13 March 1958. Terry Skinner, aged 14 but wishing he was older, pulled up the collar of his drape jacket against the howling March wind. He was particularly proud of the red velvet collar. Terry had never seen six o’clock in the morning, but this was special. Already a queue was forming outside the Philharmonic Hall, but tickets didn’t go on sale until nine.
A clatter of horses’ hooves signalled the arrival of the milkman. Terry had left without breakfast and gladly handed over a few coppers for a bottle of milk. Uninvited, Milky cheekily shared his view with the growing crowds, ‘You’re crazy. Who’d want to see those Yanks!’ Terry fumed: what did the square know? Terry knew the whole country had been agog for weeks. You never saw American stars – at least not young ones – in England.
A green bus trundled by on its way towards Penny Lane. Terry knew it was a Titan PD2; until a few months ago bus spotting had been a passion with him. No longer: rock n roll was king now.
It would be a long wait. He should be at the grammar school by nine. Would he be missed? He knew the answer to that. Truanting was serious business. Tomorrow he’d be in the headmaster’s study, touching toes, for a stinging six-of-the-best. Ha! He told himself bravely, it would be worth it. Soon he would have a pair of tickets for Buddy Holly and the Crickets and become part of Liverpool history.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 