#tottenhamroyal

[thatstheticketheresthestory]

Hello Facebookers. Happy Sunday

Here’s yet another ticket post in my weekly, nostalgic, stub project. #thatstheticket

Scarily, in this instance, its a souvenir from over 42 years ago!

The Royal, Tottenham

Unspecified “Group and Disco”

Year 1975

10p before 10.30pm

This week, not a stub for a specific gig, play, or sporting event. Instead, that's the ticket for a Saturday night out at a, long gone, North London dancehall. It's a venue that has a special place in my heart. That's because one of my teenage birthday celebrations in that old-school temple of fun, unexpectedly, made a significant contribution to my chosen career path. It also gave me the mother of all hangovers.

My old muckers and I started frequenting local discos at a very early age; Pre bum fluff. They were akin to youth clubs, held in the back rooms of pubs, where preened adolescents would flaunt themselves. Glizty it wasn't. Sunday night parties at the Cambridge on the glamorous Edmonton roundabout, or the White Hart pub near the dazzling boulevard, White Hart Lane. But the Royal was an actual nightclub. The starting point in my continuing journey of nocturnal adventures.

The Royal, a Mecca operated dancehall, started life as an ice rink. It first opened its doors as a Palais de Danse in the 1920s and continued that function through every era right up to the 80s. I lived a just a couple of miles away.

Most famously, in the 60s the Dave Clark Five were the resident house band. They were at the vanguard of the "Tottenham Sound" a hugely popular genre, characterised by vigorous stomping. The Spurs double team paraded their trophies there. My dad ran a betting shop on Tottenham High Road and would go with my mum and their friends, I believe. Evidently, the Kray twins, immaculate in their dark suits and ties were regulars. You'd better not spill their pints else you'll end up with concrete boots. It was the place to be. They were glad all over.

But by the mid 70's, when I first went, the Royal was on the decline. It was an anachronism. The decor and furnishings hadn't changed for decades. A cavernous, slightly bedraggled dance hall with a wooden dance floor, surrounded by tables and chairs beneath a glittering ball. An imposing ornate wooden stage at one end was framed by thick drapes. You could still sense the aura of the Teddy Boys and girls who jived the night away to the house band, twenty years before. Still smell a bouquet of Brylcreem, lacquer, fags and floor polish.

I was barely in my teens when I first gained entry. There was no Challenge 25 policy back then; in fact seemingly no policy at all. Within reason, make some form of an effort to dress up, slap on a palm full of Brut or Hai Karate, and you'd get in and get served at the bar, no questions asked. Not like today. My 14-year-old daughter Hope just can't fathom it.

Fashion-wise it was all pretty iffy. Lionel Blairs were still de rigueur, worn high waisted with multiple belts and platform boots. But being trendsetters, we adopted a more tailored look, two-tone trousers, Simon shirts, tank tops, crepe sole shoes all bought from Petticoat Lane Market, or from Department S in Edmonton Green using hard-earned Saturday job money. In my case as a butcher's boy.

Summer Fantasia was a gloriously unfashionable weekly event. I'd go along with mates a year or two older, Gary Furness, Dave Prime and Paul Jones. Just 10 new p to get in

There was a naff house band fronted by decrepit Ken Mcintosh playing cover versions. Also, a nondescript DJ would spin the discs and introduce each one with inane banter. Girls would dance around their handbags. The blokes would watch from afar, surveying the prey.

It was just before the disco invasion. Consequently, the music was soulful, poppy and often trite. Essentially the hits of the day. Timeless artists like George McCrae, Gloria Gaynor and the Chilites. Karl Douglas was Kung Fu Fighting. We would do the Bump. Worryingly several of these are still staples in my record box.

For many, the prime focus of the whole evening was the smoochie section finale. The evening would end with the DJ playing a few slow tracks, and, if you could pluck up the courage, you'd make your move to get on down with, hopefully, some sweet, delectable creature. But more likely whoever was willing to be held tightly and rotated slowly by a spotty adolescent intent on a song,

In the following few years, the Royal and other clubs, like nearby Charlie Brown's would become more discerning regarding the music played. They became part of the up-and-coming jazz funk and southern soul scene.

The Royal had a refurb and became the Mayfair, but sadly it wasn't much good. Our focus had moved on to places like the Royalty in Southgate and Crackers in Soho

After a few other name changes, (Ritzy,The Temple) it was eventually demolished to make way for social housing

Notably, I recall going to the Royal on my 16th birthday. I got totally blotto on copious pints of lager and vodka and limes. My unseasoned body, just couldn't handle it. Ignominiously I had to be carried out.

In an actual schoolboy error, I had arranged a job interview for a vacancy as an office junior in a City Bank the very next morning. I had to call and cancel claiming I was "ill". I never rescheduled. Instead, I reflected and decided to defer the rat race and to continue my education. One of the best decision I (n)ever made.

So a drunken night at the Royal saved me from a life as a merchant banker (although some of you may disagree) ;)

#mylifeinstubs #tottenhamroyal #oldclubbing #daveclarkfive #crackers #tottenham Gary Garyoke Yido Furness Jason Jones Dave Prime Hilary McNicholas

an amazingly evocative film of 60′s Royal https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSLi4pWxKEg

A playlist i have compiled of the  sounds of the mid 70′s Royal 

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