YES!!!!  It’s finally arrived!  Today, Greenwich Bees FC gained World Class status!

A goal from our Buddha-esque left winger, Naomi, in the 14th minute against Garzenim FC gave us a 1 - 0 win and the three points to take us into new territory.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the squad for all their hard work this season.  It has been difficult, what with the numerous injuries we’ve suffered and the ever growing threat from Deptford Hornets, but hard work and a good team spirit have seen us through.  Well done all of you!

I would also like to thank the back room staff for their support and a special mention must go to Aileen for her magnificent contribution of £9.76 towards the new washing lines, which she raised by selling her collection of tin trays.

It will be quite some time before we gain our next promotion, but I would like to stress that this is the promotion I have been most looking forward to since the season began.  Most teams give up before they reach World Class status, usually because of the time and effort needed to accomplish this remarkable feat, so I really am very proud.

Thank you.

PS:  The Greenwich Bees history will be updated soon.  prepare yourselves for  “Punk:  A Man Called Raymondi”, “Eurovision:  ABeeBA” and other stuff that I haven’t thought of yet.

Honky Tonk settled down into a life of servitude, groaning and walking like he was wearing callipers (d’you remember them?  Yeah…I had a pair as well…what did we look like) and his master, Doctor Frankenstein, looked after him like he was one of his own.

Doctor Frankenstein, it has to be said, was not the Doctor Frankenstein we all know and love.  He was a completely different Doctor Frankenstein.  Born in Charlton to Stanley and Doris Frankenstein of 19 Fletching Road, he was a leading name in the field of DNA cloning technology.

Photo:  Doctor Bert Frankenstein, aged 47.

A lifelong Bees fan, he was absolutely determined that Greenwich Bees would again one day walk the Earth!

He was ridiculed by many in the dental community, taunted by local llamas  and shunned by social workers who said he wasn’t fit to bring up one of the undead.   Friends deserted him like ants deserting a sinking jam sandwich and he looked to hide away from the daily abuse from passers-by.

He bought Charlton House and Charlton Park, in a Buy-One-Piece-Of-Charlton-Get-Another-Absolutely-Free deal that a local scottish estate agent was  running, built a world class laboratory in the basement and set about fulfilling his dream of a new, improved Greenwich Bees.

Photo:  Charlton House.

Doctor Frankenstein managed to obtain samples of all the Greenwich Bees players DNA from toenail clippings, which he bought from Black Jonathon who had inherited them as the only survivor of the accident.  Jonathon used the money to buy an off-licence, drank the place dry and fell asleep in the National Maritime Museum.

Months passed and the park and house grew eerily silent.  Many locals wondered if the Doctor had died or moved away in the middle of the night or something.  In fact the Doctor had managed to clone the Bees by injecting the players DNA into llama embryos.  Obviously there’s more to it than that, but what do I know about genetics?

Anyway, the upshot of all this scientific stuff was that he managed to recreate the entire Greenwich Bees squad!!

Incredible scenes!!

He released the Bees into Charlton Park, where he could observe them playing football in their natural habitat and where they could learn to fend for themselves as nature had intended.  As time passed, the Bees grew bigger and stronger.  They learned to hunt for their own food, mainly Spam and Fray Bentos Pies.  They slept during the days in the trees and at nights would come out to play football on the floodlit pitch.  Sometimes the Doctor would referee the games and it seemed that they regarded him as their own father.  He called them by their own names, taught them to swear properly and, most importantly, showed them that being gay didn’t matter.

Photo:  The young Greenwich Bees first team.  Note the change of strip.  This strip was bought by the Doctor who believed that stripes were the work of the devil.

Back Row Left to Right:  Doctor Frankenstein, Raymondi, Little Paul, Brummie Dave, Cockney Ben, Americandy, Jose, Smudger :  Front Row Left to Right:  Geordie Joe, Barrieluv, Katanya, Candy, Scottish James, Guv’nor Matt, Stella Barry.

Now, as this was all going on, Honky Tonk was kept in the house, cleaning, knitting and cooking for the Doctor and his new family of Bees.  He would sometimes stand at the window, watching the Bees play, tears in his brought-back-from-the-dead eyes.  And he grew resentful of the Doctor’s new family and vengeance played upon his not-quite-dead-nor-alive brain.

At around the same time, the players natural instincts for having a beer began to kick in and through some kind of strange memory-coming-back-by-unknown-forces, the Bees started to attempt to break out of the park.  The Doctor had the fences strengthened and, after much arguing with the H&S representative from Greenwich Council, it was also electrified.

Then, one rainy evening, during a particularly heated game, Doctor Frankenstein accidentally trod on Raymondi’s foot.  Raymondi reared up on his hind legs and made a grab for the Doctor, but the Doctor was too quick and he ran off into the jungle.  Raymondi gave chase and cornered the Doctor in the public toilets.  The Doctor’s body was never recovered.

The rest of the Bees broke into the house and smashed up the laboratory.  Then they all sat down and had dinner while they waited for Raymondi’s return.  They discussed what should be done with Honky Tonk.   It was agreed that the Not-Quite-Dead Honky Tonk should be set free, after all, they had their own Honky Tonk (the Doctor had cloned him as well, which was very convenient) and the new Not-Dead-Properly-Alive Honky Tonk would be a much better player.  They switched off the electric fence, flung open the gates of the park and the undead Honky Tonk ran to freedom.  Unfortunately, freedom came in the shape of a speeding number 53 bus and Honky Tonk was killed (again).

Raymondi returned and the Bees wandered out into the big, wide world and kept wandering until they decided it was too cold to wander and called a cab.

Next stop, 174 Greenwich High Street.

The Bees were back!!

Photo:  174 Greenwich High Street, home of Greenwich Bees.

Although they were languishing at the bottom of The Sue Ryder League For The Blind, The Bees were still very popular.  In Yugoslavia, they had a huge cult following and the Bees were constantly being asked to play in money spinning exhibition matches there.

The journey by horse and carriage was a long old trek and this caused much fatigue in the squad, causing them to struggle in the league.  Well, struggle more.  Anyway, this led to the decision to buy a private jet and Katanya and Barrieluv marched off down to Brummie Dave’s Secondhand Mattress, Spoon & Luxury Jet Emporium in Woolwich.  They eventually found one that had wings and after much stamping on Brummie Dave’s feet, a deal was reached where, in exchange for a fifty percent discount, Brummie Dave was given the coveted (not) goalkeeper’s position with the Bees.

On the seventh of July 1970, they took off from Biggin Hill airport, bound for Yugoslavia and a game against, er, a Yugoslavian team.  Yes.

Unfortunately, the pilot for that maiden trip was Black Jonathon and shortly after take-off, somewhere over the English Channel, he drank all the aviation fuel and fell asleep at the controls.

The plane and the squad were never seen or heard from again.

A day of national mourning was announced and every member of the squad was given a state funeral.  Which was nice.

Photo:  Black Jonathon’s extended family turned out for the funeral.  They all got drunk at the wake and fell asleep under a stall in Greenwich Market.

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Photo:  Due to Raymondi’s large gay following, it was requested that his coffin be escorted by the cast of The Wizard Of Oz - The Musical!,  dressed as sailors.

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Photo:  Katanya’s Funeral was a rather private affair.

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Photo:  A miserable, victorian style funeral was felt most appropriate for Barrieluv.

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Photo:  Americandy’s younger fans were worst affected.  The boy closest to the camera went on to assassinate John Lennon, believing him to be a zombie version of Americandy.

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Photo:  Geordie Joe was buried under the centre circle at St. James’s Park in front of a sell-out crowd.

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Photo:  Honky Tonk was to be buried in a giant, gold pyramid which was constructed using the money he had made from selling pegs.  Sadly, local peasants stole his mummified corpse and sold it to a local doctor.   A Doctor Frankenstein, no less…

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Photo:  Brummie Dave never played a game for the Bees.  Consequently, his grave was  simple and his funeral attended by two mice, a hedgehog and a passing earthworm.

Funny thing was, on the day of the funerals, Black Jonathon turned up alive and well, in Vietnam, asleep in the payload bay of a B-52 bomber.

And the next day, a kilt was found washed up on the beach at Folkestone.

London.  The sixties.  Home of cool.

And home of The Bees.  Newly promoted to the First Division in 1963, The Bees were the darlings of English football.

Photo:  Greenwich Bees, Division Two Runners-Up 1962-1963 with the Division Two trophy, stolen from Deptford Hornets.

Liverpool had The Beatles, America had Kennedy and London had The Greenwich Bees, the hippest, grooviest, most swingingest cats in town.  And none more swinginger than the American centre back who joined the side during the Second World War, American Andy.

Or, Americandy,  as he was now better known.  He almost single handedly turned round the fortunes of The Bees, both on and off the field.  His raw talent for writing disco music, before it was invented, somehow helped The Bees to rise from the Rupert Bear League Division Three to the dizzying heights of the FA League Division One

Americandy was also the face of Katanya’s Pussy, the most exclusive fashion boutique in Greenwich Market, a joint venture between Katanya and the once gay hairdresser-turned-designer, Raymond.

In what was the world’s first team shirt sponsorship deal, Katanya’s Pussy appeared on the front of the Greenwich Bees team shirt.  After famously getting Americandy to model their range of psychedelic callipers, Katanya’s Pussy became a British fashion icon and could be seen on all the top catwalks.

Suddenly, callipers were everywhere as more and more celebrities, pop stars and sports stars of the day became regulars at Katanya’s Pussy.

When Elvis secretly visited London in 1964, Danny Kaye recommended that he pay a visit and in the dead of night,  Katanya’s Pussy opened up for The King.  He liked what he saw and bought a pair of rhinestone studded callipers in the hope that as well as looking good, they may go some way to curing his famous wobbly leg.

Arguments raged between Polio sufferers (Polioids), people who wore callipers exclusively as a fashion statement (Non-Polioids) and those who flew to Polio clinics in India to be injected with the Polio virus (Nu-Polioids).  Doctors appeared on the BBC to denounce the trend, Christine Keeler wore a sheer black pair on her first night with John Profumo and questions were raised in Parliament as to whether or not the Prime Minister should get some far out callipers in an attempt to get in touch with Britain’s youth.

The calliper swagger became a familiar sight on the nation’s streets and at the head of the crowd was that man, Americandy.

Greenwich Bees became one of the richest clubs in the world, thanks to the huge number of  replica shirts sold through the club store and on the sixties internet.  Their financial success enabled them to tear down the old post-war plasticine stadium and replace it with the film set of Spartacus.  The Krays became regular vsitors, adding a touch of east end underworld glamour, until that fateful day when Ronnie and Reggie gunned down Jack ‘The Biscuit’ in the Morden Arms pub.  It was also rumoured that Ray Davies out of The Kinks attended most home games and wrote probably his most famous song, Waterloo Sunset, during one half time interval as he sat in the stands.

But Katanya and Raymond’s insistence on Greenwich Bees wearing callipers during games, greatly impeded their ability to play and no amount of on-pitch style could stop Greenwich Bees slipping down the divisions.  By 1969, they were playing in the Sue Ryder League For The Blind and still losing.

Callipers fell out of style when, at Woodstock, Jimi Hendrix wore a minimalist, non-stick cookware kilt produced by the reclusive film maker and Deptford Hornet’s owner, Scottish Nick, and on September 11th 1969, Katanya’s Pussy closed up for good.

The Bees, like the sixties and Sharon Tate, were dead.

The outbreak of The Second World War forced the suspension of the football league and the team marched off to fight the Germans for a second time.

The war started badly for The Bees.

They met up at The Market pub in Greenwich, and went to make their way to Dover to meet the rest of the army. Unfortunately, Smudger had forgotten his passport and went home to get it. This meant that The Bees missed their ferry to France, had to wait for the next one and the army had to wait at Dunkirk for them.

The next available places for the team were on the overnight boat. The team duly boarded and made their way to the cabaret bar. Many of the team were worried that this may be the last time they would ever see their beloved team mates, so much drinking and stepping on feet took place.

The next morning, with a thick fog enveloping the ship, they landed.

At Calais.

Raymond sent a message to the army, apologising and explaining that it wasn’t his fault, that it was because the destination boards were difficult to read and that The Bees would be in Dunkirk soon. Well, they’d get the next bus. Which was four days later.

Arriving at Dunkirk, The Bees wondered where everyone had gone. It was deserted. And so they left the beach, hoping to find the rest of the army at a nearby amusement park, in an arcade or on the crazy golf course.

But, Bees being Bees, they wandered into a local village pub and as they drank, a man in a kilt alerted the German army and The Bees were swiftly captured.

They were taken to a POW camp near Bruges, where an American bloke called Andy, who had been captured during a raid on a karaoke bar, ingeniously devised a plan for The Bees to escape by tunneling out during a football match against the Germans.

But he would only do it on the condition that they would take him with them. The Bees were overjoyed, mainly because they needed a replacement for Black Jonathon who had drunk all the boot polish and fallen asleep in the English Channel, but also because they didn’t like doing nude gymnastics.

Photo: The Greenwich Bees lineup shortly before kick-off

Players back row left to right:  Barrieluv, Blowtorch Scott, Brummie Dave, American Andy, Honky Tonk,  Geordie Joe.

Players front row left to right: Candy, Katanya, Chip, Stella Barry (suited), Smudger, Jose.

The game was arranged, a stadium erected, a tunnel was dug, disguises created and dummies that looked like The Bees were made from locally caught wildlife.

The match started well for The Bees and after some good pressure, a free kick was awarded some 25 yards outside the German box.

Geordie Joe stepped up and let fly an absolute screamer, leaving the German ‘keeper stranded. One-Nil to The Bees!

Incredible scenes!!

It was all a bit short lived when, from the restart, the Germans attacked the Bees’ goal and equalized from the resulting corner.

And then, just two minutes before the break, the Germans went ahead through a stunning shot from the edge of the area. Two-One to the Germans.

At half time The Bees got into the tunnel and made good their escape while the game carried on with the Germans unknowingly playing against the dummies.

It wasn’t until the end of the game, when players tried to swap shirts, that the escape was discovered. But by that time, The Bees were in the captain’s bar aboard the Pride Of Kent ferry and on their way home to England.

All except one.

Raymond was shot at a train station after accidentally stepping on the foot of a German officer.

The Germans, incidentally, lost the game 4-2.

After The Great War, Greenwich Bees settled down into a pattern of losing regularly and they slid into the relative obscurity of Division Two of the Northern League.  The Great Depression of the thirties meant that all of the players lost their jobs as launderette attendants and many of them became took work polishing weasels for the rich.  The work was hard and many of the players developed Weaselitis, a disease that causes thick hair to grow on the eyeballs.  Fortunately, for The Bees, this led to a very curious business venture.

One squad member, Honky Tonk, had trained as a hairdresser in his younger days at Harrow School For Upper Class Twits.  The Bees pooled their savings, robbed the Deptford Hornet’s ticket office and set up the world’s first and last eyeball hair salon.  The rich and famous flocked to the salon, called Hair Eye Am, and high society eye hair sufferers were soon sporting outlandish styles and colours.

After a while they expanded, opening another salon in Woolwich which was managed by Raymond Chipps.  Raymond changed his name to Raymonda to suit his new gay, eyeball hair styling lifestyle.  Unfortunately, the salon was a huge flop due to Raymonda’s inability to style eyeball hair without stepping on the customer’s feet.

The cash rolled in and The Bees were able to rebuild their stadium, The Hive, which had fallen into disrepair and been fire bombed by an unknown assailant.

An assailant wearing a kilt…

Photo: A photo of an artists impression of a photograph of the mysterious kilted bomber.

The outbreak of war in 1914 saw the entire squad, cleaners, washing line managers, monkey butlers, Cecil the llama and the boardroom staff head off to France to fight the Germans. 

On the first Christmas Eve of the war, The Bees’ poet laureate, Black Jonathon, climbed out of the trenches and made his way into no man’s land to challenge the Germans to a football match.  Unfortunately, he had drunk all the nail polish remover and after getting lost in the fog and spending twenty minutes talking to a lamp post about the Falklands, he fell asleep in a shell crater. 

The Bees, however, found some Germans to have a match against.  A makeshift stadium was hastily built from mud and timber.  Tickets were well priced at 1d for standing with a washing line up to £5 for a corporate box with monkey butlers. 

It was a hard fought game which saw many feet stamped on, a lot of incomprehensible shouting from the youngest recruit, Geordie Joe, and lashings of ginger beer at half time.  

The Germans were skillful and organised, quick on the break and had moustaches.  They scored two excellent goals, courtesy of their striker, Herr Kreme, and went into the half-time break two-nil up.

The Bees came out fighting in the second half and when they finished, the game continued.  The Bees made good progress from the start and two goals in the first five minutes from Stella Barry put the Bees level.  A 74th minute goal from Raymond Chipps put the Bees ahead and despite a heavy German push for an equalizer, a goal from Katherine Hurley in the first minute of added time saw the Bees record their first ever win.

The team and staff made it through the war, with the exception of Raymond. He was killed by a German who took exception to having his foot stamped on.

His son, Raymond Chipps Mk2 took over the the management position but it would be nearly thirty years until they recorded their next win.

Photo: Greenwich Bees circa 1914.  The trophy was stolen from a rival team, Deptford Hornets.

To be continued…

EXCLUSIVE!!  At last, the true story behind Greenwich Bees FC is revealed. In part one of our exclusive story, learn how the team came about, what happened to the original home of Greenwich Bees and the truth behind the death of Katherine Hurley.

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Here’s something for the non-believers!  Scans of the original documents, drawn up by Chip and Katanya on that long night on a sheepskin rug in front of a roaring log fire drinking Super Tennents and consuming large amounts of, erm, stimulants.

To be continued…

So, the Greenwich Bees sort of came into existence in 2003 when life at the Funnel And Firkin pub in Greenwich, London was, to say the least, a bit dull.

Help was at hand in the form of two of our regulars Chip and Motorbike Kate.  Working long into the night and using a variety of stimulants, they drew up plans for a football team and named it Greenwich Bees.

The document came into my possession by means of Scottish Nick, a llama with a passion for Jack Daniels and owner of the much hated Deptford Hornets, who agreed to hand it over to me in return for a packet of bourbon biscuits.  Silly llama.

I agreed to meet with Chip and Katanya (Motorbike Kate’s real name) and, after much stamping on each other’s feet, I handed the document over to them.

It was agreed that we would have a three way ping pong tournament.  Then we realised we didn’t like ping pong much and decided to launch the football club, Greenwich Bees.  Scottish Nick and his Deptford Hornets weren’t going to have it all there own way any longer…

To be continued…