Coops had a huge range of musician friends and acquaintances and every Friday all sorts of characters would turn up to sit in with the trio - some good, some average and some absolutely awful. Among the more memorable ones were: Jack Hutton, former Melody Maker editor on trumpet; a singing double bass player whose name escapes me; Bopper Burns a tenor sax player who never spoke; percussionist Ian Howarth who later became our regular drummer and could drink a yard of ale in about eight seconds. The list could go on ad infinitum.

One of the house rules we were asked to observe was “no singers from the crowd”. The management wanted a jazz pub and justifiably believed that if singers were allowed up with the band, the proceedings could degenerate into East End pub-type knees-ups.

So I was surprised when one night a tall, dignified gentleman and his wife walked in. He bought drinks for the band and left banknotes at the bar for refills whenever we felt the need. He was greeted effusively by Coops and I certainly warmed towards him myself after his generosity with the band refreshments. He then proceeded to sing “Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey” with enthusiasm but little talent.

Later I questioned Coops about the “no singers” policy. “That was Cyril Richardson,” he told me, rubbing his index finger on the side of his nose. “If Cyril wants to sing, Cyril sings.” The gentleman in question was one of the Richardson Brothers , the notorious gang who ran south London crime in the 60s. However Cyril was the white sheep of the family and ran a highly legitimate transport business, was a jazz enthusiast and one of the nicest blokes you could ever wish to meet. And he bought drinks for the band.

So it was that if Cyril wanted to sing, Cyril sang.

Picture: Coops tries out the piano at Jamie's Clapham Junction home. He was quite an accomplished pianist.

Continued on Rumboe 4