A HARD DAY’S NIGHT by THE BEATLES. Story by Paul Dufficy.

Sydney movie theatres, Saturday 29th of August 1964.

In 1964 we were surrounded by the music of the Beatles. The previous year the band had had no top ten singles in Australia, yet in 1964 only four weeks went by when the group did not have the number one single. When the band arrived in June the country went wild. All networks filmed the Beatles in various capital cities and then camped outside their hotel rooms to catch the Fab Four waving from balconies or windows.

The first concert was in Adelaide and it was estimated that 300,000 people (about half the population of the city at the time), lined the route from airport to hotel. When they hit Melbourne there were 30,000 screaming fans outside their hotel and mounted police were used to rescue the collapsed girls. There were over 150 injuries.

A couple of days later, the cream of the Melbourne establishment was invited to attend a Beatles’ welcome. According to reports everyone was very civilised – unlike the riff-raff on Exhibition Street – well, for five minutes. Then all hell broke loose. All the young women in the room screamed, surged towards the guests attempting to touch them, all the while shrieking ‘We love you Beatles!’

Paul the pedaller. No brakes, no shoes, no helmet. Cycling circa 1964.

Not surprisingly I suppose this was the year that I encountered hysteria, in the flesh so to speak, for the first time. My mate Mick and I had ridden our bikes the two miles from Clemton Park to the Chelsea movie theatre in Earlwood to see the first Beatles’ movie, A Hard Day’s Night. The theatre is now a delicatessen selling all things Greek but sixty years ago it was an alternate church to the imposing Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic variety across the street.

The crowd was mainly female and the atmosphere was building. After the usual newsreel, serial and cartoon the movie started – so did the high-pitched screaming. About ten minutes into the movie the lights came up, the movie disappeared and onto the stage walked the cranky manager. In no uncertain terms she told the audience that unless the screaming stopped the movie would not be played. Some of the older, rowdier boys booed, but generally the theatre crowd was compliant.

The lights went down, the movie started again and so did the screaming. The manager probably retired to the screening room and poured herself a stiff drink or two because we didn’t see her again. Across the road, Monsignor Flanagan and Father Bayada could only dream about the fervour of this new religion. The hysteria in this small suburban movie theatre was played out across Sydney on Saturday 29th of August 1964.

Stereo Story #797

See also, Smokie Dawson’s Beatles’ memories.