I think about this day regularly, it seams like yesterday but it was now over 20 years ago. Please therefor excuse any errors if any of it is not exactly correct.

Date: 20/1/1979 Venue:London Cost:£1.50

We –me and my mate Paul- jumped off the tube probably at Euston after a blast around the circle line. It would have seamed a ‘blast’ after the 40+ mile trip from Benfleet where we then lived. I had memorized the route from the station,

as it would have not been cool to arrive with an A to Z clasped in our sweaty mitts! However, it was also not cool to arrive about three hours early!

This was our first London Gig. We wore the best we could muster without looking like dicks and we even paid the full train fare. All this would change over the coming years. We would have designer, mega expensive Kings road clobber from ‘Boy’ with Robot boots but still bunk the train fares as this was punk! The only other bands we had seen sometime in the previous hazy summer were at a small outdoor festival in Basildon. I remember a collection of Wannabe’s had stood at the station that day. Alf, later to find fame with Yazoo, Dave Ghan, that would front Depeche mode and the small moody keyboard player to be Erasure’s other half.

Back to the day in question. It’s odd that in all our best memories the sun was shining. As it was on this day in January! We walked around the corner, there was the university as pointed to by the last direction sign. Of course it was a big place. Too early to find a queue, we wondered where to go. There was a large foyer area but I think it was locked. We walked back to some steps that we passed on the way. At the top of the steps were two big doors. This must be the correct place we thought as we attempted to sit awkwardly on the step’s thin banisters. Who would arrive next? Would it be a hundred six foot six skins, London punks with safety pins through their cheeks or even the legendary ‘Ant People’. We continued to pose on the steps whilst attempting to blend in with the background. Finally a group of lads-also still early- walked around the corner. Luckily for them they had no problem in finding the queue that we had started! Time dragged but finally with around fifty people gathered the doors opened. With hand stamped and a meager quid fifty removed from tight denim jeans we entered the big student hall. Many of the the regular London Punks remained outside loitering and possing in the foyer, most missing the first bands. This was a trait that would be followed by us over our future years but one that is regrettable.

I cannot remember Gloria Mundi. I probably politely clapped. Again the Edge who become a major cult band appear to have escaped my memory. Still some satisfaction remains that I have actually seen them. The hall started to fill. This was a good sign, this would mean that the Mekons on next would be worthy of more audience participation. They would be good and would go on release a single that I would snap up on it’s first day of release. They came and went. And again roadies or probably the bands friends helped with the removal of equipment again. Why did each band have to bring it’s own drum kit? I stupidly thought as we contemplated our first expedition to the bar out near the foyer.

In this period the atmosphere changed and would only be noted with hindsight. The hall had gone from under half empty to almost full. A few ‘music enthusiasts’ stood in space at the rear with pints of real ale. Apart from this it was now packed. This was it. The air had changed, the sweet smell of leather and cheap Brut deodorant combined with the fog of smoke and body odor. God it was hot. I wished that I had left my jacket at home. The same jacket for this reason would have the arms ripped off in the future. The rodies ferreted along the floor of the stage endlessly completing minor adjustments. Get on with it I thought as we made our way back closer to the front.

The stage was clear, the tools of the bands craft carefully placed up against the old musky smelling valve Marshall amps. A couple of mikes were gripper taped to stands and a huge personalized drum kit sparkled in the middle of the small stage. We were no longer surrounded by the odd music loving student or the real ale drinkers but by a hard core of punks. Fully studded leather jackets were topped by spiky haired silhouettes as I focused towards the still empty stage. Smoke from the standard intro dry-ice machine started to blend with the cigarette and cannabis smoke.

It started. Nick Garratt walked on in his tight ripped jeans. So tight that mine appeared like flares. Paul and Nick quickly hanging the huge guitar straps around their skinny shoulders. The odd bit of deafening feed-back pierced from the speakers as the stage stood still awaiting Charlie. He quickly appeared clasping the mike with both hands on the center of the stage. Smiling, he wore a pale yellow T and thick industrial jeans topped with what I can only describe as a long mustard color flashers mac. "Allo, we’re the UK Subs"

He scowled in a deep croaky voice. Crash, the drums exploded behind a thudding base and deafening lead guitar thrash. A small pause allowed ears to adjust to the deafening sound. This was followed with the intro to B.I.C. The crowd squashed sweaty shoulder to sweaty shoulder. It started to involuntarily bob up and down in time with the awesome thudding riffs. Flem flew from the mouths of the punks down the front and glistened in the tight mop of Charlie’s hair. Several songs were bashed out in quick succession. Reference was made to the forth- coming or possibly just released ‘Live in a Car’ single prior to it’s rendition. Charlie and the crowd were by this time I think exhausted. He slung the now ideal ‘gob’ smothered rain- coat to the floor. "Fanx to …… for the new T shirt that she made me" he shouted between breaths before launching into something like ‘Stranglehold’ or perhaps ‘C.I.D’. The energy of the band and the suffocating crowd continued with little pause. Until Charlie stopped and said "Time for a slow one… Is ones called Telefone numbers" This would be- come a standard line at other gigs as I would often hear him stutter this prior to one of their fastest tracks. The bodies with glistening soap spiked hair crashed randomly into each other-out of control as if all in a trance or under some sort of spell. It continued. Mayhem.

Finally without warning, the band finished the song and quickly left the stage. "More, more, more" the united crowd chanted until the inevitable return of the partly refreshed band. Charlie placed his half drunk pint glass down and shouted "Ta". Something like ‘Stranglehold’ maybe ‘Live in a Car’ was again bashed out with the same passion and energy. Eventually it was over and that dreadful un-subtle hint moment, where they put all the lights on arrived. As quick as a flash the crowd dispersed with heads ringing into the crisp freezing winter air of the London back streets.

Over the next few years the couple trips a month to London became commonplace. We followed different bands along with the Subs at glossy clubs, pub basements full of skins and even near our home town as the movement became more popular. But these early Subs gigs remain special to me. I had the fortune of coincidentally seeing them fifteen or so years later, but that’s another story…..

Thank-you Subs for the memory.