Tomorrow Never Knows

I continue my recollections of England, now moving on to Liverpool.

May 14
I do not often think that the universe likes me. On my third day on Jeopardy, I finally felt that the universe liked me. On that day, when the Final Jeopardy category came up, I felt a flush of, as John Lennon would say, instant karma. The category was “Beatles Songs.” The answer: “This song about an actual place went to number one in America.” The question: “What is Penny Lane?” I got it right, doubled my money, and won the show. I took this as a sign that the universe wanted to me to finally go to Liverpool—to Penny Lane, Strawberry Fields, and the Cavern Club. So on this day I got to fulfill one of my greatest dreams in life. I got to make a pilgrimage to Liverpool, the city in which my greatest heroes grew up. It was truly a dream come true. It was better than I ever expected, and I thank the universe for allowing me to go.
On the train up to Liverpool, I looked out at the gorgeous countryside in full bloom. Sheep actually grazed in the fields! And hedgerows! And little villages with church steeples! I got extremely excited on the train. I felt as if I was going to some mythical, magical place, a land of wonder. I also felt, for possibly only the second time in my life (after St. Paul’s only a few weeks earlier), like I was going to have a religious experience. I got into Lime Street Station and immediately, I began smiling. I didn’t stop smiling until I pulled back into the station in London a day later.
I made my way to where the first tour departed—the Magical Mystery Tour. As soon as I stepped out into that blue suburban sky, I just felt overwhelmingly happy. Not only happy, but positively giddy. Just walking down the street, I felt butterflies in my stomach. Once I stepped out into Liverpool, all real world troubles disappeared. I had entered Beatles-land, where everything is always positive and enthusiastic—where the joyous presence of the Beatles looks at you from every doorway and from the sides of buses. I waited for the Magical Mystery Tour in the tourist office in the main square.
When the bus pulled up, I smiled even more. It was a replica of the bus from the Magical Mystery Tour movie (which no one should ever watch). The guide was an adorable young man named Neil Brannan. He had horrible teeth and an authentic Liverpudlian accent that sounded just like music to my ears.
In fact, the accents throughout Liverpool were one of the best things. After years of listening to my beloved Beatles’ accents, I loved hearing the singsong lilt of the native Scouse accent. I understood every word perfectly. Everyone sounded like a Beatle! While I enjoyed the actual content of Neil’s tour, I enjoyed even more just listening to him talk. I think the Liverpool accent must have an inherent musicality in it. It certainly sounded like music to my ears. The man who gave me my ticket at the train station called me “love,” and the check in man at the hostel said, “cheers.” I found everyone immensely friendly.
So I went on the Magical Mystery Tour with the wonderful Neil. He had a great attitude and made lots of jokes. A lot of his jokes had to do with Liverpool football as better than Manchester United, or about the driver named Paddy, which seemed to refer to Liverpool’s large Irish population and history. We stopped at the gates of Strawberry Fields, a park-type area. We drove past all the spots mentioned in the song “Penny Lane” and then got off at the street sign. I enjoyed simply looking out the window and listening to Neil tell about meeting Paul and how the Beatles always came back to Liverpool for various things. I just absorbed the scenery and the sounds. A lot of the Beatles’ wit came from their Liverpool upbringing, and all of the tour guides I encountered had a similar wit. I really dug Neil. He had a very, very deep knowledge of all things Beatle, but he also seemed just like a regular Liverpool bloke.
One of the best moments came just after the stop at Penny Lane. When we got off at Penny Lane, I decided to tell Neil my story. I told him of how my Beatles obsession finally came to good use on a game show of all things. Neil thought it was a great story and agreed that I had really had a special experience. Back on the bus, he started to say how people ask him how he can go through the same spiel every day. Doesn’t he get bored talking about the Beatles day in and day out? And he said that no, he does not get bored, because he gets to hear great stories back from his guests. He then proceeded to tell the entire bus about my Jeopardy win and why I had come to Penny Lane. And everybody broke into applause! I did feel embarrassed, but I also felt happy. The applause was not just about being smart and knowing some random facts—it was about having a great story to tell and truly showing my love for the Beatles. The whole Jeopardy experience had made me feel rather bashful, but on the bus I felt that what had happened was truly special—special enough for Neil to announce to the whole bus that he had found a reason to love his job.
The tour ended at the Cavern Club, where the Beatles performed for several years. I stood on the (tiny) stage and nearly bumped my head on the low ceiling. I tried to imagine myself back in 1962 at one of the Beatles’ legendary concerts and tried to absorb the import of this small, dark, dank hole in the wall. Just across Mathew Street is the Cavern Pub, which has an impressive collection of Beatles memorabilia. It was happy hour and I was thirsty, so I decided to go over and have a pint. I had sat down when a man came up to my table and asked if he could sit down. I said sure, eager for an opportunity to talk to a fellow Beatles fan. Well, it turns out he was not necessarily a fan—he was a local who just came to have a few drinks and relax. Sadly, I never got his name. He assured me that he was not trying to pick me up or anything—his intentions were strictly honorable. I assured him right back that I would love to chat and did not find him at all suspicious. He said that I looked lonely, worried, and like I had a lot on my mind. He thought I looked a little down and unhappy. He wanted to see if I was okay. I tried to assure him that actually I felt entirely happy and carefree.
I told this man that I had come there for the Beatles, which he liked. Now, I do not think that this man was quite all there. He did say that he had just returned from Marrakesh, and he did sway quite a bit, so maybe he was still riding high on the Marrakesh express. He announced his age as 53. He just seemed slightly off somehow, although not in any sinister way. In fact, he reminded me of my Uncle Christopher. He had the air of a man who had lived hard and fast and now had a fuzzy memory. But he had a great enthusiasm for everything. He was not retarded or anything—he was just a bit shaky. He did offer to buy me a drink, but my legs already felt a little weak. I asked where I had come from, and he said he’d love to get back over to America. He had taken some road trips all around Europe.
We did talk about the Beatles. He said, and I have no reason not to believe them, that his mother had worked as a “cleaner” for the McCartneys—the cleaner for Paul’s father Jim when Paul bought his father a house “across the water,” meaning across the Mersey River. This man said he came from “across the water.” By that time, Paul’s father would certainly have had a cleaning woman and Paul frequently visited. So then my friend told a story of meeting Paul—everyone in Liverpool has a story of meeting Paul McCartney. He was down at the local pub when Paul walks in. Paul says hello to everyone and signs autographs. Paul then asks how the guy’s mother is doing. Now, this might seem far-fetched, but it fits perfectly in line with stories about Paul’s legendary friendliness and memory for people. I was appropriately open-mouthed and jaw-dropped at this guy’s story. I gasped and said many a “really!?” He liked my responses.
My friend asked what I did, what I studied, and what I wanted to do with my life. I said I didn’t have a clue. He then suggested that I go into “the law and order.” I said it was a possibility and he said that I would be good at it. In fact, he said, “You’ll be successful whatever you do. I know you’ll be alright. You’re a good one.” He basically said that he saw something good and solid in me. He saw that I had a good spirit. It honestly meant a lot to me. I’ll take it! Maybe the guy was just a loony old man, but maybe he really did see something. Maybe he did have some mystic insight. Maybe the universe again was trying to show me some kind of path, expressing itself through a shaky old man.
Soon after, I had to go check into my accommodations, but I assured my new friend very enthusiastically that I had greatly enjoyed talking with him. I said I was sorry to go and it had been lovely. We said goodbye and shook hands, and I walked away feeling like something very special had happened to me. I went to my hostel, checked in, and then found some dinner. I then walked back to the Cavern. As I walked back, the deserted streets surprised me. I mean, I was walking along the virtually deserted main pedestrian thoroughfare. See, a major, major soccer match happened to be on television that night, which explained the desertion. As I walked, the lyrics of “Good Morning, Good Morning” came into my head: “everything is closed it’s like a ruin.” And in that song, “somebody needs to know the time/ Glad that I’m here.” And sure enough, a passing man asked me the time, and I told him, because somebody needs to know the time, and I did!
I walked back to the Cavern, where I ran into Neil and some of his friends. As I approached the guys, all big northern English guys with beer bellies and bad teeth. One of the guys called to me, “Are you the Jeopardy girl?” I said yes and they told me that Neil had related my story. They all (four or five big guys) said that they though it was, indeed, a great story. And I had a feeling of the story aspect of it—that I had become the owner of a great story. I have a great story to tell, and somehow the greatness and wonderfulness of the story aspect had eluded me until that day in Liverpool. Maybe this is because Liverpool seems very obsessed with stories and storytelling—after all, the Beatles themselves are storytellers. And everyone seems to have a good Beatles story. And here I come with a Beatles story of my own, fitting in just like a local. Their opinions meant a lot to me because of my obsession with stories. I’ve always wanted to have a great story to tell to the important people in my life, and on that narrow alley in Liverpool, I may have found it.
So the guys said that I should come back “’round tomorrow midday” and they’d ring a reporter from the paper to interview me. This absolutely floored and flabbergasted me. I must have said “really” eight times. I walked away feeling as high as a kite. I went back to the hostel, watched the match on TV, and then fell into bed, feeling incredibly happy.