John Edward Cooper’s Notes

"We were now going regularly to the Full Gospel Church in Fleetwood, but a number of times we travelled to Manchester to go to Sharon."

Saturday 15th May 1965
 2. The time came when Hazel and Pamela paid us a reciprocal visit. They came by bus, on Saturday 15th May 1965. They travelled on the “X60” from Lower Mosley Street bus station in Manchester to the Coliseum bus station in Blackpool. (It may even be that the occasions when we went to them by bus started because they came to us on this occasion by bus.[1]) They stayed the Saturday and Sunday nights at Chris’s house in Ascot Road, Thornton. I only have a few memories now of their visit.

[1] It may even be that the occasions when we went to them by bus started because they came to us on this occasion by bus: Chris seems to remember that our going to meet them in Blackpool was the first time that he had been to the Coliseum; he didn’t know the town Blackpool itself all that well, and he didn’t realise where the Coliseum was (his Dad knew where it was but Chris didn’t): it was over a mile from the more-familiar Talbot Road bus station which acted as a terminus for the local bus services, and was tucked away on a small street off from the sea-front and promenade.


"They travelled on the “X60” from Lower Mosley Street bus station in Manchester"

 3. I think they visited my house on the Saturday; did they stay for tea? As I have already mentioned, Peter and I fancied Pamela, and Chris Hazel. But our Steve failed to be impressed with what were to me Pamela’s irresistible charms. He later commented, to my chagrin, that he thought she looked like a horse: Pam had fairly prominent teeth that showed her gums when she smiled. In characteristic wit, he also referred to the name Pamela as “Camel arse”.

"Peter and I" (ca.1967) "fancied Pamela" (1968)…


…"and Chris Hazel" (1969 photos)


"Our Steve" (ca.1967)… "My house" (2006)

 4. I believe that we took them to meet Trevor on the Saturday afternoon. Trevor was still living at that time at the bungalow in Laurel Drive, Thornton, not far from my house. It seems typical of Trevor during this period that he was always “w’kin’”, that is, doing his school homework. (Trevor originally came from Bolton, and would shorten the vowel in words such as “work” and “church” to “w’k” and “ch’ch”.) Because he was “w’kin’”, he just came outside to see us briefly; we weren’t invited in. We were aware that that would be the situation at Trevor’s, but we were keen to show the girls off to him; their Dad was to us tantamount to a television star, and here we were even going around with his daughters! I doubt whether Trevor was very much more impressed than our Steve was.

"Trevor" (late 1960s) "was still living at that time at the bungalow in Laurel Drive, Thornton" (2003)

 5. In the evening we took them into Blackpool to have a look around; we took them on the Golden Mile where all the amusement arcades were.

The Golden Mile, Blackpool

 Chris and I probably lit up cigarettes, though I think Peter had given up smoking by this time. They weren’t at all interested in gambling machines, and wandering round the arcades and bingo places and stalls selling “Kiss me quick” hats didn’t excite them overmuch, so to try to add a little spice to the proceedings, we decided that a spoof phone call to Jones might be a good idea.

"We decided that a spoof phone call to Jones might be a good idea" — 1965 school photo; my caricature, ca.1968

 So we found a phone box, and Pamela was the one who spoke to him.
 “Hello, David,” she said in a soft, seductive voice.
 Barely suppressing our laughter, we imagined Jones demanding, “Who is this?”
 “It’s Pamela,” the silky voice continued.
 “Pamela WHO?” we imagined Jones saying.
 “You know — Pamela from Manchester.” Before he came to Thornton, Jones had lived in Manchester.
 “Don’t you remember me, David?” she pouted, then grinned round at us.
 She continued in the same vein for a little longer, then hung up; and we three boys staggered away from the telephone box, laughing and guffawing uncontrollably.

Poor Peter!