The Rave

In my early days of entertaining I played regularly every Monday evening in a pub in Loose, at this particular stage of my life, I was doing a solo act. Not that I am blowing my own trumpet (well I am I suppose) but it went down extremely well and brought in many a tone deaf but enthusiastic Johnny Cash fan.

It was normal in the course of the evening for various people to come to the microphone and give their own renditions of songs, you know Elvis, Jim Reeves, that sort of thing, to which I would accompany them on my guitar. Now this type of music attracts as you probably know some rather tough sorts and this particular evening was no exception. There was a character much loved by the bad and feared by the good that I will refer to as “The Rave”. Yes I am sure that a lot of you will remember the man and I know the older police will.

“The Rave” was the tallest and the skinniest man I have ever known; when he was about it was not wise to refuse any request. To be fair I did get on well with the Rave mainly because he would come up to the microphone every Monday and sing an Elvis song to which I would accompany him on the guitar, and without fail I would apologise profusely that his musical talent far exceeded my diminutive guitar playing skills, it has always been my motto, to know your limitations and not step over that mark, and being a cowardly sort I always did.

On one such evenings entertainment, a group of Irish labourers were present and requested that they come to the microphone and give a Jim Reeves rendition. It was really not appropriate timing as this particular spot was reserved for “The Rave”, nevertheless they insisted. Shortly after to be followed by the man himself doing his Elvis song, (to which I always started the clapping and cheering just to be on the safe side). Unfortunately someone who will be nameless said to “The Rave” “Those Mick’s are going to get you outside”. Horror of horrors I could feel the waves of horror and terror going around the pub like wild fire, suffice it to say this was not a good thing to say to “The Rave” , still no harm done and the rest of the evening went quite well albeit a little tense.

Closing time came and the Irish guys congregated outside enjoying a quiet last smoke before wending their weary way back to their digs. I knew this was not going to be easy but I wasn’t expecting “The Rave” to do what he did. He quietly finished his umpteenth pint of the night and sort of staggered outside, seeing the group of Irish went straight up to the biggest one and hit him with a punch that would have brought down Cassius Clay. I am able to picture so vividly the Irishman’s cigarette exploded into a thousand brilliant stars lighting up the night sky as he flew over a table backwards. The forecourt erupted into a seething mass of people hitting anything and anyone that came to close including two policemen I recall, who happened to be passing in their speedy Ford Anglia.

“The Rave” was finally escorted away by two battered policemen and four Irish were taken away by ambulance.

I had to chuckle on my way home, another successful and entertaining evening.

Happy Days