Thursday, November 17, 2005
The NME Years - The Editorial Girls
There were quite a few girls that worked in the editorial reception and admin areas while I was at NME. Some of their names I no longer recall, but most of them were there for a few years so I do remember them - in no particular order: Fiona Foulger, Margaret, Cathy Bartlett/Kate Wills, Kathy Kelly, Julia "Spud" Murphy.
Fiona Foulger was a lovely, single, woman, with red curly hair and a real northern twang to her voice. I think she was from the top end of Lancashire, but I stand corrected. She was fun to talk to but we didn't have too much in common, and she was always the elder stateswoman at NME that people looked to for advice if they needed help.
She could dismiss people with just a glance, and a mumble if she didn't like what they were doing or said. She worked in the editorial offices throughout my time at NME, and on Friday lunchtimes used to drink in a pub in Kingly Street, just around the corner from the Carnaby Street offices, with other old stagers from the office. The last time I spoke with her was around 1993 when I needed to dispose of stacks of old NME papers from the late 70's and early 80's that I’d stored at my parents house. Fiona arranged for a van to pick them up so they could be used to replace the dismembered NME archives. I believe that she died about ten years ago from breast cancer, which is a real shame.
Margaret was a strange one; she was very shy but had, by all accounts, a bit of a screw loose. One day, when up in Kettering to pass the paper for press, Monty Smith told me that he'd seen Margaret staring out of the third floor Carnaby Street offices windows a couple of days beforehand. She was crying. Being a nice guy, Monty asked her if she was OK and what the matter was?Margaret replied that she was crying because "it was raining"! Thank god we aren't all like that, as the whole population of London would be in floods of tears most days! One other time, Margaret needed a few days off work sick because she had slipped/fallen underneath the slam-door train at London Bridge mainline station on her way home. She said that she was petrified that the train would pull away with her being dragged along underneath, but of course that never happened; a platform guard helped lift her up off the tracks, as no other passengers came to her aid. How she got under it we'll never know. She left NME in about 1984 and I've never heard anything about her since.
Cathy Bartlett I knew from her time in Kings Reach Tower when she was a sweet, but not so innocent, seventeen year old. A very attractive blonde Essex girl with a very sexy laugh, she worked on Titbits magazine (who's office was on the 25th floor next door to NME ad sales) as the office junior, before eventually getting a minor telephone sales role. This didn't work out so she went back to secretarial duties after getting transferred over to NME Editorial, thanks in part to yours truly! By now, I think she was married to her childhood sweetheart; I don't recall his first name but his surname was Wills.Our Cathy therefore became Catherine Wills! Well, she was a cracker! The lure of fame however meant that her marriage didn't last, and she split from her husband after just a year or two. I took her out a few times, including to see Siouxsie and the Banshees on my birthday, when I had ten tickets and a whole gang of us (including Gary Crowley, Tony O, and Wendy Baker) went along to a great night at Hammersmith Palais. Cathy, or Kate as she became known at NME - so as not to get confused with Kathy Kelly - loved it at NME; she turned into a bit of a rock-chick, and all the writers drooled over her. While I was in the car one day talking with Tony Stewart, he started to salivate over her, saying how gorgeous she was, and refused to believe me when I told him I'd taken her out a few times - getting the Kate he was talking about and the Cathy I kept referring to (one and the same person) confused. She ended up really good mates with Wendy, and the Baker household superstardom-lifestyle suited her down to the ground. Eventually, she met a man in the music business who fulfilled her dreams, and she was soon pregnant. She spent less and less time in the office while "in the club", and left to look after baby once it arrived and became a kept woman. I met her once after she had left, when she visited Kings Reach with Wendy and babe, but she was a bit flighty then, and not the teenager that I'd help mentor. She probably has two or three kids now, and lives in a mansion in Berkshire with her ex-rock star hubby!
Kathy Kelly had a bit of history about her! An Aussie, she worked for QANTAS as a stewardess in her younger days. On arrival in the UK, she got the job of Editor's secretary at NME, working for Nick Logan and Neil Spencer during my time. She was quite forward and had a one night stand with my colleague Frank that was all her own making. She married a Swiss guy eventually, but it wasn't a conventional marriage arrangement.As far as I'm aware, her visa started to run out, and she needed to get married in order to be allowed to stay in England, so she chose this Swiss guy who was a friend of a friend (mad Texan Barbara Fry, who worked in PR and was always hanging around the NME offices). Kathy moved over to Kings Reach Tower in 1988 with the rest of the NME editorial staff, but was soon off sick. She claimed, and as her union rep I argued on her behalf, that the air conditioning was making her ill - sick building syndrome - and she had a doctor's certificate to back it up. IPC would not accept this diagnosis though, fearing that, if successful, many more staff would use it to escape the 32 storey concrete monstrosity. Eventually, I negotiated a settlement with the HR people on Kathy's behalf, but not before IPC stopped her salary, threatened to sack her, and the occupational health people had had their say.
Julia Murphy was a lovely, nice, Irish girl, who worked on the reception desk for about four years after Danny Baker and Gary Crowley had moved on to bigger and better things. Whether the editor (Neil Spencer) thought that Spud would turn into another writer/DJ I do not know, but it seemed far from her mind or intention. Julia had a couple of long relationships while at NME; the first with NME writer Angus McKinnon, whom she doted on.They were a very nice couple and I don't really know why they didn't stay together, unless it was Angus being commitment-phobic. Even after they had split, Julia had trouble being in a room with him, as it made her so upset to think what might have been. Her second long relationship was with a guy called Kevin (Mitchell?). Once more, they made a good couple but had relationship troubles that they struggled to work through. Julia was good fun, and would come down the pub whenever she could. She was always messing around with Tony O, and they were forever taking the mickey out of each other. One evening, Tony and I persuaded Julia to come along to Wembley Arena with us to see some professional wrestling! This is the one and only time I've been to something like that, as wrestling in those days used to stay in the north of the country mainly, and almost never came to London. I had read that Big Daddy was taking on Giant Haystacks (see pic) and talked Tony O into going. We then dragged Julia into the pub for a couple and reached an agreement whereby she would come along if Tony drove (we had intended to go on the tube). Without another option, we walked down to Covent Garden to get Tony's Fiesta and drove through the rush hour traffic to Wembley. The evening was mainly about supporting bouts and quaffing beer; a couple of (long, boring) World title fights took place, including one with the manic Rollerball Rocco, before the main event. After much fanfare, it was all over in ninety seconds, making the £10 entry fee expensive! Haystacks and Daddy did a bit of posing, arm grappling, then parted. Daddy tried his stomach-bounce/splash thing which pushed Haystacks back into his own corner. Daddy then took a run in order to crush Haystacks in the corner of the ring, but bounced off, falling to the floor. 
However, before Haystacks could react, the momentum of the impact forced his feet to slip on water residue on the canvas floor, and he slipped, falling over the top rope and down on to the arena floor. Of course, the crowd went wild, cheering and laughing, until they realized that this 30 stone man was unable to get to his feet un-aided, let alone make it back into the ring within ten seconds! The count arrived at ten, and it was all over. Big Daddy the victor, but only by a kind of unfair default. Julia eventually left NME in 1984, when the offices moved to Commonwealth House and a receptionist was no longer necessary, and went to work for the Evening Standard selling classified advertising and managing the sales reps. I would walk down to Fleet Street to meet her for a pub lunch in the Old Lud at Ludgate Circus on quite a few occasions. On one occasion, she turned up without her front teeth! She had been running for a bus a few days earlier, but had tripped in the road, and knocked them both clean out, cutting her top lip badly in the process! Her dentist was not amused, and neither was she, as she had an almost perfect set of pearly whites… Julia then got a job working at The Mirror but, although she did a great job by all accounts, was personally sacked by Robert Maxwell. She said he was quite nice about it, but wouldn't be talked out of his decision, though she did try. I've lost contact with Julia since then, but hope very much that she is happy and content, and that her false teeth aren't giving her too much trouble now she's a little bit older!
Fiona Foulger was a lovely, single, woman, with red curly hair and a real northern twang to her voice. I think she was from the top end of Lancashire, but I stand corrected. She was fun to talk to but we didn't have too much in common, and she was always the elder stateswoman at NME that people looked to for advice if they needed help.
She could dismiss people with just a glance, and a mumble if she didn't like what they were doing or said. She worked in the editorial offices throughout my time at NME, and on Friday lunchtimes used to drink in a pub in Kingly Street, just around the corner from the Carnaby Street offices, with other old stagers from the office. The last time I spoke with her was around 1993 when I needed to dispose of stacks of old NME papers from the late 70's and early 80's that I’d stored at my parents house. Fiona arranged for a van to pick them up so they could be used to replace the dismembered NME archives. I believe that she died about ten years ago from breast cancer, which is a real shame.Margaret was a strange one; she was very shy but had, by all accounts, a bit of a screw loose. One day, when up in Kettering to pass the paper for press, Monty Smith told me that he'd seen Margaret staring out of the third floor Carnaby Street offices windows a couple of days beforehand. She was crying. Being a nice guy, Monty asked her if she was OK and what the matter was?
Margaret replied that she was crying because "it was raining"! Thank god we aren't all like that, as the whole population of London would be in floods of tears most days! One other time, Margaret needed a few days off work sick because she had slipped/fallen underneath the slam-door train at London Bridge mainline station on her way home. She said that she was petrified that the train would pull away with her being dragged along underneath, but of course that never happened; a platform guard helped lift her up off the tracks, as no other passengers came to her aid. How she got under it we'll never know. She left NME in about 1984 and I've never heard anything about her since.Cathy Bartlett I knew from her time in Kings Reach Tower when she was a sweet, but not so innocent, seventeen year old. A very attractive blonde Essex girl with a very sexy laugh, she worked on Titbits magazine (who's office was on the 25th floor next door to NME ad sales) as the office junior, before eventually getting a minor telephone sales role. This didn't work out so she went back to secretarial duties after getting transferred over to NME Editorial, thanks in part to yours truly! By now, I think she was married to her childhood sweetheart; I don't recall his first name but his surname was Wills.
Our Cathy therefore became Catherine Wills! Well, she was a cracker! The lure of fame however meant that her marriage didn't last, and she split from her husband after just a year or two. I took her out a few times, including to see Siouxsie and the Banshees on my birthday, when I had ten tickets and a whole gang of us (including Gary Crowley, Tony O, and Wendy Baker) went along to a great night at Hammersmith Palais. Cathy, or Kate as she became known at NME - so as not to get confused with Kathy Kelly - loved it at NME; she turned into a bit of a rock-chick, and all the writers drooled over her. While I was in the car one day talking with Tony Stewart, he started to salivate over her, saying how gorgeous she was, and refused to believe me when I told him I'd taken her out a few times - getting the Kate he was talking about and the Cathy I kept referring to (one and the same person) confused. She ended up really good mates with Wendy, and the Baker household superstardom-lifestyle suited her down to the ground. Eventually, she met a man in the music business who fulfilled her dreams, and she was soon pregnant. She spent less and less time in the office while "in the club", and left to look after baby once it arrived and became a kept woman. I met her once after she had left, when she visited Kings Reach with Wendy and babe, but she was a bit flighty then, and not the teenager that I'd help mentor. She probably has two or three kids now, and lives in a mansion in Berkshire with her ex-rock star hubby!Kathy Kelly had a bit of history about her! An Aussie, she worked for QANTAS as a stewardess in her younger days. On arrival in the UK, she got the job of Editor's secretary at NME, working for Nick Logan and Neil Spencer during my time. She was quite forward and had a one night stand with my colleague Frank that was all her own making. She married a Swiss guy eventually, but it wasn't a conventional marriage arrangement.
As far as I'm aware, her visa started to run out, and she needed to get married in order to be allowed to stay in England, so she chose this Swiss guy who was a friend of a friend (mad Texan Barbara Fry, who worked in PR and was always hanging around the NME offices). Kathy moved over to Kings Reach Tower in 1988 with the rest of the NME editorial staff, but was soon off sick. She claimed, and as her union rep I argued on her behalf, that the air conditioning was making her ill - sick building syndrome - and she had a doctor's certificate to back it up. IPC would not accept this diagnosis though, fearing that, if successful, many more staff would use it to escape the 32 storey concrete monstrosity. Eventually, I negotiated a settlement with the HR people on Kathy's behalf, but not before IPC stopped her salary, threatened to sack her, and the occupational health people had had their say. Julia Murphy was a lovely, nice, Irish girl, who worked on the reception desk for about four years after Danny Baker and Gary Crowley had moved on to bigger and better things. Whether the editor (Neil Spencer) thought that Spud would turn into another writer/DJ I do not know, but it seemed far from her mind or intention. Julia had a couple of long relationships while at NME; the first with NME writer Angus McKinnon, whom she doted on.
They were a very nice couple and I don't really know why they didn't stay together, unless it was Angus being commitment-phobic. Even after they had split, Julia had trouble being in a room with him, as it made her so upset to think what might have been. Her second long relationship was with a guy called Kevin (Mitchell?). Once more, they made a good couple but had relationship troubles that they struggled to work through. Julia was good fun, and would come down the pub whenever she could. She was always messing around with Tony O, and they were forever taking the mickey out of each other. One evening, Tony and I persuaded Julia to come along to Wembley Arena with us to see some professional wrestling! This is the one and only time I've been to something like that, as wrestling in those days used to stay in the north of the country mainly, and almost never came to London. I had read that Big Daddy was taking on Giant Haystacks (see pic) and talked Tony O into going. We then dragged Julia into the pub for a couple and reached an agreement whereby she would come along if Tony drove (we had intended to go on the tube). Without another option, we walked down to Covent Garden to get Tony's Fiesta and drove through the rush hour traffic to Wembley. The evening was mainly about supporting bouts and quaffing beer; a couple of (long, boring) World title fights took place, including one with the manic Rollerball Rocco, before the main event. After much fanfare, it was all over in ninety seconds, making the £10 entry fee expensive! Haystacks and Daddy did a bit of posing, arm grappling, then parted. Daddy tried his stomach-bounce/splash thing which pushed Haystacks back into his own corner. Daddy then took a run in order to crush Haystacks in the corner of the ring, but bounced off, falling to the floor. 
However, before Haystacks could react, the momentum of the impact forced his feet to slip on water residue on the canvas floor, and he slipped, falling over the top rope and down on to the arena floor. Of course, the crowd went wild, cheering and laughing, until they realized that this 30 stone man was unable to get to his feet un-aided, let alone make it back into the ring within ten seconds! The count arrived at ten, and it was all over. Big Daddy the victor, but only by a kind of unfair default. Julia eventually left NME in 1984, when the offices moved to Commonwealth House and a receptionist was no longer necessary, and went to work for the Evening Standard selling classified advertising and managing the sales reps. I would walk down to Fleet Street to meet her for a pub lunch in the Old Lud at Ludgate Circus on quite a few occasions. On one occasion, she turned up without her front teeth! She had been running for a bus a few days earlier, but had tripped in the road, and knocked them both clean out, cutting her top lip badly in the process! Her dentist was not amused, and neither was she, as she had an almost perfect set of pearly whites… Julia then got a job working at The Mirror but, although she did a great job by all accounts, was personally sacked by Robert Maxwell. She said he was quite nice about it, but wouldn't be talked out of his decision, though she did try. I've lost contact with Julia since then, but hope very much that she is happy and content, and that her false teeth aren't giving her too much trouble now she's a little bit older!
