Peter Noone was one member of the popular 60’s band, Herman’s Hermits.
With his thick head of hair and boyish charm, it would be easy to compare him to a Justin Beiber or Harry Styles of today.
However, there is one distinct difference between this former teen heartthrob and those of today…
With his adorable face and equally adorable voice, Peter Noone skyrocketed to stardom in his teens as the frontman of Herman’s Hermits. The band toured both in America and Britain and became iconic.
The band nabbed their first number 1 hit in England in 1964 with “I’m Into Something Good.”
“Herman’s Hermits sold millions of records before anyone even saw us, which just doesn’t happen now,” Noone said.
“I didn’t know what I was doing: my stage persona was a shy little boy, which is basically what I was.”
Noone and the rest of his band released more than 20 hit records and even outsold the Beatles in 1965. Some of their biggest hits included I’m Into Something Good, No Milk Today and There’s A Kind of Hush (All Over the World).
The band received a million-dollar record deal by the time they were 17, and one of the highlights of Noone’s career was when Elvis Presley performed one of their hits–”I’m Henry the Eighth, I Am”–in 1965 on stage.
“He was making fun of me, but who cares?” says Noone. “It was Elvis!”
Even at this young age, Noone was living the quintessential rocker lifestyle.
“Although without the drugs bit,” he insists. “That was never my thing.”
But when asked about all of the other typical rock ‘n’ roll habits?
“Sure. We were 16, 17, and we could easily stay up all night, go on the rampage then be up the next morning to do interviews and go to gigs. It was a brilliant time.”
At 64, Noone is on the road again as part of Britain’s Solid Silver 60s Show. His fellow Hermits veterans will not be joining him, but other musical star of the era will–Brian Poole of The Tremeloes (“Do You Love Me” and “Twist And Shout”) and Brian Hyland (“Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini”).
“You never get tired of the buzz of touring,’ says Noone, ‘and it’s good to know we can still pull an audience. People come up to me and sing all the old songs to my face, although I’m never really sure how to respond to that.”
Noone has lived in California since the 70’s and grew quickly to the healthy living style that characterizes the state.
“Not many people survived the debauchery of the sixties,” he says, “so I feel very lucky and try to look after myself. When I went to Mickie Most’s funeral nine years ago [Most was the band’s producer and a panelist on TV talent show New Faces], there weren’t many people left. It does make you stop and think.”
“I remember going to the house of one of the Moody Blues and it was considered this real den of iniquity,” he says. “None of the girls smoked dope, so I used to hang out with them. I was a fly on the wall.
“I did like to drink — I used to go out with Richard Harris and try to drink more than him,” Noone laughed.
“I used to love the Beatles and the Stones and I’d always want to hang out with them, even though they were about seven years older.
“We’d go to the Ad Lib club in London, and John Lennon would buy my drinks because he knew I was only 16 and I wouldn’t get drunk and try to beat someone up.”
Noone, who grew up in Manchester, has admitted that one of his major motivations for drinking was to fit in with the others, as he didn’t feel that “interesting.”
It was at the age of 19 that the musician decided to attend his first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting with his father, also an avid drinker.
“I wouldn’t have classed myself as an alcoholic, but you have to be sensitive to people’s feelings and be able to do the job on stage, so after that I decided to cut down. I needed to do it for my own sake and haven’t touched a drop for about 16 years.
“I insist that my wife still drinks if she wants to — I wouldn’t stop other people around me doing it.”
The multi-talented entertainer has been married to his wife, Mirielle, for 43 years. They met when Noone was 20, while he was still spending time with various women.
“I think it was probably lust at first sight with Mireille,” he admits. “Then I found out how nice she was and it turned to love.
“She kept turning me down, but she was holidaying on Ibiza with her mum, so I rented the apartment next to them. Her mother liked me because I was respectful. I wore Mireille down.”
The couple married in 1968, had one daughter (Nicole), and Noone quit the band in 1971 at the age of 24.
“Even though all of us in the band were close in the beginning, by the end, we’d been together so long and wanted to do different things.”
His attempted solo career plateaued, and it was in the 80s that he took to a new stage, appearing in a Broadway production on “Pirates of Penzance” and as a host on the U.S. television music show “My Generation”.
Just a few years ago, he appeared as a mentor and voice coach on American Idol.
Speaking on the show, he said, “If the Beatles had entered a TV competition, they’d probably have lost. Simon Cowell seems like a very nice guy, but I think he’s a secondhand Mickie Most to be honest.”
Speaking on the current tour again, Noone explained, “‘I was probably going to be a clerk at the local NatWest. How lucky am I to still be doing this at 64? I know what I’m doing now, too. I’m not that shy little kid any more.”
I Went to Church and Accidentally Heard My Husband’s Voice Coming from the Confessional Booth
Amanda’s life seemed perfect — a loving husband, two wonderful kids, and a thriving family business. But one unexpected visit to the church turned her world upside down when she overheard her husband’s voice coming from the confessional booth, revealing secrets she never imagined.
If someone had asked me last month to describe my life, I’d have said it was near perfect. Eric and I had been married for 12 years, and we had two beautiful kids, Emily and Lucas. Our weekends were spent at soccer games, family picnics, and working together at our small café on Main Street.
Eric was my rock. He had this calming presence that could smooth over any storm. His gentle touch and reassuring smile could dissolve my anxieties like sugar in warm tea.
A couple holding hands | Source: Unsplash
“We’ve got this, Amanda,” he’d whisper during challenging moments, his fingers intertwining with mine. When Emily’s bicycle chain broke or Lucas struggled with a math problem, Eric would step in with his quiet expertise, making everything seem effortless.
That morning, when Eric kissed me goodbye, there was something different in his eyes — a fleeting shadow I couldn’t quite decode. “Running some errands,” he said, his voice steady, but something beneath it felt… different.
“Pick up milk,” I called after him, more out of habit than necessity. He winked and pointed at me like he always did, but the gesture now felt rehearsed and almost mechanical.
A man walking away | Source: Midjourney
With the house suddenly silent (the kind of silence that seemed to hold its breath) I decided to visit the old church a few blocks down. I hadn’t been there in years. Something about it felt right that day, though an inexplicable tremor of uncertainty rippled through my chest.
Little did I know that within those ancient stone walls, my perfect world was about to crumble.
The church smelled of old wood and candle wax, familiar and soothing. Dust motes danced in the filtered sunlight, suspended between rows of weathered pews.
I wandered through the space, letting my mind drift, hoping to find a moment of reprieve from the constant hum of daily life. It felt peaceful, like I’d discovered a delicate bubble of calm in my relentlessly busy world.
A woman in church | Source: Pexels
As I walked past the confessional booth, a familiar voice floated out… muffled at first, then gradually becoming more distinct.
My steps faltered, a cold shiver racing down my spine. It was Eric’s voice. The timbre was unmistakable… that low, controlled tone I’d known for 12 years.
No, I thought. That can’t be. Eric isn’t here. He’s running errands.
But then he spoke again, clearer this time. “Father, I need to confess something.” The words hung in the air, weighted with a burden I couldn’t comprehend.
I froze, every muscle in my body locking into place. My brain screamed at me to walk away, to unhear what was happening, but my feet seemed rooted to the worn marble floor.
A man in a confession booth in church | Source: Pexels
“I’ve been living a double life,” Eric said, his voice low and trembling. “I’ve been cheating on my wife, Amanda. I have a mistress… and two children with her.” Each word felt like a knife, systematically dismantling everything I believed about our marriage.
My knees nearly buckled. I reached out, desperate to steady myself against the wall, the cold stone biting into my palm like a sharp reminder that this wasn’t a nightmare, but a brutal, horrifying reality.
Mistress? Two children? My Eric?
The words echoed in my mind, fragmenting my entire understanding of our life together. Twelve years of shared memories, trust, and love — all crumbling in an instant.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
I backed away, my head spinning, and my chest heaving as ragged breaths escaped me. Tears blurred my sight, transforming the sacred space into a kaleidoscope of broken light. I stumbled out of the church and into the bright morning sun, feeling like a ghost of myself.
I made it to the car before the first sob escaped. It tore through me, raw and uncontrollable…. like a sound of betrayal that seemed to rip from the deepest part of my soul. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, the leather creaking beneath my trembling fingers.
Each breath felt like broken glass, sharp and painful. Then, my phone buzzed. Eric’s name flashed on the screen, mocking me with its casual familiarity.
A woman holding a phone flashing an inoming call | Source: Midjourney
I wiped at my face furiously, trying to steel myself and find some semblance of composure before answering. My reflection in the rearview mirror was a stranger… eyes red, skin pale, and a mask of shock and mounting fury.
“Hey,” I said, forcing calm into my tone, a performance worthy of an actress.
“Hi, hon,” he said, his voice as smooth and casual as ever. The endearment now felt like poison. “Just wanted to let you know I’m heading to a friend’s place to help with his car. Might take a couple of hours.”
A fresh wave of rage and despair surged through me. I could taste the bitterness of his lie and feel the weight of his deception. Yet, I swallowed it down.
“Sure,” I said tightly, each word a carefully controlled dagger. “I’ll see you at home later.”
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
I hung up and stared at the dashboard, my mind reeling. He was lying to me. Calmly. Effortlessly. As if our entire life together was nothing more than a casual script he could rewrite at will.
The silence of the car pressed against me, heavy with the revelation that would forever split my life into “before” and “after”.
I didn’t go home. The thought of returning to our carefully curated life felt impossible. Instead, I parked across the street from the church and waited, my hands gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline.
An anxious woman sitting in a car | Source: Midjourney
Ten minutes later, Eric walked out, looking completely at ease. His movements were relaxed, and his face was unburdened by the confession I’d just overheard. He climbed into his car and pulled away, unaware that his entire world was about to shatter.
Something inside me snapped. A cold, calculated fury replaced my initial shock. I started my car and followed him.
He drove through town, taking backroads until he reached a quiet and familiar neighborhood. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear its rhythm in my ears. Each turn, each mile felt like a betrayal unfolding in real-time.
A man driving a car | Source: Unsplash
I watched as he parked in front of a small, familiar house — a place that used to represent warmth and friendship.
Susan’s house. The air left my lungs in a rush. Susan. My former best friend.
We hadn’t spoken in four years, not since a stupid fight over something so trivial it now seemed laughable. I couldn’t even remember the exact details, but it had been petty… something about her flaking on a lunch date and me accusing her of not caring about our friendship.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here she was, caring very deeply about something: MY HUSBAND.
A house surrounded by a beautiful garden | Source: Midjourney
I watched as Eric walked up to the door and knocked. Susan opened it, and my stomach lurched when she smiled at him… warm, intimate, and welcoming. The kind of smile reserved for someone who knows you deeply and who shares your secrets.
Then, they hugged. Not the casual hug of old friends, but something deeper. Intimate. Their bodies melting into each other with a familiarity that spoke volumes.
I sat frozen in my car, a silent witness to the unraveling of everything I thought I knew. As they disappeared inside together, the world around me seemed to blur and sound muted, and the colors dulled.
My perfect life had just become a lie.
A woman sitting in a car | Source: Pexels
I didn’t think. I just acted. Pure, raw emotion propelled me forward. I threw the car door open and stormed across the lawn, my blood boiling like molten lava. My hands trembled as I pounded on the door with a force that seemed to echo my shattered heart.
When Susan opened it, her face drained of color. The guilt was instantaneous, written across her features like a confession.
“Amanda,” she whispered, the name sounding more like a prayer of desperate apology.
A startled woman opening the door | Source: Midjourney
Eric appeared behind her, his eyes widening in shock, caught in a moment of pure vulnerability. “AMANDA? What are you doing here?” he stammered.
“What am I doing here?” I barked and shoved past Susan into the living room. “I should be asking YOU that.”
That’s when I saw them: two little girls playing on the floor. They looked up at me with wide, curious eyes… eyes that were unmistakably Eric’s. Same shape, same color, and same hint of mischief. They were carbon copies of the man I thought I knew.
An angry woman | Source: Midjourney
My knees threatened to give out, but rage held me upright like an invisible steel rod. “Are they yours?” I demanded, my voice a broken whisper that threatened to become a scream.
Eric sighed with a gesture of weary resignation, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit I’d once found endearing. “Amanda, let me explain—”
“EXPLAIN?” I cut him off. “Explain how you’ve been sneaking around behind my back for years? How you’ve built an entire second family with my so-called best friend?”
A nervous man | Source: Midjourney
Susan stepped forward, her hands wringing like a pathetic gesture of remorse. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, whirling on her with a fury that made her step back. “You betrayed me. You, of all people. And for what? Your friend’s husband?”
Eric raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Amanda, let’s calm down and talk about this—”
“Calm down?” I laughed. “You don’t get to ask me to calm down, Eric. Not after this.”
The little girls stared, confused and frightened. For a moment, I felt a pang of guilt. They were innocent in this web of betrayal. But the feeling was quickly consumed by my rage.
Two frightened little girls sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney
“This is OVER,” I said, my voice trembling with a finality that felt like a death sentence. “I want a divorce. And you—” I pointed at Susan, each word dripping with venom, “you’re DEAD to me.”
The room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging like a guillotine, ready to sever the last threads of our shared history.
The divorce was swift and surgical, like cutting out a malignant tumor from my life. Eric didn’t contest it, which spoke volumes. Perhaps he knew the depth of his betrayal made any argument futile.
His family, once a second home to me, rallied around me, not him. His father, who had always treated me like the daughter he never had, cut ties with Eric entirely.
Divorce papers on a table | Source: Pexels
More than financial support, his continued presence felt like a validation. “You deserve so much more, Amanda,” he told me, his weathered hands squeezing mine with a protective fierceness that made me feel supported in my most vulnerable moments.
Eric’s betrayal had shattered me… initially. But in its devastating wake, I discovered a new kind of strength. A strength that wasn’t defined by my roles as a wife or a mother, but by who I was at my core. I wasn’t just Amanda the wife or Amanda the mother.
I was Amanda… a woman with her own identity, her own resilience, and her own power.
A woman looking outside | Source: Midjourney
The pain transformed me. Each tear, each moment of anger, and each sleepless night became fuel for my reconstruction. I wasn’t broken. I was breaking free.
As for Susan and Eric? They could have each other. Their betrayal was their burden to bear, not mine to carry. Because now, for the first time in years, I was truly free. And in that freedom, I found something far more valuable than the life I’d lost — MYSELF.
Portait of an emotional woman | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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