The E.B.C. Archives -
Original articles written by Ray Ennis
and first published in The Beat Goes On magazine
For over six years, Ray Ennis of The Swinging Blue Jeans enthralled sixties music fans with his monthly article published in The Beat Goes On magazine about the antics of the legendary Elbow Bending Club. Now, with Ray's permission, we are re-running these articles on the web.
What is the Elbow Bending Club? Well, no-one really knows except for the members themselves - and membership is restricted to 60s performers and other carefully selected people from within the business!
You can guarantee not missing each new edition by completing the Netmind box on the
main Swinging Blue Jeans page
AN EBC PILGRIMAGE TO THE HOLY LAND
Some Swinging Blue Jeans tours stick in your mind more than others, usually for a variety of
different reasons!.
One such trip was in 1969 when the SBJ toured Israel. The tour had taken months to set-up as we
were reluctant to go due to the terrorist situation also the agent who was a Jewish American
called Danny didn't look quite kosher to me! After a lot of meetings and phone calls between
managers, agents and Danny we were assured of our personal safety and eventually agreed to
go....there are times when bravery knows no bounds, especially if your Jewish and money's
involved!
I had a personal reason for wanting to stay at home as my wife Olwen was due to give birth to
our first born at any time. We discussed the matter in depth before Olwen finally decided I'd done
enough damage and should bugger off and let her get on with it.
As it was difficult to phone England from Israel in those days, our agent Jim Godbolt had
promised to send a telegram as and when the great event evetually happened. At first he
suggested I keep my eye out for a bright star over a stable but I wasn't having any of that!
As a child I went to a Catholic school and we were taught about places like Nazareth and
Bethlehem, so I was quite excited about visiting these Holy places. In fact I used to be an
alter-boy, which I suppose gave me the taste for the odd drink as I was in charge of the water and
wine for the mass. The wine I quickly discovered was in fact sherry, hence I used to put my name
down to serve mass at least three times on a Sunday!
Upon our arrival in Televiv, we were met by the furtive looking Danny and a round faced chap
called Shahooli (obviously of Irish-Jewish parentage), who we were informed would be our driver
for the duration of the tour. On the drive from the airport I asked if we would be seeing all the
places I had read about at school, at which Shahooli pointed to a large hill covered in grass at the
side of the motorway and murmered "That's Mount Calvery". I don't know what I expected, but
it certainly wasn't a grass mound next to the MI!
We had a couple of free days before the tour started so we decided to check out the night life of
Televiv. It certainly lived up to our name what a swinging place it was. We were relieved to
find the beer was up to standard and proceeded to quaff the EBC regulation gallon. We ended up
at a club called Mandy's which was owned by Mandy Rice-Davies who acquired a certain amount
of notoriety for her part in the John Profumo affair along with Christine Keeler. Mandy turned out
to be a very nice lady and made us very welcome. The club had a piano, so along with the beer
and the company the SBJ's were in heaven (the piano must have been Jewish cos it had no lid)!
Apart from playing the main towns and cities the tour consisted of quite a few gigs on Kibutz land
which had been reclaimed from the desert and turned into a veritable oasis. We were also able to
visit Nazareth and Bethlehem both of which looked as if they hadn't changed for close on 2000
years.
This is more like it I thought only to be brought down to earth when I realised we were eating fish
and chips on the banks of the Sea of Galilee!
Every night we would return to our billet in a rather swish apartment owned by a friend of Danny
(the promoter) which was situated in the equally swish end of Televiv.
The journeys were made enjoyable by our Shahooli telling stories of the six day war. Apparently he
had been a driver for an officer who loved to be in the front line, and one of the stories he told
was either true or he had a bizzare sense of humour!
The story was, that Shahooli and the officer were in a jeep and the officer decided they would go
ahead and reconnoitre before the platoon arrived. As they came over a large sand dune they came
face to face with a large Arab tank which had it's equally large gun pointing straight at them.
Shahooli said he was glad he was wearing his best brown trousers so that his fear did not
show....outwardly anyway. The officer told Shahooli to stop, then he got out of the jeep, walked
towards the tank, took his pistol out of it's holster and pointed it straight at the tank. Before the
officer could utter a word, the top flew open and an Arabs head popped up and proceeded to
thank the officer for finding him. Apparently the Arab had run out of fuel, food and water four
days earlier!
Upon arrival in Televiv Shahooli would drop us off at Mandy's or another club we discovered
called "Harry The Horse", named after a large white stallion that was tethered outside when the
club was open, and disappeared when the club was shut!
I still hadn't heard as to if I had become a Dad, but when we arrived back at the apartment one
night there was a telegram awaiting me. Unfortunately the telegram was in broad yiddish and the
only part I recognised was the name Jim Godbolt (our agent) at the bottom. "Oy Vay" I
exclaimed, my voice charged with emotion and not realising the time immediately phoned Danny
to translate. Danny was none to pleased and suggested I take it to the post office the following
morning to get it translated. Irrespective, I decided it was the news I had been awaiting and that
I'd definitely become a Dad. The problem now confronting us was, how to celebrate as the duty
frees had run out ages ago, what could we do? Although we had a free run of the apartment we'd
been asked not to enter the master bedroom as the owners possessions were stored there. We
decided to have a quick look to check as to if there was celebratory liquid we could borrow and
replace the next day. We were not disappointed, the masters room looked like the store room of a
brewery, there was enough booze to open a pub. We partied till the morning when a very
hung-over Ennis trudged to the post office to have the telegram translated and find out what sex
my newly arrived offspring was. Nervously I unfolded thr translation the clerk handed me and
read "I have not heard from you STOP I guess the tour is going well STOP Regards Jim Godbolt
STOP". If I could have got my hands on him I would have put a STOP to his breath!.
The tour continued, as did our nightly soirees to visit Mandy or Harry The Horse. Then, with just
two days of our tour left another telegram arrived,again in yiddish. This time it had to be the news
I was nervously awaiting. Once again we raided the room of forbidden fruit and again celebrated.
The talk was of nappy changing and sleepless nights, the benefits of Farleys Rusks and red elbows
being plunged into hot bath water (if you believe that you'll believe anything). The next morning
Ennis (yet again) set off on his pilgrimage to the post office translator. This time I asked the clerk
to give it to me straight and not write it down. He looked at me, offered my two tickets for the
staff dance and started his translation "Why haven't you answered my telegram STOP Is there a
problem STOP Make sure you pick up the money STOP regards Jim Godbolt STOP." I remember
uttering a quick "Oy Vay" before I fainted!
The story had a happy ending. We returned home and I learned that Olwen had given birth to our
son Jason just about the time we had touched down at heathrow, and yes I did remember to pick
up the money!
P.S. The lady who lived next door to our apartment in Televiv told me that the telegraph boy had
looked a very furtive and shifty character, and though it was 28yrs ago, a picture of Dave Berry
immediately sprung to mind (I can't imagine why)!
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