impsTALK.co.uk | 2007/2008 Features | On the Road with Stevie E

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On the road with Stevie E

impsTALK hack Adrian Gackweed gains exclusive backstage access to the Evans entourage and reports back from a show in Sussex….

The interminable grind of touring does funny things to people. During my time as a pretentious idiot writing complete shit for the NME (1986-present), I’ve seen some pretty outrageous things.

I was there in 1989 when Kris Guthrie, lead singer with shoe-gazing Ride-wannabes Gyroscope, tried to stir fry an oak tree in a giant wok after a show in Bristol. I was there at Reading 1993 when Annie Earcod, bassist with The Grand Designs of Gophers, cut off her own head backstage after overdosing on TaB Clear.

And I was watching in the wings at Wisbech 2000 when controversial US hip-hop star Third Da-gree Burnz was doused in kerosene and torched by Cat Power fans as he goaded them during an encore, only to be extinguished by security staff having suffered mere second-degree burns over 90% of his body. “Only a goddamn mutha-fuckin’ fool preaches shit to Cat Power,” his manager lamented at the time. “Dis mutha-fukka has bin’ on the road too damn long. It’s messin’ with his fuckin’ head.”

It’s a sentiment perhaps shared by ex-Boston boss Steve Evans - but then he is no stranger to life on the road. His latest tour, however, opens an entirely different front in his battle to rebuild a reputation shattered by his conviction a year ago at Southwark, relegation of his beloved Boston United, his personal involvement with the near collapse of the club and his new role alongside the most reviled people in non-league football – the Majeed brothers.

I’ve been lucky enough to be invited join the whistle-stop tour as it passes through deepest Sussex with a reading at St Joseph Primary. When I arrive at the school, I flash my pass to a heavy-set dinner lady and I am ushered backstage to class 7b. And it is there, surrounded by whiteboards, science kits and an inflatable skeleton, that I find Evans with a cold flannel over his head, surrounded by make-up artists clutching top brand mascara, blusher and lip gloss.

His brother Gee sits in the corner, loudly sacking various staff at bars as he anxiously scans a spreadsheet on a laptop. In the other corner stands a life-size cardboard cutout of Stockport County badboy Antony Elding surrounded by scented candles. Near the rear of the room, a man with a gleaming crown is polishing a table.

Evans’ new position as role model for young children has come as something of a surprise to those who believe him to be nothing more than a dishonest crook. As well as incredulous Boston fans pouring scorn on his tour of the schools, more local critics have been forthright in their sometimes acerbic opinions, none more so than important school governor Maureen Grogfret-Fishhead.

St Joseph RC

Grogfret-Fishhead withdrew her five year old daughter Tabitha from the readings, telling the local newspaper: “Although Mr Evans might not abduct, rape, torture, asphyxiate, dismember and then eat my child, I see no tangible difference between inviting him or, say, Michael Barrymore to read to a hall full of infants. It’s outrageous. What next? Asian teachers?”

She found no shortage of sympathisers. Down here, Evans certainly will not easily shake off his image as football’s answer to Al Capone. With ten minutes until the reading, I introduce myself to him and discuss the governor’s comments. He listens, shaking his head, his cheeks getting redder – although that might be the blusher.

“Look,” he says, finally. “Steve Evans is a changed man. And I know Steve Evans said that in 1999, and 2001. And 2002. And 2003, and 2004. And 2005, And a bit in 2006. But this time Steve Evans really means it. He really does. Steve Evans is different now. He’s learnt from all his mistakes.”

I ask him which mistakes, exactly.

“Steve Evans hasn’t made any mistakes, you cabbage,” he says. “That’s my point. Steve Evans only mistake was not to make any mistakes. That’s what the judge said. Those were his exact words.”

No they weren’t, I begin - but suddenly there is a hand on my shoulder. It's tour manager Michael Chinn. "That's enough sunshine," he grunts. In the corner, Gee is now frantically sacking a barmaid, gabbering into his mobile. Evans picks up his copy of 1001 Fairy Tales for Toddlers, and brandishes it at me threateningly.

“Today’s the biggest day in the history of St Joseph RC Primary School,” he declares. “It’s massive, for the kids, for the teachers, the caretakers and the bloke with sweaty palms loitering near the gates. Today they’re going to have a story read to them that they could only have dreamed of six or seven years ago.”

And with that, the buzzer sounds. It’s show time.

Evans strides into the main hall, and the teachers tell the children to stand. Gee Evans starts clapping in the corner, and the children follow. Gee starts cheering. The children follow. The teachers lose control, Evans lapping up the adulation. After a few moments the children settle and Evans begins reading.

“Steve Evans wanted to read from Dostoyesvsky’s Crime and Punishment, but Steve Evans has to work with what the headteacher has given Steve Evans,” he tells the infants. “At the local comp down the road, they’ve got kids with five or six times the brainpower of you lot. But Steve Evans will try his best. That’s what Steve Evans does.”

He opens the book of fairy tales and begins reading. The first story is Repunzel and the youngsters gawp at Evans as he readds from the book, hanging on his every word.

"When he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid," reads Evans, "for he saw the enchantress standing before him. 'How can you dare,' said she with angry look, 'descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief?'"

Evans pauses. After a moment's silence, he asks: "Why do yous wee ones think the man got into trouble for climbing the wall?”

"He's stealing food!" a child cries.

“But is he?" Evans asks. "Is he really? I think you're wrong, ye wee numpty! He did what he did for the love of his wife. There was no personal gain. Those were the judge's exact words. His only crime was to turn a blind eye to the fact he didn't own the enchanted garden and to the fact he had to climb a very high wall to get to the food that wasn't his. He’s only five percent guilty in my eyes, I’ll tell yoos now.”

A teacher coughs uncomfortably. A six foot man built like Fort Knox moves over to sit next to her. "It's ok," he whispers to a parent. "I'm her brother."

Evans again offers his own interpretation of his next story, the Emperor's New Clothes, to the children.

“The moral of the story is that no matter what the Emperor was or wasn't wearing, the reports of the Emperor's new clothes got his land a LOT of media attention and coverage on the television," he tells the children. "And that whether he was wearing clothes or not wasn't the real issue, but that the time he had been Emperor of the land was probably the most prosperous time the land had ever experienced, making him the greatest ever in the history of the land.

“The Emperor turned down loads of offers to rule other lands, many with a much higher GDP than the one he was the running, and with natural resources he could only dream of having access to.

“There was nothing wrong whatsoever with the Emperor resigning his throne just thee weeks later only to move to a new country and claim that, deep down, this was the country he had always wanted to be ruler of, and how all the previous Emperors had just been clowns."

With story time over, the focus moves to the floor as the children are encouraged to ask questions of the great man before them.

"What do you want to be when you wee bairns grow up?” he asks.

“I want to be a footballer!” one small boy shouts.

"Guy Madjo has a pulled hamstring" - Evans receives bad news from Crawley staff during school reading

"That's sweet," Evans says. "But it takes a lot of hard work to be a footballer. Lots of hard work. What's your name?"

"Daryl!" the little boy cries.

“Aye,” he says. “I knew a Daryl once. He was like ma wee laddie….” He tails off.

Another hand shoots up. “My dad says you’re a fat cheating criminal who exhibited a flagrant disregard for UK law, not to mention a brazen contempt for the spirit in which football should be played,” comments Beyonce Bean, 6.

“Yoos dad is a nugget,” replies Evans, nodding at Gee to ‘deal’ with the problem in the playground during break. And with that, the show is over. The children file out. I find the star in buoyant mood backstage.

“Did you see the looks in their eyes when Steve Evans read the bit about the enchanted island?” he babbles. “Did you? And when the princess died, there were at least three of them crying. It could have been eight or nine. That’s how powerful a storyteller Steve Evans is. Steve Evans even got a standing ovation? Did you see that? A standing ovation!”

Tomorrow it’s another new school, another new town. Soon Evans will be taking the show national. He can’t wait. It’s just the beginning.

“We’re thinking of opening a new academy," he tells me as he packs his bag. "A Steve Evans School, in Crawley. Gee can take PE on Brighton beach, Jim can take business studies. Steve Evans will take citizenship."

And with that, he is gone - on to another school, another date. Now the school rests.