Today’s song brings back fond memories for me. When I was in my late teens and Friday night came around, I’d hurry home with my wages for the week, hurry down a bit of tea, have a quick bath and doll myself up to start the weekend. Those were the days when we’d spend every penny we possessed between Friday and Sunday night and by Monday, we’d be back on the borrow from mum until we got paid again.
Another common feature of 1960 was a teenager's weekend sleeping routine. They would be rarely found in their own bed unless they happened to be struck down with flu. It was common to sleep over at a friend’s house and it was far from unusual for a mum to enter her teenage son’s bedroom on a Saturday morning to wake her son for his cooked breakfast, only to discover three or four of his hungry mates sharing the same bed. And, likewise on Sunday morning also; your son might wake up in the bed of another. If it had been an okay Saturday night, a friend’s mum would be cooking your son his Sunday breakfast. But, if your son hit the jackpot on Saturday night, his Sunday breakfast would be cooked by some attractive young woman who lived in her own flat accommodation! Oh yes! I forgot to say that way back in the 50s and 60s, every school in the British Isles taught all females to become accomplished cooks before they entered their teens; culinary lessons that the mothers of all daughters reinforced in the home.
Back to Friday evening, I would be dolled up and going out the door for a night drinking, dancing, clubbing and womanising. My mother knew not to expect me home until 'she next saw me', and had I been murdered down some dark alley on a late Friday night, my absence wouldn’t have been considered unusual or have been reported to the police until Sunday evening by either mates or mother. It was customary for stopper-outers on a Friday night to return home (ever so briefly) on a Saturday teatime in order to put on a clean shirt and polish one’s black shoes before dashing out on the town again (please note that only dad’s, scientific boffins and nerds wore brown shoes).
As I opened the door to leave the house for a good Friday night out, my mum would always kiss me and start singing the opening lines of a hit song at the time, ‘Goodbye Jimmy, Goodbye’, only she would substitute the name in the song from ‘Jimmy’ to ‘Billy’. I would dash out the door to the refrain of my mother singing, ‘Goodbye, Billy, goodbye. Goodbye, Billy, goodbye. I’ll see you again, but I don’t know when, goodbye, Billy, goodbye!’
Such fond memories of 1959/60, Friday nights out and my dear old mum.
‘Goodbye, Jimmy, goodbye’ is a song written by Jack Vaughn and was performed by Kathy Linden. It reached Number 11 in the charts in April 1959 and was also covered by other artistes like Ruby Murray and the Kaye Sisters. The song is an indelible part of my development from young man into adulthood (then considered to be 21 years of age before one got the key of the door); unless that is one was already married, or happened to be a lucky chappie dating a young woman with her own flat accommodation and a spare key for the boyfriend!
Love and peace. Bill xxx
Another common feature of 1960 was a teenager's weekend sleeping routine. They would be rarely found in their own bed unless they happened to be struck down with flu. It was common to sleep over at a friend’s house and it was far from unusual for a mum to enter her teenage son’s bedroom on a Saturday morning to wake her son for his cooked breakfast, only to discover three or four of his hungry mates sharing the same bed. And, likewise on Sunday morning also; your son might wake up in the bed of another. If it had been an okay Saturday night, a friend’s mum would be cooking your son his Sunday breakfast. But, if your son hit the jackpot on Saturday night, his Sunday breakfast would be cooked by some attractive young woman who lived in her own flat accommodation! Oh yes! I forgot to say that way back in the 50s and 60s, every school in the British Isles taught all females to become accomplished cooks before they entered their teens; culinary lessons that the mothers of all daughters reinforced in the home.
Back to Friday evening, I would be dolled up and going out the door for a night drinking, dancing, clubbing and womanising. My mother knew not to expect me home until 'she next saw me', and had I been murdered down some dark alley on a late Friday night, my absence wouldn’t have been considered unusual or have been reported to the police until Sunday evening by either mates or mother. It was customary for stopper-outers on a Friday night to return home (ever so briefly) on a Saturday teatime in order to put on a clean shirt and polish one’s black shoes before dashing out on the town again (please note that only dad’s, scientific boffins and nerds wore brown shoes).
As I opened the door to leave the house for a good Friday night out, my mum would always kiss me and start singing the opening lines of a hit song at the time, ‘Goodbye Jimmy, Goodbye’, only she would substitute the name in the song from ‘Jimmy’ to ‘Billy’. I would dash out the door to the refrain of my mother singing, ‘Goodbye, Billy, goodbye. Goodbye, Billy, goodbye. I’ll see you again, but I don’t know when, goodbye, Billy, goodbye!’
Such fond memories of 1959/60, Friday nights out and my dear old mum.
‘Goodbye, Jimmy, goodbye’ is a song written by Jack Vaughn and was performed by Kathy Linden. It reached Number 11 in the charts in April 1959 and was also covered by other artistes like Ruby Murray and the Kaye Sisters. The song is an indelible part of my development from young man into adulthood (then considered to be 21 years of age before one got the key of the door); unless that is one was already married, or happened to be a lucky chappie dating a young woman with her own flat accommodation and a spare key for the boyfriend!
Love and peace. Bill xxx
