Cynthia and Julian Lennon were visited by John at Liverpool’s Sefton General Hospital.
John didn’t make it to the hospital until three days after our son was born – the first opportunity he’d had to get away from the tour. He came in like a whirlwind, racing through the doors in his haste to find us. He kissed me, then looked at his son, who was in my arms. There were tears in his eyes: “Cyn, he’s bloody marvellous! He’s fantastic.” He sat on the bed and I put the baby into his arms. He held each tiny hand, marvelling at the miniature fingers, and a big smile spread over his face. “Who’s going to be a famous little rocker like his dad, then?” he said.
John arranged for me to be moved into a private room: he knew that both he and I might attract unwelcome attention if I stayed in the public ward. It was wonderful to see him, but privacy was impossible. My room had a window onto the corridor outside, and when word got out that he was there, dozens of patients and staff gathered with their noses pressed to the window. The room felt like a goldfish bowl and it was obvious John couldn’t stay long. He hugged me and signed dozens of autographs on his way out. I was disappointed that we’d had so little time together: he had to go straight back to the tour and wouldn’t be home again for a week or so.
John’s visit was brief but it had a dramatic effect: the nurses were distinctly friendlier to me than they had been when I first arrived.
I was in the hospital for another few days and my room was soon filled with cards and flowers, among them a bouquet from Brian and the other Beatles.