The Beestonian Issue 44 by The Beestonian

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The

Beestonian Shaking up Beeston

Issue no.

Not Diggin’ It...

ust as the dust of the long term tram issue is settling and Beeston returning to some sort of peace, another controversy comes crashing towards us. Fracking is looming over the town, with a ‘dash for gas’ threatening our peace in ways that will make the tramworks seem like a minor bit of roadworking. Inside, our reporter Tom Roberts has a good look at the issue, and finds that some serious questions remain unanswered. See page 2 for his report. While any actual work won’t start for another few years, the implications are frightening. Supporters of the plans include our own MP, who has been highly effusive on the benefits of sticking millions of gallons of toxic water into the ground, centring rigs all over the area and, at a time when we really shouldn’t be sticking more CO2 into the atmosphere, doing exactly that. Beeston has a great reputation as being a green-town: the Nature

Reserve at Attenborough, the many green spaces, the hydroelectric plant at Beeston Weir to name just a few; all set to be undermined - pun very much intended – by this threat of fracking. Will it bring jobs? Energy security? Prosperity? Looking at the USA, which had a fracking boom over the last decade, things appear grim on this front. The fracking companies are failing, the environment has been badly damaged, and the only people who seem to have benefitted are the people selling the fracking hardware. It was often said that the only people who got rich during the Californian Goldrush were the ones selling pickaxes. It seems this ‘dash for gas’ is history repeating itself. You’ll be unsurprised to hear therefore that The Beestonian is against fracking - in Beeston, in Broxtowe...anywhere. Yet we want to open a debate. There will be a fair amount of disinformation pumped out by all sides as the pressure mounts: We will do our best to sift the facts from the fictions, and present them to you. Get in touch with your views. LB

frack off! W

e’re all fracked! That’s the latest news to come from our illustrious MP the inimitable Anna Soubry. Having previously been opposed to the mining of shale gas using jets of high pressure water she is now all for it having been “persuaded” it was a “good idea.” She further argued that “a properly informed debate is critical” but appears to support continuing schemes despite calls for a moratorium until the debate concludes. This is rather out of touch with her pro-greenbelt campaigning style but let’s actually examine the facts. By the end of 2016 nationwide 159 licenses for exploratory drilling will have been issued by the Government. These licenses cover a total of 293 sites of special scientific interest (SSSIs) and 188 wildlife reserves. They also cover countless homes and businesses. In Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire alone there are 34 Wildlife Trust Reserves that have been opened up to fracking, including Attenborough Nature Reserve. Originally the Government exempted SSSIs from fracking but something happened between the January and August of 2015 that changed their minds. I would guess it may have been around May 7th but I am a cynic. These SSSIs are vital areas of greenery in an increasingly grey landscape. They provide space for the preservation of countless flora and fauna and as such are often extremely fragile. There’s a reason that these areas have been set up to protect local wildlife from the harshness that can be modern life. I spoke to Greg Hewit from Frack Free Notts who had this to say: “Fracking has been known to cause serious harm to wildlife. The main threats are the 24 hour noise and light as well as potential chemical run-off into SSSIs. These areas are protected for a reason and just because the drilling is underneath does not mean that this will not affect the area.”

These criticisms were also made by the Wildlife Trust who drew further attention to the damage to water quality and quantity. Fracking uses up large amounts of water which, due to chemical contamination, is rendered unusable for the foreseeable future. This water has to come from somewhere and can be a huge drain on local resources leading to possible shortages. Beyond this the aforementioned chemicals are often extremely toxic and if they manage to contaminate the local area this can damage public health. In a press release Green Party member Katt Boettge points to a case “in Blackpool, where water was so radioactive that it required a special permit to transport it away.”

explosion.” Weirdly I find myself agreeing with Ms. Soubry that a “properly informed debate is critical” where I disagree is whether we should continue fracking whilst the debate unfolds. We shouldn’t. Especially when the cost could be so high. Please, everyone, think of the swans. TR

All of this bodes poorly for fracking under Attenborough. As a former gravel quarry it is both built on extremely porous rock and may already have structural weak points from prior excavation. This makes it a prime candidate for water contamination, with the possible damage to the health and diversity of local wildlife representing a huge blow to the community. Sadly however, fracking’s problems extend outside of the reserve. Frack Free Notts also drew attention to possible issues for local housing. Hewitt points out that “houses nearby fracking sites will have a fall in house prices, which was declared in a Government report.” The report in question was originally redacted (to support Government policy) but when it was released fully in July it did contain that tacit admission that house prices may fall by around 7%. It also agreed with Hewitt’s view that “insurers may not be able to provide cover if fracking causes damages to houses.” A particularly terrifying figure mentioned was that houses up to 5 miles of a fracking site could require additional premiums to protect them from “losses in the case of explosion at the site.” A sentence up there with “written by Andrew Lloyd Webber” or “starring John McCrirrick” for ability to make blood run cold. When I started writing this piece I had intended it to be a balanced coverage of the pros and cons of the latest controversial energy source. Unfortunately I am both not a good journalist and terrified by the phrase “in the case of

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Heard the one about THE Comedian becoming a dad again?

It’s all in the delivery A week ago I became a father again for the second time. My second daughter Sophia was born in the early hours of 4th Feb. You hear horror stories about women enduring hours in labour, but our second daughter was born in just over 30 mins; we didn’t even need to pay for the parking. My dad said, “She’s got Yorkshire genes that one, you could have kept the engine running son!”

a comedian”. The midwife didn’t understand that she meant this in a professional context. My wife may well have said, “Oh, ignore my husband, he’s a bit of a dickhead.” Yet despite this I think I still managed to pull a pretty good joke out of the bag. Emotional, under pressure and whilst cradling my new daughter I said, “When you think about it a midwife and a comedian have a lot in common, it’s all in the delivery!” The midwife didn’t laugh. She just looked at my wife, who raised her eyes, looked away and then said, “Well, I suppose I best fetch the weighing scales”. What an idiot I am.

Our first daughter, Olivia, who is now 5, although she’s 3 when we go to the local swimming baths (an old trick of my fathers, “get on board with the fraud” as he used to say) was born just as quick too. My wife seems to be able to push out children with the pelvic power of a Russian gymnast who’s spent their life in the circus. With both births we were a traffic light change away from having them in the car. I often think it’s a shame we didn’t as it would have made naming them a doddle. “Have you met my daughters, Ford Focus Saloon and her sister Kia Sportswagon?” People often say that child birth is magical, beautiful even. I agree it’s pretty amazing, but to describe it as magical isn’t correct. If it is magical then that magician is a psychopath who’s strangled his rabbits, chopped off his assistant’s head and forced his doves into a blender. I really think childbirth is the one thing that reminds us that we are all indeed just animals. This time we almost didn’t make it to the hospital at all. As I skidded into the car park, pulling off a handbrake turn that even Scott Bennett the Stig would’ve been proud of, the baby’s head appeared. This was incidentally a new car. Obviously when we were asked where we Now it’s been five years since we’ve had a would like to have the baby, I didn’t say in baby in the house and these are the top three a mid-priced family car with extra leg room things I’d forgotten all about: and air-conditioning; I said Queens Medical Centre, City Hospital or my preferred choice, Baby Hygiene: There is nothing filthier in the Waitrose. Imagine the advantage of being world than the folds of a baby’s neck. Given born in between the quinoa and the quails’ the choice of cleaning that or a bottom crease, eggs; she’d be bound to excel. I’d take the bottom any day of the week. It’s unbelievable. She’s barely been on this earth Once again I got the chance to cut the for a week and it’s like running your finger umbilical cord. I felt like I was a mayor inside the hem of a marathon runners shorts. opening a supermarket. “I now declare our It’s not just the stale milk. There’s fluff and social life over!” My wife made the passing other substances that even scientists in a lab remark. “Oh, ignore my husband, he’s a bit of

couldn’t identify. My wife lost my car keys the other day. I said, “Have you checked the baby’s neck?” Night Noises: I’m not talking about the crying, I’m talking about the continual grunts, snorts and whistles. Babies make these low level noises all night, like fridge freezers. The first night when we got home it was like sharing a room with Gollum. Last night she let out a wheeze so long and deep it was like someone had trod on a bagpipe. Old people love babies: I got ambushed the other day by two of them in the park. They came at me like police squad cars boxing in a joyrider. Lovely old ladies and they did mean well. Their heads went straight into the pram, cooing with excitement. I then had to field the usual questions. “What’s her name?” “When was she born?” “How much did she weigh?” That last question I have always found a little baffling. It’s a human, not a fish! What is the obsession people have with this statistic? Is there a massive game of guess the weight of the baby that I am unaware of? Congratulations, the winning weight was 8lb 7oz; you’ve won the George Forman Grill! It’s always the question people ask, but I suppose when she is a new born baby is the most appropriate time to ask this. You couldn’t approach a fully grown adult in the park and ask them how much they weighed; I mean you could, but expect to get slapped. I would say that becoming a father again has been an unforgettable and amazing experience and just like with the first birth I am left with one overriding thought; thank God I am a man. Scott Bennett is a comedian and general idiot Find out more here: www.scottbennettcomedy.co.uk Or follow his waffle on twitter: @scottibee Or listen to him on the all-new Local Laughs with Scott Bennett and the Beestonian Podcast on iTunes and SoundCloud SB

Vernon Scannel L

ife is strange sometimes. A while ago I received a Facebook message from our own Jimmy Wiggins, informing me that something had been delivered to his shop with my name on it. Now I was a bit perplexed at this, as I am not a musician of any kind. I can just about tackle the triangle or tambourine. So I sent him a message to ask if he’d clicked on my name by accident. He said not. I had to wait a few days before I received the envelope. It was a bit of a surprise when I opened it, as it was a book of poetry compiled by local poet John Lucas, together with a lovely letter that he had written. John explained that he had read my article on Stan Bullard in issue 38 of the Beestonian, and wanted to inform me that he had used one of Stan’s etchings on the cover of the said book; Paging Doctor Jazz, a Verse Anthology. John also went on to write about a poet called Vernon Scannell, who lived in Beeston and wrote a poem about one of our local cinemas. So I thought I would do a bit of investigation into this former Beestonian, although he was born in Spilsby, Lincolnshire. Vernon Scannell aka John Vernon Bain was born on 23 January 1922, and he and his parents moved to various places during his early years, including Beeston where they lived on Chilwell Road, and he attended the Nether St School. He doesn’t seem to have written that much about his childhood life in Beeston. The family lived with his mother’s parents in

a house on Chilwell Road from possibly 1927 until 1931, when the Bains moved to Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire. Life was quite hard, as they more or less lived in poverty.

BEESTON

His father James was was something of a portrait photographer, and would spend the summer months in Skegness photographing the holidaymakers there. After leaving school at 14, Vernon worked in an office, but was better as a boxer. He enlisted in the army when he was eighteen, and his war experience included North Africa and the D Day Landings. He was also quite good at deserting, having done it a couple of times. The last one being at the end of the war. This was when he changed his name to Scannell. But was caught in 1947 and subsequently court marshalled.

Each Saturday at two o’clock

“Beeston, the place near Nottingham; We lived there for three years or so, We queued up for the matinee, All the kids for streets around With snotty noses; giant caps, Cut down coats and heavy boots, The natural enemies of cops And schoolteachers. Profane and hoarse We scrambled, yelled and fought until The Picture Palace opened up And then, like Hamelin children, forced Our bony way into the Hall.

He learnt to write poetry whilst he was on the run, and continued it successfully for the rest of his life, having won many awards including the Heinemann Award in 1961 and the Cholmondeley Poetry Prize in 1974. His first book of poems (Graves and Resurrections) was printed in 1948, with a further ten; the last being in 2004 (Behind the Lines) and published by John Lucas’s own publishing house, Shoestring Press. Vernon also wrote children’s books, novels and four memoirs of his long and colourful life. He died on 17 November 2007, in Otley, Yorkshire.

That much is easy to recall;

Martin Reed has kindly allowed permission for Scannell’s poem to be reproduced for this magazine. The original can be found in the volume Collected Poems 1950-1993 (Faber). CDF

The well-shaved hero never could,

Also the reek of chewing-gum, Gob-stoppers and liquorice, But of the flickering myths themselves Not much remains. The hero was A milky, wide-brimmed hat, a shape Astride the arched white stallion. The villain’s horse and hat were black. Disbelief did not exist And launched virtue always won With quicker gun and harder fist And all of us applauded it. Yet I remember moments when In solitude I’d find myself Brooding on the sooty man, The bristling villain, who could move Imagination in a way And even warm the nervous heart With something oddly close to love.”

Bendigo W

illiam “Bendigo” Thompson was born in 1811 in New Yard, now Trinity Walk, off Parliament Street.The area Bendigo was brought up was no more than a slum compared to modern social housing. Naturally, the slums were rife with pestilence and disease, and the life expectancy here was less than half the national average, a shocking 22 years. The town boundaries had not changed since they were erected nearly 800 years before, and the Industrial Revolution led to massive overcrowding: a town that probably housed around 1,000 people when built now squeezed in 50,000. One government official even labelled Nottingham ‘the worst town in England.’ The most affected areas were Narrow Marsh and the streets crowded between Long Row and Parliament Street and the people here were said to be “the poorest of all Queen Victoria’s children.” Bendigo was the youngest of triplets, called Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, after the Old Testament Hebrews cast into the burning fiery surface. He was the youngest of 21 children, which shows his Mother must have been a strong woman, a, attribute no doubt passed on to young William. The house he was born in has now gone, redeveloped in the 1970s. All there is to show that one of history’s greatest boxers was born and brought up there is a small plaque on a pillar next to the Anglo-Scotian Mills. When he was 15 his father died and William was sent to the Nottingham Workhouse with his mother. After leaving there, Thompson sold oysters in and around the streets of Nottingham before obtaining a job as an iron turner. As a young man, William became a superb all round athlete, excelling in all types of physical activity. There is one tale which tells of Bendigo throwing a brick from one side of the River Trent to the other. No doubt he did this as a bet or to show off his physical strength and skill. It was the age-old sport of bare knuckle fighting with which Bendigo would be forever linked. Supported by the violent drunken mob known as ‘the Nottingham Lambs’ - who were likely to intervene if their hero was losing - Bendigo fought an epic contest against Ben Caunt, a Hucknall miner four and a half inches taller and three stones heavier, and went on to defeat Deaf James Burke for the championship of England. Between the ages of 21 and 39, he fought twenty one times, losing only once after slipping on the grass and being disqualified for going down without being hit. These were the days when a fight could last over a hundred rounds - a round ending when either man fell as the result of a blow. Faking was hard to prove, and Bendigo

exploited this, especially against bigger men, using his own speed and agility to inflict considerable damage in between rests on the turf, when he would taunt his opponents by kicking his legs in the air and laughing. After his retirement from boxing, Bendigo slid into alcoholism, joining his former supporters, the Nottingham Lambs, in drunken rampages, as a result of which he was imprisoned twenty-eight times in the House of Correction on St John’s Street (approximately modern King Edward Street). But William’s story was by no means over. In 1872, he visited an evangelical meeting at the Mechanics Institute, saw the error of his ways and was converted. After that, he spoke regularly at revivalist meetings, and more than once (according to legend) found his old boxing skills useful in pacifying a rowdy audience. To sober himself up Bendigo moved to Beeston to get away from his ‘old crowd’. He moved into a little cottage on Wollaton Road in Beeston and seems to have settled down. The cottage was later pulled down and the Anglo Scotian Mills were built on the site. There is now a plaque which marks the site of Bendigo’s cottage to be found on the wall close to the entrance to the main building. William seems to have taken to life in Beeston well, his favourite past times being fishing at Attenborough and drinking (in moderation) in the local pubs, his favourite apparently being the Cadland in Chilwell. It was during one of his fishing trips along the River Trent that Bendigo showed his old physical strength. At the age of 59 he managed to dive into the river to save three people from drowning. One time he pulled a woman from the river who offered him a reward. “Reward? I am the champion of England,” he scornfully rejected the kind offer. Thompson died on 23 August 1880 aged 69, after falling down the stairs of his home in Beeston. The fall fractured ribs and punctured his lung but he hung on for seven more weeks before he finally expired. His funeral procession was a mile long and thousands lined the streets, including many nationally famous people of the period. Even The Times newspaper published his obituary, an accolade normally reserved for very illustrious people. He was buried in his mother’s grave, marked by a stone in the former burial grounds at Bath Street Rest Gardens (just near Victoria Leisure Centre). It is the only memorial not to have been moved during redevelopment and bears the inscription: “In life always brave, Fighting like a Lion; In Death like a Lamb, Tranquil in Zion.” JE

a fizz of froth Newcomers James Thomas and James Kellett took over ownership of the cafe at the Creative Corner (off Cator Lane and Chilwell Road) a couple of weeks ago and judging by the great atmosphere evident during my first few visits, it looks set to be a hit with locals. The cafe has been converted into a nice boxy shape and is filled with cool design, art and eclectic pieces of furniture including chairs that are designed to fit with every personality and mood (I did a bright yellow 70s print last week but feeling more dark brown leather last time). The cafe opens 8.30 to 5pm Monday to Friday (hurray, a local cafe open on a Monday for a change!) and 10am to 5pm Saturday. The boys have been busy on social media

attracting a new audience alongside existing Creative Corner customers. The new nononsense breakfast menu including toast, porridge and/or cereal is going down well and they also offer a diverse lunch menu with toasties, chilli and quinoa salad (for the saints among us). For the more indulgent, all the cakes are fresh and home made locally – and the coffee is delicious. Froth is child friendly and is already a small person crowd pleaser each afternoon between 3.30pm-4pm, offering baby cinos free of charge. There are exciting plans for the future. Further conversions at the Creative Centre will see artist studios appearing in previous storage space and the two Jameses have their eye on enlivening Beeston with music events at Froth and other Beeston nightspots. Keep watching their Facebook page (‘Froth coffee shop’) for further news! KA

Keep It Live F

or three consecutive nights in Beeston I’ve just enjoyed some really great - not to say, diverse - live music, all within walking distance of home and for a total admission cost of fifteen quid! There was the folk club above the White Lion on Friday night - just a ‘singers and performers’ night, when you got whoever decided to drop in. These sessions can be real Forrest Gump, ‘box of chocolates’ occasions but this night we got a range of songs from such diverse sources as Trad (who’s written loads of good stuff over the years), Richard Thompson, Henry Purcell and Half Man, Half Biscuit. And at times when everyone joined in - at one point we had concertina, violin, banjo, penny whistle, mouth organs and guitars improvising an arrangement - there was that magical sense that you only get with live music: that you are seeing and hearing something new being created out of thin air. That feeling was there in spades on Sunday night at The Star for the monthly Beeston Jazz Club, where master trombonist Dennis Rollins joined forces with residents, BoHop. And they were sparking on all cylinders, no mistake. Maybe it was the fact that keyboard player Neil Hunter and double-bassist Geoff Pearson hadn’t been around for recent club nights, or maybe it was just

that here were four consummate musicians (including, of course, the ubiquitous Ian Beestin on drums) egging each other on to create some stunning effects right there, in front of our very ears. Saturday night was a different sort of affair though no doubt there were improvised solos on guitar, mandolin and mouth organ in the slick and highly musical Western Swing night at Chilwell Road Methodist Church, courtesy of Rob Heron and the T-Pad Orchestra (and, before you ask, no, I have no idea!) This highly accomplished quartet played an infectious blend of mainly their own songs - another in a series of concerts (last time it was sea-shanty group, Kimber’s Men) staged at the church under the auspices of the excellent Village Ventures which, to their credit, is supported by the Arts Council and Notts County Council). The thing about ‘live’ is that you can end up enjoying something you might not bother with on CD or the radio (“I never knew I liked jazz until I discovered Beeston Jazz Club...” - there you go, Chris Moore, you can have that slogan for free!). So, next time you see something billed and you’ve never heard of the artist or don’t think you like the genre, get along anyway. It’s usually cheap as the proverbial French Fries and, you never know, you might experience some true magic. CT

Richard Beckinsale

With love

ord Beestonia explores Richard Beckinsale’s little known side-line in poetry, and finds the late sitcom star not only a decent poet, but a tragic Nostradamus….

blame you. Surely it’s enough for Beckinsale to be remembered as a sit-com star cut down in his prime, rather than some tragic Byronesque type? But Beeston arcana is Beeston arcana, so I handed over my £4 happy to have purchased a curiosity, rather than a piece of art.

I’m a fan of many things: books, poetry, charity shops, Beeston and best of all, serendipity. So imagine my joy when, while having my usual snuffle round Oxfam Books and Music, I snouted out one of the most curious metaphoric truffles imaginable. A slender book of poetry by one of Beeston’s best loved sons, the late Richard Beckinsale.

I gave it a read. It begins with a heart-felt tribute from Ronnie Barker, which shows the deep affection the two men had for each other, outside their on-screen roles. His widow, Judy, who many of the poems are dedicated to, writes the foreword, explaining that this was not a book purposely written, but fragments from different times of his life she collected after his death. Hence the inclusion of prose: a self-conscious, pained existential howl; a short story on growing up. Photos of Beckinsale through his short life: with Barker, with Judy, with Kate, dot the book.

For someone who had such a short career, Beckinsale left quite a legacy. His sitcom appearances: antagonising Leonard Rossiter in Rising Damp; carousing [with?] Paula Wilcox in The Lovers; playing the cheeky, optimistic cellmate and surrogate son to Ronnie Barker’s cynical lag in Porridge (and latterly, Going Straight); his handsome boyishness and warm charisma still radiates from our screens. Beckinsale died of a heart attack, aged just 31, in 1979. I probably don’t need to tell you he was from Beeston: a blue plaque at College House School, Cator Lane, does that proudly. The plaque unveiling was quite an occasion in itself. A few summers ago, I was invited down to College House to attend a pre-unveiling reception. Rumour was Kate Beckinsale might be making an appearance. It’s not often a touch of Hollywood lands down Chilwell Road, so I went along. Kate did arrive, not only with her mother, Richard’s widow, the actor Judy Loe, but brought along the father of her child, Michael Sheen (who I rather embarrassingly called ‘A local God’ due to his portrayal of Brian Clough in The Damned United); her then-husband, Tinseltown Hotshot Len Wiseman; and, possibly most unlikely of all, David Walliams. Has such a stellar line-up ever congregated in Beeston before? What many people won’t know, and something I was only dimly aware of, was that Beckinsale was a bit of a poet. If that gives you a nervous ‘Model Turned Actress’ chill, then I don’t

Surprisingly, Beckinsale can write. Ok, he is prone to the odd bout of mawkishness, and sometimes his words sound a little like rejected Donovan lyrics: ‘When I was a small boy, my main ambition in life was to catch a sunbeam’ might sit uneasily with more modern, cynical tastes; but in the rest of the book he makes a very decent stab at verse, playing with style and form with confidence, the mood swinging from

melancholy to the ecstatic joy of love. He writes of Beeston, of catching the 5B bus back down Derby Road after a night in Yates and The Bell. It’s a decent read. But I’m not writing this to give you a book review. I’m writing this as there is something downright prescient in the book, something that choked me up when I read it. First, a few details on his death. I’d lazily assumed for many years that Beckinsale had possibly gone the way that many do that die young, especially in the Seventies: choked on his own vomit / drug overdose / drinkfuelled accident. I was wrong. One evening, an undiagnosed congenital heart defect made itself apparent causing a massive cardiac arrest. He’d felt a bit under-the-weather beforehand, but his doctor had given him the all-clear and put it down to work stress. After a day’s filming, he went to bed, and didn’t wake up. The nanny looking after Kate found him dead when he failed to show up to filming. Three days later, Going Straight won a BAFTA. Ronnie Barker collected it, in tears. “He was so loved. He hadn’t done much but he was so loved that there was a universal sort of grief that went on,” Barker later recalled. The suddenness of his death lends the contents of With Love greater prophecy: It hurts your heart And softens your soul When you see a man Die Long before Even before Only before He’s old Then, in another poem: If you don’t watch out I’m going to miss you My finger tips will slip From the rim of my happiness And I will fall stone dead, dead weight To the knees of gloom Poems have the titles Ashes to Ashes. How Many Deaths Do I Have To Die Before I Can Live With The Angels? I dare anyone to read these poems and not feel their eyes prickle, their throats lumpen. It was, of course, less superstition – I’m a thorough rationalist myself – and more coincidence. After all, in one poem, where he lists all his ambitions such as drinking ten pints and being able to walk home; own a dog and visit Iceland - he also says wishes “I want / to die / when I am fifty-four”. Yet this takes nothing away from the sheer poignancy of the lines. He is right, nothing softens the soul more than a man cut down in his prime. Yet Beckinsale’s legacy shines bright, even 37 years after his death. Porridge is still one of the best sitcoms of the Seventies, and the only one that made the grade when it was scaled up into a movie. His daughters both have successful careers in acting. He has a blue plaque fixed to a Beeston wall. To his bereaved wife, he left these lines Baby girl widow will take care of my children Baby girl widow will make my dreams come true. LB

FOSTER CARERS F

oster carers have a fairly low profile in the grand scheme of things, yet they are part of the invisible glue which holds society together, playing an invaluable part in the lives of children and young people who haven’t had the best start in life. There are a number of foster carers living in Beeston and the surrounding areas, and we went to speak with Lyndsey and Ewan in Toton about their experiences in this hugely important role. They have been fostering continuously for Nottinghamshire County Council since 1999, and have looked after a number of children for a wide range of timescales - a day, a week or two, and several years. When asked what made them become foster carers, Lyndsey says that “We both had really happy and secure childhoods, and we wanted to share that with children who haven’t been as lucky.” There are a number of reasons why children are taken into care, but contrary to popular belief, it is not always because they have suffered physical and/or sexual abuse. Ewan explains “Pretty much all of the children we’ve looked after have been taken into care because of neglect. Their parents just haven’t been able to look after them for whatever reason – drug or alcohol dependency and mental health problems are common. We then step in to give them some stability and security, making sure they get the love and attention they need to grow and thrive.”

“We have always treated them like our own kids, even when they move on to independence. Our house has always been open to every child we’ve fostered, and we’re still in touch with nearly all of them. Some we are in contact with every week, and others we may only see at Christmas.” Lyndsey and Ewan have lots of touching anecdotes about fostering - some sad, mostly happy - and nearly all of them tug at the heart strings. Ewan relays the memory of the first time he was introduced to one little boy who they went on to foster for some time. “One thing I’ll never forget is when he came to us with very few personal possessions, but insisted that he brought a bag full of lightbulbs, candles and tea bags. It turns out that running out of basic things like this was a big source of anxiety for him, and it took a long time for him to be relaxed about them. When we first went on holiday he was constantly asking us if we had enough money and clothes to last us; these kinds of things were really important to him as he hadn’t known any different.” Being a foster carer is hard work, and it is not something you can do in isolation, says Lyndsey. “We have a good family network who are really supportive; there are foster carer support groups, and the social workers are also there when we need them. The council also puts on a number of events throughout the year for fostered children and also the birth children of foster carers. We have two of our own kids who have only ever known life within a fostering family, but it is important for them to feel appreciated too.”

Whilst foster carers receive an allowance, financial reward is not the primary motivating factor for Ewan. “The sense of satisfaction you get from fostering is unbeatable. We often look back to how a child was when they first came to us, compared to where we managed to get them to, and you can make an enormous difference.” When asked what advice they would give to people thinking about fostering, Lyndsey says that although taking the first step may be daunting, it is definitely a case of ‘the sooner the better’, and urges people to come forward. “I would thoroughly recommend fostering to anyone who thinks they could do it. As long as you’ve got a spare bedroom, are over 21, and have the time to devote to a child or young person then you will meet the starting criteria. Lots of carers we know talked about fostering for years before they enquired about it, and wished that they’d got involved sooner. If you speak to the council they will give you all the information you need.” If you want to find out more about fostering, call the fostering team on 01623 520 260, email fostering@nottscc.gov.uk or visit www.nottinghamshire.gov.uk/care/fostering JC

BEESTON PARENTS H

ello, I’m Roopam and I’m really pleased to be joining the team at The Beestonian. I have grown up in the area, and live nearby. I own and manage Beeston Nursery, so spend most of my time in Beeston.

I am lucky that I have worked with, and got to know so many children and families over the years. I have spent a huge amount of time discussing toilet training, walking, sleeping, eating, biting, talking, learning, playing, drawing, writing… And the main thing that I have learned about parenting is that sometimes it can be helpful to step back and look at the situation with a critical friend, and think about how that situation must feel to the tiny child involved. So I hope that I’ll be able to share some of the cute, funny interesting things that happen, and maybe help with some of everyday issues that we all encounter. I was talking to Matt about the numbers of people who read the Beestonian who must be parents, and how it would be good to write something about parenting… one thing led to another (as they say) and here I am! Roopam Carroll (RC)

A FRESH APPROACH At RM Tax & Accountancy we like to do things differently to most other accountants. There is no tie, no expensive office, no hidden fees or unexpected invoice. Your tax affairs will be dealt with from start-to-finish by a fully qualified accountant. All our fees are agreed up-front and paid month by month to spread the cost of your accountancy and tax needs.

I am a parent, and I am a qualified Primary school teacher. I work with children and families every day; and am always struck by how difficult being a parent can be. As parents and carers, we always try to do our best for the children, but it can be confusing sometimes. There are a lot of people out there who have opinions – after all, everybody was a child once, so has personal experience. Now that we have the internet, and forums, and facebook, there is even more advice out there for parents.

We make ourselves available around our clients hours; if a 7pm call suits you better than anything 9-5, then it suits us too. Find out more: www.rmtaxandaccountancy.com Give us a call: 0115 7270 725 or email us: rob@rmtaxandaccountancy.com

Being a parent can be wonderful, watching your children grow up and develop into independent humans, with their own personalities that spring up out of nowhere. I find that when I’m with children I laugh more than is dignified, and find joy in the little things that we as adults take for granted: puddles, dandelion clocks, hanging upside-down. I often find myself doing things that I swore I never would before I became a parent myself.

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

Top-notch contributors this issue: Joe Earp, Chris Fox, Colin Tucker, John ‘Poolie’ Cooper, Christopher Frost, Kemba Brown, Jimmy Wiggins, Dan Cullen, Tim Pollard, Mel Heath, Ric Salinger, Lulu Davenport, Mike Spencer, Karen Attwood, Daisy Leverington, Phoelyx Delaney, Roopam Carroll, Dr Peter Robinson and Deman. Printed by Pixels & Graphics, Beeston

Stockists: Rye, The Hop Pole, The Crown, The White Lion, The Star, The Greyhound, Flying Goose, Mish Mash Gallery, The Malt Shovel, The Guitar Spot, Relish, Broadgate Laundrette, Bubba Tea, The Bean, Beeston Library, Cafe ROYA, Newsagent on Chilwell Road, Metro, Beeston Marina Bar and Cafe, Attenborough Nature Reserve.

Angelica

from the destruction of our t is widely acknowledged (bastard) forests and places of natural that Nancy Astor was beauty”). Similarly in 1828 she was famous for the first woman to was seemingly heartfelt in her her forthright enter Parliament (in opposition of further war with opinions. France, right up until it was 1919) but sadly this isn’t explained she could make a lot of true. Actually, almost money from it. 100 years before, there was another, but she was so vile, Angelica (bastard) was famous for her forthright selfish, hypocritical, sour faced and opinions. She was told off by the Speaker on just downright awful that her name numerous occasions for spouting xenophobic has been rightfully whitewashed from or bullying nonsense, and famously whilst the Prime Minister Robert Jenkinson was speaking the history books. And sadly she was in the Commons, in the background, to the MP for Beeston. absolute delight of lip readers everywhere, she

She was known as The Bastard Angelica FitzMary. I have to say, the term ‘bastard’ is used in its actual sense. The last name, FitzMary, showed that Angelica, born 1793, was an illegitimate child: she had no father, and thus had to take her mother’s name instead. Despite her lowly status, Angelica the bastard rose to become Minister for Parliament and Defence Secretary from the years 1820 to 1831. A member of the Whigs, and then later the Conservative party, one of her election pledges was for the preservation of England’s natural heritage (address to Parliament January 1821 – “Honourable gentlemen it is our duty to line up against those that would destroy our forests and places of beauty…”) and then, in a monumental U-turn, voted for its destruction (address to Parliament March 1821 – “Honourable gentlemen it is our duty to line our pockets with the money produced

However she was scarred, bruised, almost unrecognisable afterwards. And strangely she was never heard from again from that day onwards. Some say Angelica was humbled into retirement, others say she travelled to far flung lands - Hull and beyond. But other rumours tell that she laid low for the next two centuries, draining the blood of virgins so that she could remain young. Some say she still lives today, though in what disguise is anyone’s guess… Üter Cobblers

called him a “c**t”. Before she donned parliamentary robes the bastard was a journalist for The Nottingham Journal, but that was pretty uneventful (she wasn’t very good). The real story, the moment historians decided to completely remove her from their usually so edit-free books, was on October 10th 1831. All you historians are wagging your tails right now. You know that date; it was the day that, furious at the Duke of Newcastle’s opposition to the Reform Act, rioters burned down Nottingham Castle. However, few people today know that the rioters carried on to Beeston. There, they found the residence of Angelica FitzMary the absolute bastard who had also vehemently opposed it (she had shares in several of the local factories). They burned down her house with her still inside. She only survived because the fires, much like all elements, people and animals, tended to avoid her.

Keep It Live: OXJAM O ne of the highlights of the Beeston musical calendar (is there such a thing?) is, of course, Beeston Oxjam Takeover. It’s very tempting to take this brilliant music festival – and its accompanying ‘fund-raisers’ – for granted. Last year, you may recall, it raised a whopping £17000 for Oxfam as well as bringing literally thousands of people into our little town. In fact, ‘Beeston Oxjam’ raised more money than any of the other fifty or so Oxjam Takeovers in the entire UK!

But you can’t take anything for granted. Last year many of the key members of the organizing ‘Team’ decided they couldn’t spare the time and energy any more. So a nucleus of people associated with Oxjam in the past have come together to see what they can do to keep this great local institution alive.

Can you join them? Have you got skills, time, energy you could ‘donate’ to this excellent cause? We need people with skills in finance, music production, sound production, fund-raising, marketing, design and IT – and lots more. Even if you don’t think you qualify, you might find simply an offer of help will be greatly appreciated and you could find yourself handing out leaflets, fetching and carrying equipment, rattling a collection bucket or doing one of the many tasks that need to be done for a successful festival. If you would like to help in any way, please send your name and contact details to beestonoxjam2016@gmail.com CT

In Ludd’s Name by David Field

ell! Field’s tale is a fascinating one. Once I’d found my reading glasses and really gotten down to the business of it, I enjoyed his In Ludd’s Name wholeheartedly. The prose is slicker than my grandson’s thickly gelled hair, the characters more compelling than any you’ll find on the so-called “cinema screen”, and the story is so urgently relevant I felt I was reading it only moments after it had been written (though that would have been a terrible strain on the writer’s wrist and can’t be recommended). Field guides us through the lives of two families, the Bradleys – rich factory owners, some with hearts of gold and strong Christian charity running through them, others firm in their sense of entitlement – and the Slicks – a poor slum family seemingly tearing apart from the inside, the parents struggling to keep their oldest son from radicalising and meeting “a sticky end”, trying to give their youngest son a leg up as he is favoured by the Bradleys and offered an education, and stop the whole family from dying of hunger and cold in their awful living conditions. It’s a sticky wicket, and I don’t mean the batsman has spilt his mid-match bowl of strawberries and cream. I have never read about the Luddite movement in a way which made it seem more relevant and contemporary. The urgency with which Field writes about these events, and the complex political and economic currents that drove them, is fascinating and familiar.

“…work ‘ard every day ‘cept Sunday till yer arms are near ‘angin’ off, an’ dun’t ask fer more than eight shillin’s a week. Do that fer forty years an’ they’ll say summat nice at yer funeral. But dun’t ask where the rest o’ the money’s goin’ cos that’s not yer place… One day yer might get to ‘eaven but yer’ll likely be queuin’ up behind all the bosses who’ve got the money ter gerrit fust!” 19th Century Nottingham was a place defined by class. You had the hard working “deserving” poor, shepherded between the workhouse where they toiled for little money, and the church where they were told to accept their lot and aim for little more than a 3 room squat in Narrow Marsh or St Mary’s, and hope only one family member dies during winter.

Revie wed b Cobb y lers! It was a harsh and unforgiving life for them, and they looked enviously on the factory owners who appeared to be living lives of luxury. Of course nothing was so simple and Field uses well developed characters from both sides of the political spectrum to reveal what it was truly like whether you were a worker or a boss. What truly set the book apart Field’s employment of increasingly eloquent and nuanced storytelling. I’ve read wider published books that would kill for the strength of prose and narrative that Field displays here. Early on is a beautifully crafted juxtaposition between a family burying their father, a heated argument between factory owners about whether they can afford to pay more, and a group of children playing in St Mary’s, having just learned a brand new song. “The Grand Old Duke of York, He had ten thousand men…” As an historian myself (you may have read me in this very periodical) I can vouch for the book’s accuracy, though I must say at times I felt the mixing of fact with fiction may be confusing. The layman may constantly be wondering what is real and what isn’t. I myself would never employ such tactics, historical events can speak for themselves, but I cannot fault the final product. It is a fascinating era of history and the narrative Field has woven into it is as clever and well written as any I have ever read. Well done Sir. As reviewed by Cobblers

Bow

Selecta B

efore I started dressing up as Robin Hood and messing about for a living I used to dress up and mess about a lot for fun.

The Greyhound ... had carved itself a huge reputation locally

At gigs, on Saturdays in the Market Square and once, memorably, on a Derbyshire hill walk with my then-girlfriend and her lovely folks, I’d think nothing of slipping into a comfy suit of chainmail, donning a horned helmet and strapping a mighty sword to my waist. It seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time - I must have been a nightmare to live with back then. (Good job that’s all changed now, eh?)

the last decade The Greyhound on the High Road had carved itself a huge reputation locally and further afield as a great and exciting live rock music venue. Hugely popular (and I must say hugely loud, which probably goes to show I’m getting too old), The Greyhound became a regular venue for dozens of bands, many of them nationally respected tribute acts (including Sack Sabbath). But then at the beginning of the year, beset by the same downturn that’s affected so many small music pubs across the country, The Greyhound was forced to close its doors. But that wasn’t the end of the story.

Rob Balmer, Beestonian, photographer, all round thoroughly decent bloke and But it did lead to several irrepressible force of nature extraordinary adventures, (who had been involved with including my ending up on the previous team, booking tour with one of Britain’s finest and photographing a lot of psychedelic space rock bands, the bands) and his business Hawkwind, who started in partner Lil, decided to 1969 and are still going strong. approach the brewery with If you’ve not heard of them, Me onstage with Hawkwind at the a view to keeping the doors ask your parents, grandparents Hammersmith Odeon, Dec 1985. open – and, as I type, it looks or any bloke over 50 with Photo: Brian Tawn like they’ve played a blinder. long hair. The late, lamented Not only has The Greyhound Lemmy (from that Motorhead) was in them for a while - and in the closing months reopened but the support of bands from all over of 1985 so was I, cavorting around onstage across the country has meant that Rob and his brilliant the country at places like the Hammersmith Odeon team have a full line-up for the near future, are (or Labatt’s Apollo or whatever it’s called these sorting out some of the other issues the pub had days), dressed in the aforementioned horned helmet (getting good quality beer back in, replacing and samurai armour portraying a sword-wielding fixtures and fittings) and hopefully starting to baddie in a concept stage show tour based on the make it pay enough to keep the brewery happy – 1970’s ‘Elric’ fantasy novels of Michael Moorcock. and he’s sounding very positive about the future: It was all very trippy, enormous fun and immensely “After putting the word out to the music community ‘Spinal Tap’. Really. I’m overjoyed to say the response has been just It meant a lot to me then to be mixing with my incredible. The support The Greyhound has heroes – and the other day I was reminded of the received from not only local but national bands huge power live music has to engage and excite too is amazing and a true testament to the great people when my old friend and Beestonian Rob love they all have for this amazing little music Reid (who some of you may know as ‘Ozzy’, the venue”. And all of this with free admission too! fabulous frontman of awesome Black Sabbath tribute band Sack Sabbath) told me he’s starting So, if you like music, if you like rock, if you like another tribute project, this time to my other 80’s beer and if you want to support local business… prog rock heroes, Marillion. (If you’ve not heard please check out more on the history and of them… just ask anyone called Kayleigh. They upcoming gigs at: www.greyhoundbeeston.com probably won’t know either, but at least it’ll be or visit amusingly ironic). Anyway, I look forward to www.facebook.com/TheGreyhoundMusicVenue . hearing Rob’s new band Reel to Real playing live Rob, Lil, The Greyhound team - for those about somewhere in Beeston maybe early next year – but to rock, we salute you! where could they play? In recent years Beeston Tim Pollard has become quite an important focus for live Nottingham’s Official Robin Hood music – obviously the success of Oxjam, Bartons and open mic nights in pubs have helped but over

COMEDIANAGRAM COMEDIANS - OLD AND NEW... UNSCRAMBLE IF YOU CAN!

1. Harry Ripcord 2. Reacts Jar Ports 3. Lace Rogering 4. Postnatal Tow 5. Barman Grand Inn 6. Bunny Creel 7. Muddier Hype 8. Sag Envy John 9. Alibi Belly 10. Dead Dizzier 11. Blander Slurs 12. Impale Likings 13. A Dam Fun Yank 14. Ice Verves ANSWERS: Richard Pryor/Jasper Carrott/George Carlin/Patton Oswald/ Bernard Manning/Lenny Bruce/Eddie Murphy/Johnny Vegas/Bill Bailey/Eddie Izzard/Russell Brand/ Spike Milligan/Andy Kaufman/Vic Reeves

‘nightlight’

Location: alleyway off high street, Beeston Pen & Ink by Dan Cullen

CODEWORD

Camp