A week earlier, the Ritz had hosted a skiffle music contest in which the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ and his group the Dominoes had performed in the style of the ubiquitous Lonnie Donegan. He came away with dreams of recording contracts, concert performances and ultimate stardom. On that night the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ had gazed in wonder at the huge stage and the rows of seats that seemed to go on forever. But tonight he would be back in the audience staring in awe at Buddy, and for that moment, the lives of many of the miners and factory workers of Wigan and Leigh would be transformed. As he cycled to the pit the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ was already visualising the scene that would unfold later in the day; the shifts ending, young men and women discarding their work clothes and selecting their best suits and dresses and making their way to Wigan town centre by foot, bike, bus and train. All of them off to see a real-life American rock ’n’ roll performer in his prime, playing a selection of recent hits that had until now only been heard on jukeboxes, record players and accompanying the thrill rides of the travelling fairs that periodically arrived to add some bright colour to the terraced streets, colliery yards and factory gates.

Like his grandfather, father, brothers, cousins, uncles and mates, the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ was steeped in the culture of coal mining and the pit was a constant reference point in conversations about politics, culture and class. For weeks during ‘snap time’ underground and in the showers, the older miners had been cracking jokes about his obsession with the ‘new music’ that the Daily Mail had earlier described as the ‘negro’s revenge’. ² The ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ had been steadily gaining a reputation as an entertainer, and the year before he had played to local colliers at the opening night of the Leigh Miners Club. He performed on top of the billiard table with no amplification. The club was filled with miners young and old, downing pints of bitter, discussing the tactical intricacies and outcomes of upcoming Rugby League fixtures and marvelling at the exploits of the great Billy Boston. The room was filled with smoke, the smell of spilled bitter and the strong sound of the Lancashire dialect particular to Leigh. When the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ went into his routine, he was cheered on by the more inebriated miners, some of them helping with the choruses of the more well-known selections. For Leigh miners, nights in the club really were the good times, and the great lockout of 1926 and the struggles of the 1930s were now a distant memory.

A fellow miner had introduced the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ to the music of Buddy. He was not only especially impressed with Buddy’s energy and guitar playing but also by the fact his style was not just ‘way-out’ rock ’n’ roll. To the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’, Buddy’s music had something more than all the other rock ’n’ rollers and what he heard was a distinct type of melody that was both uplifting and reflective. Today, nothing could shake his excitement or the sense of anticipation of seeing Buddy up-close and personal and hearing the amplified electric tone of the Fender guitar, the crack of the snare drum and thud of the upright bass. The ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ rushed through the clean lockers, stripped naked and having little time for small talk with some of the miners coming off the night shift he headed for the lamp room and collected his tallies. He snatched at his lamp, attached it to his cap and was first into the cage willing it to descend the shaft at breakneck speed. It was a tough shift at the coal face, hot, sweaty, dusty, and as he loaded the coal onto the conveyor, his head was buzzing with Buddy’s renditions of recent hits; ‘That’ll Be the Day’, ‘Peggy Sue’, ‘Oh Boy!’, ‘Everyday’. No thoughts today of the danger of falling coal or the noxious gasses that had taken the lives of 38 men and boys in the same colliery in 1886. Three years later, the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ would also be gassed. He lived to tell the tale and never went down the pit again.

At last the shift was over. He took his last swill of warm water and headed towards pit-bottom. Waiting for the cage, he climbed into an empty coal tub as his dust-covered audience gathered round for his usual rendition of the Bop classic ‘Lemon Drop’. Using his shovel as a mock guitar, the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ gave his best performance yet. Some miners clapped, others whooped and a few strolled past shaking their heads. Performance over, the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ entered the cage with a big grin on his face and pushed the lad in front of him against the back of a burly miner to secure his space before the metal grille was dropped and the onsetter sent his signal to the banksman and the winding house. The cage moved rapidly and silently through the dark shaft into the afternoon light as miners chatted, broke wind, spat out their tobacco and sang songs – old, new and blue. This was it, the final procedure that marked the end of the day shift. Tallies pressed into the hand of the banksman and a sprint back to the lamp room. A quick nod to some mates walking through the lockers on their way to the afternoon shift, a rapid strip peeling the sweat-soaked clothes from his exhausted body and a jolt into the shower. No time for delay now, back washed first by a mate standing under the next shower, eyelashes rubbed clean of the encrusted dust, hair combed just right in the small mirror riveted into the locker. No cup of weak tea in the canteen today, but he did manage to grab a meat pie, which he devoured as he ran through the pit yard. Jumping on his bike, pedalling fast, he was straight home and in mental preparation and anticipation of dreamland.

As usual the smell of cooking food greeted the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ as he cycled through the terraces, passing the kids, the matriarchs and the old men sat outside their houses smoking their cigarettes and pipes. He hurriedly parked the bike in its usual spot round the back of the small house. Through the back door, and the ‘big dinner’ was waiting. The food was eaten at pace and now he was just about ready for the afternoon sleep. It was difficult this time, the concert only hours away, but the ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ managed to snatch a cat-nap. It was now getting closer. Back out of bed, wash, clean, close shave, and then it was on with the clothes. Perfectly pressed trousers and crisp shirt complementing the killer jacket with the velvet lapels was what was required for both Buddy and the rest of the audience who would be attending. Extra time spent on the hair tonight, and it was off down the street passing the children kicking cans and playing cowboys and Indians. The ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ didn’t normally drink, but he would have a couple tonight. Unlike his mates who would down multiple pints in Plank Lane Catholic Club, it was the music that was the most important thing to him. He had made regular pilgrimages to the coffee bars and dance halls of Manchester sometimes having to walk home and go straight down the pit for the mor...