On 19 May, Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was launched with a small press party held at Brian Epstein's house at 24 Chapel Street. Linda Eastman was invited to the party as press photographer and was reunited with Paul.
Peter Brown: The girl who turned up at Chapel Street that May nineteenth wasn't the same sloppily dressed girl I had seen in my office a few days before. Her shiny blond hair was cut and washed and combed in a long, sweeping line under her chin. She wore impeccably applied makeup, including long, fluttering false eyelashes. She was dressed in a King's Road double-breasted, striped, barbershop jacket, with a short skirt that showed off her long legs. She held her Nikon in front of her and used it aggressively, probing with her lens. It wasn't long before she zeroed in on Paul. Paul sat in a chair by the fireplace in the lounge, dressed in pencil-striped trousers and a gray, striped jacket, nervously smoking cigarettes. He watched as Linda sank to her knees in front of the chair and began snapping photos of him.
Tony Bramwell: When Paul met Linda for the second time, the attraction he had felt for her was reinforced. Her blond hair was clean and shiny, her clothes simple and American "preppy." More, her gaze was direct, her smile sincere. She seemed to have a way that made everyone feel special, quite different from most of the Fleet Street stiffos there, who never looked at you when they spoke. Their eyes always raked the room beyond, as if convinced they were about to miss a scoop. Standing to one side with my drink and quietly observing, I noticed that Linda would lean forward and really listen. I saw how Paul liked her unpretentiousness. He seemed to me to be relaxed when talking to Linda in a way that he often wasn't with new people. He asked her for a date, but she said, “No, I have to return to New York." "Oh," Paul said. "Well, another time, then." "Sure, I'd like that," she said. I thought that only a girl who was well brought up and assured would turn down a Beatle. Most girls would have torn up their tickets and declared they could stay indefinitely.
Howard Sounes: In the few minutes she had before the photographers were ejected, Linda made a beeline for Paul, crouching at his feet by the fireplace, looking up into his face. He regarded her in return with mild interest, chin on hand, as if not sure what to make of her, a moment captured for posterity by one of the other photographers.
After the party, Linda Eastman flew back to New York, but not before trying to contact Paul.
Peter Brown: She tried to contact Paul by phone to learn that his unlisted number was billed to Harry Pinsker. Pinsker worked for Bryce-Hamner, and all the Beatles' unlisted phone numbers were billed to him for security reasons. Later that night Linda phoned and asked for Paul. Pinsker explained to Linda that she had the wrong number, but Linda wouldnt believe him. She kept calling back, insisting that it was Paul trying to trick her. Pinsker finally had to unplug all his telephones to get some sleep.
But Linda did not give up and managed to get Paul's number.
Howard Sounes: That weekend Paul went home to Liverpool. Linda phoned Cavendish while he was away and spoke to Paul's houseguest Prince Stash. "I said, 'Paul's in Liverpool.' She said, 'But what are you doing?' I said, 'I'm watching a movie,' and she said, 'I want to come over.'" So Linda came to Cavendish Avenue and fell into bed with Stash, who didn't think he was betraying Paul, because he didn't see Paul and Linda as serious. "He didn't take her to Liverpool, for instance." Still, there was a strange vibe at the house that weekend. While Prince Stash and Linda were rolling around together, Paul telephoned and asked Stash to move out until he got back, not because of Linda, says Stash, but because Paul had heard people were coming over and helping themselves to his drugs. In particular, Stash's friend Brian Jones, nowa hopeless junkie, was dipping into Paul's supply of legal pharmaceutical cocaine, which, according to Prince Stash, the Beatle kept at the time in a jar on the mantelpiece, as several of their friends did. Brian had promised but failed to replace what he had taken from the coke jar, and now Paul wanted everybody out. So Stash and Linda went to stay with the musician Graham Nash. Stash's affair with Linda became common knowledge in London's rock community. "I was teased extensively by Roger Daltrey and Hendrix and so on, because, you know, Linda had gone around," says Stash, ungallantly.
"She was not a groupie, she was somebody who loved love ... In modern days, people say, 'Oh, what an ungrateful bastard, he sleeps with his friend's girlfriend!' But that's not at all the way it was. You've got to put these things in context - everybody had very open relationships, and it wasn't cool to be jealous."
(Everyone seems to have forgotten that at the time Paul was in a relationship with Jane Asher, not Linda).
Geoffrey Giuliano: A few days later, Linda Eastman packed up her gear and reluctantly caught an early morning tlight back to Manhattan.
Howard Sounes: Yet when Linda flew back to New York her conversation was not about Prince Stash, but Paul McCartney.
Danny Fields: Flying back to New York the next week, after Linda had spent some time photographing Stevie Winwood and his band, Traffic, she found herself sitting next to Nat Weiss, who knew Linda (and her family). "She told me then that she was in love with Paul," Nat recalls. "She said, 'I've got to meet him again, I want to marry him.' Well, lots of girls wanted to marry Paul; get in line. But I sensed this as a defining moment for her, she was in love, no doubt about it."
Linda called me the day she got off the plane, to tell me essentially what she'd been telling Nat Weiss, over and over he says, on the seven-hour transatlantic flight. "I met the Beatles, and I got great pictures," she began, establishing her professionalism, which was hardly necessary. I knew something else was coming. "Listen," she said, "Paul McCartney is so wonderful, I really am in love with him." "In love? After how long?" I was sceptical about the depth of this emotion. "You sound like you don't believe me. I don't know why I'm telling you this if you won't believe me," she complained. "How much time did you spend with him?" "Maybe an hour or so altogether. That's between the night we met and the Sergeant Pepper press conference at Brian's. And we were never alone. You have to believe me, when did I ever say I was in love?"
She had a point there. She never had said exactly that before. It was always, "He's so cool/sweei/smart/talented/groovy/good-looking [pick one or more]. And I think he really likes me." That was always the kicker: 'I think he really likes me,' as if she were still, every time, trying to convince herself that she was a desirable woman. Lillian Roxon used to do a great imitation of Linda saying that, and we'd laugh, but it was kind of sad in a way. Come to think of it, she never had been in love. "Darling, I believe you. You have said you wanted to marry him before this." That wasn't real, Linda insisted, but now it was real. I asked her what she was going to do about it. "Well, what can I do? Camp out on his doorstep? I don't have his phone number and I don't even know how he feels. I guess I can't do anything for now." Wow - no "He really likes me." This time was truly different. So was acknowledging that she was unable to do anything ... for now. Actually, it took a year before she 'did' something; by then she had reason to be encouraged. Between May 1967 and May 1968, Paul McCartney called Linda about four times. He must have really liked her.
Geoffrey Giuliano: Friends say that from the moment she arrived home the lovesick Linda did little more than hang around her apart- ment, pining for McCartney. Lilian Roxon, a New York writer and friend of Eastman's, somehow ran across a photo of Linda and Paul taken at the Pepper press launch and posted it to her as a keepsake. Linda responded by blowing it up to half the size of a roadside billboard and then plastering it proudly across her livingroom wall. Linda Eastman was out to get her man.
At the end of May, Jane returned home.
Howard Sounes: Cavendish was in a heck of a state, having served asa bachelor pad for Paul and his mates for the past four and a half months. In the hours before Jane's return, on Monday 29 May, Paul dashed about cleaning, and herding waifs and strays out the door. Nico and Prince Stash had finally left, but Dudley Edwards was still painting the wallpaper. Paul hinted that it was time for Dudley to move on, too. Pausing to shave off his moustache, Paul drove to Heathrow, arriving at the airport in time to meet Jane making her way out of arrivals, a pack of pressmen closing in on the couple as they reunited. Reporters asked when they planned to marry. 'Not now' replied Jane, travel-weary and nervous about meeting a lover who had been like a stranger to her for months, their Rocky Mountains tryst notwithstanding.
After posing for a quick photo, Paul drove Jane home, which was the cue for the last house guest to leave.
"When Jane came back I think I was probably in the way" says Dudley Edwards. "Paul told me that Ringo actually wanted a mural painted in his place, and so l straight away went over to Weybridge to stay with Ringo."
When Jane got home, she was in for a few surprises.
JANE (1967): When I came back after five month [tour], Paul had changed so much. He was on LSD, which I hadn't shared. I was jealous of all the spiritual experiences he'd had with John. There were fifteen people dropping in all day long. The house had changed and was full of stuff I didn't know about.
Howard Sounes: Three days later, on 1 June 1967, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was officially released, acclaimed by press and public as a triumph, enjoyed as a popular work of art, and taken seriously by critics. To celebrate the release, Paul and Jane threw a party at Cavendish Avenue that lasted all weekend. Sunday evening they went to the Saville Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue - a building Brian was leasing - and saw Jimi Hendrix perform 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band' as part of his act.
(Jane was apparently kicked by a Paul "fan" as she was getting out of the car on arrival).
Howard Sounes: Jane tried to fit in with Paul's new world. She went along with him and the others to see the Maharishi, even though she (in common with the sensible George Martin) didn't think much of the yogi. Jane put up with the drug-taking, and got along as best she could with Paul's hippie friends.
(Ross Benson: 'That dreadful food they eat — it’s no wonder they get high,’ Jane Asher’s mother remarked.)
When wallpaper painter Dudley Edwards came back to Cavendish for a visit, Jane traded her Ford Popular with him for a statue of Shiva. "At that time they seemed to be very much a couple," comments Dudley, "everything seemed to be fine." Others weren't so sure. During visits to Rembrandt, Jim and Angie McCartney overheard arguments. Jim hoped the youngsters would be all right. Everybody liked Jane, and thought her a positive influence on Paul.
...
On their return from the United States, Paul and Jane returned to their usual routine as a couple, the first thing they did was to travel to Scotland.
Howard Sounes: Paul and Jane then packed their bags, grabbed Martha the sheepdog, and hopped on a plane to Scotland, where Paul had recently bought a holiday home, one that was to become very important in his life. The principal attraction of High Park Farm was its remoteness, and thereby the privacy it afforded a man who, while he enjoyed his fame, sometimes felt the need to get away from it all. High Park is only ten minutes' drive from Campbeltown, but Campbeltown itself is one of the remotest towns in the United Kingdom, 500 miles from London, the last 138 miles of road, from Glasgow, through wild and mostly empty country. Even if Paul broke his journey by stopping off to see Dad at Rembrandt, it was a seven-hour drive from Merseyside. Paul and Jane made the journey
Alistair Taylor: Gradually, I became closer to Paul than to any of the others. When he was going out with Jane, we were very close. He came to the office one day and told me that he had bought a farm in Scotland. [...] He asked me to get some furniture, but everything had to be second-hand and old, except for the beds. "I want it to be really basic and Spartan," said Paul, who always had an affection for life at its most primitive. He was absolutely sick of luxury and wanted to get right back to basics. So I organised him a Formica table, three plastic dining chairs and a second-hand electric stove. He did insist on clean bedding, though, and there was no bath.
The three of us went up there. Paul, Jane and I flew to Macrihanish, which I discovered was a NATO air base. It was run by the RAF so I rang the commanding officer and when I asked about the chances of landing a private plane there he said, "You have got to be kidding." That was one of the few times I used the Beatles fame. Mostly, I tried to keep them out of everything but I couldn’t see any other way of getting permission. I said actually it’s for Paul McCartney and, miraculously, permission was granted. When we landed for the first time all the staff were there. Paul signed autographs and chatted and went into the Mess. The base only consisted of two big runways off to the Atlantic, where I’d arranged for John, the local taxi driver, to pick us up. The road to the farm became more and more rugged and I could tell that they were becoming really excited at the thought of being able to walk outside without being mobbed by crowds of teenage girls. I was still a little apprehensive about what they might think of the place. It was very remote and basic and very cold. Lots of people are drawn to the idea of getting away from it all, but sometimes the reality is a little too rough to handle. But Paul and Jane fell in love with the place at first sight.
High Park seems to stand up in defiance of all the elements. Paul and Jane marvelled at the complete absence of luxury and even everyday modern conveniences. They spent the first hour there exploring and wandering around the farm and its tumbledown buildings. They kept squealing out in delight to each other when they found an old washtub or a piece of dead tractor. I never knew junk could be so interesting, but you could see this was exactly the escape they had both dreamed of. The farm hadn’t been used for years and there were piles of old bits of machinery lying around. The sheep that we saw grazing belonged to Paul, but they were looked after by High Park’s neighbour Ian, who lived at the rather more hospitable Low Park.
That evening, he paid us a call. Paul welcomed in this cheery chap with a weather-beaten face and an accent so strong that the three of us dared not look at each other for fear of offending our visitor with laughter. We kept nodding and saying 'Yeah’ or 'No’ in the hope that we would be able to penetrate his accent. Jane had to leave the room to stifle her giggles as Paul and I studied Ian’s face intently to see if we could comprehend at least the odd word. Eventually Paul gave in and said, 'Ian, I’m sorry, but I can’t understand a word you’re saying.’ We all burst out laughing and Ian laughed the loudest of all. Jane came back from the other room still sobbing with mirth and Ian slowed down and straightened up his speech just enough for we foreign invaders to understand. He was kindness itself as he carefully advised us where to walk and where not to walk and promised that he and his housekeeper Isobel would be around if we needed any help.
Howard Sounes: Firm friendships were formed with established farming families like the Blacks, who proved loyal and discreet. When fans and members of the press started trickling up in search of Paul, the neighbours didn't say where he lived, nor did they trouble Paul for autographs, or resent the fact he wasn't a real farmer. Paul employed a local man to look after High Park, a fellow named Duncan Cairns, later Duncan's son Robert, but they didn't work the land for profit any more. Paul also found the townsfolk agreeable. He could wander about Campbeltown doing his shopping, and using the pub and wee cinema, without being bothered, while also feeling welcomed into a small, tight-knit community with an everyday friendliness less common in more populous parts of the U K. New friendships were formed in town. One day a drummer from the Campbeltown Pipe Band - ordinary working men who came together in the evenings and at weekends to play traditional Scottish music on bagpipe and drum introduced himself to Paul, who invited the band to High Park to make a home movie with him and Jane. "He wanted us to go down in this park well below the farm, playing up and down, and Jane was supposed to be lost out in the hills, and she'd hear the band and come running down as we are marching up and down," recalls drummer Jim McGeachy. "We played there for an hour or so. He made a film of it." Later Paul's association with the pipe band would lead to one of his most successful recordings.
Alistair Taylor: We needed something to sit on. We wandered into the barn and up in the rafters was a filthy old mattress and piles and piles of old potato boxes, which had previously held Sharp’s Express potatoes. Paul said, "Let’s get that down. The mattress can be our sofa. We’ll have to give it a good beating to get the dust out. We can build the frame from the boxes." I was despatched into Cambeltown by taxi to buy a big bag of nails and a couple of hammers for this millionaire Beatle to start making furniture from the basic raw materials. "Get as many felt pens as you can as well because we’re going to doodle all over these horrible chocolate-brown walls." We hammered old boxes into the shape of the sofa base and then crudely hammered on a back. We threw the still filthy mattress on top and lo and behold we had our sofa. Paul instantly christened it our 'Sharp’s Express’. But we didn’t stop there. The spirit of Chippendale and Hepple-white entered us and we made some cupboards to stand beside the beds and some more for under the kitchen sink, all out of boxes. The next time I went into town, I bought some paint for all the cupboards, but tastefully leaving our Sharp’s Express sofa as raw wood.
There were no carpets, just bare stone floors. Paul used to have endless battles with the elderly Aga that simply refused to light until he had been fiddling with it for several hours. Even when he got it going, it sent smoke billowing all over the kitchen. But Paul liked the atmosphere it produced so he insisted we always kept it burning. Jane cooked our meals on a horrible old electric cooker which we had picked up for virtually nothing. She was a super cook and you would never tell from the meals she served up what a basic kitchen she was working in. But they were both fervent vegetarians and sometimes it seemed that all we lived on was cauliflower cheese.
After a day or two, we decided we all needed a bath. We were determined to solve our own problems rather than sneak off to Ian’s house for home comforts. So we decided to use the big old milk tank that stood in the derelict dairy. It was a huge stainless steel tank that stood on a plinth. It was about three feet deep and Paul said, "I’ve got it. We’ll rig this up as a bath. All we need is a stepladder!" The immersion heaters warmed up the water and we filled our enormous bath. We found a stepladder and took turns to go up into our bath. When you were inside you couldn’t see out but getting in was not exactly dignified. There was no one for miles around to see you but in those old-fashioned days Paul and I stood on guard against intruders with our backs to the bath when it was Jane’s turn to get inside. Well, I had my back to the bath anyway. It was a great place for a good old splash and a soak.
Mind you, Paul was not always quite as squeaky clean as he would have liked Jane to believe. He and I had taken Martha (Paul’s great, daft Old English sheepdog) for a walk in the fields and he turned to me and said, "You’ll have to go to the chemists in Cambeltown for me, mate. I’ve got an itch. I hope it’s not crabs. Get me something quick. I don’t want Jane to find out." Goodness knows who’d given him the crabs or whether he ever even had them. I suspect it was his paranoia, because he loved Jane and hadn’t strayed. Even being in love didn’t stop a Beatle from straying from the straight and narrow in those days. In the end, I had to get our solicitor Bob Graham to help me out. I phoned and told him it was for me and he said, "OK, mate, I’ll make sure some comes up." I’m pretty sure he knew it was for Paul because I had to stress secrecy. Eventually some pills arrived labelled 'Sheep Dip’, so that Jane would not find out.
There were round-the-clock pressures involved in being a Beatle and High Park was a wonderful escape. Jane was famous in her own right as well, of course, and she loved the feeling of freedom that the isolation gave them. At the risk of sounding unbearably corny, I can’t recall ever seeing a young couple happier. It was a privilege to be around such a happy, generous pair. Mind you, they weren’t alone for long as Martha also loved life at High Park. The first time Paul suggested bringing her along, I was horrified. I said, "Paul, Martha has never been in a plane in her life. If she goes berserk on a small private plane, we’re in trouble." "Don’t be a drag, Al," said Paul, "she’ll be all right." So off we set, the three of us and Martha. And she just sat there in the plane, bless her. She was as good as gold. She might have been a city dog, born and bred in St John’s Wood, but she loved the wide open space and even tried to round up the sheep for dipping with a singular lack of success, as she finished up much more exhausted than the sheep although she did chase one sheep into a hedge.
I enjoyed many visits with Paul and Jane. Sometimes we would go and help Ian with his sheep, and at other times we’d just wander at random on the unspoilt acres. It was so remote and peaceful it was the perfect remedy from an attack of Beatlemania. There was even a huge stone, which was later used as a title for a classical piece of music called 'Standing Stone’. There was a little lake on Paul’s Scottish estate with a rowing boat tided up at the edge. One day, we decided on a boating trip and the three of us climbed in. Paul took the oars and we started to float slowly round. I dangled my hand in the water as I relaxed in the sunshine and caught hold of a weed. I pulled this waterlily plant out by its roots and I was just about to hurl it casually back when Jane suddenly launched into a fierce lecture. "Do you know that plants are living creatures and that you have just killed one?" she screamed at me. None of the other Beatles ever went there. I felt very close to Paul at this time. High Park was very special to him. It was a super-magical place. Once, we heard shotgun blasts. It turned out to be Ian warning off the junior reporter from the local paper. He had spotted him approaching the farm and let loose a couple of cartridges, mercifully well over his head. The poor lad had turned tail and run, apparently unprepared to dodge gunfire for a story. Paul felt so sorry for him afterwards that he gave him an exclusive interview.
Jane seemed to be the first woman that Paul took seriously. Until Jane, women were there to be had. They were just throwing themselves at the Beatles in those days. What healthy young man would not take advantage? Girls used to queue up for the chance of going to bed with the Beatles. Sex was so frequent and so bereft of any emotion that it became boring.
Howard Sounes: When the sun shone, there seemed no better place to be than High Park, and the weather was glorious when Paul and Jane visited in June 1967, so nice they stayed a few days longer than they'd intended. And when they had to go home, they were able to fly to London. Another attraction for Paul was that, while Kintyre was very remote, private planes could use nearby RAF Machrihanish, which meant he could get back to Beatles business within two hours.
...
Chris Salewicz: On his return to London Paul went into the studio again, this time at Dick James Music. But now it was to produce an album for his brother and another third of the Scaffold, Roger McGough. To give his brother every possible assistance, Paul wheeled in as many superstar names as he could-Jimi Hendrix, Graham Nash, Dave Mason, John Mayall, the odd Walker brother.
Liner notes to CD reissue of McGough & McGear (richieunterberger.com):
As sessions progressed at Dick James’s facilities and De Lane Lea studios elsewhere in London (Mike thinks some might have been done at Abbey Road as well), a host of illustrious rock stars dropped in to lend a hand. Although not credited on the initial release, contributors included Paul McCartney, Jimi Hendrix, Graham Nash, Dave Mason of Traffic, Gary Leeds of the Walker Brothers, ex-Pretty Thing Viv Prince, and ex-Yardbird Paul Samwell-Smith. Paul McCartney’s girlfriend, Jane Asher, sang some background vocals, even bringing along her mother.
Chris Salewicz: While the album was being made, Thelma McGough (née Pickles) stayed with her husband at 7 Cavendish Avenue, as she did on several other occasions. Perhaps the most notable feature of the house, she felt, was the large jar of grass on the mantlepiece, available for anyone to dip into. There were other signs of the times: the mirrored Indian cushions that Jane had bought on Portobello Road, the piles of the very latest records and books, the sunken bathtub in Paul's private bathroom, next to his vast bedroom and equally vast bed. The center of the house was Paul's music room, on the second floor. [...] The relationship between Paul and Jane continued to seem as ideal as their home.
"They seemed to ideally complement each other. They both seemed fairly gentle and thoughtful, and seemed to get on really well. I never detected any friction whatsoever."
(Thelma was Paul's girlfriend)
...
Howard Sounes: Television stations around the world were marshalled together on Sunday 25 June 1967 for a unique TV show, Our World, featuring contributions from 18 countries via the new technology of a satellite link-up, the Beatles appearing on behalf of the United Kingdom briefly at the stat and again at the end of the show, when they would perfom a specially written song, John's 'All You Need is Love, live from Abbey Road.
Alistair Taylor: Paul never did think much of my dress sense. In the fashionable world of the swinging '60s in London, I was always regarded as someone who was rather straight. Paul nicknamed me The Man with the Shiny Shoes’ to highlight my conservative dress code. And when I had to play a tiny fleeting part in the Beatles massive world-wide All You Need Is Love link-up in 1967, he took special precautions. I had to pick Jane up from Cavendish Avenue on the way to the big event, which was to be beamed to some 400 million people in 25 countries. I knew my plain old business suit would not be the right thing to wear at a psychedelic party like this, so I took a bright orange shirt especially for the occasion. I tried not to look in the mirror when I put it on, hoping that it wouldn’t be the most horrible piece of clothing on view to the world. But when I arrived to collect the delectable Jane, she said, "Paul’s left a shirt for you, Alistair." I was indignant. "I’m wearing one. I’ve even left my tie at home." "Oh that is not good enough," said Jane sweetly. "He said that he knew you would dress in straight clothes and you wouldn’t want to be in psychedelic gear, so he has bought a shirt for you to wear tonight," and she produced a beautifully-made silk shirt with a trendily multi-coloured pattern and I meekly accepted defeat. The event in the huge EMI studio at Abbey Road was fabulous. There were so many famous faces in the room I think I was the only person I didn’t recognise. I was ordered to put on a sandwich board with 'All You Need Is Love’ in Russian written on it and I hope I got the message across. The party afterwards was so good that I really didn’t care.
At the end of June, art dealer Robert Fraser was sentenced to six months in prison. Paul was a close friend of Robert's.
This is a transcript of a letter written by Paul and Jane after his arrest:
Dear Robert,
What a drag...you know what I mean.
Brother Nick [Nicholas Fraser] rang and asked about the bread. All will be well, I'll be back in London on Sunday, and on Monday I'll sort it out. Everybody was amazed by the whole scene, as you've guessed, and rally is the word.
Thursday [June 29, 1967] was one of those days...bank raid shooting, Jayne Mansfield dead...etc...and I tore a ligament in sympathy, so I am hobbling around the Wirral.
Jane sends her love, love, and is baking a file cake. I send mine. The handcuff pictures in the papers are incredible, and 'aroused public sympathy'. Mind you, a tennis player from the Upton Tennis Club (where balls are known as spheres) was overheard saying that he would have given the blighters ten years if he'd been the judge...What???...
See you soon...nothing to say really.
Sincerely best wishes
Paul McCartney
Jane Asher
THE OFFICIAL ELVIS PRESLEY FAN CLUB OF GREAT BRITAIN
...
In early July, Paul and Jane attended a party at the Speakeasy club.
The Beatles Book, September 1967:
At 10.30 p.m. the Speakeasy’s customers were few — it was early for the night people. The restaurant was almost deserted but a couple of hours later it was to be overflowing with famous names from the pop world and the Kings of British pop music would be meeting face to face with the King’s of America’s West Coast musical scene — a meeting between The Beatles and The Monkees. Around 11.30 p.m. the Speakeasy began to fill up. The Who had arrived and so had dee-jays Kenny Everett, and Rick Dane (who compered one of The Monkees’ concerts at Wembley) and singer/writer Jonathan King. Eric Clapton of Cream arrived dressed entirely in red with a beautiful black, gold-embroidered bolero and close behind came the entire Manfred Mann group. Mann Tom McGuiness greeted Cream Eric and they disappeared into a corner to chat. Micky Dolenz arrived with his pretty friend and companion Samantha Juste and asked for “Two large iced cokes please”. They found two seats opposite Eric Clapton and started to talk about music and anti-gravity! Mike Nesmith wearing huge pink-lense glasses escorted his pretty blonde wife Phyllis who had only flown in from America a few hours earlier. They, too, both asked for cokes and went to sit by the door. By now the records had been replaced by a live group on stage and the party people were beginning to sway with the music.
Paul McCartney came in with Jane Asher and the hum and noise grew louder. Paul stripped off his green and orange jacket to display a green and red floral shirt. Jane looked cool and beautiful in an apple green skirt and a blouse on which Paul had painted a series of designs. Beatle John, now minus his moustache, slipped in almost unnoticed and took a seat next to Paul. [...] George Harrison arrived with Patti and two way-out friends, the boy playing a flute and the girl wearing a flower in her hair. The party was really beginning to swing. George removed his sheepskin jacket and made his way across the room greeting people as he went. Patti talked with Jane, and George spoke to Mann Klaus Voormann. Iced cokes were being passed over bobbing heads, ciggies were passed from hand to hand and Paul took a couple of hot sausages from a passing waitress.
(July 1967 - The Beatles and their girlfriends/wives, hanging out at Brian Epstein's house.)
On 20 July, Paul and Jane attended a recording session with Chris Barber at Chappell Recording Studios to watch him record Paul's instrumental "Catcall".
——
Sources: Many Years From Now by Barry Miles / Fab: An Intimate Life Of Paul McCartney by Howard Sounes / The Love You Make by Peter Brown / Linda McCartney: A Portrait by Danny Fields / Blackbird by Geoffrey Giuliano / With The Beatles by Alistair Taylor / Anthology / McCartney by Chris Salewicz / Magical Mystery Tours: My Life with the Beatles by Tony Bramwell /