Goodbye Consett

GOODBYE CONSETT Excerpts from STORIES FROM A SONGWRITERS LIFE by Steve Thompson Cover image: Mark Mylchreest. Proof reading: Jim Harle (who still calls me Stevie). © 2020 Steve Thompson. All rights reserved. FOREWORD INTO THE UNKOWN By Trev Teasdel (Poet, author and historian) We almost thought of giving in Searching for that distant dream” Steve Thompson, Journey’s End. For a working-class man born in Consett, County Durham, UK apprenticed to the steel industry, with expectations only of the inevitable, Steve Thompson has managed to weld together, over 50 years, an amazing career as hit songwriter, musician, rock band leader, record producer, ideas man, raconteur, radio producer, community media mogul, workshop leader and much more. The world is full of unsung heroes, the people behind the scenes who pull the strings, spark ideas, write the material for others to sing and while Steve may be one of them, his songs at least have been well sung by some of the top artists in show business, and he’s worked alongside some of the top producers of the time. This is what this book is about – those songs that will be familiar to you even if you never knew who wrote them, the stories that lie behind them; the highs and lows, told with honesty, clarity and humour. There’s nothing highfalutin about Steve Thompson, he’s pulled himself up by his own bootstraps, achieved his dream, despite setbacks, and through it remains humble (if a little boastful – as you will see!), a staunchly people’s man with a wicked sense of humour (and I do mean wicked!). For all his achievements, Steve has given back generously to the communities who support him, helping people to achieve their own dreams through digital technology, social media, creativity, song production etc. Steve understands those dreams – and although a man with few formal qualifications – this book is his highest qualification - full of hard graft and wide experience! STORIES FROM A SONGWRITERS LIFE "When you go in search of love, It’s the greatest adventure of them all” Steve Thompson, The Greatest Adventure Life has provided me with tons of stories which I need very little encouragement to tell. For years people who have heard and enjoyed these stories have been saying “write a book”. I have resisted this for a couple of reasons. First of all, I’m embarrassed to do something as egotistical as writing about my life and expect others to be interested in it. The second reason is that the idea of writing something “long form” worries me. I’m a songwriter, a storyteller. Everything I do is short form: a three-minute pop song, a short anecdote. How could I maintain interest over several thousand words? Well, I’ve reached a point now where folks have been paying me to tell stories: luncheon clubs, retirement clubs, Women’s Institutes etc. People like my stories, so perhaps I need not be embarrassed to present what people have been asking me to do for years, to present all the stories in one place: a book! Speaking of Women’s Institutes a friend of mine said “you’ll need to clean up your act before you do the Women’s Institutes. At the first Women’s Institutes event that I was booked for, the Chair Woman got up and announced: “Ladies, here to tell us all about sex, drugs and rock and roll ......“. I had to quickly throw a bit of filth back into the presentation! While considering the daunting challenge of a book, a title popped into my head. “Stories from a Songwriters Life”. This gave me permission to take all the anecdotes, blogs, YouTube videos and luncheon club stories and put them together. If I can make this flow in a coherent way, maybe I’ll have a book. You, dear reader, will be the judge of that. So now the scene is set. Let me tell you some stories........ EDUKASHUN "It’ll end in tears, it’ll end in tears, We’re only smiling, to hide our fears” Tom Kelly/Steve Thompson, It’ll End In Tears I was born in 1952 in Consett, County Durham, England. Fear not, I will not dwell on this for too long. We will arrive at the “juicy bits” in the wink of an eye. But these two facts are pertinent to my story. My arrival on this planet was just 8 years short of the most amazing decade: the sixties! Apart from being a remarkable decade for social change, the big deal for me was the seismic shift in popular music. Just as I was becoming aware of things around me the world was turning vivid Technicolor. It seemed that in the sixties the only thing that mattered was music. I was hearing music that made a big impression on me and this will become clear as my story unfolds. The other item of importance was that Consett was a steel town (how it pains me to use the past tense). For most of my young life, I lived in the shadow of Consett Steel Works. The steel works had a lasting impact on me. Even now, a lifetime later, I open my show with my band with a tune entitled “Red Dust Overture”. This is a reference to the red mist that overshadowed the town. It was visible from miles away and fell upon the houses and streets in Consett. In the show, I tell the stories of songs I have written for several recording artists. Coincidentally many artists from the sixties have recorded my songs. The steel works come into the stories and songs too. I feel duty-bound to tell you that my education was crap. If I could think of a more crappier word than crap I’d use it. It was that bad. Primary school was OK. I don’t recall much about it. I don’t think I even knew why I was there. Then Junior school, I guess this was OK too but I don’t recall much about that either and I don’t remember learning anything. I’m the eldest of three siblings, two brothers and a sister. They must have followed me into these schools, but I don’t recall seeing them there. Forced to consider it, I guess I’m a bit of a loner. Towards the end of my time at this school things got bleaker. Moving up through the forms, one year I class hopped because I was considered bright. I don’t know why. In my final year, the form teacher seemed to have high hopes for me. Again, I don’t know why. Now I’m going to make an admission that I’m not proud of. I don’t know what it amounts to, but I’ll let you make your own judgment. If any shrinks are reading this, please drop me a line with your appraisal. Collierley School in Dipton taught kids to write in italic. This required a special pen which we dipped into an ink pot. I know that this sounds like the dark ages and I guess, to an extent it was. One day the teacher issued the special pens required for italic writing and she asked if any of us was left handed. Nobody raised their hand. Aha, I thought your chance to be different Stephen. In those days I was Stephen. I had not yet morphed into Steve. I passed through a stage of being Stevie as a teenager. I can gauge how long people have known me by what they call me. It is a sad fact that the number of people who still call me Stevie is diminishing. But I digress. To be different I put my hand up and claimed I was left-handed. To my horror she gave me a different pen to everyone else. A left-handed pen. Now I was obliged to write with my left hand. I suffered daily pain for several weeks and at my tender age of 8, it seemed like a lifetime. It was traumatic. Then one day the teacher said “Stephen, I don’t think you are left handed” and gave me the same pen as all the other kids. Thank you, thank you, and thank you. In one moment this teacher released me from self-inflicted purgatory. Sad to say but this was the only teacher that ever did anything good for me. I don’t know why this school taught italic writing. I just thought, hey, I’ll learn grown up, joined up writing in the big school. How wrong I was. Collierley School inflicted something on me that stayed with me the rest of my life. To this day my hand writing is appalling. Something happened in my last year at this school. Something called the 11-plus. One day we were all shipped off to another school and took an exam. A few weeks later in morning assembly, the head teacher read out the names of those who had passed. It didn’t take long, there were only two names to read out. I was one of them. It transpired that these two great academic minds were to be tested once more. The second half of the 11-plus. Then I found out what the 11-plus was. Something that could define the rest of your life. This put me in a state of anxiety and I failed. I passed the first half because I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. I failed the second half because of the pressure.

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