Fact #190494

Pete Miller (guitarist, Peter Jay and The Jaywalkers] : We were flying to Ireland. We were on the runway and all of a sudden the pilot comes on the intercom and says, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're very pleased to have aboard The Beatles - John, Paul, George, and Ringo - welcome to Aer Lingus!' And John stands up and says, 'Don't you mean cunnilingus?'"

Alun Owen (playwright) : Underneath all the semi-cynical send-up, there's an honesty which I hope they never lose. When they were in Dublin they were asked by the press what they thought of the city. Instead of making the usual commonplace replies, such as, 'I admire it very much' or 'I think your policemen are wonderful', one of them said, 'I dunno. I've only just come.'

This is their basic quality. They haven't yet developed the hard shell star quality, nor do they go about mouthing meaningless publicity hand-outs. I don't think they ever will.

Liam Kelly (journalist, Dublin Evening Herald) : With the precision of a commando operation and within ten musical beats of their closing number - Twist And Shout - The Beatles were whisked to the safety of their hotel in an Evening Herald delivery van.

Armed with the knowledge of what an after-show siege on The Beatles is like, the group's manager consulted the cinema manager and an S.O.S. was sent to the Herald whose premises adjoin the Adelphi.

The management of Independent Newspapers Ltd, willingly put a van and driver at the disposal of the operation planners.

For 30 minutes before the rescue began the van, with driver/garage foreman, Mr. Jack Flanagan, was parked in The Shadows outside the side door. In the intervening period several groups of curious teenagers 'nosed' around the area.

But what could be more inconspicuous than a newspaper van parked near its dispatch department, waiting, as everyone thought for the first editions to come off the press? It was a first rate camouflage and was vital to the success of the plan.

As unruly fans raved and ranted inside and outside the cinema, assistant manager of the group, Ron King, gave the driver the signal to start the engine. As the engine purred quietly and with no lights switched on to attract attention the curtain came down inside and seconds later the four grey-suited Beatles raced to the safety of the van, still covered in make-up.

Manager King slammed the doors shut, and the van eased out of Princes Street were the overflow of the Abbey Street crowd had gathered.

With photographer Jack Murphy, I sat, as they did, on the old newspapers, in the back of the unlit van and chaperoned them to the hotel - with fingers crossed for the entire journey.

It was an ironic situation driving through the crowds with thousands of heads turned in the opposite direction shouting the now-famed 'war-cry', "We Want The Beatles." They had been fooled. Quenching their thirst with minerals - they don't drink - they chatted amiably all the time commenting on the ingenuity of their 'escape'.

Again at the Gresham Hotel the crowds who had congregated outside in the hope of getting a 'relic' of their idols, were tricked. Because the van sneaked to the rear entrance.

A few of the more wily fans had collected there and as we jumped from the van we were mobbed but were able to beat of the attackers and push our way through the doorway. We trotted through the kitchen, while an amazed staff looked on, into the Aberdeen Hall, and up to the lifts to their bedrooms and a well-earned breather.

Having said goodnight to the boys, I left the hotel by the way I had arrived. And outside I was mobbed by fans who pleaded with me to go back inside and get "A tie, a lock of hair or anything from THEM."
(Source : not known)

Harry Lush (manager, The Adelphi, Dublin) : So the Beatles finished their first show and the crowd just shouted for more, more, more. The Beatles just could not get off the stage, they had to stay put. By this time there were 2,304 people looking for encore after encore. Time marched on and the crowd outside gathered for the late show. The crowds met leaving and entering from Abbey Street.
I thought the doors of the Adelphi would collapse with the crowds, and the Hideout upstairs would come tumbling down. The police arrived to keep a kind of order. Fighting started because some wanted to get out and others clambered to get in. Cars were overturned and one car set on fire.

I can also recall people on top of the roof taking photographs of the commotion below in Abbey Street. The crowds spilled out into O’Connell Street and windows were broken in Clearys, leaving a trail of damage in O’Connell Street. We were at a loss for future shows. What would we do? We never thought they would be so popular.

For future shows an answer was found. After the first show we would let the crowd out through Prussia Street at the back of the Adelphi and up to the Capitol Cinema, which was owned by the Farley brothers. That was the way the Beatles escaped that night.

The crowds still gathered during the second show. Many just to get a glimpse or photograph. Well, they [The Beatles] were in our care and we had to look after their welfare.

We asked the Independent [newspaper] to help out. They said the easiest thing would be to use one of their vans, so the boys could walk up the stairs and jump into the van and be taken to the Gresham.

The Beatles were all so nice, courteous and answered all the questions. They had respect for their seniors and called you sir. I look back on the day The Beatles came to Dublin as one of the shiniest days in my career.

Peter Jay (reviewer, Record Mirror) : Dublin was fantastic. The fans there really do go mad. Girls who fainted in the crowds outside the theatre were carried into their seats by attendants. Outside there was the biggest riot yet. It’s a fact that cars were overturned and the police had to make several arrests. Inside it was incredible for noise and appreciation.

Eana Brophy (journalist) : I was among the handful of journalists who got to meet the Fab Four. I was much younger than most of the jaded hacks (some of them must have been at least 30!) who shuffled into the Adelphi that afternoon for a photo-call.

It was a different time. Nowadays you’d need several colour-coded badges to get near an artist. That day, cinema manager Harry Lush had sent around to Eason’s for a bagful of lapel badges that said things like Steward and Treasurer and Secretary. One of them would get you into the Adelphi boardroom to chat with John, Paul, George and Ringo.

A sudden flurry of screams at about 4.30pm announced their arrival in the foyer. They trooped upstairs to the mezzanine floor, dressed and coiffed as few others in Dublin were then. It was immediately clear that these new Beatle chaps were sharp, witty and totally clued in to how publicity worked. You wanted a four-column photo? They obliged with a a wide-armed, leg-kicking “ta-dahh!” pose. Single column? They somehow put their heads atop each other on an adjacent table. The cynical snappers were utterly charmed.

I wish I had some priceless quotes from that press conference. All I can remember is that Paul McCartney answered “We are just good friends” to most questions. This was considered extremely witty. I do recall asking John Lennon a deeply penetrating question about the difference between rock’n’roll and rhythm and blues. He gave it serious thought before declaring in his best scouse, “Rhythm and blues is black”. Richard Starkey patiently showed off his multi-ringed fingers to explain his nickname. George Harrison meanwhile slipped away to meet his Dublin relatives.

Outside in Abbey Street the gardaí were taken by surprise by the hundreds of fans who turned up ticketless, hoping to get a glimpse of the Beatles. Their screams (the fans’ not the guards’) were as nothing to those inside the 2,000-seater cinema. There was a package of other artists touring with the Beatles. Also on the bill were The Vernon Girls, The Brooks Brothers, the Kestrels and a big band called Peter Jay & the Jaywalkers. (Where are they all today? And where are the Beatle autographs I collected for the girls back at the office? )
As each act finished, the screams grew louder until they became a relentless chant of We Want the Beatles. The compere, a Canadian comedian called Frank Berry, finally gave up and joined in.
A guitar suddenly sounded the first chords of I Saw Her Standing There. The curtains slid back and they were there. The Beatles. In Dublin. Pandemonium. John Lennon straddle-legged on the right. Ringo at the back on a raised drum dais. And George and Paul together at one mike, shaking their fringes in unison. The girls, already standing on the seats, levitated higher and screamed even louder. The St John’s Ambulance Brigade were kept busy ferrying the fainted out to the foyer.
The Beatles sang All My Loving (from their new LP), Mr Postman, Till There Was You. Boys. And on they went . . . with their three hit singles culminating in She Loves You, which was just then topping the charts. By now they had reduced their audience to one huge, damp, perspiring, deliriously happy mass of humanity. And then John Lennon attacked the microphone with his throat-destroying version of Twist and Shout. After the final crescendo, the curtains abruptly closed. The crowd roared for more. People rushed the stage. But the Beatles had finished their set. And they
were gone.

Well, not quite . . .The whole thing was repeated at 9pm. By the time that show was ending there was a mini-riot taking place in Middle Abbey Street. But nobody outside got to see the Beatles leaving the Adelphi – while their last notes were still reverberating, they had fled out the back door into Prince’s Street and been bundled into the back of an Evening Herald van.
(Source : https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/music/the-day-the-beatles-rocked-dublin-1.1583240)