The meeting resulted in the opening of the Cranford Jazz Club in the green painted hall with the corrugated roof, alongside the 'White Hart' in Cranford. As we all lived in Cranford, we decided to name the band after the River Crane which flowed through the village - 'The Crane River Jazz Band' - two trumpets, guitar and drums: some New Orleans band!

However, before long, John and Julian Davies, residents of Longford, some three miles away, turned up with a car full of instruments, including a banjo. The 'White Hart' never saw my guitar again after that night. John, a multi-instrumentalist, joined us on trombone, while Julian played sousaphone, later switching to string bass. Next came Monty Sunshine, who added just what was needed to the front line, and, later still, came Pat Hawes, whose fine piano playing fattened out the rhythm section beautifully.

Unfortunately, Ron had decided he wanted a taste of the modern scene for a while and left us, still the very best of friends. He eventually became part of the Ken Colyer/Chris Barber band, later moving on to Kenny Ball's jazzmen. We had drum problems for evermore after that, playing for a lot of the time without drums and occasionally with Bill on washboard as on the I'm Travelling recording from the 1951 Royal Festival Hall concert. Incidentally, I don't think sufficient credit has been given to Bill Colyer for the part he played in promoting the Cranes. His continual hustling and ear-bending of anybody in a position to do anything for the band, got us into the public eye (the first jazz band to appear on British television for example) and created the circumstances in which the band could perform over its short life of two and a half years, and become a part of British jazz history.

The end of the Cranes in its original manifestation was the result of some records made as an experiment, using a mix of musicians from the Cranes and the Humphrey Lyttelton band. They were such a success that many offers came in for the band to perform, including a twice weekly residence at The London Jazz Club, which later became the 100 Club.

After a lot heartsearching, it was decided to break-up the Cranes and I became a member of the Christie Brothers Stompers. The personnel on the first six of the recordings were Ken Colyer, Ian Christie, Keith Christie, Pat Hawes, Micky Ashman, George Hopkinson and myself, but when the break came, Micky and George decided against, and Denny Coffey came in on bass. Once again, I was in a rhythm section without a drummer. The date was June 1951.

Although the band was received extremely well wherever it performed, it was not long before doubts began to creep in as to whether the move had been the right one. Ken was getting uneasy; I think he felt he had taken a wrong turning down the road to the ideal band that he had in his head.

It happened sooner than expected; some three months from the band's inception, Ken said he was leaving to rejoin the Merchant Navy in the hope of getting to New Orleans. The Christies brought in Dickie Hawdon as a replacement, an excellent player from the Yorkshire Jazz Band who had come south and had been playing with Chris Barber's Jazz Band. About this time, Bernie Saward joined on drums. The sound of the band changed, of course, and was steadily moving away from the New Orleans style I personally preferred. Both Keith and Dickie were leaning towards a more modern style of playing and the future would see them both carving out enviable careers in the music profession.

I eventually became disillusioned with the whole music scene and stopped playing, my final job with the band being on the 7th April 1952 at the London Jazz Club. Over the next 20 years, I married my wife Dorothy, who was a Cranford girl that I had met at the jazz club there, was presented with two bouncing baby boys, now bigger than me, and inevitably drifted back into music, playing guitar in all sorts of bands.

I had met some of the Cranes over the years and had regularly been listening to Sonny play his weekly session at 'The Grey Horse' at Kingston, in the early seventies. He and I had always been pretty close; our friendship has lasted over fifty years, and is still going strong.

It was at one of these sessions that the idea of re-forming the Cranes was first formulated. I contacted each musician and everyone was for it. Only one problem: you've got it; no drummer. Colin Bowden, who was playing with Ken at the time, was suggested and welcomed by all.

We arranged for a night at 'The Grey Horse' and it was packed. What an atmosphere; I hadn't seen Julian for twenty years , but the band took off and it was like the 'White Hart at Cranford was only last week. So many people wanted to know where we were playing next. We had all enjoyed it so much that we decided we must do it again, not too often, just enough to make each job something to which we could look forward.

The highlight of my musical career, so far, happened during this period on a visit to Hamburg in 1973. We played at the Congress Centrum, an auditorium similar to our Festival Hall, as part of a concert called 'Hot Jazz in Britain Today,' with the Rod Mason/Ian Wheeler Band, Max Collie, Chris Barber and Humphrey Lyttelton. When we went on, the reception was overwhelming. I don't think the Cranes ever played better than that night.

The band continued to play from time to time over the years, including more visits to Germany, until our last job with Ken at 'The Manor House' in Nottingham in 1987. He had that day returned from a short holiday in the South of France and I remember when he was changing in the dressing room, thinking how well he looked. I told him I hadn't seen him looking so well for years, and he said he felt pretty good and how much he had enjoyed the warm sun in France. That was the last time I saw him, although I did talk to him on the 'phone before he returned to France. He sounded pretty bad.

There used to be a regular article in Readers' Digest (maybe there still is) called 'The Most Unforgettable Character I've Ever Met'; Ken would be mine. His life story reads like a film script; at his peak playing some of the most glorious jazz trumpet to be heard and, at his lowest, suffering the pain and distress of serious illness and seemingly throughout his life a victim of the frustration he felt, as crystallised in a quotation from his book, which he gave me years ago, New Orleans and Back; "-I was born about 50 years too late, the wrong colour and in the wrong country - a misfit-."

I have wondered whether he sometimes felt it was necessary to suffer in order to create great art, for there seemed to be so many times when he could have made things easier for himself. He seemed reluctant to allow anyone to get too close, even people who only had his welfare at heart. Maybe he had tried it and been hurt too often.

As a well known clarinet player once put it - "Ken was a disciple just like the rest of us." True I think, but he has left a far bigger shadow on jazz history than the rest of us will.

The Cranes decided to continue to play occasionally without Ken, but it was never the same, and we finally decided to call it a day with our last performance at Sand Bay in April 1992.

About two years ago, Sonny and I talked about getting a band together to play in the manner we talked of with Ken and the others back in the early days; about the whole band acting as a rhythm section, concentration on ensemble work, seeking the inner rhythms, dynamics, swing, lift, energy, passion; all the things we talked of for hours on end. We are still trying - Sonny Morris, Terry Giles, Bob Ward, John Sirett, Colin Bowden and me - "Sonny Morris and the Delta Jazz Band" - and I like to imagine that wherever Ken's spirit may be, it'll give a nod in our direction.