An Adventure In Ireland

Saturday 27th March 1964, late morning.

Pattie and Cynthia were stretched out on respective sofas in their suite. A television was on but they weren't watching it. They were spending the time chatting, an ostensibly casual natter which for Pattie was invaluable as it added more and more detail about the life of a Beatle girl, "If that's what you want," Cynthia had added. It sounded ominous.

"Yes, I do." Pattie had felt alarmed and defensive in equal measure.

Cynthia was reassuring. She wasn't challenging the other girl, or trying to test her out. "But this will be a lot of it."

"What will?"

"This," explained Cynthia, waving an arm in the general direction of the room. "Sitting around in posh places waiting."

"Pattie nodded. She was beginning to see. "So, this is usual?"

"Oh yes. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, the press or the fans, or both, will find out and you'll be surrounded." She paused to take another drag at her cigarette. "You just have to accept that it's going to happen."

"But you were surprised they found us here."

"Yes. But I shouldn't have been!"

Pattie lit a cigarette of her own, and the two lapsed into a comfortable silence. As boring as it might have been for Cynthia, for Pattie this was a heaven-sent opportunity to find out more about the life she was joining and about the people in it. She'd forgotten, for example, that she'd been nervous of meeting Cyn, who couldn't have been nicer, especially after the trauma of literally exposing herself to the world's press and George's ensuing hysterics. She was realising more and more that there was a great deal to learn about being George Harrison's girlfriend, little of which had anything to do with George himself and even less of which George could help her with or even tell her about. He was in the middle of it, he was living it, and as such he couldn't possibly know what it was like for a newcomer to join in on the periphery of the whirlwind.

When Pattie had wandered too near the window, Cynthia called to her to step back. "They'll see you." Cynthia had described her trip to America when the Beatles had performed on the Ed Sullivan show; if it hadn't been for this morning's mishap, Pattie might have thought that she was exaggerating. The truth was beginning to dawn.

"It's a different world," she said.

Cynthia nodded.

John and George had been emphatic that neither girl would accompany their menfolk to see the swordfight. George in particular had been positively fierce in his insistence that Pattie remain hidden away. "They'll get you," he'd said. "You don't want it." So they had clattered off excitedly with their weapons and Pattie and Cynthia had hunkered down in their comfortable prison and waited.

The door to the suite burst open. John and George burst in, grinning, excited; very messy. Clearly swordfighting was a highly physical business. They were, surprisingly, followed by the head flunky himself, who walked in with his usual restrained and dignified demeanour, and both girls found themselves automatically taking their feet off the furniture and sitting more upright. Cynthia confessed later that her first thought was, "Oh no, what's he done now?" However, flunky was not there to return two miscreants to their minders. "He's had an idea!" proclaimed John, plonking himself on the sofa next to his wife. Cynthia blinked, puzzled.

"What about?"

"How to get you out!"

Pattie frowned. "What do you mean? We can..."

"No," broke in George, also sitting down. "They'll go mad when they see you." He was looking directly at Pattie, who was even more puzzled and looked across at Cyn. George hastened to explain. "They know about Cyn. They've seen her. You're the new story, they want to get at you."

"Listen!" John demanded. "This is good. He's the manager, by the way."

"Oh," said Pattie, and smiled politely. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name..."

"Er... Nolan, Miss... ah... Boyd." Pattie inclined her head graciously. John was visibly impatient with the pleasantries.

"Tell them your idea," he said. "No, don't worry, I will." Mr Nolan, who had opened his mouth to speak, obediently closed it again. "Me and George will walk out the front. You two," he paused, and looked around at his audience with a grin, "will dress up as hotel maids and get into some laundry baskets and they'll put the baskets in a van and drive it away!"

There fell a heavy silence. Cynthia broke the silence.

"That's a joke."

Mr Nolan uttered a polite cough, and all eyes turned to him. "If I may," he ventured. He correctly took the ensuing silence as assent. "There will be so much attention on the two gentlemen leaving the hotel," George chuckled at he and John being referred to as gentlemen, "that even if they see two chambermaids with laundry no-one will pay any attention. The ladies will get out of the grounds, and the van can stop somewhere and let them out of the baskets."

Another deep silence fell. All eyes were on Cynthia and Pattie, the former suspicious and the latter astounded.

"This really isn't a joke?" insisted Cynthia.

"Will we fit, in the baskets?" Pattie's query was practical.

"It isn't, and you will." Mr Nolan, the erstwhile head flunky, seemed pleased with himself. The girls looked at each other.

"Well, ok," Cynthia caved in, and Pattie nodded. There really wasn't anything else she could do.

"Have you got the uniforms?" she said. Mr Nolan almost smiled.

"I took the liberty..." he said, and stepped outside the room and retrieved two folded chambermaid uniforms and brought them in. "You can try them for size...?"

Pattie burst out laughing. And reflected to herself that, when George had asked her out on the film set and she had said yes, this was not exactly what she had envisaged.

Mr Nolan carefully placed the uniforms on a side table and moved towards the door. "I'll go and make the arrangements." George smiled and nodded. The manager paused just as he got back to the door. "Er..."All four guests looked at him questioningly. "I... er.. wonder if I might have your autographs? For my daughter, you understand..." He produced from the depths of his suit a hotel brochure and a pen.

George and John cut glances with each other again, and both stepped forward to oblige.