Frank Boswell entered the music industry after a stroke of bad luck.

He had bought a three-acre development plot in the heart of West Runton at the turn of the 1970s. The site included the Village Inn and the Pavilion - a vast ballroom to the rear of the pub.

The Pavilion was still hosting ‘strict-tempo dancing’ but attracted too few people to make it pay. So Frank laid grand plans to redevelop it. Local planners had other ideas, however, and a long wrangle ensued.

Unfortunately for Frank - but fortunately for local music fans - Frank lost.

“I thought, I’m stuck with this place. What am I going to do with it? I phoned up a friend in the music business and he said, why don’t you put on some pop bands? So I did. And I soon learnt.”

His first booking was The Rubettes, Glam Rock also-rans who had just topped the charts with Sugar Baby Love.

“They played me up something rotten,” shudders Frank, from his office at the edge of his kingdom.

“They found some tins of Vim and sprinkled it all over the dressing room. But they packed the place out and we actually made some money. I got a taste for it. I used to really enjoy seeing the youngsters enjoying themselves. It was terrific fun.”

Highlights over the years included Dire Straits, the Commodores featuring Lionel Richie, the Stranglers, Def Lep-pard and the night Jeff Beck turned up unexpectedly (“we didn’t know it was him we were booking”).
Even T-Rex played West Runton, supported by the Damned, bizarrely enough. It was March 1977 and the gig turned out to be Marc Bolan’s penultimate live performance before dying in a car crash six months later.

The Sex Pistols were probably Frank’s most influential booking. He brought them to Norfolk twice in fact, the first time to West Runton Pavilion in 1976, supported by the Damned.

“The punk wave had only just started. There were better bands, of course, like The Clash but when you are book-ing, you are booking on pulling power and The Sex Pistols were on the cover of the Melody Maker virtually every week.”

Frank Boswell: They were absolute manics. But probably all right blokes.

It was nine months since the band first formed and only their 10th performance outside London. Around 300-400 people turned up, Frank paid them around £100 and his impressions go like this:

“They were absolute manics. But probably all right blokes. Probably. They weren’t bad when you think they were an absolutely new band when they came to the Pavilion.”

His opinion of the band’s infamous manager, Malcolm McLaren, is less glowing and summarised in a single, anatomical, word.

“He still owes me fifty quid. He said he hadn’t got any money with him so I cashed him a cheque for £50. And it bounced. In general businessmen would have more conscience.”

For his second Sex Pistols promotion, Frank chose Cromer Links Pavilion, principally to avoid animosity amongst West Runton locals that might threaten his entertainment licence. The Links was “up in the woods” so there was less risk of aggro. Despite its glorious past, the venue had ceased to function by the time of the Sex Pistols gig on Christmas Eve 1977. There was no licence to sell alcohol so a temporary licence was arranged. Cans, rather than bottles, were chosen by Frank.

“It had become fashionable for people to throw things at bands. And Norfolk people are far too mean to throw a full can!”

The Links Pavilion had hosted many a great band in its time but none quite approached the hype and brilliant fakery of the Sex Pistols.
“Absolute mayhem” is how Frank describes it, though he wasn’t there on the night. He sent one of his team, Trevor Randall, to supervise and a number of his own “stewards” in case of trouble. Fears of violence proved completely unfounded, however, and the punk pioneers came and went in peace.

But why would a venue perched on the remote, inaccessible North Norfolk coast net such impressive bands – often playing for a lower fee than they could command elsewhere?

There are a number of factors, explains Frank. The venue was unusually large, yet far from the London limelight. This meant successful bands could perform, try out new ideas, and have a lot of fun safe in the knowledge that the music press reviewers and record company bosses would not be watching. This forged a healthy spirit of creativity and West Runton Pavilion became a notorious warm-up gig at the start of a tour or prior to a big London date.

“We used to do no end of first-nighters. It used to fit in well with their tours going north to Leicester, Sheffield and Newcastle.”

The fact that Norfolk audiences were relatively starved of gigs also helped. It meant they were particularly ener-gised and fun to play for.
“I used to watch every band, because of future bookings, and the audience was very enthusiastic,” remembers Frank. “Everyone got a terrific reception. That was another string to our bow.”

Frank’s fine sense of hospitality undoubtedly also played a part.
“We treated them well. We gave them beer and a proper meal afterwards in the restaurant – not egg and chips, we’d get a proper chef in. Throw a red carpet down for them and you get good treatment back.”

The Sex Pistols were just one of a great many punk nands to play West Runton Pavilion in the late 1970s. But, for Frank, punk was just another fad passing through the windswept village.

“We had a following for soul and rock on a Saturday night and Friday night was more for what I call ‘hair’ - bands like Caravan, Curved Air, Camel and Renaissance.”

There were plenty of pop acts too. Teen sensations The Bay City Rollers appeared once and parents from as far away as Newcastle and Hull ferried their children all the way down to Norfolk.

Now 66 and living in nearby Sheringham, Frank has a headful of noisy memories and a reputation as unwitting matchmaker: “It’s amazing how many people still come up to me and say, we got together because of you, or I met my future wife at the Sex Pistols gig.”

More about the Sex Pistols gig