Not Fade Away

Table of Contents

NOT FADE AWAY

About the Author

Chapter One - Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown

Chapter Two - Yesterday’s Papers

Chapter Three - Salt of the Earth

Chapter Four - Good Times Bad Times

Chapter Five - Around and Around

Chapter Six - The Singer Not the Song

Chapter Seven - Stupid Girl(s)

Chapter Eight - The Spider and the Fly

Chapter Nine - Everybody Needs Somebody to Love

Chapter Ten - Let’s Spend the Night Together

Chapter Eleven - Beast of Burden

Chapter Twelve - I Am Waiting

Chapter Thirteen - Its All Over Now

Chapter Fourteen - Can You See Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadows?

Chapter Fifteen - High and Dry

Chapter Sixteen - Out of Time

Chapter Seventeen - It’s Not Easy

Chapter Eighteen - You Can Make It If You Try

Chapter Nineteen - I’m Free

Chapter Twenty - Mother’s Little Helper

Chapter Twenty-one - Paint It Black

Chapter Twenty-two - You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Chapter Twenty-three - Something happened to me yesterday

Chapter Twenty-four - That’s How Strong My Love Is

Chapter Twenty-five - We Love You

Chapter Twenty-six - Pain In My Heart

Chapter Twenty-seven - Blue Turns to Gray

Chapter twenty-eight - Not Fade Away

Afterword

Acknowledgements

Helpful Resources in England and U.S.A.

Disclaimer

NOT FADE AWAY

A memoir of my time in the Sixties,

being with Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones

and the heartbreak of forced Adoption

By

DAWN R. YOUNG

© Copyright 2013 Dawn R. Young

Published by Keywords Publishing 2013

Coeur d'Alene, ID, USA

This edition 2022

Prepared by Dieter G. Gedeik

This is the only authorized eBook

of the printed edition.

eBook ISBN 9780989660600

Printed Edition ISBN 9780989660617

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For Peter my rock, you will always have my heart

MY BOYS, JOHN & ARRON:

From the beginning of their lives they took my breath away,

they have always stolen my heart.

I am proud to say they have grown into strong,

independent, loving men.

My dream for them is to be loved, and to know my love is forever.

MY GIRLS, TARA, SAMANTHA & NADINE:

From the moment they were born they have always been a source of

love and wonder to me.

I have watched them grow into the most beautiful, intelligent girls.

My dreams for them is that they will always have love in their lives

and know who loved them the most.

About the Author

Dawn was one of only a handful of people who would go to watch The Rolling Stones play in the early 1960’s.

Now, nearly 50 years down the line, their music can be heard playing somewhere in the world every minute of every day.

Dawn appears from time to time in books and newspaper articles as she was a girlfriend of Brian Jones who was the founder of the greatest rock and roll band in the world. He was the father of her son, Paul Andrew.

Like so many other teenagers in the 60’s, Dawn was made to suffer because of a system that did not allow them a say in the fate of their children. In one way or another, that system and the mind set that went with it, failed them. It ensured that pregnant girls without a wedding band on their finger were stringently and illegally advised to place their children up for adoption.

Dawn experienced rejection from a mother who lacked maternal instinct and her childhood was riddled with fear and doubt, abuse and ridicule. This English lady has met Royalty and had tea with the Queen of England. Dawn experienced the elation of her lost son finding her and the myriad emotions that came along with that. She endured heart wrenching grief with the death of one of her children. She relocated from England to the USA and has had the joy and satisfaction of raising 4 children and seeing them grown and independent. Dawn became a Citizen of the USA in 1994.

Chapter One - Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown

You're the kind of person

You meet at certain dismal dull affairs.

Center of a crowd, talking much too loud

Running up and down the stairs.

Well, it seems to me that you have seen too much in too few years.

And though you've tried you just can't hide

Your eyes are edged with tears.

You better stop

Look around

Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes

Here comes your nine-teenth nervous breakdown.

When you were a child

You were treated kind

But you were never brought up right.

You were always spoiled with a thousand toys

But still you cried all night.

Your mother who neglected you

Owes a million dollars tax.

And your father's still perfecting ways of making sealing wax.

Repeat You better stop.......

Oh, who's to blame, that girl's just insane.

Well nothing I do don't seem to work,

It only seems to make matters worse. Oh please.

You were still in school

When you had that fool

Who really messed your mind.

And after that you turned your back

On treating people kind.

On our first trip

I tried so hard to rearrange your mind.

But after while I realized you were disarranging mine.

You better stop, look around

Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes

Here comes your nine-teenth nervous breakdown.

Here comes your nine-teenth nervous breakdown

Here comes your nine-teenth nervous breakdown

M. Jagger & K. Richards,

Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown

It’s bittersweet that I have the house to myself this sunny, Southern California morning. After all, who wouldn’t enjoy a few quiet moments away from the clamor and exuberance that is typical in a home filled with happy memories and love? I bustle around the kitchen trying to keep my mind occupied, my hands busy. With towel and polish, my fingers dance over the appliances - buffing the spotless stove, rubbing the sparkling refrigerator, flicking the last piece of dust off of the counter and into the gleaming sink. Motion and activity is what I need to banish static thoughts and idle moments. I must keep occupied, so as not to be engulfed by the dark clouds of regrets and sadness that stalks me.

I pause to watch through the kitchen window the sun’s filtering rays that thread through the palm trees, cutting over the rock waterfall spa, only to splinter into a million diamond fingers that bounce into our swimming pool. But the break from my busy work lasts too long. Now, I think of him - my lost son. Twenty-nine years have passed and, despite what ‘they’ promised me, the wound is as raw and my heart as fragile and brittle as the day he was taken from me.

Get on with your life.

This is the best thing for you and your family.

No man will want a woman tied down with a child that is not his.

You will forget all about it, and have no regrets.

That is what ‘they’: the church, our sixties society, my mother, told me. The telling must have been easy, because thousands of girls heard those same words and were taken in by them - taken in to the hiding part of the predicament, the part where being sent away from prying eyes and talking lips, was designed to contain the situation, shove it under the rug and thereby make it vanish. But the truth is that the vanishing part, the aftermath, the living with it - now that is another matter.

Oh for a house full of kids now! I need the joking, laughing and larking about the pool! I need someone to sit close beside me on the couch, drink a cup of tea and share what has happened during their day, so I can put my day behind me and delight in stories that aren’t my own. I need someone right now to banish these dark clouds of mine.

Peter, my supportive husband of twenty-nine years, has taken our youngest son out to look at cars. Arron, now twenty and a volunteer firefighter for the California Department of Forestry, is seldom home. My other kids, not actually children anymore, are scattered. Our oldest daughter, Tara, is married and living in her own home now. Our second daughter, Samantha, is away at Loma Linda University working on her Bachelor’s Degree. Our third daughter, Nadine, is still at home, but not today. My family is all grown up and living their own lives, yet it seems like only this morning when we relocated them as teenagers away from England and out to California.

HOUSE IN RIVERSIDE CA 1994

Tara, my affectionate daughter, her mother’s girl, had been heartbroken by the move. Being forced away from friends and her chance to study classical music and attend the Royal School of Music in London had devastated her. I wept at her pain, but there was nothing I could do. Peter had opportunities in the United States. Despite the sadness and heartache, she soon adapted. We have all adapted in our own ways.

Samantha, a rare beauty with an independent, free and loving spirit, has taken to the American lifestyle easily.

My youngest, Nadine, was not such an easy fit. She was always somewhat insecure, seemed to be a follower, and usually only had one friend at a time. But soon, she surrounded herself with a close circle of friends. As a cheerleader hanging out with a popular crowd, she could easily have been one of the Beach Boy’s, California Girls.

So, I suppose, upon reflection, that it wasn’t totally surprising that Nadine, at the tender age of nineteen, presented us with our first grandchild, Ashley. The news of her pregnancy hit us really hard. I felt as a parent the need to voice my disapproval and fears, that this pregnancy would change things for her forever. I wanted to tell her just what having a baby meant in terms of responsibility. Of course, I didn’t. How could I? I knew exactly what she was going through. For that reason I tried desperately to be as supportive as I could.

I can still remember the day Nadine flippantly delivered the bombshell that she was going to have a baby. My heart felt as if it had fallen hard and fast into the pit of my stomach. I shoved my feelings down into a place of safety for myself, and for my daughter. I would be a loving and supportive mother. I would not, could not, repeat the sins of the past. No daughter of mine would endure what I had. My daughter would never know what it felt like to be cut off from family and friends and be forced to give (did I say give?), I mean experience her child being pried away from her loving arms and delivered to the care and home of strangers.

Now, less than two years later, Nadine’s life has, more or less, not missed a beat. Nadine has married the father, Peter has employed him, Ashley has come along, and we are one happy family.

Living with us has allowed Nadine a great deal of freedom from the responsibilities of child rearing. Nadine has taken full advantage of the freedoms afforded her from living with us. Her social calendar is barely dented, because Peter and I can’t help doting on our beautiful granddaughter.

Earlier this year, she’d burst into the house, breathless with excitement. I have tickets to see the Rolling Stones! I have tickets to see the Rolling Stones! she danced and sang I definitely have got some satisfaction!! I restrained myself

Nadine could never have guess why, and hopefully would never know the reason, her father’s and my extensive record collection didn’t include one single Stone’s record was not because we did not like their music. If she had known the truth, perhaps the ecstasy of her Stones ticket would have been kept to herself.

It was amazing that, after nearly thirty years, I am still trying to survive my

Nineteenth nervous breakdown.

Chapter Two - Yesterday’s Papers

Who wants yesterdays papers

Who wants yesterdays girl

Who wants yesterdays papers

Nobody in the world

After this time I finally learned

After the pain and hurt

After all this what have I achieved

I've realized it's time to leave

Cause who wants yesterdays papers

Who wants yesterdays girl

Who wants yesterdays papers

Nobody in the world

I'm living a life of constant change

Every day means the turn of a page

Yesterdays papers are such bad news

Same thing applies to me and you

Who wants yesterdays papers

Who wants yesterdays girl

Who wants yesterdays papers

Nobody in the world

Seems very hard to have just one girl

When there's a million in the world

All of these people just can't wait

To fall right into their big mistake

Who wants yesterdays papers

Who wants yesterdays girl

Who wants yesterdays papers

Nobody in the world

M. Jagger & K. Richards

Yesterday’s Papers

Rigid faces peering from old photos are all that’s left of the Molloy and William’s story. As I stare at the faces staring back at me, I imagine the Rosary Beads clutching tightly in weathered and wrinkled hands folded stiffly on the laps of the William’s grandmothers, aunts and sisters. My father’s family, the Molloy’s, didn’t possess such religious devotion. So, I suppose it was to be the Williams family’s destiny to possess the strongest legacy that would be handed down through any family tree.

That inheritance was the all knowing, all seeing, Catholic Church, which ruled their households from the moment the presiding father sprinkled the Holy Water of Baptism onto infant’s forehead right up to the Last Rights were prayed over the deceased. Invisible, but ever present in the background of each photograph, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost lurked, waiting for sins not yet committed to be perpetrated.

My Grandmother, Daisy, most certainly had an intimate commitment to the lighting of candles for prayer. I have often imagined her lips reciting the Hail Mary’s over and over again while kneeling before the illuminated alter.

Born in 1891 to hard work and harder times, she spent her youth ‘in service’ working as a seamstress for a rich society family a few miles outside the heart of London in Chelsea. Her dainty fingers must have flown over her holy beads as dexterously as they flew over the fabrics she used in creating perfect seams for those more financially fortunate than she. Catholicism coursed through her veins and was passed down to her descendants as part of their DNA. Church ritual and doctrine created the rules of her life and dominated the lives of her children. No matter how far away or how hard they bucked against the chains of the great Mother Church, somewhere in the familial bands of the twisted double helix, the nuns in their habits and the fathers in their robes held the family generationally.

In her late teens, Daisy married a strict Catholic man, and soon after had her first child, Raymond. Within three years of the consecration of her wedding vows, her husband was dead, and at the age of twenty, Grandmother and Raymond were alone.

Fortunately, Grandmother was an attractive woman, with fiery red hair and a personality to go with it. Her Catholic beliefs allowed that as a widow she could remarry, and so she did within a year, and soon after had another son, Clifford, followed by a daughter, Renee. Next was a set of premature twins, who only lived a few hours, before being blessed by the Church and buried. Survival for pre-term babies in those days was rare, but her faith brought her through, then my mother Joyce was born, it seemed that John was not happy and wanted out of the marriage and accused my grandmother of having a affair, he left her while she was pregnant. A solicitors letter was sent informing Grandmother of the divorce she wrote back pleading John not to leave her but did so anyway.

Redoubling her religious fervor, this hardworking woman gave what extra time she had to involvement in Church affairs. I can imagine her sitting by the firelight, dutifully and skillfully sewing vestments and alter clothes. Two years later, Grandmother’s good looks and Church devotion secured her another husband. He was a commendable man, a good Catholic, willing to take on the care of a young widow and her three children. Another marriage sanctified, and Daisy became the wife of John Pimm, Daisy changed my mothers name to Pimm. Unfortunately my mother did not know Clifford and Renee were full siblings, growing believing she was a Pimm, sadly this was discovered after her passing.

After their successful union in the eyes of the Church, daughter Mable soon arrived, followed by another set of premature twins, who were suitably blessed, when they did not survive. After the twins, my mother Joyce was born, and then followed their last child, Peggy. My grandparents’ family totaled six children.

As a wife and mother, Daisy gave up working outside of the home. The mantle of raising children lay heavily upon her shoulders. Sunday Mass, prayer and communion was the thread that wove the family together. Hard work and long hours kept them fed and clothed. Grandfather, bent and crippled from scoliosis, could not hold down a job. So, all of the domestic and financial burdens were placed firmly in Grandmother’s lap, which added another bead for her to pray on her rosary. Grandmother opened shop in the front parlor of their tiny home, where she worked at dressmaking. Locally, she was known for her exquisite handiwork and was thereby kept busy with alterations and garment creation.

In addition to dressmaking, Grandmother created a small housecleaning business. Once the girls were old enough, and as soon as school let out for the day, they were put to work scrubbing floors, beating carpets and hanging laundry. There was no waste in my grandparent’s home: clothes were handed down, vegetables were grown in the garden, fruit was picked from the trees, and the children saw their childhood slip through their calloused fingers.

In the autumn of 1928, all of the William’s family offspring contracted diphtheria. The family was quarantined, and all they could do was to kneel before the family alter, light candles and pray that they only had mild cases. Unfortunately, Mable passed away and six-year-old old Peggy’s hearing was irreparably damaged

MY MOTHER JOYCE AT HER HOLY COMMUNION 1929

Time went on, and Grandmother’s faith continued as the dominant thread that provided life with meaning. All of her children attended Catholic school, prayed at Mass, accepted communion and obeyed (at least while in sight) Church doctrine. Parental emotional distance, uncompromising religious beliefs, and grueling work conditions caused the children to chafe at the hard lives they had been born into. To move out and create their own lives was foremost on each of their minds. The Church made all of the rules and, despite rebellion by the younger generation, was never far from the family threshold and would ultimately shape my destiny.

Raymond was the first to claim his freedom. He’d never gotten over the death of his Father, and didn’t like his Mother’s choice in stepfathers. Possessed with an independent spirit, at the age of fourteen he joined the Merchant Navy and was soon stationed in Singapore. This exotic country suited him - he was far away from an unhappy home and managed to become successful. Other than returning to London on special occasions, Singapore is where he stayed for the rest of his life.

Renee, a flamboyant dresser with a wild personality, made her escape by becoming a Tiller Girl, Briton’s equivalent to the Rockettes high kicking dance team. An actress on and off stage, she did as she pleased and stood out in the drab days of pre-war Britain. Her lime green wedding dress, made by Grandmother, was fashioned around the green pearl headdress she wore at a mermaid show she was appearing in. She loved the color and the costume and was determined to wear it for her wedding. She married a handsome officer in the Royal Air Force.

Clifford gained his familial escape through a temporary Royal Navy enlistment, when the war broke out.

Mother, a talented singer, received a scholarship in 1933, which paid for private voice lessons. Her dream had been to move away and become a professional singer. Music was Mother’s primary pleasure in life. Music was in a way to her, what the Church was to Grandmother.

When she was seventeen, Mother met my father, Colin Molloy, a temporary trumpet player for a local band she was singing for at a dance hall near her parents’s home. Mother was instantly attracted to the handsome, twenty-three-year old musician, who had played in the Isles of Sheppy Boy’s Band as a child and had been a member of the Queen’s Scots Guard Band since the age of sixteen.

The union was met with immediate disapproval. Grandmother was shocked and horrified that Mother would consider taking up with an atheist and a musician. Minnie, my dad’s mother, was appalled that my father would consider marrying into a Catholic family.

The two would not be dissuaded and they became engaged. Despite her protests of the marriage, Grandmother Williams made Mother’s bridal gown, but of course not until my parents were coerced into agreeing that the children would be brought up Catholic and that the wedding receive blessings from the Church. Mother was working at a textile factory making parachute fabric. As a wedding present, she was given her choice of any cloth available, so that a suitable outfit might be created for the nuptials. In April of 1937, Joyce Williams, and Colin Molly became man and wife.

COLIN AND JOYCE APRIL 1937

Mother finally had what she’d been yearning for - complete and total freedom from her childhood home and all of the drudgery connected with it. Free at last, her nights were spent singing and dancing with her handsome young husband. She felt absolutely no remorse for younger sister, Peggy, left home alone to deal with the after work chores and Grandmother’s hard ways. Peggy eventually managed her escape by marrying a draughtsman.

As a married couple, my parents lived life in the fast lane. Entertainment and fun were first priority, followed by smoking and drinking, with work and responsibility trailing behind. In 1939, less than two years after their marriage, World War II broke out, and a year later, and not intentionally, Mother got pregnant with my brother, Michael.

They rejoiced in the fact that he was a boy, and raised him as if he could do no wrong. Dad, being an only child, proudly passed on the Molloy family name. Michael spent most of his infant years safe with his Paternal Grandmother, Minnie, who lived in the Isle of Sheppy Kent, far way from London and the imminent threat of bombings.

Since my dad was on active duty, he lived in Wellington Barracks and mother kept her job at the textile factory. On weekends, they visited Michael. This went on until they were able to find housing outside of London, where they could live together and Michael would be safe.

Six years later, and once again unexpectedly and this time not happily, my Mother was pregnant with me. Another child would restrict Mother’s lifestyle - the last thing she wanted. I was born in March of 1946, in Epsom Surrey England.

The war with Germany was over, and dad resigned from the Scots Guards, in order to try his hand at being a hotelier at Great Yarmouth. This was my dad’s first plunge into the world of commerce. Indeed, it was his first trek out of the relative comfort and security of military life, as a musician in the Royal Scots Guards, into the life of a civilian. I suspect that his decision to move to a far away seaside village and start a new vocation might possibly have been encouraged by a distant relative, whom everyone called Aunt Eva.

Aunt Eva lived in the English East Coast holiday resort of Great Yarmouth, where she owned and ran The Acacia, a well-established guest house that could accommodate up to thirty visitors. Located on Princess Street, it ran adjacent to Britannia Pier, one of the town’s fashionable entertainment spots and a major tourist attraction.

Aunt Eva’s house was an extremely popular port of call for those lucky enough to be able to afford a seaside holiday in early post war Britain. Year after year, the same people returned to sample the delights of Auntie’s home cooking. Her homemade steak and onion pies in particular were the talk of the guests who stayed there, along with her kind and heartfelt hospitality.

Great Yarmouth was a town determined to put the Second World War behind, and quickly set out its stall as a major resort for holidaymakers, in an effort to rebuild its reputation as one of Britain’s major seaside attractions. It was a town full of color and bright lights with a buzz of people from all areas of the UK, hoping to enjoy their well deserved holiday.

Although it hardly seems credible, in a small town with around 34,000 people, Great Yarmouth, during the summer season, was a scene alive with activity. Marine Parade Street was bordered with stands of cotton candy, penny ball machines, fortunetellers and all manner of beautiful exotic parrots, used for holiday pictures. Kiosks of fish and chips, Ferris wheels, merry go rounds, and bumper cars competed with the fishermen’s paradise of rods, dangling down into the ocean below in hopes of catching Cod for a good meal.

In preparation for the influx of travelers, theater owners sought out the newest and most interesting shows. Famous entertainers arrived in their expensive cars, creating a buzz among the locals and visitors. Great Yarmouth boasted two competing entertainment piers, along with the Baron’s Amusement Park.

The Britannia Pier was located at the far end of Marina Parade, had a small indoor amusement area. A short distance behind was the box office, where the theater stood followed by its musical attractions.

The Wellington Pier was located at the far end of the Boardwalk. This stately white building was home to amusements and also boasted its own theater, where such greats as Billy Fury and comedian Tommy Cooper performed. It was also home to the famous Winter Gardens.

My Father played his trumpet every night at one, or another, of the pier theaters,