinary waxworks exhibition, displaying waxwork models of
the usual famous people (which, incidentally, my grandfather on my mother's
side very often had a hand in making), this building also housed a large and
gruesome exhibition displaying models of mutilated and diseased bodies. The
cellar of the same building was also home to 'The Chamber of Horrors' which
showed people suffering the effects of torture and cruelty.
The editor told me,
'Of all the attractions that Blackpool had to offer, the waxworks sit in my
memory, 40 years later, as an immovable childhood horror.' Horrible though
they were, I was used to these things. They were merely a part of the
environment in which I lived. The waxworks museum was often a place that I
was sent to alone, to kill time on a sunny afternoon.
Incidentally, it does feel strange when your friends eventually become
waxworks models. Some years ago I remember staring in horror at one of Ian in
the Virgin Record Store in London. When I asked him later what he thought of
that, I detected (what I interpreted) as a feeling of regret, which made me think
that all was not always rosy on the other side of fame.

Yvonne Nicholson
As a child, it never occurred to me that those waxworks images represented

living people with feelings.
Those impressions of the sometimes dark, damp and chilling world (a door
away from the hustle, bustle, fun and laughter) still remains pictured in my mind;
impressions that were so much a normal part of the scenery that I had not even
thought to include them. We both agreed (the editor and I) that those horrors,
which affected him so much, should not be the 'stuff of inspirational dreams' and
should definitely be kept well away from one's own children.
When I first heard The John Evans Band play, at the Blackpool Grammar
School for Boys, on the 20th December 1965, I was more than impressed. From
the moment that the purple curtains opened to reveal Ian standing center stage,
I was hooked. There was very little atmosphere in the school assembly hall
where they played that night, no dimmed lights or crowds of excited people, but
the music more than made up for that. They were playing numbers by artists
such as Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding and James Brown: 'Chain Gang',
'Respect', 'Mr. Pitiful', 'Summertime', 'Watermelon Man', and 'Papa's Got a
Brand New Bag'. (It later became difficult for Ian to introduce this song because
Jeffrey had a problem with the 'bag' word. He found it embarrassing, even to an
excruciating degree, so for a while it became 'Papa's Got a Brand New . . . er . .
. Thing'.)
Kathy and I loved the music that the band played then and even in more recent
years have expressed a sentimental appreciation for that particular sound. 'Mr
Pitiful' and 'Respect' were all time favourites, to the degree that I can still hear
'The John Evan' versions in my head all these years later.
That night Kathy and I danced in our stiletto heels, wore very short black mini
skirts, far too much white pan-stick make-up, thick, black eyeliner and
backcombed, dyed black hair. From a distance, we flirted blatantly with the boys
in the band. I suppose at that time we were a couple of those 'little girlies' that
Ian and Jeffery had first become musicians to attract. So in that respect our
interest showed that their plan was working quite well. The line-up was Ian
Anderson on vocals, Jeffrey Hammond on bass guitar, John Evans on
Hammond organ, Chris Riley on guitar, Barrie Barlow on drums, Jim Doolin who
played the trumpet, and Martin Skyrme who played the sax (and who I think
gave Ian his first flute). Martin left the band, I believe, after winning a place at
the Royal Academy of Music or somewhere equally impressive.

Yvonne Nicholson
The next memorable Ian and Jeffrey sighting took place in Talbot Road Bus
Station Blackpool. Blackpool Bus Station was and still is a lot like any other bus
station. A cold, huge vacuous space that magnifies the sounds it contains. This
is where Ian caught the royal blue and cream double decker bus that regularly
took him to and from his home in St Annes-on-Sea. I had watched those buses
arrive and depart for most of my school days at Elmslie Girls Grammar School
Blackpool but I had never travelled on one until I started going out with Ian. The
bus station was a fifteen-minute walk to Blackpool Technical College where Ian,
Jeffrey and myself took courses. We would undoubtedly pass Barrie Barlow's
Dad's caf which was situated on Topping Street on our way to college. My bus
was a ribble red bus that took me to and from my home in Poulton-le-Fylde. Our
relative bus stops were a good twenty yards apart and people generally had to
wait for some time before the right bus would turn up. It was on one of those
interminable waits, that I remember secretly staring at Ian and Jeffrey whilst I
stood half-hidden in the shadow of a huge central post. The bus station was
relatively uncrowded and I could recognise them quite clearly as those boys in
the band. This was a pretty exciting experience for me and certainly lifted the
tedium of waiting for the 88 bus to arrive. Ian and Jeffrey were stood in the
centre of a slightly raised pavement area at the back of the bus station. Nearby
you could purchase a hot chocolate or a lime-green fizzy drink from a vending
machine. The boys were most conspicuous to me, standing as they were in the
4 o'clock evening light that filtered through the left entrance close by. They were
scruffy, longhaired and bearded and Ian was as near to my fantasy image of a
tattered cavalier figure as you could get. My excitement also lay in that
memorable state of knowingness, when you are absolutely sure that one day
soon you are going to be more than just a shadowy figure in the distance to
someone. Talbot Road Bus Station would eventually become the place where
Ian and I would meet and part on many future occasions. It would be here that
Ian would stand me up on a date and send Jeffrey instead. It would be here that
he would also tell me in the very early months of our relationship that he didn't
want to go out with me again. That he would think about me for the half-hour it
took for the bus to travel from Blackpool to St Annes-on-Sea but after that he
would think about me no more. I remember on this occasion trying to hold on to
those supposed last few precious moments, by asking Ian specifically what he
would think about in relation to me on his bus journey home, he said 'I will think
about you as someone who was very pretty'. I recall that I cried for weeks after
that.
My third sighting took place in the foyer of the Blackpool School of Art, where I
was then studying drama and Ian and Jeffrey were both studying fine art. Ian
was alone this time. There was a definite moment between us as he caught my
eye in passing and then doubled back quickly to exchange a brief word with a
fellow art student that I was chatting to at the time.
Yvonne Nicholson
10
I attended the next John Evans Band gig at The Queens in Clevelys situated
just along the coast from Blackpool, on the12th February 1966. They played
again at the same venue on the 17th of February, and this was the occasion of
my first real personal encounter with Ian. After the first set, during the break, Ian
came over to where my friend Kathy and I were sitting to strike up a
conversation. Kathy had been viewing the band members continually out of the
corner of her eye, and was giving me a blow-by-blow account of their every
movement. When Ian strolled, rather too quickly, in our direction, in a
determined yet nonchalant kind of way, I tried to compose myself under duress.
Kathy and I were apt to hold hands at times like this. It helped to anchor one to
the ground during moments of extreme excitement. Kathy would make hushed
squealing noises under her breath and I would 'pose' and try to look as beautiful
as possible. It was a Fancy Dress Night that night. My first choice might have
been my favourite baby-doll pyjamas, which were popular at that time. Modesty
prevailed, however, due to my own better sense of judgment following some
reasonable parental threats not to allow me out of the house 'looking like some
kind of tart'. I chose to wear my new, deep red, knee length, brushed-cotton
nightdress instead.
Underneath the nightdress I wore a pre-formed bra, stuffed full of cotton wool,
and on my feet a pair of red fluffy bedroom slippers that matched the outfit
perfectly. My accessories consisted of a sickeningly cute little teddy-bear and a
white patent leather shoulder bag containing the many 'things' I needed to
continue looking good all night. Kathy and I made considerable efforts to
engineer our shoulder-length hair to be as straight as possible, usually by
ironing it. The centre partings were carefully and accurately drawn with the aid
of a tail-comb. We both had a neatly-cut Sixties fringe that reached beyond our
eyebrows, a face thick with white pan-stick make-up and lips daubed in pale
pink lipstick. False eyelashes were a must, and we covered them with lashings
of black mascara. Thick, black, Dusty Springfield eyeliner was applied last of all.
Hours were spent getting ready, and apart from pouting our lips, fluttering our
eyelashes from time to time and dancing very rigidly, we felt disinclined to be
too expressive in case our make-up cracked or our eyelashes dropped off,
necessitating yet another time-consuming visit to the 'Ladies' to put it all right.

Yvonne Nicholson
11
Brave and possibly sexually provocative though this kind of attire might sound,
when Ian started heading in our direction I would have run a mile had I not been
frozen with fear. Ian looked me straight in the eyes, smiled one of his
endearingly crooked-toothed smiles and said in rather a calculatedly smooth
voice,
'Haven't I seen you somewhere before?'
It was a corny but well-observed chat-up line, considering that Ian had made
eye contact with me each time our paths had crossed. However, he delivered
his first words in such a pseudo-cool manner that I almost fell off my chair
laughing. Looking pleasantly amused at my appreciation of his wit, he
confidently moved to seat himself in the empty chair next to me - completely
unaware that Barrie Barlow had skilfully removed it from underneath him at the
last second, causing Ian to clatter onto the floor instead.
Later, Ian came off the stage in the middle of a song, walked into the audience,
and started talking to me again. It was the most public chat-up experience I
have ever had. The other musicians just carried on playing, seemingly un-fazed
that their lead singer had gone astray. If there wasn't a spotlight actually shining
on us at that moment, I certainly felt as though there was. Things took off from
there.
Ian told me later that when he first saw me he thought that I was 'the kind of girl
who worked in Woolworths', and was 'surprised' to learn that I was a drama
student at the same college as himself. Had his initial assumption been correct,
he claimed he would have gone out with me anyway. When I asked him why
Barrie had pulled the chair from underneath him, he told me that it was Barrie
who had first spied me from across the dance floor and announced to Ian that
he himself was going to make a play for me. Ian had hurriedly made his way in
my direction to get there before Barrie did. Barrie, realising what his mate was
up to, had followed in hot pursuit in order to upset Ian's chances. I don't
remember Barrie being at all miffed by Ian taking me out, rather the reverse, I
think that the pleasure he gained from seeing Ian lose his cool was substantially
more rewarding than actually getting the girl.
I admired Ian's maturity and strength of character as a younger man. He very
successfully managed to avoid being cast as the narrow-minded, provincial
thinker without having to join the drug culture. Neither could he ever be justly
categorized as the naive boy from the North who 'did well'.
After Martin Skyrme left the band, Tony Wilkinson joined on saxophone. Tony's
parents allowed the band to rehearse in their kitchen, and his mother eventually
resorted to putting in a pay- phone to prevent the boys from clocking up hefty
phone bills. His father provided Ian with work when he was financially hard-up
(as he always was). Tony's parents were unusual in as much as they, like
John's mother, were supportive of what Tony and the band were doing and
were probably much needed by everyone at the time. I always remember Tony
as a kind, unpretentious guy with a good heart, and he has retained a
particularly vivid place in my memory.
Yvonne Nicholson
12
The following John Evans Band gigs are noted in Kathy's 1966 diary:
Admittedly, gig lists are not my number one passion but as far as I know, there
is not another record of these particular gigs available to Jethro Tull fans. 19th
February: Elizabethan Club, Kirkham.
25th February: the Art School Ball in the Planet Room, Blackpool Tower.
26th February: Lytham Rugby Club
At the time of the 31st of May gig at the Oasis in Manchester, the casting
director at Granada TV offered me some work in a series called Pardon The
Expression, also asking me whether I could recruit a friend or two who would be
willing to take part. I asked Ian, but he declared that acting wasn't really his
scene. Although he needed the money Ian was a bit too dignified to get
involved. Despite the tramp like image that eventually evolved you would never
have caught Ian busking on the street to earn a few bob when times were hard.
Barrie Barlow was much more up for something different and accompanied me
to Manchester instead. In those days this was enough work to grant me full
membership to The British Actors Equity Union. An essential ticket for future
work as an actress.
During my first visit to Ian's house in 1966, he dug out two black and white
photographs, which I have kept ever since. They were pictures of himself as a
child, probably taken by his father, being stamped on the back with
'Photographed by Anderson'.
When I last saw Ian, I seem to remember him saying that he didn't posses any
photographs from his childhood. So I was sorry that I didn't get permission to
reproduce these pictures if only for that reason.
Ian gave these photographs to me in response to the sort of typical girlie
request that would normally send a guy reeling in the opposite direction:
'I wonder what kind of babies you would make?' You know the sort of thing.
Uncharacteristic of most young boys of his age, Ian was very much into settling
down with a wife and kids early on in life, so talk about babies didn't faze him in
the slightest. He told me that he admired the companionship that his parents
shared, giving me the impression that they didn't socialise very much but stayed
home in the evenings, sometimes in happy silence just reading books together.
Although I recall that Ian often felt somewhat outside his parents' relationship he
admired their closeness and hoped for that kind of relationship one day himself.
Yvonne Nicholson
13
Fully aware of his responsibilities, Ian seemed to have maturity beyond his
years. The need to get on in life, even to get married and settle down, was, I
think, based partly in the respect he held for his parents, their good relationship
with each other and their values.
Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were retired by the time I started going out with Ian. I
seem to remember Mrs. Anderson helping out part-time at an old people's home
in St. Annes-on-Sea where they lived. They had a small upstairs flat in
Cavendish Road, St.Annes-on-Sea near Blackpool. I believe that Ian's aunt,
who lived downstairs, was very good to him. Amongst other things, she once
gave Ian a pair of gold earrings with the sun engraved on the front of each of
them. He kept one earring for himself and gave the other to me, saying,
'If you ever stop loving me, give it back.' I wore it round my neck on and off for
years.
There wasn't a great deal of money coming Ian's way in those days. He had to
take extra care with his life-choices because, in his words, 'There is no one to
bail me out if things go wrong.' This sense of personal responsibility, I believe,
gave Ian the edge over others who came from more financially-privileged
backgrounds, or those that took parental support for granted. In Ian's case,
having very little money in those early years was a positive advantage to him
and one that he used admirably well.
I remember the magic of the winter months in Blackpool when everything shut
down: bracing walks at night-time along the barren promenade, passionate
kisses in freezing shelters that looked out towards a black and often angry sea,
feeling warm wearing the coat he wrapped around me with himself still inside.
A self-portrait of Ian caught my eye on an early visit to his home in St. Anneson-Sea. The painting hung on a bare wall in the Anderson hallway. I can see it
now, if perhaps faded by time: in style, something like a shadowy version of

Vincent Van Gogh's final self-portrait (1889). It had the same staring eyes.
Surrounding the head, the swirling blue seemed to define the torture of the man
himself. Ian's self-portrait was painted in many deeper shades of blue. At the
time I found it a truly impressive piece of art which I viewed at length and had
the overwhelming desire to steal. I was very surprised to learn from Ian that it
was one of his earliest paintings, completed when he was about fourteen years
old. He told me that his mother was also very fond of the painting and that no, I
couldn't have it. Ian soon created another work of art for me on a piece of
hardboard, using many colours of swirling yellow. Although I found it quite
pleasing, it did not satisfy my desire to own his self-portrait.
Yvonne Nicholson
14
It was also on an early visit to Ian's home that he cooked a meal for me for the
first time. Tinned tomatoe spaghetti and boiled potatoes as I recall. I remember
thinking then that Ian's talents did not lay in his culinary abilities. Another time
he left me in the local park while he ate with his parents joining me later with a
stolen piece of fruit and some bread so I wouldn't starve. Where as my mother
exercised a policy of 'open house', Ian was rather concerned in the very early
days that his mother didn't approve of me.
Up until the time Tony Wilkinson's parents donated their kitchen for rehearsals,
the band had always used John Evans' mother's garage in Blackpool North: a
cold, dark place in the winter, which, I am sure, didn't help the creative process.
Added to this, Ian told me that the neighbours complained too much about the
noise. John Evans' mother was also worried about what John was doing with
his life. I seem to recall Ian saying that despite her taking a supportive role
regarding the music, she was always waiting for him to start a sensible job.
I remember John as a cool, eccentric, talented piano player who loved to act out
being 'thick' for a joke. He spent most of his time with his mouth open, looking a
little bit feeble-minded (or 'gormless' as we would have called it), especially
when he was playing the organ. This 'being thick' was part of the dynamics of
the relationships within the band. Jeffrey and John shared roughly the same
kind of disposition. They were men of few words, and those, few which did
appear, were usually slow and hesitant. It was sort of 'cool' to be like that,
especially if you were clever. Ian, on the other hand, never took on that kind of
role himself, preferring instead to be the spokesman. I always thought that Ian
was very eloquent, someone who enjoyed being articulate.
The communication between Ian, Jeffrey, John and Barrie in those early garage
days was always funny and exhilarating, and Ian took great pleasure interacting
with the others. One of my enduring memories of Ian is of him cavorting around
excitedly, sometimes showing off, and very often just being happy. On these
occasions, he liked to make me feel that his exuberance was inspired by our
being together, which, whether true or not, gave me a warm sense of really
belonging. There was invariably a lot of good positive energy from everyone.
For the most part, egos didn't fly. There was a great balance of personalities
and it was just really good fun to be with them all.
Yvonne Nicholson
15
Jeffrey was Ian's best mate; in fact, I believe that his humour was an inspiring,
creative force for Ian. Jeffrey was a quiet, non-egotistical bloke who looked like
a jazz musician and went his own way in life, leaving a big, warm impression on
the people he met. As I said before, he attended the Blackpool Technical
College and School of Art which both Ian and I attended after leaving our
respective boys' and girls' Grammar Schools. Jeffrey and Ian were generally
bunking off the same art course together so they could do gigs: 'A good ruse' as
Ian would have said, although I am sure he has paid his debt to the tax man a
million times over since then. Ian took great delight in recalling 'Jeffrey stories':
what Jeffrey had done, where he'd been, what he'd said. One of my enduring,
joyful memories of Ian is of him throwing his head back in laugher and sheer
delight at one of those funny 'Jeffrey moments'.
The John Evan's Garage rehearsal period was a time when I particularly
enjoyed observing the inspiring friendship between Ian and Jeffrey. Being an
only child from an all girls' school, this was my first really positive example of a
creative but none-competitive friendship between two blokes. I had grown up
taking part in regular Sunday visits to my Grandparents house, where after
lunch, which was set round a large dining table, my Grandfather and his four
sons would retire to another room. As soon as the door was closed on the rest
of the family, all hell was let loose as 'the men' discussed 'the business'.
Perhaps they made lots of money in the process and these heavy discussions
were a necessary part of the agenda but as a child I didn't like the feeling of
disharmony.
In contrast I enjoyed the positive creative process that 'The John Evan Band
made at this time. I believe that Jeffrey's creative influence on Ian, his life, and
the music was more profound than most people would imagine. At that time Ian
was very happy in the company of people who had a genuinely non-conformist
nature. I felt that Jeffrey's quiet, uncompromising personality was not governed
by external social conditioning beyond that of basic humanity. My observation
was that Jeffery had a tremendous freedom of spirit, which Ian absorbed when
in his company. At that time Ian was flying from the restrictions and conformity
of his own personality and embraced wholeheartedly Jeffrey's quiet and

humorous nature. Ian was amused, entertained, creatively inspired and
liberated by this true, radical thinker. In return I believe that Jeffrey suppressed
a joy and recognition of this genuine, openhearted flattery. Put simply, Ian took
great pleasure in seeing Jeffrey not fit into whatever social norm was being
dictated, even that of the band. Jeffrey took pleasure in amusing Ian. It was as
simple and complicated as that.
Yvonne Nicholson
16
If Ian looked up to Jeffrey as I believed he did, then the fact that Jeffrey chose
to leave the band and continue with his painting must have affected Ian quite
deeply. If it is true that Jeffrey preferred to retreat into the world of being a none
figurative artist rather than enjoy the more lucrative lifestyle of being in Jethro
Tull then I have to say I admire his choices.
Did some one say that Jeffrey's idea of a self-portrait is a barely detectable,
solitary figure appearing in the bleak landscape of one of his paintings or did I
make that up to illustrate my personal memory of him?
In those few years before we left the Blackpool School of Art, being with The
John Evans Band gave me a real sense of belonging. This was a time in my life
that I felt that I was in the right place at the right time (even if no one else but
Ian thought that I was). I was quiet in those days, and spent most of my time
locked in an embrace in the back of the van with Ian. If I did speak, it was
generally greeted by huge guffaws of laughter from the other boys, mostly
because as a girl whatever I'd said wasn't quite right. However in the same way,
it always felt OK to get it wrong, because getting it wrong seemed to give them
so much pleasure. In a way, conversational faux pas became a sort of social art
form for me.
John would always drive the red van to gigs. They eventually bought a yellow
transit van, which the band members very proudly showed off one day when
they picked me up from the Art College to take me to a gig. I remember thinking
then, This is OK! We're moving up in the world! Ian visited my house in PoultonLe-Fylde most nights when he wasn't playing. Poulton-Le-Fylde was several
miles away from his home in St. Annes: to get home, he had to either borrow
the bus fare from me or John would pick him up at my house usually at about
three o'clock in the morning. A few years down the line, gigs at the Marquee
took us to London (a six-hour drive away) where they would do the gig before
driving straight back to Blackpool. Even on those occasions poor John always
did all the driving, from what I remember. Apart from the service stops, Ian and I
spent the whole return journey lying, never sleeping, in the back of the van. I
don't recall any other non-band member making these trips. Ian used to say that
he himself didn't need more than five hours sleep a night, whether he was
playing or not. It was a sort of relentless, all-consuming slog, and money was
always tight. I used to fear that if Ian kept working at that pace he would burn
himself out before his time. My mother cooked a great dinner and always
welcomed Ian to stay, which must have helped a bit.
Yvonne Nicholson
17
I have an enduring memory of the first time I ever heard John Evans playing a
classical tune on the piano. It was in the very early days as one of The John
Evans Band rehearsals was drawing to a close. Hearing him suddenly fill the
room with such a beautiful sound, I was quite overwhelmed. No one of my age
ever played like that. There was such ease about his playing, and yet he was so
casual about it. I asked him why he didn't play like that more often, but he
seemed to disregard the idea as being unimportant.
A friend of mine named Gina had fallen crazily in love with John Evans and vice
versa. She had a glorious mane of long ginger hair, was outrageously but
endearingly mad, and suited John perfectly. At least for a short time. The
relationship between Gina and John had blossomed one night at my house
when, during an impromptu party with the band members, Gina had arrived in
very dramatic mode, announcing that she had just been attacked. To me, it felt
like this was totally untrue and was merely a ploy to get John's attention. It
worked perfectly. As Gina stood in the centre of our living room and staged her
extraordinary drama in full-blown hysterics, everyone else reacted with varying
degrees of boredom and disbelief. John, on the other hand, was transfixed by
Gina's every move. He smiled broadly in sheer delight, his eyes glazing over as
if he were watching an enchanting angel who had just entered his life. He spent
much of the evening wistfully repeating,
'Gina, Gina, Gina, I love Gina,' over and over again.
Ian was obviously not enjoying himself at all that evening and sulked continually
throughout the duration of the party. As soon as he arrived, he headed straight
for the dog basket and sat in it all night in a general protest against parties,
which he hated almost as much as he hated dancing. Ian was far too cool to be
seen joining in such embarrassing social activities. Poor Spot the dog spent
much of the night looking for a comfortable place to sleep.
This was also the night that John Evans took hold of a treasured musical toy cat
of mine, which, if you wound its tail up gently, played Brahms' 'Lullaby'. This
happened to be my most favourite toy from childhood, and I had always

treasured it and cared for it, as though it were half-real. John, no doubt in a
heightened state of over-excitement after meeting Gina, over-wound the cat's
tail so much that the spring broke inside. As a result of John's careless
exuberance, the tail, instead of turning slowly to the sound of its gentle musical
chimes, whizzed maniacally at top speed making a sickeningly loud and ugly
buzzing noise. John thought this was wonderful. As the tail picked up speed, it
flew off the cat at such a rate that it hit the ceiling and landed on the other side
of the room. John so enjoyed this activity that he repeated it several times. Try
as I might, I could not rescue the cat before John had reduced me to a heap of
sobbing tears. Everyone laughed so loudly and so much that I positively hated
John for what felt like a cruel and callous display of public humiliation. His
complete lack of remorse made it worse. At the time it was a very upsetting
experience that took me a long time to get over. Ian had already gone home by
that time in the evening, so he wasn't there to help out. Jeffrey had sensibly
declined the invitation to the party in the first place.
Yvonne Nicholson
18
The first time that Ian asked me to visit him at a Band rehearsal at John's house
I fought my way through cold, wet windy weather to North Shore Blackpool
where John lived.
John answered the door and when I asked for Ian, he looked me straight in the
eye with a blank, unemotional, unflinching expression and replied in his usual
dry, flat, monotone voice 'Ian's not here, he's hiding under the piano'. I could
hear the suppressed laughter in the background, if not for real, then certainly in
my mind. I left without saying a word. Back then my teenage fragile self-esteem
couldn't take this kind of rejection. I felt like I wanted to die. Although upset and
humiliated by such a horrid little boy trick, I eventually recovered enough to
exact my revenge on Ian. At this tender age it felt like a necessary part of
survival to even the score. I concocted an equally childish girl plot with a willing
yet slightly bemused Jeffrey, and Gina. She lived quite near to John and
therefore near to where the band rehearsed together. It was decided that I
would stage a broken heart: a lovesick drama. Gina covered me in white talcum
powder to make me look pale and ill and then placed me on a chair in the
centre of a bare room (why the room was bare and quite devoid of furniture still
remains a mystery to me). Here I would act out my lamentable condition for
Jeffrey - presuming that Gina would be successful in getting him there. My
whole future relationship with Ian and the recovery of my self-esteem depended
on her success, so it had to work.
Once Gina had drawn the curtains to make the flaws in my disguise less visible,
she headed off towards the John Evans household to have a word in Jeffrey's
ear. I waited patiently and tried to get into the role. She whispered to Jeffrey that
I was deeply lovesick and that he was the only person who could save me, so
he must come soon or I might die. For some reason, Jeffrey decided to come to
the rescue; probably out of boredom or some kind of strange curiosity, or
perhaps he wanted to wind Ian up too. I am sure that he didn't believe her story
for a second. However, he did go through the whole act of taking my very sad
performance and me quite seriously when he was confronted with it, and
agreed with Gina in whispered tones that he would spend the evening with me
in order to try and cheer me up. Whereupon I made a remarkably quick
recovery!
Yvonne Nicholson
19
Jeffrey and I then made our way to the band rehearsals. After we made a
sensationally brief appearance there, we very publicly walked off hand in hand
towards the sea, leaving John's house to the sound of Ian and the rest of the
boys screaming and cackling with laughter. Being a sunny evening in Blackpool,
as I recall, we must have literally walked off into the sunset together. I turned
back momentarily to see Ian pointing and leaping up and down in a very
uncharacteristic way, sort of laughing and crying at the same time, like a
demented longhaired cat on a pavement so hot you could fry an egg on it. It
was most satisfying.
Later that evening, I took a photograph with my new camera that had its own
self-timing mechanism. Jeffrey spent most of the time sitting on my bed, shifting
from side to side, looking at his watch, clearing his throat, and saying,
'Err . . . I've got to go in ten minutes.' I enjoyed the whole experience
tremendously.
The photograph I took that night of Jeffrey and I with my old, brown, humpedback teddy bear gave Ian an immense amount of bizarre pleasure. He said that
Jeffrey had never had a photograph taken with a girl before, and therefore
regarded this photograph as a very rare treasure. I think that Ian really wanted
to taunt Jeffrey with it, and derived a certain amount of churlish gratification in
hiding his own plain and simple jealousy behind a mask of light, humiliating
badinage. Jeffrey was imperturbable, steadfast, and always kept his cool. In this
instance he was probably even quite proud of himself for taking the very brave
step of sitting in such close proximity to a girl.
It was Jeffrey's joke to be nervous and shy and to find girls a little bit frightening.
I am sure that his shyness was based in truth, but he still played it like a parody,
which left you feeling quietly confused.

I last saw Jeffrey in the eighties at the wedding of Jennie Franks (Ian's first wife)
to her second husband. She and I had become friends in a strange set of
circumstances several years earlier, but that is another story. At the wedding,
Jeffrey told me that he hadn't seen Ian for some years, which astounded me.
Jeffrey gave me his phone number and address and asked me to keep in touch.
Regrettably, I lost my address book and didn't.
Yvonne Nicholson
20
Last but not least there was Barrie Barlow who played drums in The John Evan
Blues Band. He was a recent arrival in Blackpool from Birmingham and was the
youngest member of the band. His father had taken over what was then a
thriving coffee bar called The Roaring Twenties and as I said before it was
situated down Topping Street near Blackpool Bus station. It used to have black
walls, a great jukebox, pinball machines, and was packed full of beatniks.
Barrie's father redecorated the place, renamed it the Del Rio, and intended to
take his clientele from the Blackpool holidaymakers. As a consequence,
however, the place had lost its youthful atmosphere and was often
comparatively empty. The band members would demonstrate their dry sense of
humour by sitting at different tables, ostensibly in an effort to make the place
look full. As a sort of in-joke, they would arrive, sit down, and not talk to one
another.
On one occasion, I went into the coffee bar with Ian and sat down to drink my
coffee at the same table as him. I didn't sit at another table, partly because I
didn't really understand the joke, and partly because, being a girl, I couldn't take
part in the joke. If I had tried to join in the general male banter it would have
looked as though I was attempting to curry favour with the lads, trying too hard
to be one of them, which wouldn't have been a very cool thing to do. As a
'girlfriend' in the public arena, I was much better off not understanding anything.
Next to arrive in the coffee bar that day was Jeffrey, wearing exactly the same
sandals as Ian. He sat at another table, not saying a word or glancing at either
of us, in such a way that it seemed to go beyond the usual tacit joke. I asked Ian
why Jeffrey wasn't speaking to us, since there was no one else in the coffee bar
to make it look full to, and Ian said:
'I bought exactly the same sandals as Jeffrey bought yesterday, and because of
that he has stopped speaking to me.'
I thought that this was very funny, but it was a genuinely unpleasant experience
for Ian. He would normally have joked something like that away, but because
Jeffrey had taken the incident very seriously Ian also took it very seriously.
Jeffrey spent a lot of time in the old Victorian Blackpool North Railway Station
(since replaced). I think he liked to hang out there, wearing his black fluffy coat
and talking to the street people. Perhaps he found them better company than
most others. Finally, Ian went down to see who Jeffrey was spending so much
time with. This may in turn have influenced his changing stage image. The
shiny, black satin outfit that Ian wore for his first TV appearance on a
programme called 'First Timers' didn't really become him, and it was only when
he wore his dad's old, brown overcoat that the wild and wacky 'down and out'
stage character began to emerge. This was the Ian that I loved the most. In my
opinion, he seemed happy and at one with himself in his father's old coat. I
remember the first time that he wore it. We were talking with Jeffrey outside
Talbot Road Bus Station on the side opposite Blackpool North Railway Station
and Ian was really chuffed with his new acquisition.
Yvonne Nicholson
21
I think at that time Ian was particularly absorbing the sense of freedom that both
Jeffrey and some of the street people represented. This was not just a romantic
or unrealistic view but something of real value to all of us. All the record
company influenced images couldn't possibly compare to this organically
evolved character based in something real. One particular guy, affectionately
nicknamed 'Jeff the Cake', used to be a regular associate of Jeffrey's and might
even have been a serious Tull influence. Ian began to wear his dad's long coat
continually off and on stage, and so the tramp-like image became part of him.
There wasn't a lot of money to buy clothes, so it would seem that this image
was also borne out of necessity. The fact that Ian preferred eating in greasy
cafes during these years was indicative of his adaptable nature. I think that if
things had not progressed musically, Ian would still make you feel that whatever
he was doing was truly the best way to be.
These were the days when there was much talk that the band would never
become commercial. Ian told me that he preferred them to be regarded as an
underground band.
Just a note about the John Evans Band first appearance on television. I did
watch 'First Timers' with much excitement. It was a careful performance in
rather empty surroundings that lacked any kind of atmosphere. Typical of an
early, live, black and white studio transmission. There were no video recorders
then, but I took a photograph of the television screen hoping in some small way
to record the event for all time. Unfortunately the photograph is of poor quality.
Barrie was a little bit more serious than the rest of them and used to say 'Ace' a
lot. He was a comparatively clean cut, fresh faced, looking young boy back then
with lots of energy. He was always friendly and someone I found very easy to
talk to. I have heard that he didn't get on with Tony Wilkinson but I think that the
boys were generally well behaved in the company of girls so perhaps I only saw
the best side of things. Barrie always seemed to be slightly more of an outsider
in relation to Ian, Jeffrey and John, probably because he was younger and not
educated at the same school as the others. He had a tough time to contend with
having moved away from Birmingham at what some might regard as a difficult
age. I recall the first time that I really got to talk to him. He was very enthusiastic
about everything and to my ears had a noticeably different accent from the
usual northern accent that I was used to hearing. I felt that he took the role of
the young new boy during most of those early Blackpool years. I did feel that
John, and particularly Ian and Jeffrey, shared an unspoken understanding. They
weren't horribly cliquey as girls can be, but their sense of humour might have
excluded others, consciously or unconsciously. To me they were all great
company, and Barrie was the honest, straightforward guy who was not trying to
be anything but himself. He didn't mind showing interest in other things outside
the group and was the only band member who made the effort to see me work
as an actress. I appreciated his interest and his encouragement. In that sense
he was broad-minded and less likely to try and fit in with the status quo.
Yvonne Nicholson
22
In my opinion, Ian, Jeffrey, John and Barry were the central core of the whole
Jethro Tull experience. I believe that the relationship between those four boys
was the raw material of what the future music of Jethro Tull became. Perhaps
because I spent more of my time with them in the early years and came to know
them all fairly well. These four people represented to me the joyful period in
one's life when you experience a real sense of freedom, honesty and equality.
Soon lost when you cross over into adulthood. If you are lucky you just tumble
around for a few precious years being who you are and then you grow up.
That is not to underestimate the huge contributions that all the others must have
made both in practical and musical terms. Living out of Blackpool, or attending
day-jobs, would have made them more remote to me, since I wasn't directly
involved with the music. Added to the fact that I might have absorbed some of
Ian's perspective at the time, which would be coloured by the personalities that
he talked about the most.
The hunt for on-and off-stage images was always an interest for Ian. I
remember him turning up at my little suburban bungalow, sometimes wearing
his hair in plaits or just wild and all over the place. I loved to think of the
neighbours looking through the curtains at him strutting down the avenue, even
if they only did it out of affectionate curiosity and amusement. If anyone ever
spoke to Ian, they always came back with,

'Oh well, he's a nice intelligent boy despite what he looks like.' When I met Ian
in 1965, to my mind he was already a success story. Not fully realised, perhaps,
at least in financial terms, but nothing in this world would ever convince me that
this kind of deep-rooted, pure talent needed any drawing out or interference to
make it blossom. His was a profoundly sure-footed creative nature, not one that
was liable to be knocked off course or diminished by outside factors.
Later, after it was all over with Ian and myself, I was both disturbed and happy
that he had felt inspired to write songs because we were together, or not
together, as the case may be. While it is flattering to see ones self reflected in
the mirror of someone else's creation it is hard not being able to respond or
claim this image as truly ones own.
Yvonne Nicholson
23
Ironically, when Ian was offering himself to me on any terms that I wished to
name, he did not want me to be trapped in some supportive female role. At one
point when the band wasn't working so well, he quite seriously offered to give
up his own career and manage mine. He thought that if we had to choose one
career or the other in order for the relationship to survive, then he didn't see any
reason why it shouldn't be mine. For me the idea was just as unthinkable then
as it would be today. However, it is still interesting to note that Ian seemed, at
times, genuinely quite willing to let the future prosperity he seemed so destined
for slip away entirely. He also understood very clearly that I would never have
been happy being some rising star's muse. I never saw myself as the
'supportive woman' and never wanted to become one.
Then I wanted the kind of relationship that offered equal creative opportunity
with a man: not easy to obtain in that period of female history.
A lot of girls grew up in the North of England feeling suppressed, angry and
even violated. Educated to think for ourselves at last, we still travelled with
unresolved historical baggage and were denied genuine opportunities to realise
our true potential. There was still great opposition to women having a voice,
speaking their minds, or following careers of their choice. Most of us were
expected to shut up and get on with it. The silence we endured could
sometimes be unbearable. We had neither the freedom nor the true equality
that young women began to enjoy some years later. Many of my female
contemporaries were considerably hurt by the limitations on offer, but
nonetheless we were on the brink of great changes, if not for ourselves, then at
least for our daughters.
As for Ian, he made a real effort to understand the hurt that was behind this
turmoil of mine and there was a real chance back then that his love could have
been strong enough dissolve it.

To talk with Ian like I used to do would be a joyful experience but this will never
happen.
'We will never get him back' said one ex band member recently, confirming in
conversation that the feelings of loss I'd experienced were not just something
that I had suffered alone. I think you feel a sense of betrayal when someone
spirals out of the social community you once shared as young people into
something supposedly better and more exclusive. 'You won't want to know us
when you're rich and famous' was something we didn't really think could happen
to us.
Yvonne Nicholson
24
Perhaps no one is at fault and we are all just victims of an ever increasingly
divided society. As I have gone through the process of writing my book I have
found myself swinging from one extreme to the other in my affections or lack of
them depending on what time in my history with Ian I am writing about. There
were definitely cruel shades in Ian's personality when I first started going out
with him and yet he could not have made me feel more loved, wanted and
respected in the years during which the main part of the relationship took place.
Because I also have first-hand knowledge of how he can regard other people
who are not in his favour, the 'silence' that was eventually offered me bit even
deeper into my psyche. This finally led to such a schizophrenic quality in my
attitude while writing that it has been quite difficult to deliver a simple account.
To me it is clear from Ian's letters that he was most concerned about the longterm, potential pitfalls of our having a serious relationship with each other in the
light of both our instincts about the future. Persistently offering marriage as the
best or only solution.
When someone with such insight, strong nature and a gift for the spoken word
as Ian Anderson possesses, persistently tries to convince you of something that
is important to him, over a number of years, it doesn't just stick in your memory
it can also haunt you.
In the end, this early relationship with Ian Anderson, The John Evan Band and
Jethro Tull has helped me to realise the true value of life, because it has made
me work harder to appreciate those aspects that have nothing to do with
material and worldly success.
Both Ian and I shared a similar Grammar School education in Blackpool. He
was a winner in the classroom and I was a loser. We were educated to divide
ourselves into winners and losers in those days and we all paid the price.
We both had to take the dreaded 11 + examination which in my opinion was a
lethal form of creating a divided society. Parents and the education system
pitted their children against each other in competitive combat. In many families
you would have one child who would pass and another who wouldn't. From the
age of 11 the child who didn't pass was branded as a loser while his brother or
sister had the in built belief that he was one of society's winners. It seemed to
me that in order for those winners to go on winning we also needed to create
losers to qualify the importance of their success. Why invent tests which puts
one child at the top of a class and another at the bottom? Only academically
successful people could come up with such a system.
Yvonne Nicholson
25
In trying to help me, my parents paid for an academic education that would
spend many years convincing me (amongst other things) that I was a failure.
Towards the end of my school life I attended a class careers discussion with my
headmistress and the rest of my peers. I waited patiently for my name to be
called out as each of the girls from the top of the class to the bottom of the class
had their future prospects speculated upon. Elmslie Girls Grammar School like
Blackpool Boys Grammar School was a breeding ground for the professional
classes; our future teachers, lawyers and doctors sat huddled on the floor
together in their purple school uniforms eagerly awaiting the summing up of
their past and futures. Finally at the very end, Miss Oldham turned to myself as
the very last girl on the list and echoed the conclusions that she and my other
teachers Miss Brotherton, Miss Marshal and Miss Bothell had reached about my
future. In a very sympathetic and kindly voice she turned to me and said
'Well Yvonne some girls do make good mothers'.
Nothing is all bad and I took great encouragement from the only male teacher in
the whole school (Mr Haigh the vicar) who regarded my early writing efforts with
a degree of reverence. He announced to the class one day that we should write
an essay on the subject of 'myself'' and that spelling and punctuation didn't
matter. As an undiagnosed dyslexic spelling and punctuation was the bane of
my life. Remove those restrictions and nothing could stop me. While my
classmates scratched their heads and sat staring at the blank page in front of
them, I was off on an unstoppable adventure. I remember Kathy turning to me in
despair and whispering
'I can't think of one thing to write'. This was the first time in school that I had
been given the chance to 'unburden my soul' and it felt great. Like running
through the wind at top speed.
Admittedly Ian certainly made a very convincing effort to save me from several
years of negative conditioning. I left school at 16 with no qualifications. Most of
my friends stayed on to take A-levels while I went to Blackpool school of Art and
started going out with Ian. Here I discovered the advantage of not being at an
all girls' school and both my work and my social life blossomed. I imagine that I
was so thrilled to be going out with a clever boy like Ian that I probably
introduced him to my friends as Ian with millions of O-levels and A-levels. After
a few initial set backs he successfully built up my self-esteem to superior levels.
With Ian by my side my confidence and feelings of self-respect grew. While he
gave me the positive male attention I craved, negative conditioning also made
me reject it. I had been bought up as the boss's daughter, which behind closed
doors didn't always feel so good. At times Ian must have felt like he was hitting
his head against a brick wall and his letters clearly reflect the conflict. While Ian
was capable of making me feel ten feet tall, equally he could cut people down to
size with a look or a word. On one or two occasions he did that on my behalf
because some one or other had hurt me and the impact was extremely
effective.
Yvonne Nicholson
26
In Blackpool in those days sexism and racism was part of the system. Much in
our culture and our education was treacherous and tiny minded and we all
reaped the consequences.
At one time it felt clear to me that friendship was essential if I was to survive
Ian's success in a healthy and productive kind of way. So when he announced
in 1974 that he didn't have time for friends, I thought that he couldn't have
reached a more disappointing conclusion. I feared at that juncture that his
image and his voice might continue to haunt me through the media for the rest
of my life, making it impossible for me to forget him.
One ex band member who has known Ian for as long as I have recently
communicated to me
I quote
'Whatever we all say and feel, Ian Anderson is a special person, capable of
exceptional musicality, wit, hard work and energy deserving of respect. Equally
he can be very cold. He can and has had a deep effect on many of those who
have known him for some time'.
In contrast the letters that Ian wrote to me, give one a clear picture of a
sensitive young man striving to make sense of the world he lives in. These
alone would endear any reader to him. In June 1967, Ian wrote his first letter to
me from Cavendish Road, St Annes-on-Sea. A marathon of a letter. This day he
also asked me for the first time to marry him before whatever happens in his life
happens.
In July 1967 I left Blackpool to spend the summer looking for acting work in
London; as a result, letters and phone calls became a vital lifeline. It was
unusual in those days for an 18-year-old male to become obsessed by the idea
of settling down and getting married, and yet Ian was persistent on this matter. I
confused the issue by thinking that he was more concerned with finding a 'wife'
than with marrying me personally: a sign of his insecurities at this rapidly
changing time in his life. When questioned Ian always returned with a
convincing argument. On occasions he wondered whether he should have a
shave and a haircut and take the simpler option of working in a bank, at the
same time knowing that he was really not suited to that way of life either. He
clung to the familiar and expressed pleasure in the smallest things, like drinking
a cup of coffee in front of a one-bar electric fire at the end of the day.
Yvonne Nicholson
27
On the 28th of July my mother started making Ian a garment which he told me
defied all description. It was a cotton dress coat of flowery furnishing fabric. My
mother was and still is an expert needlewoman but she found this particular
request amusing and bizarre. His inspiration for this flamboyant piece of
clothing was something worn by Mick Jagger, but unlike Mick, Ian really didn't
look good in a dress. I once made him up in a long wig and red lipstick too and
although I found this highly amusing Ian did not enjoy the experience one bit.
It was in this time that Glenn Cornick joined the band on bass guitar. My
memory of him is vague. I do remember going to meets Glenn's parents in their
Thornton Heath pub with Ian, when Glenn was new to the band. I remember
that the pub was empty or closed and that we were served free drinks from the
bar and that we were celebrating the beginning of something new, perhaps
celebrating the start of Jethro Tull. Glenn's parents seemed very happy about
what was happening.
I had been staying with Ian in Luton during January 1968, a month or so after
The John Evans Band had split up. Before I returned home to Blackpool, Ian
and I spent the weekend wracking our brains in search of a new name for the
band. I remember looking at the dingy wallpaper in the room we shared and
tiredly suggesting 'Paper Thin'. Ian good-humouredly took my suggestion quite
seriously.
If I was allowed to reproduce one letter out of the many that Ian sent me, it
would be the one where he tells me that they are now called Jethro Tull. I would
choose this letter because it marks a turning point not just in our lives but so
many other people's lives as well.
I was very impressed with how quickly Ian learned to play the flute, though not
at all surprised that in only six months he'd mastered it enough to reach a
compelling performance level, producing such individual and innovative sounds
without even being able to read a note of music. He made me realise that your
heart, soul and passion should be the main driving force behind a performance,
not just technical ability. His rendition of Roland Kirk's 'Serenade for a Cuckoo'
became one of my favourite and personally requested songs. I remember Ian
giving me an early flute lesson once while he was still learning to play the
instrument.
Yvonne Nicholson
28
It had been a good time for us in Luton. Ian was climbing out of a depression
brought on by worries about his future and the recent changes within the band. I
felt happy to be with him and away from Blackpool. After his morning cleaning
job at the Ritz cinema, he would spend his hard-earned cash on a daily diet of
tins of Irish stew and something called 'Tiger Bread', spread with very thick
chunks of butter. Disgusting though it probably was, it tasted delicious. On the
morning I returned to Blackpool, Ian's parting words as he left me to go and
clean the cinema were for me to get in touch with his mother and reassure her
that her son was not wasting away or starving to death. So I did just that, and
was greeted by a very warm and caring person who simply worried, like any
normal mother, about her child. Ian reported back later that his mother
appreciated my reassurances and that he felt that she liked me.
I did not tell her that just prior to my leaving I had broken the plumbing to the
bedroom sink that I'd shared with Ian, sending a forceful jet of water the length
of the room directly onto the bed. It was a dramatic encounter for me, which
took a very fitful ten to fifteen minutes to fix. However, the bedding and mattress
were left completely saturated, and because I was so late for the bus I did not
manage to leave a written explanation for Ian. Consequently, he not only found
that his sleeping arrangements were a complete washout, but also found
himself in a deeply perplexed state wondering what on earth I had been up to.
Round about this time I attended a meal in Wardour Street London with Jethro
Tull and their new management The Ellis-Wright Agency later to become
Chrysalis Entertainment and the all important contract was being discussed or
signed.
In February 1968 Ian left Luton and took up permanent residence in London, his
first address being 28 Burghley Road in Kentish Town. He told me at that he
had been inspired by a Roland Kirk tune and intended to write a song called
'Blues for Yvonne' because he wanted everyone to know that I was his girl.
Although Ian proposes marriage again, my responses are confused. I did
promise that I would be able to marry him one day.
Ian's one time desire to settle for a small cottage in Hampstead, three kids and
some boxer puppies was a far cry from what actually happened. It is also
interesting to note that I remember Ian saying that if the group did work out he
would be lucky to have a career that would span ten years at the most. On
Thursday the 13th of June 1968, recording began in earnest for their first album,
This Was. At this time Ian was wearing blue overalls on stage. He had also
bought a spacesuit to wear at the Windsor Jazz Festival. But I don't remember
that he wore that. He also bought himself a leather jacket, but said 'it's not the
sort that groupies wear: a really evil one. A rocker jacket'. He thought that his
mother would probably go wild about it.
Yvonne Nicholson
29
By July, he was wearing his father's overcoat less and less. He had found some
new garb to replace it: he reckoned he now looked rather like a character from a
Shakespeare play or (at a pinch) Robin Hood, and he thought that this new
image would please me and provoke more interest from the females in the
audience.
Jethro Tull played to 7,000 people at an open-air concert in Hyde Park with Pink
Floyd. Ian thought it was fun. It was. He tells me that things look like happening
for the band in a few months and asks me to marry him when it does.
In July Ian's big brother Robin was awarded an Arts Council grant to go into
theatre management. Ian thinks that Robin should be big-time in a few years.
He joked that I could marry Robin if I want to, as long as I continued to sleep
with him at weekends.
On Sunday 11th of August 1968, Jethro Tull appeared at the Sunbury Jazz and
Blues Festival. This was a very exciting event for me, since I had never
attended a music concert on such a large scale before. Ian had bought me a
new pair of jeans for the occasion. The band and I travelled up together on the
10th of August (Ian's Birthday) and took our place backstage with the rest of the
musicians. It was a very important gig for Jethro Tull: how well they were
received would effect their future standing in the music industry enormously. I
mingled with the pop stars of the day in the small backstage marquee. Some of
the groups featured at this three-day event included Deep Purple, Ginger Baker,
John Mayall, Fairport Convention, The Incredible String Band, Traffic, The
Spencer Davis Group, Eric Clapton, Alexis Korner, The Cream, Tyrannosaurus
Rex, Marmalade, Al Stewart, Ten Years After, Taste, The Nice and Joe Cocker.
A single was recorded in November, 'Love Story', with a B-side entitled
'Christmas Song'. Ian wrote in one letter that Christmas Song was for me and in
another letter he wrote that Christmas Song was for me but not about me. I
regarded 'Christmas Song' as a light-hearted attempt on Ian's part to give me
something nice at a time when I needed it. Christmas in those days was a
particularly difficult time in my family. I was busy trying to deal with darker things
in my life when I first heard the record and I confess that I was slightly
disappointed that the song did not reflect a deeper understanding. In retrospect
it was lovely that Ian dedicated this and other songs to me. He himself thought
that 'Love Story' contained 'shades of Roy Harper', and was personally very
fond of it and hoped that I would be too.
Yvonne Nicholson
30
I was witness to and significantly affected by the circumstances surrounding
Mick Abrahams leaving the band. This particular time marked a change in Ian
that was difficult for me to come to terms with.
I have a strangely affectionate memory of Ian, which took place when I was
leaving Burghley Road, Kentish Town.
He was checking the address in Milan, Italy, where I was going to be spending
the next couple of months to avoid the feeling of being left behind when Ian
went to America. The address was written on several labels on my case. He
suddenly turned round and looked at me, his face furious with anger
'Ilaly!' he shouted'You are going to Ilaly?
This outburst was out of character for Ian, which is probably why I have always
remembered it. I looked down at the labels and saw that I hadn't crossed any of
my T's. I said as much to Ian. He looked down again and impatiently traced the
curly loops with his finger 'Those are defiantly your L's' he said even more upset
'They are definitely not your uncrossed T's'. I looked again. It was true they
were my particular curly looped L's and not my straight uncrossed T's. I was
actually lying, I had put an L instead of a T but I had done it unwittingly. Ian
asked me how I could be so careless with something as important as an
address.
I had been writing my dyslexic letters to Ian for years at that point and if they
ever managed to reach him they always ended with the same sentence
PS 'Sorry about the spelling'.
He used to get frantic if my letters didn't arrive but he usually enjoyed my writing
including the mistakes. He had never been this angry before.
I thought to myself 'He's really upset that I'm leaving'.
Ian left for his first American concerts at the Fillmore East in New York City on
January 24th and 25th 1969. According to Ian's letters the first tour lasted until
April 17th 1969. I wanted to go with Ian on this tour, Ian wanted me to go too
but the record company wouldn't allow it.
The record company and the people who worked for it were very much in
control.
I couldn't help but feel that Ian slowly became the victim of other people's
financial self-interest and advice, and started to hide his true self behind one
deliberately thought-out mask after another.
Although Ian writes in his letters from America that everything is the same as
regards his feelings for me in fact massive changes were taking place for both
of us. Ian's increased success was making him a very attractive proposition to
other women and although he tells me that the women only serve to prove to
him that he still wants me, they prove to me that I can't deal with them. I had
never doubted Ian's faithfulness and loyalty and never wanted to get to a point
where I might.
Yvonne Nicholson
31
We both decided to marry other people later that year.
On January the 24th 1970 I gave birth to my first daughter.
On March the 16th 1972 I received a surprise birthday phone call from Ian and
two complimentary front row tickets to a Jethro Tull concert at the Greens
Playhouse Glasgow with Tir Na Nog. Strangely this followed the only really lucid
dream I have ever had during which Ian actually forewarned me that he would
be phoning me on my birthday. We had not communicated for two and a half
years at that point.
This was a spectacular show for me not least because I had never seen Ian
land in the splits from a great height before. It came as quite a shock since I had
always been under the impression that any ballet classes that Ian had taken
were as a young child. I was working as an actress at The Citizens Theatre in
Glasgow during this period. Afterwards I shared sandwiches back at the Royal
Stuart hotel with some other band members and crew. Ian told me that he
enjoyed living in hotels and out of a suitcase at this time. I seem to remember
that his suitcase contained several changes of identical black day clothes,
which, I thought might have made him feel a sense of order. This was at the
height of the hippie revolution when a sense of order was not normally a priority.
The following morning Ian told me that he would write from Montreux in
Switzerland in fact a letter came from Montreal Canada. He seemed to be all
over the place.
The Morgan music studios two years later was to be the last time I would see
the original Jethro Tull band members together. Ian had invited me over to see
him and the rest of the band. Ian was producing the music and directing the
orchestra for the War Child film project, which was very impressive to me. That
final reunion in Morgan Studios was significant for me inasmuch as I had not
been with the other members of the band like that since our college days. It
almost felt like old times, with Ian cavorting around and showing off like he used
to. The other band members were more subdued than they were in the old days
and I was surprised to hear from one of them that they were on wages. Perhaps
it was my imagination, but the feeling of equality that they used to share
seemed to be noticeably absent. Before I left the studio, I privately asked Ian
how he had acquired his ability to orchestrate classical musicians so well and
so impressively, and how he generated so much respect. He told me that it was
a sort of con, that you just believe you can do it and you can (or words to that
effect). Ian was sweet and affectionate with me, and we arranged to meet up
again.
Yvonne Nicholson
32
Ian gave me two tickets to a concert at the Rainbow Theatre in London with
Pan's People in October 1974 and later backstage a promise (which never
materialised) to fly me out to Monte Carlo.
In late 1974 after an Indian Meal in Baker Street, Ian and I went to his Baker
Street Mews, which would be the last time that I would ever see Ian entirely
alone. Amongst other things, to remember him by he gave me the script that he
had written called 'War Child'. Later the War Child album arrived straight off the
press with no cover.
I didn't see Ian for another 15 years.
During my research for this book, I have felt somewhat sad on re-reading many
of Ian's letters written before 1974. Whatever I say about Ian and his former self
has to be inadequate in the face of his own writing. His letters speak in such an
open, honest and truthful way that they would tell you more about the real
nature of the person that Ian was than any biographer could ever possibly do.
Many times through words and poems he express his need for me to make a
permanent commitment to him, which was the only way he saw that he could
really protect both of us from the changes that were taking place in his life. He
seemed to know very clearly that people could become victims of the business
he was destined to be successful in. He was trying very hard within the pages of
his letters to prevent that from happening to us, even to the point of threatening
to give up music entirely if having music meant sacrificing the people he really
loved and cared for.
While Ian was with me, I have to admit that I certainly absorbed the idea that I
could do anything I wanted to in life. For the three or four years that we were
together, he helped to lay the foundations of self-belief in me, which in turn
acted as a springboard from which my career as an actress really took off for a
short while. I went from one leading television role to the next, and for a time
enjoyed the kind of acting success that I was looking for. However, I have to
confess, very reluctantly, that when Ian completely went out of my life in late
1974 I found myself being cast in prestigious, leading, but nonetheless victim
roles, which clearly reflected both how I was feeling and how I was beginning to
be perceived by others. A couple of months after I last saw Ian in 1974 I played
the role of Ophelia in Buzz Goodbody's acclaimed production of Hamlet at the
Royal Shakespeare Company, Stratford-Upon-Avon. Buzz had cast Ben
Kingsley in the role of Hamlet.
Yvonne Nicholson
33
Buzz was the first female director ever to work at the RSC and was also actively
involved in the feminist movement. As part of the rehearsal process, she shared
in depth many of her views and feelings with me about how and why some
women of our time had become victims of their gender and of their sexuality,
both in the workplace and in their relationships with men. As we became
immersed in the rehearsal process, it became clear that I was one of a small
group of people within the cast who were suffering, for one reason or another,
such abject long-term emotional pain that it might prove to be irreconcilable.
In terms of the production, the big question of course was, Does an individual
go on living with a pain that is possibly irreconcilable? In Hamlet's most famous
soliloquy, he asks:
To be, or not to be - that is the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of
troubles And by opposing end them.
(III.1.56-60)
Throughout the intensive rehearsal period, the actors necessarily exchanged
experiences and feelings of loss and emotional bereavement. Buzz and the
actors playing the main characters in the production had, through their own life
experience and their brave, intense, exploration into this, one of Shakespeare's
most desolate plays, gained a deep-felt understanding of the seriousness and
potential dangers of rejection, denial and lost love.
Another crucial scene was the one following directly on from Hamlet's soliloquy,
the 'Nunnery scene' (III.1.90-162). Letters, tokens of love, are referred to as
'rememberances' in the text. I think that it is interesting to note that Buzz, Ben
and myself spent more hours in and out of rehearsal discussing this scene word
by word, personal experience by personal experience than any other in the
play. The 'rememberances' particularly were the subject of much discussion:
how else could Ophelia ever prove that she was truly 'loved', in the face of
Hamlet's sudden, insane rejection, if not by these letters?
When Buzz felt that her work as the director of this extraordinary production
was over, she committed suicide.
I carried on playing the suicidal Ophelia opposite Ben Kingsley's deeply
insightful Hamlet for another 18 months until late 1976, with performances at
the Royal Shakespeare Company Theatre (The Other Place) in Stratford-UponAvon and later at the Roundhouse in London. It was a very dark time in my life.
It was Ben Kingsley's advice thirteen years after the last performance of Hamlet
that gave me the courage and strength to actively seek out Ian Anderson and
'Resolve what he'd detected was the still unfinished business in our
relationship'.
This was in 1988 and I had been working on a film project about Simon
Wiesenthal the nazi war hunter. This time Ben Kingsley was playing Simon
Wiesenthal and as always discussions with Ben reached subterranean levels.
During the 13 years since I left the Royal Shakespeare Company my main
concern had been raising my children and I had happily kept the door closed on
my past. The joy of having children made sure that I stayed living in the present
with thankfully little time to reflect on a life gone by.
For the lighter moments during our time in Budapest a few of the actors thought
it would be fun to take in a Jethro Tull concert. A member of the cast who
happened to be a big Jethro Tull fan had tried to get tickets only to find out that
the concert was already sold out. So inspired by a growing sense of freedom
and courage I made a determined effort to obtain some complimentary tickets
myself. Unfortunately I failed which is probably just as well because later when I
told Ian about the proposed visit he seemed quite unmoved by the interest that
he had generated amongst the elite of the acting world. Undeterred however,
soon after leaving Budapest I took Ben's advice and went to visit Ian after a
Jethro Tull concert at the Hammmersmith Odeon in London in September 1989.
I left a note for him backstage to say I was in the audience and that I would try
and visit briefly afterwards.
Yvonne Nicholson
34
I enjoyed the show, which was only marred by the over enthusiastic responses
from a girl sitting two rows behind me. I began to feel sorry for her later as she
desperately paced up and down out side the stage door begging anyone who
came out of there for a back stage pass.
After waiting for ten uncomfortable minutes or so during which time I really
wanted to go home, a uniformed gentleman appeared at the backstage door
with a list of people's names which he read out loud to the waiting crowd.
Disappointment and objections followed, from those people who were not
chosen, particularly the girl who had been so desperate to get in. I thought that
she had probably seen better days, even though she did remind me of the type
of woman who attracted Ian at one time. I had never seen the reactions of a
woman fan before, as in my experience the John Evans Band/Jethro Tull hadn't
encouraged a great female following.
While other bands experienced a fair share of female groupies in the 60's and
70's, Ian told me, during the time we were going out together, that he was
grateful that it didn't work that way for him.
On being graciously invited to enter the stage door by the uniformed older
gentleman, I noticed another very similar looking woman amongst the small
crowd backstage. She stood in silence with her back against the wall but
seemed to emanate the same kind of distraction as the woman outside. In fact
they appeared to me to look uncannily like one another. I toyed with the idea
that a twist and turn of fate could have easily altered their positions. As a
security guard ushered me into a waiting position, he wagged a warning finger
at me and, ridiculously, instructed
"No Past History!"
For some inexplicable reason, this both insulted and amused me at the same
time and in a faint rush of hysteria, I found myself spontaneously turning three
circles, in what felt like an extraordinary effort to propel myself out of there. As
Ian came round the corner I queued up dutifully behind a member of the
audience who spent what seemed like several minutes in an uninterrupted flow
of verbal adoration. Ian was visibly distracted. We had not seen each other for
just over 13 years at this point and this did not feel as easy as I had hoped. Ian
continued to look at the guy in front of me with a blank confused expression on
his face and then suddenly apologised to him for not being able to understand
anything that he was saying. It was a curious moment. Ian took me by the hand
sat back down on the stairs and drew me into what I thought was a friendly kiss.
I really wasn't up to any kind of conversation so I said
'I thought you were really great on stage. It's good to see you again. I have to
go now'. It was nice to see the bemused look on Ian's face as I left as quickly as
I could.
On the 24th of January 1991 a surprise letter arrived from Ian post-marked
Skye in Scotland. It suggested lunch and ended with the words 'Trust me'. A
couple of phone calls later, we met up for lunch. Disappointingly a feeling of
restraint restricted our conversation and it wasn't until we kissed goodbye that
Ian mistakenly expressed a subconscious thought that made him crack out
laughing. For a brief moment I caught a glimpse of the Ian I used to know and
love and that was the last time we saw each other.

Jethro Tull The Early Years

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Yvonne Nicholson July 1997

All the best,

during the height of the season.