I last blogged about Coventry ten years ago, which is good news because it means I don't have to blog about it all again. But I have revisited two of its museums that have upgraded since, and popped inside a new one, so let me tell you about them.
Coventry is famous as the home of 2-Tone Records, a musical phenomenon from the late 70s and early 80s, whose chief protégés were the Specials, the Selecter and the Beat. The Coventry Music Museum celebrates this legacy, and more besides, in an intriguing building opened four years ago to the east of the city. Specifically it's a fifteen minute walk beyond the ring road, including a hike up historic Far Gosford Street, home to Coventry's successful City of Culture bid. When you reach Walsgrave Road look for the arcade between Cake Box and Beer Belly, and here you enter (somewhat unexpectedly) a fully fledged 2-Tone Village complete with clothes shop, cafe, wine bar and Caribbean restaurant. Neville Staple is often to be found hanging out in one of these, so I'm told.
The Museum's open from Thursday to Sunday, costs £3 to get in, and consists of a few rooms, mostly upstairs, absolutely rammed with stuff. Its collection has been built up over the years, and is still expanding, much of it donated by fans or even members of the relevant bands themselves. That means several vinyl records, but also photos, magazine covers, gig tickets, posters, gold discs and all sorts of associated ephemera. One particularly evocative display represents the bedroom of a typical 18 year-old rude boy, and is liberally scattered with items I very much did (and very much didn't) have in mine. No other museum display has ever unnerved me quite as much as this one.
Brilliantly, the museum doesn't solely focus on 2-Tone. Instead it's up for remembering any artiste from the Coventry area, which means there's space for Frank Ifield, Lieutenant Pigeon, King, Billie Myers and The Enemy, thereby creating a brilliantly random snapshot of the UK's musical history. I grew just a little moist on spotting a Higsons white label, whereas you might be similarly engaged by a Stevenson's Rocket pin-up or a Napalm Death epaulette. One treat is that Radiophonic Workshop goddess Delia Derbyshire was Coventry-born, and an entire corner is given over to her and various bits of equipment she used to own.
One thing I'll say about the museum is it aims to be fun, and succeeds. If you're musically minded you'll enjoy the chance to pick up a guitar, drumstick or keyboard in the downstairs studio, or the opportunity to vote in the weekly Coventry Hit Parade. But most of the museum's engagement is down to its chirpy volunteers, appropriately dressed, who'd quite like to cajole you into dressing up in 2-Tone gear to appear on the museum's Facebook page. I declined, you'll be disappointed to hear, but most grin and smile. Not for nothing is this out of the way attic regularly Coventry's #1 Trip Advisor attraction.
This place is a Millennium project, and a lot bigger, and I've been here before. But Coventry Transport Museum has had a major internal revamp since my previous visit, so wandering round felt like a somewhat new experience. The museum mainly tells the story of private motor transport, which was always this city's forte, but kicks off with bicycles because they're where Coventry's overwhelming expertise with wheeled manufacture began. Dozens of iconic cars are displayed around the museum's weaving route, from early Rovers via the Hillman Minx to an entire gallery of Jaguars, and the story of the UK's motor industry's inexorable rise and fall is very well told.
Those who enjoy what's under the bonnet will enjoy the engineering section, which looks more at innovation, and those of us who grew up with dozens of model toy cars will slip into utter reminiscence once they reach the section with shelves of thousands. Yes, there's a full-size London taxi, because those are still made here, and yes there's a hearse, because this place likes to be comprehensive. And at the end of the (impressively lengthy) walk-round comes Thrust 2, one-time holder of the world land speed record, plus a simulator if you'd like to experience how that might feel. The simulator costs, but the entire remainder of the museum is free, which is a transport of delight if you're ever in town.
In sight of the famous cathedral, the Herbert has had an extreme makeover since my last visit, and now resembles a giant greenhouse tacked onto a long brick box. All the 'history' is downstairs, from City of Spires to City of Industry to City of Dreams, because the economy's not been doing as well of late. Lady Godiva rightly gets an entire gallery to herself, while nextdoor is devoted to the thorny topic of Peace and Reconciliation, which Blitz-torn Coventry learned about the hard way. I particularly enjoyed What's in Store, a seemingly random collection of shelved goodies, including umpteen stuffed animals and a bingo machine.
Upstairs is the 'art', some temporary, some permanent. The temporary currently includes an excellent touring exhibition from the V&A focusing on the arts and crafts of the Punjab, and a separate installation in the centre of a pitch black room. The member of staff who led me inside with a torch described the artwork with barely disguised indifference, belittling the tiny etched silver SIM cards for the paucity of their meaning. I thought the artist's allegory was elegant and admired her empathy for Syrian refugees, but someone'll be very pleased when Sacred Things packs up and leaves next month.
Hell yes. It may be only the first week of January but I've already been to Nuneaton, because that is how I roll. Nuneaton is the largest town in Warwickshire. It lies just north of Coventry, astride the West Coast mainline, not far from the line of Watling Street. It is very much not a tourist destination. But that is never a good reason not to go somewhere, and it does boast two famous sons, one of whom turned out to be a famous daughter.
Nuneaton was originally called Etone, but in the 12th century gained a nunnery, which is how it gained the first part of its name. It grew wealthy on coal, textiles and manufacturing, but those haven't been going so well of late and the economy now relies rather more on logistics and distribution. The centre of the town has been encircled by a ring road, less scary than Coventry's, and is focused along two long streets that don't quite join. Central shops thrive, while those at the farthest extremes are falling empty. The Nuneaton Cooperative Society appears to have fallen by the wayside a few years ago. Starter homes can be picked up for just over £100,000 (and an annual season ticket to London costs £6520).
Nuneaton's famous son number 1 was the author George Eliot, who everyone assumed was a man until her first book proved a success. In fact George Eliot was the pen name of Mary Anne Evans, born in 1819 on the Arbury Hall estate, just outside Nuneaton (open to the public bank holiday weekends only, if you're ever smitten). Mary scandalised society by eloping with a married man, but critical acclaim eventually overcame that stigma, and her novels (Middlemarch, Silas Marner, The Mill on the Floss, etc) are generally considered some of the finest ever written. The town has honoured George with a statue in the centre of town, some riverside gardens, a memorial in those riverside gardens, two schools and a major NHS hospital. Watch out for major bicentenary celebrations next year.
You can discover more about George Eliot at the Nuneaton Museum & Art Gallery, which is to be found at the top end of Riverley Park, close to Sainsburys. One gallery contains a mock-up of her drawing room, along with almost amazing artefacts from her life (her lace box, some china dogs she once wrote about, a plaster cast of her dead warty hand). Another tells her story, and invites visitors to tell stories, because this is very much a gallery which encourages children to visit. I would show you what the rooms look like, but the museum has a very strict No Photographs policy which I made the mistake of asking about. This blanket ban also means I can't show you highlights from the current exhibition of manhole covers - two dozen photo etchings by Sharon Baker, yours for £135 each.
Nuneaton's famous son number 2 was genial comedian Larry Grayson. Born William White in 1923, he grew up under the care of his adoptive sister Flo in a terraced house to the west of the town. A career on the camper side of showbusiness beckoned, which might have been restricted to the comedy club circuit had not Michael Grade been in the audience one evening and signed him for TV. His career highpoint was as host of The Generation Game, which at its peak was watched by half the population of the country. Nuneaton Museum has a couple of cabinets of Grayson memorabilia too, including a bowtie, the chain from his glasses, a bentwood chair, a signed caricature, two shot glasses, a plaque from the Palladium, a canteen of cutlery and a cuddly toy. OK, not the last two.
What's more, even when fame and wealth came calling, Larry still chose to stay living in Nuneaton. Along with his sister Flo he moved into a detached house on the Hinckley Road, nothing over-grand, but often with a Rolls Royce parked outside. I went looking, based on a brief shot in this utterly glorious TV tribute made by LWT in 1983 and hosted by Janet Street-Porter. In the show Larry goes back to his former school and theatrical roots, as well as showing Janet round his living room and his Torquay hideaway. Along he way he also sings with Noele Gordon, banters with Arthur Marshall and blows out the candles on his 60th birthday cake. ITV sure doesn't make documentaries like that any more.
Although I couldn't find Larry's house, I had unexpected luck locating his final resting place in the Oaston Road cemetery. He's buried quite near the entrance in an unassuming spot, listed fifth on a headstone of six, in the same grave as his birth mother and his sister Flo. A more obvious tribute was the William White, a riverside Wetherspoons in the town centre, but that suffered a pest infestation in 2015 and was forced to close, so the bar is now a fake German bierkeller with an entirely different name. The George Eliot Hotel round the corner is thankfully still trading. It seems tourists do still stay overnight in Nuneaton.
