The Beestonian Issue 41

The

Beestonian This isn’t the strapline you’re looking for...

Issue no.

41

Word Up!

W

ords. We love them, which explains why we put loads of them onto some paper and put it round Beeston every few weeks. Beestonians are seldom lost for them: we’re a town that revels in being a bit gobby.

So we thought it would be a good idea to dedicate this issue of The Beestonian to all things wordy: literature, poetry and suchlike. We’ve got a rich heritage of writing here, and such a vibrant scene it’s impossible to stuff them all into one issue. So instead, we’ve focussed on a sample of the quality: performance poets, encyclopaedic geniuses, publishers and much more. We’ve left out loads, we know: it’s becoming increasingly difficult to fit this town’s talents into just 16 pages. Thus, we’ll be having a regular feature in the future solely devoted to literature.

We’ve even had a go at writing a bit of verse ourselves, with our contributors moving seamlessly from prose to poetry and coming out

with a selection of sonnets, haiku and first-degree Burns about our town.

Our big sister, Nottingham, could well become a UNESCO City of Literature next month, an accolade bestowed on few places round the globe. If it does get the title, then it’s good to know that just a short tram ride away from the Market Square, we already have excellence in words.

Also, as you’re reading this, your mind might be on that other Matter of Great Importance right now: Christmas Shopping. We’d like to remind you that if you really want to make your moolah make a difference, don’t be splashing it around the chain stores, or tax-dodgers such as Amazon. Spend it here.

Chilwell Road is still struggling post-tramworks, and this Yuletide could be make or break for them. From the Creative Corner to Broadgate, as well as all points North and South, there are wealth of pressies waiting to be bought that will not just make your loved ones love you more; but will keep us an independent, strong town into 2016. Mark my words.

LB

The University of

Beestonia

S

This is English: Literature at the University of Nottingham

...English

of the lives of three fifteenth-century Scottish kings, ince arriving at the University of as a subject is Jameses one through three. The subject matter and Nottingham a little over a year ago, a setting is firmly in the sphere of the medieval scholar; defined not by the lad o’ pairts down from Glasgow via the production, the staging, the acting, the text as a nation of England, Dundee and Coventry, I have been play, falls within the remit of theatre and performance; but by the language finally, the plays appeal to my own interest in struck by the organisation of the School of contemporary Scottish literature and how it registers English. The ‘literature’ section – shorthand for of English. present-day national politics in Britain – think of the 2014 literature from 1500 to the present – comprises Independence Referendum. This kind of project shows how only one of four pillars that make up the School. the different strands of ‘English’ at Nottingham come together

The Trent Building is also home to academics working on theatre and performance, language and applied linguistics, and medieval language and literature. Creative writing, meanwhile, continues to develop apace, doubtless soon to be a fifth pillar (column?) in the School. In many other institutions, these fields are often separated out into individual departments. Of course, there is considerable overlap and collaboration across the sections, and being exposed to a whole host of different ideas makes for some interesting, and very productive, encounters. Want to get to the bottom of some esoteric Nottinghamshire dialogue in D. H. Lawrence? Draft in a linguist who specialises in that area!

An illustrative example of the various elements of the School of English working in productive harmony is our incipient research project on Rona Munro’s The James Plays. These history plays are dramatic presentations

to enable unique research to be done.

The James Plays also hint at another angle on ‘English’ literature. It might seem counter-intuitive to consider modern Scottish plays as part of an English canon – I’m sure James 1st of Scotland would agree. The usual explanation for this is that English as a subject is defined not by the nation of England, but by the language of English. That leaves room in English literature for Walter Scott and for Derek Walcott; for James Joyce and for Arundhati Roy. It does leave a gap though. If English literature is writing in English, then what category describes the writing of England? English literature understood as the literature of England remains puzzlingly absent, but a pressing line of enquiry for literary studies in Nottingham, and Britain, today.

JJ

Obituary BID Farewell

C

entral Beeston’s business community voted decisively in September to discontinue Beeston BID – (for the unfamiliar, short for Beeston Business Improvement District). Of 222 votes cast only 87 were in favour of a second term, meaning that BID’s five year life will end on 31 December. Already office doors are shut and the three staff made redundant.

BID was set up in 2010 to make Beeston a better place to live, work and shop. It was one of many similar BIDs across the country dedicated to giving an independent voice to local business communities. The volunteer Board and small team brought vitality and colour to the town over a difficult period of transition, initially with Tesco and then the tram.

It is not immediately clear why they have been denied a chance to build on this success in more stable times.

An irony is that this decision comes at the very moment Beeston is becoming more visible as a place on the up. This summer we won Rising Star status in the Great British High Street awards and a Silver Award for floral displays. Even the Sunday Times spoke of Beeston as a place to watch. Awards like this are a mark of success in branding the uniqueness of Beeston through I Love Beeston and Lets Go to Beeston. Cultivating a

sense of identity is hard work and long-term, as are less glamorous tasks of promoting small businesses, encouraging local initiatives, training and marketing.

Now is just the time when the business community needs an independent voice to focus on the long-term future, to build on success and to cultivate a uniqueness of place. There is everything to play for in the town centre now we have the tram, but who is going to stand up for the business community when there is no focus for consultation or any obligation to consult? Where will the passion, the vision and support for Beeston come from, even the monitoring of footfall?

No doubt Broxtowe will look at how the BID legacy might be taken forward, but it is likely to do so in the competing context of Stapleford, Eastwood and Kimberly and against a climate of cuts. The real irony is that the Beeston business community has rejected an opportunity to act together to shape a future for itself.

The Civic Society, dedicated to the success of Beeston, has also lost a friend.

Dr Peter Robinson, Committee Member of Beeston and District Civic Society

Steve Plowright S

teve is a well-known local personality, often seen busking with concertina or melodeon in Beeston.

He’s a talented chap: singer of songs and player of tunes from a vast repertoire; poet (sometimes setting his poems to music); folklorist and exponent of the possibly-dying art of ‘corn dolly making’. He performs in clubs across the region and is often booked to play music or demonstrate his craft. Steve is also notable for the openness with which he discusses his mental health problems, not just one-to-one but also in talks, illustrated by relevant poems and songs. His wife Debbie has also recently published a collection of poems which talk sometimes movingly, sometimes with black humour, about her experiences of living with and caring for Steve.

Poetry for Steve, especially in his collection Bi-polar Rhythms, is both cathartic for him and those who have experienced something similar, and helpful to others who have been more fortunate in their mental health. It’s no longer a taboo subject in society but Steve was a pioneer and it is thanks to people like him that we all feel more comfortable talking about mental health issues.

Steve was always interested in poetry and no doubt would have gone on to study at a higher level if he hadn’t been struck down during his A Level years. Still, he has gone on to express himself and describe his experiences in thoughtful, well-crafted and often moving poems.

Perhaps inevitably, at school in the sixties a sensitive soul like Steve was bullied and he’s included a poem entitled ‘Stop Beating Me Up!’ which in a footnote he says “is a genuine plea for reconciliation.”

“Please! Please call a truce!

Let’s communicate.

Stop this interrogation.

Let’s have regeneration.

Come, let’s link our arms, Melt this cold, cold iron Into warm living wood With roots to the earth And branch to the sky…”

It is a simple and very immediate poem, with a sentiment that is typical of the man who seeks communication and reconciliation, expressed in imagery that falls back on his beloved natural world.

If writing that poem was cathartic, so must have been ‘The Kick Start’, addressed to the doctor who prescribed electro-shock therapy and made things

much, much worse: “Was I speaking clearly? Did you really want to hear me?

You just extolled so clearly your psychiatric theory.

Yes, you ordered special treatment and made my head feel sore, You flicked the switch, which caused me to twitch, You kick-started my psychiatric story.”

Happily, not all treatment Steve received was as negative and awful as this. ‘Sweet Lincoln Lawn’ is about “the best psychiatric hospital I’ve ever been in…the Lawn Hospital in Lincoln” and to Mervin, whom he met there.

“Walking through mist-shrouded streets, Haunted by ghosts from former years, Mediaeval cathedral’s all-conquering calm Embraced, then dispelled our fears.

Merv, you were a mate, A friend to relate, A beacon, a hope, A laugh and a joke, A spirit so kindred, A kind inspiration, For proud reclamation Of my life, love of poetry, Music and song!”

Steve’s other collection, All around the Year explores the way in which the seasons affect his moods but also how the predictability of the changes we see around us every year has a calming effect as well. Included in ‘Bi-polar Rhythms’ are poems such as ‘Midsummer Madness’ where he talks of his mind being “heavy-laden” and the brain being “assaulted with…fiery frenzies”. Steve admits that, paradoxically, he finds comfort in the traditionally melancholic autumn months.

In ‘Red Wine in November’ he addresses the month and asks, “Can you kindle a glow through a tryst with the sun/And give us a glimpse of a battle you’ve won?”

So, Steve lays himself bare: friendships and seasons for comfort, nightmare treatments and depths of anxiety and depression. In ‘Cruel Jailers’ he addresses both and wonders which is his ‘jailer’, perhaps even both.

The powerful opening of ‘Exclusion’ expresses vividly the depths of Steve’s condition: “Exclusion, seclusion, Illusion, confusion, Delusion, depression And a deep-held impression That nobody seems to care.”

But there’s the other side expressed in ‘Inclusion’: “Inclusion, fusion, Perception, conception, Elation, creation, A heart-felt expression Of a caring community.”

Long may Steve continue to experience that elation and creativity, with the support of a community of family and friends and the rhythms of the natural world.

CT

A Little bit of Mee N

o, there isn’t a spelling mistake in the title and I’m not being egotistical, it’s not all about ‘me’. The ‘Mee’ in this case refers to Arthur Mee, a Nottinghamshire born journalist, educator and author.

Although a prolific writer, for anyone interested in local history, curious things and much more, then his work The King’s England is a must.

Arthur Henry Mee was born in Stapleford on 21st July 1875. He was the second child and eldest son, of the ten children born to Henry and Mary Mee. Henry was a mechanical engineer working for the railways and in various biographies Arthur’s upbringing is described as ‘working class’. His father was a Baptist Deacon and throughout his life, Arthur was a devout Christian, although he had an understanding and firm belief in evolution.

At school the young Arthur does not seem to have inherited his father’s practical skills, but developed a passion for English. He excelled in both the written and spoken word and his reading skills were second to none. Before leaving school Arthur put his abilities to good use and earned a little money by reading aloud parliamentary reports and newspapers to blind neighbour and local baker, Henry Mellows.

In 1889 - shortly before Arthur left school at the age of 14 - the Mee family moved to Nottingham.

This move gave Arthur the opportunity of taking what seems to be his perfect first job at The Nottingham Express, where he was employed an assistant to a proof reader.. At the age of around 15 Arthur taught himself Pitman’s shorthand and regularly honed his skills every Sunday morning by taking notes of the sermon at the Baptist Chapel. Arthur found one sermon particularly interesting and after the service hurried home to write up his notes as an article. The following day he submitted his work to an editor at the paper. The article was subsequently published and he was taken on as an apprentice reporter. So began Arthur’s long career as a writer and journalist. At this time it was the job of a cub reporter to gather whatever news they could from hospitals, police and fire stations, court cases, council meetings and the like. All of this meant long days travelling the streets. Wherever possible Arthur would save his tram-fare and walk between location. He considered his meagre income better spent on pork pies and custard tarts.

Arthur finished his apprenticeship with The Express at the age of 20 and was given an editorship at its sister paper The Nottingham Evening Post. Better paid, Arthur was to take

up rooms in Nottingham with fellow journalist John Hammerton. Hammerton was also a newly appointed editor, but at Arthur’s former paper The Express. Although the two young men were in many ways polar opposites - unlike Arthur, John was neither religious nor tee-total - they were to become life-long friends. Whilst on holiday in 1895 Arthur met and fell in love with Amelia Fraston, the woman who was to become his wife.

The ever ambitious Arthur taught himself to type and to supplement his wages further, took to writing articles for national journals like Tit-bits, a popular weekly magazine. Arthur’s interest and style of writing meant that his contributions to the magazine soon became popular with the readership in 1896 the proprietor offered Arthur £1,000 a year to work for him full-time: Arthur was lured to London. For the next few years he made a sizeable contribution to its content whilst further supplementing his now substantial income by contributing articles to the Morning Herald and the St. James Gazette.

Arthur and Amelia were soon married and moved into a house on Tulse Hill, London.

The year 1901 was a truly significant one for Arthur with some life changing. that year he took the post as editor of a sixpenny weekly paper known as The Black and White. Here he was able to employ his friend John Hammerton as literary and dramatic critic. This was the beginning of a long and fruitful cooperation, which produced some of Arthur’s best known works. Here, he also met Margaret Lillie, who was to become another life-long friend and his personal secretary for the next 40 years.

On a more personal level for Arthur, it was in 1901 that Amelia gave birth to their only daughter, Marjorie. Soon after the birth the couple moved to a new home in Hextable,

A young Arthur Mee at his desk.

Kent. Marjorie’s inquisitive nature would later inspire Arthur to write The Children’s Encyclopaedia. The work was published in 50 parts between 1908 and 1910 and became one of the most popular children’s books of the day.

Arthur was appointed general editor of The Harmsworth Self Educator, which in collaboration with Hammerton, was published as a part-work between 1905 and 1907. Next came The Children’s Encyclopaedia, the success of which led to Arthur’s editorship of the World’s first weekly newspaper especially for children, The Children’s Newspaper. The paper remained in print from 1919 to 1965 when it was absorbed by another title. Over its 46 year life - 25 of which were under Arthur’s editorship - the paper produced 2,397 issues.

Arthur Mee wrote around 200 books. The Dictionary of National Biography describes him as “The most successful creator of large-scale works of reference that Britain has known.”

Arthur Henry Mee’s death was sudden and unexpected. On the 27th May 1943 he was admitted to hospital for a routine operation on a gland. He died the following day. A service of remembrance was held at St. Dunstan’s Fleet Street, London, on 6th June. Sadly, the house in Stapleford where he was born - which was behind the parish church of St. Helen - has now been demolished. A Blue Plaque on the wall of the Arthur Mee Centre - next to the Library - is all that marks the town as the birth place of this great man.

JE

A

told was in an epic poem by Lord Roger Cruikshank in 1635, but it fter an extended sabbatical, in which was awful. The man was no poet. However, the broad strokes I attempted to win my long fought offer us an interesting insight into the minds of those early battle with the terminal, chronic, Beestonians. debilitating and painful disease that is inThere is a story The story goes that Ian looked up into the night sky growing toenails, I picked up a copy of this attributed to this Ian, and was immediately besotted with Diana, her pale periodical to find what I can only describe one of love and loss, pockmarked face, her nothing else. He followed as a laughable slip in the Beestonian facther on foot, circumnavigating the globe forever in heroism and tragedy. checker’s otherwise faultless career. Spot darkness, chasing her pallid guiding light. Without if you can the horrendous error in the the warmth of the sun Ian wasted away until he was nothing more than a ray of light himself and it was then following:

“Nottinghamshire has three large natural geological features.

In order of size they are: The Hemlock Stone at Bramcote, The Altar or Druid Stone at Blidworth and Bob’s Rock located in Stapleford.”

Article ‘The Hemlock Stone’ Issue 40 Reader I had to rub my eyes, so convinced was I that I must have been mistaken. Three large geological features? Only three? Of course to the layman, this may be perfectly true, but to those of us with education (those hardworking few), it is perfectly plain that Nottinghamshire has four, and the fourth is right in the heart of Beeston.

Believed to have been an early representation of the Moon Goddess Diana’s lover, Ian, the rock in question has been roughly dated to have been carved from red sandstone in around 2600 BC, making it a direct contemporary of Stonehenge.

In ancient folklore Ian was the conduit by which those early dwellers communicated with their pale Goddess. He was the beam of light upon whose back they sent their prayers. There is a story attributed to this Ian, one of love and loss, heroism and tragedy. The last time it was fully

that he finally transcended earth’s shackles and rose up into the night sky to be with his beloved.

Diana was fickle though and immediately coerced him into employment, as she felt was his rightful place. Diana had many lovers, many employees and often blurred the line wilfully and with gumption.

Clever lady. Smart as a whip. Not without feeling or sentimentality, but a Goddess who knew what she wanted and how to get it.

Now it is known that all the proto-religions were female oriented; society was organised around female leaders, and cults worshipped female gods. Over time however the power balance seemed to shift.

No surprises then that Diana has all but disappeared in the modern world, but Ian remains, albeit in a somewhat bastardised form. His name changed through the ages: Light Ian, Ray Ian, Beam Ian. Well, as language developed and changed somehow we lost the meaning. Beam Ian became Beeman and we retrofitted new mythologies to accord with this name change. Some of us still remember though and every full moon you’ll find me out amongst the rye praying to Beam Ian with the traditional chant of a whipping sound. Üter Cobblers

Perpetual Protection I

n this literature based edition, let me bring your attention to the beautiful little books published by the Beeston & District Civic Society in recent years, including the Beeston Heritage Trail, the South Beeston Industrial Trail and my own favourite – Tracks, Towpaths and Twitchells : walks around Beeston & District (published 1992). These titles are all available at the regular meetings held by the Society between September and April and the many events they take part in and help organise.

They are a small and dedicated team of people who devote their spare time to helping improve the town we live in, protecting its heritage and architecture and promoting everything that’s great about Beeston.

The Tracks, Towpaths and Twitchells book was specifically written to encourage regular use of footpaths so they were conserved for YOU to use today!

Look around you and the Civic Society are everywhere - they organised the tremendously successful Heritage Open Day last month, they had a large hand in the Blue Plaque Scheme, they scrutinise new planning

applications to ensure the character of Beeston is preserved and they challenge poor official decisions. They will be celebrating their 43rd birthday next year.

The sum is greater than the parts! The Society are currently looking for people to join their Committee and help play even a small role in anything/everything above. Social media is a great way for us all to discuss what’s good and rant about what’s bad – but in the Society we have a well-established formal mouthpiece who needs a little bit of help right now. Have a look at http://beestoncivicsociety.org.uk/ for more information.

Who knows what titles the next generation may publish? What do you fancy preserving and protecting? Don’t just assume it will still be there in a few years!

KA

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NG9 Just off the High Road, a tramline diversion Stands a Wilmot Lane highlight, a floral conversion Soup cans of faunae ticker and taper With space for tyres and planters, a floristry caper A feast for the eyes, novocaine for the soul

Beeston Haiku

Tendered too long before holes in the road Take some time out of your day, put some news on the vine To watch growth in our town, given how we dig NG9.

Ric Salinger

pedestrian precinct man created from concrete dreams about beeston Dave Wood

Down Beeston High Road Picked up a flyer while Emma was singing With charity clipboarders stalking their prey; Outdoing Tescos, our Foxie was shouting And shoppers were jostling and bustling their way Down Beeston High Road.

You can kneel and be healed – or so I believe – Or seek some warm solace in rich café culture Solve a quick crossword or else you can sneak Doing The Charity Shop Hop There are twelve of us in Beeston, who serve the population well.

The poor, the needy, the collectors, or just those searching out a bargain.

They call us in by their enticing windows,

A quick guilty peek at today’s Daily Mail – while no-body’s looking!

Oxjammers vied with pushy UKIPpers, While some Labour stalwarts tried staring them out – ‘Big Issue!’ was heard, the familiar shout, Down Beeston High Road.

Have your photos re-printed or buy some fresh fish

Help the good cause of your choice.

Get a new next year’s calendar (THIS year’s, if you wish!)

Some moan that there are too many,

There’s second-hand furniture instead of McD’s,

That and coffee shops.

But raise funds they clearly do, better than rattling tins on a Saturday.

Sail over to Iceland: restock your deep freeze!

There was all human life there, it ebbed and it flowed, Last Saturday morning, down Beeston High Road.

Colin Tucker f f

It helps to keep the High Road buzzing.

Fancy volunteering?

Christopher Frost

High Street Superhero Afternoon rain makes a mystery of Beeston Anxiety Trying to write a Poem on Beeston gave me real anxiety Christian Fox

But seeking no shelter, I wait.

White wind swirls across rooftops and ripples down concrete And in the hiss of the grey I wait.

The drip drop drips against pavement and voices are muted but near, And in the yellow glow of a shop window I see warmth without fear But out here, I wait.

And as I think about the do’s I’ll dare, And the rain seeps through my underwear A serrated scream slices through heavy damp air…

And I run and I run though my feet have gone numb, But I run to catch up with my fate.

For this is my motive, my purpose, my meaning, This is the reason I wait.

The Beest of Beeston f f

Press Gang Welcome to Shoestring Press, run

by John Lucas; and Candlestick Press, and run by Jenny Swann.

Both are thriving, much praised ventures. Candlestick’s innovative idea: publishing beautifully designed collections on a theme, to be sent as gifts in lieu of a card, has attracted fans including Poet Laureates past and present, with collections prefaced and edited from a dizzyingly array of notable guests: Germaine Greer; William Boyd; Monty Don; Sophie Dahl and Nigel Slater, to name but a few. Perhaps the poet Ian McMillan’s description serves the format best: “the literary equivalent of an iPod shuffle…”

Not only are John and Jenny collaborators, they’re also next door neighbours…

How coincidental it is that two of the most successful poetry publishers in Nottingham live right next door to each other?

Jenny: It’s not as coincidental as it might seems. Before moving to Nottingham I lived in Manchester and I once wrote to John who didn’t know me saying: ‘Here is some poetry, are you interested?’

He was and very kindly published a pamphlet of my work. I met John once in London at the Troubadour and then my husband got a job at Nottingham University, so all of a sudden we were moving to

Nottingham and John was one of the only two people I knew here.

So it was a bit stalkery really. First he publishes me, next thing he knows I move to Nottingham, next thing he knows I’m moving next door. It felt straight away like I was at home. I’ve been in Nottingham for 11 years and living in Beeston for 10. Candlestick press has been running since 2008.

What is it that makes Beeston attractive to you, in terms of creativity?

John: One obvious reason for this is the University. People who like this intellectual energy will be surrounded around here.

Jenny: Also, the values, especially here in Beeston. I would relate very much to those and I think it comes from the fact that there is a mix of academics and intellectuals here. And it is not a homogeneous town. Beeston has got a lovely mixture and a lot of people with shared outlooks and values.

John: Yeah I think that’s right. For 10 years I ran a poetry readings at the Flying Goose and they were really successful. I used poets with national – and occasionally international – reputations and I always tried to get locally based poets. A lot of really good writers live around this area.

How does Candlestick press work?

It’s just a two person operation, but you bring in guest editors?

JS: Yes it’s just two on the team.

I like choosing people who are going to do a good job, choosing them because they are going to do a good job, so we’ve got this bedtime poems series and the first person we asked to pick ten poems was William Boyd. We usually ask different people who are not poets to choose their favourite so William was the first one and then we thought ‘Who is the opposite of William Boyd? Germaine Greer!’ so then we asked her. You see I like having fun with them and it’s interesting to see what they would pick.

For the current one Ten poems about Nottingham, I asked John because he knows more of Nottingham poets – and cricket!

– than anybody else. In fact he’s doing another one for next year which is going to be about cricket poems. So it’s not just going for the names but more for the people that are going to do the best jobs.

Jenny: you had a record year last year.

JS: Yes we sold 58,000 copies.

I’ve noticed that the monetary value of our turn over since we set up is around half a million pounds, which it delights me

because it’s poetry. When I set it up I personally went in every book shop asking if they would try to sell my pamphlets and they said ‘No, poetry doesn’t sell.’ It feels good to prove them wrong.

So what’s the secret?

Jenny: There’s no secret. We do what we do out of love.

JL: Around here there are bundles of energy everywhere but people outside seem to not understand it.

JS: True, it’s a shame. And probably it’s because there is not one huge agglomerate in the East Midlands, there are lots of small ones and they all work each with a different specialism.

Have you ever thought of coming all together and becoming the big East Midland poetry press?

Jenny: Well funnily enough, Ross (Bradshaw, Five Leaves Press) once made a joke about it. John lived in Beeston and I moved next door and next door to me a house was on sale, so Ross once said ‘Well I guess I should buy that one now!’

Phoelyx Delany Nottingham City of Literature

Verse Class Think poets all sit in attics drinking themselves to death with red wine while penning a few fey lines on existentialism? Nah, not round here. Lord Beestonia meets Dave Wood, our very own local Perambulating Poet….

Poetic, maybe, but not strictly poetry. Yet Dave is not your usual poet. He sees words as tools, to be used to change perception, not inhibited by the constraints of the page. Poetry to him is a shared experience. “I started working in 1988, when I moved down to Dorset to join an arts collective. We spent 10

I recently was chatting to a famous poet and comedian who told me a distinct difference in the approach Notts creatives take over those from elsewhere.

“We see it as work,” he told me. “We’re a place that has always worked hard. We’re the descendants of miners, of millworkers, of those toiling at a lathe. We mix art with work.”

When I meet the poet Dave Wood, he hands me his business card, where he describes himself as ‘Wordsmith’. “Poetry is a craft, just like smithing: an artisan trade. You make these things, with the skills you have.”

We meet at Middle Street Resource Centre, where he’s been running a rather charming project. He’s organised the construction of two huge papiermâché clouds; one dark, one light. People can put their positive thoughts in the white, fluffy cloud; while depositing their unwanted thoughts into the dark one.

Hidden in the cloud is a shredder.

Bad thoughts get ribboned: a simple, but effective idea. “It’s like a filter, to make people consider what’s in their mind. They can get a real sense of release getting the bad thoughts out on paper, and then shredded.”

‘Writer in Residence’ for the city’s huge Waterstones. “I think it was the first time in the UK they’d employed someone to do that. I ran workshops, reading, organised the Big Word Day.” His reputation as a creative type started to attract attention, and offers of work came in fast.

“Things snowballed,” he tells me.

Beeston Sonnet Shall I compare thee to other suburbs of Nottingham?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the stirring sense of play, And the latest press releases spur on-line debate; Sometime too hot the eye of officialdom shines, Too often are the old intersections jamm’d; And everywhere repairs sometimes decline, But the citizens by the changing course are undimm’d; Thy eternal community shall not fade, Nor lose possession of how creatively eclectic thou ow’st: Nor shall politicians brag thou wander’st in their shade, When in eternal tram lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives Beeston, and this gives life to me (with apologies to Shakespeare) Karen Atwood years touring round the UK, with something we called ‘Instant Theatre’. I loved it, and got a real feel for working in the round.”

On returning to Nottingham, he looked for a new creative role, and found it when he became

He started working at festivals, where he’d write bespoke poems on request. “I wear a long white coat, and style myself as Dr Rhyme,” he explains “or Dr Lurve around Valentine’s Day.” He developed a playful,

informal style: in the round, no microphone, collaborative.

Making the audience part of the experience. His skill as a communicator led to him being hired to teach junior doctors the gentle art of ‘bedside manner’.

In 2011 he decided to embark on what he named the ‘Sherwood Perambulation’, walking the perimeter of Sherwood Forest as it would have been in ancient times, writing as he went. This developed into a wider project where he gave talks, workshops and whatever came his way as he strolled his way round the – generally disappeared –forest. “Knackering but fun” is his description of the journey. “We set off in the middle of a heatwave – and to risk assess it beforehand, this was actually the second time I’d walked it.” The result was an epic, sprawling poem. “It would take around three hours to recite.”

As well as getting people to think about their locale through time, he also saved a bunch of trees. In Annesley, he saved an ancient oak plantation (Little Oak Plantation) from being felled by successfully getting local campaigners to set up a tree preservation order via the Woodland Trust. A little bit of Sherwood Forest saved.

This gets me back to my original point. Creative folk here don’t just sit in garrets being melancholy, they mix practicality with poetry.

We are a hard-working bunch, the work ethic of an industrial city still in our bones: we graft. As Dave Wood moves into his fifties, he shows no sign of laying down tools anytime soon.

LB

With apologies to everyone, especially Bryan Adams, Richard Greene and Sally…

Look into my eyes; you will see… what you mean to me.

(like a hoodie-wearing socialist lurking in Sherwood)

Take me as I am, riding through the glen

But you can’t tell me it’s not worth trying for

(though glens are mainly Scottish, so I must be lost again)

You can’t tell me it’s not worth dying for

I steal from the rich and give to the poor

You know it’s true…

(makes sense; the poor have nowt and the rich a damned sight more)

Everything I do…

I’m feared by the bad and loved by the good

I do it for you cash.

Tim Pollard

Bow

Selecta I

t’s been a busy old time in the world of Robin Hood, so busy that I even regretfully had to turn down a trip to Italy to meet Tuscany’s ‘Italian Robin Hood’ and talk about twinning our towns.

In the very earliest tales Robin isn’t a dashing hero, in fact he’s really not a nice chap at all...

Then again October always is a busy time for me, full of great events (including the Robin Hood Beer Festival and Pageant) but this year I’ve also had the pleasure of welcoming the official Pied Piper of Hamelin from Germany and Switzerland’s William Tell to Nottingham.

Years ago the three of us formed ‘The Legion of Legends’, as we’re each associated with specific towns or cities and thought it would be fun.

We’ve met individually before but this was the first time we’ve joined up together - and it was joyous.

And that got me to thinking about stories, legends and history and how tales evolve, grow and adapt - and the Robin Hood stories are a perfect example of that. In the very earliest tales Robin isn’t a dashing hero, in fact he’s really not a very nice chap at all.

He keeps getting into fights, boasting, being a bit of an arse and even mutilating the face of an enemy (no idea why Disney didn’t show that bit in their cartoon) and constantly has to be rescued by the longsuffering Little John.

Friar Tuck and Maid Marian aren’t even in those stories either – they turn up significantly later.

Some people attribute Marian’s appearance to a French story, ‘Robin et Marian’ which concerns an entirely different Robin but the two tales were conflated when the French story made it across the channel. Another theory suggests that Robin was a very religious man and when he came back from the Crusades he went to St. Mary’s Church to pray and St. Anne’s Well to purify himself but it was deemed unseemly that a man should be associated with different two lady saints so ‘Mary and Anne’ became ‘Marian’.

As time progressed Robin also became a dispossessed nobleman rather than just an aggrieved peasant which served not only to add some aristocratic legitimacy to his actions but also presumably to avoid

the otherwise tricky implication that revolting against the status quo was acceptable.

And this is the great strength of the legend, that it can evolve and grow – in more recent times the much loved 1950’s ‘Adventures of Robin Hood’ TV series starring Richard Greene (the one every child and adult in the country can sing the theme tune to despite it not having been on TV for decades) was written by several American TV writers who had come across to England to escape the McCarthy-ite Communist ‘witch hunts’ that swept the US at the time. They wrote stories about a hero standing up against an oppressive tyranny - but they weren’t really writing about medieval England as much as (metaphorically) what was going on in their homeland.

The 1980’s saw ‘Robin of Sherwood’ on TV, starring first Michael Praed and then Jason Connery in the lead role. This version of the legend was infused with myth and magic with a heroic, mystical Robin representing the spirit of England – and it was here that a new character was added, Nasir, a Saracen who joined with Robin and came back with him to England. He fitted in so well that the producers of Kevin Costner’s ‘Prince of Thieves’ movie didn’t realise he’d been made up for the TV series and thus cast Morgan Freeman in a similar role – and when the recent BBC series starred Jonas Armstrong as a short-haired, modern, ‘youth’ Robin (or ‘ASBO and arrows’ as I saw it) a similar character was included there too – proof that even in our lifetime the legend has grown yet again.

Even now there’s serious talk of Robin representing the green movement, ecology, renewable energy, recycling and of course the ongoing pressure to create a ‘Robin Hood Tax’ on bankers to help the poor - if that doesn’t mean the character still represents and means a huge amount to people globally then I don’t know what would… and if you’re in any doubt, just go to Tuscany and ask them – because they have ‘the Italian Robin Hood’, we don’t have ‘the British Ghinotto di Tacco’.

Tim Pollard Nottingham’s Official Robin Hood

Food 2: The Return T

his week marked a week of culinary creativity unseen since Heston set that tea towel on fire and told everyone the smoke was an aperitif. Our daughter was ill. A picky eater at best, the appetite of a cricket at worst, she hit new eating lows as hard as her dad and I invented new food stuff to tempt her. Off-the-menu treats became the norm for the 5 days she refused food. Morrison’s saw their ice cream shares double. She refused the lot. Even jelly was left uneaten, a sure sign it was time for a trip to the doctor.

The upside of a half-term spent consoling a moody hunger-striking toddler was the glut of uneaten sugary snacks that my husband and I ate in the evening. Under the cover of darkness, one ear turned to the door in case we were rumbled, we ate a week’s worth of Trademark Character yoghurts, jelly and ‘100% pure fruit with only a bit of sugar’ rolls. We ate like kings. Our toddler doesn’t know, please don’t tell her. She can be pretty cutting. We invented strawberry milkshake custard, jelly beans in actual jelly and hot toffee apple

surprise (couldn’t remake this, no idea how we did it).

My husband is the chef in our house, regularly knocking up green thai curry from nothing but spaghetti hoops and a pitta bread, but I’m taking some credit for the dessert concoctions we made for our poorly kid last week. As our daughter started to feel better, we gently reintroduced carbs and protein to our little silent protester. We wrapped mini-sausages in bacon. We did things with pasta that the 1980’s would be proud of. The last night before term restarted she ate an entire sandwich (cheese, with butter BUT NOT TOO MUCH BUTTER OK?) and we breathed a sigh of relief that she might actually live long enough to put the weight back on that she’d lost. Plus we figured it was school’s turn to worry about it for a few hours.

Last week put the brakes on my plan to reform our family eating habits and shoved us back a few steps, but there were positives too. The night I reluctantly left my girl’s bedside to go to work I scored a free curry. Now I know I didn’t actually MAKE the curry, but it was free and free food is the best type of food. I have a firm plan to recreate this free curry by making my husband pay for the ingredients while I Gordon Ramsey it up in the kitchen, shouting swear

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words at the neighbours until they cry. I’ll let you know how the curry goes, and whether my daughter ever eats a vegetable again in her life having got used to a diet of bacon and Neapolitan ice-cream. I reckon it’s the start of an exciting new era in our kitchen.

DL

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Going

What is Beeston’s most

Wild Priapic Creature? in Beeston M ike Spencer of Beeston Wildlife Group looks at the world of beasts with two

backs...!

Dear readers, I am deeply disappointed and not a little embarrassed on behalf of the citizenry of our fair town, to have to report to you that not a single name was forthcoming, either to myself or the venerable editor of this fine publication, to claim the prize offered for Beeston’s “Elicit Shagger of the Year 2015”. So, just like the National Lottery there’ll be - ahem -a “RollOver” until this time next year when, assuming I can persuade Mr Murdoch of The Sunday Times fame, to go along with the idea, we’ll be looking for Beeston’s Shagger 2016! You know who you are, even if you’re not telling us yet, onwards and upwards into 2016!

All of which, got me to thinking about the natural world. Where would the prize go for the most “exotic” copulatory behaviour? And what criteria would the judges apply to select their prize winner – frequency maybe, longevity or what about sheer numbers of partners?

Anyway, and I know the non-entomologists amongst you are going to say I’m making this up again, but one of the prime contenders for this veritable Lonsdale Belt of wildlife procreation would have to be.... “Mi Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen.....in the Red Corner....I give you our very own Bonking Beetle!”

To give it its full title: The Hogweed “Bonking” Beetle, or for the Latinista bug-nerds amongst you, none other than good old Ragonycha Fulva. Yep, Bonking Beetle really is its name and there are no prizes for guessing how it came by this highly descriptive moniker. Talk about a one-track-minded obsessive. The moment it pops its antennae’d head out of its pupa it’s on the search for a suitable Mrs(Ms) Bonking Beetle.... not just one you’ll understand but as many as it can poke its not so insignificant intromittant organ (now who was awake during Biology class then?) into during its short but priapic life.

Anyway, this little critter, quite common here abouts, is one of a veritable legion of so-called Soldier Beetles that scamper about beneath our feet alongside their close cousins the Sailor

Beetles.... haven’t come across Airman Beetles yet but just give me time and a magnifying glass.

My thanks go to Tim Sexton of the Attenborough Nature Centre without whose entomological expertise...”I wouldn’t have been able to be with you tonight to receive this fabulous award, I’d like to thank my director ...sob...sob” B*gger that’s my Hollywood speech! Reminder to self must concentrate on the job in hand!

Whilst I’m on the subject, as it were, who chopped down the Wagtails roosting trees at the bus station/interchange/derelict loo site? Loos, that are now locked and barred, completely useless to man or beast are still standing as an eyesore for all Beeston’s visiting shoppers to admire while the poor old innocent Wagtails have had their comfy night-time home chopped down from under them. Why was it so urgent?

Couldn’t it have waited until the Spring? Why Now Mister Axeman?

Note to Ed – Now try and change that to Nookie! (Ed:nope!)

Mike Spencer www.facebook.com/beestonwildlife

AUTHORGRAMS THIS ISSUE ALL THE ANSWERS ARE NAMES OF FAMOUS AUTHORS, ALL MIXED UP. ANSWERS CAN BE FOUND EITHER

BY USING YOUR BRAIN, OR VISITING ONE OF BEESTON’S BOOKSHOPS OR THE LIBRARY. OR USING AN INTERNET ANAGRAM SOLVER IF YOU’RE AS HONEST AS A RUSSIAN OLYMPIC ATHLETE.

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Colin Tucker talks to Phil Langran about the literary influences behind his songs Local resident for some seventeen years, Phil has established himself as a writer/composer and singer of literate but very hummable songs in local clubs and venues in the area. The songs occupy an intersection between folk, blues and ‘Americana’ and are usually filtered through the ‘celtic’ prism of his band, the eponymously named, ‘Phil Langran Band’.

Phil started writing songs “as soon as I’d bought a guitar, which was aged about fifteen” and he’s not looked back since. In his youth, he listened Phil to fifties rock ‘n Langran rollers like Eddie Cochrane, Chuck Berry and Fats Domino and then the singer song-writers of the sixties, almost exclusively North American: Bob Dylan, Tom Rush, Tom Paxton, Judy Collins, Leonard Cohen.

Asked to focus on where his songs come from, he muses: “No one place – people, places, situations; and from reading – novels, history, biography, poetry, travel-writing – page_Layout 1 02/12/2014 inPND fact,Advert from1/8travelling too.”

Those are where the ideas come from but ideas, he says, “have to be worked Design on,”>soCreative he stores up fragments of music – pieces of melody, chord > Corporate Branding sequences – and &words, > Copywriting Editing in his notebook. pieces of a song > Print “The & On-line or a>lyric often come to me as Brochures I’m walking. With the pieces I sit > Newsletters > Marketing Materials > Conference Branding

down and quite deliberately try to put them together – I then find it helps to let it ‘foment’ as I’m walking.”

Phil is also conscious of ‘synthesising’ a good phrase or line from another writer and we discuss whether this is ‘collaboration’, ‘homage’ or simply ‘plagiarism’! He’s aware of unconscious referencing of lines or phrases from elsewhere in his songs, something he often realises after the event. As a fan of country blues he’s aware of a “huge floating pool of bits of lyrics” that reappear in lots of songs so he’s very relaxed about the idea of lyrical echoes turning up in his own work and he gives the example of the phrase “no other lover” which appears in his song “Since You Broke My Picture of the World” (from his first album “Here”) – the title itself comes from Salman Rushdie – which listeners might recall from the George Harrison song “Something”.

“But when James Taylor first started recording for ‘Apple’,” Phil points out, “he had a song called “Something In the Way She Moves” – coincidence?” Whatever, Phil eschews the romantic image of the poet/writer who waits to be ‘inspired’ – for him, it’s something that has to be worked on, welding a disparate set of 16:05 Page 1 ideas, phrases – original or borrowed - and images, into a coherent whole.

As well as his own totally original songs, Phil has also become known for ‘setting’ the poems of published poets, including, somewhat incongruously perhaps, the work

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of the relatively obscure AfricanAmerican poet, Langston Hughes.

Knowing Phil’s interest in such things – he taught Literature and American Studies at Lincoln and then Humberside University for a number of years – a colleague recommended he took a look at Hughes’ works. “They seemed to sing off the page – turning them into songs was an obvious thing to do.”

Phil didn’t realise it at the time, but has since discovered, that others have seen – or ‘heard’ – the musical qualities in Hughes’ poems too, including jazz greats like Charlie Mingus. Phil doesn’t treat the poems with too much reverence, making fine judgments about whether – and how much - he can change them slightly to fit a musical setting. “For example, “Juke Box Love Songs” (the title track of his second album) doesn’t have a chorus in the original published poem.”

Phil has gone on to ‘set’ the work of other poets. He has a sequence of songs – currently unrecorded entitled “The Borders of Sleep”: a line from a poem by the Edwardian First World War poet, Edward Thomas. “It’s a great line,” says Phil. “It seemed a shame not to

use it!” The sequence includes works by Thomas and his friend and mentor, the American poet, Robert Frost, along with a setting of the W.B. Yeats poem, “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death”.

“Some of Thomas’ poems would be impossible to set. Like some of Frost’s, they are poetry bordering on prose.”

He’s currently working on the poems of the nineteenth century English writer, John Clare, ‘the peasant poet’. At the moment he has completed work on two poems by Clare himself and one

by Patrick Kavanagh about Clare.

Seen live, Phil comes across as relaxed and easy-going, performing his deceptively-simple songs in relaxed style, interspersing the numbers with self-deprecating wit. Yet it is clear that, behind all this, there’s a craftsman, honing his songs with self-conscious and deliberate skill.

CT ‘The Phil Langran Band’ performs with ‘Carmina’ at The Maze, Sunday 17 January. Visit the Facebook Page or website for more details.

Christian

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Oxjam T

aking over a whopping fifteen local cafes, pubs and bars, Oxjam landed in Beeston on Saturday 17th October.

Next up were trio The Face That Boils Itself, combined with Old Rosie Rhubarb cider. The band’s sound of bluesy woodland folk transported me back to when instruments were handmade and cider washed it down. All that was missing were a few hay bales.

Being the early bird I am I swooped up a ticket before the event for a minuscule six pounds. Starting the Local well-known artist Josh day armed with a map containing Kemp entertained with his covers venue acts and times I planned of Disney film classics, proving a naive military style operation, an instant hit with all ages. Over in my attempt to seize as at the aptly named bar much musical delights called well The Bar, the day had to offer.

Anti-cure delivered the final Indie rockers from a fantastically amount raised Nottingham The different set; a twist Black Cats and on rock songs with was over Magpies loudly an added dance announced the edge performed arrival of Oxjam with a hauntingly with an opening set emotional vocal. on the stage in the square.

Up next No Disco kept their end of the deal to provide The alluring chimes of music heavy indie pop on self-penned pulled me in as the last rays of subjects such as East Midlands sunshine smiled on the christening Parkway. The night began to set. Ahead of me lay a day full of descend fast as the final few sets music of all varieties alongside of the night took hold all that was spoken word performances, and left was to set off home via a kebab even a rock choir. The Malt Shovel at Mr Falafel. A few weeks after played host to ridiculously young Oxjam, the final amount raised and talented trio Barney Rubblez. on the day was released as being Their sound was impressively over 17,000! Well done to all the styled as they performed covers volunteers! alongside self-penned hits.

LD

£17,000

The Beestonian is...

Editor/Lead Writer/Founder • Lord Beestonia Co-Founder/Resident Don • Prof J Design • Dan Associate Editor • Christian Business Manager • Mel History Editor

• Joe Earp Illustrator • Mouni Feddag Top-notch contributors this issue: Joe Earp, Chris Fox, Colin Tucker, John ‘Poolie’ Cooper, Christopher Frost, Tim Pollard, Mel Heath, Ric Salinger, Lulu Davenport, Mike Spencer, Karen Attwood, Daisy Leverington, Phoelyx Delaney, Dr Peter Robinson The Beest and Deman.

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Gossip from the

HIVE MIND *** Number One – and, inevitably, Number Two – concern in Beeston is the Borough council taking away the toilets.

Unwilling to spend a few quid so we can spend a penny, the council are suggesting we all go to local shops and pubs if caught short while shopping *** *** At the same time this was going on, the spiritual leader of the ruling party on the council, the Right Honourable Anna Soubry MP, got into a right tizz on Twitter while on a train recently when the toilets weren’t quite up to her exacting standards.

Possibly better than none at all though, eh Anna? *** *** Which makes one wonder. How many toilets does our MP have in the palatial Leicestershire mansion she resides in?

Maybe lend one to Beeston? ***

fracking banned in the county. While great to see them, we were surprised that one had a bushy moustache and a distinctly male face. ‘Ah’m not a spy’ he assured us in a broad Preston accent, when put on the spot ‘I just somehow got involved. I’m an honorary gran now’. We believed him, and called off the waterboarding. Stay vigilant, Beestonians! ***

*** Our homegrown super-hero, The Beest, who carries out his hapless crime-fighting in the strip below this column, has been spotted in the flesh. however, he seems a little less pot-bellied and a tad smaller than our comic artist Deman suggests in his cartoon renderings ***

*** RIP to Professor Dan Eley, the legendary centenarian chemistry boffin, who, as well as having a huge career in science, was also the last remaining person to have witnessed the Chilwell Explosion in 1918. We had the great honour of interviewing over summer, and a more decent man you’d be hard-pressed to find.

A blue plaque beckons? ***

*** Also missing, presumed destroyed by the council, are the trees round the bus station. Lopped down with no notice, they instantly rendered dozens of roosting pied wagtails homeless. Why? Could it be trees that don’t exist are cheaper to maintain than trees that do exist? *** *** A recent meeting set up to oppose fracking in Beeston was joyfully graced by the Anti-Fracking Nanas, a group of tabardwearing, headscarf-decked grans who took on Cuadrilla in Lancashire and won, having

Thud!

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