STUART FREW.COM

THE RALEIGH CHOPPER: LEGEND!

I was fortunate enough to own an orange Raleigh Chopper, bought only a few days after they began emerging from the production lines at Raleigh. As you may know, Nottingham was the home of Raleigh bicycles but sadly no more.

After the marvellous initial chick-pulling pulling opportunities for a thirteen-year old on a Raleigh Chopper waned along with the ever more common sight of the revolutionary looking machine on the roads, I slowly went back to my original love, my home made racing bike, constructed lovingly from an aluminium frame and complete with three optional back wheels.

The Chopper actually was pretty hopeless really, apart from offering great scope to anybody wanting throw a heavy pose, (obligatory!). The bike had been a long haul up however in the Frew household from the days of the BSA with one pedal that dad proudly brought home for me one day, after paying ‘someone down the pub’ the princely sum of £1. That trusty machine did not prove to be cost-effective however – effortlessly wearing out the left sole of around six pairs of Clarkes shoes where I had haplessly attempted to grapple with the problem of propelling the bike by twisting my left shoe around onto a bare pedal-less crank.

"Have you checked out out my gear knob?"
It was difficult not to be a success with the ladies on a Chopper

On a more serious note the great and glorious past of Raleigh bicycles and it’s association with Notttingham’s heritage of many and varied light industries ended very sadly. There was a time when practically everyone in this city knew someone who worked for Raleigh or one of it’s associated companies, Sturmey Archer, (gears), Carlton, BSA, Triumph, etc.

When I was a kid, the sight of the workforce emerging down Triumph Road at ‘knocking off’ time was quite awesome to my young eyes – like a vast army of workers pouring out into the streets and off home for their teas or an after work pint with the boys. Latterly that torrent of workers became a small trickle – all very sad after a glorious past. Eventually the grand old company’s association with Nottingham withered and died.

These images were captured in the novel, ‘Saturday Night and Sunday Morning by the excellent local author Allan Sillitoe and converted to celluloid with great success. Indeed the film is still very much a cult classic with it’s tale of local, Radford working class hero and general wide-boy, Arthur Seaton, played wonderfully by Albert Finney. The only minor criticism I would offer about the film was that, like many before and after him, Finney, and other cast members failed to capture the true Nottinghamian accent, rather more sounding south Yorkshire than the guttural sounds of the East Midlands Lace City.

That book and film depicted industrial Nottingham of the 1950/60’s more accurately than most examples. I would certainly urge anybody looking for a gritty read to seek out the book, even more so in the case of Sillitoe’s prime other work, ‘The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner and other short stories’, also turned into an excellent film starring that great actor Tom Courtney. Every single story in that little book is an eye-opener and I would recommend it wholly, probably more than almost anything in my entire book collection.

    Scotland my Scotland 

On the eve of a huge day for our national team my thoughts go towards the fortunes of the men in dark blue and white who will represent us tomorrow afternoon.

These are arduous if enigmatic times for the fortunes of the team who are charged with standing all-square for our nation, this we know, yet still I hold faith in ‘my own’ to do their very best for me and for us all.

Like a few others here, I recall the days when Scotland were frightened by no adversary – yes I still believe there is piece of that in us all, the Scottish spirit can never be extinguished fully, though it may flicker precariously, as in these times.

If I could say something to those lads tomorrow, I would simply say ‘Give your all for Scotland, give everything that you have – we ask no more’. I believe they will too.

I had a friend from New Zealand who like many Kiwi’s was a rugby fan. We got talking about some of the phenomenal players and teams that comparatively small country has produced over the decades and the reason why. To answer my question why this should be so, he simply replied ‘Because we don’t want to let the last guys down’. That simple statement spoke volumes for me, an interested observer; this is what it’s all about for me too.

I peer back into my recollections from the past and remember fondly the likes of Denis Law – my ultimate sporting hero as a boy, Denis of the flashing mane of blond hair, the dazzling speed of thought and foot and the implausible, quicksilver penalty box acrobatics – usually resulting in a billowing goal net and a transfixed defence rocking back on it’s heels.

My father before me would tell tale of the great Alex James, Preston, Arsenal and Scotland’s little genius. The cocky, impossibly baggy shorted maestro with the Brylcreemed centre parting, who would brashly general the Scotland ‘midfield’ as we call it today. A son of the town of Bellshill in Lanarkshire – a breeding ground for other Scotland football immortals, Sir Matt Busby and Hughie Gallagher, Alec’s diminutive forward line partner of the famed Wembley Wizards who put our greatest rivals to the sword on a soggy sward of London turf one day in history.

Well no more do we have a Denis Law and no more an Alex James but we still have a team of men who aspire to doing good things for our country in the field of sport. The renowned dark blue and white still adorns them, just like those heroes and legends from the past and still they’re in my heart, for one.

What I do know about those who will run out at Hampden Park tomorrow afternoon is that they are sons of the same soil as I. Sometimes through parentage – it matters not. For that alone they attract my strong will for them to do themselves and their country proud.

Stand behind them in your thoughts tomorrow, wish them well, they do what they do for all of us.

Scotland Forever.

The Murder in my town

It’s not often I’m lost for word as perhaps those who know me might agree, but this week was one such exception. Three days ago, about one mile from my home lies the town of Arnold, Nottinghamshire. Arnold is a suburb of the city with a population of around 40,000.

This week saw the dreadful murder of a lady by the name of Mrs. Marian Bates who worked in her family business, a small jewellers shop in the main shopping precinct of the town. Mrs. Bates was in her mid-sixties and died protecting her daughter in the shop which was under attack by two young men, she selflessly gave her own life to save her daughter’s, being shot dead from close range in the chest.

Arnold is a very ordinary working class community – the type that perhaps many of us are familiar with. One can walk along the main Front Street every day and see a familiar smiling face or two any old time, just ordinary folk going about their lives like we all do. The town is in shock at this monstrous happening, people are genuinely bewildered at the evil that was manifested there last Tuesday daytime.

Last night I watched Mr. David Blunkett on the TV addressing his political colleagues about this monstrosity. This was after a showing of the daughter who survived and her sister. She expressed dismay over the fact that in the shop they never saw their local ‘bobby’ any more, but that in times past they would receive a regular visit from their local community policeman for ‘a cup of tea’.

How familiar does this sound? When will the politicians of various hues begin to listen to the public? Do we really have to take the law into our own hands?

The more I see the way this country is developing, the less I feel like sticking around. It has a hellish, cancerous growth in despicable crime that nobody seems able to rectify.

There are so many questions; I don’t feel adequately able to address them presently so angry am I over this appalling story. For once I am lost for words

RIP Mrs. Marian Bates. May you rest peacefully in heaven and may your loved ones also eventually gain peace.