Narvel S Annable Author contents of Lost Lad

Narvel Annable 
GAY CAMPAIGNER /AUTHOR

 

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Worksop Guardian 

Dear Editor, 

Worksop Pride Retrospective - July 16th 2018 

I’m pleased the WORKSOP GUARDIAN printed my letter about the Worksop Pride on June 15th 2018  

The Pride March, my first ever, was a daunting prospect for me personally albeit overdue. 

Claire Bradley of LGBT + Service Nottinghamshire in Worksop invited me to join that gay Equality Parade on July 7th following a request for my attendance from some of the youngsters who gathered at Worksop Train Station at 11am.   A large crowd proudly strode out at 11.30 and arrived at the Old Market Square at noon, where a festive family atmosphere prevailed including stalls, entertainers and bands.  For small prides like Worksop this generous support from hordes of the general public was especially important.    

PC Fred Bray, very keen to support the LGBT cause, attends all Belper Golden Rainbows meetings and has been a tower of strength for our group.  He wanted to march at my side on that important day saying - 

‘I have the green light for Worksop Pride but will not be on uniformed duty.  I intend to join you in the march in order to enjoy the experience as an off duty bobby and will only make my presence felt formally if called upon.’ 

Nothing of the kind was needed.  The nearly one mile walk from the train station to the Old Market Square, under clear blue skies, went like a dream.  Being no stranger to rabid homophobia during the period 1978 to 1995 when I was a history master at the Valley Comprehensive School in Worksop, I feared verbal abuse - or worse.   

Instead we were welcomed by a sea of smiling faces and dozens of rainbow flags festooned from buildings along the route.  My anxieties melted when the march started.  Former pupils in the crowd did not shout nasty comments.  As it turned out, two friendly fellow marchers who I had taught in the 1980s approached me and identified themselves.  That made my day! 

Many on that march shared my doubts, worries and concerns.  Many would be scared of being seen at a gay event, but, taking strength from big numbers we all made a tremendous effort to celebrate our diversity and enjoy a fantastic party. 

My generation proceeded with pride and purpose.  The youngsters made more noise.  Clad in rainbow colour, feather boas and glitter, they blew their whistles, chanted their chants and were proud to be who they were.  It was an uplifting experience. 

https://www.lgbtplusnotts.org.uk/  

Narvel Annable

 

 

 

 

Andy Brown

 

July 20th 2018 

The Derby Telegraph  

Dear Editor, 

Andy Brown of Derbyshire LGBT + was the guest speaker at Belper Golden Rainbows on July 18th.  We are a social support group for people who identify as gay.   

His informal chat about homophobic injustice made for painful listening as clearly indicated by the facial reactions.  Such a moving speech deserved a larger audience than was able to fit into our designated room at Belper Cottage Project (opposite the Bus Station) where we meet on the first Wednesday of the month. 

We are grateful for all his hard work campaigning over many years.  In the 70s, 80s and 90s when I was playing safe keeping my head down, Andy was taking the flack fighting for my rights and the rights of all who share same sex attraction. 

I’m just too sensitive for my own good.  For many years I would never go near anything with a gay theme.  It was avoided like the plague.  When Morris was first shown in Derby [Green Lane] – I couldn’t cope – walked out half way through.  Perhaps I’m better at describing my own pain than watching and reading about the sufferings of others. 

Andy has taken a leading role in running Reach Out, the Thursday evening men’s group on Bramble Street and was also one of the founding members of Derbyshire Friend in 1983.  He is a conscientious volunteer who has given compassionate support to many of us - not least me and my husband Terry. 

Appearing on TV, he gave an articulate and thoughtful assessment of the value of gay prides to gay people.  I’m grateful to Andy for taking the time and trouble to be with us in Belper setting out what Derbyshire LGBT + is all about, its ethos, plans for the future, aims and objectives and how those might be achieved. 

Narvel Annable  

 

Hello Readers, 

Andy Brown will be the guest speaker at Belper Golden Rainbows on July 18th 2018 - NEXT WEDNESDAY

I remember his 60th Birthday Bash last year - even though I wasn’t actually there!  Iain Greenwood posted a festive photograph on Facebook of himself and a few others - all big smiles in full swing having a fantastic time at the Crown.  I responded with - ‘Thank you, it’s the next-best-thing to being there.’ 

Over the last 35 years, Andy has been an active part of the Derbyshire LGBT community doing excellent work supporting Derbyshire LGBT +.  Amongst other things, he has taken a leading role in running Reach Out, the Thursday evening men’s group on Bramble Street.  He was also one of the founding members of Derbyshire Friend in 1983. 

Derbyshire LGBT + is fortunate to have Andy, a conscientious volunteer who has given compassionate support to many of us - not least Terry and myself. 

He was interviewed in Something About Us filmed by the EDEN project at Nottingham Pride.  He gave an articulate and thoughtful assessment of the value of gay prides to gay people.  A similar interview was aired in Central TV News.  

I’m grateful to Andy for taking the time and trouble to be with us on the 18th setting out what Derbyshire LGBT + is all about, its ethos, plans for the future, aims and objectives and how those might be achieved. 

JOHN YATES-HAROLD – the new Derbyshire LGBT + Hate Crime Advocate will also be at The Cottage Project at 1pm to introduce himself.  

Derbyshire LGBT + launched ‘Golden Rainbows’ last September.  It is a social support group for people who identify as gay.  We meet on the third Wednesday of each month between 1 and 3pm at The Cottage Project, 16 Chapel Street [the A6] in Belper just opposite the bus station.  A free car park is available behind the cottage.  Free admission and free refreshments are available at all meetings. 

We hope to see you there on the 18th.

https://ssl.gstatic.com/ui/v1/icons/mail/images/cleardot.gif

 

Click on above to enlarge

Printed in the Belper News – July 5th 2018

 

Belper Golden Rainbows has formed a walking group.  In the morning before our formal meeting time of 1pm, we’ve started a series of informative historic walks around Belper.  July 18th will be our third morning outing, leaving the Cottage Project car park on Bridge Street at 11am, when we’ll walk up the hill to visit the Belper Unitarian Chapel for a free guided tour by Frances St Lawrence.  Donations will be welcome.

The last outing on June 20th took us to a picturesque viewing area overlooking the River Derwent at Bridgefoot.  This small public garden was officially opened in October 2001 by a group of former pupils who attended Bridge House School in the early 1950s.

Having written my first book, Miss Calder’s Children; to honour the memory of headmistress Florence Calder (1876-1970) I was asked to unveil Calder’s Corner.  Belper Golden Rainbows walkers were delighted to see that Calder’s Corner has been rejuvenated by Belper Garden Club and sponsored by Amerol Aggregates.  

See above one of my early information sheets, a copy of the front page of the Belper News dated October 17th 2001 which gives details of the opening ceremony.

 

 

 

Adapted from a part of Secret Summer; here is an account of a recent walk with my friend Iain Greenwood  

In the ‘Switzerland of England’, a giant crag called High Tor crowns dark woods to the east of the River Derwent at Matlock Bath.  Beware of dangerous, seemingly bottomless holes half hidden by centuries of accumulated foliage.  Watch out for traitorous chasms and sudden sheer drops hundreds of feet down to the river below.        

On a sunny but cool April 6th 2018, Iain Greenwood and I braved these dangers in our trek to the summit of High Tor.  

We found the entrance to the woodland grounds, a rough path which zigzagged all the way up to the very top of High Tor crag.  Immediately the trail became very steep and quite difficult. 

We made hard and painful progress into a darkness which was rather like a cave.  On both sides we were enclosed by impenetrable stands of oak, maple, beech and bits of holly which brought a coolness to match the dimness.  On top, leafy canopies interlocked to form a roof producing the effect of an arboreal cathedral. 

Eventually we collapsed onto the prostrate trunk of a fallen tree taking a few minutes to catch our breath, albeit enjoying such majestic woods - a magical place.  I put my nose into a sweet white blossom - rowan, reputed to be used by witches. 

       ‘There!  Look, over there.’  Iain was pointing into the shadows under bramble.  ‘Did you see that?’      

They are seldom seen.  It was a jenny wren, quick as lightening with its cute cocked tail.  We listened to its shrill call and breathed deeply.  The wood was full of birdsong and the dank scent of wild garlic.   

Suddenly, we noticed the log upon which we were sitting.  It was remarkably comfortable, smooth, and in good condition for a fallen limb.  I stood up and looked at it.  It was not a fallen tree at all!  We’d been sitting on a fat, healthy, living root - the lower part of a massive beech tree, towering above, exploding in all directions in mammoth branches and lesser sub-branches - a vast expanse of foliage.  Iain craned his neck and gazed up into a luxuriant world illuminated in lime green.  The sky could not be seen – however - it was replaced by a lovely verdant glow. 

We studied the giant root which had provided a seat.  It was part of a considerable root system uncovered and cleaned by years of erosion.  For decades, enormous tentacles had dug in with determination in a continual effort to keep ahead of a natural process of undermining.  We admired these immense legs.  They extended along a bank, grasping at rocks, searching out deep cracks, exploring long fissures to firmly anchor the colossal living beech above.  In so doing, they had produced mysterious cavities into the hillside.  Gloomy hollows were begging to be explored.  Enchanted places had always fascinated me and I was now mesmerised into an idle and pleasant contemplation.  The reverie was broken a need to press on.      

We came to a dark ground-cover of creeping ivy.  Pushing through a curtain of scraggy yew, a flapping blackbird SCREAMED out his complaint and terrified us just before we emerged into brilliant light and the gentle spring warmth of English sunshine.

       ‘Careful!’ shouted Iain.  ‘It seems like we’re a mile up in the sky.’ 

In sudden horror, I stepped back - well back.  Somewhere between heaven and earth, we were standing on a high rocky ledge and were only inches from a sheer drop into the canopies of distant trees and the River Derwent far below.  Gingerly, for a view to die for, I steadied myself by grasping the slim trunk of a young ash tree.  Somehow it had rooted itself into a crack in the vertical limestone cliff.  Ignoring urgent protestations from Iain, I trusted to the strength of that baby ash and leaned out to take in the full view of that famous High Tor rock face - now looking like the north face of the Eiger.  We estimated that we were still only about half way up. 

‘Look at those cars down on the road!’ I said.  ‘They’re like Dinky Toys.  We might be in an aeroplane.’  Iain turned his head from left to right beholding a magnificent panorama of a lovely valley edged by wood and moors.  Looking southwards, the Lovers’ Walks followed the shimmering river.  Tiny visitors enjoying this pretty resort moved around riverside gardens and paraded along dignified Georgian and Victorian facades.   

The road and river curved westwards until they were out of sight, blending into the deep, green gorge.  High to the east, above the dense woodland, there was an expanse of open fields.  Higher still and further distant, emerging from very dark woods were the dramatic crags of Black Rocks. 

With the support of the young ash, I had given myself a birds-eye view looking directly down a sheer rocky drop on to the tops of a few terraced, three-storey, stone cottages, far below.  Other scattered dwellings, humble old cottages, half hidden in foliage, were climbing up the opposite side of the valley; so far away, so small, they seemed like models.  Eventually, the slope levelled slightly to support a saddle of meadow before, again, steepening into a further sylvan delight.  

We plunged back into a verdant murk of tangle to continue our difficult ascent.  After a while, things got better.  The thickets gave way to more agreeable glades, allowing for an explosion of colour.  Bluebells, anemone and celandine were highlighted by mottled sunshine.  The walking became easier over a natural paving of smoothed stone and worn spreading tree roots. 

I was activated!  I had seen something and ran ahead to inspect, what appeared to be, a solid rock wall partly obscured by falling ivy.  This obstacle threatened to block all further progress.

       ‘This is it!’ I called in excitement.  ‘This is the beginning of Giddy Edge.  To get to the crag top, we need to follow this rocky lip, to the right, around the cliff face … if we can ever find it … here!  Here it is.’ 

We pushed through bushes, shrubs and squeezed behind the ivy curtain hard up against the rock to emerge onto a narrow verge which, after a few cautious steps, afforded intermittent views of the world far below.

       ‘All this adventure!’  I felt like a character in King Solomon’s Mines

Giddy Edge lived up to its name.  The narrow cliff edge rendered the explorers inches away from a sheer fall of hundreds of feet.  This induced in us some unsteadiness and inflicted a distinct dizziness.  Most of the time, any fall could have been stopped by a frantic grasp at several stunted hawthorn bushes - small comfort for us adventurers.   

Iain took a photograph which can be seen above. 

Eventually, the path appeared to come to an abrupt halt, suggesting that the walker would soon be walking on thin air.  To the rescue came a welcome rail firmly anchored into the dark grey rock face.  It protected against a dangerous narrowing foot-hold which took climbers to the brink of a sheer drop to oblivion.   

Against a cool biting wind at that altitude, we intrepid mountaineers made slow and careful progress.  The appearance of a brave weather-beaten ash tree, half strangled by creeping ivy, indicated the end of this frightening ordeal. 

Suddenly, it was all brilliant sunshine!  An unexpected emergence into an open, sloping space, carpeted by moss, interspersed with a natural paving of sparkling grit stone, was familiar to me.  I had seen these special effects before from gemstones admired in countless Peak District nick-knack shops.  The sun picked out specks of translucent rocks.  There were fluorspars, calcites, barites - the ground was all a glitter.   

In triumph, we made a dash over this cheerful adornment to the peak of this famous tor.  It raised its naked head straight from the valley floor, a sheer height of 350ft from river to summit.  With elation, we were standing over the giant ‘face in the rock’ which had always intrigued.  Carefully, we approached that famous edge to take in that famous view.   

To the north, Matlock town spread up the hillside.  Many miles beyond those hills, the dim outline of Kinder Scout – the roof of Derbyshire – was just visible.  The walls of Riber Castle crowned the hill to the east.  To the west, Victoria Tower poked out of the aerial woodlands of the Heights of Abraham.  Directly below, the River Derwent sparkled through gaps in the foliage as it meandered southwards through the ravine. 

 

 

 

We are approaching the 13th anniversary of the death of Narvel’s friend Derek Goostrey. 

Click on photo above to listen to an edited version of the eulogy Narvel read out at Derek’s funeral at Heanor Church on Monday, March 7th, 2005 

It was a privilege to have composed this tribute to Derek Goostrey, who was better known to readers of Lost Lad as Danny Forrester.  I would like to thank Kali and Ross for asking me to read it in front of the largest congregation Heanor Church has seen in 20 years. 

On Monday, July 16th in 1945, the first ever atomic bomb was exploded by the Americans in New Mexico.  The flash, which was seen 250 miles away, cast a shadow over the lives of us all. 

On that same day, nearer to home, at number one Preston Street, Broken Cross in Macclesfield, a less flashy event took place; the birth of Derek and his twin brother Barry Goostrey - half an hour apart.  Less flashy, perhaps, but it certainly had an impact on my life and, I suspect, greatly improved the lives of many people here today.  A few years later, the Goostrey family moved to 32 Nelson Street in Heanor.  In Heanor Schooldays, I wrote - 

"If you seek the source of the magic which made the days of Howitt Secondary Modern School so special, I suggest you go to 32 Nelson Street.  That Spartan dwelling, the modest home of Derek and Barry, was diffused throughout with a quality of consideration, camaraderie, caring and kindness.  A cheerful atmosphere was presided over by mum, Nora and stepfather, Christopher Dodsley.  They had almost nothing, but they were prepared to share what little they had." 

I give thanks today for the friendship they shared, the happiness they gave, at a time when I needed it most.  For almost the half century which followed, Derek, that surviving brother, a character of buoyant and uplifting personality, right up to the end, could still work his magic on me.  The Goostrey charm defied analysis, that same charm inspired me to write two books about them forty years later. 

Derek Goostrey was, quite simply, the best example of all the finest qualities of Heanorian youth, as we were during that wonderful period of 1958 to 1960.  He was open, honest, sincere, good-natured, easy-going and totally free from any of the artificial affectation which has so often infested the world in which I live - and we did live in different worlds.  Perhaps he is now reunited with his twin brother Barry who, tragically, died young in 1964.  Barry inspired the original 'lost lad' in my book.  I invested our collective grief into shaping his character - Brian Forrester.  Heanor Schooldays, an earlier effort, was actually dedicated to Barry Goostrey - 'One of our mates who was taken early'. 

As school pals, Derek and I were close.  As adults, we were separated for many years by the Atlantic Ocean.  In those years, he married Karen and leaves behind one much-loved daughter Kali, who gave him two beautiful granddaughters, Gaia and Kristie.  He also leaves behind many special friends such as Julie, who tells me that she'll always treasure some fantastic memories.  His best friend was Mick Hancock. 

Friendship!  Derek had friends in abundance.  It won't be the same in the Derby County Supporters bus when it makes its next journey to Pride Park, will it?  There'll be a yawning gap there which won't easily be filled.  And, of course, we've all heard wild accounts of much rejoicing and great jollity in the public houses of Heanor.  He often told me about the fun he had with his mates, his adventures, the quiz nights and the competitions.  Perhaps this is not quite the time or place to relate such riotous details. 

Derek was well supported by his employer, Robert Pretties, and will be greatly missed by colleagues at work.  He was a principal personality at our William Howitt Secondary Modern School annual reunion each October.  The organiser, Kathy Syson, and many former pupils, too numerous to mention, will certainly feel his absence when we next meet.

 

Ten years ago, Derek and I were reunited.  A reunion which gave birth to this extract from Lost Lad.  It's a fictitious BBC Radio Derby interview in which Derek makes an appearance as Danny Forrester.  [Here I read a short extract from page 216 in Lost Lad] 

In recent years, as adults, Derek's cheerful support and loyalty never once wavered.  He enthusiastically encouraged my work by attending every launch, every talk and buying all five titles, all of them signed - 'Dobba'.  When together, we regressed.  We enjoyed being trapped in a time warp somewhere in the summer of 1960 at Howitt School, always in role of two mischievous fifteen-year-olds, always recycling funny stories about grumpy old Mrs Buxcey. 

Yesterday, Derek Goostrey, one of Heanor's most popular, one of Heanor's best, made our lives a little richer.  Today, Heanor is a little poorer.  Good night, dear friend ... a bit of young Dobba died with you on February 23rd ... he'll miss you.

  

 

 

 

LGBT History Exhibition in Chesterfield Museum on Saturday, February 3rd 2018

 

Above photograph taken by Allan Morton of -  

Terry Durand, Ryan Whittington (Manager of Derbyshire LGBT +) Narvel Annable and Greg Pickup.  

Greg has organised and produced this splendid Derbyshire LGBT + History Exhibition at Chesterfield Museum during the launch and private view on February 3rd 2018.  It was very well attended. 

Greg’s work includes LGBT History research and oral history interviews to take place this year.  

The Chesterfield Museum Exhibition will continue until April 8th    

 

Fred & Narvel

 

Iain, Peter & Narvel

 

 

 

 

 

 

DARING SAFARI THROUGH AN ENCHANTED WOOD

 

Following the publication of my last title SEA CHANGE in 2014, Allan Morton and I embarked on a daring safari through an enchanted wood to discover the remains of a famous gigantic old tree.   

It once housed a family of charcoal burners in the dark depths of Shining Cliff Woods in Ambergate.  Difficult to find, but we finally located it with Allan’s technology.  The attached photographs he took are proof that we were successful. 

The following extract from SEA CHANGE throws light on this little known and fascinating chapter of Derbyshire history. 

The winter sun struggled up over the horizon, partially blocked by trees casting long dark shadows over a landscape of sparkling white snow.  Presently, they came on a weird circle of jet-black sculptures erupting from ice.  Almost immediately, Simeon deciphered these strange shapes as the remains of an ancient tree in the last stages of decay.  

And what a tree!  Its diameter must have been in excess of two or three prostrate men end to end, and a girth of a dozen children, arms outstretched, hand to hand.  He looked up to gauge the probable height of this once living entity when Mab’s smile caught his eye. 

‘Wow!’ he said.  ‘Think of all the creatures which must have lived in that massive tree.’ 

‘Generations of them,’ she breathed in awed whisper.  ‘A living entity; a verdant myriad of limbs forming the leafy world of an ancient yew.’ 

‘Older than the Old Manor House?’ 

‘Much older.  This venerable yew was reputed to be 2000 years old 200 years ago when it housed a family of charcoal burners.’ 

Mab spent the next ten minutes explaining how the aged and hollowed gigantic tree trunk accommodated Luke and Betty Kenny.  Their eight children where somehow sheltered in turf-roofed sheds wedged into the vast system of branches, main branches and sub branches of that colossal tree.  The author admitted an element of legend to this extraordinary history, the subject of Mab’s current book. 

‘Charcoal!  But what good is burnt wood?’ 

‘I draw with it.  And a blacksmith needs a fire of intense heat in his forge … and it’s necessary to make gunpowder.’ 

Mab was more interested in the social history associated with this improbable Kenny domicile.  Had Simeon heard of the nursery rhyme Rock-a-bye Baby?  Yes - and he recited –

       Rock-a-bye baby

       In the tree top

       When the wind blows

       The cradle will rock

       When the bough breaks

       The cradle will fall

       And down will come baby

       Cradle and all

 

She said these lyrics were composed, as it were, on the hoof.  Softly, Betty crooned to her baby which reposed in a cradle fashioned from a hollowed-out branch.  Presumably, ‘cradle and all’ was suspended by ropes attached to one of the yew tree boughs.

 

 

Allan and Narvel

 

Nottingham Pride 2017

 

 

 

Andy Brown’s 60th Birthday Bash on April 20th 2017 

From left to right - Chris, Andrew and Iain

 

I’m grateful to Iain for posting a festive photograph on Facebook of himself, Andrew and Chris - all big smiles in full swing having a fantastic time at the Crown.  I responded with - ‘Thank you, it’s the next-best-thing to being there.’  

As suggested, I sent Andy a cheque payable to Derbyshire LGBT and thanked him for his continuing excellent work supporting Derbyshire LGBT

 

Narvel at BBC RADIO DERBY

FEB 29th 2016

 

 

 

Narvel & Terry at Lea

 

 

At home in Belper 1978

 

Narvel in back garden Michigan 1960's

 

Outside my home in Michigan

 

Happy days on hols Cliff House Hotel Torquay

 

Outside Cliff House

 

 

Xmas fancy dress "Victorian Sailors"

Perin Court Hotel 1979 Bournemouth

 

 

Narvel at nine months

 

Hello Readers, 

As a child I had an Aunty Fran and Uncle Bill.  Their two boys, Don and Malcolm were my cousins – or so I always thought.  This familiar family with their familiar friendly faces were part of daily life in Stanley Common, Heanor and Derby in the 1940s and 1950s.  Unconscientiously, it was assumed they were relatives.  In fact they were not.  It all started when Frances King met her colleague Connie Annable in a Derby hospital sometime in the late 1920s or early 1930s and became close life-long friends. 

Decades passed.  I emigrated to the USA, returned some 13 years later and eventually became an author / campaigner for gay rights in the 21st century appearing frequently in the Derby Telegraph.  In recent years this caught the attention of my King Cousins who have kindly made several visits with interesting information, exciting revelations, entertaining conversation supported by old family photographs I never knew existed. 

On the last visit, Don and Malcolm invited me to study and identify the following old baby photo of a ‘very close relative’.  I had no idea who it was.  On the back, it was dated April 1946.  Inscribed in the neat hand of Aunty Fran was the child’s name – Narvel Annable. 

The little nine-month-old, chubby, cute, cosy and cuddly is a picture of pure happiness.  I was seized to go back 67 years and say to this child –

          ‘Hey, kid!  Smile while you can.  When they find out you can’t kick a football, can’t fancy a lass, can’t knock down a pint of beer and can’t defend yourself with bare knuckles – life will become grim indeed.’  

 

Hello Readers, 

Inspired by frequent references to the 1960s pop idol Billy Fury, a friend has used his considerable talent and creativity to produce this original video.

 To see this short video click here  

By way of support, I offer these two extracts.  The first is from Lost Lad and the second from Secret Summer. 

Simeon held a precious vinyl disc.  This magical music bore the legend - Maybe Tomorrow.  Later, in that same store, examining the sleeve of a prized long playing record, he stood very still and looked.  He peered long and hard into the stunningly handsome features of his teenage idol - Billy Fury: an image of popular culture in 1959. 

Ahmed found a small photograph in Simeon’s wallet.

‘He’s nice.  I'd sure like to swing on that.  But it's in the rule book - no competition.  No sir!  Time to say goodbye to your boyfriend.’ 

He crushed it in his fist, at the same time, looking directly into Simeon's eyes to savour the hurt.  It was hurt which gave no voice.  The English boy was struck dumb, unable to explain himself, unable to defend himself.  He was bewitched, infatuated; he was in love with this beautiful but cruel American. With no voice to put him straight, Ahmed never did discover the identity of the 'competition' who, incidentally, was not Simeon's boyfriend.  If only!  In England in 1966, there was a certain face, a certain voice and name which was familiar in almost every household: a name which was totally unknown to the American public.  No Detroiter had ever seen, or had ever heard of the British pop legend - Billy Fury. 

 

 

Hello Readers, 

These photographs include several of me standing by a Ford Granada in different Derbyshire locations.  From a Derby Telegraph letter printed October 9th 2013, due to homophobic incidents, you’ll know my teaching career came to an abrupt end in April 1995. 

http://tinyurl.com/curiositiesofderbyshire 

Early retirement on a tiny pension meant I had to find an alternative income.  I conceived an idea of using my car to offer tours around Derbyshire under a heading - Curiosities of Derbyshire.  It might appeal to foreign visitors as well as the domestic market.  The photographs were to become a part of a promotional brochure. 

In different locations I’d tell appropriate stories 

In Matlock Bath and Castleton I’d speak of Rowan being tied to mine engines to guard against breakdowns.  I’d entertain my guests with romantic mysteries, lore and occult associations in the wilds of Derbyshire, giving examples which were not far away from where the car stood.  Visitors would hear about about the elusive fairies of Caldon Low, the cunning goblin called Hob who dwells in a round-barrow near Chatsworth, pagan deities, stone circles, sacred groves, human sacrifices, subterranean dwellings of elementals and flying saucers seen over Kinder Scout.  They would be told of a mermaid who swims atmidnight on the eve of Easter Sunday, the bottomless pit of Eldon Hole, the Eagle Stone near Curbar which is said to turn as the cock crows.  

I think people enjoy curious and uncanny tales.  At Stanton Moor I’d seize the opportunity to speak of the erotic legend of nine young girls and just one boy who had angered God by committing an obscene act on the Sabbath day!  Nine pretty maidens long ago illicitly stole off onto the moor with a naughty lad who was also a fiddler – and boy did he fiddle!  He fiddled so much; God turned them all to stone.  The ‘obscene act’ was no more than a dance vilified by puritanical superstition and ignorance.  It was a 17th century explanation of the Nine Ladies Stone Circle. 

From all this, it can be seen that, as a repressed gay man in 1995, I was already nursing a horror of religious ignorance and bigotry later to be expressed in my vociferous campaigning against homophobia.https://mail.google.com/mail/ca/u/0/images/cleardot.gif

 

 

Taken at Ripley Town Hall July 14th. 2006

 

 

To see more Civil Wedding pictures click on photo above

 

 

September 3rd 2013

 

Hello Readers, 

 

Today marks the 37th anniversary of meeting my partner Terry Durand.  It is also the G20 Day of Action against Putin’s despicable homophobic law. Protestors will meet outside the Prime Minister’s residence in Downing Street in London to speak out for LGBT Russians who are persecuted every day.  David Cameron will be urged to raise the issue with President Vladimir Putin at the forthcoming G20.

 Terry and I first met in the ancient stone cottage of Victor Bamford [1914-2005] in Becksitch Lane, Belper on September 3rd 1976.  He was popular and quaint.  He appeared in Lost Lad and Scruffy Chicken as Jasper the Belper Goblin.  Gnarled and humped sitting beneath a brass plate – Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver the other gold – Victor with deep set leering eyes was an interesting old character and a mine of clandestine information.  He entertained his secretive gentleman callers with a nice cup of tea, perhaps a few cakes, pleasant conversation and plenty of gossip within the hidden circles of Belper’s gay community.   Long before gay venues became available; many repressed Beaurepeirians will have come together in Victor’s old fashioned comfortable sitting room - just as Terry and I did.

 This item with photographs was printed in the Belper News on August 23rd 2006 – Gay author ties the knot.

 Old friends and neighbours flocked to Ripley Town Hall to witness the civil partnership of local author, Narvel Annable to his partner Terry Durand.  Mr Annable mentioned in an article in the Belper News – Gay author to enjoy a very civil wedding – July 5th 2006 – that anyone wishing to turn up on the day was more than welcome.

 The happy couple said they are surprised at the number of friends who went to watch them tie the knot –

          ‘We only expected our witnesses to turn up.  About 15 people came into the chamber.  When we came out, there were more people waiting for us outside.  Those people came to make a statement!  It was heartening.  You must remember that, for decades, gay men like us amongst heterosexual neighbours have lived under the shadow of social disapproval.  Our good neighbours made the day an occasion.’ 

  Noah Huntley           Narvel Annable              Terry Durand

 

Narvel landed a speaking part in London Weekend Television’s Real Crime series which helped promote his book A Judge Too Far.  This episode, Love You To Death, was filmed at Nottingham’s Galleries of Justice and screened on January 26th 2004.  The photograph shows an actor, Noah Huntley, in the role of John Tanner who was convicted of murdering Rachel McLean.  Terry played himself as a member of the jury.  Keith Matthewman QC took the part of the judge.  Derby Telegraph printed a feature about the forthcoming event, June 27th 2003.

 

 

 

 

 

Still A teenager - Just - The scruffy chicken of 1965

 

People ask, why call yourself a scruffy chicken?  Scruffy in the title of Scruffy Chicken is not so much a comment on me; it is more a criticism of the Derby and Nottingham snobs who made me feel scruffy – scruffy accent, scruffy clothes, scruffy manners, scruffy education etc. 

 

I have often reflected on that sad 'elite' of oppressed people who (to make their own position safer) felt the need to denigrate other human beings regarded as inferior in the British class structure.  It was group based - a culture of cruelty.  It included well rehearsed techniques and comments which gave some of them a sadistic thrill.  They enjoyed seeing the ‘lower orders’ quail and flinch.

 

 

Simeon and Gary in Lost Lad
       
         

























Narvel & Terry on Honeymoon at Matlock Bath in 1976








Ian Campbell recieving an award at County Hall Nottingham 2009







Narvel Peter & Terry at Derby University (Peter's first ever visit to Derby)





Terry   Ian   Narvel   Gerald &  Alex

Celebrating at Derby Friend's 30th. Birthday Party






Narvel & Terry at the Cliff House Hotel in 1979





Gay History Month 2008 at Heanor Library

This event was promoted by Derbyshire County Council –
‘Join Narvel Annable for an evening of tea and cakes and ramble through Derbyshire in the 1960s at Heanor Library on Wednesday, February 27th 7 to 9pm.’

It was better than that! A responsive full house with a reasonable age spread included a few gay-friendly heterosexuals. All were supportive in body language and eye-contact. Their kindness was encouraging and meant so much.

The audience was invited back to the house of a Heanor friend, David, who generously put on a magnificent spread.







Bess West, Narvel and Sarah at the launch of Miss Calder’s Children 1997

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Death on the Derwent

 



Heanor Schooldays

Copyright 2006 Narvel Annable. All Rights Reserved.