Apple Scruffs | Fab Forum | The Beatles Bible

That was the name the lads tagged on to the groupies that would hang around the Apple Office Building.

Rolling Stone published an interesting article on the Scruffs on 14 February this year.

I found some excerpts from ‘Waiting for The Beatles: An Apple Scruff’s Story’!! Enjoy

“On Monday I was back on the steps of Apple, waiting for something to happen. Sue-John and Eileen were with me. So far no one had arrived. It didn’t look like anyone was going to either. Derek Taylor, the Press Officer, came out on his way to lunch.

‘You like George, don’t you?’ he asked me. I nodded. ‘Well, I’m not sure I should tell you,’ he hesitated.

‘My God , Derek!’ I screeched and grabbed his arm. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he? Nothing’s happened, has it?’

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he said, patting my arm. ‘It’s just that his drug trial is tomorrow. You know he was busted for drugs?’

‘Yes, I read about it.’

‘Well, the trial’s tomorrow at the local court, in Esher. I don’t know how he’ll feel if you turn up, but I thought you and Lucy might want to give moral support.’

‘Yes, we do,’ I said and then added ‘Anyway, it’s a chance to see him.’

I waited all day for Lucy to arrive after work. She did accounts at a West End hotel. I quickly told her what Derek had said and asked her if we could find the court.

‘If we don’t,’ she said, ‘we’ll die trying.’

‘Just follow the press,’ Sue-John offered.

Sue had been to John’s drug trial, holding her breath in the balcony and clutching Margo’s arm while the sentence of a fine was announced. There was always the fear that some judge would make an example of the person and send him to jail. Both John and George were guilty of possessing marijuana in very large amounts. Lately the courtes were making a big deal about the amounts found. It was very serious indeed if there were enough drugs to sell. In that case, it was very hard to argue that the drugs were fod your own private consumption.

Lucy and I made plans for the next day. Lucy arranged for Jill to phone her work to say she was ill. We found the train times and phoned round for the address of the local magistrates court. We phoned the court before setting off to confirm if George’s trial was to be held there. The operator asked if we were press. I chanced it by saying yes and she confirmed that George’s trial was booked, but the press would not be allowed insinde the court room. Would anyone be allowed in? Yes, observers only. Jill explained to me that photographers were not allowed in British courts. ‘We respect the legal system,’ Margo told me. ‘It’s no circus.’ She suggested that Lucy and I wear skirts ‘to be on the safe side’. We did, but found out when we saw Pattie that it was unnecessary.

We arrived in plenty of time. The small court building was surrounded by trees. The press, hundreds of them, were packed in front clicking pictures, presumably of the building, but perhaps of each other. Lucy and I made our way inside. It was a one-storey room so there was no balcony like the one Sue had been in. The judge’s seat was at one end with a British flag behind the large oak desk. At the other end of the rectangular room was the dock for the accused person. There was a desk in front for the lawyers. Lining the two walls in between these two focal points were seats for observers. Lucy and I sat in the front row, in the middle so as to have a perfect view of the proceedings. It turned out to be one of the best performances by a rock star that I have ever seen.

The courtroom filled quickly. All sorts of officialdom filled the floor area and all sorts of strange people filled the observer gallery on both sides.

George and Pattie walked in after the room was packed with all except the judge himself. George was dressed in a navy blue suit and looked distinguished. His hair, however, had not been trummed for the occasion. Pattie, letting the side down, I felt, wore white crepe trousers and a maroon velvet jacket. She wore no blouse under the jacket. But she had just washed her hair so it looked all long and fluffy. She looked stunning. All the men agreed; I heard a few breathless gasps for air when she entered.

The judge walked in and we all stood. Once he sat down, the show was on the road. The charges were read: possession of over five hundred ounces of marijuana plus a large amount of cocaine. That’s bad, I thought. Large amounts and cocaine. The latter was recognized as a very serious drug indeed. The proscuting lawyer stated that on 11 March [sic: 12 March] the police arrived at the Harrison bungalow. George was not home but ‘Mrs Harison was most helpful. She showed the police where the drugs were kept.’ At this revelation, George jolted visibly and turned to look at Pattie. She slunk down in her chair and kept looking straight ahead. Poor George. He obviously had not been told just how helpful she had been.

The lawyer continued. He described that the drugs were found in a shoe box in a cupboard and in an ornament, five-foot-long pipe. The pipe was displayed next to the shoe box.

George’s lawyer took the floor next. He said George and Pattie were pleading guilty to the marijuana, but George denied that the cocaine was his.

George’s lawyer then pointed out that George did not appreciate the way in which he had been arrested. He was at Apple and received a phone call from his house requesting his presence home as he was at that moment under arrest for possession. He drove home immediately and was arrested formally.

The judge announced in summing-up that the amounts were large and this was upsetting. It would lead one to think that the drugs were to be sold, but even he could not imagine one of the Beatles having to sell drugs to make ends meet. He, therefore, announced his sentence: £500 fine and a year’s probation. Not bad, but the probation would cause trouble for George, as it did John, when he needed to go to the United States for business.

The judge stood to leave. George leaned over and grabbed his lawyer’s arm. He then whispered something to the lawyer. The lawyer looked at George with some surprise and called out ‘Excuse me, Your Honour.’ The judge stopped. ‘There is one other matter…’ began the lawyer. The judge looked surprised, but returned to his large desk and chair.

‘Yes, what is it?’

‘It’s the pipe, Your Honour,’ the judge began. ‘It was a present to Mr Harrison from a friend, another pop star. Mr Harrison had not looked inside the pipe on receiving it. I understand some of the drugs were found in this pipe?’

‘Yes,’ the judge stated. ‘What about it?’

‘Well, since the pipe was a present from a dear friend and a business acquaintance, Mr Harrison holds great sentimental value for the pipe. He was wondering if he could have it back.’ The lawyer stood waiting.

‘Of course,’ the judge said. He then added, ‘I do hope Mr Harrison doesn’t mind if we first remove the drugs before giving the pipe back to him!’ The judge left the courtroom.”

[1966, visiting London]

“…Ruth and I caught a train at seven in the moring. Our first stop was Esher. Once there, we walked past a grocery store and Ruth shouted ‘That’s George’s Mini!’ It was a bright orange Mini with all sorts of Indian designs painted on it. We went into the supermarket to see if George was inside. He wasn’t, but Pattie was.

It has been noted that the American Beatles’ fans were more interested in their womenfolk than the English girls were. The English girls seemed to take an attitude of ‘She’s married to him. Therefore, she’s the enemy.’ An American girl, possibly because of the induction of the fashion magazines, would view the spouse not so much as competition but as someone to emulate.

Pattie was lovely. You could instantly understand why she was a top model. She was wearing a Foale and Tuffin pink crepe mini dress. It was one of the first minis I had seen. They were just coming into fashion. She was perfect for the mini with her long, thin legs. She also had beautiful, long blonde hair. She was more cute than beautiful. She was slightly shy when Ruth and I walked up to her. She knew Ruth and Ruth gave her a photograph of George taken at their home. Pattie was very pleased with this commenting that it was a good picture of George and she didn’t have many. She appeared very honoured that Ruth had given her a copy.

When she was leaving, she was having trouble carrying her box of groceries and trying to open the car door at the same time. To make matters worse, a couple of men were whistling and cat-calling her. She was getting very embarrassed. Ruth took the box so Pattie could open the door and get in the car.

Ruth told Pattie we were ‘doing the rounds’, going to all their houses. Did Pattie know if anyone of them were at home? Pattie said George was out until about five and then both of them were going out to visit friends. She said John and Ringo were in, as far as she knew, because George had called them earlier to chat. She then thanked Ruth for her help with the groceries, waved goodbye and shouted as she drove off ‘Happy hunting. Hope you see them today.’

[They went to Weybridge first] Once we reached the gates, Ruth told me what the housekeeper had said. ‘She told me John was in, but in a bad mood – didn’t want to see anyone. When John’s in a mood, it’s best not to bother him. Matter of fact, if any of them are in a mood, I’d rather avoid scenes. That way I can stay on their good side and feel I’m welcome to come again.’ This was my first taste of a discreetly civilized attitude towards the Beatles and their privacy which Apple Scruffs also displayed.

Ruth told me as we were walking to Ringo’s about one of the first times she had visited John. She had stood by the front gate not daring to walk up the driveway. A little boy bounced through the wooded area to the side of the driveway and peeped through the gates. This turned out to be Julian, John and Cynthia’s son.

‘Daddy says f*** off,’ the little boy said.

Ruth was shocked, to say the least. ‘You tell your daddy I don’t like little boys swearing at me. He shouldn’t get a child to do a man’s work. And I’m not leaving ‘til he comes to tell me himself!’ With that Ruth grabbed Julian and spanked him once lightly.

Julian broke away, howling far more than the discomfort merited, and raced up to the house. A few minutes passed and Ruth saw John coming quickly down the drive. As he got closer he yelled ‘Hey you. What right you got to hit my kid? He’s only doing what I told him to do if he saw any of you girls hangin’ around.’ By this time he was a couple of inches from Ruth’s face, his hands on his hips, staring down at her.

Ruth said she felt in total terror at first. He might decide to hit her as she had his son. But she soon collected her spirits. ‘Well, honestly, you shouldn’t teach a child such language and you should tell the girls to piss off if you don’t like them coming round!’ Now it was John’s turn to be taken aback. He obviously didn’t expect her to answer him.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it beats getting a guard dog!’ Ruth laughed and so did John. He asked her name and took her into the house for tea! After that, they were good friends.

By this time, we had reached Ringo’s house which was smaller in scale and closer to the lane than John’s. Ruth again rang the bell. There was a shout from an upstairs window. We backed up so we could see who was shouting. Ringo’s head was sticking out.

‘Hello, Ruth!’ he cried when he saw her. I could see Maureen behind him.

‘Hi, Ringo. We came for a visit.

‘I can’t today, Ruth, really busy. I’m about to go out. Some other time?’

‘Sure, see you soon. Bye,’ Ruth called.

‘Bye,’ Ringo and Maureen waved their greetings and moved away from the window.

By now I was faint just with the knowledge that the Beatles were real and, come to think of it, fairly normal. I mean, they could talk!

[Back to Esher]

We went up the gravel path passing all kinds of semi-modern bungalows. Ruth said Esher was good for retired colonels and such. The neighbours weren’t pleased at first when George moved in. They thought it would mean a lot of loud noise and drug addicts walking aout wrecking lawns. But very soon it transpired that George and Pattie were a nice, relatively normal couple. Now the neighbours were protective towards them.

We went up to their house. It was a white, L-shaped bungalow set in a clearing with trees surrounding it. Like John’s house, there was a high wooden fence around the property and it had a curving driveway. Margaret, George’s housekeeper, came out of the house. She was going home for the day but, seeing Ruth, she stopped for a chat. She said that Pattie had come in the house and told George that the girls were very nice to her. She told him about the trouble she had getting into her car and avoiding the men.

We then saw George standing at a full-length window. He was talking on the telephone and when he saw us he waved. Margaret said Pattie and George were coming out soon ‘because they have a dinner engagement.’ We decided we could only wait half an hour because it was getting dark.

While we were waiting, a gorgeous white Persian car came down George’s drive. He came up to me and started rubbing himself on my legs. I picked him up. He was lovely, purring away like a steam train. I noticed he had one blue eye and one green. Both eyes had gold flecks in them.

‘That’s George’s cat,’ Ruth said. ‘Lovely, isn’t he? George puts him to work to earn his keep. The cat does carpet commercials.’

I laughed. Good for George! Ruth also told me that Pattie had had two Dalmatian dogs, but George insisted they were got rid of because they started to bother the cat.

‘Ruth, these roses are lovely. Does George have a gardener who does them?’ I asked. Beautiful roses lined the inside driveway from the gate to the house.

‘Don’t talk to me about those roses!’ Ruth snapped. ‘They were the cause of the one row George and I ever had.’

She then told me how she had picked a rose one day. Before she even knew what was happening, George was not only out of the house and down the driveway, but had grabbed her arm ferociously.

‘Don’t pick my roses!’ he yelled. ‘I grow them myself. How dare you. They’re mine to look at, not your to pick.’ He struck her hard on the back.

Needless to say, he shouldn’t have done that. Before he could turn around to walk away, Ruth landed a hell of a right kick to the front of his leg. George collapsed in agony on the ground, holding his leg with both hands. Ruth stood over him giving him a lecture on how roses were to be admired by anyone whonsaw them. He should be flattered, not angry, that she had picked one of his filthy roses. If he hit her again, she’d kick him in the balls! At this, George took her at her word and said she could keep the rose, but he didn’t like his roses being picked. He spent a lot of time tending them and liked to watch them grow.

Ruth softened a bit and helped him up Off The Ground . ‘Well, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise. But you shouldn’t hit girls.’

George, still rubbing the front of his leg, remarked, ‘You won’t need to remind me.’

After that, not only did Rith not pick his roses, but she warned others to honour George and leave them alone too.

While we were waiting, Ruth told me a story that George had told her. The story concerned the cat, but it also explained George’s behaviour over his roses (if they can be taken to be representative of his privacy). George told Ruth he was tired of never being able to feel alone. It seemed girls were always at the gate, which wasn’t so bad, but sometimes they got out of hand. He said he didn’t mind if they rang the doorbell. He enjoyed talking to the girls. But some went too far; they took advantage. Ruth asked him to give an example of ‘going too far’.

George told her that he and Pattie had arrived back late one night and went straight to bed. In the middle of the night, George was woken up. His hand had dropped off the bed and was hanging by the side. What woke him was that something had brushed against his hand. He opened his eyes, thinking it was the cat. He looked down and saw two girls crawling out from under his bed! He jumped out of bed, flicked the lights on and screamed. He started after the girls, who by this time had got out from under the bed and were racing through the house for their lives. George stopped long enough to throw a robe on and explained quickly to Pattie, who was asking him what the hell was going on. Poor George. By the time he resumed his chase, the girls had escaped out the front door and were halfway down the driveway. He returned to the bedroom upset and exhausted. Pattie gently explained to him that the girls must have got in while they were out. George asked ‘How? The door was locked.’ Pattie pointed to the open window in the bedroom. They always left it open so the cat could get in.

We could no longer wait for George and Pattie to come out. So we walked back to the train station to head back to London.”

Christ, everybody stop hitting everyone! My thirst is whet and I now want to read that book even more!