The emergence
King Mojo was a short-lived but highly influential teenage club operating in Sheffield during the mid-1960s. It emerged at a moment when young people were beginning to assert their own cultural identity through music, style and social spaces of their own. Although its lifespan was brief, the club became one of the most important early catalysts for modern youth culture in the city. Its roots can be traced through earlier venues – namely the Black Cat and Blue Moon Club – and the landmark promotion of the Beatles at the Azena in Gleadless.
Music, style and identity
King Mojo was closely associated with the developing mod scene and the growing popularity of soul and, later in its life, flower power. It offered young people a place to hear new sounds, dress sharply and be part of something that felt modern and distinct from the post-war culture of their parents’ generation. Rather than fitting neatly into rigid subcultures, the club reflected a moment of transition, when tastes were evolving quickly and influences from London and the United States were beginning to reach Sheffield.
When new music found its way north
The venue emerged from a hunger among Sheffield’s young music fans to hear something new, authentic and alive. Inspired by early ITV broadcasts from the Manchester station, which showcased performances by emerging Black American musicians, a generation of teenagers found their ears opened to sounds rarely heard elsewhere.
Sheffield’s young audiences were acutely aware of what was happening in London, but the cost and effort of travelling south put most of it out of reach. That changed when Peter and Geoff Stringfellow brought the London scene to Sheffield. Suddenly, world-class performers — many at the very forefront of soul, R&B and beat music — were appearing on a small stage at 555 Pitsmoor Road.
King Mojo didn’t just reflect a scene — it created one, giving Sheffield its own place in a fast-moving musical moment that would leave a lasting mark on those who experienced it and see many of the artist go on to global fame.
The Stringfellows and the Mojo vision
The club played a formative role in the early careers of Peter and Geoff Stringfellow, long before their later prominence in British nightlife. Their ambition and understanding of what young people wanted helped transform King Mojo into a venue with a reputation that travelled well beyond its immediate neighbourhood. The club became known not only for its music, but for the atmosphere and sense of belonging it created.
Legacy and memory
Despite closing nearly six decades ago, King Mojo remains a powerful reference point in Sheffield’s cultural history. For those who experienced it, the club represented independence, confidence and the thrill of discovering something new. Its legacy lives on through personal memories, archive material and its recognised place in the story of how Sheffield’s modern music and nightlife culture began to take shape.
Pink Floyd At The Mojo All-Dayer
By 1967, Peter Stringfellow had begun experimenting with all-day events at the Mojo. Financially, Sundays made sense. Touring bands could be booked more cheaply as they passed through the city on their way to other venues.
One of the most memorable of these all-dayers took place in May 1967, when Pink Floyd arrived in Sheffield at the height of their early, psychedelic phase.
Dave Manvell had been at the club the night before and was asked to return early the next morning to help set up.
“I arranged to meet my girlfriend at the shops on Burngreave Road, but she was late. Anxious to get to the club, I made my way up the hill on my own.”
When Dave arrived, the band were already inside preparing for the show.
“When I got there, Pink Floyd were setting up.”
What followed was unlike anything most Sheffield audiences had seen before.
Building The Mojo Light Show
Dave remembers Susie Gawler-Wright, the band’s special effects artist, attempting to build the now-famous light show inside the club.
“Susie was perched precariously on a pair of steps trying to set up projectors and mix oil slides for the light show.”
The task was made even more difficult by the Mojo’s sprung dancefloor, which shifted underfoot as people moved around.
“As the Mojo floor was sprung, it moved every time someone walked on it. The trestles and steps looked like they might come crashing down at any moment.”
Dave stepped in to help steady things.
“I went over to try and hold the whole construction steady while she mixed the oil and water pouches for the slide projectors.”
When the band finally took to the stage, the result was extraordinary.
“Pink Floyd played against a backdrop of oil slides — a psychedelic mix of shapes and colours bleeding into one another, filling the room.”
For those inside the Mojo that day, it was a full sensory experience.
“The group and the crowd were alive with a wash of colour and sound.”
From Mojo to King Mojo
When the club first opened, it was simply known as the Mojo.
That was the name used by those who went there at the time – “going to the Mojo” became part of everyday language among Sheffield’s young music fans. It reflected a place built around rhythm and blues, sharp fashion and a tightly connected scene.
The addition of “King” came later, towards the latter half of the club’s life, along with the now-familiar crown motif.
Peter Stringfellow himself later revealed that the crown had been borrowed from a rival venue – the Esquire on Leadmill Road.
“The crown on the Mojo logo, I nicked that off the Esquire. They had it over the ‘E’ in Esquire, so when it became the King Mojo I put an advert saying ‘now I reclaim the Crown’.”
It was a typically bold move, rooted in the fierce rivalry between Sheffield’s clubs at the time. But it also marked a clear shift in the venue’s identity.
By this point, the Mojo was changing. The sharp-edged Mod culture that had become prevalent was giving way to something looser and more experimental. Music, fashion and atmosphere were evolving rapidly, and the club moved with them.
For those who were there at the beginning, however, it remained simply the Mojo — a name that captured a particular moment in time before everything started to change.
Dave Manvell recalls how the club’s identity was regularly shaped collectively from the very beginning.
“Peter asked us to bring in objects which we thought related to ‘Mojo’. Lots of people brought dolls, which he pinned to the wall behind his record deck.”
It was a small detail, but one that captured the spirit of the place – informal, creative and driven by the crowd as much as the owners.
The Night The Future Arrived
Dave still recalls the impact of Syd Barrett’s playing.
“The spacey sounds of Syd Barrett’s Telecaster during Interstellar Overdrive and Astronomy Domine were unforgettable.”
It was more than just a gig. It was a glimpse of something new.
“A spectacle of music and colour — and a fantastic lead-in to the Summer of Love.”
Pink Floyd were still in their original line-up at the time, with Syd Barrett at the centre of the band’s sound and image. Their debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, and early singles such as Arnold Layne and See Emily Play had already begun to attract attention, and their experimental live performances were earning strong reviews in the music press.
For those packed into the Mojo that Sunday, it was a moment when Sheffield briefly connected with the cutting edge of a rapidly changing musical world.
Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band
Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band were firm favourites at the Mojo, regularly playing to packed houses.
Every inch of the club would be filled with a dancing, sweating crowd, joining in as Geno belted out hits such as ‘Hi Hi Hazel’, ‘Que Sera Sera’ and ‘Michael’.
Dave Manvell remembers the sheer energy of those nights:
“I remember being covered in sweat. Around 11 o’clock Peter Stringfellow would send us all outside while the club was prepared for the all-nighter, then at midnight we’d all pile back in again. My clothes were soaked through and my shoes were soggy – I decided there was no way I’d last the whole night on that occasion and left early.”
The band’s sound was tight and full, driven by a powerful combination of saxophones and Hammond organ, with Geno’s voice leading the groove over the guitars.
Geno and the Ram Jam Band were natural showmen. Once on stage, they were reluctant to leave it – and the crowd didn’t want them to.
They became true icons of the Mojo in its lifetime.
The end of the original Mojo definately wasn’t the end of the relationship.
Geno Washington even performed at Peter Stringfellow’s King Mojo-themed birthday bash at Sheffield’s Leadmill in the 2010s.
A Glimpse Of San Francisco At The Mojo
The Animals played the Mojo on several occasions, but one performance in particular stood out – remembered for a powerful rendition of ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ and for capturing a moment of change in both the band and the wider music scene.
By 1967, Eric Burdon and the band were on the verge of a new chapter. Their final appearance at the Mojo came shortly before leaving for San Francisco – a move that would immerse them in the emerging psychedelic culture of the Summer of Love.
For those in the club that night, it felt like a glimpse into something entirely new.
Dave Manvell remembers they arrived with a van full of equipment, transforming the stage before the show had even begun. Bottles and crates of Newcastle Brown Ale were scattered across the stage, while an elaborate lighting rig – including strobe beams originally fitted to aircraft – created a striking visual backdrop.
When the lights came on, the effect was extraordinary
Dave Manvell said: “The stage took on the appearance of a silent movie, with Burdon and the group moving in slow motion under the strobes. The whole audience was bathed in coloured light, creating an out-of-this-world, almost surreal atmosphere.”
The performance showcased material from ‘Winds of Change’, released later that year, marking the band’s shift towards a more psychedelic sound and the ideals of peace and love associated with the Summer of Love.
Tracks such as ‘San Franciscan Nights’ and ‘Yes I Am Experienced’ were brought to life by the light show, creating a spectacle of music and visuals that, for some, rivalled even the most experimental acts of the time.
“For me, it was a spectacle of music and sound equal to Pink Floyd’s show.”
The night also highlighted the creative crossover happening within the Mojo itself. Eric Burdon was impressed by the artwork of Mojo artist Sue Barfield, whose murals adorned the club walls, and even expressed interest in having her paint his van – a reflection of the growing influence of psychedelic art and countercultural ideas.
The Pretty Things at the Mojo
The band arrived at the Mojo with a reputation that was already well established. Their early singles, including ‘Rosalyn’ and ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’, had caused a stir, not just because of the records themselves, but because of the band’s appearance, attitude and sheer volume. They took the rough-edged image of the early British R&B groups a step further — scruffier, louder and more confrontational than most of their contemporaries.
Dave Manvell remembers the impact they made when they appeared at the club: “The Mojo was heaving with what I would have called a heavy rock crowd dressed in jeans and T-shirts. It was a loud and very sweaty night with a great atmosphere, which the group created when they hit the stage.”
One of the most revealing stories linked to the band’s appearance came from singer Phil May, who recalled a clash with Peter Stringfellow over the club’s strict dress rules.
“We arrived one night at the Mojo to find about 150 people standing outside. Peter had refused to let them in as they were wearing jeans. I told Peter we wouldn’t play unless he let them in. He was adamant that he wouldn’t let them in. We went across the road with Peter to the pub to discuss it. For about an hour or so he wouldn’t change his mind, but he finally relented as we were serious that if he didn’t let them in we wouldn’t play.”
May later claimed the dispute had an unexpected outcome.
“After that Peter always said we were his favourite group as we attracted lots of nubile females.”
Peter himself never forgot the volume of the night.
“They were at that time the loudest group around and I always blame my tinnitus on their performance at the club.”
The Pretty Things would go on to hold an important place in British rock history. Their debut album was later followed by S.F. Sorrow in 1968, widely regarded as the first rock opera, arriving before The Who’s Tommy the following year.
Where’s Eric? The Yardbirds at the Mojo
A group of us were into blues and R&B music, remembers Dave Manvell.
“One Saturday at a party, one of the gang turned up with the album ‘Five Live Yardbirds’, recorded live at the Marquee Club in London. It was played continually all night, with repeated requests for ‘Smokestack Lightning’ and ‘Good Morning Little Schoolgirl’.”
Eric Clapton joined the band in 1963 but was gone by 1965 following the release of ‘For Your Love’ – he deemed it too commercial. There was already a running joke among fans.
“Where’s Eric?” became a familiar line – a nod to his unpredictability and growing detachment as the band began to change direction.
The Yardbirds were booked prior to Clapton’s departure.
When they took to the stage, they delivered exactly what the crowd had hoped for.
“They played their first two singles, ‘I Wish You Would’ and the classic ‘Good Morning Little Schoolgirl’, along with other tracks from ‘Five Live Yardbirds’”, remember’s Dave Manvell.
A Surprise In The Set
“Much to my surprise they also played ‘For Your Love‘.”
Not long after their appearance at the Mojo, Clapton left and joined John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers – another group that would become closely associated with the club.
For regulars, those performances became something to watch closely, particularly when it came to the guitarist.
“John and his group played quite a few times at the Mojo. For me, it was always interesting to see who was playing lead guitar in the band.”
Clapton’s time with the Bluesbreakers would lead to one of the most influential blues albums of the era.
“Eric played on the legendary album ‘Blues Breakers with Eric Clapton’. His performance at the Mojo in that period was outstanding.”
But the story didn’t end there. The revolving door of guitar talent continued.
“Not long after, Eric left the Blues Breakers. On his departure, Peter Green took his spot – only to leave not long after performing at the Mojo.”
For those who were there, it felt as though the Mojo sat at the centre of a constantly shifting musical landscape — a place where some of the greatest guitarists of the era passed through, often just before moving on to something even bigger.
Mojo gets The Move treatment
Dave Manvell remembers one night when it was clear from the moment he walked in that something different was about to happen.
“On entering the club, I saw The Move had set up a line of TVs on the stage, around the front and onto the dancefloor. A large axe stood at the side of an effigy of Hitler. I could feel that a night of rock history was going to take place.”
The Move had already built a reputation for their chaotic, theatrical performances, combining music with destruction and spectacle. The crowd knew what to expect – or at least hoped they did.
“The crowd had been waiting expectantly to see what fate awaited Hitler and the TVs. We were not going to be disappointed.”
As the band took to the stage, the performance began to unfold.
“As the group stepped on stage, the TVs flickered on and the psychedelic experience burst upon us.”
But it was the finale that left the strongest impression.
“They started to play ‘Night of Fear’, and one of the group picked up the axe and buried it into each of the TVs. As he did this, each of the tubes imploded, and the silver coating from the screens produced a fog.”
Standing close to the front, Dave found himself caught in the middle of it.
“As usual I was near the front and was covered in the silver particles from the screens.”
The destruction didn’t stop there.
“Not content with that, he then set about chopping up Hitler’s effigy until little remained. By the end of the performance, the audience and the floor were covered in the silver particles.”
The Move were one of the most controversial bands of the time, known as much for their stunts as their music. Their single ‘Flowers in the Rain’ had been promoted with a cartoon depicting Prime Minister Harold Wilson naked in his bath – a move that led to a successful libel action, with all royalties from the record awarded to charity.
The record would also make history as the first ever track played on BBC Radio 1.
In later years, members of the band would go on to form the Electric Light Orchestra, achieving further success. But for those who saw them at the Mojo, it was the sheer impact of nights like this – loud, unpredictable and unforgettable – that stayed with them.
The day the Temptations Never Came… But Nobody Went Home Disappointed
A Paul Norton Mojo memory.
September 5th, 1967, and the Mojo is once again in an eager grip of anticipation in seeing another club favourite and top US soul act in action. Peter has managed to book one of the best Tamla Motown vocal groups from Detroit City.
Billed as The ‘Fabulous’ Temptations, all seemed ready for another great Mojo All Dayer of stage action and soul dancing.
Unbeknown to most of us there had been some rumours circulating which Peter and Geoff had picked up on. Peter ended up phoning the Temptations London agency in the UK. They informed Peter that the Temptations were not in England at that time.
Too late now to cancel the whole All Dayer, and because the club entry fee was higher than normal at £1(!) Peter announced to us all from the stage about the fact that the ‘Fabulous’ Temptations were in fact not the real group. Anyone who wanted their money refunded could take it and leave. But Peter also added that as this group had travelled all the way from the States to play for us, maybe we could give them a chance.
Some took the refund and left, but as far as I can remember most of us stayed.
It turned out that we were glad we did, outside of the fact that there were 4 vocalists in the line-up as opposed to the real Temptations 5, you would have been hard pushed to know the difference. Backed by an excellent UK band The Clockwork Orange they stormed onstage in shiny mohair suits to the sounds of ‘Get Ready’ and performed an amazingly slick and top quality performance, with great vocals, group harmonies and stage dancing.
So much so that they took several encores before we let them leave.
After their tour of the UK the ‘Fabulous’ Temptations liked it so much here they decided to stay. At Peter’s suggestion they changed their name and became The Fantastics, had a new career in the UK and made some records you may remember! I believe Peter may have helped them get a recording contract too.
Myself and a mate Dave King got to know The Clockwork Orange, and, through them, The Fantastics, so when they were playing up this end of the country we used to ring up the clubs and get word to them to put us on the guest list. They were nice guys.
The back story.
The Fabulous Temptations were in fact The Velours from New Jersey. Their promoter was the Roy Tempest Organisation who started off as a fully legitimate booking agent of UK groups and visiting US soul and blues acts. These included the likes of Solomon Burke, Edwin Starr, The Spellbinders, Billy Stewart and many more.
This seem to change in 1967 when he realised he could book New York based soul groups quite cheaply and get them on UK tours under false names.
These fake groups included the Original Drifters (who were really The Invitations and actually played at the Mojo on September 23rd 1967!), the Fabulous Marvelettes (The Gypsies), the Isley Brothers (The Diplomats) and the Original Impressions (The Topics). He then seemed to become even more greedy and started using US and UK based fakes as solo artists such as Chuck Jackson, Carla Thomas and even a James Brown Junior!
The truth was even though it was a Roy Tempest con job, a lot of these fake artists and groups were actually very good and no doubt put on some really good shows for soul music fans. These days of course we would now know them as perfectly legal cover bands or tribute acts.
By mid 1969 the law and the legitimate record and artiste companies had caught up with Roy Tempest. He agreed to get out of the music business or be sued for an awful lot of money.
Dave’s experience with the Jimi Hendrix Experience
By Dave Manvell
Peter booked The Jimi Hendrix Experience to play at the Mojo after being told that Hendrix was a brilliant and wild guitarist whom he simply had to book. Which he did, for the princely sum of £50.
The Jimi Hendrix Experience nearly didn’t get to play that night.
The previous evening they had been playing at the New Century Hall in Manchester. After the gig, and having gone back to their hotel to change, they decided to check out some of Manchester’s clubs, one in particular being the now legendary Twisted Wheel.
They arrived at the Wheel during a police raid and were told to come back later. As they walked away they were suddenly grabbed by plain-clothes police officers. They were roughed up a bit, and Noel Redding was left hanging on some iron railings by his greatcoat. During the incident Noel sustained cracked ribs, and two police officers were later dismissed following the affair.
Jimi had his passport taken from him but was otherwise left alone once the police discovered he was American. All three of them, rather shaken by the incident, decided to return to their hotel
(When I met Noel in Manchester in 1997, he recalled the incident).
That night at the Mojo we waited with bated breath, hoping Noel would be fit enough to play. Fortunately, although he was clearly in pain, he did.
Peter Stringfellow takes up the story
“The Experience arrived at the club and I was completely unaware of the previous night’s incident in Manchester.
“I knew nothing about his music and even less about his reputation for taking drugs.
“The Manchester police must have tipped off the Sheffield police about the previous night’s incident. It was before the advent of the drug squad, so the police sent the fire brigade on the pretext of carrying out a numbers check in the club.
“Two burly firemen arrived and said to Jimi, ‘Come on, where are the drugs?’
“Jimi replied, ‘Hey man, there’s no drugs in here.’
“The firemen weren’t convinced and had a look round, but they had no idea what drugs actually looked like.
“I suggested they apologised, as Mr Hendrix had flown in from America to do the job. So they said, ‘Sorry about that, laddie.’
“Jimi looked up from what appeared to be a joint and simply said, ‘Hey… cool, man.'”
Dave Manvell remembers the gig
It was, for me, a night that would go down in rock history. Nothing like it had ever been seen at the Mojo before. It was a night high on adrenaline — or possibly other stimulants!
I was standing on the floor directly in front of Jimi. The stage was only about 12 or 15 inches high. I couldn’t have got any closer to him; it almost felt as though I was on stage with him.
I had never heard a guitarist like him. From his guitar and amplifier he produced sounds and controlled feedback that were simply unreal.
He started playing The Star-Spangled Banner, which morphed into God Save the Queen. From there he launched into something he called “The Blitz”. It featured wailing sirens and explosions, all generated from his guitar and amplifier.
After he finished his first set he jumped off the stage beside me and asked me where the toilets were. As I showed him the way he told me he wanted some gear, so I told him this was the place for it. It all seemed very innocent in those days — usually Mother’s Little Helpers or a few of Granny’s pills.
During the second set he played Purple Haze, which he told us they were going to record that week.
He also played Wild Thing, an incredible version of Killing Floor, and some tracks from the forthcoming album.
I remember he had two Fender Stratocasters — one sunburst and one dark blue. He changed to the dark blue one to finish the performance, proceeding to attack the amplifiers before finally throwing the guitar onto the floor as he left the stage, leaving it to howl away in its death throes.
Musically, it was a turning point in my life.
I remember going home after the gig and, unable to sleep, I wrote this poem:
GLIMPSE
Through the haze
Through the light
Into tomorrow
Stars light the Purple Haze
Tall bronze man running into the haze
Disappears into the velvet of the night.
________________________________
I remember ordering the Are You Experienced album and waiting for what seemed like a lifetime before it was finally released.
John Lee Hooker at the Mojo
Charles Woodhall remembers seeing the great bluesman in early 1964.
He was backed by John Mayalls Blues Breakers. They had Alexis Korner guesting on guitar with Hughie Flint on drums, John McVie on bass and Roger Dean on guitar. Hooker was very late appearing but Mayall kept the inpatient crowd happy with some great blues numbers.
Dave Manvell was in the audience for second appearance.
He said: “Unfortunately, Mayall’s approach to John Lee’s music was un sympathetic as had been other UK blues bands with other US artists. Mayall was replaced with the Groundhogs who knew and played his music. Many years ago, I interviewed Tony McPhee and asked him about backing John Lee. He said how the Groundhogs and John Lee got on really well. Instead of being chauffeured around as with the other groups, he asked Tony if he could travel in their van and lodge with them, which he did. While on the road Tony and the Groundhogs played some of his material he had forgotten about and re discovered with them on the road. The Groundhogs were familiar with his time changes and odd modal structures which a lot of the UK Blues artists couldn’t cope with.
John Lee was born in the Delta country – one of eleven children. His parents were deeply religious and much to hids father’s dismay he learnt to play the guitar, taught by his elder sister’s boyfriend. During his blues journey he was to play with Robert Nighthawk and other Blues artists of the time.
John Lee that night played all his well known tracks such As Dimples, Boom Boom and his legendary track Crawlin King Snake. Joe Cocker can be heard on his album, Free Beer and Chicken, but he does not appear on the album credits.
'Little' Stevie Wonder electrifies 555 Pitsmoor Road
Dave Manvell remembers Peter Stringfellow wanting to book the rising star as cheaply as possible and the only way to do that was to slot him in on a Sunday afternoon for an all-dayer. Peter Stringfellow recalled in 1995: “I charged a two-pound entrance fee and made a fortune. Stevie turned up with a 20-piece orchestra and several aides. It was extraordinary to watch them all pile out of the tour bus.”
Charles Woodall, who lived on the lane at the back of the Mojo, remembers the tour bus having difficulties manoeuvring into the small Mojo car park.
Where the Mojo date fitted in his schedule
October 6th, first appearance at the BBC Playhouse Studio. Recording for John Peel’s radio show Top Gear. Also on the show was the Jimmy Hendrix Experience and Stevie sat in with the band playing drums for a jam session that included a cover of his own track, ‘I Was Made to Love Her’.
October 7th he played at Billy Walkers, Upper Cut club in London.
Blind since birth, 13-year-old Steveland Hardaway Morris broke onto the world music scene as 12-year-old ‘Little’ Stevie Wonder with his US Motown hit ‘Fingertips’ in 1963. He was still only 16 when he appeared at London’s Upper Cut Club on the back of his UK hits ‘Uptight’, ‘Blowin in the Wind; and ‘A Place in the Sun’ already under his belt.
He’d just had his biggest UK hit to date: ‘I Was Made to Love Her’.
‘Little’ had been dropped from his name by the time of the Upper Cut gig.
The Sheffield gig took place the day after the Upper Cut Club.
OCT 8th 1967 – King Mojo Club
Peter Stingfellow remembered: “I’d never seen anybody so uncoordinated. His arms and legs were all over the place – he was so excited about going on stage. Stevie kept saying, ‘man I’ve got to go to the john’. So I took him upstairs to the toilets where Coral [Peter’s then wife] was in the bath. I asked him to wait a minute and he said ‘no man I can’t wait’. I explained to Coral that he was desperate, but she wouldn’t let him in. I explained he was blind and wouldn’t see her. She said okay but don’t let him open his eyes, so he proceeded to use the toilet. He sat singing and playing his mouth organ as Coral sat in the bath.
“I only saw him perform in the evening as I missed the afternoon performance for some reason long forgotten. I remember the place as always was packed and sweaty as Stevie performed his hits to the enthusiastic audience.”
One interesting fact the Jimmy Hendrix Experience performed on the stage approx. three months after Stevie jammed with him at the Radio One recording.
Disc-A-Go-Go - Lifting The Lid on Record Nights at The Mojo
On the nights groups had not been hired, these would be record sessions, notably Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, with an entry fee of three shillings, remembers Dave Manvell.
Peter would advertise these as:
DISC A GO GO
GREATEST DISCS EVER USA TOP 100 AND TOP UK MOJO MAD 40
DJ PETE STRINGFELLOW OF ITV RSG
I have to give a special mention to the King Mojo girls: Lyn, Heather and Tamara, the wild Russian girl.
Record nights were Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, with a three-shilling (15p) entrance fee. Friday could also be a group night if one of the top groups was available for hire.
I would catch a bus down the road from where I lived, directly to and from the club. I always looked forward to these nights, as Peter would bring along records from the weekly charts, along with new releases. Quite a few of these records were loaned to him by the record department in Wilson & Pecks.
In later years, imported records would be bought by Peter from Wardour Street in London when, with his good friend and driver Johnny Hall, he was in the capital for the recording of ‘Ready Steady Go!’.
On record nights, I would wait for Peter to come from his office at the back of the club to the record deck, trying desperately to see what soul LPs he was carrying in his bundle of records. Quite a few would be American imports he had bought on his Wardour Street trips.
He was always very knowledgeable about the artists and albums he was playing. If I heard albums I liked, such as Willie Mitchell’s ‘Drivin’ Beat’, this would mean a trip to local record dealer Violet May, who seemed to be able to obtain many of these American imports. This meant a wait of several weeks for the album to arrive from the US.
On some of the record nights, it would take a while for the dance floor to fill and things would go slowly, especially if he announced he had booked a group that the Mojo crowd thought wasn’t up to their high standards of cool. Peter would then play some of the group’s records and try to win the crowd round, which wasn’t always successful.
During Disc-A-Go-Go, Peter would turn down the lights and slow things down with three or four soulful records to let the crowd get close and personal. When he thought things had become too slow, the lights would go back up and he would play the last few minutes of the ‘1812 Overture’, with the sounds of the cannons reverberating through the fantastic sound system built by Chris Stainton, later of international fame as a keyboard player to the stars.
Note: The ‘1812 Overture’ was used for the opening night of all Peter’s clubs for the duration of his career.
London Calling - The Mojo's Direct Line to the Capital
The following is taken from a 2015 conversation Dave Manvell and Neil Anderson did with Peter Stringfellow at Berniers-London:
On his memories of London trips to buy records:
“On Saturdays – along with my good friend and driver Johnny Hall – we would drive to London to search out the music scene looking for bands to play at the Mojo, and also to buy import records to play for the Mojo crowd.
“We would head for a cellar in Wardour Street along with a bunch of other guys and wait for a guy with a battered leather suitcase which was packed full of records from America. Because they were American, we would buy them without listening – bidding for individual records or six for a pound. We could not listen to them until we got back to Sheffield.
“Lots of the records went on to be soul classics. Unfortunately, a lot of these records ended up being nailed to the back wall of the DJ booth. What would they be worth now?”
On Ready, Steady, Go! and the London clubs:
“I went to London to try and promote Sheffield group the Cadillacs’ first record. I wanted to get them on RSG. I met up with Vicky Wickham. She was impressed with how I came across. She was looking for a new presenter for the programme – a boy presenter. I know that sounds condescending, but that’s what they were looking for. They wanted a younger presenter to help Cathy McGowan and the older presenter Keith Fordyce.
“Out of the blue she said ‘look your group is very good but we would like you to come and audition for the programme’. It just took my breath away.
“I went for the audition and did what I called ‘my version’. I had no idea what my style was so I just did what I normally do on stage in my club.
“They gave me a microphone and this was before my ad-libbing was honed – what came out of my mouth, who knows. They decided they liked me and would initially try me out as a warm-up man for the audience before the show went on air.
“I became the warm-up man for RSG. This meant warming up the audience for the show. I had to do things with the audience for the camera. I would get a bunch together and have them dancing. Because I thought I was the big I am, I I made sure I was in every camera shot.
“I started to make a name for myself in London, through my job as a warm-up presenter. In my own mind I was becoming pretty famous. At least three people in London knew me! I was on my way. It was then we started going to the London clubs after RSG. It was here I saw a lot of the groups who would go on and perform at the King Mojo Club.
Peter Stringfellow and the King Mojo were given further exposure on RSG when he was asked to represent the King Mojo in a North vs South club/dance competition with a London club. Peter took a crowd from Sheffield to London and showcased all that was great about the King Mojo – the people and the music. He ran through a Mojo top ten of the time, bringing attention to the tremendous voice of Wilson Pickett singing ‘In the Midnight Hour’.
On Friday 20th August, 1965, the King Mojo members went from Sheffield to the RSG studio in London to take part in the dance competition. Cathy McGowan, after a recent trip to the Mojo in Sheffield, had suggested to Peter that the members should take part in the competition.
The first heat took place at the Mojo with eleven couples entering and, at the end of the night, seven couples had been selected to go through to the second and final heat.
Two couples out of the seven were chosen to appear with Cathy McGowan in the TV competition. The five that were not chosen had the consolation of going to London as well and took part in the TV dancing with the rest of the audience. Unfortunately, the Southern couples won after a hard-fought dance-off.
Peter Stringfellow said: “RSG gave us entry to the London clubs. We started going to the Flamingo Club, the place to go and see the new blues – we called it R&B. It was full of musicians coming over from America and people such as Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames, whose group was Hammond organ-led. For us, this was the basis for R&B, along with the saxophone. Another band was Herbie Goins and the Nightimers, who I booked for the Mojo. They never made a hit record but their sound was a hit with the Mojo crowd. Other bands I booked from the Flamingo were John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers. In those days they played edgy blues, not R&B. More edgy than Georgie. Also, Mayall had all the top guitarists and they used to lay it down, along with John himself as the vocalist and the other instruments he played.
“I remember coming down to the Flamingo and going into an all-nighter without them being called that. They weren’t all-nighters, just late-night London. As Sheffield boys we would go in and ask, “What time was Georgie Fame on?” To be told one o’clock in the morning. The problem was it was only eight o’clock in the evening. We would fall asleep in the club and, on at least three occasions, we would wake up and he had played and gone.
“The Marquee Club was where the pop stars such as the Who played. Then things changed and trendy clubs opened, such as the Bag O’ Nails and the Scotch of St James. Geoff, my brother, and me had heard Paul McCartney hung out there. We went along and Paul was at a table just in front of us. As he left, we moved onto his table, on which was a plate of curly cheese sandwiches. This was part of the licensing law, as the London clubs were licensed as restaurants, so had to provide food along with the drinks. Being from Sheffield, we started eating them. The maître de’ went berserk, asking where the sandwiches had gone.
“We have eaten them,” was the reply.
More Tales of London
Peter Stringfellow remembers: “So now I am in London with Johnny Hall, the Cadillacs drummer. I had become friends with Vicki Wickham, who incidentally I am still good friends with. To help us out she got us onto Hughie Green’s ‘Double Your Money’ show. Just Johnny and me.
The Small Faces Arrive at The King Mojo
By early 1966, the Small Faces were still a young band — sharp, ambitious, and burning with the kind of energy that only comes from being hungry. They had conquered the London mod circuit with astonishing speed, but outside the capital they were still largely unknown. Their manager, Don Arden, was pushing them hard, booking them into working men’s clubs and provincial venues that didn’t always understand what they were looking at. The band were learning, night by night, how far their sound could travel.
Their first trip out of London was to Sheffield and was supposed to be routine. A working men’s club on the outskirts of the city — one of the big CIU rooms with Formica tables, draught bitter, and a committee who liked their entertainment safe and familiar. The Small Faces arrived in their immaculate suits, hair cut sharp, shoes shining, and the committee took one look at them and panicked. They were too young. Too mod. Too loud. Too London. The band were paid off on the spot after only a couple of songs. Money in hand, but no gig. It was a humiliating moment for them that didn’t last for long. They decided to drive around, then came across a group of mods going into a club and decided to call in to see if they could play.
Ronnie Lane later was quoted in a book saying “Our first big break was at the King Mojo Club in Sheffield, a club that was really happening. It was like Ready Steady Go, full of mods.
The King Mojo was already in full swing when they arrived. The murals glowed under ultraviolet light, the dancers were packed tight against the stage, and the air was thick with heat and anticipation. Peter Stringfellow was moving through the room with his usual restless energy, checking the crowd, adjusting the lights, making sure the night was running the way he liked it — fast, loud, and alive.
The Small Faces walked straight up to him and told him what had happened. Paid off by a working men’s club. No gig. Nowhere to play.
Stringfellow didn’t hesitate. “Get on stage.”
It didn’t matter whether a band was already playing, and there almost certainly was. King Mojo’s weekend nights were built on local R&B groups, tight soul outfits, and London hopefuls passing through. But Stringfellow was never sentimental about running orders. If a hotter band walked in, he changed the night on the spot. The Small Faces were exactly the kind of group he loved: young, sharp, explosive, and already making noise in London. Whoever was on stage at that moment — whether it was a Sheffield R&B outfit or a DJ set — was moved aside. The room was about to witness something new.
The Small Faces plugged in and hit the room like a shockwave.
Steve Marriott’s voice — raw, fierce, impossibly powerful for someone so small — filled the club instantly. Ronnie Lane locked into the groove with that unmistakable melodic bass tone. Kenney Jones drove the rhythm with a precision that belied his age. Jimmy Winston, still in the band at this point, hammered the organ with a frantic, swirling energy that made the whole sound feel bigger than the tiny stage could contain.
The crowd surged forward. The floorboards shook. The room changed.
This was one of the first times the Small Faces had played outside London, and the Sheffield crowd responded with the kind of intensity that would become part of the band’s mythology. They weren’t just listening — they were claiming the band. Every shout, every cheer, every movement on the dancefloor fed back into the performance. Marriott rose to it, pushing his voice harder, driving the band faster. The set was short, fierce, and unforgettable.
When they finished, the room erupted. Stringfellow knew immediately what he had: a band on the edge of breaking through, and a story that would be told for years.
He booked them back on the spot.
The second appearance was different. This time it was advertised. This time it was paid. This time the crowd came knowing exactly what they were going to see. Word had spread across Sheffield — the Small Faces were the real thing, a London mod band with a sound that could shake the walls of King Mojo.
They returned later in 1966, now tighter, more confident, and already edging toward national fame. Their setlist had grown: Whatcha Gonna Do About It, Sha-La-La-La-Lee, You Need Loving, Grow Your Own, Own Up Time. Marriott’s voice was even stronger, Lane’s bass lines more fluid, Jones’s drumming more forceful. Winston was gone by now, replaced by Ian McLagan, whose Hammond organ added a new depth and warmth to the band’s sound.
The second gig was electric. The room was packed from the moment the doors opened. The crowd were already sweating before the band even walked on stage.
When the Small Faces hit their first chord, the club exploded. The crowd moved as one — a single, pulsing mass of mod energy. The band played with a confidence that came from knowing they had already conquered the room once. Marriott leaned into the microphone with that unmistakable intensity, delivering every line as if the song were being born in that moment. McLagan’s organ swirled through the air, filling the low ceiling with colour. Lane and Jones locked into a rhythm that made the dancers feel like the floor itself was alive.
It was one of the great nights in King Mojo’s history — a moment when a band on the rise met a club at its peak, and both lifted each other higher.
When the Small Faces left the stage, they left behind more than just a performance. They left a story — the story of the night they walked into King Mojo unannounced, played for free, and changed everything. It became part of the club’s mythology, retold in interviews, remembered in memoirs, and eventually immortalised in the West End stage show All or Nothing. It was the night Sheffield claimed the Small Faces as its own.
Their time at King Mojo was brief — just two appearances — but the impact was lasting. They were one of the few London bands who truly understood the northern mod scene, and one of the few who could ignite it instantly. The club gave them a stage when they needed it most, and they repaid it with performances that still echo in the memories of those who were there.
In the end, the Small Faces’ story at King Mojo is simple: They arrived by accident. They played by instinct. They returned by demand. And they left as part of the club’s legend.
