The Auntie Doris Years: 1963


1963 was a very good year for Beatles fans, or criminals planning on doing train robberies or murdering presidents in cold blood. Well maybe not that particular criminal who planned on murdering the president in cold blood, because he got murdered in cold blood himself a few days later. It was probably a conspiracy anyway. What with Marilyn Monroe having died of too many tablets the previous year, she was probably sat on the other side missing her old boyfriend the president and getting jealous of him taking his wife on all those motorcades and stuff, so she manifested in the body of Lee Harvey Oswald and blew his ruddy brains out so that they could be together again. How romantic!
Of course, long term afficionadoes of my little homilies will know that I have visited the grassy knoll before in an early edition of “They Died Too Young” where I put forward a completely different explanation ( ), but as far as I am concerned, you can’t have too many conspiracy theories about the assassination of JF K.
So here’s another: My Raymond used to think that the explanation was that Oswald had been hypnotised into shooting Kennedy by Television’s Mister Magic and one time partner of Basil Brush, David Nixon. He did this because, with Kennedy out of the way, the path would be clear for Nixon’s brother, Richard to become the President.
Unlike David Dimbleby, who’s brother Richard was a famous BBC broadcaster with a string of awards, and David Attenborough, who’s brother Richard was a famous actor with a string of awards to his name, David Nixon’s brother Richard was a virtually unknown low down bum who had narrowly lost to JFK in the 1960 elections in America.
The dream came true just six years later when, with President Johnson also out of the way, Richard Nixon finally got to be the President, only to make a complete fool of himself by hanging around with burglars and telling fibs about it. Richard Nixon resigned as President in August 1974, and David Nixon died, a broken man just a few years later. That’s what my Raymond reckoned, any road.
Having said that, by the 1960s, I’m sorry to say, my Raymond was becoming increasingly unhinged. We both felt that the world was slipping away from us as we entered our fifties and saw young people take making their music and their films and their television programs. We started to feel increasingly old and irrelevant. I coped with it like I coped with everything else, common sense, and sticking with things that I understood. Good old fashioned gossip with my friends and looking after the family. That approach wasn’t good enough for my Raymond though. He coped by conspiracy theories.
That’s why he thought that the beatles had been invented by homosexual hairdressers in order to attract men to their fancy salons where they would be charged a fortune to have their hair washed and get blown off and sold fancy shampoo. He was having none of that. He went to the old fashioned barbers at the top of street more than ever after the Beatles came out, having his short back and sides re-shortened on a weekly basis. Bless him.
Auntie Doris’s top pop pick of 1963. “Blue Velvet” by Bobby Vinton. My Sister Pearl won a bottle of that blue Curaçao at the bingo one night. She bought some bottles of Guinness and invited me down to drink this mixture of them which she called Blue Velvet. My Lord how we both puked that night. I always think about that when I hear that song.

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