The Monkee and me
A chance encounter led to Clive Brooks jamming at a school fête with a teen idol…
In 1993, my daughter was six years old and attending Rookesbury Park School in Wickham, Hampshire. One summer afternoon, I found myself standing next to another dad, waiting for the kids to come out. He looked somehow familiar, although I couldn’t quite think why. He was short and tanned with shoulderlength, dark-brown hair. I vaguely recognised him as Annabel’s dad, one of the girls in my daughter Sophie’s class. “Haven’t seen you here for a while,” I said, while we waited. “Been back in the States,” he said and held out his hand. “David Jones.” I shook it, and as I did so, realisation suddenly dawned...”Davy Jones?” I said. He smiled. “Yeah, they used to call me that.” It’s not every day that you meet a pop legend in the playground. “How do you fancy singing at the school fête next week?” I blurted out. “I’ve got a band, and I’ve been roped in to do a bit.” To my absolute surprise, Davy Jones, of Monkees’ fame, replied, “Alright, but let’s rehearse something first.” So, you can imagine my nerves a few days later when Davy Jones, pop royalty, arrived at my house. I was a music teacher and had a small studio at the bottom of my garden. We had no idea what to expect, but Davy immediately put us all at ease. In between jamming and larking about, we talked about horse racing, which turned out to be his first love as he’d trained as a jockey in his teens. We weren’t at all sure that we’d measured up to his musical expectations or whether he’d appear at the fête, but as he left, he turned around and said with a smile, “You guys just play a few songs first, and when I figure the time’s right, I’ll come up and join ya.” On the day of the fête, that’s what happened. Davy wandered through the onlookers and joined us on stage.”Do you know any Monkees songs?” he said as he reached the microphone. “One or two,” I replied and we launched into Daydream Believer. It was as if someone had suddenly connected everyone at the fête up to an electric current. The small crowd spun round with looks of total amazement. Very few people at the school knew Davy was one of the parents, and absolutely no-one at all, except for the band, knew that he was going to appear. It was how he wanted it. At the end of the song, needless to say, there was huge applause. “They say if you remember the Sixties, you weren’t there,” Davy quipped, “but I remember it well.” Just then the headmistress appeared through the crowd. “Ah, Miss Appleyard,” he said. “This one’s for you!” And with that, we launched into Sixties’ rock classic, Hippy Hippy Shake. He started dancing around and I dived down rather over-theatrically on one knee next to him. “Go Brooks!” he shouted and then let out a long scream into the microphone, just like the ones that millions of adoring girls had made for him at the height of his career. All too soon it was over and with a wink and a wave at us, he wandered away into the delighted crowd. Later, when we met up for the last time, he signed my Monkees CD for me. ”Love ya Brooks!” he wrote, and shoved his business card into the sleeve too. After all these years, it’s a treasured memento of a very special time.