Bay City Rollers star Les McKeown recalls life in Seventies’ Broomhouse - Part One

IN his foreword for Shang-a-lang: My Life with the Bay City Rollers, by Les McKeown with Lynne Elliott, acclaimed Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh admits, “I was never a Bay City Rollers fan. They were everybody’s sister’s band... yet over the years I’ve developed a soft spot for the Rollers because they came from a similar place to me.
Les McKeown in Broomhouse where he grew upLes McKeown in Broomhouse where he grew up
Les McKeown in Broomhouse where he grew up

“Specifically, I first became aware of Les McKeown back in the ’70s. I was about 14. Les’s presence and general behaviour gave the Rollers a PR spice they otherwise lacked. The squeaky-clean propaganda machine that accompanies this type of act could never quite contain him. He behaved exactly how a young guy from an Edinburgh council scheme suddenly confronted with megabucks and super-stardom should behave. And it’s probably because he did that, today’s Les McKeown is a well-adjusted, outgoing, likeable man who is more passionate about music than ever.”

In the first of our four-day series of extracts from his autobiography, we revisit those early years with Leslie Richard McKeown as he opens the book by reflecting on the bad boy image that has shadowed him throughout his career...

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He writes: “Oh yeah, the bad boy of the Bay City Rollers. He was the one that ran down an old woman and shot his fans.” A common response at the mention of Les McKeown. I would be happier if my life was summarised with “he fronted the band that sold over 300 million records around the world” or “he was the guy who saved a bodyguard’s life with a tartan scarf” - but such is the power of the press.

An early performance from Les McKeownAn early performance from Les McKeown
An early performance from Les McKeown

I’ve always been expected to uphold an image and very few people know the real me. In the ’70s, I was the milk-drinking, clean-living virgin the Bay City Rollers’ manager made me. When that illusion was shattered, I was the drug-crazed, hell-raising fallen idol the press made me. Later, in the ’80s and ’90s, I was figure of nostalgia of neither one former identity nor the other. Finally, in the 21st century, I can be myself. Although generally people that meet me for the first time seem to think I’m ‘pretty normal... considering.

Friends suggested I should write this book because they thought it would be cathartic. You’ll not find me droning on about the horrors of megastardom... On the whole, I feel grateful and privileged to have had the experiences I’ve had. But it’s not all been a barrel of laughs.

THE WEE ONE

The McKeown family were a typical working-class Edinburgh family, doing what other typical working-class Edinburgh families did. The parents worked hard and the kids played hard - making our own entertainment when there was none to be found, which was often. We were a musical family only in the sense that there was always music to be heard in our house, whether it was my mum’s singing or our records.

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My earliest memory of any form of music is of my mother’s lovely falsetto voice. If ever I was restless or upset, she would sing traditional Irish folk songs to send me to sleep. My dad was deaf, so he was never able to appreciate his wife’s beautiful voice - my first experience of music. My mum, my brothers and I, therefore, had to develop other means of communicating with him... being the youngest, the structure of this communication was already in place by the time I came along.

It seemed completely natural to me because I never knew any different. My dad could communicate anything to us, whether it was a request to go and buy some milk, or to shut the f*** up, just with gestures and a whole range of often comical expressions.

THE GREAT BROOMHOUSE CRISP ROBBERY

The estate where we lived was brilliant, compared to the high-rise blocks in the schemes where the slum-dwellers were relocated. Our bit consisted of three tenement blocks, bordered on one side by government buildings and on the other side by an industrial estate. While I was in primary school, rounders was the preferred sport... other sport was provided by the government buildings and factory estate. We used to climb over the wall that separated us from the government buildings to taunt the security guards.

Golden Wonder and Schweppes had factories on the industrial estate and there was big money to be made there. We would acquire crisps by the box load but by far the best booty was the empty soda bottles from the Schweppes factory. Like most soft drinks, you could take the bottle back to the shop when it was empty and get some money back. Getting hold of a crate of them would keep us rich for weeks... now I can admit it was me that was the brains behind The Great Crisp Robbery of ’65.

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A DICE WITH DEATH

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Like all of my brothers, I went to Broomhouse Primary School. I never missed a day in the three years I was there. I loved going and had a fantastic teacher called Mrs Simmons. She was warm and kind and encouraging. Even when I fell over in the playground filling my knee with gravel, which caused it to swell up to the size of a football, I still hobbled in the next day.

When I was nine I contracted meningococcal meningitis, probably from drinking dirty water while I’d been away at Broomhouse summer camp. A few days after I came home from camp, I didnae feel right.

“Mum! Mum! I’m burning up!” I shouted, followed a few minutes later by “Mum! I’m freezing!”

Mum wasnae taking any chances and called our GP, Dr Stewart, straight away and I was rushed to hospital. They said if I’d arrived there half an hour later, I’d have been deed.

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I was held down by four doctors so that they could stick a needle in my spine. The slightest movement while they were doing the lumber puncture could have paralysed me. I had never been so scared in my life. Mum has said I was never the same again after the meningitis. She said I became ‘high strung’ and tense, and stayed that way until quite recently.

THE BIG SCHOOL

I remember my first day at Forrester High School clearly. I was very small for 11, as my brothers had been. None of us showed any signs of growing up till we were well into our teens. So we all got picked on for being small and for having a deaf and dumb dad. We were terrorised by the prefects and I began to dread going to school each day. After a year or two, I eventually found a way to make friends and discourage this unwanted attention by misbehaving, fooling around and gaining respect - at least in the playground sense.

As far as lessons went, I developed a healthy dislike of all teachers with one exception, Mr Cunningham. He cut me some slack and we got on well. As a result, I enjoyed his lessons. He was the only teacher I had at that school who took an interest in me and made me feel I could achieve something. He encouraged me to develop my artistic side and the creativity I didnae know I had. In his classes, I made a 24-foot square mural of as many clay tiles, which was put in the main entrance of the school. I also made a head of clay that was displayed at the Scottish Academy.

Abridged by Liam Rudden

TOMORROW: From troublesome teen to the threshold of fame

Shang-a-lang: My Life With The Bay City Rollers, by Les McKeown with Lynne Elliott, is available from Amazon, £13.99 (Paperback)/£7.99 (Kindle)

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