Brian Mitchell & Joseph Nixon’s thoroughly scurrilous Brighton column

I remember…
Hanover! Brighton’s muesli mountain – domain of London-by-the-sea’s chattering classes, which every Friday night echoes to the clattering of a thousand MacBook Pros tweeting about a really great new Indonesian restaurant they went to, and every Monday morning vibrates to the sound of lots of dirty great lorries all delivering boxes of ethical, environmentally-friendly fruit and vegetables. But what was it like at the turn of the century? 109 year-old Finlay Buckeridge remembers…

“Hanover certainly is a white wine-sipping, Paolo Nutini-listening, bare floorboard-varnishing, attic-converting sort of a place these days, but when I was a lad it was known as the most violent part of Brighton.

I was born in 1901 on what is now Jersey Street. I was a bit of a tearaway, and it wasn’t long before I crossed paths with the local crime boss, Old Man O’Dowd. O’Dowd ran Hanover in them days. A giant of a man, fully seven feet tall with a bald head, a flaming red beard, and jet-black sideburns, he was a veteran of the Boer War. He’d lost both legs in the Battle of Paardeberg and, rather than wooden ones, he’d had himself mounted on a couple of cartwheels.

Watching O’Dowd perambulate at full pelt down Islingword Road was a sight to see – fair put the willies up you. There was no local wrongdoing that he didn’t have a hand in – prostitution, illegal gambling, dog fighting, plagiarism, selling fireworks, installing storm windows without the proper qualifications… He was a heartless man, who made a habit of killing a random passer-by at 10am every morning just to keep his hand in, but I must admit I looked up to him.

O’Dowd used to hold court in an inn that stood where the community centre on Southover Street is now. A terrible crew used to hang out there – Jimmy Shankworth, Arthur ‘Killer’ Raglan, the Brannigan Twins, Mad Lizzie, The Green Goddess, Mr Motivator, Anne and Nick, Crispian Fletcher, Rustie Lee, Roland Rat and Kevin The Gerbil, who ran a counterfeit operation in the shed out the back. They’d carved up the whole district. Jimmy was in charge of extortion, Raglan ran the brothels, and the Brannigan Twins did the yoga. Once some Reiki enthusiasts tried to move in on their territory. There was nothing left of them but one eyeball and a pair of pants by the time the twins had finished with ‘em. Oh yes – happy days.

Now, one of the area’s most famous landmarks is, of course, the so-called Pepperpot. What many people don’t know is that way back then there were two of them – a pepper pot and a salt cellar. And a bottle of vinegar. And a jar of mustard. And a huge plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, black pudding, mushrooms, baked beans, fried bread and fried tomatoes, all to scale. People would come from miles around to see it.

Trouble was, in the great depression, folks all round were starving hungry. They were eyeing that enormous platter of bacon pretty greedily, and no mistake. So the authorities stuck up a 20 foot high electric fence to protect it, but that didn’t stop the desperate crowd from flinging themselves at it. Then old Stanley Baldwin came down and ate the flipping lot, while flicking the Vs at the assembled crowd. He was an unpopular man round here that day, I can tell you.

Later that day I was spending a penny in the conveniences that are situated at the foot of the so-called Pepperpot, when Baldwin waltzed in, looking very pleased with himself. So I said, joking of course, “Hello Mr Baldwin, how are Alec, William, Daniel and Stephen doing?” Quick as a flash two great big bodyguards appeared and held me against the urinal while Baldwin, laughing all the while, got out his prime-ministerial… (CONTINUED ON PAGE 198)”

CHOICE CUTS!
It’s the turn of Brighton Council to tighten its collective belt, but where should the axe fall? Bare Cheek welcome readers’ suggestions…

“I suggest expanding the branch of Pizza Express next to the library into the library. Books will then be able to be ordered only with an accompaniment of dough balls or salads, thus generating much-needed revenue.”
Simon Richie, Hove

“They should sell the costumes in Brighton Museum to To Be Worn Again, which is, let’s face it, where they got them in the first place.”
Mark E. Fisher, Portslade

“Sight-specific theatre could be put on in actual theatres, thus allowing for greater audience numbers, which would help offset the cost of production.”
D. Binnis, Brighton

“I suggest a “Bramwell Tax” whereby everything Dave Bramwell does is taxed at 150 per cent. Which would more than compensate for our present fiscal difficulties.”
Ms. G. Hopkirk, Hove

“I am very much in favour of increased charges on Parkin, the spicy sweetmeat associated with Yorkshire, composed of oatmeal and molasses. Everyone needs parkin, so come on – pay up!”
Mr. S. Travers, Patcham