Peter Batten writes about his obsession with jazz…

Have you ever been taken over, or possessed, by an obsession? I have. This is my story.

The trap was set in a way which I hardly noticed. In my final year at St Olave’s Grammar School in Southwark, my English teacher, Freddy Wickens, was laid low by a slipped disc. Once or twice I visited him at his home to discuss my University application. One afternoon, when we had finished and were having a cup of tea, he asked me if I knew anything about ‘Jazz’. I didn’t, so he played me a couple of recordings by Jelly Roll Morton. They were pleasant, but did not really stir my interest. I soon forgot them. About a year later I was on National Service in the Royal Air Force. This was quite a culture shock. I had not listened to much current popular music at that time; it was 1952. Now, I found myself among fellow airmen who were constantly listening to the radio for the records of Guy Mitchell, Kay Starr, Frankie Laine, Johnny Ray, and a host of others. It was awful. But one singer began to really annoy me. That was Doris Day. Little did I know that she was to prime the trap.
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