Where the Streets Have New Names

View from Woodborough Road towards three streets that feature in this post

Britain entered the First World War on 4 August 1914 when it declared war on Germany.

At that time, for reasons now lost in the archives, several of Nottingham's streets bore distinctively Germanic names, the offending places being Coburg Road, Hamburg Road, Mecklenburg Road, Coburg Square, Berlin Terrace and Bismarck Square.

Needless to say, some local residents were decidedly unhappy at this state of affairs.

In the Nottingham Evening Post of 11 December 1914, we find a letter from one 'C.W.P.,' who writes that 'When all things German are under the ban (and rightly so after their dastardly tricks) one is rather surprised to see German names still blazoning forth on our streets'.

'C.W.P.' was of the opinion that the names should be 'obliterated at once, and English names substituted.'

Several days later, the Post printed a response from 'F.C.,' who took an opposing view, trusting that 'our Corporation will not be led to adopt any such childish policy as he ['C.W.P.'] advocates. Such puerilities as this, and the banning of German music are unworthy of any intelligent community. We shall not further our cause by waxing hysterical at the mere mention of the enemy's name.'

Take that, 'C.W.P.' !

The debate over street names connected to Germany was not, of course, unique to Nottingham.

In the same month, for instance, we find a contributor to the letters page of the South London Observer urging those in charge to 'promptly do away with all names identified with a country the government of which has committed the most atrocious crimes'.

The matter was still bubbling away in November 1915 when a Leicester Mail correspondent cited 'an extract from an old boy's letter from the front,' which read: 'When I return to Leicester and resume my ordinary work I hope I shall not have the ordeal of passing Hanover Street every day. I am so fed up with the Huns here that I don't want more of him when at peace.'

In May 1916, a disaffected resident of Saxe Coburg Street in Leicester wrote that 'One feels ashamed to receive one's letters with these offensive names on the envelope.'

German street names in some places were destined to remain unchanged. In April 1919, several months after the end of the war, the Yorkshire Evening Post reported on the situation in Leeds, noting that 'Beyond...occasional demonstrations by ultra-patriotic schoolboys which have had results no more serious than the splashing of the name-plates with mud, there has been no public movement in the city to have these streets rechristened.'

Changes did occur in other places, though - including Nottingham.

On Saturday 13 January 1917, the West Bridgford Advertiser reported 'the receipt, yesterday, by residents in the streets concerned of printed notices announcing the [street name] changes, and the display of similar notices (with a warning as to the penalty for removing or damaging the new name-plates or the putting up of a different name) at the end of the streets.'

The newspaper listed the changes decided upon at that time as follows:

'Coburg-road, Mapperley, becomes Corby-road.

Hamburg-road, Mapperley, becomes Hampstead-road.

Mecklenburg-road, Mapperley, becomes Malvern-road.

Coburg-square, Walker-street, Sneinton, becomes Colton-square.

Berlin-terrace, Bunbury-street, Meadows, becomes Rushcliffe-terrace.

Bismarck-square, Denman-street, Radford, becomes Baldwin-terrace.'

The first three of these roads still exist, side-by-side, off Woodborough Road, near St Jude's Church, the majority of their residents presumably blissfully unaware of the dark past of the quiet streets on which they live.

How times change. We're currently placing our faith in a German manager for something to add to our two world wars and one world cup.

Tuchel Street. It has a nice ring to it.

Detail from an OS 25 inch map, 1892-1914, showing the location of Coburg/Corby Road, Hamburg/Hampstead Road and Mecklenburg/Malvern Road; note the (presumably) original spellings of the German street names

Coburg/Corby Road in 2025

Hamburg/Hampstead Road in 2025

Mecklenburg/Malvern Road in 2025

End of the Line II: Gamston

Come back! I've changed my mind!

'Gamston, a hamlet adjacent to West Bridgford, is of no interest.'

Everard L Guilford, (Methuen Little Guides - Nottinghamshire, 1927)

How rude! I'm sure Everard could have found something of interest in Gamston in 1927 if he'd looked hard enough.

What interest lies in the older part of Gamston these days, I sadly cannot say, as I have just realised that during my visit to this 'affluent and thriving suburb' today, I somehow managed to miss the historic bits.

Gamston. Odd sort of a name. In his 1914 publication West Bridgford: Then and Now, Robert Mellors claimed that someone called Gamall 'may have come from Scandinavia, and settled at the time that the Danes governed Notts., and so given his name to the hamlet - Gamelstune - afterwards called Gamston.'

The end of the line for the Nottingham City Transport number 6 Green Line service to Gamston is Morrisons, which acts as something of a centre of gravity for these parts.

Gamston does feel tangibly separate to its hoitier and toitier neighbour, West Bridgford, which lies to the west, but it also has the cachet of being just over the road from said Shangri-La. I'm assuming that Gamston is slightly more affordable - a Baguette and Lurpak Island, if you will.

Both lie, of course, in Rushcliffe, and Rushcliffe residents are currently up in arms at the possibility of being made to live under the same local authority as unsavoury Nottingham City types such as myself, should a potential future reorganisation of local government come to pass.

As I disembark from the bus, I'm concerned about being rumbled. Damn my plebeian garb. I should have worn a disguise. Oh well, too late now.

The supermarket here arrived on the scene in 1992 as Safeway, before being rebranded as a Morrisons in 2005 following a takeover.

On being presented with a large out-of-town store, any psychogeographer worth his or her (usually his) salt will immediately be possessed by an overwhelming urge to circumnavigate the entire site (car park included), which is exactly what I do, making the discovery that the store sits within a few feet of the Grantham Canal, which lies to its rear (or possibly side).

Next trolley 3 minutes

The approach from the supermarket to the canal is not exactly akin to walking out of the doors of Venice Santa Lucia railway station to be dazzled by the Grand Canal, but it is pleasant enough.

A swan, a coot and several ducks bob around hopefully before I retrace my steps and plunge into Morrisons, hopeful of finding a rhubarb lattice tart in the bakery. Sadly, it appears that rhubarb lattice tarts have gone out of fashion, so a cornflake tart (which, to be fair, does actually turn out to be the best cornflake tart I've consumed in many years) has to suffice.

Emerging back out into the bright sunlight with my prize, circumnavigation satisfyingly completed, I start to explore the general vicinity, which includes a small hospital, an ugly Type K pillar box, one of the least-inviting community halls in all of Christendom and a Hickory's Smokehouse (formerly The Goose at Gamston). Hickory's Smokehouse 'can't wait to welcome you for some good old fashioned southern hospitality.' Who writes this nonsense?

After walking through an estate of Stepford houses (the bulk of the residential development in the area seems to have taken place from the 1980s onwards), I happen upon the Gamston Brook, a small stream which arrives here from Edwalton and passes beneath the Grantham Canal before heading off in the direction of Holme Pierrepont.

The mighty Gamston Brook

It's too tempting to ignore, and I follow it as far as Radcliffe Road, before walking the short distance back to the canal towpath and waving goodbye to the largely unremarkable, but thoroughly civilised suburb that is Gamston.

I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the locals as I leave their orbit to return to my city hovel.

Towpath treat

The not-so-mighty Gamston Brook, having just passed beneath Radcliffe Road

Homeward bound

Chopped in two - yeah, cheers for that, guys

The Art of Comedy

The former Nottingham School of Art (aka the Waverley Building) - still used by Nottingham Trent University's School of Art & Design

Born on 27 February 1907, Cartoonist/illustrator Dudley D Watkins is best known for drawing comic strips such as Desperate Dan, Lord Snooty and His Pals, Oor Wullie and The Broons. 

What I hadn’t realised until quite recently was that he lived in Nottingham when he was young and studied at the Nottingham School of Art before eventually gaining a position with publisher D.C. Thomson, who he worked for until his death in 1969, aged 62. 

While in Nottingham, Watkins spent some time working for Boots, and in 1923, when he was 16 years old and working in the company’s Window Display Department, his first published illustrations appeared in the staff magazine, The Beacon. 

As I have a collection of The Beacon dating back to that time, I decided to have a look through my copies to determine exactly which of Watkins’ early works were featured. 

Several online sources incorrectly state that the very first published work was Our Gymnasium Class. That piece, actually entitled Our Gymnastic Class, appeared in Volume 3 No. 3, dated October 1923. 

In fact, the earliest Watkins work featured in The Beacon, called ‘As the Twig is Bent – So the Tree Inclines’, had appeared in Volume 2 No. 6 – the March 1923 edition. Watkins had also drawn the cover for the June 1923 edition (this illustration remained as the magazine cover until 1926) and two of his contributions were featured in the August 1923 magazine (Volume 3 No. 2). 

The December 1923 edition of The Beacon is, as far as I can tell, the last one in which Dudley D Watkins’ work appeared. 

Here are all of the Watkins Beacon illustrations that I have been able to find, together with a small feature that the magazine published about the man (or, rather, boy) himself. Click on the images to see larger versions. 

From The Beacon, March 1923 (Vol. 2 No. 6)

The cover by Dudley D Watkins that debuted in the June 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 1) edition and graced the magazine until December 1926

From The Beacon, August 1923 (the cartoon alludes to the Prince of Wales' visit to the Island Street site in that month)

From The Beacon, August 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 2)

From The Beacon, October 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 3); 'B.A.C.' stands for Boots Athletic Club

From The Beacon, October 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 3)

From The Beacon, December 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 4)

From The Beacon, December 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 4)

From The Beacon, December 1923 (Vol. 3 No. 4)

From The Beacon, March 1923 (Vol. 2 No. 6)

I'm very glad that our Dudley had the good sense to eschew the at times bizarre world of the company magazine and head for pastures that were destined to prove so rewarding and provide such a great deal of pleasure to so many of us.

To illustrate the soundness of his decision, we shall close with a quite remarkable photograph that appeared in the February 1924 number of The Beacon. The occasion is a fancy dress carnival held in the Manchester warehouse, 'at which a large number of the staff and friends were present.' In the photograph, we can see Mr F Murrell of the Drug Department, who is dressed as a member of the Ku Klux Klan and 'carried off the Gents' prize - a Leather Wallet.'

From The Beacon, February 1924 (Vol. 3 No. 5)

From The Beacon, February 1924 (Vol. 3 No. 5)

End of the Line

Sign, Hobbucks Nature Reserve, Arnold

 'Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.'

Soren Kierkegaard

Killisick is about three miles from my humble abode, as the crow flies, but until recently its existence had never troubled mine. I lived, gentle reader, in happy ignorance of whatever heady delights it may or may not have had to offer.

That changed recently when I chose Nottingham City Transport's number 58 Lime Line bus service from the city centre to Killisick as a test route for a potential new project calculated to reinvigorate my appreciation of, and engagement with, the less celebrated parts of Greater Nottingham.

The idea? Travel to the final stop of a particular NCT bus route, disembark, have a look around and report back.

Simple as that.

A salve for the existential dread that lives rent free inside my head.

Yesterday, I embarked on the inaugural journey...

It's early afternoon when the 58 drops me off at its last stop - Gleneagles Drive. It could be argued that, technically speaking, this stop is not the actual end of the line, as the bus subsequently trundles on a few yards further to a turning circle, where it picks up its first passengers for the return journey. However, this is psychogeographical nit-picking, and I do not, in any case, want to take the risk of annoying the driver by doggedly staying on until the turning circle, because, as any fule kno, NCT drivers are generally already annoyed enough as it is.

The 58 prepares for its journey back to civilisation

The area known as Killisick, which seems to consist mainly, if not entirely, of the post-war Killisick Estate, is part of the great urban sprawl of Arnold - a place I've never really been able to develop any great affection for - lying to the northeast of the latter's centre.

It's easy to lose track of the topography of an area when it is more-or-less entirely covered in houses and tarmac, but we're most definitely up in the hills here. Killisick has a remote feel to it, even though it's  no more than four or five miles from central Nottingham.

As I wander past the recreation ground, community centre and defunct Baptist church on this sunny Saturday afternoon, I'm largely untroubled by the presence of my fellow man.

The sole users of the recreation ground are a father and son playing football, the community centre is shut and the former church building is awaiting demolition, all of which speaks volumes.

The former Beacon Baptist Church

A brief foray into the heart of the housing estate is uninspiring, so I head for the nearby Hobbucks Nature Reserve. An incongruous mini basketball court ruins the initial sense of escape somewhat, but further ingress reveals a rugged, expansive site with possibilities for onward exploration of the surrounding area. This is very much edgelands territory.

After passing a trig point and entering a wooded area, I eventually emerge, somewhat disorientated, into an open space that has tremendous views out to the west and south-west. A sturdy plaque next to two benches shows the locations of various landmarks, but the sun is in my eyes and the only one I can positively identify is Ratcliffe-on-Soar Power Station.

Trig happy

As I raise my phone with one hand to take a photo of the impressive scene before me, simultaneously using my other hand to block the glare of the sun, I forget that I've been holding a cheese sandwich, which promptly falls to the floor. I can't bring myself to apply the five-second rule, but a passing dog goes into paroxysms of olfactory joy courtesy of the jettisoned cheese, so at least someone has benefitted from my misfortune.

Long stretches of tall metal fencing along one side of the reserve alert me to the presence of Dorket Head Quarry. I begin to follow the route of a bridleway, and there are tantalising glimpses of parts of the quarry through the fencing before broader views open up as I join a footpath and gain higher ground.

Leaving the epic views of the quarry behind me, I make my way into a woodland area that, a sign amusingly informs me, was 'planted with children from Richard Bonington Primary School'.

Alas, shortly afterwards, the bucolic spell is broken as the footpath I'm following leads out onto Mapperley Plains, with its seemingly endless procession of cars. A short distance away, on the other side of the road, the Travellers' Rest provides the opportunity for a little liquid refreshment before I make my way home.

It's been an invigorating walk, and a timely reminder that interest and beauty can be found in the most unexpected places.

Now where did I put that bus map?

Inheritance

Geoff Love at Boots, Victoria Centre, 23 June 1972 (Image from Boots News, 26 July 1972)

On 23 June 1972, the Victoria Centre branch of Boots was graced by the presence of Geoff Love, who was in town to sign copies of some of his latest records. The store had only opened a few weeks previously, following the closure of the 'old and rambling' Pelham Street branch.

The photograph above appeared in Boots' staff magazine alongside a short article which recorded, with a lamentable shortage of punctuation, that 'Sales in an hour-and-a-half amounted to over 100 records (more than one a minute) this seeming to indicate that as the Beatles found in order to sell records in really big numbers "all you need is Love."' Ouch.

On the table in front of Geoff, we can see the covers of the Geoff Love & His Orchestra albums Love With Love (1972), Great T.V. Western Themes (1970), Your Top TV Themes (1972), Big War Movie Themes (1971) and Big Western Movie Themes (1969) - all released on the late and mildly lamented British budget-price record label Music for Pleasure.

There were plenty more albums where they came from - a veritable feast of easy listening vinyl. Big Love Movie Themes, Big Suspense Movie Themes, Big Musical Movie Themes, Big Bond Movie Themes, Big Terror Movie Themes... the list is not far short of endless.

Geoff Love (his real name) was a respected figure in the music industry. An article on the Abbey Road Studios website describes him as 'a musician, band leader, composer, conductor' whose 'contribution to British music...can't be underplayed' (pun possibly not intended).

Born in Todmorden, Yorkshire in 1917 to an African American father and English mother, Love worked with many of the most famous artists of the era and was also a well-known personality himself. The albums mentioned earlier represent just one part of a wide body of work, with the experimental Mandingo project being perhaps the great man's most exhilarating and left field endeavour. Love died in 1991 and I think it is fair to say that he is a largely forgotten figure today.

Two Geoff Love & His Orchestra albums are guilty pleasures of mine - the previously-mentioned Big War Movie Themes, and the disco-inflected Star Wars and Other Space Themes. The former contains stirring versions of triumphalist tunes such as 633 Squadron and The Dambusters March (penned by Hucknall alumnus Eric Coates), while the latter's groovy takes on a series of well-known film and TV sci-fi themes are nigh-on irresistible for anyone raised in the seventies.

These aural treasures were originally discovered courtesy of my parents' record collection, with my dad's musical tastes eventually proving to have a not-inconsiderable influence on my own.

My dad and I were part of each other's lives for 53 years, but in many ways I suspect that what I know about him doesn't even begin to touch the surface of who he was.

Listening to those Geoff Love & His Orchestra albums, or even just gazing at their iconic covers, never fails to bring him to mind, and for that alone I am grateful.

Unreliable Narrators

William Gladstone presiding over Upper Parliament Street

 

'One entered … through a narrow stone Gothic door, stained with soot … and the heads of Liberal statesmen stuck out above like gargoyles; on rainy days the nose of Gladstone dripped on my head when I came in.'

Graham Greene

 

I belong to Nottingham,
Dear old Nottingham town;
But what's the matter wi' Nottingham,
For it's goin' roun' and roun'!
I'm only a common old working chap,
As anyone here can see,
But when I get a couple o' drinks on a Saturday,
Nottingham belongs to me!

(With apologies to Will Fyfe)

Places can be shifty blighters.

They can foster a sense of pride and belonging, and a feeling of being part of a historical continuum.

A place becomes a part of you and you become a part of that place.

This can be particularly true of cities.

But places can also be problematic in terms of their identity, leading people to feel marginalised and even oppressed by certain elements of their physical surroundings.

As a white male living in Nottingham, I feel a profound connection to my city and a fascination with - and pride in - its past and present endeavours. Amongst other things, this has manifested itself as an interest in the many and varied features of our local built environment.

Among these features are a number of statues and plaques that commemorate the lives and achievements  of various individuals associated (for the most part) with the city.

The majority of those statues and plaques commemorate men, which reflects the situation nationally.

A New Statesman article in 2016 determined that a mere 2.7% of the UK's statues at that time were of 'historical, non-royal women'.

It's not as if Nottingham's history hasn't featured plenty of women worthy of recognition, and indeed the Nottingham Women's History Group, formed in 2010, has helped - in its own words - 'to celebrate, promote and research' the contributions of a number of them.

There are, of course, other ways in which the statues and plaques in our midst are unrepresentative of past and present demographics and attitudes. In particular, they almost exclusively commemorate white men and women.

If the historical tables were turned and I lived in a place in which statues and plaques largely ignored not only men's historical contribution to society, but also the contributions of white people, how would that make me feel?

Uncomfortable, perhaps? Angry? Disenfranchised? Or not really all that bothered? The conditioning of my lived experience makes it difficult for me to truly appreciate the potential implications.

Events and debates in recent years have shone a fresh spotlight on a particularly problematic element of our country's history - its involvement in the enslavement of Africans.

Regardless of the part it eventually played in the suppression of the practice, by the 1730s Britain was the world's largest slave-trading nation.

An article on the UK Parliament's Heritage Collections website points out that 'The rewards of the transatlantic slave system were everywhere. From the urban fabric of slave ports, to the grand homes of those made wealthy, to the jobs created in industrial cities, to the coffee and tobacco shops dotting British cities.'

2020 saw the publication of a review of Nottingham's statues and plaques, commissioned by Nottingham City Council to ascertain the extent of any links to the transatlantic slave economy. The review was commissioned after the international anti-racism protests that followed the killing of George Floyd in May of that year - protests that, in this country, included the pulling down of the statue of slave trader Edward Colston in Bristol.

The review found that there were '13 statues which commemorate 13 separate individuals with demonstrable links to the transatlantic slave economy' (four directly connected, nine indirectly linked) and '18 plaques which memorialise 12 people with demonstrable links to the transatlantic slave economy' (five directly connected, seven indirectly linked). Various other statues and plaques were noted as requiring further research to 'substantiate the possibility of connections'.

One of the commemorated individuals with demonstrable direct links to the transatlantic slave economy mentioned in the document is William Gladstone.

There are two Gladstone-related memorials in the City of Nottingham - a plaque in the Park Estate commemorating his felling of a tree there, and a head situated above the entrance to the Express Offices building on Upper Parliament Street.

Gladstone was British Prime Minister for a total of twelve years spread over four terms in the 19th century. He was a Liberal politician, hence the existence of the feature on the Upper Parliament Street premises, which were home to the Nottingham Daily Express, a newspaper with similar political affiliations.

Though usually regarded as one of Britain's greatest Prime Ministers, Gladstone was the son of one of the largest slave owners in the British West Indies. His career was financed by his father and he defended his father's slave ownership early on in his political career, helping him to secure compensation for the liberation of his slaves.

This is just one small example of why it is healthy to consider the backgrounds of those individuals who past generations have chosen to venerate.

In 2020, The William Gladstone C of E Academy in Newark changed its name to The King's Church of England Primary Academy due to discomfort with Gladstone's links to slavery. Needless to say, this generated a certain amount of heated debate as to how we deal with the reverberations of our history.

Nottingham's two Gladstone memorials are relatively inconspicuous. By contrast, given the somewhat low esteem with which the memory of the British Empire is currently held, what debates would the city's statue of Queen Victoria be prompting today had it not been moved from its prominent location in the Market Square in 1953?

Nottingham's next statue will tell a somewhat different story.

Early 2025 will see the unveiling, in the Green Heart space in the Broad Marsh area of the city centre, of a bronze statue of a white mill worker and a black enslaved woman clasping hands.

The statue is the final phase of a project called Standing In This Place, a collaboration between sculptor Rachel Carter and a community history group called The Legacy Makers. The project website states that the statue will 'give representation to the under-represented and give voice and recognition to the contributions of thousands of unnamed women who were the driving forces behind the East Midlands cotton textile industry during Industrialisation.'

It goes on to say that 'The statue’s inclusion in a public park places Nottingham at the forefront of historic female recognition; and makes Nottingham a regional, national and global leader in acknowledging the significant contribution women have made to the British economy and society in their roles as enslaved workers in the Americas and Caribbean and as factory workers in industrial Britain.'

A worthy addition to Nottingham's statuary indeed, and one that will undeniably contribute to a broader perspective of the storied history of our remarkable city.

Nottingham belongs to all of us.

Nottingham awaits...

Printed Sources:

Women of Nottingham: A walk around the city centre by Nottingham Women's History Group (2011)

Nottingham City Review of Statues and Plaques - James Dawkins, University of Nottingham (2020)

Nottingham's Plaques and Statues - Terry Fry (Nottingham Civic Society, 1999)