Well, what a summer. The weather was so fine people wore shorts at the (thoroughly excellent) Carnival without their legs marbling from cold; the lack of rain meant that it was possible

to walk around Attenborough Nature Reserve without a kayak and rescue flares; the church got scrubbed back to its intended colour and the Square was mercifully demolished.

Pub gardens have rarely been fuller, cider so wilfully swallowed, and barbecues so free of people wrapping a nice woolly cardie round their shivering limbs. No significant events got rained off, Rylands stayed un-flooded and, if you ignore the dust clouds and melting tarmac of Chilwell Road’s destruction, a damn fine summer was had by all.

Now, as we slip into the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, it’s tempting to think Beeston will be slipping into some sort of hibernation over the next few months, and snooze right through to next spring. Well, if that’s what you’re thinking, I say to you: bilge, piffle, Tommy-rot and hooey. There is still a plump supply of fun to squeeze out of the toothpaste tube of 2013.

Autumn sees the sleeping giant that is Barton’s reawaken and let out a massive anti-tramworks roar across the land, with the launch of

Tramageddon, a two-fingered salute to the carnage on Chilwell Road, with an astonishing programme of events planned.

To quote organiser Steve Wallace, “Like Arnie in the Terminator movies, we’re back! Back to take on ‘Tram-a-geddon’ and all its disruption to normal life and return Beeston, Chilwell and Nottingham to the people...” We wish them luck, and welcome the resurrected Bartons back into Beeston’s cultural fold.

Oxjam is also back, first with a Ceilidh in late September, a couple of fundraisers after and then the main event on 19 October. There will be more incredible acts than ever before, right across Beeston, over 12 talent-swollen hours. All for a ridiculously bargainous £5. Go buy yours online NOW at: oxjambeestontakeover.org

Despite the local trees shedding their leaves, stuff will be blossoming all over Beeston as the days shorten, so make like a shrew and go snuffle it out. Check out our Facebook page and Twitter feed to keep up to date, (details are on the back page). But first, sit back, relax, put the kettle on / order a fresh pint and read what we think is the most fact-packed, fun-plumped issue yet.

ISSUE 21: NOW OFFICIALLY AN ADULT MAGAZINE (MODESTY BAG NOT REQUIRED)FREE

Sir Peter Mansfield / Scott Bennet / Crimean War memorial / Sid Standard / Au Contraire / Beeston Beats: The Madeline Rust / Snookered / Bow Selecta / Little sod / Mr Falafel / Changing Directions /Beeston Cobbler / Horace’s Half Hour / famous last words

Lord Beestonia

Sir Peter Mansfield is not necessarily a name you will be familiar with, you may not have ever heard of him. However, you will almost certainly be familiar with his work. You see, Mansfield was one of the

people responsible for the development of the MRI scanner.

He also happens to live in Beeston Fields. So when I found out he was to be awarded the Freedom of the City of Nottingham I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to speak to a real Beeston great.

The honour bestowed on him was for his groundbreaking work in the field of magnetic resonance imaging – aka MRI. It was Mansfield and his team who discovered that MRI could be used to produce images of the body – establishing what has become one of the defining parts of modern medicine.

All this he did while working at The University of Nottingham, where he became lecturer in 1964 following two years in the States at the University of Illinois. He admits he knew little about Nottingham before moving here, “I didn’t know Nottingham, I didn’t really know anyone in the department,

apart from one person, and that was the head of the department, Prof Raymond

A Beestonian who changed the world and how we look at it. We sent Darren Patterson to meet Sir Peter Mansfield, Nobel Prize Laureate and the man behind MRI...

The University of

Beestonia&BESTonian: Beeston’s finestSir Peter Mansfield

Andrew, and he was my external examiner for the PHD.”

Having made the choice to come to Nottingham and work with Professor Andrew, he knew he was taking a chance. “I think these things tend to be a

bit hit and miss and some people after a year or two move on somewhere else but

in my case I was given a lab here in Nottingham and the freedom to set up my

own research, which is what I did, and it all took off from there.” For Sir Peter it certainly worked and he remained at Nottingham University until his retirement in 1994.

The development of the MRI scanner, as with any pioneering work, was initially met with scepticism by his peers. “When you pioneer something you

have your detractors immediately and very few people involved really believe

what you say. The only way you make progress is by actually showing people, and

demonstrating it, and that took maybe two or three years.”

Starting with a standard NMR sized coil of 1½cm, Mansfield’s early work saw him imaging plants and twigs and anything else he could dig up in his garden, however over time he began to increase the size of the coil. “We did it in stages, we made one you could put a hand or arm in, and we made

one big enough to take a live rabbit and then we put a pig in, until in the end I

got in the coil and produced an image of my thorax. It was a slow process, it took

about 12 years from the first idea up to it being finally adopted.”

And so became one of the biggest and most important discoveries in modern medicine. The MRI scanner still a major tool today, though, he points out, its primary function has changed over the years, “one of the really

big effects is in brain scanning, I did a little bit of work on that but that’s moved

on leaps and bounds now, it’s the method of studying the brain. My own interest

had been more general than that, so I did a bit of brain scanning but was more

interested in looking generally at the body, I was looking at cardiac imaging,

abdominal imaging and all sorts.”

Since moving to Nottingham, Mansfield and his family have lived in the Beeston area, spending 17 years living on the Beeston/Chilwell border before moving, eventually, to their current residence of Beeston Fields.

So what is it that he likes so much about his hometown, other than its obvious proximity to the University? “When we were younger we would often

go over to the ponds and lakes over at Attenborough, which was quite nice and a

pleasant stroll. When our children were younger we’d go over to Wollaton Park,

which was quite nice, areas right on the doorstep.”

It seems that the area itself may well have been one of the reasons for remaining in Nottingham.“We are very fortunate to be living in this area, of

course none of it would have been possible without the University, from our point

at least, in many ways we are fortunate which is why we stayed here, we could

have moved away but we never did. I’ve got no complaints put it that way.” Well, maybe one... “This stupid tram, I think we’re presumably about six months into

the apparent three years, let’s hope it’s all worthwhile though I can’t think of

anyone I have spoken to who wants a tram in Beeston.”

There are many great individuals and characters living in the great town of Beeston and Sir Peter Mansfield is certainly one of them. Not only has he been on Desert Island Discs, but is also the only Nobel Laureateto live in Chilwell (he was awarded a Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine, with Paul Lauterbur, in 2003). Not bad going for someone who, at the age of 15 was told “science wasn’t for him”. DP

Let’s have a proper brew. Or just a coffee.

A laugh aBennett

I’ve always secretly quite fancied the idea of being a stand-up comedian. I like making people laugh. I like telling jokes. I also like that popular image of the solitary comedian living a peripatetic lifestyle, seeking

out those few fleeting hours of pleasure on stage, the druggy high of performing, before retiring to yet another Premier Inn with a half bottle of vodka and a Pot Noodle.

So when I meet Scott Bennett for a coffee and a chat at The Bean, I’m full of these romantic idealisations. Scott’s pretty tired; last night he did two gigs for Just The Tonic, one in Leicester, the other in Nottingham. So far so good. I ask him if they went well.

“They went great. One was a preview of my Edinburgh show.”

He’s never done the Edinburgh Festival before, but he tells me he’s already thinking ahead.

“Next year I’m going to write a one hour Edinburgh show about my dad. It’ll be called About A Roy (that’s his name). He’s such a character, a real tight-fisted Yorkshireman.”

Does his dad know Scott writes about him?

“He’s quite proud. He should be ashamed…”

I immediately peg Scott as highly ambitious. Not even his first Edinburgh down and he’s planning ahead. Must be all those lonely nights writing. Scott’s a relatively new comic, having been on the circuit since 2009.

“I had a really good first gig. It was on Halloween. I’m not sure what that means.”

It was at the Funhouse Comedy Gong Show, where brand new stand-ups were invited on stage to do two minutes and the audience got to either vote them off, or let them stay on. I think it sounds dreadful.

“It was a pretty gladiatorial environment, quite brutal, but it went well.”

Scott’s stand-up career was on ascent from that point. He’s won a number of awards since then and has become a regular on the circuit. He’s still got a day job though.

“I’m a product designer. I studied it at University.”

When I ask Scott how his employer feels about his second career, a slightly guilty expression passes over his face.

“I only actually told them three months ago. What it was is I just didn’t want them to think bad of me, wonder if I was coming in tired because I’d had a gig or whatever.”

Scott tells me he is also married and has a young daughter, so he’s not a solitary figure. Hmm… I ask him how his wife feels about his career.

“Well, we met out of a shared love of comedy. I remember once we were out and she said she had to go home to watch ‘I’m Alan Partridge’. I knew right then I wanted to marry her.”

So she supports him? Isn’t it hard, having a young family and two jobs - one of which takes you away from home for lengths at a time?

“A lot of comics don’t have the responsibility of family life. But from the beginning, my wife has been completely behind me. She’s wonderful. I wouldn’t be able to do this without her.”

This really doesn’t sound like the comedian I imagined at all. I half want to ask Scott if he’s ever eaten a Pot Noodle, but instead I retreat back to safer territory and ask him about his aspirations. The whole family is off to the Edinburgh Festival soon. What does Scott want to get out of it?

“You have the dream. Obviously it’d be nice to be discovered. But in terms of achievable goals, I want to come out of it with a good, tight twenty minute set. To do some networking and get to know some people would be good. Mostly, I want to cast the net wider in terms of who sees me. A big following would be great, but I don’t want to be Michael Macintyre.”

Really? So who then?

“I’m more inspired by people like Harry Hill and Sean Lock, comics who have just done what they want to do, who have brought the audience into their world. I’d like the freedom to support myself. In the future I’d quite like to do radio and write.”

Wait… so he’s happily married, doing his dream job and he’s got modest down-to-earth ambitions? Scott isn’t the type of comedian I envisaged. Maybe my ideas are old-fashioned. Maybe they’re just wrong. Maybe Scott Bennett is unique among comedians. I just don’t know anymore, but I’ve really enjoyed talking to Scott and now I’m quite hungry. Pot noodle? Anyone? Is this thing on? CF

• You can watch footage of some of Scott’s Comedy Store set online at:

laughterlinescomedy.co.uk/scott-bennett

He also regularly MCs at Nottingham Barton’s Funhouse Comedy Club

(funhousecomedy.co.uk). Follow him @ScottiBee

The Beestonian meets up with Beestonian and next-big-thing in comedy, Scott Bennett, for a bit of a natter and a hot beverage.

Theirs not to reason why

The Crimean War Memorial – Beeston’s sick men in Europe.

Local historian, Jimmy Notts, sheds light on another piece of local history.

Someone once said that war was 99% boredom and 1% action. Such were my thoughts when I read the diary of a Beeston Crimean War veteran, William Jowett.

It is the routine and the detail of everyday life of a soldier in action that makes the diary an important historic document and one which should be worthy of a wider audience.

Who was William Jowett? His name appears on the small but significant Crimean War Memorial in the churchyard of Beeston’s St John the Baptist Church.

The memorial is a tribute to four men of Beeston who sacrificed their lives in the war in the now much forgotten, Crimea

The marble pillar which stands in the churchyard, is one of only four in the country dedicated to this conflict.

It is probably the most descriptive and informative of its kind, for not only does it list the names of the four ‘forgotten heroes’ but it also tells of the battles they had fought. Names like Inkerman, Balaclava and Alma mean nothing to most people. In the mid 1800s they were household names and streets and public houses were named after these conflicts.

It is amazing to think that troopers like John Lees and Thomas Toulson of the 17th Lancers took part in the best known Calvary charge in British history, ‘the Charge of the Light Brigade’. Toulson actually survived this epic action, only to die like so many others on the famous wards of the famous Scutari Hospital. The hospital made famous by the likes of Florence Nightingale, who may even have nursed the man from Beeston, along with thousands of other soldiers.

William Jowett died on the 11 October 1856 and was buried on 13 October in the churchyard of Stoke Damerel near Plymouth, with full military honours. The people of Beeston used the money collected after his death to raise the monument that now stands in memory of William and three other men from Beeston who died in the Crimean War.

The memorial reads:

“This monument was erected by the inhabitants of Beeston to perpetuate the

memory of those who left this village to serve their country and died in the

discharge of their duty in the Crimean War.

Sergeant W Jowett, Royal Fusiliers, enlisted January 8th 1847, fought at Alma,

Inkerman, twice at Redan Battery where he was struck by a shell Sept 8th 1855

which necessitated the amputation of the right leg and died from its effects at

Plymouth Hospital 11th October 1856. Aged 26 years.

Private John Lees 17th Lancers, enlisted April 26th 1846, was slain in the cavalry

charge at Balaclava October 23rd 1854. Aged 30 years.

Private Thomas Toulson 17th Lancers, enlisted April 26th 1846, was in the charge

at Balaclava and died of diarrhoea at Scutari Hospital December 15th 1854. Aged

32 years.

Private Joseph Oldham 35th Regiment, enlisted September 1840 fought at Alma

and Inkerman, and died of diarrhoea at Scutari Hospital, December 17th 1854.

Aged 31 years.

‘No farther seek their merits to disclose or drain their frailties from their dread

abode’. DA Chall Beeston June 1st 1857”.

JN

• Jimmy is from Nottingham Hidden History, a fantastic group who unearth some

incredible local stories. Go to nottinghamhiddenhistoryteam.wordpress.com

I grew up on Chilwell Road. We moved there in 1975 when I was five years old. My father, Sid Standard, took over Arthur Panter’s bike shop at 35 Chilwell Road. At the time the shop was just at this address, the original door can still be seen to the left of the main window. The launderette, which was to become part of the shop and workshop, was on the corner of Chilwell Road and Hallcroft. In 1975 the workshop was over the road further up Chilwell Road between the current Bakery Bar and Cameron House.

Chilwell Road seemed like a magical place for a small boy, a real life ‘Diagon Alley’. From the ‘traditional fish and chip shop’, the rotund Graham with curly hair and moustache at Graham’s Aquarium to the kindly ladies at G.E. Wakefield Chemists on the corner with Imperial Road; the little green sweet shop where you could buy a fag and a match for 10p, and John’s Supermarket on the corner with Ellis Grove, where you’d buy food before the big Supermarkets enveloped us.

But nowhere was more magical than Mrs Price’s bakery.

Mrs Price’s bakery was a real step back in time. Back to an era of wood panelled shop-fittings, scales and the terrifying Mrs Price, who I am sure was lovely, but struck fear into my young heart. Entering through those doors into the dusty haze of the shop put you straight into a Roald Dahl novel.

We lived in the rooms behind and above the shop. My childhood is full of the sounds and smells of the area; from the metallic hubbub of Myford’s to the constant rumblings of Barton’s Buses making their way from the Hop Pole to the Square before heading off to Nottingham (or the Derby 5 taking the more unfortunate to Long Eaton). I left my Chilwell Road home at the age of 21 to, belatedly, start University.

Predictably, Christmases loom large in the memory; staring out into an icy wind from the sitting room which was located directly atop the main shop window, peering down toward the Hop Pole seeing the snow fall and the slush from a never-ending stream of cars.

I am often left feeling inadequate when trying to write meaningfully about my dad, not least because everyone should idolise their father. Let’s just say my dad gave me more reasons than most to worship him. A fantastically mellow man he lived out his dreams of owning the bike shop and inspiring people, especially children, to ride their bikes. Even though it’s ten years since my dad was killed in a tragic cycling accident, I still pop into ‘his’ shop and see Kevin, who started working for my dad as a 16-year-old, 38 years ago.

The smells are still there, oil and rubber – sharing the aroma of every other bike shop on the planet. In the back of the shop the old benches are still there and you can still make out the name ‘Panter Notts’ on what was my dad’s bench.

It’s only latterly that I have realised what a prime site for a bike shop it was and is. The new money flowing into Beeston each year from students, and those who teach them, as well as how perfect Beeston is for commuters – who can ride almost the entirety of a journey into Nottingham off-road.

Ironically, given the current state of Chilwell Road, one of the trams is named after my father. I’m not sure what he would have thought about the tram, and I am not going to speak on his behalf. However, he would always say to me, like a mantra, when I feared change, “nothing stays the same”. He lived for the new, I am sure he would have liked to have seen a car-free Chilwell Road, and whilst grumbling about the dust he would have been able to look forward to future boom times for Beeston.

David Standard

Standard lifeDavid Standard shares his memories of his legend dad, Sid Standard, and his legend dad’s shop on Chilwell Road.

“I am often left feeling inadequate when trying to write meaningfully about my dad.”

Sid outside his shop on his 65th birthday.

We do not get on, change and I.

Our relationship is reminiscent of that between Russia and the US – even when something changes for the better I still

have doubts and suspicions they’re secretly preparing for World War III.

“But why this hatred of events that may lead onto better things?” you ask. It has previously been suggested that perhaps my hatred of change is due to a bad experience. It has also been suggested that I just suffer from chronic grumpiness. Personally I think it’s the latter of two suggestions. Whenever something changes in my life, be it a bus route, coffee price or number of pets I own, I am often left just a little bit distraught. Just last summer I experienced the massive life change of my fish somehow procreating and all that did was leave me £20 poorer as I had to accommodate the growing

family of minnows in a bigger tank.

Change can sometimes lead to financial loss. I recently purchased the new Umberto Giannini volumising hairspray only to end up £6 poorer and looking like a bog brush. Change can also lead to emotional loss.

Take when the bus doesn’t turn up on time due to my beloved tram works and I almost suffer all sorts of stress-related heart issues. I’m suffering palpitations, cardiac fluctuations, while barely out my teens.

I recently discovered that change can also lead to an attitude overhaul. I graduated from university a couple of months ago and found

myself immersed myself in the pool of impoverished graduates begging for the mere chance to scrub someone’s floor for a few pennies. Change has also driven me to cleaning the bathroom on almost a daily basis because I have to do something while I wait for rejection emails and phone calls from the companies and establishments that refuse to employ me.

It almost doesn’t pain me to say that I don’t think there has ever been a change in my life that has left me feeling happy rather than as though I’ve read a book on the Dark Ages and have then caught the bubonic plague. People say “Oh change is awesome, change is great. It may present you with opportunities you never even dreamt of before; it could overhaul your life!” Yeah, well I’ll let you know when that happens. Until then I’ll be here, post major life changes, the kid poking road kill with a long stick because that’s the only sort of fun impoverished graduates like myself can afford.

AU CONTRAIRE. . .

I like old stuff not new stuff. But if nothing changed, there would just be stuff stuff everywhere and for ever - how would I know what I liked if there wasn’t something to prefer it to?

Now, I know some people might quite like it if everything stayed the same for ever, but because these people are usually scary ideologists - it’s probably safe to speculate that although they may feel and appear materially / financially / politically or, heck, even spiritually ‘comfortable’, really they are fearful. Change frightens them because they think it threatens their comfort; the lack of control in change frightens them because they’re used to being in charge of their destiny.

I’m a bit of a control freak myself, so I have some licence here. I like changes initiated by me; I don’t like changes forced upon me by someone – or something – else, especially changes that are put forward under the often shudderingly inaccurate term ‘progress’. I have to admit, however, that even changes forced upon me can ultimately turn out good in the end, and themselves become the familiar I don’t want to change... and so the cycle begins again. And, though it may not seem like a chopped down tree could affect how I feel about my destiny (though I’m not even sure I have one of those), if you don’t ask me about it first, I’ll bloody well MAKE IT affect my destiny. This is why councils, counsellors, bosses, friends and families have learnt to go in for that ‘consultation’ malarkey. Because, even if the change is going to happen anyway, whatever anyone says, people like to feel they have a say. It also softens the blow. And if it all goes pants-up we’re all “in it together” (n.b. in some instances, a pants-up scenario without consultation may occur. You may hear “in it together” bandied about. Please ignore. No one’s in anything together, just some babyfaced loons want you to think we are.).

Even with progress for progress’ sake we have to pick our battles. There’s no point huffing and puffing about a change if you have no intention of seeking to do something about it (if you don’t vote, shut the frick up about politics etc. Etc.), and there’s less point seeking to do something about it if, in your heart of hearts, you know there’s no way it will make a difference. Some perspective is a good thing, too. Do you really care, or do you just care about seeming to care? What is the worst that could happen? Are you against it because it’s bad, or just bad for you?

It strikes me that a lot of people getting their knickers in a twist about this or that apparent ‘big deal’ change simply haven’t had anything majorly shit happen to them in their life yet. One day, major will happen and they will see that not being able to park in front of their own house/two men getting married in a church, and by a woman/not having the exact same view out of their bedroom window will seem like a jolly lark in comparison.

Nora Tamar

Will they ever agree on ANYTHING? We’re hoping not. Tamar and Nora empty their scabbards and clash swords. This month: CHANGE

Image: © Reuters

“Change can sometimes lead to financial loss. I recently purchased the new Umberto Giannini volumising hairspray only to end up £6 poorer and looking like a bog brush.”

Beeston Beats

Image: © Reuters

Our resident music reporter, Jimmy Wiggins, continues his relentless quest to find the cream of Beeston music. And moans about it.

In a scenario somewhat reminiscent of Ground-hog Day, I was getting a little worried that we only ever write about the

same three artists. I was also worried that The Beestonian has become too happy clappy – a gardening article, Lord Tweed-pants loving his life and being nice about everything except Anna Soubry (I personally have loads of time for her now she is sticking up for traders on Chilwell Road, up-yours, Jon Collins).

I feel there needs to be a balance in the Beestonian. At present I am one grumpy sod so I guess the mantle is with me. After a series of dates with women who actually made me feel crap- I crawled back to my Hobbit hole to lick my wounds, perhaps with a new found appreciation of why mass-murderers end up going off the tracks a bit (I actually got patronised for not having read Harry Potter, by a woman with an English Lit. degree. It’s a kid’s book, idiot). A common theme in my Cilla Black-like torture was when I mentioned writing for this very publication, “Hmm that sounds exciting – must be lots to write about there... ”. That really stuck with me, in fact between us (assuming you haven’t given up yet) I couldn’t sleep. They were right, my race was run. I instantly contacted Lord B and told him I was going to quit this column as we had covered all the music in Beeston. There was also a small disagreement about where my free Beestonian T-shirt was (still not forthcoming Lord Tweed-pants?)

Lord B assured me there was a load of music out there, and demanded I go out and find it. And enjoy it. Still the words of my awful dates kept mocking me, I gave up again. This time instead of going home and crying into my Pot Noodle, I went to the pub. Even with my new lightweight drinking abilities it seemed like a good idea. Just as I was moaning and telling any poor barfly near me that there was nothing left for me to write about, a revelation occurred: someone knew a good band that occasionally toured America, after confirming it wasn’t Brian Golbey - I left to do more research.

A kebab and a bottle of red later I had gleaned some insight into local band The Madeline Rust. They even have a good name, I even liked the music. It is hard to describe, but imagine if The Cowboy Junkies had just taken a load of speed and had a big fight, then bumped into Josh Homme. I then figured from the pictures that I recognised them - Aly and/or his dad visit my shop - for empty guitar boxes. I assume they eat them. Either way, it seemed like a good idea to contact him and arrange an interview with the band. Actually being proper adults and not your usual useless muso they answered my stupid questions in record time. They seem to have a thing about Spaghetti Westerns and perhaps an issue with a badly phrased question (I’m not actually a sexist, honest)...

You have a good band name, a rarity. For

any of our readers forming a band, got any

tips? Or did yours come to you in a dream or

other such bollocks?

Aly: I’m going to sound like a total prick now, but it really did come from a dream. I take a lot of painkillers. We had a short-list of about four names, none of which we were totally happy with, and we ended up ditching them all and going with the name of this monster I dreamed about years ago. I think the best band names are ones that make no sense and need patiently explaining. Makes it more fun.

Ever feel that being female fronted is a

problem? In my experience , a good looking

female singer results in a lot of blokes

ogling her and forgetting to listen to the

music?

Aly: Honestly, the only problem we encounter is the whole concept of “Female Fronted Bands” as a thing somehow separate from regular bands. We don’t class ourselves a female fronted band, mainly because it’s a totally unnecessary label. We’re a band, we play rock music, that should be the end of it - seriously, it’s the 21st century. Lucy despises the label. The funny thing is, if we play on a bill with bands that declare themselves “female fronted” we stick out like a sore thumb, as there’s miniskirt after miniskirt and then Lucy dressed as a cowboy. Fuck “female fronted”.

Lucy: It’s true, I do find the term “female fronted” distasteful, as if it is somehow related to what we are - or what we are about. We are a band comprising three human beings who are inspired by all sorts of different things in life.

Martin: It’s not really a problem, as I sweat far too much when we play live and always end up getting my moobs out which always distracts people from Lucy’s looks. (See page 10)

Jimmy can be found selling all things guitar,

and teaching Blues guitar, at The Guitar Spot,

Chilwell Road, Beeston

(and in most local pubs of an evening).

Beeston Beats

Music and Live Events in September 14 September – Beeston Heritage Special: Clog and Morris dancers29 September, 7pm-9pm – Steve Plowright with folk music

There are lots of things I take for granted in Beeston. For starters there’s loads of great pubs, restaurants and independent shops. Green spaces. Good transport links. Too few cycle paths and too

many psychopaths? Not in this borough.

I made a discovery the other night which had me reaching for the cliché handbook to locate the highly appropriate “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” It was with great sadness I saw the following notice on the door of Beeston Snooker Hall:

“Unfortunately, due to ill health the Snooker Hall will close on Saturday 27 July 2013. On behalf of my late husband David and myself I would like to thank all our customers and friends over the years.”

I haven’t been in there anywhere near as much as I would have liked over the last few years, maybe once a month at the most if I’m lucky. Hopefully it won’t be too long before the doors open again, and I’ll be one of the first back in when it does.

I’ve played plenty of snooker over the years in different venues around Nottingham, and by far and away the best is the very one tucked away on Villa Street behind Sainsbury’s, down from Nimboo next to RB Auto Services garage. It’s an unusual yet unassuming building, which from inside has a curved corrugated metal roof, like you’re in a great big Anderson shelter. It’s easy to walk or drive past without noticing, but it is a place which deserves more attention.

Snookered?

John ‘Poolie’ Cooper laments the closure of an old favourite.

Before we both had kids and therefore enjoyed plenty of what we now realise is spare time, me and my pal Stuart frequented a club in the north of the city near where I used to work, a rough-round-the-edges facility which made Peter Kaye’s Phoenix Club look like the Ritz. It was a large establishment featuring several different bars and function rooms, a main room filled with snooker tables, plus the most hallowed of them all, the ‘match room’. This was a smaller function room which contained an absolutely beautiful table kept in superb condition, in stark contrast to the uneven, shabby, cigarette-burned, worn-out excuses in the main room.

The match room table was nearly always free, possibly due to the inverted snob factor, given that it cost a whopping 20p an hour more to play on than the regular ones. We couldn’t understand why it was always deserted, but there were some caveats. The room doubled as a temporary storage facility for all manner of junk, meaning we would frequently have to shunt stuff away from and off the table before racking up. Often the disco equipment would be left switched on, making it a bit off-putting trying to line up a pot with a sequence of primary coloured lights flashing away within your peripheral vision. Once we tried to turn them off, and only succeeded in activating the strobe. You don’t see that at the Crucible.

Job interviews were often held in there whilst we were playing, which could be painfully embarrassing for all concerned, apart from the socially inept bar manager who seemed to enjoy an audience. Occasionally there would be an overspill from a wake held in one of the other rooms. Worse than that, we’d sometimes turn up to find the table with its cover on, playing host to a coffin complete with bouquets.

There were perks though. One night we arrived to find a large portable display fridge groaning with cream cakes blocking our path. We wrestled/wheeled it out of the way, just in time for a jolly barmaid to poke her head round the door and inform us that we could help ourselves to the contents if we wanted. We told her that was very kind, to which she nodded and cheerfully replied “yeah, well, they’ve all gone off you see.”

She was just one of a number of eccentric staff members, the most memorable being a grubby chap we nicknamed ‘Igor’. This was because we imagined he doubled as a drooling, lolloping assistant to a mad scientist, who lurked in the cellar conducting all manner of sordid experiments on the young pretty barmaids whom you mysteriously only ever saw in there once.

It was all highly amusing to a point, but it got to be more hassle than it was worth and we haven’t been back for years. I’m pleased to say I’ve never experienced any such shenanigans at Beeston Snooker Hall. All you get is a good number of decent snooker and pool tables available at a good hourly rate, incredibly cheap drinks (no ‘proper’ beer but you can’t ask for everything), and an interesting mix of clientele. It’s warm in winter and cool in summer, and its clean and tidy.

In a way it is a good representation of Beeston in that it is welcoming, polite, unpretentious, and have I never once witnessed any of the potential social tension that can arise among such a diverse range of people bending over tables periodically. Students from all over the globe, workies in their high-vis, gangs of granddads, floppy-fringed goths, dads with their lads, all making way for each other with mutually respectful “after you mate” universal gestures which transcend any linguistic or cultural barriers.

If you’ve never been in a snooker club before I’d imagine it could be quite daunting, particularly if you’re female. For obvious reasons there’s very little lighting apart from directly above the tables themselves, and can be perceived as ‘blokey’ places to be. However I’ve seen plenty of lasses and ladies in there on many occasions enjoying a frame or two, or simply taking advantage of the low prices at the cosy bar.

Beeston has not been immune to the nationwide phenomenon of pub and shop closures, and it would be a massive loss to many in Beeston and further afield if it were to remain shut permanently. Let’s all hope another cog in the community continues to turn again soon. JC

“Beeston has not been immune to the nationwide phenomenon of pub and shop closures.”

Bow selecta

It has been put to me that doing a gardening column isn’t very ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, and that The Beestonian, by allowing me to do so, may be pootling head-long into premature rheumatism. Well, my toocoolforskool

dears, I’m sorry if you think so. One day, maybe when you have even just a window box on your soul, you might change your mind. Until then, how about I just carry on regardless. September is all about putting things to bed, harvesting and preparing for winter. It’s also the time to go a bit bulb crazy. I don’t know about you but I always forget where I’ve stuck tulips and daffodils when I put them around the borders or beds, and any that I do put in tend to get dug up through the year one way or another. So my advice is to invest in a couple of very large pots (for tulips) and shallower, smaller pots (for Daffodils, narcissi and other shorter bulbs). They don’t have to be posh, they can even be plastic. But think IMPACT. Choose bulbs that are large, smooth and in one piece. Don’t be tempted to go for a big bag of straggly ones because they’re cheap - you may as well just chuck you money in the bin now and have done with it. I pick two colours and keep the same variety per pot. Putting them in pots means you can keep them close to the house for shelter during the winter months. It also means you don’t have to venture out in the freezing cold to check on them. Simply move them out into position when the time’s right next spring and you’ll be giving Monty Don a run for his money.

This weekend I’ll be spending a fair bit of time in my shed (they’re not just for fellas, you know) sweeping and straightening things up, checking my tools are all in OK nick. Spiders are also coming out of the woodwork just now - which is fine. But I don’t want them nesting in my wellies, gloves and picnic basket. Like last time.

If all this sound too much bother, then may be you could simply do one easy-peasy thing this month: sow Forget Me Nots (Myosotis). Even the barest, bleakest patch of scrub can be transformed into a small unfocused blur of blue. But you need to sow them this month. A packet of several hundred costs less than a couple of quid and all you have to do is sprinkle them evenly straight where you want them to grow. If you have any left, may I suggest chucking them on the fringes of some patch of public space - parks, roadside verges, churchyards, bus stations - where ever. I guarantee you’ll get a real buzz seeing your little horticultural conspiracy come up next year. Guerilla gardening: sounds pretty rock ‘n’ roll to me. TF

little sod

When I was about nine years old I was obsessed with The Lord

of the Rings. I still am really, and much prefer it to the rather disappointing film adaptations of recent years - so it came as a

great joy to me that, way back in the heady days of 1973, a schoolfriend told me his brother had a magazine which advertised LOTR wargames figures. The next day he sold me that list for the princely sum of 5p. It was the best (and in retrospect most expensive) 5p I’ve ever spent...

I studied the list and I was hooked. I ordered some figures, metal (lead at the time), with a normal human being about 25mm tall and nowhere nearly as detailed as figures are today but to me they were the gateway to a whole new world. Those Rangers, Dwarves, Hobbits and Orcs turning up sometime later in a small brown paper parcel led me to a lifelong enjoyment of board, role-playing and table-top wargames.

I bought paints, glue, sets of rules and worked out armies using complicated points-based army lists. I made friends as I learned how to paint them, make terrain, research and socialise with other gamers. I found there were a couple of independent games shops in Nottingham too – the Nottingham Model Soldier Shop (near the Theatre Royal) and Tabletop Games in Arnold, both sadly long gone. I even got my Dad to take me to the first (and for a long time only) Gamers Workshop in London, back when they only sold other company’s games.

This was the golden age of wargaming – Napoleonic, Colonial and Ancient troops (as well as my fantasy armies) fought wars using dice, rulers and tactics to control tables in battles where no-one ever really dies.

These days a lot more ‘gaming’ is done on consoles and computers, and that’s a real shame. Yes, you don’t need the space, to paint anything or to tidy up afterwards but – it’s more solitary, even if you have friends watching. It’s not social or tactile either, for the most part and that’s a real shame.

But despite the terrible ruin of vast swathes of Beeston and its shops, we now have one thing I never, ever, thought we’d have here – we have our own, specialist games shop, Chimera Games on Broadgate, run by the splendid Andy and Heather Leach. Not only do they sell a great selection of board, card and miniatures games they’re also a great social hub for adults, students and even children to come in not just to browse and buy, but to play, interact, learn games and make friends.

Andy runs numerous game leagues (with prizes), is happy to demonstrate family and other games and stays open almost all hours too and it strikes me that if we’re going to save Beeston from the scourge of clone-brand retailers and evil bookmakers it’s friendly shops like Chimera that we should support, buy from, encourage, visit – and most of all, enjoy! TP

It’s not all heroics in tights, y’know.

This issue, Nottingham’s OFFICIAL Robin Hood (and Beestonian), Tim Pollard gets comfy in his study in a local major oak, dons his nerd specs and talks warmly of all things... wargames.

Fancy writing something interesting about Beeston for our October issue?

Get in touch, we’d love to hear from you.

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Beestonians – but can’t afford press prices?Adverts with us start from £30 – and are only

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About turns

(Beeston Beats continued from page 7)

I heard you toured the States? Wanna elaborate or am I a victim of

another Hop Pole untruth?

Aly: Lucy tours there a lot, but never takes me or Martin with her. She calls it “holidays” though, to throw us off the scent. So no, we’ve never played the states. Me and Lucy were the house band for a bar in Laganas for a week in 2005 though, does that count?

Nottingham has always had an affiliation with the heavier end of

the music scene. Where do you see yourselves in this ?

Martin: I don’t think it’s something we ever thought about. We all bring a little something different to the mix and the sound we produce is just a natural reflection of the three of us.

Aly: The Nottingham music scene is a scary and alien environment to me. Maybe it’s cos we’re a bit older than most of the bands we play with; maybe it’s because I’m ill and don’t get into town much to be part of the scene. I mean, there are some amazing bands in Nottingham that we’ve been lucky enough to play with, but to me our music doesn’t really fit in, which is quite fun. In our heads we’re making modern spaghetti western soundtracks, so we don’t really see ourselves jumping on the Bugg bandwagon.

We have a nice little enclave of musician friends in Beeston though - us, our brother Calm Man Club, electronic musicians Plyci and Louis, Merricat’s ambient stuff... hell, there’s probably several enclaves, they just don’t know the others exist. Hey, if you’re a Beeston band/artist and not one of this lot I just named, give us a shout and we’ll go for a drink, and talk nerdy. It’ll be nice.

Finally anything you want to say or promote or... anything really?

Lucy: I’m really excited about recording our new album, and I’m dead proud of the songs we’ve written recently - I love playing the new songs live, and if one person enjoys listening to them even half as much as I enjoy playing them, then I’ll be chuffed to bits.

Martin: We are planning to get into the studio in September, and this time it should hopefully end up on vinyl. Oh, and as I’m currently unemployed would someone kindly offer me a job? I’m not very bright but can lift heavy things.

Aly: It’s true, he carries my pedal-board for me.

JW

• “ If you want to check out our music, go to themadelinerust.bandcamp.com or

if you want to scream abuse at us, try facebook.com/themadelinerust “

A shawarma welcome…If you’ve taken a stroll down the trench warfare re-enactment site

that is Chilwell Road recently you may have noticed a certain new joint appearing on the scene. Whether through madness or absolute

strength of optimism, ‘Mr Falafel’ has opened for business during the most tumultuous period in the road’s history so far.

The Beestonian would like to welcome him with open arms. Not only do we admire his determination; his ambitious spirit (we could always do with more of that ‘round here) we also heartily admire his falafel.

I’ve eaten there several times in the last few weeks, so I can genuinely say it’s very good – homemade, freshly prepared Lebanese scran. I can also certify that, although you may be able to have some foodie-type copy

Local organisation, Changing Directions was formed by a group of ‘over 50s’ from around the Beeston area who had begun meeting to look at the transitions involved in this stage of their lives, especially

after ceasing full time work. Being aware of some of the national research and developments in the area, they are committed to challenging some of the negative assumptions around retirement, and aim to promote positive retirement experiences through well-being, mutual support, information and a shared knowledge of local networks. Stopping working full-time – whether through choice or as a result of circumstance – can sometimes be a challenging transition for some. However, this new stage could include a greater emphasis on leisure activities, volunteering, unpaid work, caring, self-employment, further education or perhaps part-time work.

Changing Directions hopes its events might encourage individuals to continue to develop and take on new experiences. The event on 28 September will include discussions around key questions (‘What factors enable a successful retirement?’ for example) and some case studies taken from a recent national report on transition into retirement. There will be Q&A sessions, stands and displays from related organisations such as Age UK and Voluntary Action Broxtowe, and refreshments at the close of the event. It is free and open to all, and you will be welcome to join up for the regular meetings if you wish to. These are held once a month at Beeston Library (the next of which, themed ‘Shorter Days, Longer Evenings’, will be on 21 October, 2pm – 4 pm).

• Changing Directions’ free event is on Saturday, 28 September, 1pm – 3pm

The Community Centre, Foster Avenue

(next to the Catholic Church and Council offices)

the recipe somewhat at home, you will not be able to do so cheaper. Why bother, anyway? When you can take a short evening stroll, salute the tenacity of that felled False Acacia that’s coming back from the dead from every available inch outside the Police Station to haunt the workmen who lopped it down, spend less than three quid, and walk back with the warm, spicy scent of dinner gorgeousness filling your schneck – causing you to drift off, imagine you’re in some far-flung, exotic middle-eastern town (but, y’know, SAFE). And if you don’t fancy risking all that for a lamb shawarma... well, they do deliver.

Mr Falafel: the tastiest case of nominative determinism I’ve witnessed in ages. Support him, people – save we lose him to ‘Bridgford. TF

• Mr Falafel (Lebanese) is at 82 Chilwell Road, NG9 1FQ

Telephone: 0115 9221046

Opening hours: Monday – Saturday 11 am – 11pm, Sunday 2pm – 11pm

Free delivery within 3 miles (5pm – 11pm)

mr-falafel.co.uk

HORACE’S H A L F H O U R

1. In which year was Richard Beckinsale born?

2.Which secondary school did Richard Beckinsale attend?

3. Whose Mum’s house did Richard sometimes go round to for his tea in the early 1960s?

4. What was Richard’s nickname when he used to pop down the Shed in the ‘60s – Alfie, Archie or Albert? 5. Where in London did Richard go to learn his craft?

6. In which TV show did he make his first appearance?

7. Who was his co-star in TV sit-com The Lovers?

8. What was his character, Alan Moore, studying in Rising Damp?

9. What was his character’s name in Porridge?

10. What is the name of Richard’s second wife?

11. What sit-com was Richard filming when he died?

12. TRUE or FALSE: Richard had a book of poems entitled With

Love posthumously published in 1980?

“IT’S TRIVIA, BEESTON, JUST TRIVIA”

(‘AVEN’T GOT A CANARY? ANSWERS ARE AT THE BOTTOM)

1947 / ALDERMAN WHITE / HORACE’S / ARCHIRE / RADA / CORONATION STREET (POLICEMAN) / PAULA WILCOx / MEDICINE / LENNIE GODBER / JUDY LOE / BLOOMERS / TRUE

Though the Beeston Cobbler will soon be changing premises, moving with it will be the curious automated figure that has sat in the shop window since 1989. Few are aware of the figure’s

powerful meaning and importance among shoesmiths all over the world.

It is said that Sophus of Athens was so renowned across Ancient Greece for his shoemaking and repairing that the Gods themselves would regularly descend Mount Olympus for a new sole and heel.

Sophus Arethusa was the result of his mother’s triangular love affair with Zeus disguised as a bull and a wood nymph called Rory, undoubtedly the reason for his brilliant almost magical skill with wood and leather.

At the height of his power and fame, Sophus was a boastful and arrogant man. Zeus, who considered himself the cause for his abilities, was so offended by his boastfulness that he went to Sophus disguised and commissioned a pair of shoes so powerful that they would be an affront to the Gods. Zeus expected the man to realise the heresy of such a statement and finally acknowledge his debt to Zeus. But no such luck. When Zeus returned expecting a humbled Sophus, instead he was presented with a pair of extraordinary shoes. Eagles’ wings were hewn to the heelcap, the sole was the skin of the rarest calf, and the laces, made of spider webs, were long enough to tie the shoes tight, but not so long that you might trip over them. They truly were the shoes of Gods. Horrified, Zeus punished Sophus by shackling him to his work-station and giving him eternal life. He must work forever, never stopping. His gift became his curse. But obviously Zeus didn’t want to just throw the shoes away, so he gave them to his son Hermes; one of Hermes’ better presents.

Shoe repairers and cobblers worldwide still keep automated memorials (pictured) to Sophus as a reminder of this tragic tale.

The Beeston Cobbler will be moving across the road from 184 to 149 Station Road (previous retail incarnations here have included an Antiques shop, t-shirt printers and a ballgown emporium) in September. You can follow them on Facebook (facebook.com/pages/

thebeestoncobbler) where every month there is a draw to win a free heel repair. CF

Heel boy

 

flying goose café

33 Chilwell Road, Beeston, Nottingham NG9 1EH

0115 9252323

Open 10 ‘til 4 Tues to Fri / 9 til 4 Sat

▪ freshly prepared food ▪ good coffee ▪ relaxed atmosphere

A café with an emphasis on Vegetarian, Vegan, Fair Trade & Organic food, freshly prepared to order. “BEST WELSH RAREBIT IN TOWN!” Lovely home-made cakes and scones. New wine and beer list for the autumn.We would love you forever if you support us whilst the tram is being built as we shall remain open throughout this time.

Facebook us, Tweet us, email us or even scribble us a proper, handwritten letter (we love those the most). We’ll publish it here, usually unedited, for all to see…

Famous last words…

Dear Beestonian,I’m sitting here in a little Chilwell Road café drinking tea on a hot day. The doors are wide open. It’s noisy, it’s dusty. Life is happening, big-time, inches away from the delicate Victorian door frame. And I’m glued to it.Cup poised between saucer and lip, I watch an enormous JCB and a diddy JCB doing an awkward dance as they try to turn around without smashing down the houses on either side of the road. There are drills going off as well and passers-by are raising their voices to be heard. The construction blokes are competing too. Only every single one of them is on a mobile phone. They are screaming abuse at the construction blokes on the other side of Beeston who, I presume, are screaming back. It’s all quite loud and, as I look at my tea, little tsunamis are quivering across the surface.The whole scene is like some post-apocalyptic, mad-max carnival chugging its uninvited-way through our town. Both sides of the road are huge trenches and flowing down in them is the most confused spaghetti of cables and pipes you ever did see. Multi-coloured wires and earthen ware pipes hanging on bits of string. All this stuff normally hidden under our feet, exposed like the bit in ‘Terminator’ when his skin melts off. (What do they put in this tea?)What fascinates me most of all though – and, I must admit, I’m a little jealous and wish I had one – are the little wooden bridges.How cool are they? They’re there to get you over the river of pipes into shops and houses. They are basically planks with little wooden handrails to stop you tipping over when you’ve had one too many. Can you imagine it? Falling into that writhing mass when you’re drunk?The best advice would be not to struggle. You’ve got a cracked pipe full of human waste gurgling next to your ear and a gazillion-volt cable inches from your family jewels. (Yes, just wait for one of those security bods in the border-crossing portacabins. They’ll walk along and shine a torch down on you at some point during the night. If I lived and/or worked on Chilwell Road and had my own rickety-rackety bridge, I’d put some hinges on it and a chain. Then at night, or when someone was coming who I didn’t want to see, I would lift it up. Hey presto – a drawbridge!The thing to remember is we will never see this bizarre view of our town ever again. Which is good in lots of ways but, when the Mad-Max carnival is gone, we might just miss a bit of the clamour. A little bit of us might miss the noise and the little rickety-rackety bridges. Anyway, this tea won’t drink itself.Have a good un.– ‘Lightnin’ Pete’ (via email)

A Pair of Silver Birch Trees

Silver-soldered soldiersSolid through the SeasonsRe-assurance resonates,Whilst gazing through your filigree,Of branch and twig and leaf.

Silver sheen of barkMercurial magiciansLight unwilling journeysOn sighing school morningsYou never beg to question.

Just a pair of silver soldiersGuardians of our secretsYou never show your feelingsThanks for your solidarityThanks for being there

(Dedicated to two silver birches who’ve brightened up

many a journey to and from John Clifford Primary

School with my children (1987-1999))

– Steve Plowright

Beestonia: The Next Generation It’s raining babies here at Beestonia Towers. Not literally, that would be quite awful, but we’re proud to announce that we have TWO new Beestonians gestating right now.Co-founder Matt (Prof J) will be bringing a brand new Beestonian into the world with his wife and fellow boffin prof, Keely; so too are columnist Tim Pollard (aka Nottingham’s Official Robin Hood) and his partner Sally (aka Nottingham’s Official Maid Marian. How fantastic is THAT?) We wish both couples the best of luck, and salute the fact we have some writers with leaded pencils. LB

FACT OF THE MONTH

Beeston is closer to space than the coast.

The Beestonian is…Editor / lead writer / founder – Lord Beestonia

Co-founder / resident don – Prof J

Assistant editor / print design – Tamar

Illustrator – Lottie

Top-notch scribes this issue:

Darren Patterson, Jimmy Notts, John ‘Poolie’

Cooper, David Standard, Christian Fox, Tim

Pollard, Nora Dimitrova, Jimmy Wiggins,

Tamar.

Printed by Pixels & Graphics, Beeston.

Huge thanks to all of our contributors, sponsors, stockists, regular readers and anyone who has picked this up for the first time and vows to again.

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