It made me smile when I saw 70,000 girls going crazy over boy band One Direction last week.
The fans screamed, whistled and went hysterical over those five young guys.
Boy bands come and go, have their moment in the sun and often fade into obscurity. But what interests me is the effect they have on teenage girls.
For a brief period of time all they want is to see, touch and feel close to those lads who have captured their heart and soul.
I know how it feels because in the ’60s I was the same!
There was this new boy band who were making it big time . . .
At high school my friends and I spent every playtime discussing which Beatle we loved best. I was a Paul McCartney girl.
We had the singles and the LPs, which we played ad infinitum on our Dansette record players. We read the fan magazines and knew the details of their lives.
We fantasised about what we would say if ever we met them.
And then astonishingly we heard they were coming The Beatles were actually coming to play a concert in Glasgow!
Planning was required. Playing truant was the only option.
Tickets went on sale one Monday morning and my friend Wilma and I were in the queue. Hundreds of teenage girls high on adrenalin giggled and sang as we waited.
Slowly the queue inched forwards. Eventually we had the two precious tickets. Bliss.
In the weeks that followed we planned our strategy. We would take up our positions hours before the concert.
Another forged school note claiming a bout of flu was required of course.
What do I remember of that night?
A new mini skirt from Chelsea Girl. Silver flecked purple eyeshadow applied carefully, and Mary Quant pale pink lipstick. A voice hoarse with screaming as we waited for their arrival. The jostling and hysteria as we tried to get near the Fab Four. One girl fainting in the excitement.
Inside, the screaming/singing/adulation of a theatre filled with hundreds of teenage girls.
The appearance of four diminutive figures on stage, their music drowned out by the explosion of sound from the frenzied female audience.
We laughed, we sang, we cried. Some girls threw their pants and bras on stage.
It was a night of feverish emotion and when The Beatles left the stage for the last time I sobbed on my friend’s shoulder.
So, One Direction fans I know how you feel.
Five decades on, teenage girls haven’t changed. Thank goodness for that.
You’ll remember that August day in 2013, and smile at your innocence and passion.
It’s part of growing up.
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