Wimbledon queue boss reveals what the infamous queue is REALLY like - and how to make sure you get those sought-after tickets
And now the steward who manages the championship's queue has lifted the lid on the military operation that processes thousands of people a day.
James Mendelssohn, 67, first stepped foot inside the All England Lawn Tennis Club around 50 years ago when he took part in a school tennis tournament.
After retiring from a successful career in business he returned 12 years ago and was promoted to chief steward two years ago.
He works across the Wimbledon estate but says the queue is one of his favourite spots - and he has even become good friends with many repeat visitors.
James, a father-of-two from Thursley, Surrey, said: 'The queue is just fantastic.
'Wimbledon is the only Grand Slam where a true tennis fan can be guaranteed a show court ticket on the day.
'It's a fascinating thing and also a huge part of Wimbledon's tradition, which is important.
James Mendelssohn (pictured), 67, is the man in charge of the queue system and describe the military operation it takes to keep it running
'People absolutely love the queue and the atmosphere is just fantastic.
'We've actually had people who get disappointed when they get inside as they've enjoyed the queue so much.'
Wimbledon reserves 500 tickets for Centre Court, Court 1 and Court 2 every day and releases thousands more 'ground passes' which grant general access.
'So if you are in those first 1,500 people, you will get inside,' revealed James.
James says people arrive at the queue throughout the night - often coming straight from Heathrow Airport.
'We allow people to arrive 24/7 - but we have a system that ensures it is fair,' he explained.
'If you were to arrive at 6am and look at the thousands in the field, you would think, 'How on earth are we going to get everyone into the grounds in the right order?'
'But I can guarantee you I will get everyone into the ground in the right order.
'This is because when people arrive they are sent to the end of the queue and given a numbered and dated card.
'People will then enter the grounds in exactly this order - and stay in this order in the queue.
'It is a 24/7 operation we are running. And of course it's a very British thing - the queue.'
At around 5am, James and the other stewards will wake up those who have camped and at 7am the full process begins.
Tickets start being sold at 8:30am and people are moved into a 'queue village'.
At 10am, people start to be let inside.
James says the size of the queue varies every single day - typically influenced by the day of the week, the weather, who's playing, and 'whether the District Line is running'.
'The questions I get asked the most are, 'What time should I get there?' and 'What time will I be inside?' he said.
'But it really does change every day.'
Discussing his tips on how to improve your chances of getting inside the courts, James said: 'First, before you leave, you should always check the Wimbledon app and website.
'That will tell you if the queue is nearing capacity - and if you won't have any chance.
'Otherwise, I'll put it like this: we have people sleeping overnight in the field.
'We have people who arrive overnight on a transatlantic flight and rush down at 5am.
'You have to get there early.'
James said there are plenty of people who arrive at the queue fully prepared - but others who are less clued-up.
He said: 'We have some groups who arrive highly-organised with all the supplies.
'They've got tents, big beautiful banquets, and everything you'd need to enjoy the day.
'Others haven't quite thought things through and it can be amusing seeing people try to put up their tents.'
Despite this, though, James said the staff at Wimbledon will always make it work - and make sure everyone has a great experience.
He said: 'Our job as stewards is to enhance the overall guest experience so whatever happens - we'll make it work.
'We're here to make sure everyone has a great day - because it is a fantastic event.'
Over the years he has become friends with some of the crowd who return to queue every year.
'They really have become our friends,' he said.
'There's a lovely lady who comes every year with her twins - who are now 12 - and she always has a great time.
'Last year she actually sent me a package - which I was immediately called to collect as the staff needed to search it.
'She had sent these delicious homemade brownies.
'And that response from a very grateful guest - that relationship is what makes the whole thing so very special.'
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The Independent
38 minutes ago
- The Independent
The Maccabees on reuniting: ‘There were years when it was like a stranger messaging'
I n a dank rehearsal room in New Cross, bathed in an eerie green light that clings to the walls like moss, The Maccabees are easing back into each other's orbit. A headline appearance at All Points East is still months away. Nearest me is their guitarist Felix White, dressed all in black. 'Any requests?' he asks me. Soon the air is thick with nostalgia. Guitars twitch and flicker. Drums roar. Then in comes the choirboy vocal, clear yet quivering, as if frontman Orlando Weeks is on the verge of an apology: 'Mum said no/ To Disneyland,' he sings. 'And Dad loves the Church. Hallelujah.' It's the first time I've heard 'Lego', from their 2007 debut album, since the south London band bowed out eight years ago. But here are all the early Maccabees hallmarks: staccato riffs, adolescent romance, tenderness wrapped inside tension. Back then, in the harried sprawl of mid-Noughties UK indie – a scene of skinny jeans, dirty dance floors and MySpace pages – they briefly seemed to be just another charming, successful young band, writing cool, funny songs about wave machines and toothpaste. Yet they were always headed somewhere else, evolving, their sound increasingly adventurous on their way to a Mercury Prize nomination, an Ivor Novello award, a No 1 record and a headline performance at Latitude. Then it stopped. Seemingly out of nowhere, in August 2016, the group announced they were to be no more, save for a series of farewell celebration shows at Alexandra Palace the following year. 'We are very proud to be able to go out on our own terms, at our creative peak,' a statement read. 'There have been no fallings out.' Fans were bereft. In the years since, details of the split have remained hazy: by all accounts, it was not so much a blow-up as a simmering of fractures and differences. The pieces didn't fit together any more. While Weeks told The Independent in 2020 that the band 'just ran out of steam', blaming the creative frustrations of working as a group, it's clear a cooling-off period was needed. 'With Orlando,' says Hugo White, a guitarist in the band like his older brother Felix, 'there were a few years we didn't speak. You'd send one text maybe in six months.' They had been together their entire adult lives. 'I was 16 when I started the band,' Hugo notes. 'I was 30 when we split up.' Keeping five people together at that age 'locked into a diary that's scheduled for the next year, all intertwined in [each other's] lives', is difficult, he says. 'And I think that kind of broke in a way.' At that point, the five of them all agree, the idea of ever getting the band back together seemed inconceivable. 'It felt final,' says Weeks, who has now released three excellent solo records. 'Extremely final,' Felix jumps in, amid laughter. 'We needed it to be like that in order to move on,' says Hugo. 'It couldn't linger around.' Felix White during The Maccabees' set at the 2009 Isle of Wight Festival (Getty) We're 10 minutes in, and the group dynamic of The Maccabees is already unmistakable – a familial rhythm of in-jokes, unspoken cues and roles that feel shaped over years. If Weeks is the reluctant frontman, softly spoken and meditative, Felix is the band's ebullient cheerleader. Brooding opposite him is Hugo, with a jaw as sharp as his humour, cracking a number of close-to-the-bone barbs about the breakup. Drummer Sam Doyle and bassist Rupert Jarvis are here, too, quieter, more enigmatic. Though the mood is celebratory, there's no doubt the split was a difficult pill to swallow. 'It was so weird because you've made such a commitment to each other from a young age,' Hugo later tells me. 'So the idea that someone wants to make music outside of that group, with other people – it's almost like a betrayal... Even though it isn't.' For Felix, the way it ended, just as The Maccabees had finally earned their place at indie's top table, was, by his own past admission, 'heartbreaking'. 'We were mid-thirties and there was a real sense of saying goodbye to a part of your life,' he told us last year. The Maccabees wasn't the only breakup Felix was going through. At the same time as those bittersweet Alexandra Palace shows, he was also parting from his girlfriend Florence Welch, of Florence + the Machine. There was so much change in the air, Felix says, that it was difficult to navigate. 'Lots of endings happening in lots of different versions of life.' But then change has always been reflected in The Maccabees' music. Just as they became more expansive sonically, with gauzy guitar textures and swirling atmospherics reminiscent of Arcade Fire, so their lyrics matured. Gone were the chewed-up Lego pieces, replaced by introspection and songs concerned with the vicissitudes of ageing. Enjoy unlimited access to 100 million ad-free songs and podcasts with Amazon Music Sign up now for a 30-day free trial. Terms apply. Try for free ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent. Enjoy unlimited access to 100 million ad-free songs and podcasts with Amazon Music Sign up now for a 30-day free trial. Terms apply. Try for free ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent. Orlando Weeks performs during the band's 2013 Isle of Wight set (Getty) On a personal level, growing up with The Maccabees, all of us more or less the same age, I've always felt a strange sense of ownership over them, as if they are my band, a soundtrack to my coming of age. I was 20, still flinging myself across sticky, student dance floors in torn Levi's, when a mutual friend played them to me just before the release of debut album Colour It In. Then, two years later, nursing a broken heart, I found myself near Felix in the crowd as Blur played the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury. 'I fell in love to your first album,' I told him. There were other encounters, too, running the gamut from cringe to extremely cringe. Backstage at the Isle of Wight Festival in 2011, introduced to Hugo by a PR, I careened into fanboy overdrive, explaining more than once that 'your band changed my life'. Professionally speaking, I couldn't be trusted to be objective, either: I spent years wearing down a late, great music editor who refused to let me write about them. Eventually, she caved, and I reviewed them at Brixton Academy, not knowing it would be one of their last shows. (Headline: 'Is it time The Maccabees headlined Glastonbury?') Of course, they're not just my band. Recently, at a stag do in the Scottish Highlands, I derived immeasurable joy from watching the groom-to-be insist on playing four vintage Maccabees songs back-to-back at 3am, those time-capsule choruses still a bottomless font of bonhomie. To me, in an era of swaggering, hyper-macho indie landfill, with bands such as Razorlight and The Rifles, their music always stood apart, shimmering with warmth and depth. Evidently, Danny Boyle thinks so too. For a pivotal scene in his film Steve Jobs , he turned to the sweeping, crepuscular tones of 'Grew Up at Midnight', lifted from the band's critically acclaimed 2012 record Given to the Wild. 'We thought that was going to make us f***ing massive in America,' says Felix. 'They used the whole song at the end and we were like, 'Oh my God, we're going to America, people…'' He pauses… 'F***ing nothing. If anything, we were smaller after the film came out.' The Maccabees at the NME Awards in 2016, shortly before their split (AFP/Getty) Be that as it may, there's no downplaying the magnitude of those farewell shows, which felt part celebration, part elegy. I was there and can attest to just how emotional they were. 'There was a real sense when those last Maccabee shows happened that everyone had been, was a particular age, and it became sort of symbolic for saying goodbye to a certain part of your life – sort of early thirties,' says Felix. 'That idea of real adulthood was upon everyone, that you're definitively ending a stage of your life – and it felt like it was inside all of the rooms when we played those shows. It felt like everyone was pouring their own collective sense of goodbye into it, whatever that might be – relationships, being young, people that couldn't be there, all that kind of stuff. So it felt very heavy.' For a while, it seemed that Felix would not look back as he set off on new paths. He launched Yala! Records, wrote the cricket-themed memoir It's Always Summer Somewhere and started a cricketing podcast called Tailenders with radio host Greg James and England's all-time leading wicket-taker Jimmy Anderson. But as time passed, he realised, 'you do get to a point where you're like, actually, life doesn't last forever. If we want to do this, it could be a really beautiful thing.' There was a recognition that it would likely feel that way for their fans, too, who had felt the poignancy of their parting, and had since perhaps been doing a lot of the things that the band had been doing, like starting families and spending more time at home. 'As a Maccabee through the ages, I think you can really hear that in the music: you can hear that we're 19, you can hear that we're 24 and so on. And the gigs used to feel like that, like when we were first playing, and there used to be people hanging from the ceiling and shoes flying everywhere and all that kind of thing. And then, as we got older, it changed into something more introspective.' As we got older, it changed into something more introspective Felix White Cut to Glastonbury this year and there The Maccabees are, headlining the Park Stage, with a comeback set that weaves all those elements together. Yes, there's introspection, but also that frenetic energy; if there'd been a ceiling, you can be sure people would have hung from it – perhaps without their shoes. 'We never thought we'd be playing these songs again to anybody,' Felix said to the crowd. So how come they are, I ask? The catalyst, Hugo says, was his wedding to the author and poet Laura Dockhill in lockdown. After hiring out a pub in Battersea, he invited Weeks on the condition, he jokes, that he would sing. 'And just for the after party,' Felix chimes in, laughing. 'It's not an open invite!' And so, for the first time since Alexandra Palace, all five of them were in the same room. Their friends Jack Peñate, Jamie T, Florence Welch and Adele all performed that night. Crucially, so, too, did The Maccabees. Reuniting, says Weeks, 'didn't feel forced, because after the end of something like The Maccabees, to coordinate a meeting felt sort of contrived. Then, suddenly, there was this event that was a very obviously uncomplicated reason to all be together.' After Covid, he explains, there were tentative conversations about a reunion. Slowly, the pieces aligned. The White brothers' new band 86TVs were forced to pause their plans after Stereophonics called back their drummer, Jamie Morrison, for a tour. 'So, suddenly, there was this fallow year for them,' Weeks continues, 'and I had finished my stuff with [his 2024 album] Loja. So it was just a natural hiatus there. If there hadn't been an All Points East that felt so good, then it might easily have just drifted and not happened. But it just felt very uncomplicated again.' The boys are back in town: The Maccabees at Glastonbury 2025 (Jill Furmanovsky) Certainly, their Glastonbury set had a natural ease and coherence. 'The thing that I was really noticing was that me, Land [Orlando] and Hugo all used to do this thing where we'd all move at the same time, like unintentionally choreographed,' says Felix, when I meet him and his brother again a few weeks after the festival. 'You'd do two steps forward, stand still, three steps back, and you feel everyone do it at the same time. Like, weird, telepathic, synchronised. And here we were doing it again.' Falling unconsciously into step with one another without even speaking, he says, was 'so weird... even beyond the playing, like it was in your body somewhere'. Beforehand, though, 'I was f***ing nervous,' says Felix. 'And the TV thing really does heighten the whole experience.' 'You can't really get a more high-pressure scenario,' agrees Hugo. They'd been calm in the days leading up to it, but that changed on the day, explains his brother. 'Land had this thing in his head where he was saying randomly, sporadically, with no context, how nervous he was out of 10. So you'd be having a chat, and he'd suddenly go 'seven', and then half an hour later, it'd be 'six', and then 'nine'.' Nerves aside, the band were thrilled with how it went. 'I didn't come down from it for days,' says Felix. The set was capped by an appearance from Welch, now back with Felix, for a rendition of her galloping 2008 hit 'Dog Days Are Over'. 'It was a rehash of what we did together at the wedding,' says Hugo. 'As soon as she sings in a room, it changes. She has that thing where she changes the atmosphere in the inner space, and it's really rare.' The whole process was very different from the classic rock cliché of 'putting the band back together' – rebuilding relationships took time. 'We'd meet up with our kids on the South Bank,' says Hugo. 'Stuff that is so far from how we would have spent every day. After a year of not speaking or whatever, you know, you go for a coffee and walk for an hour. Hugo White: 'Florence has that thing where she changes the atmosphere in the inner space, and it's really rare' (Getty) 'Obviously, it's different now,' he adds, 'because Land lives in Lisbon, but things are just back to how they were. And there were years where it was like a stranger messaging you.' Of course, there have been seismic shifts in the musical landscape since The Maccabees formed in 2004 over a love of The Clash and the BBC series Old Grey Whistle Test, which featured punchy, angular performances by the likes of Dr Feelgood and XTC ('You can see why it looked fun to play fast,' says Felix). These days, the industry is 'less focused on bands', says Hugo. 'People are creating these things on computers. Because it's cheaper, it's easier. It doesn't require the same effort as five individuals that connect in a certain way to be able to create something.' Jarvis agrees. 'It's so much more expensive to just be a new band. Back when we first started, we'd chuck in a fiver each to go and spend four hours rehearsing, [but] that doesn't get you anywhere nowadays,' he says. 'I feel very sorry for the new bands because of that, and there's a lot less new bands. You really notice that – there are fewer venues, fewer nights out, fewer things going on for bands to form a scene.' As the fashions of the scene that spawned The Maccabees in the indie sleaze era made a comeback, Weeks saw his past life through a new lens. 'We must be far enough away from that moment to look back at those pictures with a kind of giddiness,' he says. 'The colours and the weird asymmetrical haircuts and plimsoles and acrylic Perspex dangly little earrings and all of those things that, at the time, didn't feel nearly as cool as looking back at photos of The Clash. But we're far enough away from it now that it owns its identity.' The tribalism of the era, when you could tell which aisle of HMV a person would head to just by their hairstyle, holds a romantic pull for the band. 'There was still so much DIY-ness about it all,' says Weeks. 'There was more of a look, a cohesiveness of aesthetic.' Felix recalls being at a metal bar in Camden recently, 'and they've all got a look. That made me feel really nostalgic and jealous thinking, oh, I can't remember being in a place where everyone's got this code that makes them all sort of connected.' Felix White (far left): 'We spent two and a half years in full-on mania making 'Marks to Prove It'' (Jill Furmanovsky) Though the average fan's taste may seem more diverse than ever, Hugo wonders if something was lost in the transition to pick-and-mix fandom in the streaming era. 'You used to buy one album and listen to that until you got another album. [Nowadays] you don't have to listen to one album.' He stops himself and laughs. 'Do they even listen to an album? You just dart between songs like social media, scrolling through things.' The Maccabees seem conflicted about social media generally – especially its demands for self-promotion. 'When Marks to Prove It came out in 2015,' Felix recalls, 'we had a long conversation about whether we should even put on the Instagram that the album's out. We spent two and a half years in full-on mania making this record and it was generally like, is it naff to say the album is out today?' 'When you think what kids like the young artists now are expected to do, it's just, like, mind-blowing in comparison to how things worked for us,' Hugo says. 'We were so fortunate to be able to make stuff as a group of people and not be in this constantly competitive environment.' 'Just being not part of promotion,' Weeks marvels. 'Yeah, it was always someone else in control,' says Doyle. 'Deliver the artwork and they would promote it by getting posters up or whatever it was,' adds Hugo. I'd love to have seen Nick Drake's Instagram. Imagine him asking people to swipe up and share Felix White The sort of 'savviness' that self-promotion requires was not what set them on their way, notes Weeks, picking out current bands he likes – Divorce, Caroline, and Black Country, New Road – who have 'accidental alchemy' but also manage to be engaging on Instagram, without having to lay bare their 'private, inner workings'. 'I'd love to have seen Nick Drake's Instagram,' says Felix, laughing. 'Imagine him asking people to swipe up and share.' It's clear that as they prepare to play All Points East, headlining a bill that includes Irish sensation CMAT and indie stalwarts Bombay Bicycle Club, laughter and good vibes have returned to The Maccabees. 'Everyone's in a good headspace and connecting with each other, and that's allowed it to be stronger,' notes Hugo. Which raises the question: will there be more music from The Maccabees in their forties? 'Do you think that means we would make better music or worse music?' asks Felix. It'll be a different stage of life, for better or worse, I reply. 'It'll be slower,' laughs Hugo. 'There's a good feeling about it,' Felix says, with a wry smile. 'It's tempting…' The Maccabees headline All Points East on 24 August in Victoria Park; last tickets are available here . Reissues of their albums 'Colour It In' and 'Given To The Wild' are released on limited edition vinyl on 22 August. You can pre-order here
Daily Mirror
39 minutes ago
- Daily Mirror
Molly-Mae Hague 'can't understand what she's done wrong' amid 'fall from grace'
EXCLUSIVE: Molly Mae has had a tough few weeks after being trolled for being 'out of touch' and now a PR expert has claimed that the Love Island star could be losing her 'golden girl' status Molly-Mae Hague broke down in tears last week after being slammed, yet again, for being 'out of touch' by fans. Now, a pr expert tells OK! that they believe the golden girl's popularity is on the wane and her star power could 'all be over'. The 26-year-old, one of Love Island 's biggest success stories with an estimated net worth of £6m, had claimed on of her vlogs that she's done 'nothing fun this summer, despite taking several lavish holidays posted on social media. Most recently, she headed off on a family trip in her £86K motorhome, after which she confessed she felt 'overwhelmed' and had a 'breakdown', when her daughter Bambi, 2, who she shares with partner Tommy Fury, was overtired and screaming for hours. While some sympathised with the challenges of travelling with a little one, others were quick to criticise Molly-Mae for complaining, pointing out her affluent lifestyle and frequent luxury vacations, labelling the influencer and entrepreneur 'tone deaf'. Our mole claims that such posts really upset the mum-of-one, and the negativity can bring her down. 'She does get upset that she's constantly in the firing line from the public, but she also doesn't understand why because she doesn't feel like she's done anything wrong. She works hard and is proud of what she's achieved.' The mum-of-one hit headlines recently when she complained in a YouTube video that she hadn't done anything fun over the summer months. 'I said to a friend the other day, that I'm going to make it to the end of summer having not done one fun thing,' she said to camera. 'I haven't a life. That's not good is it. Summer will end and I've not done one fun social thing.' Some fans, however, were quick to point out several of Molly's outings this year; including trips to Dubai, a holiday to Disneyland, a city break to Budapest, their recent motorhome holiday to the Isle Of Man and attendance at high profile events such as Wimbledon, before which she spent thousands of pounds at Christian Dior to wear to the tennis tournament. Hitting back at the trolling she has received in a recent video, Molly claimed that she 'doesn't' care' about the backlash, but said it does make her 'nervous' to talk openly with fans. 'I don't care who tells me I am out of touch with reality or all this stuff that's going on on TikTok at the minute, I don't care I'm not going to not talk about it. 'I feel like I don't want to talk about anything controversial anymore because in the last video I said some things I probably could have worded better and even with all the motherhood things I'm talking about at the minute, it's just a lot.' Never one to shy away from her struggles, Molly has admitted to having a tough time with Bambi in recent months. She said in one YouTube video, 'I'm having one of those toddler mum days, where I question, 'am I actually cut out for this?' 'Every single thing I try and ask her to do, she will not listen to me... She hasn't eaten in like three days because she is refusing to eat. I'm finding it really hard.' Adding that Tommy seems to take parenting more in his stride, Molly admitted that it's 'tough'. Speaking of the recent backlash, PR expert Lynn Carratt believes Molly Mae is definitely at risk losing her 'golden girl' status. She tells new: 'Some of the things that she's saying are coming across as out of touch with reality. "Molly was the sweet, girl next door on love island, and she had a true love story with Tommy which people really bought into and was very likeable. Men fancied her, girls wanted to be her. She came across as an inspiration. Now, she's flying all over the world on private jets and sadly, it's just not relatable anymore." Lynn continues: "In the last year or so, it seems like s he's been falling from grace - her days at the top of the showbiz pile could be over." "She shouldn't have to hide her lifestyle or money because she's earned it, but at the same time, we're in a cost of living crisis. People don't always want to see influencers flying across the world in private jets." 'It is really hard for Molly being a working mum, as it is for all working parents. And it is good that she's being open about her struggles. But she needs to really think about a PR strategy to bring fans back on side." Molly rose to prominence on Love Island in 2019, where she met Tommy Fury, also 26, and came second place with the boxer, whose brother is boxing star Tyson. After the show, she signed a major deal with e-retailer PrettyLittleThing, eventually becoming their creative director while working with brands like Beauty Works and creating her own fake tan business, Filter By Molly Mae. She then parted ways with PrettyLittleThing to build her own fashion brand, Maebe, launched last year. Now, she has a hit Amazon Prime docuseries currently filming for season two and resides in a multi-million pound home in Cheshire with her and Tommy's two-year-old daughter Bambi. The couple, who got engaged in July 2023, announced their shock split last summer, before getting back together earlier this year.
BBC News
39 minutes ago
- BBC News
Calls for Depeche Mode to be honoured in home town of Basildon
Fans of one of the world's biggest-selling bands have called for them to be officially recognised in their home Mode started out as a four-piece in Basildon, Essex, in 1980 before achieving global fame with their trademark electronic sound and brooding Quarton, lead singer with tribute band The Devout, said: "In Basildon, there should be some sort of mural or something that draws in tourism from around the globe to say magic was created here."Basildon Council has not responded to a request for comment. Quarton said: "Magic started here in this little town in Essex and it means a lot to millions and millions of people."Calls for official recognition come as a BBC Radio 4 documentary Depeche Mode: Reach Out and Touch Faith speaks to commentators and guests about the group's working class roots and remarkable journey as musicians. The band, originally called Composition of Sound, was formed by friends Andy Fletcher, Vince Clarke and Martin Gore before Dave Gahan was recruited performed for the first time as a four-piece at Nicholas School, now James Hornsby School in Laindon, Basildon, which Gore and the late Fletcher attended, with Clarke a former pupil at Laindon High Road School. The band, however, mostly live in the United States now and have been critical of their hometown in was quoted as saying: "I really hated Basildon. I wanted to get out as quickly as I could... I hear it's a pretty horrible place these days," while Gahan was quoted as saying: "All I remember about Basildon was that it was awful." Deb Danahay first became friends with Gahan at Barstable School, with Depeche Mode playing one of their first gigs at a party she co-hosted at Paddocks Community Hall, used to help run the Depeche Mode Information Service in the band's early days and was in a relationship for four years with Clarke, who left to launch Yazoo with fellow Basildon musician Alison Moyet and later Erasure with Andy Bell. Ms Danahay now takes dedicated Depeche Mode fans - known as Devotees - on tours of Basildon, built to ease post-war overcrowding in majority of visitors were from Europe, particularly Germany, and South America, she said."Most of them think they're going to come to the town centre and there's going to be statues of the band - they're really shocked [that there isn't]," she said. Ms Danahay, who lives in Canvey Island, said that while there was a plaque in James Hornsby School's sports hall to commemorate Depeche Mode's first gig, there was little else in the way of official recognition. On tours, she is limited to taking fans to a board outside featuring photographs of Gore, Fletcher and Clarke along with former pupils Alison Moyet, The Cure's Perry Bamonte, and Bob the Builder and Paw Patrol creator Keith appreciated giant portraits of the band members in the Towngate Theatre too, she said. As pioneers of the electronic sound inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2020, Depeche Mode and their peers were shaped by growing up in a new town surrounded by young people, Ms Danahay said."My parents... came from Dagenham and lots of Dagenham and East End people moved there," she said."They got a brand new house and the town centre wasn't even built then - and it's an analogy that I've heard, that it was because there were no old people... there wasn't people saying you shouldn't be doing this or that."We had so much freedom and didn't appreciate it because we thought this was how everyone's town was: the schools were brand new, everything was completely brand new. "It was just brilliant." Follow Essex news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X.
