Waiting for the night
When I’d meet Chesney Hawkes and his brother
Back in 1991 when I was 12 and my sister, Sarah, was nine, we were big fans of Chesney Hawkes. We loved him, reading all his interviews, talking about him endlessly and blasting out ‘The One and Only’ every break time at school.
Chesney was at the height of his fame. He’d been in a film, Buddy’s Song, which was accompanied by a soundtrack album featuring ‘The One and Only’. He’d reached number one in the charts and seemed destined for pop greatness.
Imagine our excitement when we realised he was coming to Sheffield. This was our chance to see him in real life and not just on TV and in magazines. There was a lot of discussion in our house about whether my sister should go to the concert. ‘Isn’t she a bit young to be chasing popstars?’.
After weeks of debate, she was allowed to join me and my friends as long as she promised to stay in her seat at all times and not go anywhere near the stage in case she was crushed to death in a Chesney Hawkes stampede. I, on the other hand, could do what I wanted—as long as I kept an eye on my sister.
On a school night in November 1991, we headed to Sheffield City Hall. Sarah took her fan girl status to another level, wearing the Chesney branded merch—a denim jacket with Buddy’s Song printed on the back. I was much more stylish in baggy jeans and a fitted but floaty white blouse from Select, a shop in Barnsley’s arcade.
I wanted to look my best so Chesney would pick me out in the crowd. I had permed hair at the time, but given my hair is naturally super straight, it used to take me hours of scrunching and defusing to get even a wave. That night, I went at it with gusto, flicking my fringe higher than ever before and using a full bottle of Alberto VO5 hairspray to keep it in place.
As soon as Chesney came on stage, I abandoned my sister and went to the front where I danced, sang, cheered and had the best night ever. I couldn’t believe I was so close to Chesney Hawkes. The one and only Chesney Hawkes! I didn’t get a smile or any acknowledgement, but I was there and that’s all that mattered.
Halfway through the performance, I glanced back to check on my sister, and I will never forget her beaming nine-year-old face. She was on her feet and dancing—but obeying orders and not coming to the front.
I remember thinking she would have been fine, but at the end of the night, Chesney’s brother Jodie (the drummer in the band) threw his drumsticks into the crowd and the girls surrounding me went wild.
I’d never been any good at PE, struggling to catch even a ball, but that night, I fixed my eyes on a drumstick and launched myself at it, jumping high, wrapping my fingers around the wood and pulling it to me.
I had it. I’d caught it.
Just as I was about to lower my arm, the other girls came at me, wide-eyed and shrieking. They grabbed the drumstick, grabbed my hair, and pulled. Not being brave or bold or confrontational, I loosened my grip and took cover. The drumstick was pulled away, never to be seen again.
In the 34 years since then, I’ve told this story lots of times to friends and family. It’s become the night of legend. The night I caught Chesney Hawkes’s brother’s drumstick and almost had my head pulled off.
I have always had a space in my heart for Chesney and Jodie Hawkes. Whenever I heard ‘The One and Only’ it brought back memories of good times, of being young and carefree. So, when my sister phoned earlier this year to ask if I wanted to see Chesney in Leeds, I didn’t miss a beat (see what I did there). ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I wonder if his brother will be on the drums.’
The venue was The Old Woollen in Farsley, not as grand as Sheffield City Hall, but better—an intimate setting and a lovely atmosphere.
My sister was straight into the merch (she’s always loved the merch), messaging 13-year-old Olivia (her daughter/my niece) to see if she wanted a Chesney T-shirt.
‘No, thank you,’ came the reply.
‘Are you sure? Or a mug or a denim jacket with Buddy’s Song on the back?’
‘No, thank you.’
I could see the look of panic on my sister’s face—there’s no way she could go home without buying something (that’s the shopaholic in her).
When the show started, I didn’t go to the front, preferring to stay with my sister. I made sure we had some space so we could dance and make a quick getaway if the women around us went wild.
The Old Wollen is a small venue, so even being at the back, I still had a great view of the stage—just not the drummer.
‘Is it Jodie Hawkes?’ I said, trying to glimpse the man behind the cymbals.
A few songs in, and Chesney introduced his band. His son, Indiana, was on guitar. There was a musician called Martin, and then it was the drummer.
‘This man has been with me since the beginning,’ Chesney said.
‘It’s him,’ I said to my sister. ‘It’s Jodie Hawkes.’ And my mind immediately went back to that night in Sheffield when I was denied the drumstick. If only I’d hung onto it—that really would have been a story worth telling. I began to wonder, what if I could get a drumstick tonight? My husband would find it hilarious if I returned home with the drumstick that has eluded me all these years. For the rest of the show, the what if question stayed in my mind.
We had a brilliant night—singing, dancing, laughing. It went too quickly.
Chesney got the biggest cheer when he acknowledged his determination to keep going with his music career.
‘I’ve now had three top forty hits,’ he said. ‘That’s persistence for you.’
It’s obvious he loves music and despite the way he was treated by the music industry and the public—cast aside in his early twenties and often ridiculed as a one-hit wonder—his passion for music has remained.
The resilience, the determination, the desire to keep going in a difficult industry—they’re all qualities I admire and for which I like Chesney all the more. I don’t know much about the music world, but my world—that of publishing—seems just as difficult and, at times, unkind. But if there’s something you love, you just have to keep at it. I love that he’s done that.
The last song of the evening was ‘The One and Only’.
‘I was going to make a little joke,’ Chesney said. ‘And tell you I wasn’t going to do ‘The One and Only’ but I don’t think I’d get out of here alive if I didn’t sing that song.’
Everyone in the audience, including my sister, took out their phones to record it. Not me. I was determined to enjoy the moment. I sang and danced, and Chesney pointed at me and gave me a wave.
‘He’s waving to me,’ I said to my sister. ‘He’s waving to me!’ It was like I’d regressed to my 12-year-old self.
It was such a fun night, made even more memorable when Chesney surprised us by doing a meet and greet. This was finally my chance to meet my teenage crush. But before that, I had some unresolved business with his brother.
Jodie Hawkes listened intently as I told him the story of that night in 1991. ‘And they pulled my hair,’ I said, making sure he was aware of the suffering I’d endured.
‘Do you want a drumstick?’ he said.
‘Yes, please. If you have one spare.’
And bless him, he went to rummage in his bag to find one.
‘I’m so glad this story has a happy ending,’ he told me.
The stick has clearly seen some action—so much it looks like it might be the one from 1991—which makes it even more special.
After that, it was time to meet Chesney, which is when I suddenly lost the ability to speak. I struggled to put a sentence together, letting my sister do the talking, but she was rambling on about how amazing his supporting singer was.
The three of us moved closer for a photo, at which point I managed to get out my words. ‘It’s really good to meet you.’
Chesney smiled. ‘It’s good to meet you, too.’
And then it was over. We walked away, my sister muttering. ‘Why did I go on about his support group so much?’
‘I don’t know. Why did you?’
I held on tightly to the drumstick as we left in case any middle-aged women rugby tackled me to the floor. We made it back to the car laughing and laughing, knowing this was a memory we’d have forever. That night in 2025 when I was 45 and my sister 42…
About me: I’m Liz Champion, a writer from Yorkshire, who loves dancing to Chesney Hawkes.
I think we know what will be rescued first if there was a house fire now??!
Now, that is a happy ending, dear Liz!