from The Beatles 1963 by Dafydd Rees
"I saw them many more times after that. I remember Paul loved my mum. When I went and did interviews, my mum would often drive me and whenever I interviewed Paul in a hotel or somewhere, my mum would just sit in a corner and have a coffee.
So Paul got to know her and he really liked her - she was very glamorous and very warm. When they came back from America, there was that famous scene at the airport. All the press were there and it was live on TV. I brought my mum into the press conference. The Beatles arrived and Paul saw Mum in the corner and came straight over to her and told her everything about what happened in America. I think he still needed a mother figure.
They were chatting away and everyone was wondering where Paul was and I remember John saying, ‘He’s with Dawn’s mum.’ So they dragged him back to the press conference.
Looking back, the Beatles really were in a class of their own."
— Dawn Slough (James), Journalist [From The Beatles 1963 by Dafydd Rees (2022) ]
LETTERS FROM GEORGE’S MUM LOUISE HARRISON
“When we first arrived in this alien county, we had missed a Beatles concert in Norwich by a few weeks; but a girl in my class at school had attended and had mysteriously obtained all the Beatles’ home addresses and was selling them at break time for half-a-crown each. I handed over my 2/6 eagerly, clutching the precious paper bearing George’s address to my adolescent bosom. One Hundred and Seventy Four, Mackets Lane, Liverpool - suddenly the Mecca of my imagination.
I hurried home to compose my very first (and last) fan letter to George. What did I say? I can’t remember, but I was a budding writer, so it would be a masterpiece of a letter, surely, brimming with wit and beauty… No. It was an incoherent outpouring of cliched adoration and loyalty, along the lines of ‘I think you’re fab’ and ‘I much prefer ‘Please Please Me’ to ‘Come On’ by the Stones…’ I don’t know if I expected a reply, but one day a letter did come, and it had a Liverpool postmark, addressed to me in unfamiliar handwriting. My heart skipped a beat. I opened it with trembling fingers and found - a letter from George’s mum, Louise. It started much as you might expect, along the lines of ‘Sorry George hasn’t got time to write because he’s busy touring.’ I was astonished - George’s mum had bothered to write back! And then a question suddenly leapt off the page. ‘Are you by any chance related to a writer called Ivy Ferrari, who writes doctor and nurse romances?’ And now my heart skipped even more beats - because my mother was the writer called Ivy Ferrari, a romantic novelist churning out Mills and Boon paperbacks with titles like Nurse At Ryminster, Doctor At Ryminster, Almoner At Ryminster. I couldn’t believe it. Mrs Harrison was a fan of my mother! Of course, I replied. The word eager doesn’t quite cover it. I WAS WRITING TO THE MOTHER OF A BEATLE - MY BEATLE! And thus began a correspondence that lasted for several years.
I sent her signed copies of my mother’s novels, illustrated with lurid couples embracing on their red and green covers. She sent me notes from George (‘Dear Mum, get me up at 3, love George’) written on the backs of old envelopes. She sent me pictures cut out of newspapers that she had managed to get all four of them to sign (John Lennon drawing a big lipstick mouth on one, I recall). She sent a piece of a suit that George had worn when he played in Hamburg. And most exciting of all, she sent snippets of their life, small secrets that I felt privileged to receive. She told me John was her favourite because he danced the tango with her in the kitchen and made her laugh. She told me when George phoned her from hotel rooms for a chat. I asked her about Liverpool, about her life as a girl, and she shared tales of her life in a city I had never seen. I don’t know why she always replied. We were from different planets, but reply she always did. Imagine then, my astonishment when I received a Harrison missive telling me that she ‘always’ read my letters to George over the phone. I felt faint. George knew who I was! I had a name! I had an identity! I was in George’s head!
[…]
I will always treasure the memory of those letters from Liverpool. George’s mother made me feel special, interesting. We wrote to each other for several years, although gradually the correspondence faded as I moved to London and started my working life.
[…]
George’s mum had made me feel special, different, touched by a small handful of stardust - whether she meant to or not.”
— Lilie Ferrari, Writer [From The Beatles 1963 by Dafydd Rees (2022) ]
Local Beatles News!
On this day in 1963, the Beatles stopped at the Windrush Inn on the Burford Road just outside Witney Oxfordhires; the boys were on their way to Cheltenham. [Photo by Arthur Titherington.] Their black Austin Princess stopped on the main forecourt outside the pub, and a member of their team went inside to ask if lunch could be served. According to landlord Ted Thompson: ‘The man said it was for the Beatles. They were feeling tired and could their presence be kept quiet?’ Margaret Hill was waitressing in the dining room. ‘I didn’t know whether I was coming or going,’ she said. Evidently Mr Thompson succeeded in his mission, because the boys managed to have a peaceful lunch and go on their way unnoticed. Two days earlier, the band had experienced their first major airport reception at Heathrow on their return from Sweden. The group and their entourage flew back second class in a Scandinavian Airlines Caravelle aircraft. Upon their arrival in England there were thousands of fans at the airport, standing outside in spite of heavy rain. The Beatles initially thought the fans were waiting to see the Queen, but soon realised the extent of their popularity back home. Many of the fans were sporting Beatle haircuts, and the screams were so loud that they drowned out the noise of the jet engines. Loads more like this in my book "On this day in Oxfordshire",
available at
“You had to be there, and he was”
John Lennon reviews the Goon Show scripts by Spike Milligan : September 30th 1973 The New York Times
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