The 2 i's was packed. The 2 i's was hot. The 2 i's was rockin'! It was also very, very small. I don't remember getting there, and I don't remember what happened after I left, but I remember being there like it was yesterday.

Even from the street you could tell that there was something going on, something special in the air that night. Maybe it was the muffled beat of rock 'n' roll booming up from the basement. Maybe it was the energy of the teenagers hanging around outside.

I remember seeing two of them leaning against the wall close to the basement delivery hatch listening intently to the music. They probably couldn't afford the shilling entrance fee, but they wanted to be close to the action and excitement.

From the outside there was certainly nothing imposing about the 2 i's. During the day, hundreds of people would walk by without even giving it a second glance. The frontage consisted of a large pane of plate glass, to the right of which was a glass door with a chromium handle. Someone had pasted a Seven-Up sign on the door either as an inducement to purchase or perhaps to prevent the inattentive from walking headlong into it.

Above the window and the door was an oblong sign which read, "Coffee 2 i's Bar," and below that, "Home of the Stars." And there on the right side appeared a large emblem resembling a Pepsi Cola bottle cap. Considering the fact that the sign was probably paid for by Pepsi Cola, I think it was extremely generous of them to advertise the fact that it was a coffee bar.

You could go through the glass door past the American jukebox and walk straight ahead between the serving counter with its coffee machine, orange juice dispenser and sandwich display case on the left, and a long formica shelf on which to place your tiny glass espresso coffee cup and saucer to the right.

And there, there at the end of the room by the entrance to the narrow stairway that led down to the world famous basement of the world famous 2 i's stood the one and only, world famous Tom Littlewood, manager of the 2 i's, God rest his avaricious soul.

Although there are varying accounts of the amounts paid to us and to other groups, the truth is he paid us one pound and took back two shillings (10P) as "commission."

Tom in his shiny-from-too-much-ironing, brown de-mob suit. Tom with his striped, regimental, egg-stained tie. Tom with his Brylcreemed hair, slicked back like some 30's movie idol . . . a little dab would have done ya' Tom.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I ran smack into a wall of people. This was starting to get interesting. Rock 'n' roll sardines all packed in neatly and all facing the same direction. About fifty or sixty of them, the creme de la creme of London teendom.

Across the room from where I stood there was a sort of stepladder leading up to the doors of the delivery hatch. On hot summer nights the hatch doors would be opened to the pavement above to let out the heat, the smoke and the music.

I slowly worked my way across the room. A girl with black hair was sitting on one of the lower steps of the ladder. For a minute or two I stood beside her, standing on tip-toes, craning my neck to try to catch a glimpse of the band.

When the music stopped, the girl asked me if I would like to sit on the steps above her. We awkwardly negotiated the move in the cramped space available. I had to crouch down so that my head didn't hit the ceiling.

Boy it was hot up there! Beads of condensation were running down the painted walls.

The band started up again, and that was when I got my very first glimpse of the man who would change my life forever and who, within the next year, would change the entire course of British music.

(Hey . . . do you want to know a secret? He was amazing!)

Now, it may seem odd to those of you who have grown up with Cliff Richard and who are used to Cliff the pop star, Cliff the Christian, Cliff the talk show guest and Cliff the tennis player, but back then Cliff was one hundred percent, bonafide, solid gold, high energy, flat-out rock and roll!

He had a vitality and an authenticity equal to an Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent or even - gasp - Elvis. But he didn't sound like any of them, and what's more, no matter what anybody says, he didn't come across as an Elvis clone either.

In fact, after hearing Move It, the legendary television producer Jack Good wrote in his column in Disc magazine that Cliff had "a voice with an amazingly non-imitative style, considering that this kind of music ought to be foreign to anyone who is not a native of the southern United States."

Cliff was, and still is, blessed with his own very distinctive style. His pitch was great, his phrasing was superb and his delivery was terrific. To this day I can close my eyes and know exactly how he would sound singing almost anything.

So anyway, there I was sitting on the steps and having a great time. The Drifters were rockin'. There was Terry Smart with his American style crew cut and his white James Dean style T-shirt crouched over his tiny drum kit pounding out the beat, and next to him, the slim handsome figure of Norman Mitham with his twenty quid electrified acoustic guitar locking it in.

And there, standing center stage with his dark good looks, legs apart, guitar slung around his shoulders and arms flailing, was Great Britain's first true rock 'n' roll star, Cliff Richard.

This photo was taken at the 2 i's shortly after the night described here.
l to r, Terry Smart, Harry Webb, Ian Samwell and Norman Mitham,
The Drifters (before Harry became Cliff)

One curiosity which should be noted, there was no bass player! But then, there were few, if any, electric bass guitars in England at that time. When future Shadow Jet Harris, whom we were not to meet for some months, switched from stand-up bass to electric bass guitar in early 1958 (following the advice of jazz drummer Tony Crombie), he was one of only three people in England to own one.

To the Drifters, the idea of having a tea-chest or wash-tub bass would have been unthinkable. This was definitely not a skiffle group -- this was a rock 'n' roll band! YesSiree! The first one I'd ever seen that wasn't in an American movie.

They were playing Twenty Flight Rock, Milk Cow Blues, Money Honey, and other rock 'n' roll songs, none of which I had ever played, but all of which I knew from records.

Almost all self-respecting rock records had a guitar solo or at least a guitar prominently featured, but Cliff and Norman only played rhythm, so there was naturally something lacking. They obviously needed the spark that a lead guitar could provide.

I looked at my watch. It was getting late. I tried to remember the time of the last tube train to Hendon. Looking back on it now, I do believe that even if I'd had to walk all the way back to the air base I would have stayed. I had to talk to them - and I did.

I waited for the crowd to file its way up the narrow stairway that would carry them back to the harsh reality and the dingy streets of the real world.

Now the truth is that I only have a vague memory of what happened next. Terry was packing up his drums, which they had brought all the way from Hertfordshire on the bus. In those days very few people, especially teenagers, owned a car. To his right Norman was dismantling the one amplifier they shared between them and packing up their guitars. Cliff was standing by the side of the stage talking to a small group of people.

Back then I was pretty shy, and I hovered uncertainly for a moment. Terry looked up, smiled and nodded, and then somebody to my right said, "Can I help you?" It was Johnny Foster.

Now Johnny is a pretty imposing figure, and at first I thought that he was one of the managers of the club and that I was about to get thrown out on my ear. I said, "Oh, that's OK, I'm just waiting to talk to the band. And he said, "Well, I'm their manager, what can I do for you?"

I explained that I was a guitarist and that I was in a band but thinking of leaving it, and asked if they were looking for a lead guitarist. Cliff and Norman came over and we were introduced. It turned out that they were going to be playing at the 2 i's through the following Saturday, and that they would be rehearsing at the club in the afternoon. This would be a good time for me to come down to try out.

The audition, if that's the right word, went so well that I finished up playing with them that very night, and thus became Cliff Richard's first lead guitarist, a founding member of the Drifters, and an overnight sensa . . . er . . . former skiffle player!

I wonder whatever happened to the girl with black hair.

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