More Urban Myths

Urban myths abound in Bristol, so well worn and old are many of them that they are part of the city’s folk-lore. In some instances, such as the origin’s of Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill, they are accepted as established historical fact even when the evidence points to origins far less sinister than the slave trade.
I’ve heard scores of urban tales about Bristol, all are purported to have happened to distant relatives or friends of friends, all have a modicum of plausibility, all are complete nonsense. That doesn’t mean they have no worth, however.
All stories, whether their origins are ancient or just arrived in the inbox of your e-mail, have something to say about the times we live in, even if it’s just to point out that we’re no less gullible in the electronic age than we were in the stone age.
Here are six of my favourite modern urban myths that continue to circulate in Bristol. If you have a favourite urban myth about the city, please send it in. Nothing validates a tall story better than it being in print.



The Completely Untrue, Probably, Story Of KFC’s Strange Disappearance From Bristol.

While they cornered the bucket full of fried fowl market throughout the rest of the country since the 1960s, Colonel Saunders’ Kentucky Fried Chicken outlets were conspicuous by their absence in Bristol during the late 1970s and much of the 1980s. Why? Well, allegedly, the great grand-daughter of Colonel Saunders moved to Bristol from the Southern States of the USA to enjoy her dotage in Sneyd Park in 1973. In search of a taste of her youth she decided to visit the KFC franchise that was on Blackboy Hill. But so dismayed was she at the rudeness of the staff and their scant adherence to the ‘secret recipe’ and above all general hygiene of the premises, that she called an extraordinary board meeting at KFC HQ in America and demanded that all franchises in the Bristol area be cancelled in her lifetime, leaving a giant drum-stick shaped hole in the city’s fried spicy chicken market to be filled. This is why, until recently, Miss Millie’s was the name on all Bristolian’s lips when it came to fried chicken. Interestingly, during the time in question stories were widely circulated around the country about rats, their tails especially, being found crisply fried and battered in mixed spices in among the more usual wings and breast. And for one reason or another, many KFC franchised outlets did indeed close, seemingly overnight, in Bristol. But most amazing is that Colonel Saunder’s competitors in Bristol had a sense of humour, because his grumpy great grand-daughter was, apparently, called Milly.


The Feral Chickens Of Knowle.

Sightings of rogue wild chickens in South Bristol, especially Knowle and Southville, abound no evidence, photographic or otherwise, has ever been forthcoming. The chickens are thought to have escaped from the back gardens turned free-holdings of families attempting a ‘Good Life’ style back to the land existence, although there are at least two ‘explanations’ in circulation. The first is that the chickens were in crates in the back of a farmer’s van, when it stopped at traffic lights some passing youth ‘liberated’ a couple of crates to see what was inside. Discovering chickens, rather than the Playstations or whiskey most visiting farmers can be reasonably expected to be transporting through Bristol, the youngsters freed the contents into nearby wasteland - where they thrived. The last, and I think most plausible, story is that a South Bristol shopkeeper acquired a large amount of free-range eggs from a less than legal source. Leaving them in his lock up one particularly hot evening he was surprised to discover the next morning that at least one tray of knock off eggs had hatched...

The Phantom Car-Parking Attendant Of Bristol Zoo

Outside Bristol Zoo there is a car-park where hundreds of cars and dozens of coaches park on a daily basis. Until recently there was a very genial fellow with an official looking hat, yellow waistcoat and a ticket machine charging cars £1 and coaches £5 for the privilege.
This parking attendant worked there for about 25 years, through wind, rain and scorching Bristol summers, eight hours a day, six days a week (and Bank Holidays). He was an industrious worker with an exemplary sickness record.
One day he didn't turn up for work. “Oh dear” say Bristol Zoo management as chaos descends on the car park, “we’d better phone up Bristol City Council and get them to send a new parking attendant.”
“Err...no” say the Council, “that car park is your responsibility.”
“But” say the Zoo, “he was employed by you, wasn’t he?”
“Not us”, say the council.
Sitting in his villa in Spain is a very genial fellow who had been taking the car park takings for Bristol Zoo for the last 25 years...


He Looks Just Like, Y’know, What’s His Face...

Rock & Roller Eddie Cochrane - possibly the only real contender to the crown of Elvis - played his last ever concert at the Hippodrome in Bristol in 1960. After the gig he got in a car with his pal Gene Vincent, girlfriend Sharon Sheeley and driver George Martin (not THAT George Martin) and set off for London. Just outside of Chippenham the car crashed and Cochrane was fatally wounded. He was pronounced dead at St Martin’s Hospital in Bath.
Cochrane was 21. But, legend has it, singing to a packed Hippodrome wasn’t the only rocking and rolling Cochrane did in Bristol. Apparently there was a part-time Hippodrome usherette who could testify to that nine months later when into the world arrived a Cochrane Jr. He grew to be the spitting image of his late dad, albeit with a local accent. Apparently his heritage has been hushed up, but if you’re male in your mid 40s and often find yourself humming “Three Steps To Heaven”, now might be the time to ask your mum what she did for a Saturday job.


Urban Myths Updated

Bristol office workers (this office included) were recently panicked by the following e-mail.


“Please be aware of new car-jacking scheme.
Their Method:-
You walk across the car park, unlock your car and get inside. Then you lock all your doors, start the engine and put into gear or reverse. You look into the rear-view mirror and you notice a piece of paper stuck to the middle of the rear window.
So, you put the vehicle in neutral, unlock your doors and jump out of the vehicle to remove that paper or whatever it is that is obstructing your view. When you reach the back of your vehicle the car-jackers appear out of nowhere, jump into your vehicle and take off!! Your engine was running, you would have left your purse/wallet/documents/briefcase/equipment in the car and they practically mow you down as they speed off in your vehicle.
BE AWARE OF THIS NEW SCHEME THAT IS NOW BEING USED IN GLASGOW AND MANCHESTER AND IS MAKING ITS WAY ACROSS THE COUNTRY!”

This seemed plausible at first, but you have to ask, isn’t car-jacking an opportunist crime most likely to be carried out in desperation? Would a car jacker really loiter in a car park with a pack of Post-It notes to stick on rear windows?
Some research, then, is called for. I called the news desks of the Manchester Evening News and The Glasgow Herald. Were those fair cities being plagued by stationery packing criminal masterminds? “Er... no” said Manchester, “um..I’ve never..I don’t...is this a serious question?” asked Glasgow. Strathclyde Police (Glasgow’s force) were equally sniffy because, the reluctantly revealed, they took the information seriously and classed it as ‘intelligence’, despite the fact that no such crime had ever been reported. Manchester’s police authority did the same, but answered my enquiry with good humour, so I think I know where I’d like to be car jacked in future.


Why Bristol Wouldn’t Let Go Of Betamax.

Back in the early 80s there existed two formats of home video systems (younger readers may have to ask their parents), VHS and Betamax. The smaller Betamax was arguably better quality but for numerous reasons VHS won the format wars and became the standard system and Betamax went in the technology bin. Except, that is, in Bristol where it thrived.
The reason? Because, allegedly, light fingered dockers at Avonmouth stole the latest Betamax players and pre-recorded films on Betamax video in wholsale quantities before they had even been released. Certain pubs and drinking establishments were seeing more business than Blockbusters and a generation of local film buffs was created. Even when international business dictated the end of Beta, there were enough blank tapes and players floating about the city for no one to take notice. To this day there are many in town who will talk proudly of the superior technological advantages of Betamax over VHS. Ask them how they know and they will simply wink.



Box Out
How To Spot An Urban Myth

The general rule of thumb with urban myths is that if somebody tells you a story in a pub it should be treated with caution. The closer to chucking out time the less likely the story has any basis in truth, whatsoever.

Always be wary of stories that start “It’s the God’s honest truth”, or “Honestly...” and especially, “I swear, this is true...”

Urban myths are personalised and localised to suit the story but they are always generalised and rarely contain any fact beyond slight plausibility. They nearly always concern friends of friends, distant relatives or the person who sat at your desk at work before you were employed by the company. They happened ‘last year’, ‘last month’, ‘in 1996’ but never ‘this morning’ or ‘yesterday’. Urban myths are always anecdotal and are never accompanied by newspaper cuttings, videotaped news bulletins and independent witness testimonies. Largely because pubs don’t encourage power-point presentations and secondly because the story didn’t happen in the first place.

People who relate an urban myth aren’t necessarily trying to reel you in with malice. They might actually believe the story they are telling and think they have your best interests at heart. So, they’re misled, but their saving grace is their kindness. That’s worth bearing in mind before you publicly deconstruct their story with forensic brutality. Others relate urban myths simply because they’re a good yarn, or to make them seem more interesting then they perhaps are. Telling a party of people about the time your wife’s cousin’s husband’s head was stuck on the end of a pole by a mad man on Dartmoor is certainly an icebreaker. On the other hand urban myths can sometimes suit people’s prejudices and are used as ‘evidence’ to back up their hatred of a particular group. In this instance gently pick at the numerous loose threads in the story and watch it unravel to expose the narrator.

Unless it reads, “the building is on fire” and you can smell smoke, never trust a ‘Round Robin’ e-mail you receive at work. Ever. If you are sent a ‘true’ story by e-mail from a colleague a simple way of finding out if it’s myth or not is to highlight a phrase from the mail and paste it into Google, topped and tailed with quote marks. Seven times out of ten you’ll find the phrase, or variations of it, repeated over thousands of internet pages stretching back years.