Eagles Flutter Again

Closer to France than to London, out on a barren field near the Ferry Road roundabout there was A-board boasting of a holiday let opportunity on that or nearby unprepossessing land. Build it and they will come, especially if you enjoy an aspect with the still comparatively new road bridge spanning the flatlands out to the water. It is a more rough and ready part of Kent that attracts through traffic to destinations unknown. Tucked away across residential working farmland off Raspberry Lane, the Old Gun Site wears its fortification past with a forlorn majesty and its status as one of the cathedrals for youth and would be rider development confidently. This is one of the only British speedway clubs left where the wind strength and surrounding land could accommodate a wind farm without residential objection. And, thereby, of course, emulate the re-born Workington Comets.

We had collectively been drawn to the flatlands of Kent to the Old Gun Site at Iwade by the close to end of season chance to see a Challenge Cup meeting (under the auspices of NORA Motorsport) where both Eastbourne ‘Watling Tyres’ Eagles and the Lakeside ‘Asmatt’ Hammers get to ride again. Possibly for the last time, at least for Eastbourne since Lakeside still hope to influence Google who have purchased and plan to develop their old location. It claimed that this particular Eagles – its Sussex Eagle Motorcycle Club incarnation under Michael Gray and David Graveling – have struggled to either find a new venue or, more relevantly, persuade the Dugard family members who run Arlington Stadium nowadays to positively consider their return. Despite the enthusiasm and energy of Gray and Graveling, previous sponsors and loyal fans, the lack of track, funding and finance remain glaring issues which, of course, informs the viability of their ambitions but also potential of their vision. We all want to see the Eagles back racing again ideally where they belong (at Arlington; in either the Premiership or the Championship) but, even if it is the small acorn from which big oaks are going to grow, running five meetings in the NDL next season is deemed by some to sufficiently keep up the league racing ambitions of Eagles fans. Even if it is unlikely to set the pulses sufficiently racing long term. Not least with, arguably, the most important audience: the Arlington Stadium owners. Problematically they already know the crowd sizes our previous seasons racing there in the National League attracted during headier times when the cost of living wasn’t comparatively quite so pressing. This isn’t to throw shade on those working to keep the Eagles name alive and racing – which is and remains essential work. That all said, the Trevor Geer interview not long afterwards in Speedway Star does highlight how persuasive and financially robust future possible promoters would need to be to get the Eagles back racing at Arlington Stadium again^.

Casually glancing around Iwade, everything roughly looks like it has remained pretty much the same since my last visit. But, equally, is somehow slightly different. There were definitely many more cars parked up on the grass adjacent to the well-worn uneven surfaced walkway that leads to a table set up as a turnstile-cum-programme stall by some crash barriers. Once inside, there was a new additional toilet block while out on the main track – the junior track is a car park for the Iwade great-and-the-good on senior race day – plus nowadays there is the luxury of an air fence rather than the old-school wooden variety. The portacabin remains – what Scott Nicholls called a “tuck shop” over the tannoy – while parked alongside it a modern mobile catering truck already attracts a big queue. Otherwise it is hard for me to spot additional ravages of time hereabouts. Ghosts of speedway past had drawn some along for this select side Sunday lunchtime speedway action as well as the chance to bump into friends or commune with our memories. The whole British speedway scene has shrunk since my last trip to the Old Gun Site and was doing so – albeit much slower – during many previous ones too. The reasons are disputed and often, despite factual evidence to contrary, denied as a sign of decline. No one has yet used “right-sized” or “better fit for the future” like they used to in announcements after rounds of redundancies but, with some parts of the speedway world getting ever more corporate, the language is changing in lock step with the alleged increasing – often primarily visual – presentational professionalism. If tidier pits or sponsor compliant interview booths on tv (or your personal screen) in lieu of cogent strategy are your thing, these are welcome changes. The politesse of a sprinkling of management speak at odds with reality has also taken hold in some quarters. For example, the circumlocution this season of “strongest for over a decade” was repeated like a Buddhist mantra but failed to soothe away sincere worries about the speedway present or, indeed, the future generally. To confess this was, of course, a sin compared to mandatory happy talk about undefined changes and yet to be articulated but serious plans ushering in an era of brightness ahead. Throughout all this, at Iwade the Old Gun Site still resolutely sails onwards, kinda resplendent, still cared for with freely given hours of unpaid labour upon which speedway everywhere depends to remain indomitable, somehow still vibrant and preserved in its own grassroots speedway aspic.

Since my last visit, there are perhaps a few more pieces of agricultural and random other mechanical equipment scattered about the place – you never have to look too hard to find some lingering – possibly supplemented with other more recently discarded treasures. On the cusp of alleged retirement (or, likelier, reduced hours), Graham Arnold has replaced his badly oil-covered yellow hi-vis with a much newer almost snazzy orange variety that adds both crispness and authority. Not that he seeks that since he wears his hither and thither popping up everywhere to do or check something status lightly. Graham works tirelessly with the energy of the passionate or much younger and, by accounts, slept down at the track when circumstances required. This late season Sunday lunchtime team racing action will be last in the south east at this level before the silent months of the winter off-season kick in (though as a track with a rich training tracks tradition that isn’t really the case at Iwade). This barren period without the soothing roar of speedway engines under full power (or strain) comes earlier each year nowadays. Not so long ago fixture congestion, rain-offs and tenuous postponements often saw the regular season struggle to complete the league fixtures prior to the (occasionally waived) 31 October cut-off date. Indeed, some seasons some clubs sometimes failed to race some meetings giving the ‘final table’ an oddly incomplete look. The ongoing severe reduction in teams and riders racing British club speedway means that particular excess meetings problem has gone away but, instead, has created others in its wake. It did always – and still does – seem peculiar to stage the (notionally) more important title-deciding meetings when wetter conditions that were likelier to ensure from the gate processional racing. An older school six rider Eastbourne Eagles select against a Lakeside Hammers select in speedway terms is considered a ‘local derby’ though their stadiums – when they both had their homes – were around 100 miles apart. Each side tracked known names with differing degrees of racing pedigree and proximity to retirement. The biggest name of the lot on track (and view) is Scott Nicholls, which immediately raises the question, ‘is there a track in this country where he hasn’t rode as a guest or his autobiography hasn’t had a signing session?’

After the old school rider parade and introductions, with Scott out in Heat 1, if I were a betting man, I’d have seen that as a possible instant 5-1 for the Eagles. But instead, the results went the other way – not least because there was evidently something wrong with Scott’s bike. A “cracked rear frame” according to Sue Jackson-Scott [no relation] in the latest Winter 2024 issue of essential reading The Voice: The Official Organ of Friends of Speedway. Those four points proved sufficient as the ultimate margin of victory for Lakeside. What was notable, apart from the action on the track, was what took place off it. There were many familiar faces, and others you knew you recognised but didn’t have a name for. There were Eastbourne and Lakeside fans but also supporters from other existing and defunct clubs. Clubs without homes or who no longer exist are more prevalent nowadays. There has always been a churn but now in twenty-first century Britain the traffic is currently only going one way.

Looking afterwards at the photos, I saw that long-time Eastbourne track shop assistant Alan Boniface had been stood nearby. Sadly, we didn’t speak. Perhaps what threw me off was him wearing a renegade red cap rather than something sold by the shop wore as a memento (or relic) of his evenings spent there. The man who ran it back then – Martin Dadswell – was, as far as I could notice, absent. Ex-Eagles programme editor Kevin Ling was the first person I met on arrival. Conspicuous by his absence was his dad John. I can immediately picture John stood in his traditional place at the far left edge of the Arlington Stadium home straight grandstand against the wall. Kind of mid-way towards the back of the stepped terrace so that he could get the best view possible of the race action and start-finish line as well as being able see both bends. There were so many stanchions, fences and columns that this must have been slightly occluded. But no doubt he had his favoured sight lines. John was always there for a few words and knew his speedway onions. Hardly surprising since he had only missed one home meeting since 1974 and very few away meetings since the 1980s according to Speedway Star when he was presented with a tankard from the club (in 2015) to commemorate his loyalty. His son Kevin is a gentle man. Hardworking on behalf of Eastbourne Speedway Club (as Press Officer) and still now involved with the programme for this new incarnation too. They came to Eagles meetings as a pair. Kevin fluttering about in his editorial role before taking his prime seat in the control tower that overlooks the starting gate. Up there provides a handsome view of the track and stadium. From the distance and also stood directly outside, it looks modern and authoritative as well as definitely transplanted there from a bigger race track elsewhere. Possibly NASCAR or one of the tiers below F1. A fitted bench-cum-desk runs the length of its big glass windows. Predictably, in summer, it heats like a greenhouse. The final third of the room is partitioned off for the ref’s box with a door for added exclusivity/authority that is undermined by an adjacent window. This means that not only the referee in his or her box visible by fans from below (and riders, if they care to glance up from the start line or across from the pits on bend 2) but also from alongside by the press who sat or stood with their programmes, note pads (or, latterly, laptops) in front of them. Directly inside the ref’s box, the first desk position was taken by Sound Manager Barrie Geer who on race night played the music, announced the results and also worked in harmony with presenter Kevin Coombes as well as (hopefully) with each visiting referee as official timekeeper sat alongside their prime corner seat with its tapes and lights control panel. By popular account, the ref enjoyed uninterrupted sight lines of the start/finish line and the rest of the track except for a small narrow area on the second bend slightly obscured by the building edge where the window frames join together. It was approximately there – momentarily invisible inside this conjuror’s mis-direction of a briefly hidden section of track – that in the heat of the first corner action if racing lines were unfairly taken, handlebars were to knock, elbows clash or bodies push, lean and shove for advantage that even the best ref would have to adjudicate blame with some degree of benefit of doubt in mind. All the home riders knew this but then so too did those visitors experienced enough to benefit. This small section was fleetingly the shale based Arlington Stadium equivalent of the Wild West (albeit very much in the East of Sussex) meets Vegas since what happened there was known but, ideally, stayed there never to be spoken of again.

This was Kevin Ling’s first speedway meeting without his dad, John. I didn’t ask when their last one together was. I am sure I saw him at Arlington after we came back from covid but, perhaps, like so much from around those days by recalling him my memory is playing tricks. People spoke upon their return but there was a paranoia and, with the revised socially-distanced race day configuration that was initially a condition of re-opening, many of us were forced to stand elsewhere away from our usual favoured spots to take in the action. Collectively we missed out on either talking with or seeing those who invariably used to surround us while, though we were outside in the fresh air, conversations with the randoms suddenly around were minimal. At normal Eagles meetings, you don’t necessarily know names but definitely recognise regular faces stood in their traditional places with friends and family. I definitely recall the old bloke who EVERY race thrust out his programme board in acclaim to salute the riders as they dashed from the last bend to the line and, thereby, block my view of the drama. I don’t miss him. This afternoon’s meeting would close with a race for the John Ling Memorial Trophy (won by Ben Morley) held in his honour. John had only just left us seven weeks previous with his funeral being held at Hastings Crematorium the next day after his memorial race. Rain was forecast. Kevin still wondered if he could control his emotions sufficiently for the words he hadn’t yet quite formulated or finalised for the memorial address.

Hovering close by Kevin is his partner in crime for today’s programme, the media savvy and energetic Ken Burnett who always seems able to conjure up local television coverage for the speedway clubs he films at (historically Eastbourne and the Isle of Wight). On race day, Ken is mostly seen mid-task purposefully heading off somewhere else to do something urgent or in position ready to broadcast. He waits briefly; stoical but temporarily becalmed keen to get off in his wheelchair accompanied, as ever, by his wife and equal broadcast partner in crime (well, shale), Jackie who heads back towards his side from the pits clutching documents unknown.

When it comes to others we have lost whose memory amiably haunts random attendees at this possibly last ever Eastbourne meeting away from Arlington – rumours of the club demise turn out to have been exaggerated and, if half-grumbles from the terraces are to be given credence, a ruse to boost this crowd – you would increasingly need much longer to properly remember. The man I stood next to all those years of my latter Eagles watching decades, John Hazelden, immediately springs to mind. Always a modest plain-spoken gentle man who knew the world and, latterly, drove to the airports for a living. John wore his Eagles passions lightly but with great pride and was unafraid to voice them in the heat of the moment if prompted by either the drama of the action or need and importance of the occasion or heat. Like his wife, Judy, their children and, in later years, extended family of grandkids came along to share in this family childhood rite of passage too. There was never any question where their Saturday nights – while we still had those – or Sunday afternoons would see them. Inevitably drawn to the track together as a family, the children then grandchildren played, watched, ran about or briefly lingered to have their sweets and fizzy drink under the casually watchful eyes of John and Judy. Though Reading Racers were always my first love, regularly going to my nearest track over time slowly made me into an Eagle. By total number of meetings watched but also in shared passion and, not wishing to be too pretentious, community and kinship. Comparatively with only over thirty years watching the Eagles, I was something of a newbie and ingenue. Stood next to John and Judy and, of course, the many other of their Eastbourne fan friends – Dave and Margaret Rice; Shane and his wife among them – who regularly made that spot by the start line our own on race night (though we did move a couple of yards slightly further down in later years to, allegedly, help the kids “see better”). All felt right in the world. At the time but definitely now looking back. Not that we had kit bags but whatever our troubles were, they were packed away on race night for the shared thrills of the action. And there were, of course, sadly, troubles. Time passing inevitably brings them to us all unwanted. They were briefly discussed, alluded to and hinted at depending on your preference or jeopardy but then soothed by the sound of the engines. Living in the moment (rather than seeking distraction) for the race action was always our focus. John’s networks at the track, around the pits fence where he stood previously and living comparatively locally away from it too (as well as the news driving taxis gains, of course) beat far louder – and usually accurately – on any and all Eastbourne comings, goings and gossip compared to that found online or in Speedway Star and the Argus. I never saw John away from the track except when I visited him in Brighton Hospital. That was properly away. I used to go some days as the weekday visiting hours started earlier than his family could get there. John wore his post-op pain and fears with great strength, optimism and trademark bonhomie. And recovered to return to Arlington where his Eagles passion burnt brightly again before, sadly, leaving us all again.

Speedway attracts obsessiveness in a way that shared passions do but also enjoys straightforward relationships in a way that feel qualitatively different from other sports fanaticisms (even when, as a football season-ticket holder, I sat with the same people often for many years). Perhaps, our shared proximity to risk out on the track forges a companionship that other sports with less obvious danger as part of their make-up don’t quite engender? Rather than be so dramatic or romanticise speedway, it is likelier the extended but comparatively random stop-start breaks for track grades, two heats on the trot and stuff like that over time invites and permits many conversations to fill the inevitable trackside silences? It is hard to fathom but instinctive to enjoy and recall in its absence at Iwade. Not that the enjoyable conversations don’t flow throughout this meeting but that they are not repeated again and again over time with more-or-less the same group of like-minded fans. The riders, weather, optimism levels and people change but in a world of fast-flowing constant change that – unbeknownst until afterwards when it suddenly vanished – the speedway rock of those Arlington experiences was something we instinctively clung to in the metaphorical river of our lives.

The facts were for those stood in the crowd, we had almost universally all lost clubs. Or, given present rate of extinction, were possibly about to. Many British club speedway fans are often exiles and also regularly watch at many different clubs. Steve Miles who hadn’t missed a Peterborough Panthers meeting in decades until their enforced – hopefully, brief – departure from the East of England Showground stood with Arnie Gibbons, Reading Racers fan and club historian but nowadays reincarnated as Programme Columnist and Oxford Cheetahs fan. Like so many of us, they are both speedway fans who have currently lost their original native tracks. In this part of the world Eastbourne (2021), Kent Kings (2021) and Lakeside (2018) have all gone the way of the flesh. Nationally there are too many extinct clubs to list. Recent years has seen the speed of defunction increase. Though reasons vary and some still dare to hope of a brighter future so like to preach the optimism of denial, existing let alone robust and financially successful British speedway clubs are thinner on the ground. Most fans drawn here today for some late season speedway action are predominantly without easy access to regular action at their local club. My nearest clubs racing in a professional league are Oxford or Poole. Both are around 100 miles away with the drive to Poole feeling longer, especially on the way back. Though Poole is the track closest to an actual railway station, public transport isn’t the option either as timetables dictate getting back for 1am would mean leaving – even in an era of faster run meetings – around Heat 8 at Poole and around Heat 12 at Oxford in the hope of finding a local bus to its railway station.

Out over the trackside fence, Niall Strudwick patrols the centregreen ready to get some photos of the build-up to the action. He’d lived the dream for a few years by progressing from training track rides to second halves to riding competitively in the lower leagues. Niall stood next to me as a young child until his dad John brought some fold-away mini-steps so he could use see over the wooden safety fence fans and the riders had as shared protection back in those days. If so minded, we could reach out and touch the riders – assuming lightning quick reactions and a death wish. Later years we got separated by the further safety feature of crash barriers erected the width of the stock car track away. By then John had gone off to do different things for the actual club. In the pits, much more important things. Possibly machine examiner? At Iwade, John sat on a folding garden chair with the centre pages of his programme open on his lap in a prime grassy position underneath the ref’s box perched on world war two fortifications adjacent to the start line. With the familiarity, perhaps, of his time working behind the scenes – though he wouldn’t automatically figure in the instant list of notable Eagles’ riders for most Eastbourne fans (but would if we supported, for example, Ipswich or Coventry) since he spread his club favours widely in the later years of a long career now coming to a close but unsurprisingly resilient still on the track (not least given he was one of the most talented riders of his particular generation) – wrote against Scott Nicholls’ name, “Scotty” with the shaky, spidery handwriting that eventually gets given to us all as we age.

As I went to stride up on the temporary grandstand that overlooks the start line – but not the finish line at Iwade since they are set apart with the chequered flag shown slightly further up the track – a woman grabbed my arm to help me up the slightly steeper first step. It was both touching and very speedway but, at the same time, a worrying sign that, perhaps, who I thought I was wasn’t how other people saw me. Before you know it, people will be giving up seats on the train or bus to me? It could almost make me want to dye my hair. The meeting at Iwade played out the same as it ever is with club speedway with proximity to the track adding to the spectacle and enjoyment. The noise of the bikes – though, sadly, reduced with modern silencers – serenades us throughout each race and, unusually, the smell of the fuel lingers for far longer than just the first heat. Perhaps this longer than usual nasal trip down memory lane was because Edward Kennett rode the meeting on an old school upright speedway bike? They say that hearing and smell are the last two senses to go before you die and, for a sport founded upon those two but more importantly sight, this is perhaps the first good news in a while? Some of our speedway friends, colleagues and acquaintances have – sadly – left us but fondly haunt us still as we watch and savour the transplanted (to Kent) but still audible echoes of what they once enjoyed with us in Arlington Stadium too. Speedway outdoors in the raw with like-minded people with a passion and ken for the sport.

They say there is no proper money in British club speedway nowadays yet, when I left, there still is in the car park as the box-fresh Mustang leaving ahead of me must have been worth well over £100,000. It was dark yellow, though I’m sure they describe it as gold in the showroom brochure. It’s a car you’d be delighted to spot playing motorway snooker as yellows are almost as hard to see out in the wild as pinks. With low-slung chassis and wheels that don’t suit sleeping policemen, it idled in first gear strictly adhering to the five-mile-an-hour limit over the potholed strewn rough farmland track out from the grassy Iwade paying customers car park. At the Raspberry Lane junction, he authoritatively turned right and roared off but later passed me from behind on the M20 clearly having gone in the wrong direction. Out on the motorway, if this had been a traditional Eastbourne meeting from days of yore a decade or more back, Sid Greatley (1933-2020) would have been ahead of the pack doing roughly 55 miles an hour – even before the existence of an average-speed cameras – in the middle lane. His peripheral rear vision totally obscured by a cluster of stickers on his back windscreen and side windows. Until experience taught me otherwise, I would pull behind to beep a greeting and flash my lights or else pull alongside and beep – either way but he would never look (“I didn’t see you”). Sid drove oblivious completely inured to such reactions on roads around the UK as he travelled far and wide to watch his beloved Eastbourne Eagles. Sadly, he’s no longer with us either.

These dedicated Eagles fans – John, John and Sid – sprang to mind as absent at Iwade but still haunt this meeting along with many others too too numerous to list. Given the ageing demographic from which speedway fans, media, officials and promoters are increasingly drawn on these shores, such losses are increasingly normal. But, at the same time, these loyal fans of yesteryear are greatly missed and, given the strange pandemic and aftermath times still lingering around when we lost them, insufficiently mourned. What is lost with the absence (but warm memories) of these particular Eagles fans echoes is what is also currently missing: the club they loyally followed. What we all also greatly miss – young or old, living or dead – is the chance to watch Eastbourne race speedway again back at Arlington Stadium.

Notes

^ “It would need someone to put £250,000 in. They wouldn’t get it back – that would just get it going, paying the dues and then getting the stadium back up to scratch. Then you must be prepared to lose more money after that. We are out on a limb down here at Eastbourne, surrounded by the sea so the catchment area is reduced. The nearest track to us is Oxford or Poole. We’d be lucky to get 600 people for each meeting. It’s just not viable.”

Trevor Geer – Speedway Star, November 9, 2024

13 October 2024  Eastbourne vs. Lakeside (Challenge) 43-47

Photo Credit: John Ling – Mick Hinves/Speedway Star