Going back to your roots - family history feature

Above: 1872 Smith wedding - the bride is Bill's great-great-grandmother, Sarah Smith, and the boy on the far left is his great-grandfather James Smith. The family lived and worked at Wyld Court Farm, Hampstead Norreys

HAVE I ever told you that I’m a direct descendent of King Henry III and Robert the Bruce on my mother’s side? I have? It means I can trace my line back all the way to King Herod, you know. And it makes me a distant cousin of the Queen. Isn’t that fascinating? Where are you going? Come back!

When I first started researching my family tree (to be fair, I already had a general idea about my royal ancestry), it was the big hitters that floated my boat. William the Conquerer? Get in there! Ethelred the Unready? Back of the net! But after a while, all the names started to merge into one, and it all got a bit dull. After all, the theory goes that statistically it’s quite likely that every European living today is descended from the ninth century emperor Charlemagne. Yes, even you.

That’s not to say that I didn’t uncover some interesting facts along the way - I’m a distant relative of Gabriel Cox, the second mayor of Newbury (and thus can claim the coveted kinship to John and Frances West - meaning I could attend Christ’s Hospital school if I really wanted to); and my great-grandfather x 12 was Sir John Hawkins, Admiral of Elizabeth I’s fleet, hero of the Armada, cousin to Sir Francis Drake, and, er, “father of slavery”. Maybe I should keep that one quiet.

However, once I’d stopped being dazzled by these celebrities of the past, I became more interested in looking a bit closer to home, time-wise (I blame Richard Madeley’s episode of Who Do You Think You Are?. That man could turn me on to anything). In particular, although both my parents were children of Reading, it was surprising how many branches of my dad’s tree brought me back to West Berkshire; while on my mum’s side, I found it greatly amusing that her parents, with the surnames McDougall and McIver, and terribly proud of their Scottish roots, were in fact Londoners back through several generations - and with an interesting possible native marriage in India in the mid-19th century which might explain our dark colouring.

While some surmising had to be done without the help of the army of researchers that celebrities on Who Do You Think You Are? have at their disposal, I’ve been able to piece together some interesting life stories; generations of labourers uprooted from their isolated existence in the rural idyl of Chute Forest in Wiltshire to work firstly on the estates of grand landowners such as the Benyons of Englefield (explains why I have an urge to tug my forelock whenever I see our MP) and then into the factories of Reading; the fate of many of our ancestors not so very long ago.

The biggest bombshell for me was the discovery that my grandfather was the product of a first-cousin marriage - probably family-engineered after both parties were widowed and left with children to support during the First World War. Turned out that this was a surprise to no one but me, with the rest of the family having been fully aware of it for many decades. Sadly, his father died just a few years later, leaving his mother with even more children. Unable to cope, she was forced to send her youngest children away from Reading to an orphanage in Hampshire. Fortunately my grandad had happy memory of these years, and he remained particularly close to the brother and sister who had been there with him.

As I got into the swing of my research (aided by useful, if sometimes pricey websites such as Ancestry, Find My Past and Genes Reunited), I expanded to start looking into the family history of my husband Bill. With his mum and dad born and bred in Hungerford and Thatcham respectively, I wasn’t surprised to discover that  both sides of the family can be traced back through West Berkshire and its surroundings for several generations. They included a George Liddiard of Aldbourne, who in the 1830 agricultural workers' uprising known as the Swing Riots, destroyed a threshing machine and was sentenced to 18 months' hard labour in Reading Gaol. He was lucky not to be deported to Australia, the fate of many of his fellow rioters. His absence appears to have hit his daughter hard and maybe she indulged in a little teenage rebellion; by the time George was released, he was unexpectedly a grandfather.

A particular treat was to stumble across the wedding photo of BIll’s Great-Great Grandmother, Sarah Smith, on the Ancestry website, uploaded by another distant relative. I am pretty sure that the boy on the far left of the photo is his Great Grandfather James Smith, another child born out of wedlock to the teenage Sarah. His dark colouring certainly seems to have survived through the generations, although I am glad to say that the women of the family are not so plain these days. James never took his mother’s married name, but did move with his mother and new stepfather from Wyld Court Farm (today home to The Living Rainforest) in Hampstead Norreys, where his family lived and worked as servants and farmhands, to the nearby hamlet of Eling.

Yet another apparently fatherless boy in BIll’s family was his great-grandfather Henry Ainsworth. With a surname originating in the North West of England, it is almost certain that Henry was the first Ainsworth to arrive in West Berkshire. He had spent much of his childhood in a London orphanage before being boarded out to Newbury at the age of 13 in 1887 - possibly to work on a farm, as in the 1891 census he is listed as living as a boarder with the family of a carter called George Hillier at Bradford’s Farm in Speen.

Henry had been orphaned at the age of 10, when his mother, Fanny, died in a London hospital. Other than a record of her death, I have been unable to find out little about Fanny. Was she a Londoner, married to an Ainsworth, or had she arrived in the capital as an unmarried mother from another part of the country, maybe hoping to pass as a widow rather than a fallen woman? Her story will probably never be known.

Fortunately, Henry had a happier ending - he married Mary Cox, a Hungerford girl, and they had five sons and two daughters. Although we know nothing of his experiences as a youthful farmhand, at a time when many of his contemporary orphans were deported to the British colonies, where it is widely documented that they were often badly mistreated, it appears that fate may have been a luckier one. If you meet an Ainsworth in West Berkshire nowadays, it is quite likely that they will be a descendent of Henry, the London orphan.

My great-grandmother Helen Eyles,  born at 3 Englefield Street on the Englefield estate where her parents worked, pictured with all her children. My grandfather, Reginald Reeves, whom my son George resembles, is on the right

FOR those who want to take their family history research a step further, the Berkshire Family History Society offers wealth of excellent resources. The editor of the society’s quarterly journal, Berkshire Family Historian, Penny Stokes, told me more about it.

Catriona Reeves: What do those joining or contacting Berkshire FHS tend to be most interested in finding out?

Penny Stokes: Most people know the basic - dates and places of birth, marriage and death - of their parents, and to a lesser extent their grandparents. From then on, working back to 1837 (the start of civil registration) and 1841 (the first systematic census) seems fairly easy, because so much is online. But the quality of online material is so variable that many people need help in exploring the alternative routes when they can't find what ought to be there, such as a great-grandparent who is unaccountably missing from the census, or a birth which seems not to have been registered.

Before 1837 it gets trickier: you have to search parish records for baptisms, marriages and burials. Some of these are online (again, in varying quality) but many are not. There are of course a myriad of other sources. The society has a wonderful Family History Research Centre in Reading, where members can access a vast range of sources online, on CD, on microfiche and in print. I have no Berkshire family, but I've been a member of Berkshire Family History Society since the early 1990s because the society's resources are so much wider than just Berkshire. 

CR: What have you found out about your own family through your personal research?

PS: I learned that one of my great-grandfathers was Bram Stoker's accountant, and on my mother's side there were some very active Irish republicans in the struggle for independence. So I describe myself as a cross between Irish rebels and Dracula's accountant. I haven't gone back much before the mid-18th century because I'm really more interested in finding out the stories behind the most recent six or eight generations.

CR: A lot of mine and my husband's ancestors were farm labourers in the villages around West Berkshire. Would the Berkshire FHS be able to help me learn more about what life would have been like for them? 

PS: Most people researching family history want to fill in the background of how their ancestors lived, so local and social history play a large part in family history. The Berkshire Family History Society has regional branches (one in Newbury) where monthly meetings are held with speakers, and the topics focus on just this sort of thing.

House history too is a major interest; if your ancestors lived in, say, a particular farmhouse for three generations you'd want to find out about the house too, and as far as Berkshire is concerned the Berkshire Record Office is the place to do that. And it just happens to be right next door to the society's Family History Research Centre in Reading!

CR: Something we have noticed in our research is that there appears to be a fair bit of illegitimacy in our West Berks family trees, with the father being unnamed - more than I expected. Have society members have come across that a lot in their own trees?

PS: There's never yet been a family which didn't have secrets; it doesn't do to be too sensitive or judgmental. Pregnant brides are were very common, particularly in rural areas, where it was almost the norm for a couple to test their fertility before marriage, and disgrace only attached to failing to get to the altar before the birth. If an unmarried father isn't named in the birth or baptism record, he may be traceable in the records of the overseers of the poor, who may have awarded maintenance.

Illegitimacy sometimes arose because of religious dissent - a Quaker couple, for example, might refuse on principle to marry in a C of E church. They could find themselves being reported in the churchwardens' presentments. Other skeletons in the cupboard could be children given away or abandoned, bigamy, a spell in the workhouse, criminality, insanity... Most of these things are on record somewhere. 

CR: Through your editorship of the journal, is there anything unexpected that you've discovered about old Berkshire?

PS: I was surprised to find how local surnames have remained strongly local, despite the massive increase in geographical mobility. West of Newbury there is still a concentration of names like Coxhead, Pocock, Liddiard and Tubb, just as there was in parish registers of the seventeenth century. You can check surname distribution out, comparing 1881 with 1998 on http://gbnames.publicprofiler.org

CR: What advice would you give to those starting to research their families, beyond using the usual websites, and any pitfalls that they should avoid?

PS: Start with all the information you can glean from living relatives. Read a good book on the whole subject so that you understand the sources before you start blundering around on the web (which can get expensive). Don't imagine you can do it all on the web; much valuable information is not online but in record offices, and nothing beats actually getting out and walking the ground that your ancestors walked.

And, of course, join the Berkshire Family History Society, through which you will get a great deal of information and support, not to mention the company of like-minded people.

CR: And what makes it so fascinating for those that do start researching their family?

PS: It becomes utterly compulsive, particularly if you are in the second half of your life, and your parents are no longer alive. Roots are important. Having had an RAF upbringing I thought I had no home town, so I was delighted to find that I was a seventh-generation Londoner. It's as well to remember, though, that almost nobody is going to be quite as excited by your discoveries as you are!

* First published in Out & About magazine, May 2012

The Suttie show: interview with Isy Suttie

LOVEABLE comedian Isy Suttie is on tour with a heartwarming show about internet romance and real-life dating disasters. Catriona Reeves spoke to her while on route from Birmingham to Berwick-Upon-Tweed.

CATRIONA REEVES: You’re currently on tour with a show called Pearl And Dave. Are you preparing for the Edinburgh Fringe?

ISY SUTTIE: This is actually the show I did at the Fringe last year, and also on Radio 4. I can’t do Edinburgh this year because I’ll be filming the next series of Peep Show over the summer. It’s actually nice to give my brain a bit of a break - if I had been developing a new show, I would have had to start thinking about it around Christmas.

CR: I thought Peep Show [Suttie plays quirky geek Dobby in the Channel 4 sitcom] had ended!

IS: We had a break from it last year so it hasn’t been on since 2010, but two more series have been commissioned. I’m really looking forward to going back to it. Everyone involved in it feels like family, and David [Mitchell] and Rob [Webb, who play the central characters] are a real laugh.

I’m lucky that I’ve ended up being able to do a mix of things; Peep Show, the touring, and I’m working on a sitcom pilot. I can’t imagine just doing the one thing. Touring as a stand-up can be a bit lonely, although it is a nice feeling that you’ve done it all yourself. 

Luckily I’ve got a support act with me on this tour - Chris Neill, who is in the car with me right now. We’re on our way from Birmingham to Berwick-upon-Tweed. We didn’t realise how far it was until we set off. It’s about a six hour drive!

CR: So tell me about the show Pearl And Dave...

IS: It’s the story of a couple who met at Butlins, then get in contact through Facebook many years later. I perform their emails to each other as songs. Then there’s stuff about my own love life over the years mixed in.

I’ve always performed songs in my shows; I can’t imagine doing something without music, as I’ve been songwriting since I was 11. But it’s taken a long time to get comfortable with a show format where I can fit everything together. Now I’ve found that having a narrative and singing in character really works best for me. It’s a bit more theatrical than what people might have previously seen me do.

CR: Are you planning to take the show further afield?

IS: I’d like to take it to Australia next year. I’ve performed in Australia before, and they’re very comedy savvy over there, so they’re happy to embrace something that’s a bit idiosyncratic. Generally though, I’m not that fussed about travelling. I like to go home to my own bed wherever possible - I’ll be able to do that after the Basingstoke gig.

CR: You seem like such a warm person; do you tend to attract a nice audience?

IS: My audiences are lovely. When Chris and I turned up at the Birmingham venue last night, we got a bit worried because it seemed to be full of rowdy hen parties, but then we found that we were performing in a different room, and there was my audience, with their anoraks and flasks. I was very relieved.

Isy Suttie brings her show, Pearl And Dave, to The Forge at The Anvil, Basingstoke on Wednesday, June 6. Anoraks and flasks are welcome.

• First published in Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, May 24, 2012

Blog posts past: Slummy mummy

Urgh. It’s the end of a week’s holiday from work and I’m exhausted. Pre-child, five days annual leave were a chance to do very little indeed, but this being half-term, the week has been a social whirl of visits to London (involving a fun new game called Avoid the Congestion Charge Zone), swimming (twice), Basingstoke (it’s been a wet week) and Stoke to see the stepdaughter. We considered Legoland yesterday, but even George was complaining that his legs were too tired. Quite a relief, considering the £33 adult entry fee (even Alton Towers is a pound cheaper).

I know that it’s not the law to fill every precious second of the school holidays with relentless fun, but my current job/training involves so much multi-skilling that I’ve forgotten how to relax and just do nothing. There’s also the fact that the average four-year-old needs more entertainment than can be provided in a small house for more  than a few hours at a time. For a start, George doesn’t do creative activities out of choice. I did suggest that he made a Victorian paper doll, an activity on offer at Milestones, but he informed me that was a “school thing”, and he didn’t want to do it during half term. Anyway, it’s my holiday too, and even if I’m spoiling George with too many days out, I want to have fun as well.

The week’s reminded me why I don’t mind being a working mum. Going to work all day is so much less tiring than staying a home with a young person. It’s true that the housework is still undone when I get home in the evenings, but I’ve got the solution for that. I just don’t do it. Ever. The dust will still be there when I finish my training in autumn 2008 and I can hopefully work part-time again. Some of my fellow trainees say that the problem with study days is that they’re distracted by all the things which need doing around the house. For me, it’s the other way round. I only have to plug in the vacuum cleaner for an essay idea to pop into my head, and the housework is abandoned for the computer once again.

The other reason I’d be a rubbish full-time mum is that I’m no good at making small talk with other mums at the school gate. I really struggle to recognise faces (I think there’s a medical name for this, but I’ll just call it “laziness”). So there’s all these mums and all these kids, and I have no idea which one belongs to whom, or who is in George’s class. I even have a problem recognising the kids and mums who came to George’s birthday party. It’s not just a school thing (although how you’re meant to process any sort of face-recognition information or make conversation at 8.50am is beyond me). It hasn’t been unknown for me to walk past my own husband in the street. And when George brought home him class photo, it took two attempts to pick him out.

Luckily it’s never caused me a problem at work because I can usually link someone to the job they do, and where they sit. Although there is a team on my floor who hotdesk. That left me floundering for weeks. Obviously remembering names help, although I’m not great at that, either, which is why I rarely use them when talking to people. I know this is meant to give the appearance of being cold, but I make up for it by smiling a lot. And it’s better than calling someone by the wrong name (although this is something I grew up with: my mum used to regularly call me by the name of my sister, dad, our four cats and the dog before hitting on the right one). *

The only time I find the face-recognition thing a real problem is when I bump into someone I used to know from school (I grew up round here, so this happens quite often). While I don’t have a clue who they are, they always seem to recognise me. While I would like to think this is all because they are devoted readers of my blog, I’ve been told that it’s actually because I haven’t changed a jot since primary school. I guess I should take that as a compliment, but it's probably because I'm still a (speccy four-eyes).


* 2012 update... and this is why Sophie, my daughter, is named after Sophie, the family dog.

• First published on www.newburytoday.co.uk in 2007

Blog posts past: Rubbish student jobs

IT'S been 11 years since I left uni, and those hazy, happy summer breaks, starting in late June and running all the way through to early October, are just a nostalgic memory. There are many things about university I miss. The student bar. The vodka jelly parties. The atmosphere of academia that pervaded the hallowed corridors inspired the urge to learn within me. Honest. But it’s the long, long summer holidays that I miss the most. Even now, I spend the entirety of August feeling like I really shouldn’t be at work. It’s just wrong.

Mind you, it doesn’t take a lot to make me feel that I shouldn’t be at work. On returning from honeymoon, there was a strange sense within me, call it ancestral memory if you will, that I should be throwing in the towel on my career to become a homemaker. Didn’t last long - I’m rubbish at housework. And cooking. And keeping up any reasonable standard of household hygiene.

Of course in reality I didn’t spend the whole of the summer holidays lazing in bed (I had the term times to do that). In fact, I worked quite hard. Well, some of the time. I spent several summers as an office junior for one of Berkshire’s biggest companies (no, not THAT one) which made me vow never to follow a profession where I’d have to work in an office. Unfortunately, offices are quite hard to avoid if you’re vocationally no good with your hands (and 10 years at the NWN confirmed that journalists don’t spend most of their time in pubs. Not during working hours, anyway).

And then there were my waitressing stints, most of which were spent in the pub kitchens enlightening the chefs with the rudimentary basics of Descartesian philosophy (vegetables are a great prop for demonstrating Descartes’ theory about the intangibility of colour).

There was also several youth camp holidays, as a leader, which were fun but challenging, particuarly as my little sister was one of the delightful scamps under my care.  She and her mates obeyed my every command, as you can imagine. One year, the hunky leader who everyone fancied was a guy called Chris Simmons, who went on to be Mickey in The Bill. It’s not a big claim to fame, but thought I’d share it with you anyway.

Oh yes, and I almost forgot the one day I lasted in a refrigerated dairy factory. I had to stick six-for-four barcode labels onto yoghurt pots. My hands were so cold that most of my labels went on wonky. The nice thing was, I was able to go into Sainsbury’s the next day and identify which labels were mine from their rakish angle. Lovely (and hardy) co-workers, though, and they let me take home some bottles of Yop.

So as I drag myself to my desk tomorrow (early mornings are another thing I haven’t got the hang of since leaving uni) I will remind myself that August has never been a month of complete rest and recreation. It’s not as if the weather’s nice outside, anyway. Think I might buy some jelly cubes, though. And some vodka...

• First published on www.newburytoday.co.uk in 2007

Blog posts past: I discover the joys of Facebook

I’VE been traipsing around the country a bit this week, so really I should tell you about our climb up Mount Snowdon  (on a train), trips to Chester Zoo and Legoland, and an overnight stay in a motel where a name badge for a certain “Shag-able Sue” was found in the wardrobe.

But instead, I’ve decided to write about the new obsession that is taking over my life - Facebook. Or www.facebook.com, to give it its full world wide web URL. Set up in the USA three years ago as a social networking website for college students, it now lets everyone and anyone join. And indeed, it appears like everyone and anyone has now joined - or if they haven’t, they will do very soon.

Unlike Myspace, where most members aged over 25 felt like interlopers in a world that was just a little bit young and cool for them (unless you were a band member, DJ or Teen Spirit It Girl), Facebook embraces the geek in all of us. Whereas with Myspace your chosen wallpaper, font and general page design reflects how “with it” or not you are (and confirms for me that most young types have way better eyesite than I do - some of their pages are illegible), the look of Facebook is clean, functional and designed not to baffle those who grew up with BBC computers at school and Sinclair ZX81s at home.

The result is that although I was introduced to Facebook (as I am to most latest crazes) by someone 10 years younger than me, many more of my generation appear to have signed up to Facebook in recent months than ever dipped their toes into the world of Myspace. I am back in touch with old school and uni friends, workmates and exes that I haven’t seen for years; several of whom I am unlikely to meet in the real world ever again (they thought they could shake me off by moving to another country - they were wrong).

So what do we do on Facebook, apart from write endless cryptic messages on each other’s walls with the main aim of baffling other readers who aren’t in on the joke? Mainly poke each other. “Poke” as in “prod across cyberspace”, that is. And when we tire of that (which is rarely), we resort to the superpoke (tickle, irritate, defenestrate, use the force, throw a sheep at, etc). It’s extremely satisfying, and great for finally resolving those frustrating unspoken issues that have rankled for years, such as “why did you dump me in 1993?”.

And once all energy is spent, we can buy each other drinks; send flowers; replenish friend’s aquariums; turn people into vampires, zombies and werwolves, and compare people’s various traits (apparently I’m the second best dancer in my network of friends, which is a bit worrying. There can’t have been much competition). None of it is real, of course. But then, what is reality?

There are various interest groups to be joined, but most of them tend to peter out pretty quickly into a list of comments such as: “I love Derren Brown!”, “Me too!”, “I love him more!”, “Well, I’m going to marry him!”, “No, he’s mine!”... you get the idea. Facebook isn’t a forum for great thoughts or philosophical discourse (I’ve got the Digital Spy website for that).


But if you’re procrastinating over the commencement of your homework, housework, commute to work or the fact that you really ought to get dressed at some point today before it gets dark, Facebook could be the distraction you’re looking for. It’s changed my life. And my ability to meet deadlines, communicate with family members and maintain reasonable standards of household hygiene and personal grooming. Doesn’t matter though - I look always great in my Facebook profile photo.

* Actually, I will mention Chester Zoo, just for the amusing incident (for everyone else) where I got buzzed by a massive fruitbat in the bat house and fell over a rock in the dark. Bats are amazing, but a bit scary when they’re heading straight for you. And yes,  I know they’ve got sonar systems and would never get tangled up in your hair, but I dare you not to duck.

• First published on www.newburytoday.co.uk in 2007

Blog posts past: My writing - a health warning (aka why I can't spell)

THERE are a few things that you’re probably going to notice about my blogging style over the coming weeks, so to save you the trouble of spotting them for yourselves, I thought I’d make them clear from the start.

The first is that I have a surprisingly limited vocabulary. This was highlighted the other day when my son George was looking in a children’s cookery book, and said to me: “Look at this bicycle made from vegetables Mum, it’s ingenious”. Now, I do know what “ingenious” means, but I don’t think it’s a word I’ve ever used in everyday conversation. I’m more likely to say: “Ooh, that’s a bit clever”.


He was right, though. The verdured velocipede (don’t panic, I’ve just looked it up in Roget’s Thesaurus) was indeed extremely impressive. Not that poor George will ever get to see what it looks like in real life. In addition to using more long words than I do, he has been hampered with a mother who can’t cook. And the recipe involved courgettes, which I can’t stand.

The second thing you will soon realise is that I have no strong opinions about anything. Ever. Politics, popular culture, sport - if there’s a fence to sit on, you’ll find me happily perched on top of it. I am the ultimate neutral zone. I’d be rubbish on that Room 101, because there’s nothing that I truly hate. There’s very little that I feel passionate about either way.


Ambivalence (I’ve just checked the dictionary) isn’t the right word, because that implies that I’m torn by conflicting ideas on issues, but I’m not. I’m just... vague. I suspect that my head is too full of perfume and kittens for facts to spend enough meaningful time in there to allow personal judgements to form. Anyone who has seen me wandering aimlessly around Newbury town centre attempting to make purchases will have seen this in action. I’m not a shoplifter, honest. I just take a really long time to make up my mind.

The last point I really have to make - and this is a bit of a major confession - is that I  am a really bad speller. It’s terrible, I know, but the day they introduced PCs with spellcheckers - American or otherwise - into the NWN  newsroom, I felt that my career was on the up. I really don’t think it’s that unusual among journos. A lot of creative writer types are left handed like me, and I’m sure there’s a connection.


Plus there's the fact that I cheated in spelling tests throughout my entire schooling. A very old mate of mine is now a primary school teacher herself, and she holds me up as an example to her class of why it’s a really bad idea to copy off friends during tests. I suspect she doesn’t conclude: “... and then she became a journalist”, though.

Anyway, armed with an extremely good grasp of punctuation and grammar (I feel I have to point out that I’m good at something) I have now thrown off the shackles of journalism, and am able to venture into the wide world of writing for fun, safe in the knowledge that the wonderful Newburytoday web team will rid my copy of the worst excesses of bad spelling before publication. Who knows - I may even come up with some opinions along the way.

• First published on www.newburytoday.co.uk in 2007

Blog posts past: Why I no longer play netball with boys

Friday the 13th? The one you’ve got to watch out for is Thursday the 12th, as I discovered for myself last week.

I’d been persuaded to play in a charity netball match, with the assurance that there would be loads of people (male and female) playing, so I’d probably only be on the court for 15 minutes, tops. I turned up to find out that in fact there were exactly 14 players, and with seven per team, that meant I’d be playing the whole match.


After 45 minutes, I’d come to the conclusion that having me as goal defence was marginally more effective for my team than being a player short. Just about. If I learnt to stop shrieking every time the ball came anywhere near me, I might have even made contact with it a couple of times. At least in netball it’s pretty near impossible to score an own goal.

The match was surprisingly competitive, and extremely physical. This came as a shock to me, as I’d last played netball as a 16-year-old at St Gabriel's (I found it quite depressing to work out that how many years ago that was). I’m not sure I ever actually played a full match at school; my natural position was as a reserve. And certainly I never played on teams that included men. Not at St Gabs. We were nice girls.

Not that I noticed the male players that much, since I was too busy hiding behind the goalpost, until one (a rugby player, I have since learnt) decided that I was clearly a threat to him reaching the ball (I was probably trying to run out of the way of it at the time) and flew into me. I presume that was what happened, anyway, as the next 30 seconds or so are a bit hazy. All I know is that my head collided with the Tarmac. Ouch.


The result was a lump the size of a grapefruit, and lots of concerned players gathered round. It turned out that I was the only person on court with any First Aid training, so after telling them that trying to put me into the recovery position wasn’t the right way to deal with a head injury, I realised that my faculties were at least still working on some level, which was a relief.

Now, if you have an accident, it’s always best to have it just round the corner from a hospital, so I was packed off from Reading University Sportspark to A&E at the Royal Berks. The rest of the evening was spent having my head prodded, my pupils checked, and being asked questions like my name, the Queen’s name, the year, and the dates of the Second World War (I guess they get a lot of old people in casualty).


My favourite one was: “Who do you think I am?”, asked by the nice doctor, as he pointed at his stethoscope. I really wanted to say “a nurse”, as I know how much that irritates doctors (Bill has only just stopped asking a female doctor friend of mine “how’s the nursing going?” after 10 years of knowing her), but as I really didn’t want to be kept in overnight, I gave the correct answer.

After several hours of observation I was allowed to go home as long as I had a responsible person there to look after me. If not, Bill being there would do. I was given a wonderful leaflet that explained I may have suffered “bruising to the brain” which could cause symptoms for a few days or weeks. These include tiredness, feeling miserable, trouble with memory, difficulty concentrating and loosing my temper easily. Nothing new there then, says Bill.


I should also “avoid getting involved in stressful situations and should not make any major decisions” until I’m better. Which explains why I found it so difficult to decide which Easter Egg to eat next. The only answer was to eat two. At once. Well, the leaflet also says I should “allow myself to rest”. And for me, resting always involves eating chocolate.

In lieu of a bandage wrapped around my head a la Basil Fawlty, there is no sign of my trauma, so I’m milking the accompanying elbow graze for maximum sympathy with a lovely big dressing and a slight groan whenever I need to lift something heavier than a Creme Egg. And I have made one major decision -  I am never ever going to play netball again. I’ve always said that sport is bad for you.

• First published on www.newburytoday.co.uk, 2007

Blog posts past: Popmaster and pillow talk with Ian Anderson

I’ve been a bit poorly this week so have mainly been stuck at home, gleaning most of my entertainment from hubby Bill’s ongoing obsession with the BBC Radio 2  daily quiz Popmaster.

Bill was a competitor the other week - he didn’t even know he was definitely on it until DJ Ken Bruce said: “...and next, Bill from Newbury,” and then he got a call from a producer, saying: “You’ll be live on the radio as soon as this track ends.” A Lindsey Buckingham song has never sounded as long, he told me afterwards. Quite clearly he has never listened to Tusk in its entirety.

Anyway, Bill trounced the competition, winning himself a ‘Space’ radio (so-called, I assume, because it looks like one of those rocket ice lollies). But having got one question wrong, the dreaded ‘3 in 10’ round stood between him and a guaranteed place in the coveted Champions League finals at the end of the year.

“In 10 seconds, name three hits by... Pink,” pronounced Ken. Bill got two. Come on, could you have done better? Really?

So, ever since, Bill has been coming home of an evening to test me on that day’s ‘3 in 10’ (and it turns out that not many contestants can manage it). 10CC? Morrissey? No, you can’t count Smiths songs. The Three Degrees?

I think that a few Radio Two listeners would have been a bit jealous of my week’s highlight. Being really quite poorly that day, I was asleep at 2pm when my mobile rang. I didn’t pick up in time, but checking my voicemail, I discovered that Ian Anderson out of Jethro Tull wanted me to ring him. And who could blame him?

I had totally forgotten I was meant to be interviewing the Tull frontman for NWN2. I could blame this on being ill, but to be honest it’s not the first time. I once had to do a telephone interview with a slightly annoyed Gina Yashere while she was waiting in line at airport check-in to go on holiday, because I had failed to ring her the previous day. Irritated comedians do not make the easiest of interviewees.

So there I am sitting in bed, chatting to Ian Anderson, with a slight temperature and sounding like Bonnie Tyler because of my laryngitis. Soon as I ring off, I go straight back to sleep.


As a result, the next day sat at the computer to write up my interview, I’m staring at shorthand notes that appear to translate as: “terrified by big breasts”, “Auntie Het used to clasp me to her ample bosom”, and “Pamela Anderson”.


Now, while I don’t doubt for a second that these are direct quotes from the mouth of the Jethro Tull frontman (although my shorthand is truly awful), my memory of our conversation is a little hazy, and what I can’t figure is: what on earth was I asking him to elicit these responses?

Best answer wins a Popmaster ‘Space’ radio. (No, not really, Bill).

• First published on Newbury Today (www.newburytoday.co.uk) in 2007

Lovely man - review of Jimeoin

Jimeoin at The Corn Exchange, Newbury, on Friday, May 4, 2012

LOVELY by name (well, the name of his current tour, anyway) and lovely by nature, Jimeoin is such a sweetheart that he even makes the job of reviewing easier by including bits in his show especially for the reviewer. Suits me, as I’m a bit lazy. So:  “Jimeoin used the whole of the stage” (said by Jimeoin as he, well, used the whole of the stage). Oh, and “he also had a dark side” - that involved him hovering around the back of the stage, near the gloomy red-lit backdrop. See, he sorted me out with a paragraph straight off. Nice one.

Jimeoin (yes, it is his real name, surname McKeown) is probably better known in Australia than the UK - having moved Down Under from Northern Ireland aged 22, he doesn’t pop up that  often on the usual British panel shows. However, his occasional stand-up appearances on UK TV help the public warm to him and his his tours and Edinburgh runs sell well (The Corn Exchange possibly being the exception - “don’t look at the people on the balcony,” he warned the audience, “they’re really shy. They’re also doing that silent laughter thing.”)

But no matter that the place wasn’t full, Jimeoin was still happy to share his laid-back attitude to life in general and comedy in particular. He flitted good-naturedly from one thought to another in the manner of the 1990s rave casualty he physically resembles. Sweet and likeable, you get the feeling that his show isn’t terribly tightly scripted, as he often goes off on interesting tangents but then needs prompting to pick up where he left off. He has a guitar on stage, but even his approach to live music is lackadaisical, with only one actual song being played on it all night, with another being performed on his iPad, which he pointed out, “would save lugging that thing [the guitar] around everywhere”.

But things aren’t as shambolic as they may appear, and Jimeoin’s slight vagueness is all part of the act. “I’m a lazy mime”, he comments, demonstrating how another, more efficient mime artist might tidy up after him, closing doors and windows he left open. And he’s happy to let his audience “drift in and out” of  his narrative. “You won’t find everything funny - but you’ve got your teeth out,” demonstrating the anticipation of laughter. It was gentle, unconfrontational comedy, whimsically drifting over a variety of everyday subjects, but presented ever so well. A reminder that sometimes, comedy is allowed to be just... well, lovely.

• First published in Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, May 10, 2012

Edutainment at its most entercational - review of The Amazing Bubble Show (Louis Pearl) and Science Museum Live on Tour

Science Museum Live on Tour and The Amazing Bubble Show, at The Corn Exchange, Newbury on Friday, April 27 and Saturday, April 28

THE Bubble Man really loves bubbles, and he wants you to love bubbles too. He wants you to love the way they float, the way they burst, the way they follow you when you walk (really), and the way they can be trained to create squares, UFOs and bubbles-within-bubbles. He likes putting bubbles on people’s heads, and putting people in bubbles, then getting them to blow from the inside to create more bubbles without popping their giant bubble house. 

The Bubble Man, being laid back and dry-witted San Franciscan Louis Pearl even managed a first at The Corn Exchange, it being the building with the highest ceiling in which he has managed to get a helium-filled bubble to float all the way up. “Cheer wildly if I manage it,” he told the audience, “but don’t go ‘aw’ if it doesn’t. I’d rather have silence than the sound of disappointment.” There was much cheering and applause throughout, as small people and their grown-ups were amazed, wowed and delighted by the beauty of the bubbles, and learnt a bit along the way about the science behind the frothy stuff.

Laying on the science a lot thicker on Friday and creating somewhat louder pops than the bubbles were “Mark” and “Mandy” demonstrating the principles of various types of energy, from potential to kinetic and light to nuclear. The theme was a perfect excuse for plenty of bangs and flashes as the presenters carried out a variety of experiments to demonstrate how energy can be produced and harnessed, as well as donning wigs and padding to recreate an imaginary slugfest between the two fathers of gravity, Isaac Newton and Robert Hooke (I was rooting for Hooke).

The on-stage fun was interspersed (while the stage was tidied up) with on-screen mini-tours of the Science Museum, which felt a little bit like “a word from our sponsor” - but as it is free to visit, there seemed to be no harm in sparking the enthusiasm of the audience to plan a future trip there. My only niggle was why the producer couldn’t find an actor with suitable facial hair to play Prince Albert. But then, prior to the show, I didn’t know that Prince Albert founded the Science Museum - did you? A slight tonsorial slip-up maybe, but overall, it was edutainment at its most entercational.

• First published in Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, May 3, 2012

The show must go on - review of The Ilsleys

The Ilsleys and Rick Green at ACE Space, Newbury on Friday, April 20

THEIR name may make them sound like a local band for local people, but The Ilsleys’ collective experience tots up to around 200 years or thereabouts in the music business, so a little thing like an injured drummer wasn’t going to put them off their stride (pretty hard to do: they were all sat down anyway - thinking of their hips), and their first headline show at ACE Space went ahead as planned on Friday, proving what utter pros they are. 

Not to say that drummer Nigel Reveler wasn’t missed (rule one of music reviewing: never annoy the drummer),  but the remaining four members (I was going to say “surviving members”,  but on second thoughts...) put on such a cracking performance that it was easy to forget that they weren’t planning on an acoustic set all along. I’m a sucker for vocal harmonies, and the richness of the band’s three-, and occasionally four-part harmonies soared throughout. Someone mentioned to me that their sound was reminiscent of Crosby, Stills & Nash - a pretty accurate comparison, as the set included a couple of hits written by Ilsleys nominal frontman Colin Jennings for The Hollies in the ’70s - albeit after Graham Nash had left the band.

The band performed two sets, crammed with an impressive 22 mainly new songs (the band might have a hard job picking out the ones to include on their forthcoming album Licks, Lilts & Lullabies) reflecting many lifetimes of musical and worldly-wise experience. “This one’s another love song,” pronounced Jennings, eliciting a comment from the audience: “Aw, love songs at their age.” Fair enough, the band were rocking the grey haired look,  but turning their hand from pure romance (Send Me The Pillow) to classic pop (their version of the Jennings-penned Hollies hit Magic Woman Touch), hippy vibes (Back To Nature) and a hint of psychedelia (I Will Love Her), The Ilsleys proved that years of experience, great on-stage banter, and top-notch professionalism create a magical musical brew.

In support was Rick Green, stepping out from behind the sound desk for an extended solo spot to showcase his new self-titled full-band album, available from Green himself at Sticks & Strings in Thatcham. His songs and shirt were tinged with Americana, and his set included a useful education in learning to love the C-word (which is, of course... Country).

What a great night. Let’s do it again soon, boys - next time, you can even bring your drummer (you might have to squish up your chairs to fit him onto the stage, though).

• First published in the Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, April 26, 2012

Stanhope of the States - review of Doug Stanhope

Doug Stanhope at The Anvil, Basingstoke on Friday, April 13

US COMEDIAN Doug Stanhope is an enigma. Lucid, erudite and socially aware one minute; shambling, verging on incoherent and downright dirty the next. I know which version of Stanhope I prefer, but then I’m a delicate flower. Likewise, the audience divided pretty much into diehard fans and “try it  outs”, a fair few of whom didn’t make it to the end. This, along with a smallish crowd (for The Anvil) of about 300, seemed to be pretty much accepted as all in a day’s work for Stanhope, who carried on regardless in his indomitable manner.

From an excellently-argued monologue about why the USA is a really great place to live despite its questionable governance, social organisation and legal system, to a dissection of his Twitter spat with Daily Telegraph journalist Allison Pearson which revealed a kind heart hiding somewhere within a maelstrom of vitriol and bile, Stanhope at his best was on the button with something really interesting to say, and the wit to present it well.

However, at other points, his act delved to the darkest depths of depravity, including an extended Aristocrats-style “joke” which I suspect is becoming daily more disgusting as the 30-date tour runs its course. Not my cup of tea at all, but the uproarious laughter from much of the audience belied my personal sensibilities.

I went to this gig knowing it was quite likely not to be all to my delicate tastes, and I’m not going to take umbrage with the bits that made me uncomfortable. In the end, no one got hurt, and unlike so many less intentionally offensive comedians, I can’t recall anything faintly misogynistic or endorsing of domestic abuse, which as I’m sure any regular readers of my reviews will have noticed, is my personal comedy bugbear.

Personally, I found the support act, comedian/guitarist Henry Phillips, to be more palatable to my fairly gentle tastes. Another American with a potty mouth, Phillips kept on the right side of mucky with songs which also showcased a true musical talent, including one written on the road  by himself, Stanhope, Stanhope’s partner Bingo (who received a cheer whenever she appeared to ply her man with more alcohol) and other crew members about the various hardships of touring in the UK. To be fair to Stanhope, there were a few obvious absences from the audience before he followed Phillips onto the stage, which was probably the right decision - if those people were shocked by Phillips, Stanhope might have made them pop.

• First published in Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, April 19, 2012

Star Turn - interview with The Ilsleys

TAKE members of legendary Newbury outfits Ricky and The Gamblers and Tonton Macoute, mix it up with up to 50 years experience in the music industry per member, and reveal the dark secret that they to blame for the 1980s novelty hit Pump Up The Bitter, and you’ve got The Ilsleys - a bunch of West Berkshire 60-somethings recording an album and getting ready for their first full gig at ACE Space on April 20.

CATRIONA REEVES spoke to guitarist COLIN JENNINGS about starting a new musical journey when the band members have all got bus passes.

CATRIONA REEVES: It sounds like The Ilsleys' members have known each other for years - what made you decide to come together as a band at this point in your lives?

COLIN JENNINGS :We played in function bands together, and of course there was our excursion into comedy [as Star Turn on 45 (Pints), the act behind Pump Up The Bitter]. The idea of making an album of totally original material was the motivator, especially at our age. They always say the first album is the most important; it’s just that for us it took a little longer than usual!

Bassist Pete Fry and guitarist Dave Hicks were founder members of Newbury’s very own Ricky and The Gamblers in the swinging sixties. In their heyday, a number of record companies came down to Newbury to try and sign the band, but failed... Dave wasn’t fond of their manner, particularly The Rolling Stones’ producer Jimmy Miller, who thought that Dave should wear satin shorts on stage... it wasn’t a meeting of minds! Pete and Dave have both continued to play with various groups since then.

Drummer Nigel was in pop band Windmill before joining local band Tonton Macoute, who achieved cult status in the 70s throughout Europe. Their albums are so sought after that they are worth more than Nigel’s drumkit!

I started my career in the late 60s with The Greatest Show on Earth, a jazz rock outfit, and earned my crust for many years as a songwriter/performer working for, among many others, The Hollies and Cilla Black.

Last but not least, there’s Dave Stevens on keyboards - another local lad, who has made a major contribution in the arranging of the band’s music. Being a much younger member, he is also responsible for making sure that the rest of us are clean before we go on stage.

CR: What is your resulting musical style like - and who writes the songs?

CJ: The style is developing every time we play. The songs, the reception we get playing them live, and recording in the studio will all help. But it’s inevitable at out age that we’ll be drawing from the greats; which is fine, as long as it has our stamp on it.

I do most of the songwriting at the moment, only because I already had songs, old and new. But the two Daves have written for our live set at ACE Space, and I am sure that we all will have ideas going forward.

CR: You’ve got a provisional name for your album, Licks, Lilts & Lullabies. How is it coming along?

CJ: First recordings have started, and will be finished by midsummer. I was keen to get my old Abbey Road engineer/producer Tony Clark to produce the album. The only problem was, I couldn’t find him, until a chance conversation with someone at a studio who could put me in touch. It turned out that Tony had been following a different path altogether; he had taken a horticulture degree and was looking after a Victorian garden in London.

Luckily, when we met, he said that he was keen to get back into the studio. It’s great to be working with him - his pedigree is exceptional; he’s worked with Paul McCartney, Stevie Wonder and Cliff Richard, among others. It will sound great.

CR: You’ve been testing out some of the songs at ACE Space’s Unplugged events. How have they gone down?

CJ: Really well, which is why we decided to do an evening of them. It’s a really nice place with good people and all sorts of talent, so it’s the perfect place for our first gig.

CR: What can people expect from the gig? Is it going to be all sex, drugs and rock & roll?

CJ: Hopefully - as long as it starts before eight and finishes at 11. Dave the guitarist likes to get the cups turned over by 11.30.

CR: And will you treat us to Pump Up The Bitter as an encore?

CJ: The gold lame suit and wig are in for a refit so probably not... but who knows!

• Below are The Ilsleys performing at ACE Space 

One Yank and they're off - interview with Doug Stanhope

 - 

DUBBED “the Voice of America” by Charlie Brooker, Doug Stanhope is a graduate of the US stand-up comedy school of hard living- outspoken, outrageous, rarely with alcohol out of his system, and often outside, having a smoke. He’s mostly rather polite in real life though, as Catriona Reeves discovered, when she rang him on his tour bus - but don’t tell. We wouldn’t want to blow his cover.

Catriona Reeves: You're currently about half way through a 38-date UK tour - how is it going?

Doug Stanhope: I’m doing well so far - only one or two major hangovers. Stoke-on-Trent was the worst one - I had some friends come to see me and stay over at the hotel. I don’t think we’ll be allowed back in that hotel.

CR: Wow, I had no idea there was so much fun to be had in Stoke.

DS: I’ve been to 15 different countries, and they all look like the inside of a bar. As long as there’s a bar, I’m happy anywhere.

CR: So are you receiving a warm welcome from UK audiences?

DS: British audiences are scary. In America, audiences are over the top and easily amused; over here they tend to be smarter and more controlled. You have to work a lot harder over here. Luckily, the Brits tend to be cynical and cranky like me, so we get on just fine.

CR: And what exactly should your cynical and cranky audiences expect from your show?

DS: I have no idea. It usually involves whatever’s been irritating me that day. I can always find something to irritate me. I switch it around every few days, but it’s always going to be the same angry, drunken, caustic, blow-hard nonsense that it’s been for the last 21 years.

There will certainly be something about Allison Pearson and the Twitter war we’ve been having [Allison Pearson is a Daily Telegraph columnist stood on the other side of political fence to Stanhope in regards to assisted suicide]. She is fully aware that I’m not going to drop it. It keeps me fired up.

CR: You certainly don’t shy away from tackling controversial issues. Do you think that you’ve got something important to say, or are you just having fun?

DS: Sometimes I’ve got something to say, but sometimes it’s just graphic smut. There’s always plenty of smut to laugh about; I don’t have to force myself too hard to find it.

CR: So, overall, you’re enjoying the tour...?

DS: I have no idea where we’re going, but usually when I come to the UK I’m stuck in Leicester Square, losing the will to live, so it’s great to see the country. We’ve been to some beautiful places - Bournemouth is stunning - but we’ve still got some s**t holes to visit, like Leeds and Liverpool.

CR: But Liverpool is the birthplace of the Beatles!

DS: I know. Henry Phillips who’s touring with me as my support, he’s a musical comedian, so he wants to do the Magical Mystery Tour, but I couldn’t give a monkeys. I wouldn’t say hello to Sir Paul if he was stood in my way when I’m going outside for a smoke.

Not that I’ve got anything against The Beatles, but I’m more interested in having a smoke.

Doug Stanhope can be found smoking outside the stage door at The Anvil, Basingstoke on Friday, April 13, and the Concert Hall, Reading on Wednesday, April 18. Paul McCartney is unlikely to attend.

• First published in the Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, March 29, 2012

Ince-sane in the brain - review of Robin Ince, Happiness Through Science

Robin Ince: Happiness Through Science, at Arlington Arts, Snelsmore, on Friday, March 23

DO you remember Robin Ince before he went all sciencey? Back then, he was best known as Ricky Gervais’ support act and whipping boy, and toured a rather delightful cabaret night called The Bad Book Club. I enjoyed it so much when he brought it to New Greenham Arts, that I sent him a copy of Danielle Steele’s Love Poems. Some people may consider that the act of a stalker, but Ince saw in it the wonder of poetry at its worst, and later performed readings from it accompanied by music and interpretative dance. Truly stunning.

Clearly having exhausted the deepest seam of terrible literature with that pinnacle of artistic achievement, Ince has more recently turned his sights outwards to the universe, and the comedy to be found in the wonderful world of science and its writings. As a layperson from an arts background, Ince has an enthusiasm about theories and discoveries for their intrinsic beauty, as well as the entertainment value that can be found by an outsider trying to grasp concepts as mind-messing as quantum theory, and the fabulous quirkiness of great thinkers such as Richard Feynman.

Ince showed how Schrodinger’s thought experiment (the cat-in-box paradox; not to be confused with Pavlov’s Dog) can be applied not only to the recession (“Here’s a box of oil for you... don’t open it!”) but also to nostalgia for TV programme from childhood (“if you buy a DVD of a show you loved, you must never ever watch it”). He also did a rather good impression of his co-presenter on BBC Radio 4’s Infinite Monkey Cage, Dr Brian Cox (“he’s good at pointing”) and hinted at a chink of humanity in outspoken atheist Richard Dawkins, who was rather put out by a certain item of his anatomy as depicted in a reworking of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, with Dawkins painted into the part of Adam.

Central to Ince’s exploration was the question whether it is possible to be a scientific realist and/or atheist (as Ince himself is, despite coming from a family of vicars - some of his relatives were in the front row at Arlington) and still be happy. Can you find any joy in living if you believe that life - and the universe - is ultimately pointless? Ince believes that you can; with as much wonder to be found in the scientific world - and so much more to discover - as in religion, faith and mysticism. Maybe you can’t be happy all the time; but you can certainly find plenty of things along life’s path to both amaze and amuse.

* Robin Ince brings Happiness Through Science to Cornerstone in Didcot on Friday, June 29.

• First published in the Newbury Weekly News on Thursday, March 29, 2012