Back in 1976 I had managed to join the local theatre in education team in Watford. This meant not only paying work as an Actor/musician but also the opportunity to obtain the seemingly mythical Equity card. The TIE team, back in it's well funded hey day of the '70's, put on shows for schools and collages in and around the Hertfordshire area. Be that a Shakespeare show for those studying the bard at O level or more simpler historical fare for younger children. The first show that I did, however, was for schools in a category that they used to call ESN. I'm pretty sure that in these politically correct days that this term is no longer in use as it stood for 'Educationally Sub Normal'. This rather unkind epithet covered an extraordinary wide range of abilities and schools. Some were populated with rather troublesome kids who had been expelled from every other school because of their anti social behaviour. Whilst other schools had kids, and young adults, who were severely brain damaged. As a result the show had to be fairly broad stylistically in order to cover the variety of abilities of those attending. I remember, during the devising period, visiting a number of schools and talking to both Teachers and children.
At one particular school for 'Maladjusted' kids we were welcomed by the headmaster and ushered us in to the staff room and given tea. This felt rather odd as I had only just left school and now was treated with the privileges of teachers. The head master was proud of his schools record and keen to play down the potentially violent nature of some of his more notorious pupils. They were, he insisted, largely misunderstood children from broken homes. Give them the respect that they had obviously been starved of in their own, often tragic, family lives and they would respond accordingly. It was all rather impressive. He seemed terribly confidant and assured and had an infectious calm about him. We discussed how best to entertain and stimulate these children and he was genuinely exited about the positive possibilities of Theatre in this form.
It was around this moment that a very stressed and harassed woman came in and asked if he could spare a few minutes to discuss a problem of a rather delicate nature. He told her who we were and the nature of our visit and might it not be possible to talk later. She smiled nervously and stuttered that it might be more appropriate to discuss it

….NOW. Her pretence at calmness was becoming increasingly transparent . Her headmaster however smiled with great charm and said 'If there is a problem then let's discuss it. These people have come to see the school in action so why not let them see how we deal with problems.' She closed her eyes momentarily, took a breath and said that she thought that that might not be terribly appropriate at that moment. He turned to us with a beaming smile and then back to the trembling teacher and said 'Come, come what could be so bad, we've nothing to hide here' She closed her eyes briefly once more then quickly looked at us all and then said as quickly as possible 'I'm afraid Johnson's brought his Axe to school again' The headmaster screamed 'Oh shit' and ran out the door with alarming speed leaving the rest of us staring at each other and wondering what the hell we were letting our selves in for.
A visit to Leavesden Mental home was much more distressing. Leavsden was a large, crumbling series of Gothic buildings housing patients who had been there since Victoria was on the throne. Whilst some people were obviously seriously distressed others were dangerously violent and kept in locked cells. Others were just stuck there for little reason other than their lack of social acceptability in the early part of the century. This included unmarried mothers, old age pensioners with some physical disabilities and hermaphrodites. In the nursery department we visited I saw two pin head girls. Young girls of about10 whose head and brains were proportionally smaller than the rest of their bodies. It was sad and upsetting. Some of these people should just not have been there, whilst some should have been receiving care and understanding but the impression was that of human freaks of nature just being hidden away from view in a Victorian prison.
Armed with all these confusing and varied visions of ESN establishments we went back to the TIE home in an attempt to devise an appropriate entertainment for such a  diverse group of people. What we ended up with was a simplistic pantomime type affair. My memory can't quite dredge up the plot, such as it was, but I do know that it featured one of the girls dressed as a giant white rabbit. I myself appeared as a strong man, complete with leopard skin leotard and foam rubber muscles, and also as a one man band.  There was some spacemen into to I seem to recall. God knows what it was all about though. These poor kids were disturbed enough as it was.
On the day before the tour started I was at the rehearsal space with the stage manager and sound man editing the music that I had composed  for the play. As part of the therapeutic nature of our performance the audience were to come up on stage once we'd finished to meet the cast, see the scenery, touch the costumes and generally interact with us. To cover this the sound man had put 'Greatest hit's' by the Carpenters as suitable inoffensive MOR play out music on to the tape. As there was about half an hours worth of blank tape left he asked me if I had any albums on me. I had as it happened. I'd just taken delivery of an American import of Tony William's Lifetimes 'Believe It'. I told them that it was a bit weird in places and hardly suitable especially following the smooth blandness of the Carpenters. It didn't matter, it was just a fail-safe. The likelihood of us spending more than 45 minutes chatting at the end of the performance where slim at best. So onto the remaining blank tape it went.
And so off we went round Hertfordshire in a large blue van full of Scenery, costumes and equipment. We did indeed experience a fairly hairy time at the school with the axe wielding Johnson. They, quite rightly as it happened, felt the whole thing was rather patronising. There was a couple of similar schools with a similar reaction but we never actually got beaten up. I remember playing  a day centre where the majority of the crowd were adults. There was a grey haired woman in her mid fifties who made a bee line for me at the end of the show. She wore spectacles and a floral apron. She was also wearing some fluffy slippers and held a duster in one hand which she waved as she spoke. I thought she was a cleaner, she wasn't. She began by asking about my bands man tunic. She didn't listen to the answer, she wasn't interested. She was interested in asking questions but not in any of the responses. It was a few questions in before it became obvious to me. She took me to one side and told me that she had a secret to impart. Oh dear! She proceeded to tell me that she was a Princess living in the home incognito whilst there was a military coup in her country and she was awaiting the arrival of her Prince. When he eventually arrives they will return triumphantly home. It seemed all the weirder because she looked so normal. Like someone's sweet old Granny. She held my hand tightly and swore me to secrecy in case the authorities found out and had her deported. I didn't know what to say, not that it would have made any difference as she ignored everything I'd said anyway.
At a small quiet school in Hitchen we were faced with some severely disturbed children. The back row contained kids that had been strapped into their wheel chairs and were wearing protective head guards. The noises that they made were as likely to be those of someone in great distress as those of kids enjoying themselves. To the untrained ear it was hard, and not a little disconcerting group to play for. As we were packing up one of the teachers came back in tears saying that it was the first time that some of the children had ever smiled.
So the final show of the tour took place in a large establishment outside Watford. There was a big crowd of around 700 people. Mostly adults and a large number suffering from downs syndrome. Indeed quite a few of the boy's (I say boy's, they were in their 20's) helped us load in our gear. They were grown men with the mental age of 6 year olds pretending to be grown men. Smoking in an exaggerated fashion. Holding their cigarettes between their thumb and middle fingers, not inhaling properly and blowing the smoke out really  hard. It was sweet, sad and strangely touching.

The hall filled with a noisy and expectant crowd. Once the show started they cheered and roared and laughed in all the right places and most of the wrong ones. All, that is, except for  a man in his mid thirties sitting right in the middle of the front row. He was wearing a leather jacket, had his longish hair greased back and had on a pair of wrap around sun glasses. He sat there slightly hunched up looking straight ahead in an emotionless fashion oblivious to the excitement of the rest of the crowd. Every now and then he would look the girls in the show up and down and slowly lick his lips. Indeed every time one of them came backstage they expressed how out freaked out they were becoming and how creepy he looked and made them feel. This wasn't helped of course by my self and the other guys indulging in the most puerile, laddish  of comments. Saying things like 'You're in there' and 'He cannot take his eyes off you' and 'He starts rubbing is thighs every time you go on'. This was of course tactless, unforgivable and not remotely funny. All I can say in my defence was that I was about 18 and knew no different and, well it was 1976 for Christ sake. When the show ended we were invaded by the crowd who were all desperate to get on stage. We kept a eye out for the guy down the front as the girls had been dreading this part and were genuinely scared of him by now. But he just sat there motionless as all around him moved around and chatted loudly. There were so many people that the after show section lasted as long as the show. And the lonely biker jacketed figure just sat there through out. Then, without warning, the noisy opening bars of the 'Snake oil' from Tony William's 'Believe It' came blaring through the speakers. The distinctive open hi hats and thundering drums reverberated round the hall. It was the record that I'd put on to the end of the tape over a month ago and the first time we'd got that far. To my absolute amazement the once static and scary looking individual on the front row stood up with a large beaming smile. He took his glasses off  and began moving in time to the music. Suddenly his entire aura changed. He came alive and the strange and creepy man turned into a normal individual exited by music. He began laughing and said out loud to anyone who care to listen 'I love this record!' And he obviously did. He was miming the drum fills and playing air guitar in time with Allan Holdsworths extraordinary playing. He went to stand in front of one of the big speakers and was rocking and applauding when the solo's finished. He seemed to really know the record. Each new piece or section was greeted by him saying aloud 'Then this bit !I love this bit, this solo coming up is incredible' It might sound twee or corny but I was really moved. Here was an individual who obviously had some behavioural and mental problems but music just cut through all that. Music spoke to him inspite of everything. What was a pretty unknown Jazz rock album to most people had obviously touched him in the same joyous way that it touched me. I was once again amazed and thrilled by the power and mystery that music possesses. As I watched him it began to become apparent that his mood was changing. He knew this album, that was obvious, but couldn't remember the artist's name. He was beginning to become a touch frustrated. He kept shaking his head and saying out loud 'I know this , I know it. Who the hell is it?' The longer it went on the more angry he became with himself. I got very close to going over to him to put him out of his misery and tell him it was Tony William's and his new album, but no. I had to let him work it out for himself, if I could. It would be great if he could do it without any help from me. And then it happened. A big smiled came over his face and he jumped up and down with excitement ' Of course, I remember, I remember' again as I watched this whole drama through out the past half hour or so I actually got quite choked up. There were tears welling in my eyes. He clenched both his fists in victory and yelled at the top of his voice 'It's Barry Manilow'.