I hope that you may be interested in the story that is to follow. It is true and I have proof to back it up. It features an oak flooring brick, the type used as parquet and this item is the core of the story.

Two years ago this March I was in a personal bind relationship wise and so decided to get away for a few days. National Express had a special deal on offer, anywhere in mainland U.K. for ten pounds return. The only catch. no Saturday travel. I settled on Liverpool. Why Liverpool? Well, since I was a child I've had a connection with the city. The ferry from Belfast docked there on frequent visits to see my family. The excitement of watching the dockside near has never quite left me. That.. and the awful memory of Heysham Railway Station on an icy cold and wind battered night a century ago. Then came another storm, the Beatles. Who broke the boredom that popular music was and replaced it with something that will never be replaced. I had even worked in Garston on the docks, painting the cranes. That is until the one beside the one my pal Terry and I were working on decided to ram us with a load of wood from a Polish freighter. As a musician I had played there many times, but never in all the time that I had, had I done the Beatle trail. For ten quid I would never get another chance to do something I might never get a chance to do again. That was it really. Liverpool.

I arrived at three p.m. and did the Cavern, photos etc. It was soon too dark to do much, so I headed for the hostel I'd found in a backpacker's guide. This as it turned out was the best place for me to be. The owner, Kevin was an old rocker who (truly) knew John Lennon. He told me of several events that I found hard to doubt. Maybe I just wanted to believe him. He had no reason to lie. Anyway, later, a few of us went out to pub it. We visited the Philharmonic and the Cracke and got back at midnight, brainless and ready to sleep.

Saturday was to me my last full day, so I rose early and set off around eight. I got to Walton about ten thirty. The ride took over half an hour as it's a fair way from the centre. It was lovely, John did live in a nice place. Up the hill to the churchyard I went, to look at that famous patch of grass at the back of the church where McCartney first saw Lennon play and where close by, Elenor Rigby lies.

Then over the road to St. Peter's Hall, the place where they first met. It was here that the brick came in.

I had been photographing the wall mounted plaque that celebrates this meeting when a workman approached.

'Do you like the Beatles then sun?'
'Since I was a wee, wee lad.' I replied.
'They weren't the best band you know..'
'Maybe.. but then you've got to hand it to them.'
'What?'
'What they did.'
'Yeah.. I suppose so. This place is where it all kicked off you know.'
'Yeah.'
'We took the stage out the other day.'
'Yeah.'
'..and the floor.'
'Yeah ?' I laughed, not understanding his grin.
'The stage doesn't matter though..'
'Why not?'
'Because they never stood on the stage. There's a load of bits of it on that pile over there..it's rubbish..it's only to be thrown away.'

Thirty minutes later I had my photo taken at Strawberry Fields. An hour later I was taking pictures of Yoko Ono outside Menlove Avenue. After that I had a fry up at the real end of Penny Lane. Then at six thirty I saw myself on B.B.C. News as they told the story of Yoko's visit to the locals.

'You've had luck some in the 'pool' would have liked. Still, it's goin' to the bloke that's supposed to have it I suppose. 'Them's the breaks'. Remarked Kevin. I left Liverpool at six in the morning, dog tired but happy and slept most of the way back to London.

Some days later as I dashed through my living room on my way to the toilet. I passed the fireplace against which I'd leant the brick. I saw a shadow on the brick's surface. It looked like a face. 'Nah..bollocks.' Several minutes later and much refreshed I shuffled downstairs to look. I dropped to my knees in an effort to keep the light angle right and stared. It was a face, Paul McCartney's face. I twisted around to get another viewpoint and there was another. It was harder to see but it was there, the hard ridge of John Lennon's nose, circa 'With the Beatles' black and white album cover. I went cold.

I've since showed the thing to other people. Only one could not see what I saw but one in particular, a young, female art student said. 'Oh my goodness..it's like that shroudy thing.' I personally wouldn't go that far.

Through the years the floor in that old hall had been painted many times I would think, The last coat, a thick black, When the thing was taken up they must have used a burner to loosen the glue. The heat had disfigured the paint. The result is spooky.

A while ago I called a national Sunday newspaper and spoke to a bloke on the news desk. He was mighty interested and wanted to come with a photographer to take a look but through times constraints was put off by how far away from London I lived. He asked if the brick could be photographed.
'I think so.' I said. 'I hope so' I thought.
'Maybe you could send a picture in.. there are some people who would be very interested.'
I did not like the idea of that, so I didn't.
I now have the pictures of the article in black and white and colour. The outlines can be clearly seen.

This story is totally true. I have a landslide of proof to support it. Besides, it concerns a subject that I could never lie about. The Beatles. I admire them too much to conjure up a story in the hope of reflected glory. What happened, happened on tha sunny Liverpool day. A Penny Lane day.

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