Misappropriated police helmet was a fair cop!
Here’s a story that didn’t make it into the Bath Arts Workshop’s 50th anniversary book which I recently featured. At least, I think it didn’t. The book is so generously proportioned that it could well be lurking.
The theatre side of the project, namely Natural Theatre Company, secured a gig at the Rock Proms, which took place in Olympia in 1974. We were invited to do “mad things” in and around the crowd.
We were “mad” enough to take with us a whole gang of exuberant kids known as The Snowhill Roadshow, whose improvised performances, roughly based on those of NTC, were a riot.
Also in our motley entourage was self-styled vagabond and renowned pub pianist Gordon Robbins, famous for his extraordinary version of The Laughing Policeman.
This ancient gentleman would laugh himself silly at the drop of a fifty pence piece. And the whole place would join him.
An old poster reveals we shared an illustrious bill that included Roy Harper, Dr Feelgood, The Incredible String Band, Gong and Arthur Brown.
I remember having to draw the raffle (a raffle at a rock fest!) between appearances by 10cc and The New York Dolls. And all for £2.60 (raffle tickets extra).
The organisers provided accommodation in a squat in Notting Hill. Having some time off, I went for a wander along Portobello Road market, where I purchased a rather fine police helmet.
The Naturals were working on a new street theatre piece at the time, The Kissing Coppers, an image that has since imprinted itself indelibly on the addled brains of countless festival goers, featuring as it does two very realistic police officers indulging in some heavy petting!
It was a hot July day, so I took my purchase into the walled garden at the back of the property.
Stretched out on a sun lounger, I popped the helmet on to ascertain the size. Remaining like that for some time, I suddenly became aware that I was being watched.
To my consternation a coach containing around 40 policemen had drawn up alongside the garden wall, its windows exactly lining up with the parapet.
Eighty eyes were staring at me aghast.
Several officers made their way through the side gate, and I was the subject of an intense interrogation.
Turns out my helmet could be identified as one which was knocked off its rightful owner’s head in the Grosvenor Square Vietnam protests a few years earlier.
I took part in that protest, but of course I told them I hadn’t been there. I certainly hadn’t knocked anyone’s helmet off: I seem to remember spending most of the event running away from any police horse that so much as cast a beady eye in my direction!
Since I had bought the helmet from a spiv in the market, I had no receipt, so my splendid new headgear was confiscated.
Funnily enough, in later years, one local police force was perfectly happy to lend us uniforms for the performance, while several other police forces threatened us with arrest for wearing them in public!