Terry The Punk

Terry the Punk sweeps the streets near my house. With permanent four day stubble, a shock of red hair running through a long since limp Mohican, he smokes like a trooper swears like a sailor and doesn’t give a fuck about recycling.

Of course highway maintenance (as his boss would have you call it) was never Terry’s chosen career, Terry first moved to Camden in 1979 with his band the Dolphin Stranglers. Success didn’t come immediately to the Stranglers… in all honesty it didn’t come at all, the bands main bright light in an otherwise dimly lit career being the ill fated night at the Dublin Castle when the Dolphins bass player (and Terry’s oldest friend) Tony, inadvertently spilt his pint over the electrics, shorting out the entire pub. With the lights out the pub soon delved into chaos, fights broke out and Tony got a black eye for his trouble.

Terry:  ‘The gig was on the Saturday, the poor bastard was so nervous he started drinking on the Thursday.’

With the Stranglers long since disbanded and the bills mounting higher than the dirty plates in the kitchen sink, Terry like the rest of us, had to find work. Terry’s gift has always been his gab so he hustled any work he could, eventually finding work from an old source. Tony the bass player of the Stranglers went onto become quite important in the local council and found Terry some work: He isn’t the most dedicated of employees and on occasion when the mood takes him his broom becomes his guitar and the pavement his stage; he struts and swaggers like a young Mick Jagger not giving a hoot or a holler who might be watching.

He still harbours dreams of Punk rock immortality, but now his only audience is wife Mary. they have been together since the early day’s of the Stranglers; Mary was the shy ginger girl often to be found down the front at their gigs. She was one of the few dedicated fans that actually believed in them and especially Terry, who she idolised. They eventually became an item and Terry promised Mary that they would set up home together. Terry was true to his word but for a few minorchanges; when he said home he meant a bedsit on Camden Road and when he said together he actually meant with the rest of the band. She protested but didn’t mind really and many a happy night was spent sharing a bottle of Blue Nun and packet of chips.

Mary:  ‘They were running around like the Bash Street Kids and I was trying to clean up after them.’

Terry:   ‘Yeah, the bash street kids on cheap speed.’

101 Camden Road was a happy home for everyone in it; Mary became mother / manger and all round fixer for Terry and the rest of the band. Practices would be daily and loud, Mary would sit a sew patches into jeans older than she was. The electrics were temperamental but so were the egos so rarely did a night pass without incident. After most gigs Terry would announce an open house after party:

‘All back to my place, the Mrs does a mean cuppa.’

Mary now works in Dots music shop on St Pancreas way and each day she serves kids just like Terry, none of which she says has his twinkle or charm but all share his dream. At lunch time the lovers meet on the footsteps of Dotts to share the sandwiches Mary prepares that morning.

Mary: ‘Terry has never been much of a cook; in fact I doubt he could boil water so it’s best if I do it.’

Terry: ‘Plus a lunch time snog never hurts does it Red?’

Mary: ‘No darling it doesn’t.’

I got to know Terry after walking past him more times than it became polite not to say hello. After a while we got to talking and he told me his story, mostly over cold cups of coffee on frosty mornings. He and Mary are still happily married and live in Kentish Town.

His life might not seem particularly original to you, but to me he’s a one-off and a friend I count it a privilege to have.