The Most Beautiful Place On God's Earth

4 Obadiah and the rock 'n' roll priest

Photo: Early 1970s London Underground coach

The wooden subway cars on the Northern Line reminded the boys of the Athens underground trains - both had been built long before the war.

Dave sounded a little reproachful when he commented on Tom and Martin's plans for the rest of their stay in London:

"You're spending five days in London and don't plan to visit Tower Bridge or Lizzy's cottage, Buckingham Palace?"

"We can still do those tourist things on Tuesday," replied Tom, "or we can buy some postcards and look at them on the flight back. Spending the Sunday with the Uptones will be more fun."

Thanks to the tube's clear route maps, they got to Ladbroke Grove without any trouble. They found the Uptones band in a shed in the backyard of a small two-story townhouse. Next to the musicians, the ingenious sound engineer Sam and a second boy of about 14 were sitting on a box in the corner. Beard, the drummer, introduced the little one:

"This is my cousin Benny, who's run away from his reformatory again."

The little boy glared at him, stood up and demanded "Music!" Killer and Starman obviously knew this command, because they immediately manned their instruments. Starman rhythmically strummed a chord, and Killer played a simple bass line on his acoustic guitar. Benny struck a pose and rapped in an angry voice to the simple music:

"He calls me Benny, but that is forbidden.

He knows my name well, doesn't he:

Obadiah, Obadiah, Obadiah.

Born in the ghetto of Birmingham,

on the run, on the run,

from the dogs, from the clubs,

from the bad white man.

They wanna catch me, wanna torment me,

but Obadiah, Obadiah is faster, is clever, is cool.

Don't ever call me Benny again,

cos you know my name -

Obadiah, Obadiah!"

Tom, Martin, and Dave were impressed. The little one rapped to the rhythm of the music without thinking, it seemed, and his demeanor was extremely confident. Martin recognized the spotlight hog in him:

"Hey, Obadiah, you little poet, where do you get the rhymes from so quickly?"

The musicians started again, and Obadiah rapped:

"Can't read, can't write,

but think and also rhyme.

Have enough space in my head for all the words,

the phrases keep coming,

just need to spit them out,

and that's it."

The door opened and Killer's little sister called the band members and their guests inside, because the rest of the family had come home from church. Only the youngest daughter had stayed home to watch the food.

Tom, Martin, and Dave felt underdressed because Killer's family were all in their best Sunday clothes. The greeting was warm, and as they ate - baked chicken in a hot curry sauce with sweet potatoes - the boys were questioned by Killer's father.

"You know, you're the first white people to eat with us."

"Why is that?" asked Martin. "After all, you've been living in London for 10 years."