I'm not sure which way round we did the royal houses; I'd like to make it clear that we were not by playing for the queen but for the Royal household.  I think we played Sandringham first, it went well and I think that's how we got to be invited to perform at Balmoral and then the palace.  

The first gig at Sandringham was with a warm and appreciative audience. You come onto the grounds, via an inconspicuous opening in the perimeter of the red Sandringham brick wall, where a policeman asks you your business and directs you to a wooden hall suitable for functions. You play late people are friendly and it's a good night.

The second time we played there it was November and foggy. All went according to plan as before except, after I'd packed all my equipment away and drove off in my clapped out cavalier, I got lost in the fog. At Sandringham there is a very big set of locked gates called The Norwich Gates.

When Diana died they were covered with flowers and tributes, a massive outpouring of national grief for their lost princess.

Anyway, having taken the wrong turning inside the grounds I found myself on the wrong side of these gates looking through the iron bars at the road I wanted to drive on.

However I didn't have to worry, as three policemen came out of the bushes to find out what on earth I was doing and where did I think I was going.  Security at the royal's homes is very high, cameras everywhere, so I'm sure they new who I was and what I was doing there. Luckily they decided not to incarcerate me in the Tower of London but they did give me directions out of the grounds of the house onto the Kings Lynn Hunstanton road. Unfortunately this was the wrong road so, hey... I went home the long way round.

We played in another wooden hall for the queens staff at Balmoral Castle. Again this was a wonderful evening with lots of dancing and appreciation. We stayed on the estate for two nights with a family who were very hospitable and I enjoyed a few wee drams of a local single malt whisky. The scenery in Scotland, well it must be some of the most beautiful on the planet and that's what it's like at Balmoral, away from all the turmoil that humankind insists on plunging the world into. I never forget that the royals have a privileged existence and most people won't be able to walk on land that shouldn't belong to so few people... but that's off subject. The coast road or train route along the east coast in Scotland is breathtaking.

I guess the name of the chapter is Buckingham Palace and I'm putting you through reams of words without getting near to it.

The letter came through the post and gave the date and times for us to play. Included were instructions on how to get into the palace, please bring our passports and this letter with you.

All of the equipment was in the white Renault traffic we had bought because we needed something reliable as music was our only source of income.

The bunting was out, people lined the streets and waved their flags as we set off. Er...no. Actually it was a normal day and we only knew the neighbours to say hello to and no one knew where we were off to. It was a day like any other day but it was an adventure and somewhere we were looking forward to playing because not many people get to play at Buckingham Palace. We later learned that they were going to book the Syd Laurence Orchestra but they preferred us because we played more modern music.

So off we went through the Norfolk roads into Cambridgeshire and broke down just outside of Huntingdon. What to do? Well we had breakdown cover to get us home but we needed to get to the palace first.

I stayed with the van, Nigel set off down a track to a house a little distance away to phone the Automobile Association (AA). This was in a time before mobile phones but after the decline in the use of carrier pigeons. Our cover meant that we could be towed to a destination by the AA or hire a van which was going to be difficult as most hire places would be shut on a Saturday afternoon.

A short while later, Nigel came back, in another van with a driver.  The person whose phone he had used, shifted animal feed around for farmers and he had agreed to drive us to the palace, wait there and drive us home afterwards. A man in his 50s, he didn't say a lot and seemed to take everything in his stride, I think for him it was a good business proposition.

So we transferred all of the equipment to his van and hung the suits up in the back amd placed the key of our broken down Renault in the exhaust so that the AA man could rescue it when he got there.

Arriving in London,following a map, we arrived at the large roundabout in front of the palace and after going round in circles a few times we saw the gap where we were supposed to go, and so we were ushered in and parked.

Next problem.  Our letter was genuine, our passports said who we were but unfortunately there was no piece of paper giving any reason for our hero of a driver to be admitted.  A while passed, they must have done some checks and Nigel and I were allowed in to set the equipment up. 

We were in a big ground floor or basement function room with two glass cabinets at one end with gold platters in them. We changed into our suits which smelled a bit farmy although nothing wrong with that, we were just pleased to be there, people milled in and we played. I think we entertained between 8pm and 12ish. And what happened to our esteemed friend who had done us the kindness of making sure we got to this extraordinary venue? The palace security made him stay in the adjoining kitchen all night long.  We made sure he was ok between sets but he really was a man of very few words. He sat on a wooden dining chair all night; he was so not phased by it all that you would think this kind of thing happened to him every day of his life.

Finally ending the evening on God save the Queen, we had to play that in all the Royal venues, we packed the equipment back into his van and he took us home. It was a quiet journey home , we were all tired I guess, he dropped us off, we paid him cash, thanked him and we never saw him again.

Isn't it strange how things happen sometimes. The next night, Sunday, we played in a local pub called the Railway Tavern; back to reality, and as far away from the grandioseness of Buckingham Palace as you could get.  I've always imagined our driver, who did us such a good deed, relaying his story to others. Imagine him in the pub or post office, '..... You never guess where I was yesterday, Buckingham Palace'.  Answer, 'You're having us on, what would you be doing in a place like that'. But he was so quiet I wonder if he told anyone, maybe just kept it as his secret.