I first met Trevor at a dance in 1965–a magical time to be a teenager. London felt like the centre of the universe, with the fashions and music making it the place to be.
We were lucky enough to see bands like The Who, Pink Floyd, The Kinks and Cream, and danced in clubs like The Flamingo in Wardour Street, plus a packed venue on Eel Pie Island, and at the Roundhouse in Chalk Farm.
Trevor was funny, bright, creative, kind...and very stylish. We were Mods, and our young lives revolved around fashion, music and dancing.
My family loved him and my 89-year-old aunt still remembers watching him dance at parties, and how good he was.
We parted at the end of 1966 and went our separate ways and had no contact until a year ago. More than 50 years had passed, but we quickly caught up and it was lovely to hear about his family, his travels around Europe with his job, and his dancing partner in life, his wife Christine.
Because Trevor and I had been having chemotherapy and Covid-19 was rampant, we only managed to meet up once for a wonderful sunny afternoon in my garden with Christine, my partner Matt and my aunt. My biggest surprise was that I had been watching Trevor dance at Folk Week in Broadstairs for more than 10 years—and even filming him—without either of us realising that we once knew each other!
I will be forever grateful that our paths crossed again, and I had the chance to find out that my sharp-dressed, dance-mad mod had enjoyed a wonderful and fulfilling life filled with art, music, love, and of course, dancing. R.I.P. dear Trevor.
PS I will post a photo of Trevor taken in Mote Park, in the ‘60s.
Carol
20th January 2021