Very Pleasant with the Pheasants

“All I’m out for is a good time – all the rest is propaganda”

Eight months ago, when my mate and I decided that our annual ‘Jolly Boys Outing’ was to be a long weekend in Nottingham, I had dreams of visiting Forest as they played in a massive Premier League clash. Alas the season’s fixture list placed Clough’s two time European Champions away from home this weekend, awakening me from that particular fantasy. Then I noticed that across the Trent ‘The Oldest Professional Association Club in the World’ were scheduled to be at home and facing Mansfield Town in a top of the table local derby, a game that perhaps appealed even more to me than one at The City Ground. Amazingly however, the Meadow Lane outfit refused to sell me tickets* due to the fear that a middle-aged school teacher fae Tillicoultry (315 miles away) was a rogue Stags fan determined to cause mayhem & malky the Magpies’ support. I could have tried to argue my case, but going on a wee holiday the main priority was to relax and have a good time. Checking out the local non-league scene it soon appeared that Radford Football Club pretty much guaranteed a fine day out, so finally it was settled; my vacation in Nottingham would see me on an adventure to The Pheasants of Selhurst Street.

Radford hail from and are named after an inner-city area of Nottingham that has great cultural & historical significance. Formerly a town in its own right, Radford gave the world Raleigh bicycles, John Player’s cigarettes and the writer Alan Sillitoe. The club themselves were founded in 1964 as a works team from the homoerotically monikered Manlove & Alliots, a firm famed for inventing the industrial waste incinerator. When that company buggered off to Clydebank in 1971 our hosts had a brief spell as Fountain, before settling for the title of Radford Olympic. In ’77 they became the first amateur club in England to gain a shirt sponsor and putting ‘Pick & Pay Carpet Warehouse’ on their chests was such a massive event the BBC themselves came to film a piece for their flagship “Nationwide” show. Soon after this brief national exposure our Olympians switched to Saturday fitba and smashed it up the divisions, eventually becoming champions of the East Midlands Regional League. Since then Radford have dropped the sporty suffix, climbed to the sixth step (tenth level) of a pyramid so complex that it makes ours look like it was drawn in crayon and, in 2009/10, made their FA Cup debut. Most recently The Pheasants have been a force in the United Counties League Division One and have battled at the top of the table in both campaigns thus far.

It was difficult to find out whose feet in ancient time walked upon Radford’s pitch of green, however two names were given to me by the good folks at The Pheasants. Firstly there was local lad Devon White, who I believe started out at Selhurst Street, before arriving at Lincoln City in 1984. A long and meandering career saw him go to Naxxar Lions, play 202 league games at Bristol City and enjoy two spells with Notts County where he won the 1995 Anglo-Italian Cup. White returned to Radford in 2008 when he cut the ribbon on our host’s brand new club shop. Then we have Killie born Iain McCulloch, who provides us with a Scottish connection to The Pheasants. The winger started out at Hurlford United and played for Kilmarnock, before signing for Notts County in 1978. He is fondly remembered at both Rugby Park & Meadow Lane, particularly at the latter where he was their First Division top scorer two years on trot. In June 2012 he became a joint-manager of Radford with Alf Stacey, but by the November of the next year McCulloch was in sole charge of nearby Carlton Town.

Pre-Match Pints

One of Nottingham’s greatest assets is being home to three of Britain’s oldest boozers and on the Friday ahead of the game we started things off at the auldest of them all; Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem. ‘The Trip’ claims to have been established way back in 1189 and was where Richard the Lionheart allegedly nipped in for a Foster’s & packet of Salt ‘n Shake on his way to do some crusadin’. Built against the sandstone caves of the rock Nottingham Castle was built upon, those grottos were once used as a place to brew beer for the fortresses’ occupants. Arriving we instantly discovered that pictures online do her no justice at all, as even as she hurtles towards a thousand years old The Trip is one of the most beautiful pubs I’ll ever enter. The first bar is literally a cave; with fireplace, suit of armour and the most gorgeous wee counter. At said counter there is a selection of local ales on cask as well as Greene King’s own craft beer range, with us opting for pints of Nottingham Brewery’s Legend not least because of its Radford origins. Pint in hand I had an explore, seeing little neuks, a large dining room, a lovely enclosed courtyard and quotes from both Twain & Oasis inscribed on the walls. It was like thone horror movie The Descent, except the network of caves have been made super homely and the monsters had been replaced by CAMRA members. What an awesome place. Departing, I could not stop myself from whistling softly the tune Parry composed for Blake’s great poem:

“Bring me my jug of frothing gold:
Bring me my peanuts I desire:
Bring me my crisps: O packets unfold!
Bring me my seat right by the fire!

I will not cease from drinking pints,
Nor shall my glass sleep in my hand:
Till we leave Ye Olde Jerusalem,
Near where Robin Hood’s old statue stands“

The much more modern Ye Olde Salutation Inn was constructed in 1240 and formerly had the ridiculous name of ‘The Archangel Gabriel Salutes the Blessed Virgin Mary’. During the late 17th Century this boozer was frequented by notorious highwaymen, including Dick Turpin (half a Red Stripe plus a wee Baileys) and many landlords have held the belief that ‘The Sal’ is haunted by whatever the English equivalent of Brownyis or Bogillis are. Entering an immaculately preserved 800 year old building it was a shock to find a rock music devoted bikers bar inside, as not only was Iron Maiden blasting oot the speakers, their own Trooper beer was on tap too. Perched on a Harley Davidson stool I was in awe of an ale selection that included Beavertown, Brixton, Lagunitas and at least half a dozen cask options. From the cask I made the curious choice of ordering Titanic’s Raspberry Pale, since some big beardy men were totally lapping it up, and I enjoyed it greatly. Sat at a table enjoying my beer I read advertisements for upcoming rock & metal acts and wondered how the vibrations don’t bring the building down. Also noted is a menu offering meals at incredible prices, including a thirteen quid steak and cheese burger wi’ chips for just a fiver. This place really confounded my expectations (particularly after The Trip), but she is some pub. Having known a few folk in Aberdeen who loved venues like The Moorings for great beer & hard rock, I know they’d utterly adore this place and I was actually quite taken with it myself.

Finally (after the briefest of pit stops to add BrewDog Nottingham to my collection) we had a place that is practically a bairn compared to the others; The Bell Inn. An early 15th Century establishment, it was built for the benefit of local monks who readily consumed a keg of John Smith’s and a whole wall display of Scampi Fries after every Pentecost. Upon entry the ‘Leper’s Window’ was a fascinating historical quirk, a medieval glory hole folk had to insert their fully fingered hands into before being granted entry. Having all ten digits and perfectly non-putrid flesh, I entered to find a cavernous old shoap containing at least three bars. Heading to the rear, the whole place was rather busy for two o’clock on a Friday, but my companion and I found a table and I took in my surroundings as she was ordered to the counter for twa pints of Nottingham Brewery’s Robin Hood Ale (an inevitable choice given our location, but nowhere near as good as their Legend). Beautiful place with wooden panelled walls and ancient custom glass behind the bar but, at the risk of sounding like a pompous arse, the best features were slightly ruined by cheap Hallowe’en decorations and a pair of giant, flashing fruit machines. That said it was still a shoap well beyond the usual level of boozers I frequent and a fine conclusion to a very special crawl.

The Ground

Ever since announcing my intention to head there, folk kept feeling the need to tell me that Radford was a rough place. While the area wasn’t exactly England’s green & pleasant land, I was hardly surrounded by those dark satanic mills either. Radford seemed quite normal, if not familiar. As for Selhurst Street, what a wee hidden gem she is indeed, surrounded by housing on all four sides, barely visible from the bustling shops yards away on Radford Road. From a Scottish perspective The Oakfield Arena (as she is known for sponsorship reasons) would not look out of place in the East of Scotland Premier at Tier Six and with the floodlights would certainly get an SFA licence for entry into the Scottish Cup. She is actually not unlike Hill of Beath Hawthorn‘s lovely Keir’s Park, being flat all round with small pockets of covered terracing and all the main buildings behind one goal. Interestingly players warming up voiced concern over the wetness of the pitch but, considering the last twenty four hours saw an amber weather warning for heavy rain, we thought it looked rather splendid.

Two things at Selhurst Street were truly exceptional. Firstly was the bar/social club, a comfy room with space for fans, officials, committee members, injured players and even the odd WAG. A big telly had the County vs Mansfield game on and draught beer aplenty was available; including ace Greene King IPA as well as my choice, the Hardy & Hanson’s Dark. My friend couldn’t stop laughing at the option to buy filled rolls because of the final line on a sheet of laminated A4 advertising them; it read “Pickle available on request”. Some Scottish non-league sides do have areas as good as this in their grounds, but they are few and far between. The other remarkable thing was a small wooden hut, simply signposted as ‘Tea Bar’, that did the most fantastically tasty low priced food. Pasty, freshly fried chips and a Bovril for just £4.50, not since Ardrossan Winton Rovers’ three quid pie, chips ‘n beans deal have I been so impressed by a side’s vittles. My companion said the cheese burger rocked too…

The Game

Our Pheasants faced off against a side named, rather fittingly, after Scotland’s patron saint; Leicester St Andrews. They finished second bottom in the league the season prior and given Radford broke a record that campaign by absolutely skelping The Drews 11-0, victory for our hosts seemed pretty likely. However, once the teams entered the field of play, through a retractable tunnel to Metallica’s Enter Sandman, it soon became apparent that St Andrews were not gonna lie down and take it this time. Yes the visitors conceded to a Scott Litchfield strike rather quickly, but they soon shut up shop and made things competitive. Drew’s should even have equalised twenty minutes in, but The Pheasants ‘keeper Oluyinka Abebowale made a tremendous penalty save. 1-0 at half time and if the cat like ‘Yinka’ in goals had taken the afternoon off things might have been very different indeed.

Out for the second half and the visitors had a complete arse collapse, with Litchfield turning a stramash into his second and Jeven Seaton scoring a lovely goal within minutes of the restart. After all the good work of the first half, The Drews now looked like a heavily discounted Dortmund in their illuminous yellow & black shirts. Was another 11-0 humping on the cards? No actually, while The Pheasants should have scored a tonne more, they never added to their tally. ‘Tank’ Litchfield and substitute Calrick Dunkley should have doubled Radford’s advantage and it was credit to the Leicester side’s ‘keeper they didn’t. Then at the end our hosts went from cruising toward victory to squeaky bum time, by conceding two very late goals. Talk about a collapse, if the referee hadn’t blown his whistle three points earned may very well have been one a-piece.

The Aftermath

Nottingham is great for a long weekend, particularly if your hobbies include eating & drinking to vulgar excess. Visiting three of the oldest pubs in the land was an absolute pleasure and, in the first two especially, I was glad they weren’t just museums serving ale, they are proper boozers still with regulars as the heart & soul. Of course I barely scratched the surface of the pub scene in this city, The Queen of the Midlands and that was something which really made me want to return. Next time perhaps a trio of the newest shoaps in town, before seeing Dunkirk or Basford United in action.

So weird to go from a ‘bucket list’ destination at Fort William to a club I’d never heard of a week before visiting, but my trip to The Pheasants shows that I should have done many more random adventures over the last few years. Quite frankly I’ve no regrets about not seeing former European Champions or the world’s auldest club in action, but I am delighted to have been to Radford and would choose them over those two giants any day. Beautiful ground, excellent beer & scran as well as a really good standard of football makes Selhurst Street an ideal place for folk who love to do what I do. Plus the people who were giving their time to this great club are a bloody lovely bunch too. Guess you could say that overall I was pheasantly surprised indeed (see what I did there…).

*Notts County did email me and offered to sell me tickets, however I had already committed myself to Radford by that point.