There is one group who were omnipresent and pivotal during the poppiest years of the British 70s, one group who were always there, who never missed a beat. One group who were always on Top Of The Pops. One group who always made a splash.
Pan’s People – Babs Lord, Dee Dee Wilde, Ruth Pearson, Andrea Rutherford (later replaced by Cherry Gillespie), Louise Clarke (replaced when she left to get married by Sue Menhenick), and choreographer Flick Colby. Every – and I mean every – schoolboy knew that line-up and could recite it like it was their football team. “A handful of very dishy, very dolly dancing birds,” as they were described in 1974. To which I can only concur.
How many people do you think tuned in to TOTP just to watch Pan’s People? Taking a ball park figure, I’d say about 40 per cent of the viewers. At the time, Pan’s People were astonishingly sexy, astonishingly ravishing. It was, in the most literal of senses, a turn-on. There they were, every week, dancing their little socks off, giving, just giving . . .
To get a gauge of what it was like, put yourself back in 1972. There’s Top Of The Pops – and nothing else. There’s no Chart Show, no other TV show. There’s no MTV, no VH-1, no anything. There are no pop videos. There’s just Top Of The Pops and cheesy groups miming along to their cheesy hits.
Top Of The Pops was incredibly powerful. Looking back, it’s difficult to imagine quite how influential it was – It was like the youth club where everyone went to see what was happening and the DJs were like trendy scoutmasters, old geezers who tried to pretend that they were one of us when we all knew that they would inform on us to our parents given half the chance.
Even then, we knew that the DJs were a dreadful bunch, interested in only themselves, thinking they were the pop stars when really they were just cringingly embarrassing.
Jimmy Saville, Tony Blackburn, Noel Edmonds, Ed ‘Stewpot’ Stewart, Kenny Everett, Peter Powell, Kid Jensen . . . Forget it. They were dreadful characters. So dreadful that they haven’t been exhumed by the ravenous kitsch machine. The funny thing is, as the decade progressed, they got worse! Contemplate these three terrifying words: Dave Lee Travis. (Sorry about that).
Dreadful as the DJs were, it didn’t stop TOTP from being absolutely unmissable. Everyone watched it and if you didn’t watch it . . . well, you just did. You couldn’t not watch. And one of the best things about TOTP for all teenage boys (and their dads) was Pan’s People.
Pan’s People were in the show where the pop videos would be now. There’d be a group who wouldn’t come on, maybe they were Americans or on tour or too busy, so what were they going to do to illustrate the song? TOTP could play the song but what could they do about the visuals? Send for Pan. So Pan and her People would come on and do a dance.
And they were incredibly sexy, incredibly . . . vibrant. Their little syncopated steps and that cute finger wagging to the camera thing that they did. The flowing limbs and hair, the clothes wafting around their bodies, the skirts that were always, always split up the sides, the tassels that hung down over the exposed bits, cheekily giving a glimpse of the land beyond as they swivelled and swirled and danced and played.
We used to sit there and try and guess what song they’d have Pan’s People dance to. Mud? Nah, they’ll be in the studio. Sweet. Nah, they’d also be there.
And so you’d think of some American soulster who’d be too busy doing Soul Train in America which we knew was a brilliant show, but we never saw it. We once saw Bowie doing Young Americans on it and he was brilliant and it was brilliant. Top word, brilliant.
But Pan’s People, you’d always want them to be dancing to a fast song, something that they’d do a lot of the old swivelling and swirling to, and by and large they would. Every so often they’d dance to some soft ballad and it would be soooo disappointing, soooo disappointing.
They’d just waft around in these full-length chiffon things, trying to look all ethereal and sensual, but . . . listen, I don’t know how to phrase this. Let’s be bold. You never saw anything. There. Said it. We wanted hot pants and skirts with slits and tassels, not nonsense long chiffon things.
Pan’s People. It’s got to be said, there was an element of the underwear section in the mail order catalogue (if you know what I mean) to Pan’s People.
When I was a young lad, I used to send away for mail order catalogues (in my mother’s name, stupid) and then I’d be really cool when they came, not say anything. Invariably, my mum would open them and have a look. She’d never buy anything, but she’d look. When she went, I’d go and sneak a look at the underwear section. Pre-teen soft porn. Well – and, listen, we’re being honest here – there was an element of that in Pan’s People. An element? Not ‘arf.
Everyone had their favourite PP and they always did that looking at the camera – just at you – bit, and it was all a huge come-on. They each had their own colour, their own moves. They each had their own tics, little things that they’d do, that the others wouldn’t.
“Pan’s People – ‘The name? We got the name from Pan, the goddess of dance” said Ruth.
“It was electric and thrilling and I have wonderful warm memories,”‘ said Dee Dee, “For a young girl it was the best job in the world. We were in the public eye, at the top of our profession and admired by millions. We all had a great time in the Sixties and Seventies.
‘I can remember being in that small intimate studio with Stevie Wonder and it was magic. But it was also quite lonely as well at times. Men were keen to look but they wouldn’t come near us”.
“We were so glamorous they thought we were unapproachable. And men will never approach a group of women, especially a loud, attractive group of young women.”
Flick Colby (pictured at left with Jimmy Savile), the only American in the gang, said, “We were always much more than a dance team. We were a group, except that we didn’t sing. We were just kinda like session musicians.”
“We just got together because we all liked dancing. We just wanted to go out and start leaping around, so we did. As a dance group, Pan’s People always had something to say, and that was always reflected in our dancing.” Er, yes. Know what you mean, Flick. Sweet Flick. Always a way with words.
In 1974, she said this: “The girls were all picked because they were good dancers, although good looking girls obviously help any group along. The more they dance, the more sexy they are to watch. But Pan’s People have never been ‘teasers’. We’ve never tried the alluring technique.” ‘Course. “Of course we were sexy,” said Ruth. ‘Young girls are sexy.”
Kitsch is something that it’s impossible to be at the time that you’re doing it. You can only be kitsch in retrospect. Mostly that’s absolutely true, but – and I don’t know how they pulled this off – Pan’s People managed to pull off the unique trick of being contemporarily kitsch. There was a naïve charm that was innocence. What were they? Twenty?
And now Babs talks about her daughter’s boyfriend asking her for a picture so that he can show his mates. “My daughter’s boyfriend wants a picture of her mum!?” And Ruth talks about being at a party and sitting next to Paul McCartney and who’s that walking past? Why, it’s Mick Jagger.
Pan’s People were perfect. Gorgeous gals in a pre-silicon age, they could have been you. So what were they like, all those parties? What was it like, backstage at Top Of The Pops? Was it a laugh? Ruth looked said, “Was it a laugh? It was such a laugh I can’ tell you.” So, go on, what happened? “‘I’d tell you, but to be honest, I can remember going out to lots of parties, but I can’t really remember the detail.” You had a good time then. “Oh, yes. It was fun.”
When Pan’s People disbanded, most of the girls left their dancing behind to raise families and pursue other careers. Babs married actor Robert Powell and spent many years involved in fundraising (including taking part in the Round the World Yacht Race). Dee Dee also married and set up her own dance studio. Ruth settled into working in local government, and Louise devoted her time to raising her family.
However, some of the girls remained involved in the production of TOTP – Flick Colby remained as the choreographer, manager and director for each of the three replacement dance acts, with Ruth Pearson co-managing Legs & Co and Cherry Gillespie and Sue Menhenick performing with Ruby Flipper.