Bonham - John Bonham: the Powerhouse behind Led Zeppelin

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John Bonham 1948

After his impressionist phase, John returned to hitting everything that didnt move. This time it was with two drum sticks hed been given as a present. As I was still considered a part of the drum kit I had to keep on the move. Mum assured me that it was just a phase that John was going through and that hed soon grow out of it, which was all well and good but nobody had explained this to John. He never did grow out of it, but I became pretty nimble on my feet.

The advent of 1953 finally brought me the peace my young self had been yearning for; John started school. This left me feeling safe between the hours of nine and four and I could relax and enjoy my childhood without being one of Johns cymbals. Throughout our childhood we were very privileged, some might even say spoilt, thanks to our Grandads fair sized construction business of which Jacko was a part of. This meant three holidays a year and trips to the different building sites with Jacko. A young boys dream you might think, but these always caused me more grief because of Johns realisation, after watching Jacko hard at work, that things could be hit much harder using a hammer. And thus began Johns two future careers one as a carpenter, the other as one of the loudest drummers in the music business. But of course, all that was a long way off and we were still listening to 78rpm records on the gramophone, and listening to Childrens Favourites on the wireless. In those days, CD stood for Can Drums.

School was a very large old house in Worcester Road, Redditch called Wilton House Private School and consisted of three classrooms with three lady teachers and a matronly headmistress who, luckily for us, didnt believe in slapping young children if they were naughty. Over the next few years however, that belief would be pushed to the limit by an up and coming drummer and his brother.

By now wed moved from Hunt End into Redditch, so we were nearer school, which meant a short walk home through the town centre and down Easemore Road, where we lived. At the bottom of our road was another school. Given we were walking past this school in our alarming uniforms, taunts like, Still got yer jamas on then, came flying thick and fast. This, of course, was like a red rag to a bull to our John, and out of his mouth would come these fateful words, Come on our kid, lets get em. Now Im not putting our school down but I dont think theyd taught my dear brother how to count properly.

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John, Jacko and Mick

Either that or there was something wrong with his eyesight, as there was always a gang of them, and only two of us. This, needless to say, was the start of the Hard Fights.

School was way different back then, especially in the discipline department. Not wearing your cap whilst being in uniform would mean a severe lecture (nowadays known as a bollocking). This, I thought, did not apply to me. After all, I was a good boy, my Mum had told me so. That was until that dark and fateful day when, approaching the school gates, I realised I had forgotten my gloves. No big deal, you may be thinking, but on a sliding scale of one to ten in the punishment stakes, this was a two, or even a three. Tears began to flow, the bottom lip began to quiver. Even the backside tensed noticeably. Its at times like this that you realise how much your big brother really does love you, for without hesitation John handed me his gloves and marched into the school yard, hands open to the elements, like Daniel into the lions den. Boy did he get a bollocking!