Chicken Soup for a Beatles' Soul
Late September, 1968
During the "White Album" sessions
Paul entered the studio from the front street entrance on Abbey Road. He paused to give a brief wave to the scruffs out on the street before going inside, allowing the door to snick shut behind him. He smiled to himself at the squeals and shouts that his attentions caused.
Proceeding up the stairs inside the entryway, he gave a nod to Harold, the security man on duty this day, then gave the same to Karen, the receptionist behind her desk up on the main foyer; Karen looking up at him with a beaming smile in return.
He headed down the long corridor towards Studio Two. Inside, he saw Richie and Mal seated at a small card table in one corner of the quiet studio, the only noise in the room coming from the soft play of their card game. Both of them looked up as he came in, giving him a nod and a small wave of greeting.
"Am I the first one here, then?" Paul asked, looking up towards the empty control booth above them.
"I'm here. Mal's here." Richie responded quietly, meeting Mal's eyes with a smirk. Neither of them missing Paul's unintentional slight.
Not entirely oblivious to their humor at his expense, Paul shrugged out of his jacket.
"George said he might come in. Any word from him ?" He asked.
"He called begged off claiming he had a late night. Not feelin' too well I guess. Said something' about pukin' all night." Mal spoke through the ciggie between his lips. Laying his cards down in front of Ringo, he declared "Ha! Gin!"
"Ya dirty bugger! That's three for three !" Rich said, disgusted, watching as Mal pulled a small pile of coins in his direction with far too much relish, in Rich's opinion.
"Too bad. Hope he's OK. I don't suppose there's any word from John?" Paul asked with some trepidation.
" Uh John called. Said sorry..that he had other plans for today." Mal said in a tone that made it clear to Paul that those hadn't been John's exact words. Paul thought he could just hear John's real remarks "You tell that fuckin' arsehole McCartney I'm not coming all the way in to town so I can sit there as sideman for one of his bloody Burlesque tunes."
"All right then." Paul sighed heavily. "There's not much we can really do here without the others. What do you say we just pack it in today? It's too nice to sit inside anyway. Anybody fancy a drive out to Esher? Thought maybe I'd go see about George."
"Not for me, but be sure and give 'im me best regards and remind 'im to ring me if he needs anything. I guess the wife's out of town and all." Mal said, stubbing his ciggie out and reaching for his jacket. "Thanks for the brass, son!" He winked at Richie.
" My pleasure, I'm sure." Rich sneered sarcastically.
"What about you, Rich? Feel like a drive out to the 'burbs and go check in on our Beatle buddy?" Paul asked.
"Sounds great Paul, but you go. It is a nice day. If we're not doing any work here, I think I'd just as soon spend some time with the wife and kiddies. Fast as they're growin' these days, won't be long before the idea of spendin' time with Mum and Dad won't appeal quite so much. But you tell George I said hello and I'll ring 'im up later, right?"
"Sure, I'll do that. You give my regards to Mo." Paul said quietly. Seems like nobody was much interested in spending time with him these days. But they sure couldn't spare too much of their concern for George, he noted.
Where was that concern when he'd had a touch of flu himself a couple weeks back? Not even one phone call...not even from Mal. Well, I'm a better friend than that, Paul thought. I'll go check on George and give him all their bloody greetings and words of concern. Hell, I'll even take him some chicken soup! That ought to show him! Him begging off and pretending to be sick just so their paths wouldn't have to cross...he was as bad as Mal and Richie in there!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Paul arrived at George's place in Esher, a richly landscaped and quiet section on the outskirts of London nestled in the so-called stockbroker's belt. Paul wasn't surprised to find the gates to George's drive open, as he seldom felt the need to close them. Not too many gate birds or scruffs this far out in the suburbs. They seemed to prefer the areas with more action such as St. John's Wood, the location of Paul's own house and its close proximity to the Abbey Road studios located near by.
"This is a surprise! You came all the way out here on your own?" George asked, answering the door to find Paul standing on his doorstep.
"Yeah, heard you were sick, so I brought chicken soup. Isn't that what you do when someone's ill?"
"Uh yeah, I guess. Ta." George said, taking the container of warm liquid from Paul's outstretched hand. He wondered at Paul's sarcastic tone, not exactly friendly in spite of this seemingly friendly gesture. Paul seemed upset about something, as though he had something on his mind. George wasn't sure he wanted to explore that territory with Paul today. When Paul was upset, things could get pretty nasty fairly quickly. But still he had come all the way out here to bring him chicken soup, after all.
"You want to come in? Pattie's not here, but I can put the kettle on."
George's offer of tea and hospitality caught Paul off guard as George patiently held the door open for him. He felt a pang of guilt for his earlier suspicions. But his feelings still a little raw from the snub by Mal and Rich back at the studio, he paused a long moment before crossing George's threshold as his own insecurities worked overtime.
"We missed you at the studio." Paul's mood couldn't keep a slightly accusatory tone from his voice but he regretted it when he saw George flinch at his tone.
"I told Mal I was under the weather and wasn't coming in. Didn't he tell you?" George responded evenly.
"Mal said you were pukin' all night." Paul said, only then taking in George's disheveled appearance, bare feet and morning stubble.
"Good old Mal, always could keep private matters private. Look, it's a bit chilly with the door open, c'mon in before we catch our deaths." George punctuated his words with a well timed sneeze. With a small smile, Paul proceeded past George and on into the living room. George followed behind him after pulling the door shut.
"So you really are sick then?" Paul asked with some concern.
"Yeah, well, just a stomach bug or some such. Nothing serious. Why? What did you think?"
Paul suddenly found himself wondering why he'd thought that driving out here to confront George was such a good idea. George didn't deserve his pent-up frustration. Yet, here he was, standing in George's living room. He owed him at least some explanation.
"I don't know what I thought, George. I don't even know what I was thinking coming all the way out here like this. I guess I thought you were stayin' away on purpose. I thought maybe you didn't want to be there if I was there." Paul looked up, his expression hoping George would deny it.
George just shook his head and said, "In all honesty, there have been days I've felt like that, especially if it's you and John together. But today I really wasn't feeling too awfully well, so I decided to lay low instead. So what really brings you here, Paul? You couldn't possibly have driven all the way out here just to bring me soup, or was there something else on your mind?"
"I thought I had good reasons when I headed out here, but I think the main one was to just get in the car and go, you know what I mean? I just needed to get away. But now seeing that you really are sick and I show up here uninvited, keeping you from your bed, talking nonsense, I feel like an idiot!" Paul just shook his head, unable to look George in the eye.
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you came. It's a little too quiet here on my own anyway. What say we have a cuppa, alright? We haven't had much of a chance lately to just chat, you and me. Besides, it's easier when it's just the two of us, always has been. You don't have other plans, do ya?"
No, Paul thought, that would be John with other plans. Paul was touched by George's kindness, his reaching out to him as he was. So like George, on his own, away from John's influence and the hostility that permeated the studio, or anywhere when it was the four of them together. He'd been prepared to be pissed off at George when he'd started out, but now, George's concern for his own state of mind nearly undid him. Paul must have shown his discomfiture on his face and was startled when George placed a concerned hand on his arm.
"Paul? What is it, are you okay?"
"Go put the kettle on, George. I'll be all right in a minute. That cup of tea sounds really good." Paul murmured in a tight voice. George looked at him uncertainly, but Paul nodded at him, a small smile through reddened eyes.
It was getting more and more like this lately. He'd let his emotions get the better of him and start feeling paranoid and then find himself reacting defensively in ways that he'd never intended. He didn't enjoy being hurtful, but he was fairly certain that John, at least, had no such reservations. Well, this wasn't John standing before him, it was George. Sweet gentle George who'd always taken so much more of both his and John's grief over the years and still just as generous and easy going as he'd always been. Paul remembered that earlier he'd declared himself a better friend than the others and now found that he was the one in need of George's friendship and it humbled him deeply to realize that George was the better friend after all.
"Sorry about that, out there." Paul said sheepishly, entering George's homey kitchen and leaning his back against the kitchen counter while George turned the heat up under the tea kettle on the stove. " It's just been kind of hard lately, you know? It's as though I'm always on the outs with somebody no matter which way I turn, and here you are, being so kind and I'm being such a shit."
George looked up at Paul with a skeptic frown, but nodding his understanding, encouraging him to go on. He opened a packet of tea and scooped some into a teapot before adding the water from the kettle. After some minutes he slid a steaming cup towards Paul and gestured towards the milk and sugar on the counter.
Paul poured milk into the cup and stirred his tea slowly, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. "I used to have such confidence with what I was doing, but lately I just don't know where I fit in anymore. I can't talk to anyone, it seems, without fear of having my words being taken wrong which tends to make people a bit standoffish." Paul stated ruefully. "I guess I'm feeling sort of left out of things. It just seems as though lately it's been the three of you and then there's me." He looked up into George's face hoping for some sign of understanding and was surprised to see George's face lit with a rueful grin of his own.
"You're joking, right? See, I thought it was the three of you and I was the one out of the loop. Well, John's on the outs with everyone all the time anyway. It's him and Yoko against the world these days, isn't it? He gets all pissy with you and you handin' it right back at him. It just eggs him on until it gets bloody insane sometimes! Rich can just let it roll off his shoulders. I used to be better at that in the old days, but I can't always do it so well anymore. It wears a body down! So I stay away if I can get away with it. So truthfully, I suppose if I'm feelin' a little left out in the cold, it's mostly my own doing."
"No, you've got it wrong, George. You're not out in the cold. They fuckin' love you. Every one of 'em sent their best regards and said they'd call you and check in on you. I could fall off the face of the earth and it wouldn't matter to that lot. I'm sure that would please John, at any rate."
"Yeah, but Paul you're the only one who cared to drive out here to see me. You don't see them here, do ya? Whatever your intentions were for coming to see me today, for good or bad, you made an effort for a friend. And the effort alone signifies that you care, so it doesn't matter what others think of you. It's your actions that say something about your character."
Paul stared into his cup of tea as George spoke. He realized that it was true, that no matter what his reasons were, or his real motives, it really didn't matter. He'd turned to a friend when he needed one himself. And being here, talking like this to a friend, he was already starting to feel better. So anything else didn't matter anymore. And it was all owing to a bowl of chicken soup!
George leaned over the container of soup sitting on the counter next to him. He smiled as he inhaled the delicious aroma. "Where'd you get this? It smells really good."
"There's a Jewish delicatessen in Maida Vale that cooks up kettles of it. They sell it as Jewish penicillin." Paul spoke, watching George open the top of the container and inspect the contents with an approving nod. "I never expected you to eat it, George. I know you' re trying to shun eating animal flesh and all that, but the idea of chicken penicillin seemed appropriate for someone begging off with claims of not feeling well. I guess I meant it as a way to make a point of some kind."
"Well, let's think about this for a minute. In one of the books I've been reading, it says that all living creatures have an earthly purpose that must be fulfilled so their souls can move on to a higher plane. So what's to say that the chicken who gave his all for this bowl of soup wasn't fulfilling his own earthly purpose by being here in this particular bowl of soup? I mean, it's quite possible that it was meant all along for this bowl of soup to end up at my doorstep today delivered by you! And if that's the case, it would be more sinful to not eat this soup than to shun it simply because he's in there!"
George's grin left Paul doubting that his convoluted rationale might actually reflect his book's philosophies. Still, his words did make some bit of sense.
"What is it you're trying to say, George?" Paul laughed.
"I'm saying you've probably done some real good here without even knowing it. You've probably already assisted this dead bird's soul along to that higher plane just by bringing this soup to me. And no matter how the gesture was intended, it brought the two of us together today. We've had a cup of tea, a little chat and now we'll have some chicken soup! So grab a spoon, and we'll help this bird along his journey!" George laughed as he poured the soup into a pan and placed it on the stovetop to reheat it.
Paul supposed that it did make some sense in an off-handed way, but George's friendly smiles and their shared laughter had gone a long way to raise Paul's spirits and he couldn't help but wonder at the truth behind George's rationale. They had been brought together today by unknown forces and who were they to question the reasons or motives behind it? The end result being that they had touched on a reminder of the friendship that had existed between them from a time before they were Beatles, one that still proved itself to be a strong bond that could be counted on in the troubling times that came with the job of being Beatles. And Paul was especially enlightened by the knowledge that even something as small as the gesture of the giving of a bowl of soup could do wonders towards the healing of one's own soul.
