A huge Doris fan was Van Morrison who came down to the show and duly paid the admittance for his diminutive self and his 6’ 4” minder. However due to having an empty feeling in my wallet, I was not in the best of moods at the end of the gig. Various friends and club regulars were queuing up outside the changing room to pay their respects to Doris and I just happened to be passing when Van and his man walked straight up to the front of the line and attempted to gain entry ahead of the queuers. The profit and loss motive is a strong motivator to hardworking promoters, and the disappointment of the door take was sufficient to see me barking at the odd couple that if they wanted to see her Doris-ness, they should wait their turn! Fair play to them, they were very apologetic and did as they were told. They apparently spent quite a while in there with her – it must have been funny for the people queueing next to him…

(Ady Croasdell)

I was a bit scared when the magazine said go and shoot the 100 Club all-nighter because I knew that it was one of the only Northern Soul clubs left that was still hardcore and suspected I could get hooked in again. It had been too long and I was at a time where I needed it again, like a drug in a way.

On the night in question, I walk down Oxford Street with my heavy camera bag and stopped to load up the two Nikon cameras just before I get to number 100. I always like to be ready beforehand just in case a moment happens on arrival.

As I approach that entrance I hear that familiar base line synonymous with that approach to every all-nighter I’ve ever been to. I get the shivers and feel anxious right away – I go a little nearer to the door and suddenly feel like I could turn back and go home, tell the magazine it’s all a horrible mistake, I can’t do the pics, it’s too personal. Then the bouncer, who I later discover is called Winston, spots my mini tripod swinging from the bag and ushers me in. “You’re the photographer, go straight in and down the stairs and ask for Ady”. I’ve been shunted in and I can’t go back now.

I keep going and I hear the voice of Kenneth Childs, it’s ‘You Left Me’ by The Admirations. Oh my god! I’m going down the stairs with a big heavy bag weighing me down. I need to get in and hear it clearly, see the full spectacle I know awaits in all its glory. I’m at the bottom of the stairs, I turn the corner and it’s dark and much bigger than I imagine; a sea of dimly lit heads move in unison. Passion and emotion light up their faces as this strange and enchanting record belts out. It’s a record that’s always done it for me even as a teen. It’s not at all a traditional northern rhythm, it’s odd and jerky but beautifully melancholy with enchanting backing vocals. I drop the heavy work bag and boot it under a table into the darkness. I’m up on the floor now and at one with the sea of faces running the emotional gamut along with Kenneth and the three-hundred-odd other people rammed on that parquet wooden dance-floor. Work was gone and escapism had gripped me. I’ve escaped, in London of all places, in a sweaty cellar on Oxford Street but it’s beautiful and that special family of soulies that transports itself from place to place are all there – different people but always the same mix of gentle mentalists.

I persuade Ady and a handful of others to stay around in the morning when the DJ had finished to fake a few pics of folk dancing. Those pics are now on permanent exhibition on the 100 Club wall. Two years later I meet my future husband there, he was there again after a break of 10 or so years and back with a bang – We’ve never stopped going and that all happened nearly 20 years ago.

Thanks Jeff!

(Elaine x)

The rest is the stuff of legend…

(Jeff Horton, Club Manager)

“Okay, where’s the main room?”

(Jeff Horton, Club Manager)

I go backstage and Bobby’s there, shakes my hand and says:

“I’m so pleased to have finally played here – you’ve got to keep it open. It’s really important.”

(Jeff Horton, Club Manager)

“Hello Jeff, lovely to meet you. Must say though I’m very, very nervous about playing here.”

So knowing who he is I wonder how that can possibly be. And he just replies:

“Look at the faces that will be staring down at me tonight.”

After a wonderful show, there’s a knock on my door two days later and it’s Hugh. He says:

“Hi Jeff, my driver’s at the back door. I’ve got something for you.”

Hugh opens the boot of his car and brings a box into the club and inside it are ten bottles of the finest malt whiskey in a presentation case. One for me and each of my staff. Hugh says:

“I think you’re all a wonderful bunch of people. Thank you very much for a night I’ll never forget.” He then holds his hand out and says “Happy Christmas”.

(Jeff Horton, Club Manager)

“Hello mate, nice to meet you, great to be back.”

(Jeff Horton, Club Manager)