Lesley-Ann Jones, No Ordinary Life: The Drawings of Vicky Aram

Vicky Aram is the author of 'Coal Mines, Confessions and Dance Halls', one of the most searingly honest memoirs I have ever read. This, the County Durham-born lass's latest publishing venture,collates for posterity the cuttings of her first career, more than half a century ago, as a fashion artist. Her first published line drawings of models at London's couture collections appeared in 'Fashion Forecast', a respected trade magazine of the day. Indeed, the book is dedicated to its late editor and Vicky's mentor, Nina Hurst. Although still only a teenager in the 1950s, there was such style and maturity in Vicky's illustrations that the observer might be forgiven for thinking that she must have been considerably older when she drew them. It occurs to me now, perusing them again, that the woman Vicky was seeing in these lines, a little further down the line, was herself. Capturing the elegance and flair of Dior, Chanel and the rest in her own image, she lifts them to an uber-chic dimension with her own highly-stylized take on physical features – particularly limbs, eyes, lips and hair (she even sketched haircuts for Vidal Sassoon.) In the long-legged, provocative languidity of 'Midnight Hour', she captures her free-spirited future self perfectly.

Sketching her way into the next phase of her life, Vicky met and married the distinguished architect David J. Wager, with whom she had three children. She began to draw for newspapers, notably the Daily Telegraph. As well as Royals, celebrities and personalities in abundance, her pencils and pens now recorded locations and events. A political tea party in Hampstead and a Windsor ball for HRH Princess Alexandra are irresistibly evocative. She later taught fashion-drawing at Hornsey Art College, was hired by Mark Boxer to draw for Queen magazine, and did some particularly exquisite colour work for Flair. She even digressed into dress design, when Yves Saint Laurent's Lady Rendlesham mistook her for a designer, and her suit range actually went on sale in Harvey Nicks. Emboldened by this diversion, her developing style again took a swing, embracing pop-art quirks and surrealism. Her book also features many of her gorgeous portraits.

Hands up: I got to know Vicky when I interviewed her for a book of my own: 'Ride A White Swan: The Lives & Death of Marc Bolan' (Hodder & Stoughton, 2012). Vicky, by the late 1970s a singer-songwriter and pianist with a prestigious engagement at the Berkeley Square private members' club Morton's, was the last woman to see Marc Bolan alive. She has never overplayed her part in the tragedy, and only recently went public with what really happened on the night of the 20th Century Boy's death, 16th September 1977. Her reticence renders her memories all the more remarkable.

At seventy eight, knock twenty off that when you meet her,Vicky is still drawing, writing and recording as if there is no tomorrow.

I'll have what she's having.

The Amazon review of Coal Mines: Confessions and Dance Halls with Return to the North with The Theatre of Self (Paperback)

CA Henderson : A few years ago I was introduced to a magical lady and unique performing artist.Vicky Aram is an enchantress of song and spoken word. In her book entitled, 'Coal Mines: Confessions and Dance Halls With Return To The North,' we see that her gift of magical communication extends to the written arts. Vicky skilfully narrates examples of her life and performance experiences, told in colorful patterns and rich dramas. She creatively entitles a section on personal development as a form of tarot or 'theatre of self.' Her love for artistic communication is considered here as an extension of intuitive life experience, told as a drama.Vicky's book will appeal to anyone interested in the paradoxical nature of human existance, synchronicity and our place in the grand scheme of things. As an example, she sensitively shares her remarkable meeting with extraordinary musician, Marc Bolan, on the night of his tragic death. Vicky combines her natural storytelling voice with a hands-on approach in practical examples of self mapping. She provides creative ways to explore theatrical metaphors of your own life story. Vicky shares her ideas for imaginative exploration through Jungian dream work, tarot archetypes and the astrological birth chart. Her fascinating life journey in theatrical and musical collaborations. It is a drama, as complex as it is simple as that may be, explored through intelligence, love, humour and earthy sense of Nothern realism. I loved it.

Trailer for latest edition to Coalmines is The Theatre of Self: http://youtu.be/RRm-LYC6_dk

About That Night

A new book is being written about Marc Bolan, there have been questions to me of why I chose to be with them on their journey, one night in September 1977.

I'm inclined to say ' What difference does it make ' the outcome remains the same.

I really wanted to get home that night, my journey to Hadley Wood was aprox. 45 minutes, mainly because my time of travelling was between 2.15 am and 3am..when I'd see our lovely home in Hadley Wood with the Honeysuckle Tree branches around the Front door.

Many members at Mortons Club were involved in the Music business, some would come over and leave a card..or a scribbled message inviting me to get involved.

When Richard Jones..' very Archetypal image ' made himself known to me, we were like old
pals, both with an amused but respectful rapport.

At the end of my working time, and after I joined them downstairs, I was there only out of respect for Richard's invitation to join them.

I was ready to go home, and tried to leave several times...yet Richard intervened constantly, until as I grinned at his offers of Recording..(.that night and.now ) and as I finally headed for my car, he became wild, shouting .. in a panic..

“ This is your last chance tonight, not tomorrow,tonight “ .

Really shouting...the many other people standing outside Mortons must have heard him because it was strangely disturbing.

You could say ' he finally got through to me ' and so I said ok ! and as soon as we were in my car he was calm and smiling again.

That was when I knew I had to go on this trip for whatever reason!!

If I'd been out on a gig with musicians I knew well, we'd often cool off upstairs in Ronnie Scotts or they'd come to my place for a coffee...but this area of SW London was not on my way home.

His ' unconscious ' was communicating some urgency to mine. I responded without fear.

The story is sad....but it might have been different if Gloria's car had just broken down! My car was behind and could have taken them all home safely.

Living North magazine review of my book Coalmines, Confessions

& Dancehalls with Return to the North (Autobiography ISBN 9781 45678 4546)

16th September Morton’s Club 1977

The night I met Marc, then followed him to the ‘ tree ‘
and his accidental death

That night in Morton’s Restaurant, where I played mellow piano...and sang even more ‘ mellowly ‘ there were only a few diners around 1am.

The evening had been as crowded and busy as usual....full of fascinating talented beautiful people..stars

They looked quite normal to me, some dress up, some dress down, often a table of fashionable diners stood out from the others, ladies in small chic veiled hats, and if I’d arranged my time better...as a  Fashion  Artist I could have made memorable sketches of these evenings.

Being used to ‘role play' I didn’t mix up my Art with Music or indeed with my ‘'Mother and Home Cooking roles', no I focused on the job now,   and after 1am..I sang a little motown  souly stuff, in fact I remember the song ..a Major Harris composition called ‘ Love Won’t Let Me Wait ‘ and was enjoying myself, when I noticed three people come on to a corner  table furthest away from ‘ my piano in the corner next to the long elegant balcony windows.’
A big black hat on a big black ‘ Motowny ‘ guy caught my attention. I never knew who everyone was by name, just occasionally recognised a famous  face. A good looking black woman and a tiny lad, urchin-like with a mop of curly black hair whose head was down reading the menu,or just resting.

If a voice in my ear had said ‘you will accompany these people tonight to a tragic scene' ..I think I might have left immediately.
No,  the voice I heard was the charming warmth of Richard Jones introducing himself and asking my name, pointing out his sister Gloria and Marc Bolan at the table.

Marc  had asked if it was Blossom  Dearie  at the piano (what a compliment) only I didn’t think so at the time.  Richard said they were  loving my music!!!  And they’d heard a lot of singers etc. In the last couple of days/nights  and I was the one they liked the most.
Wait on...was I hearing dreams?  No they were just being charming and I was ‘mellow' my strength was, the voice was no competition to anyone...you could talk while I played and sang, no-one felt they had to applaud, in fact the notes I received from the members dining, was ’ we don’t want to spoil your set  by applauding ‘

That atmosphere also meant I could happily cruise along without trying to impress.
After their dinner Richard brought Marc and Gloria over to say hello and of course then I recognised Marc’s pale powdered face from the 5pm. TV Show my son Sy aged 7yrs. watched sometimes with Louisa aged 11yrs. My daughter Charlotte aged13 yrs. may have watched..she was a Mod. Into Northern Soul and The VIP ‘s..  Marc wanted to send them autographs, we looked around for paper napkins, and he sent one to each. Sadly we don’t remember what became of them...

Thanking him I looked in his eyes and said ‘Marc you belong to another World‘

He ( like a lot of performers ) was quiet, almost subdued and thoughtful, as he smiled at my statement.

Gloria asked if she could play something, this was before they went down to the bar, she saw my Motown  Songbook  and opened it to ‘ If I were your woman ‘ and played and sang for a while.

They decided to check out the Bar downstairs, and I had to play here a little longer. Richard asked me please come down and join us. This was quite cool and I felt it would be rude not to join them again.

Eventually  I pack up my mike and tidy the music away, so around 2.20am I go down to the bar.

Richard greets me and draws me to their table...I don’t know who these people are, maybe Marc’s manager and a few friends or business associates, people are drifting home, some around the grand piano where Gloria is singing and playing without music...that I notice, if only I could do that.

Feeling tired, I try to leave but Richard has some scheme in mind, and wants me to wait...it’s well after closing time and I honestly don’t recall talking to anyone, and really want to go home, so we’re edging to the door and Richard is becoming agitated about his ideas of Gloria and I trying to do something together.  I’m absolutely sure Gloria didn’t have a clue what he was going on about, really didn’t involve Marc at all. Outside he’s is shouting at me...he was in a panic, looking back could be he didn’t know either what he intended, but HE KNEW it included me.

I wasn’t panicking, I had my car, and for some strange reason I agreed to go back with them to Richmond.

Then Richard relaxed... Gloria and Marc walked along the Square to the mini, giggling together!! And I waited in my car directly parked outside Morton’s front windows.

We  start off on the journey, one that I’d never experienced before, I was used to the West End and then North London. It was important that I followed Gloria, she knew the way, the roads looked shiny as though there ’d been a shower or it could be the moisture from the early morning, it seemed a long journey to me and every now and then I would lose sight, and Gloria’s mini would be round the next corner. Richard talked a lot, mostly about making me a star, and then dropped off to sleep, they’d had a long day.

There’s was a bend, a rise in the road and then suddenly I see her car by the tree.. looking ‘ odd ‘ and steaming. I stop my car some distance away, perhaps I was cautious or fearful, but I gently wake Richard and question what’s happened.. we must go and see. We heard no noise, so far behind and the hump in the road kept the noise to itself. There was just a slight moonlight above and I didn’t expect what we saw. Marc  lay in the back, still and quiet, but poor Gloria was badly injured with a wounded neck, lying on the floor. I insisted Richard lift them both out, as I felt any moment the vehicle could go up in flames. I rushed back to my car and brought it nearer, getting my mother’s old ‘air raid shelter‘ blanket from the boot and laying it on the road between the two cars.

I don’t know how Richard managed to get them out but I heard a car engine, and asked Richard if I  should rush out and stop the driver for help. The car whizzed past, Richard didn’t want me to stop the car. I think celebrities have to be so careful whom they trust because of false rumours.  If the driver had seen we were in trouble, the fact is that car didn’t attempt to offer help or stop at all. 

Richard was demented, but I had to get help immediately...he pleaded with me to stay, but what good would that do, we  had no mobiles, no lights indicating  houses in sight, I knew  there would be a familiar red telephone box  at a crossroad and I had to leave Richard alone, get in my car and drive off to call the Ambulance

Marc and Gloria were now on my mother’s blanket, and  Marc  just lay there looking the same to me as when I met him earlier ,his clothes still glittering and I could see no injury, he’d just gone, to that other World  I’d spoken about.

At the next crossroads I rang the Ambulance and waited by the box as they suggested...didn’t know the road I was on.

They came shortly and I followed to the Hospital where I rang my husband David Wager and my three children safe at home.

This is the first time since that night September 16^th 1977 that I have told my story of the tragedy.

Writing my Autobiography in 2011 is the only reason why I relate this sad event in my life.

Youtube book trailer : http://youtu.be/3Qge32Ut_lI