In May 1977, showbusiness journalist, presenter and organiser Fokko Kramer made me an attractive proposal that could have turned my life around. More than 46 years later, I am in Groningen again, wondering what would have happened if I had agreed on the day Fokko Kramer called.
The indeterminate period between Christmas and New Year’s Eve we stay at the beautifully located Market Hotel in Groningen. As the late morning sun rises, I look out over the Grote Markt. On the left, the Grand Theatre, which began a second life after a successful squatting campaign in the 1980s, de Drie Gezusters (the three sisters), that never left, in front of me the town hall where Rommy and I married, on the far right the Martini Tower, the undisputed highlight of the city even after the defiant Forum building has settled a stone’s throw away.
In the 1970s the Grote Marktplein was packed with people during Queen’s Days when talent contests were organised with pomp and circumstance. In 1975, my classmate Klaas Wolters persuaded me to participate; after all, I had already had three months of guitar lessons and he played the recorder quite well. We wrote two songs: ‘Pierrot, why don’t you play your flute’ – the ambiguous meaning of which escaped us at the time – and, inspired by our chemistry lessons, ‘H2O, so much water around me’, a song about two shipwrecked sailors floating around the ocean with a guitar on a raft. Jury chairman Jacques d’Ancona did not even mention us afterwards.
Two years later I tried again with two classmates under the name the Strings. Geert Woltjer played a suitcase organ that we were allowed to borrow from school. When you switched on the instrument you could hear the sound of an old-fashioned hoover. As soon as Geert pressed the keys, he managed to push that hoover effect away somewhat. In time he figured out that he had to push off the microphone at the right moment to cover up the side noises. Jan Klip played his brother’s Spanish guitar and I played an electric Eko guitar. I had written a melancholic love song where Jan struck chords and I strummed.
Sadly, it’s over now / she left me alone
It was like snow / suddenly she was gone
I was on my own again / before I realised
I thought she loved me / so I was surprised
How much self-knowledge can you have as a 16-year-old?
At least we did not finish among the first three. I was tempted to leave disappointed when Geert unceremoniously approached jury chairman Fokko Kramer to inquire in what position we had finished. According to Geert, we had finished fifth out of twenty-five participants. I could hardly believe it, but it was a result we could come home with.
Days passed and school life swallowed up my attention again. When the bell next to my bedroom chimed, I reacted moodily rather than happily. After all, that bell usually meant there was a chore to be done. ‘What is it?’ I called not too enthusiastically downstairs.
‘Someone on the phone!’ replied my mother. That was very unusual in those years. Friends came over, relatives usually called in the evening and then almost exclusively when it was someone’s birthday. ‘Who is it?’ I asked.
‘I couldn’t quite understand,’ my mother said.
I mentioned my name.
‘Good afternoon!’ I heard a clear male voice on the other end of the line, ‘This is Fokko Kramer. You’re the spokesperson for the Strings, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I replied, gasping for breath.
‘I was wondering if you guys fancy performing next Sunday afternoon at the Oosterpark stadium at half-time of the football match to entertain the audience.’
‘Well, we don’t really have a very good sound system,’ I dodged the question.
‘Oh, that’s no problem,’ Kramer replied, ‘they do have one there. You just have to plug in.’
‘Did you think we were that good? We didn’t win that talent contest.’
‘That’s true, but you sang in Dutch and it sounded quite nice, it would go down very well in the stadium.’
Fokko Kramer’s voice seemed to come from another planet. A planet where we were successful and where we would be cheered. If it were up to me, I would step into the ready rocket without any hesitation. However, that decision was not mine alone, even if I was the songwriter. ‘I need to consult the other guys in the group,’ I said.
‘I understand that,’ Kramer said, ‘shall I call you back tomorrow around this time?’
‘That seems fine to me.’
After I put down the handset, it took some time before I was back on earth. I explained to my mother who Fokko Kramer was and how honourable the invitation was that I had just received from this showbusiness journalist, presenter and organiser. I noticed in her the same mixture of enthusiasm and regret at the inevitable outcome of this tempting request to three Christian boys who were expected to be taught by God’s Word at the aforementioned time in the afternoon service of the Church.
I immediately jumped on my bike to discuss the news with Geert, who lived near me and with whom I was friends. If Geert’s parents said ‘No’, it was over and out, I decided. I rang the doorbell, saw the surprised face of Geert’s mother at my unexpected visit at this hour. I said I had something important to discuss. Geert had already heard my voice and came running down the stairs. ‘I got a call from Fokko Kramer. He asked if we want to perform Sunday afternoon in the Oosterpark football stadium at halftime of FC Groningen – Excelsior.’ Geert and his mother were silent for a moment, took one look at each other and started laughing first cautiously and then more exuberantly. Soon, tears were running down Geert’s mother’s cheeks and she called in the rest of the family. They all thought it was great for us, they were sure that a breakthrough for the Strings was only a matter of time, but performing on a Sunday? No, that really was a bridge too far.
The next day, Jan reacted in a similar way. With a stone in my stomach, I waited for Fokko Kramer’s phone call. I said my friends were unfortunately indisposed. He never called me again. I have often wondered what would have happened if this gig had taken place on Saturday, for example, and we had done it. Would the whole stadium have sung along then? Would we have been booed? Would we have been stupidly ignored? I suspect the latter.
The year is already coming to an end. A Christmas tree now stands where the talent show stage used to be. I look out over the Great Market one more time and cherish the moment when Fokko Kramer called and for a brief moment everything had seemed possible.