The weeks of practicing were now behind me. My drum was packed and ready to go. All I had to do now was to await Graham’s familiar knock on the door, and I would be off to school as usual. But today would be far from usual. I was about to perform my first public “gig” in front of my classmates at Archers Court Secondary School; and my stomach was performing somersaults!

Nervously tapping my rhythm brushes on my knees while I waited, I reflected on how this situation had come about.

Each week our class endured a boring music lesson as our teacher tried in vain to teach us about crotchets, quavers, scales and keys; and the classical works of Beethoven. It all went over my head, as it did for most of the class. We were only interested in who was number one in the “Top Twenty”, and who preferred The Beatles to The Rolling Stones.

Because of this collective interest in pop music, we persuaded the reluctant music teacher to allow one pupil a week to bring in a pop record that would be played to the class at the end of each lesson.

As the weeks passed, word got around that Graham played the harmonica and I could play a snare drum; and so it came about that the besieged music teacher reluctantly agreed to allow us to perform in front of the class. “Anything would be better than all those crotchets and quavers”, one my classmates remarked in the playground upon hearing the news.

“You ready Chas?”

I was startled out of my pondering by the voice of my friend who I had nicknamed Larry Adler.

“Ready as I”ll ever be’, I replied, trying to sound confident. “Got your mouth-organ?”

Pulling it from the top pocket of his school blazer, he smiled.

“We this is it” I said, grabbing the flimsy cardboard box containing my snare drum. “It”s time to reach for the stars!’

The walk to school seemed much shorter than usual and soon we had passed through the school gates. Now there was no going back.

The Maths and Science lessons that normally passed excruciatingly slowly seemed to fly by that day. I was in a world of my own; dreaming that one day school would be over forever. I would then buy the chrome, snare drum that I had drooled over many times in the Premier Drum catalogue. But for now the cheap amber-coloured plastic drum, with its autographed picture of Ringo Starr printed on the top “skin” purchased for £4 from a News of the World advertisement, would have to suffice.