1977: I mean it

Stop me if you've heard this one before, but let's cast our minds back to the Silver Jubilee of 1977.

The run-up was of course dominated - to me and all my friends at least - by the question of whether the Sex Pistols would be No.1 for the Jubilee. No one I know had ever heard it, let alone bought it, and only when I told someone I'd seen the words in either Disco 45 or Record Mirror did it all become clear as to just why this song might not be suitable for radio. Of course today you hear it on Radio 2, but back then, it was the biggest deal.

I had imagined it went 'The Queen's a fucking bastard/Da da da da da/The Queen's a fucking moron/Da da da da da' to the tune of Remember You're A Womble, but though not far off with the moron thing I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Someone at school discovered I knew the lyrics and I was quizzed by a group as to how they went. Still not ever having heard the song I could quote the lyrics, but I didn't know what a fascist regime was or why the Queen was considered a potential H-bomb, but I just went with the flow.

Browsing in our local record-cum-gift-cum bookshop, the quaintly named Acorns, one day, a man was going through the singles and pulled out a copy of God Save The Queen and mentioned to shop assistant that he was surprised to see they had this in stock. The assistant replied that they 'had to, really', and I think I know what she meant. What sort of record shop would this be if they censored their stock to placate the national mood?

Anyway, I wish I'd bought it. But I had bigger fish to fry as we were off to Cornwall for Jubilee week, so no street parties for us, even though one was planned in our road. Thankfully it pissed down so much that we came home early, just in time for the party. I had had my birthday in St Ives (and yes, it's next Tuesday in 2012), and the week continued overcast but fair and we all enjoyed the party. All I recall is Uncle Tony getting tight in a deckchair and collecting a potato salad from the old bag we called Crabstick and taking it to the central food dispensary at Dr Buchanan's house.

I'm sure we had fun. The Sex Pistols weren't number (or were they?), and here we are 35 years later with that same Queen on the throne, Vivienne Westwood now has time for her and Johnny Rotten advertises butter. Perhaps because he 'has' to.

*I did do a similar entry but who'll ever remember, eh?

1977: Flowers in the dustbin

Of course I never heard this record at the time. You wouldn't have heard it on any radio station and I knew no one who owned it because most shops refused to stock it. I remember being in Acorns, the local record/gift shop, and a man thumbing through the singles chanced up on it.

'I see you've got this in,' he said.
'Well,' mused the woman behind the counter. 'We sort of had to.'

I knew what she meant. What sort of record retailer would she be if she didn't stock it? Not for her to kow-tow to newspaper hysterics and the Mary Whitehouse brigade. But if only I'd bought it. It was the rare, super-valuable A&M version too. That man didn't buy it, but someone probably did and now they're sitting on a goldmine. Story of my life.

Because neither I nor anyone I knew had never heard the song, there was a lot of speculation about its content. Someone said it was banned because the words were 'the Queen's a fucking bastard' to the tune of Remember You're A Womble. It was perfectly plausible.

But then I saw the lyrics in Record Mirror, with talk about fascist regimes, morons and H-bombs. I was unsure as to what it was all about, but there was no swearing in it. No future, yes, but no rude words. What a disappointment.

So once I let it slip that I knew the words to this major secondary school talking point I was inundated with enquiries and was asked to recite them to anyone who asked. I couldn't really remember them so I just layered it on - at 12 I don't think I knew what a fascist was, but I knew it was bad. Even the single school would-be punk sought me out. I was terrified but I got away with it. There were no real punks in our town and if there were a mother wasn't doing her job properly, so I was told.

Those of us who remember this magical Silver Jubilee-tinged time (with my 12th birthday slap bang in the middle of it), will recall how much of a stir this record caused. Even in my small corner of southern England people were up in arms, and everyone was convinced there was a move to pretend Rod Stewart was number one rather than the Pistols who were actually outselling him, but nothing was going to take the shine off the nation's street parties. These dreadful people! The country's going to the dogs. Even my granny - the prudish one - had heard of Johnny Rotten and had it in for him. And the fact that they had the word 'sex' in their name. Gasp! TOTP and Radio 1 called them 'the Pistols', because clearly the sex bit would offend. The filth and the fury, eh?

When it all died down - which of course it did, with everyone of a certain age declaring that the establishment had won out in the end - I saw an ad in Record Mirror for their new single Pretty Vacant. We were in the car when I spotted it, and I remember thinking, good for them for weathering the storm and coming out the other side, not allowing themselves to be beaten down by a few maniac naysayers.

I had no idea how the world worked.