Steve was a couple of years older than me and such a lovely boy. Really kind and very funny. He lived on the estate with his mum, dad and sister Julie, who was pretty and sweet. Within a few weeks of knowing him he’d gone full punk. His hair was dyed black and soaped into spikes, and he’d gained the punk uniform of skintight jeans and studded black leather jacket, just like Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols. I thought he was amazing.
The main problem with him being older than me was that I couldn’t go to gigs – or anywhere really – with him. I’d only see him on weekends and even then it was just for a short time before he headed out to pogo with proper punks, not silly little part-timers like me. I’d sit in his bedroom while he got ready, listening with envy about the gigs and parties he’d been to or was going to. Every now and then his angry dad would burst in and shout his head off at him. It never bothered me, I just thought most dads were mad, but it would upset and embarrass Steve. “He’s always having a go at me about something.” He’d bounce back pretty quickly, though. “Oh well, he’s just old I suppose. Can’t be much fun, eh?” Such a lovely boy.
I couldn’t really be a proper girlfriend to him and I was too young for hanky-panky, which he never pushed for once I’d said, “Best not, I don’t want to end up preggers.” So, after a couple of months of lovely smooches and cuddles, we decided to amicably part ways. He would come back into my life a couple of years later in an unexpected and dramatic way, but we’ll leave him in this happier place for now.
As 1977 moved into ’78, ’79 and ’80 an abundance of new bands and sounds had emerged. New wave and ska were making a big impact, particularly the latter with the genius 2 Tone Records. The release of the 1979 film Quadrophenia brought on the mod revival and every man, woman, child, dog, budgie and goldfish was in love with Debbie Harry.
This period of time is all a bit of a mash-up for me as I chopped and changed from a punk to a skinhead to a mod to a skinhead again. I wanted to be in all the gangs. As I grew older and got more daring, girls at school who were into the same scene as me would let me know if a party or gig in someone’s garage or back garden was happening at the weekend. I’d tell Dad the old chestnut that I was staying at someone’s house, usually a fictional friend called Tracy, then head off into the night to unknown territories such as Ladbroke Grove or Shepherd’s Bush.
