I have always had a romantic notion about these weekenders. Every one takes several steps back and congregates on the most idyllic platform going - the British sea side town. There is nothing more romantic that sitting with your sweetheart in amongst a gathering of candy floss, end of pier rides and the smell of cooked onions around you.... Ok, so perhaps not, but if American Graffitti hit the mark with you at some point in your life, then move over Paul le Mat.... come to the British rock and roll weekender and find your very own John Milner.....
Rockabilly legend, Billy Adams performed at Hemsby 53 this year
My love affair for the rock and roll weekender goes back years before I ever sat down with a copy of That'll Be The Day with David Essex, or even dared to go anywhere near Butlins when Shawaddywaddy was still young. No, years ago, as an impressionable teen, I went to Brighton record fair (a regular haunt for me) and brought some very random new age rockabilly by various new and young bands to try.
One of the albums I brought was by a band called The Catmen. Three young lads stood fairly solemnly on the front cover of the LP. Not far off resembling past teen hunk Nick Kamen.
There wasn't anything really worth noting about these quickly brought LP's from that windy day in Brighton other than it kicked off a passion for new rockabilly music. Up until then I had only ever listened to Chuck Berry and Bill Haley. My two hero's. I had figured that really that was your lot in terms of listening to old rock and roll. At a jive dance some time before that, I had been hanging out with my usual gaggle of rockabilly mates and one had very sorrowfully pointed out in a very loud voice that the trouble with rock and roll is that there were never going to ever be new releases.
It was then that I probably made the subconscious decision to seek out new talent for my ears and to, at the same time, stop listening to my miserable quiffed friends.
Shortly after that, I went to see a band called The Firebirds at a local town hall. I found myself completely hooked to suddenly hunting down any new band I could find who played not only my beloved rockabilly but also wrote their own songs rather than cover everyone else's. It was then, that I found, to my delight, that twice yearly four day event of sheer music euphoria: Hemsby.
At the back end of the Nineties, I urged a bunch of equally minded chums to come away with me to a funny little seaside resort along the northern coast of Norfolk.
Twice a year, the Hemsby weekender (as they are called) is held in this slightly sleepy little town with its parade of colourful shop fronts and amusement arcades. Once in May to herald the start of Summer and again in October to mark the end of the season.
It is on these weekend events that Hemsby steps back in time to the golden age of rock and roll. Mercs, BMW's and other 21st century wagons are moved out of the way for post WW2 motorbikes, old Ford pick ups and Bel Airs.
The lovers of all that is 1950's vintage descend on the little seaside holiday spot like pilgrims coming to taste the healing waters. Up do's, red lippy and plus fours move hastily in the place of 21st century comfort. Ladies brace the ice cold air from the North Sea in their Miss Bamboo Hawaiian dresses and peep toe wedges. Chaps Don chinos, Peg trousers and silk drapes, equally standing sturdy against the out of season British weather. Hemsby is suddenly 1955 for these eight days every year.
Varick and Willie have been running these weekenders at Hemsby
for a staggering 26 years, and this October weekend in 2014 saw the 53 event. It will never cease to amaze me the sheer energy that both the performers and the crowd have. Various rooms and dance halls simply light up with it's unique brand of magic that even the hardiest and reluctant of Hemsby goers simply have to either dance or tap their feet. It is painfully addictive.
Even though it has been some years since I last attended (responsibilities and adulthood set in) I was warmed to see that the passion for this era still hasn't wained. The love of colour, grease, waves and pressed Chinos still lives and the beat really does go on...
Since the days when I attended in my youth, before children, marriage and other similar responsibilities, I have not seen a decline in any way shape or form for the love of this era. What will never cease to amaze me is the extent of this love for the nostalgic brooding and somewhat darker era between the generations.
Whilst taking in the sea air one afternoon, a group of lads walked passed us. Collectively, they could not have been more than 16 years old, yet there they were, hair greased, smartly dressed in sports jackets and loafers, wallet chains hanging down from their sides, looking probably just like my Dad as he did in 1955. No parents around for a noticeable influence, these boys had taken to this era by themselves and made a point to nurture it, care for it and a
bove all, breath live into it.
Just when each generation that comes along thinks it would be the last to appreciate the lindy bop, swing skirts and prison jeans, there comes the next, boldly treading the vintage boards where you once had.
This autumn weekend at Hemsby
has been not different to any other. God always smiles down on these events giving tonnes of sunshine to the chrome of these vintage beasts which rumble menacingly around this equally vintage holiday camp.
The chalets are exactly the same at the ones that my grandparents took their annual British holiday in back in the 40's to the early 1960's.
Each with slightly fading seaside blues and yellows, the sparseness of the interiors only exaggerate the whole nostalgic theme. You step into your Anderson Shelter-esque chalet and you're right back there. Only the wooden deck chairs could be missing but actually as you walk around, you will find many a rocker and rockess has brought their own.
A series of bands pound out old and new songs. Some acts are from as far away as the U.S and mainland Europe, and as Monday morning comes around, there is a sombre feel in the air of the canteen as pilgrims drift aimlessly through the many rooms which have now been stripped of their magic. We wander like lost souls, daring not to step out into the 21st Century again, but we know we have to.
There will always be another Hemsby, then it will be number 54, then 55 and so on, and this is what we live for. A moment in time, just a few days a year when we can live out our fantasies and dream the nostalgic dream one more time...
WHAT A RIOT!
Hemsby is only a matter of weeks away again in May, so The Vintage took the time to look back over the last riot from October 2014...