A Lifetime of Love for the Beatles
Me nan’s been mad about The Beatles since she was a lass. Grew up in Liverpool, she did, right when the Fab Four were just startin’ out. She always tells me stories 'bout how the city was buzzin’ with excitement, everyone talkin’ 'bout these local lads makin’ it big.
One tale she loves sharin’ is ‘bout the time she managed to snag a ticket to see ‘em live. “It was pure magic,” she says, eyes gleamin’. “The crowd was deafening, couldn’t hear meself think! But feelin’ that energy, seein’ John, Paul, George, and Ringo right there on stage, it was somethin’ else.” She says the shows were short, barely half an hour, but every second was worth it.
She’d spend hours listenin’ to their records, learnin’ every word. Her parents weren’t keen, though. Her dad thought all the screamin’ girls were daft, said it was just noise. Her mum wasn’t much better—“Why d'ya need all this racket?”—but she’d catch her hummin’ ‘Yesterday’ now and then when she thought no one was listenin’.
Even now, she’s got all their records, plays ‘em on her old turntable. “Their music’s timeless,” she reckons. “Every time I hear ‘Love Me Do’ or ‘She Loves You’, I’m right back there, a teenager in the Cavern Club, livin’ the moment.” And honestly? I get it. I really do.
Recorded by Connar H., a native speaker of British English, 2025
