Forest Gumption

Forest Bulldogs v Cheltenham Phoenix, West of England Rugby League.

First weekend without football and finding myself in Swindon for the weekend, so off to the Forest of Dean for the first ever home game of the newly formed Forest Bulldog rugby league.

Move was 0938 HST to Newport. On summer Saturday's it becomes Britains slowest passenger train as it is extended beyond Swansea, to Carmarthen, and then on to the Pembroke Dock branch, stopping at every lamp post.

At Newport it was a leap onto a Cross Country unit heading for Nottingham. The train runs up the side of the Severn estuary, which was to cause much confusion later on.

Joining me today was mad Dai. Whilst Dai likes football and cricket, loves Glamorgan CCC and his family, his true obsession is Bruce Springstein. Dai is in the middle of watching most of the Bosses European tour, and was resplendent in a new Bruce hoodie.

Destination was Lydney.

We headed next door to the station of the Dean Forest steam railway. This confused Dai, as the proximity to the River Severn meant he was convinced we were on the Severn Valley Railway. No amount of explaining or signage, or maps could assure him otherwise.

However, come departure time and there was no sign of a train, so we headed over to the signal box where the bobby (originally signallers were policemen) informed us that, in yet another faithful re-creation of the real railway, the crossing was fucked at Parkend so everything was running late.

We wandered into the town but with no pubs looking promising, we went to the football club social club. Dai had by now moved on to the second part of being utterly convinced by something that was not correct. Dai was sure this was Forest Green. No, this is Lydney Town. So is that Forest Green he enquirer pointing at the rugby club. No, Forest Green is 40 miles away in Stroud. Dai then had a rather complex discussion, almost exclusively with himself, about Forest Green/Forest of Dean/Dean Forest, which by the time I was listening again, had moved on to Jermaine Easter.

With my head about to explode, we noticed that the level crossing barriers were down and there was a small station halt next to it. We were immediately greeted by a Great Western prairie tank steaming past with a Queen Mary brake van.

A short time later, our Heritage DMU turned up to take us on our way.

Our destination was Whitecroft. This confused the guard as he admitted in the time he had been on the railway, he had never seen anyone get on or off at either of the stations we were using, let alone travel between them, so had to go searching for a special hand written ticket. Into Whitecroft with Dai sporting some quite unique turquoise deck shoes, which he had bought for his cousins wedding the previous week, accompanied by courduroy shorts. He is is own man.

Next to the station was sometimes guide listed Miners Arms pub, which had a Bespoke - Golden Rule, from nearby Mitcheldean.

Unfortunately the pub was over run with Morris dancers, so the drinks were cleared in 30 seconds as we fled the nauseating cunts…..

…and managed to find the proper entrance of the pub.

The rugby was being played in Bream, which was a couple of miles away through the forest.

The pavement was overrun by sheep shit....

....with the bus shelters being gated to keep out the shit machines.

The Forest of Dean is one of those areas that you never realised was actually coal mining. However, in the forest, it was a slightly different scenario. The deposits lay close to the surface, therefore, instead of mines being on a massive scale during the industrial revolution, it has been two or three man operations since Roman times. This was further enhanced when, Edward I needed tunnelling expertise in the siege of Berwick in 1282. The experts were the miners from the Forest so they were called on to assist the King, and as reward, an act was passed whereby anyone who was born in the Forest, was over 21 and had mined for over a year, could set up there own mine and not have to pay tax. This meant the mining operations carried on for many hundreds of years, but on a very small scale, being over 20 in the 34 square miles of the forest. Eventually, mechanisation led to deep mining in the area, at its peak employing 7,000 men and producing a million tonnes of coal per annum. This was the major pit, the Princess Royal, located between Whitecroft and Bream. The last deep pit closed in the 1950s but a number of the smaller gales still mine, some having their own narrow gauge railways.

As ever, the walk was permanently uphill, not quickened by Dai stopping every 20 feet to take shit photos.

A welcome sign to an industrial estate, could only be bettered by..

A council estate and a silver van will be treasured memories.

Eventually Bream was reached. First stop was were I thought the game was being played....

...only to find that the pitches had been bulldozed

We then set about trying to find some sort of phone reception, which was eventually found at this viewpoint. The Forest of Dean survived as it was one of the Royal Hunting areas since the Norman Invasion. In addition, the existence of iron ore and coal mining meant agriculture didn't have to be relied on so land clearing was not necessary. When attempts were made for deforestation, it was met with considerable rebuke from the locals, most notably with the enclosures act which led to the Western Rising. As well as EMF, the area has also produced Dennis Potter and Jimmy Young.

Luckily we didn't have to resort to the village beacon.

The other viewpoint in the village didn't have much of a vista to offer.

It was found that the game was actually at the separate rugby club, which was only a short walk away, and appeared to be in some redundant civic offices.

The entrance to the pitches had deterrents for our ovine friends.

The changing rooms were tucked away at the far end of the complex in an old cottage...

....with the pitches then behind them.

Forest Bulldogs 32 v Cheltenham Phoenix 44, West of England Rugby League.

This is the first year of Forest Bulldogs playing in a proper league. They are an amalgamation of various Union sides around the forest; Chepstow, Coleford, Lydney, Cinderford, Newent, Monmouth Caldicot and Bream. Last year they played a few friendlies, and they started their campaign this year with a win away at Somerset Vikings.

Cheltenham Phoenix are the summer side of Cheltenham Old Patesians RU. They are always a strong side in the normal season, but are reliant on union players who, come August, go back to their first love, so Phoenix always fail spectacularly in the play-offs.

The pitch was right on the edge of the village, looking out over one of the stretches of common land in the forest.

A novelty was the cabriolet dug outs, with detachable roofs. The home side stayed warm, the away side, in the words of Vanilla Ice, were 'rag top down so the hair can blow'.

Beyond the far sideline was a field full of horses. Disturbingly, on the map this was marked as being a pet food factory.

The game had to be stopped almost as soon as it was started as it was noticed both touch judges were running the same touch line.

The first tackle resulted in the first Union/league crossover confusion when one of the Cheltenham players tried to offload the ball once the tackle was complete.

The referee was a right narky little fucker. As well as dressing like an acid house Bill Bunter, he felt the need to give a decision every 30 seconds, then tell the whole ground what he had just given.

The first half was a very hectic you score…

…- we score, only differed by if the goals were kicked.

It was easier to keep track of the difference in the score rather than the actual score. At half time, Cheltenham were two points up, and we headed to the caravan in the background for cans of Speckled Hen.

By now Dai had latched on to an unsuspecting sub. I had been to take photos but when I got back, Dai was giving the poor soul his expertise on why dental hygiene in Mediera is so bad. I didn't have the strength to ask how he had got onto that subject and the other bloke looked as though he had been put in a trance, so I left them to it.

The second half started in much the same vein, but Cheltenham then scored a few without reply….

...and ran out 32-44 winners.

After the game it was to the Guide Pub in the village, which disappointingly just had Greene King on sale.

It was then time for the bus back to Lydney

It was a only a ten minute ride so we stayed on the lower deck. Dai updated me with his on-line dating progress. He has decided to stay with his profile of looking for a 40-45 year old female in the Cardiff area, who likes rugby league and real ale. He has had two responses. One 28 year old from Newport (although she didn't look a day younger than 70 in the fully nude photo she had sent Dai), who wanted to be shagged whilst her 50 year old husband watched. The second one started out more promisingly with a normal photo, but went on to offer videos of her getting shagged by 'cats and dogs'. I suggested to Dai that these two may not be the life partners he is looking for. I was a little disturbed by Dai's response of 'definitely not the first one' and on my raised eye brow reaction, he qualified it by dismissing the second one's actions as 'she's just from Pontypridd'.

By now we were at the majestic splendour of Lydney bus station. We headed to a pub to watch the Wales game

Ninety minutes of watching Chris Gunter pass the ball to Hal Robson-Kanu to mis-control it, had inspired the locals to turn out in droves.

Which was just as well as Dai kept taking photos of the TV.

With the game over an the world in shock that Robson-Kanu actually contributed something, we went and watched a bit of cricket....

.....then the prize giving at a disabled fishing competition.....

....before heading back to the station for an ATW unit back down the estuary

By now the sun was beaming and both Severn bridges were sparkling.

I left Dai at Newport, for a train back to Swindon, which was the same one I had come down on, having been to Pembroke Dock and back.

At Swindon, I walked back to my flat to the commentary of the last five minutes of the England game from open windows of terraced houses. When I got home I was straight on to Wikepedia to find out who the England scorer was as I had never heard of him. It is a bit easier these days if you don't follow the top league. Back in the day I went months not knowing who Andy Sinton was.