Here’s a paradox for you: Paul McCartney’s little sister is older than he is.*

*In his next lifetime.

I grew up in an era when it was considered impolite to divulge a woman’s age. (Maybe it still is.) But I don’t think women should ever be made to feel embarrassed by how much time they have spent on this planet. For example, I freely admit to being older than Taylor Swift but younger than Jonathan, a Seychelles giant tortoise living on the island of Saint Helena who is 192.

As the former Paul McCartney, I have missed the last undisclosed sum total of my sister’s birthdays. Not this one.

When Paul Met Ruth (Again)

Paul McCartney was seventeen when Ruth Williams was born, a certain number of years ago today. Ruth and Paul wouldn’t meet until four years later, when her widowed mother married his widowed father. On this day in 2021, I documented the following thoughts about when Ruth came into Paul’s life (from Paul’s perspective):

I was thrilled to have a little sister, who was going on five at the time. She was about the same age as [my children]. I wasn’t a good father, though I hoped and planned to be one someday; but now, at least, I could be a good big brother to Ruth.

Though Ruth and I were not related by blood, I thought of her as my sister, with no qualifications. I have no conscious memory of feeling this way, but I know it in my heart. She was my sister, and I loved her. I would like to see Ruth again: to hold her, let my tears fall on her shoulder, and apologize for leaving her so suddenly.

A qualification regarding the above: I have since discovered that Ruth McCartney is six inches taller than I am, so my tears would likelier fall on her elbow.

Ruth’s mother, Angie, tells a charming story of the night she and her daughter met Paul McCartney. That evening, while Ruth slept upstairs, Angie had accepted a proposal of marriage from Paul’s father, Jim. After phoning and learning the good news, Paul drove straightaway from London, arriving at his father’s house three hours later—in “the wee small hours of the morning.” I’ll let Angie take it from here, in this excerpt from her memoir Angie McCartney: My Long and Winding Road (2013):

I was washing teacups when he came in, and we exchanged fumbling greetings, and of course, put the kettle on again. We chatted and then he asked me to get Ruth out of bed. She was in her little pink flannelette pyjamas. I sat her on his knee, she was rubbing her eyes, and when the penny dropped, she said, “I know who you are! You’re on my cousin’s wallpaper.” I was mortified. My niece, Geraldine, had a little Wendy house at the bottom of their garden in Malmesbury Road, Norris Green, with Beatles wallpaper. That sure broke the ice! Then Ruth lifted up her pyjama top and showed him her scar where she had had her kidney removed just five months earlier. Paul told her that Ringo had appendix scars too, and in no time, it was like we had all known each other forever. It was a surreal moment in time to watch my four-year-old chatting away with a world-famous person as if she somehow knew we all just put our pants on one leg at a time. She’s still the same to this day.

(A “Wendy house” is a children’s playhouse, if the term is unfamiliar.)

Angie says, “It was like we had all known each other forever.” Indeed, Paul and Ruth had known each other before—in the previous century. During the Romantic Era in England, Paul was Ruth’s aunt. (John Lennon was her uncle.) Paul and his sister, who was Ruth’s mother, shared a household—where Ruth resided for the first fifteen months of her life. Then Ruth was made to live elsewhere, and Paul never saw her again. The separation was heartbreaking. You can imagine, on a subconscious level, how wonderful—even miraculous—it felt for Paul to be reunited with his long-lost niece.

This time, Paul and Ruth would have twenty-three months together—longer than before but still not long at all.

Did Ruth Know?

When Paul McCartney died, at twenty-four, Ruth McCartney was six. I have a theory that she wasn’t informed of her brother’s death—until over twenty years later. In earlier posts, I offered speculative accounts of how the original Paul McCartney broke his left front tooth and how he met his end. Here, similarly, I will flesh out my theory of what Ruth knew and when. This dramatization should not be taken literally; it’s a flight of fancy scantily tethered to known facts. Only those involved can tell the real story.

Jane Asher had called after midnight with the terrible news: Paul was dead. When morning came ’round, as it does, Ruth was roused for school. Jim and Angie looked at each other: How could they tell her? Neither had the heart. The French word for heart is “cœur,” which is the root of “courage”—a word that’s the same in French and English. Neither had the courage to tell Ruth her brother had died. But what if she found out from a classmate? That was a concern.

The phone rang. That damn phone, with its dreadful tidings. Jim didn’t care if he ever heard it again. Brian Epstein, the Beatles’ manager, was on the line. Paul’s death would be kept quiet at first; it wouldn’t be in the papers. Brian offered some faulty reasoning for the subterfuge, and Jim and Angie agreed. They were in shock. They had no idea there had been a plot to assassinate Paul McCartney and replace him with a lookalike. Paul’s “assassination” had been taken care of by fate (or something like it); his replacement was about to be put into effect.

Jim recalled how difficult it had been, ten years earlier, to care for the needs of Paul and Mike as he grieved the passing of his wife, Mary. This second loss, of their son, seemed almost too much to bear. Yes, he and Angie would tell Ruth the truth—after a while, once they had processed their initial grief and could better support their daughter (Jim had legally adopted Ruth) through hers. There didn’t seem to be a rush, as Paul’s death was currently a secret held by a small group of people—which is to say, in the earliest stages of being covered up.

Soon enough, the McCartneys would be compelled to keep their mouths shut about Paul’s death permanently: A man resembling Paul would be taking his place in the Beatles, in his house—in every facet of his life. The McCartneys didn’t have to know why. They just had to maintain the pretense, publicly, that Paul was very much alive—in the form of this stranger.

As appalling and macabre as the situation was, did it solve the problem of having to tell Ruth her brother was gone? Just how much did this guy look like Paul McCartney? As it turned out, he was a “dead ringer”: a perfect pun, and a phrase derived from 19th-century slang for a lower-quality racehorse presented fraudulently as a substitute for a similar-looking one of high quality.

Of course, the whole McCartney clan would have to cooperate in deceiving Ruth—as would the lookalike. He would have to spend time with Ruth and make appearances at family events. When you think about it, it was the least he could do in exchange for the fame and wealth he had inherited overnight. Speaking of inheritance, if Paul McCartney’s death had been recognized, and his will executed, the McCartneys would have been set up quite well. The least they could expect was for the lookalike to play along, for Ruth’s sake. Perhaps all benefited, at times, from the illusion that Paul was still alive.

The Beatles were hoaxing the public, and the McCartneys were hoaxing Ruth. Photos exist of young Ruth and Paul’s replacement—admiring flowers together; playing with Martha (formerly Knickers), the sheepdog Paul left behind; holding hands on a college campus in Wales, where the replacement was attending a seminar on transcendental meditation. In these images, Ruth does not look suspicious or uncomfortable, as if she’s PRETENDING the man she’s with is her brother. Such an acting job could hardly have been expected from a small child anyway.

Ten years later, the ruse backfired horribly. One month after Ruth’s sixteenth birthday, Jim McCartney died. At that point, the lookalike seemed to feel his obligation to the McCartneys was over. He cut off ties with Angie and Ruth, including financial support. (Jim had been receiving an annual allowance.) Ruth would never see the man she thought was her brother again. (She didn’t see him at Jim’s funeral either.) Paul had left Ruth through death. His replacement left her through inexplicable personal rejection. How could she possibly make sense of a formerly devoted sibling (especially those first two years) who no longer wanted anything to do with her?

By 1991, Ruth appears to have learned the truth. That’s when she released an album called I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU. The title track sounds like it could have been written about her long-dead brother. Ruth finds herself “thinking about the old times” with a man who came along just when she needed him. This is not a song about love gone wrong but about a love that continues to liberate: “I will always remember you / For giving my heart this freedom.” Ruth sings, poignantly: “With every word you said / You made me think you’d stay.” Isn’t that how most people, especially the young, approach life—making plans and promises as if their time on earth had no expiration date?

If “I Will Always Remember You” is, indeed, about Paul, it’s a remarkable treasure. You see, Paul McCartney wrote songs—hundreds of them—for and about other people. But no one wrote songs with him in mind—until this lustrous gem of a ballad.

I hope when Ruth found out the truth (if she did), she looked back and was able to tell the difference between Paul and his imposter. More than that, I hope she was able to make a semblance of sense out of the confounding and sometimes cruel behavior of the man she believed to be her brother.

Paul’s Children’s Songs (and Songs for Paul’s Children)

In a television interview sometime after the release of I Will Always Remember You, Ruth McCartney recounted one of the drawbacks of having Paul McCartney as a brother: “I heard the songs being written in the kitchen, and I heard them being written on the stairs, and I heard them being written ’til two or three in the morning, when I was trying to get to sleep.” Her brother extends a long-overdue apology for keeping rock-star hours with a growing child in the house.

I wonder if those late-night sessions, the ones that kept little Ruth awake, produced any of Paul’s songs for children—such as “Yellow Submarine” (1966), “Hello, Goodbye” (1967), “All Together Now” (1969), and “Octopus’s Garden” (1969). Of these, the Beatles recorded only the first while Paul was still alive. Having a new little sister, and holding his own children in his heart, Paul must have felt inspired to compose songs for budding minds—featuring simple language; cheerful melodies; and things kids learn about in school, like numbers, colors, and animals.

On Ruth’s birthday four years ago, I articulated (from Paul’s point of view) my intention to write a song for her in this lifetime:

I am trying to write a song that expresses my feelings for Ruth and the brief time we had together, which was just two years.

In 1991, Ruth released an album called I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU. I haven’t been able to find a copy or even see the lyrics, but I [suspect] the title track is about me. I am touched that Ruth retained any memories of me, since she was only six when I died.

Four months later, I recorded “Your Sister Rose and You,” for an online songwriting class. The original title and lyrics used the name Ruth. But when it came time to share the song with others, I substituted a false name; this change necessitated rewriting the first verse. Why did I go to the trouble? Well, Paul McCartney’s death had been covered up; I didn’t know by whom, and I didn’t know if they still cared. But many years ago, individuals who made motions toward revealing the truth had been “suppressed.” Therefore, I felt it was safer to be obscure. I needn’t have worried: my songs and writings seem to live in a happy little vacuum.

“Your Sister Rose and You” is a bit of a fantasy, about connecting with Ruth through a fictitious intermediary—whom I imagined to be Micky Dolenz, of the Monkees! On a German talk show in 1987, Ruth expressed a fondness for the group:

When I was growing up, because there were always Beatle records around the house for free, I would save my pocket money, I’d wash cars for [an] extra fifty cents, to go out and buy records by the Monkees and the Partridge Family and David Cassidy and whatever.

These recollections would have dated to after Paul’s time, as The Monkees TV series premiered in the United States just one month before his death. I’m a big fan of the Monkees, so I thought it might be fun to imagine Micky Dolenz singing my song for Ruth.

A week after the class ended, however, I took the idea a step further: I sent my song to Micky Dolenz, to see if he might be interested in recording it. On the same day, I sent another song I had recorded for the class (one for Paul’s son, Philip) to another member of the Monkees: Michael Nesmith. (In “Your Old Acoustic,” I try to emulate Nesmith’s musical style, of which I am a tremendous admirer.) As I reported in my journal on July 6, 2021:

Today I emailed [links to] my songs to the management for Michael Nesmith and Micky Dolenz. I got an immediate response from Michael’s agent that he forwarded my message to Michael’s manager. So, we’ll see! I wish I could have told them I used to be the original Paul McCartney, but I’m sure that would have landed my messages in the trash immediately. I want to get these messages out as soon as possible. I also need to get Bettina’s song out there, if I can.

“Bettina” was the first song I ever wrote, for Paul’s daughter in Germany; I didn’t record it until a few years later. I don’t know if Michael Nesmith ever heard “Your Old Acoustic”; he passed away five months after I made contact with his representative.

I want to clarify that I am not given to bouts of extreme self-confidence. Rather, I had a specific purpose in submitting my songs to established artists: to get my messages—Paul’s words of love for the young ones he left behind—out there. It was the reason I started writing songs in the first place. In “Your Old Acoustic,” I state this goal explicitly: “I sing / Just so you will hear.” And in “Bettina,” I thank “my lucky stars” for “a second chance” to set things right.

In “Michelle,” released on the Beatles’ Rubber Soul album (1965), Paul assures his daughter in France: “I’ll get to you somehow.” But why was there such a gulf—or channel, in this case—between Paul and his daughter? From January 16 to February 4, 1964, the Beatles were performing in Paris (just before their first appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show). Michelle would have been three. Paul was in the neighborhood. Why couldn’t he at least visit her? In “Michelle,” Paul paints the picture of a seemingly unbridgeable chasm between them:

I love you, I love you, I love you
That’s all I want to say
Until I find a way
I will say the only words I know that you’ll understand…

I want you, I want you, I want you
I think you know by now
I’ll get to you somehow
Until I do, I’m telling you so you’ll understand

Michelle, ma belle…

At the time, the Beatles were expected to be “good”; it was part of their image, like the mop-top haircuts and matching suits. The members weren’t supposed to make babies with anyone who wasn’t their “good lady wife”—and it was probably better, for the band’s appeal, if they didn’t have a wife at all. Paul’s failure to take responsibility for his children was an anguishing circumstance he died before rectifying; it remains a source of deep regret.

My songs for Bettina and Philip, as well as a second song for Michelle (called “Ma Belle”), can be found on my Songs page.

Sister Ruth

As I mentioned, “Your Sister Rose and You” (video and lyrics below) is an exercise in wishful thinking, a daydream. But it’s grounded in references to things that really exist: three songs, a book, a play, and a photo. Following is a cheat sheet to the song’s sly and not-so-subtle mentions.

“She Loves You” (1963), song by the Beatles. “Your Sister Rose and You” relies on “She Loves You” for its organizing principle. “She Loves You” is rather unique as a love song in that it isn’t written from one lover to or about another. Rather, it takes the perspective of a third party—an acquaintance of the two individuals in the relationship described in the lyrics. For comparison, consider the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand” (written from one lover to another) and “I Saw Her Standing There” (written from one lover about another).

Similarly, “Your Sister Rose and You” assumes the point of view of someone who knows both the man to whom the song is addressed and his sister. To cement the parallel, I picked up a line directly from “She Loves You”: “She almost lost her mind.”

For the record: Paul wrote “She Loves You” about himself and John; “she” is Paul, and “you” is John. Plugging the names into one of the verses and adjusting the pronouns helps clarify the scenario:

Paul said John hurt him so
He almost lost his mind
But now Paul says he knows
John’s not the hurting kind

If you’ve been keeping up with my posts, you’ll know John could be the “hurting kind.”

“I Will Always Remember You” (1991), song by Ruth McCartney. The chorus of “Your Sister Rose and You” restates the first line of Ruth’s chorus, both of which address the idea of remembrance:

Ruth: “I will always remember you”
“Rose”: “She locked you in her memory / And you yourself would keep the key”

For the record: In the 1980s, Ruth McCartney was a pop sensation in parts of Europe, where she led a “celebrity, paparazzi life.” You can listen to “I Will Always Remember You” here; I found this file only recently, years after writing my song for Ruth.

Hamlet (c. 1600), play by Shakespeare. The chorus of “Your Sister Rose and You” reworks lines spoken by Ophelia to her brother, Laertes:

Ophelia: “’Tis in my memory lock’d, / And you yourself shall keep the key of it.”
“Rose”: “She locked you in her memory / And you yourself would keep the key”

For the record: Paul McCartney refers to plays by Shakespeare in “Paperback Writer,” “With a Little Help from My Friends,” and “Grow Old with Me.”

Photo of Paul and Ruth flying a kite (1965). I found photographic evidence that Paul and Ruth once flew a kite together, leading to the lyric: “Flying kites into the blue.” For the record: The kite-flying photo appears in the book Remember: The Recollections and Photographs of Michael McCartney (1992).

Your Mother Should Know (2019), memoir by Angie McCartney. Angie tells the story of daughter Ruth’s plucky trip from Liverpool to London to arrange a dance routine for brother Mike’s group, The Scaffold:

The Scaffold’s hits included chart-toppers such as “Thank U Very Much,” “Lily The Pink,” and another called “Dance The Do,” for which he invited his young stepsister Ruth to be the choreographer. This involved her taking a solo train to London to demonstrate her steps to the BBC’s dance group, Pan’s People, who would perform the dance for the video clip. This was quite an adventure at her young age.

I don’t know which station was her destination, but “Waterloo” satisfied the rhyme—hence the lyric, “On a train to Waterloo.” For the record: Angie McCartney, now ninety-five, is quite a prolific author; she has penned multiple memoirs and even a volume about tea.

“Nobody Told Me” (1984), song recorded by John Lennon. I pulled the lyric, “To the north of Katmandu,” from “Nobody Told Me” (released after Lennon’s death). Years earlier, when writing the song, Paul had pulled the phrase from the first line of a 1911 poem by J. Milton Hayes: “There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu.”

For the record: In his songs, Paul McCartney quotes, paraphrases, or alludes to a variety of literary works, including a lullaby by the dramatist Thomas Dekker (c. 1572–1632); the Christian allegory Pilgrim’s Progress (1678), by John Bunyan; a poem by Robert Browning (1812–1889); the poem “Sympathy” (1899), by Paul Laurence Dunbar; and Timothy Leary’s book The Psychedelic Experience (1964).

The “Critical” Response

On June 22, 2021, I shared “Your Sister Rose and You” with students in my songwriting class. Of the five comments I received, two mentioned the Beatles (taken verbatim):

Very cool vibe, reminds me of songs from the end of the 20th Century, including The Beatles, etc.—that’s a compliment, as I love that genre :)!

I really like the way you’ve made such an interesting recording. Has kind of vaudeville roots to it. Some of the Beatles stuff came from that.

I was genuinely surprised that others had heard something reminiscent of the Beatles in my song; the thought still makes me smile.

If Ruth McCartney ever hears “Your Sister Rose and You,” sees the video, or reads my words, I hope she will understand how much her brother loved her and despaired to leave her.

Your Sister Rose and You

Lyrics:

I ran into your sister Rose
Still pretty as a flower
I’m well, and you? and so it goes
We spoke for half an hour

I told her I was wondering
If she remembered anything
Ah-ah-ah

She locked you in her memory
(Feeding penguins at the zoo)
And you yourself would keep the key
(Pointing at a caribou)
It’s such a lovely place to be
Your sister Rose and you, ooh, too

I mentioned you were up the coast
And not too hard to find
She looked as if she’d seen a ghost
She almost lost her mind

I told her I was wondering
If she remembered anything
Ah-ah-ah

She locked you in her memory
(Flying kites into the blue)
And you yourself would keep the key
(Playing Battleship and Clue)
It’s such a lovely place to be
Your sister Rose and you, ooh, too

We never lose the ones we love, and here’s the reason why:
They keep on coming round until there is no more goodbye

[Instrumental interlude]

He’s changed a lot since he’s been dead—
You’d take him for another
I’d know him in my heart, she said
I love him—he’s my brother

I told her I was wondering
If she remembered anything
Ah-ah-ah

She locked you in her memory
(On a train to Waterloo)
And you yourself would keep the key
(To the north of Katmandu)
It’s such a lovely place to be
Your sister Rose and you, ooh

Your sister Rose and you, ooh, too

CREDITS: In the video for “Your Sister Rose and You,” the photo of Paul and Ruth flying a kite with Jane Asher was taken by Mike McCartney. I suspect Mike also took the photo of Paul and Ruth with their arms raised (appearing at the top of this post, as well). I was unable to determine the source(s) of the other two photos of Paul and Ruth that appear in the video; I suspect both were snapped in the Bahamas, while the Beatles were filming Help!