In the late summer of 1973, our family was temporarily torn asunder, as my father was stationed TDY in Thailand, and the remaining three, my sister, mom and I went to England to stay with my maternal Grandparents, and my Great (in both senses of the word) Aunt Ivy.
Rather than being overly traumatic, it actually turned out to be a time that I look back upon with as much wistfulness and longing as any period of my life.
Upon arrival, I was placed in the local high school, though as memory serves, that provided some trauma-whereas I was top of everything, and brain the size of a planet in the US school system, as the English children started school earlier (and the PC brigade hadn't quiet broken the old system entirely), I found myself having to actually WORK at school for the first time in my life. And I enjoyed it. A challenge at last. There were some false starts, and some rotten moments at the school, but really, once I got used to the uniform, I settled in.
School however, isn't what this is about. This is about the magic of memory, of anticipation, the joy of seeing something so fabulous, its burned in your mind for life.
In the village, there was exactly one toy shop. And this was, in hindsight, pretty second rate in comparison to the shops on the High Street in Leicester. But to me it was absolutely magical. Being England, and being the early 70's it was a marvelously perverse truth that the shops shut before I could get there after school, except on Wednesdays, when they stayed open late. Until six o'clock! Brilliant!
Not that I let the shop being shut dampen my enthusiasm. I can still remember standing in a misty rain, wearing my ubiquitous duffel coat, breathing heavily on the glass, as I stared at the incredible things contained within.
I was at an age where I was particularly enamored with Dinky Toys. Had the entire collection of Captain Scarlet vehicles, and several of the Thunderbirds too. They carried an relatively impressive array of Action Man toys and accessories, but even they paled before my ultimate fascination. The sticker book for the upcoming 1974 World Cup. Lord, I purchased, or had purchased for me, more packets of those stickers, trying to get my set completed. Never could get all the players for Zaire, who in their one and only World Cup appearance (ever, as they have since ceased to exist as a country) resulted in a series of humiliating defeats as yet unrivaled. No matter, being the completest I am, I pursued those Zairian players as though the fate of the universe depended on it. My dismay when they quit selling the stickers in the shop, prior to my completing the set was one of the first rude awakenings, and learning of the lesson, that yes folks-You really can't always get what you want. Sadly, it never occurred to me to order them from the form in the book!
TV was a completely different experience. At the time, the British believed quality certainly trumped quantity-I was, and still am amazed at just how good the series "The World At War" was. The footage, the narrative, the interviews. Just engrossing. It made my Wednesday evenings worth getting home for.
But...Thursday was when it all came together. Yes, it was time for Top Of The Pops! And it was time to watch all the latest, greatest, and most outrageous music acts on offer. It was the time of Glam, and the gloves were off. The more ludicrous and over the top the outfits or behaviour, the better.
Looking through the glass backwards, 1972 was the year when Glam ramped up-T-Rex were huge, Bowie was becoming Ziggy, and Slade were starting to boogie down. But in 1973, everything blew up.
The first big Glam hit to come out while I was there, was David Essex's Rock On. He was kind of a hybrid between your standard teen idol and your glam boy- I think my poor sister wanted to cry (or something) every time she saw him.
In quick succession, there was a Ballroom Blitz, Alvin Stardust channeling some sort of bizarre Elvis, Gary Glitter in his pre-kid fiddler mode being more ridiculous by the week. There was Mud with their retro sound and choreographed stage performances, Roxy Music were delightfully weird, and then as the bizarreness grew, the ultimate Glam smackdown took place. Yes, it was Christmas, and two of the greatest rock and roll Christmas singles of all time went toe to toe.
It was Wizzard vs Slade. In the end, Slade won in a rout, but Roy Wood surely out-weirded them.
There were still artists like Mott The Hoople, Queen, Suzi Quatro, Cockney Rebel, and even Sparks left to come, but it all really peaked that Christmas. From there, Glam began its decline into irrelevance, and on came...disco *sigh*
Anyway, it was remarkable year for an 11/12 year old boy. Vacations in Wales, enforced fun at Butlins, having my evening rice pudding with my granddad...it really was the best of times.
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