A Meeting with Friends

Because I know a lot of Quakers read this site, here’s this week’s Faith column by our roving correspondent Matt Pointon
THE Friend’s Meeting House in Newcastle does not look like a religious building. Built of brick it appears positively secular and according to Harold, it is. “This is not a consecrated place, as to us everywhere is holy and besides, we bought it off the Staffordshire PFA – it used to be their headquarters.”

The Society of Friends – or ‘Quakers’ as they are commonly known – are a Protestant church formed in the 17th century under the inspiration of George Fox. Unlike most Christian churches however, they have no creed or set worship. “On Sunday meetings people come in and if the Holy Spirit impels them, they speak. Some weeks we can have a whole hour of silence, but that silence is not a bad thing as in silence we can connect with God.”

The first Quaker group in North Stoke was formed in the 19th century and they have existed in the area ever since.

I came on a Tuesday evening when silence was not the order of the day. Then several Friends or Attenders, (those who attend but are not members of the Society), were there to discuss a recent book by the atheist writer Richard Dawkins. A variety of viewpoints were put forward, some opposing but all in a friendly spirit. As a church with no creeds or doctrines, there are no right answers in the Friends’ Meeting House, although the life of Jesus is used as inspiration for Godly living.

But who are the Quakers exactly? When I put the question to those present, Ken suggested that they are more defined by what they are not rather than what they are. One thing they all agreed on however, was their objection to war, and the Quakers have been famous as pacifists for centuries. Tom defined their belief as being an “insistence that there is an immediate relationship between people and God.”

This, Anne-Marie explained, means that within everyone there is an “Inner light” which we can all cultivate.

And with such a friendly and fascinating group, I felt that a small part of that light had perhaps flickered in me as we discussed our respective beliefs.

The proofreader’s on holiday (issue 6 corrections)

… and other excuses.

This week’s issue was a bit of a race to the finish line before the production break in order to build up more capacity and for me to catch up on some sleep. So there are some very annoying errors, for which I take full responsibility. If you spot any more, don’t hesitate to tell me! :

Page 1: Residents associations
(the victim of last minute cutting) – the Scotia Road residents association will meet this coming Tuesday, 7 August, rather than some unspecified Tuesday in August…

Page 1: Hands off Haywood High
The link is http://www.handsoffhaywoodhigh.org.uk, not what I put

Page 2: Deadlock over house prices
It’s fire, not ‘fir brigade’. There aren’t many firs in the Slater Street area.

Page 9: Bake your own Leopard Bread
It’s a ‘recipe’.

I’m off to stab myself now. See you in September

… furthermore, it seems I got my fish & fishermen mixed up… I’ll be producing a revised PDF for them to save… aarg!

When Hitler lived in Burslem

by Bob Adams

As a young boy in the early 1950s, a lot of the games we played were the traditional ones like Hide and Seek. And as boys normally did not play with girls we would also play cowboys and army games.

The world war was not over by far in many a person’s thoughts, husbands who were soldiers, sailors and airman as well as brothers and sons. Women who had been in munitions and other essential war work, doing men’s jobs so they could be released for the forces.

The very valuable miners and steelworkers for without them the forces would have been nothing – so everyone was of equal importance.

So we would play at shooting Germans and Japs. World War 2 was still very much in everyone’s minds and the hunt was on for the Nazi hierarchy because nobody really knew what had happened to some of them. It was only years later that it was found that Hitler had committed suicide in the ruins of Berlin in April 1945.

There were regular sightings of these Nazis in South America and Syria and these were in the newspapers very often. Hitler spotted here, Hitler spotted there.

On Park Estate, Burslem, where we all roamed and played, we would spend hours in the park. One day my mates and I saw a man aged about fifty or sixty in the park, walking peculiar. He may have been wounded in the foot because as he walked he kicked his boot out, which reminded us of the ‘goose step’ practiced by the Nazis. He also had a moustache.

We had discovered where Adolf Hitler was hiding, all the world was after him and we knew where he was.
We followed him out of sight and he walked out of the park through the gate leading up n the Park Road and into Macclesfield Street. We followed him all the way up to Wade Street, where he went inside a home.
We rushed home to tell our parents this, expecting them to call the army or police or whatever, but they just laughed it off. In particular I remember my father saying “he’s working at Doultons”.

So there we were, with the most important newspaper scoop of them all.
Hitler living in Wade Street and working at Doultons.

Issue 5

Issue 5 is now online, with a match report of Vale’s victory over Manchester United, some ideas about how you can become an internet millionnaire, a look at Burslem Park and lots more…

And since today is the first sunny day since records (sorry, I mean the paper) began, I’m putting off catching up on sleep to go and give it out to people in what will hopefully be a crowded Burslem market. Woo!

Bennett revived

Apologies for the lack of posts recently, things have been pretty relentless here at the virtual Local Edition towers. Lots of new writers and an old one – this week we reminded readers of old Burslem, with Arnold Bennett’s great short story The Elixir of Youth, brilliantly illustrated as ever by Rob Pointon.

Read the story here and if I get the chance I’ll upload the pictures too.

And, just before I get back to hateful accounts, Issue 4 is now available to download. I’m not sure why it’s so big this week but, if you’ve got broadband, enjoy

Westport Wonderlake

by Mervyn Edwards

Westport Lake is known to many as a 1970s reclamation scheme that fell into decline before recent housing developments nearby provided the incentive to spruce up this watery sheet and its surroundings. However, its history as a Potteries playground stretches back over a century. An advert in the Staffordshire Sentinel in June, 1890 ran:

“Come and see the little steam launch on Westport Lake, also some forty rowing boats. The lake is so safe as all should be knowing, You can get out and walk if you’re tired of rowing; It’s the best place in the Potteries for recreation, And only Five Minutes walk from Longport Station.”

The historian Ernest Warrillow confirmed that at the turn of the century, the lake became something of a fashionable resort, with boating being very popular. A small house by the lakeside was the home of the resident boatman and reputedly the scene of many cock-fights. In 1898, Lifeboat Saturday was celebrated at the lake when a self-righting lifeboat “looked tremendously out of place in the still waters.”

In the 1960s and 1970s, local firms would dump ceramic shraff around the periphery of the lake, giving railway commuters a ghastly glimpse of the very worst of the industrial Potteries. For many people, perhaps seeing our area for the first time, it was a positively dismal introduction. Even the reclamation scheme was not viewed as a complete success by some, with historian Bill Moorland remarking in his 1978 book, Portrait of the Potteries that this was “the scene of a triumphant reclamation scheme that has gone wrong, because the concentration of nasty bacteria in the mud of its bottom makes it lethal to paddling children and big boating boys alike.”

Even so, Westport Lake over the years has been a magnet for joggers, dog walkers and those who love nature. Some years ago, I took a sequence of photographs of a group of fishermen landing a massive pike. The lake has been a haven for all sort of fowl including mandarins, tufted ducks and grebe. To see a heron taking off from the lakeside has often been a pleasure for me on one of my early morning jogging sessions around Westport!

Flying high

Report by Anthony MondayHard work, experience and a cracking pigeon are contributing to one of the best seasons ever for Tunstall Homing Society flyers Paul and Martin Gibson.
The brothers, dedicated to the sport for more than 40 years, have won two ‘over the Channel’ club races from Lessay and Forgeres in France with the same bird.
And the pigeon, whom they are still to name, came third out of well over 2,000 birds from the North Staffs Federation in the Lessay event.
Martin said: “That is the highest finish we’ve ever had in the federation and we were both chuffed to bits.
“We are usually happy enough to hold our own with the other lads at Tunstall, but now and again we do well and this is one of those seasons.
“There is some luck in pigeon racing and it can be difficult to understand why your birds are flying well or poorly. We race some other pigeons with Goldenhill Homing Society and they have done very little this year.
“But it is a certain fact that you won’t get anywhere without plenty of hard work. Our pigeons are cleaned out twice a day, fed well and trained appropriately.”
Although 2007 is proving a real success for the brothers, Paul admitted they still have much to do to get even close to their vintage year of 1989.
He said: “Everything we touched turned to gold that year and I can’t see that happening again. We just couldn’t go wrong.
“But we keep trying our best and I always say that behind every good pigeon man there’s a good woman. My wife Jean and Martin’s wife Pamela support us all the way and we owe them a lot.”
The brothers still compete as J. Gibson & Sons, in memory of their father, Jack, who passed away 22 years ago.
Martin added: “We are pleased he introduced us to pigeon racing because we have had a lot of fun and made many great friends along the way. The social side is great.”

Manchester International Festival: The Pianist: Tue 3 – Sun 15 July 2007

Review by Annette White

Wladyslaw Szpilman was a brilliant Jewish musician who survived the second world war in Warsaw against all the odds. His story is told in words and music at the Manchester International Festival, performed in English for the first time and directed by Neil Bartlett. Even before Polanski’s film of the same name, this version was conceived by the Russian pianist Mikhail Rudy, at the suggestion of Szpilman’s son.

The setting is the wood-beamed attic of the Science and Industry Museum’s 1830 warehouse; atmospheric lighting; in the centre, a concert piano. The actor Peter Guinness powerfully narrates extracts from Szpilman’s memoir, and Mikhail Rudy plays Chopin, mainly nocturnes and preludes from Szpilman’s repertoire, and some of the Pianist’s own compositions.

The story unflinchingly tells of the atrocities, brutality and hardship of life in the ghetto. In 1942 Szpilman’s family were among those rounded up to be transported to the death camps, but Wladyslaw was pulled out of the line by a Jewish policeman at the last moment. Now he had to continue surviving.
When we re-encounter him, he is fending for himself alone in the ruins of Warsaw in 1944. Loneliness is the keynote as he hides in attics and on rooftops. He is discovered by a German army captain who, having heard him play Chopin, decides to save his life.

Szpilman’s story is told without any resentment or desire for revenge. Every heartbreaking segment of narrative is counterbalanced by a beautiful piece of music, passionately played by Mikhail Rudy, whose family were themselves victims of Stalinist purges. The Pianist is an extraordinary experience, demonstrating that human beings can sink to the lowest depths, but also rise to the greatest heights.

Note: Local Edition subscribes to the Supercity theory that other cities are entirely accessible by train and therefore great options for a day or night out (train fares allowing)

The Sneyd Colliery Disaster 1942 by Mervyn Edwards, £8 at Market Place Miniatures in Burslem and Proctor’s newsagent in Wolstanton High Street.
Review by Fred Hughes

The Sneyd Colliery Disaster 1942 is clearly a labour of love. The narrative has been compiled from contemporary news and official reports together with some contemporary personal recollections and illustrated by the author’s own sketches. A most touching first-hand account is contained in an appendix written by Ernest Taylor, a miner who was one of the first at the scene.

For more than 100 years Sneyd Colliery was a major employer in Burslem. And, like the potteries, the colliery was an integral part of the town’s occupational and social fabric. It is easy to understand therefore that on that fateful New Year’s Day in 1942 every man, woman and child was in some way affected by the events that were taking place beneath their feet.

The official report into the Sneyd disaster found that fifty-five men died instantly and two later in hospital as a result of an underground explosion in number 4 pit. The cause was said to be a braking failure that caused loaded wagons to run away down an incline.

The author has written a chronological account of the disaster and of the days and months following, and of the official investigation. This is a factual book unadorned by emotion. The reader nevertheless will carry away much feeling of tragedy, anger and, yes pride, from each page.

Timed to coincide with the erection of a memorial in Burslem town centre, this book is a tribute to a lost generation and a lost industry: a comprehensive and touching account of one of Burslem’s blackest days.

Catfish at the Leopard

Not another post about the Leopard, I just couldn’t resist this blog title. But there’s a hint there about what your editor was up to last night.

Just in case you were wondering, there won’t be an issue of Local Edition this week, it will become weekly from next week. This is just to give me time to finalise such important things as the bank account and advertising bookings. If you were thinking about booking, now is the time to do it. Er, please.

I know many of the visitors of this blog are actually from outside the area, so I thought you might be interested in this area profile written in upbeat, marketing stylee. When you’re writing something like this, you have to ’sell’ the place of course, but what I love about this area is that all the below is true at exactly the same time as its more difficult side. It’s a complex, curious place:

Stoke-on-Trent is the epitome of an up-and-coming area. With house prices still lower than most of the country, more people are discovering a unique city that has unparalleled transport links to the rest of the country, stunning countryside just on the doorstep and a remarkable heritage of creativity and industry that lives on today.

Stoke itself is made up of six towns and is also near to the market town of Newcastle-under-Lyme. It is a city where communities are still very defined but where outsiders are also welcomed as the city builds a confident new future.

Local Edition, a new social enterprise newspaper, aims to support information and communication in some of the areas that have faced the biggest post-industrial challenges. Taking inspiration from the new generation of lively free newspapers in other cities, Local Edition will also promote local services and trade.

This is a fascinating part of the country that has a need for a very localised newspaper. Adverts are excellent value and will reach the people most likely to shop locally. Local Edition deserves to be part of every national marketing campaign.

Town profiles:

Tunstall: a thriving shopping centre full of high street names and an excellent covered market
Burslem: the creative hub of the city with beautiful architecture popular with tourists and a wide range of high-quality choices for eating and drinking
Cobridge: a diverse melting pot of cultures where shoppers can find exotic products
Middleport: a traditional Potteries community with great connections by road, rail and even canal