MIKE MCCARTNEY REVEALS: HE WAS THE BAND´S FIRST DRUMMER - UNTIL A SCOUT CAMP ACCIDENT WRECKED HIS DREAM

‘I was nearly in The Beatles,’ he says. ‘I was The Beatles drummer, but I broke my arm in the Scouts.’

We’re talking about life’s ‘if onlys’ when Mike McCartney drops his astonishing bombshell. He hates the word ‘if’.

‘It’s the most stupid, little two-letter word in the world,’ he says. ‘Why have the word? If that bird [he points to a crane flying past his home in the Wirral] came crashing through the window and put its beak into your neck, you’d be dead.’

Which is true, but not very likely, so I don’t think it’s on account of random birds smashing into windows Mike has such an antipathy for the word.

Mike, now 70, is the lesser-known brother of that very famous McCartney, Sir Paul. He also had a crack at showbusiness, and has a gold disc to show for his efforts on the wall of his home.

 Mike and Paul in 1974

The framed disc is for Lily The Pink, a silly party song he released with his group, The Scaffold, in 1968, which went to number one for four weeks, earning him enough cash to buy this house.

Paul, of course, has platinum discs and awards lining the walls of his swanky headquarters in London’s Soho Square. Not to mention homes all over the world, staff and... well, let’s just say, as Mike unloads the dishwasher in his modest kitchen, you can’t help wondering whether he wakes in the night thinking, ‘if’. Or, ‘if only I’d joined my brother’s band...’

Then Mike lobs in his hand grenade of a confession. ‘I was nearly in The Beatles,’ he says. ‘I was The Beatles drummer, but I broke my arm in the Scouts.’ Hang on, Mike. Rewind. You were a Beatle?

‘It was when John [Lennon] used to come to the house in Forthlin Road with The Quarrymen, before George [Harrison] was even there. I broke my arm at camp and it affected the nerves that control the wrist. They were dead.

 

‘I had to have electric shocks and hot stuff put on my arm to get the nerves back. For a couple of years, I had to wear a support strap with a wire.

‘It’s back to that word. If I hadn’t broken my arm, I’d have been a Beatle. But I did break my arm and I’m not a Beatle. You always have to deal in reality, not dreams.’ Crikey. He has never spoken about this humongous ‘if only’ before.

Mike is a hugely proud man. So much so, that when he tried his hand at showbiz with The Scaffold, as Beatlemania was beginning to rip through the country, he changed his surname to McGear.

‘The Beatles were getting so famous, being called McCartney was like being Presley or Sinatra,’ he says. ‘If I’d gone on being McCartney, it would have seemed that I was cashing in. I couldn’t do that.’

 The brothers playing together in 1948

Such is Mike’s pride, he has never gone cap in hand to his brother. Despite being so hard up, at times, that he couldn’t buy shoes for his kids, Mike has only been bailed out by Paul once — eight years ago, when he was maliciously and wrongly accused of sexual assault.

‘His wealth is his, not mine, so why wish for it?’ he says. ‘It’s that “if” again. Why do you want something you can’t have? Paul and I have an uncle, Harry. He’s a carpenter. He had all he wanted: my aunt, carpentry, a pint on the way home, having tea and going to bed.

‘I didn’t understand it for years, but he had contentment. He didn’t want any more. There’s the rest of the world, looking for fame, money — and there’s a simple man who doesn’t want any more. How profound is that? How extraordinary.’

Paul and Mike were as thick as thieves growing up, particularly following their mother Mary’s sudden death from breast cancer, when Paul was just 14 and Mike 12.

‘We were the original Fab Four, Mum, Dad, Paul and me,’ says Mike. ‘When she died, I blamed everyone, including God, until I slowly worked out why she died. I think the reason was for us to learn from her death and treasure every second of life.

‘Dad bought me a banjo and Paul a Spanish guitar after she died. He used to play the piano, which gave him a way of escaping the poverty of his childhood. So, we began playing.

‘If Mum hadn’t died, there wouldn’t have been a musical existence for me or my brother. She’d have wanted us to go into the professions. I guess that was fate or luck. Mum’s death is not what you want, but Paul and I had an affinity with that.

‘We had an affinity with John, who lost his mum, too. Only people who have had death forced upon them like that understand. It’s the things you don’t say.’

Paul met John Lennon in the summer of 1957, when he was playing with The Quarrymen at a fete. Paul joined his band and they began rehearsing in the McCartneys’ front room at 20 Forthlin Road. Mike, then 13, soon moved from the banjo to the drums.

Paul in 2013. His brother Mike said the pair were exceptionally close when growing up

‘I remember doing the drum test with my brother,’ he says. ‘I’d say, “Walk down the street and see how far you get before you don’t hear me. I started to bash the drums and, apparently, he could still hear me a few blocks away. With drumming, you’re either a natural or you’re not.’

By which, I take this modest man to mean, he was. Two summers later, Mike was at Scout camp, near Sheffield, when he broke the humerus in his left arm. Today, it’s noticeably weaker than his right. ‘I was on a cliff on a zip wire, getting logs up to the camp. The wire was released too fast and I went into a tree,’ he says.

Mike was in hospital for a month, his arm raised on pulleys. When the cast was removed, the nerves were found to be severely damaged. He needed physiotherapy for several years. His days as a drummer were done. I tell him I can’t imagine how devastated he must have been. He shrugs. ‘That was reality.’

How did he feel when schoolmate George Harrison joined the group, followed by drummer Pete Best, later replaced by Ringo Starr, and the group became megastars? ‘It was fantastic,’ he says. ‘We were Liverpool working-class. You imagine you’re going nowhere and, suddenly, you have this option of doing something you love. That, if you had no hope, is extraordinary, unbelievable, crazy.’

Mike might be the lesser-known McCartney, but he did, for 20 years, achieve success in his own right. We meet in his comfortable home, looking out on the River Dee, as he tours his funny, nostalgic one-man show, Sex, Drugs & Rock ’n’ Roll (I Wish!).

MBE awards following their investiture on October 26, 1965 at Buckingham Palace

With a leg-up from his brother, who introduced him to Beatles manager Brian Epstein, Mike formed satirical sketch group The Scaffold in 1962.

There was, however, ‘not much sex, practically no drugs’. That 1968 number one was preceded by another top-ten ‘silly, singalong song’, Thank You Very Much. They even made it to Top Of The Pops.

‘We got to record with mega famous people like Jimi Hendrix and we got chauffeurs and posh hotels like our kid,’ he says. ‘We actually did rather well.’ I begin to realise Mike isn’t being defensive. He’s thoroughly enjoyed his life. ‘I wouldn’t change a minute of it.’ He means every word.

Mike gave up showbusiness in 1982 when The Scaffold disbanded, and his first marriage to Angela Fishwick, with whom he had three daughters, ended. Mike won custody of the girls, now in their 40s.

‘She fell out of love and ran off with fellas and left me with three girls.’ Was he faithful? ‘Absolutely. It’s the way you’re made. It’s the way you’re brought up. I got out of showbusiness as I wanted the children to have stability. This house was their rock.’

Paul, he says, was a huge support during this time, as he was during the difficult times life threw at his brother. They’ve spent Christmases together since Paul’s second marriage to Heather Mills ended in 2008.

Mike has known all three of Paul’s wives — Linda Eastman, who he married in 1969, and who died in 1998, Heather Mills who he married in 2002 and divorced amid financial wrangling, and Nancy Shevell, who he married nearly three years ago.

‘I was best man at his weddings to Linda and Heather. When he married Nancy, James [Paul’s son] was best man because he’d grown up. Paul’s so very happy now.’ Mike, too. He has been happily married to wife Rowena for 33 years and has three boys — Josh, 31, Max, 26 and Sonny, 23.

After leaving The Scaffold, Mike began working as a photographer. Today, some of his work hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. ‘That’s when I changed my name back,’ he says. ‘McGear was an uncomfortable coat you wore for showbusiness purposes, but this is my proud, family name.’

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On stage: Paul McCartney and George Harrison perform to adoring fans in 1964

It’s a name, though, that was shamefully — and unfairly — dragged through the gutter in 2006, when Mike stood trial for sexual abuse.

‘You asked me did my brother help me [financially]. He did then and, without that help, I don’t know what would have happened,’ he says. ‘I call it the bum rap,’ he continues, trying to find humour where there is none.

Mike was at a 60th birthday party, when a young girl accused him of ‘touching up her bum’. His wife and mother-in-law were present. So ridiculous was the false accusation, the judge threw the case out, insisting the prosecution meet Mike’s £200,000 legal costs, funded by Paul.

‘It was hell for two years,’ says Mike. ‘I understand what these poor b****rs are going through now.’ He is referring to the current spate of celebrities being charged with historical sexual allegations.

‘I blame the CPS because they’re out of control, in my opinion. To have the reality of your life taken out of control like that, to have it printed, and you’re screaming inside, saying, “This is wrong. I didn’t do it.”

‘Can you imagine having those horrible sexual things against my proud, family name? Paul understood. The first thing he said was, “She’s going for you because of me. That’s why this is happening. I’m so sorry.”’

He pauses, then says, ‘You could look at this another way. If I hadn’t broken my arm, if I had joined The Beatles, maybe we’d have ended up fighting like Liam and Noel Gallagher in Oasis. So, it’s fortuitous and lucky I didn’t join. I have a nice, close, stable relationship with my brother.’

Which is something he wouldn’t change for all the ‘ifs’ in the world.

• Sex, Drugs & Rock ‘n’ Roll (I Wish!) is at the Ambassadors Theatre on May 7 at 7.30pm. For tickets, call 08448112334 or visit theambassadorstheatre.co.uk