I never did subscribe to the idea that our John was any kind of a saint. I think we all know he wasn’t. In fact what first attracted me to him and the music he helped make, when it lit a rocket under my childhood, was that he was clearly a little rough around the edges. The way he sang, the way he stood, the way he looked at the TV cameras and then him telling the rich people at that Royal Command performance to rattle their jewellery? He clearly wasn’t the nice Beatle. And was therefore just the kind of encouragement I hadn’t realised I was looking for.
So today we went to The Japanese Garden in Calderstones. Because it was a beautiful autumn afternoon and Sarah suggested it, rather than because it was John’s birthday. But once we got there, just across the road from his house, next to his school and in the place where I know he used to skive off, I kept thinking about him. And decided I’d take the best photographs I could, on his day and in his place, as my remembrance of him.
Rough round the edges but as precious to me as an Autumn afternoon in Liverpool.
For our John.