Robert the Westie. My life. By me.

9. Dissolution and death, of Empires and popstars.

Had I mentioned to Sophie Steve's fondness for pop music? I am a little forgetful these days. Well, silly me, she would know, of course. Her ex-husband had attended the same university as Steve and would surely have shared with her his legendary reputation as the in-house disc jockey. 

Steve recalled that time now and then with great fondness. Those were the years in which he, as he put it, "explored his sexuality," concluding, many broken hearts later, that it was boys rather than girls who inspired his passion and fuelled most powerfully his exploits in bed. I am not able to judge myself how remarkable that would have been in that period still known as the "Swinging Sixties." I can conclude, though, that Steve was unusually open about his sexual exploits, apparently regularly reported in the student paper. His popularity as the d-j no doubt gave him a degree of local celebrity that he seems to have relished. 

"No-one, boy or girl, seemed to mind that I had a huge picture of Stevie Marriott on the wall of my room in the hall of residence" he told Jason. It was the night in April that news was breaking of the sad death of the lead singer of the iconic mod pop group, the Small Faces.  

"I guess I had a sort of gay crush on the guy. I had seen the band live at the Orchid Ballroom, Purley, while still at school. I loved his androgynous cuteness, the sexy rasp of his voice, the pelvic thrust behind his guitar. He was a mate of David Bowie, my other musical hero. What a scene that would have been had they ever got together. In fact, they almost did. "David and Goliath", they were going to be. But it never happened. Shame!" 

How did you know about that?" Jason enquired. 

"My mate Roddie was the university social secretary, hiring the bands for the dances and balls, and me as the D-J, of course. He ended up as a big deal booking agent, managing talent like Fleetwood Mac, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath and Queen. He picked up all the gossip and happily shared it with me whenever we met up for a boozy Soho lunch. My gayness always amused him, well a bit more than amused on a couple of occasions! Don't raise your eyebrows at me, Jason! Yes, I was a naughty boy in those days. Anyway, Roddie wanted to introduce me to Freddie Mercury. Not my type, of course. So that never happened." 

A news update on Marriott interrupted this particular revelation. Just returned from New York, no doubt jet-lagged, he had made his way home from a friend's house after a row with his wife, Toni. There, in the 16th century cottage in Arkesden, Essex, probably fuelled by the combination of alcohol and cocaine of which he was fond, he had apparently fallen asleep while smoking, let the cigarette drop and awoken to find the building in flames. A fireman, close to tears, described the still recognizable figure curled up beside the bed. Abruptly Steve left the room. The redness around his eyes when he returned reminded me that I had a master whose emotions, however well-hidden, were somehow not only deeply felt but also never far from the surface. 

"Are you okay, babe?" Jason asked his lover. 

"Yes, but it's weird isn't it. I never met Stevie. He had a bad reputation for booze, drugs and paranoia. He was hopelessly unreliable. Yet, despite all that, he was my boyhood hero and his songs were there every moment of my formative years. 'All or Nothing,' 'Tin Soldier,' 'Itchycoo Park,' 'Lazy Sunday Afternoon', they are all still with me. "  

He began to sing.  

'Wouldn't it be nice to get on wiv me neighbours, 

But they make it very clear they've got no room for ravers, 

They stop me from groovin, they bang on me wall, 

They're doin me crust in, it's no good at all, 

Lazy Sunday afternoon, I've got no mind to worry, close my eyes and drift away, close my eyes and drift away.' 

"Magic, don't you think? Subversive, escapist, and awash with the drifty psychedelic mood of the period. I just bonded with the guy and his music like with no-one else. Sure, there were plenty of other artists from that era whom I admired, like Hendrix, Cream, the Beatles, Led Zeppelin. But only Stevie smiled down on me in my bedroom for three years and tugged at me heartstrings. Maybe sharing a name made a difference. Sad to think he's gone. A slice of my youth just became history. Come on Robert, time for your evening stroll."