Some time last year I found myself at 10 Mathew Street. To tell the truth, I didn't really find anything awesome about the historic cellar club. The can of beer I bought from the bar had more than its fair share of alcoholic content and this made me feel more disenchanted with the place. By my second beer I started feeling a bit woozy. I can't remember how but all of a sudden, the place became warm (wasn't it Christmas?) and even more dingy and I was aware of a strange man in a suit and tie standing next to me who didn't seem to fit in at all.Eighteen greasy stones below street level, the three-arched tunnels that formed the club started writhing with teenagers. At least 200 youngsters I had strangely missed before were crowded into the narrow passageways, dancing, shouting, screaming hysterically and fainting with hysteria while they listened to the rock and roll being performed on the stage. In the central tunnel on a raised platform were four young men in leather pants and jackets.The man standingnext to me now stood in the shadows at the rear of the club, transfixed until their 45 minutes were over. He was visibly bowled over by the handsome moody drummer who I knew to be Pete Best, then the boyishly pretty guitarist, and finally the tall, skinny one who recklessly strummed the chords, nearly tearing his pants.At this moment, the deejay announced that Brian Epstein, the strange suit, was in the club. The owner of NEMS, the city's largest record store, had dropped by for a visit. The news was greeted with applause even as Brian eerily transformed into a statue strategically placed in the Cavern's Hall of Fame.The year is now nineteen-ninety-something but all around me in Mathew Street, time seems to have frozen, refusing to pass into a world where the Beatles don't physically exist. Opposite the Cavern Club, I drop by `The Grapes', where the Beatles went for a drink after or before a gig at the Cavern. This pub often had to throw out the traditionally rowdy Beatles to stop them from drinking attheir establishment and then the White Star at Rainford Gardens would be their next point of refuge. A typical old-style Liverpool pub, unchanged for many years where I have a pint of "Bass", John's favourite.I stroll into Penny Lane which is in my ears and in my eyes, full of fish and finger pies, the pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray, and though she feels as if she's in a play, she is anyway. The lyrics of the song actually refer to the bank and the barbershop at the top of the lane called Smithdown Place. Now let me take you down because I'm goin' to. Strawberry Fields, which though is not forever, is getting better all the time.Strawberry Fields, Beaconsfield Road, is a Salvation Army children's home, with an ancient rickety gate. As a child, the highlight of John's year was attending the annual garden fete. Can you see him swinging the gate? All these places and things tell you that the Beatles are alive if only you know where to find them.The Cavern Club has just staged theperformance of the millennium. But Paul seems to have forgotten that the Beatles have stopped playing here. That Sir McCartney performed here was an honour, I heard he also rocked to "Where did we lose the touch that seemed to mean so much? It always made me feel so free as a bird".But he needn't have, for the Fab Four never left. Listen carefully, can you hear the music? It never stopped at 10 Mathew Street.
