Whenever I hear R Dean Taylor’s brilliant Motown song Gotta See Jane, I always think of my dad, the late, great Anthony Johansen. And it’s because one particular line takes me back to a time back in the very late 1960s when we were driving through Kent on the way to Sheerness. I never got to ask him why we went to Sheerness but it was probably something to do with his Merchant Navy past. We drove – well, he drove: I was barely 11 years old – all the way from Islington to Sheerness. The weather was foul.
In the song, Taylor is driving his car because he needs to see Jane. The sound affects on the record are wonderful. Taylor sings: “Windshield wiper splishin’, splashin'” and I am back in that car. It was chucking it down.
I had with me several copies of a magazine called Record Song Book which published the lyrics of the pop hits of the day. My dad looked across and asked me to sing some of the songs to him. “Me? Sing?”, I might have asked. And he would have said, “Yes, you sing”. And I did.
Odd that I remember so little of my childhood, which is just as well, but I remember this like it was yesterday. I remember singing Yesterday Has Gone by Cupid’s Inspiration, Words by the Bee Gees and Hello Goodbye by the Beatles. I don’t know how long I sang for, but soon we arrived in Sheerness in the still driving rain it is there my memory ends. That was it. I don’t remember anything else. Just the long ride through darkness and wetness of Kent and the splishin’, splashin’ of the windshield wipers. And Gotta See Jane. The journey brought the lyrics to life to be forever to be my ear worm whenever I drive on a damp and dark evening.
I spoke to my dad about this when I last saw him in 2009 and to my disappointment he didn’t remember a thing about it! And why should he? He was living the life at the time, settling into a new country, getting a degree as a mature student. His was life in the fast lane whereas mine was, and still is, life in the bus lane. He had a million things on his mind. I had next month’s Record Song Book to look forward to.
The good news is that it is one of my very few childhood memories of my dad. The bad news is that there are few more. Endless therapy and counselling never uncovered anymore. For years to come, with some exceptions, I froze him out of my life, wrapped up I suspect in a ghastly blend of mental illness and self-pity. He was such a great bloke, I finally realised, and whilst he lived in Canada for most of my life, I could have made so much more of it. But I didn’t.
When people say what you don’t have, you don’t miss, just remember they are talking bollocks. Having observed the lives of others whose lives were spent close to both parents, and living my life to ensure my sons never get as fucked up as I am, I know the reality doesn’t fit in with old sayings that, for some of us, are untrue.
Take me back to that car, maybe 48 years ago, and I’ll sing those songs. My dad was on the end of my only public singing engagement. What a thrill that must have been for him. I know because I remember it so well that it was a huge thrill for me. And I wish I could sing for him again.
