Forestville Video/Old English Fish ‘N’ Chips – Forestville, NSW
The dead and buried past regularly finds itself betrayed by even the most unassuming Judas. In the case of Forestville Video at #14 The Centre (don’t miss out, book ahead on 451 3040), the footfalls in the crypt belong to oversized clown shoes.
Krusty’s Fun House, a puzzle game for Sega’s Master System featuring characters from The Simpsons, was an ideal rental upon release in 1992. Tough enough to challenge you over a rainy weekend (or a week at best), but not a keeper. The Flying Edge title found an appropriate home at Forestville Video.
And there, it also found a family. Forestville Video appears to have been “The Centre” of all things Master System, with titles galore to satisfy the weekend cravings of Forestvillians.
And like dandelion seeds borne on the wind, Forestville Video’s Master System library has made its way out into the wider world. Even a cursory glance managed to find them as far as Modbury, Reservoir and even Hobart.
But them’s the spores; what about the source?
On the fringe of the Northern Beaches, Forestville is often overshadowed by its neighbour, Frenchs Forest. But it has its own virtues: plenty of trees, a distinct lack of Tony Abbott these days, and this bustling shopping centre. But it’s not just any centre. This is THE Centre.
The very same! Today, Centurions come here for cakes, cafes and Coles. It’s been a very long time since anyone turned to The Centre with a week of Master System on their mind. Until I rocked up, anyway.
Here’s that core, that heart of Sega goodness as it existed for years. In Australia, the Master System was a viable concern between about 1987 and 1994-ish, so it’s safe to assume that by the time the above photo accompanied this slobbering review in 2011, the games were long gone.
Should I look on things positively purely because of their nostalgia? Because that’s how I feel about Forestville Video.
And so begins Sally R’s breathless account of a dying king’s final days (with a Top Video crown, no less). She goes on to say that although the owner is a lovely old man, the shop itself was looking rather tired. Maybe Krusty and Golvellius were still there after all?
Forestville Video is located in Forestville’s creatively-titled “The Centre”, and looks as though it’s been there for the past thirty years. A small and sometimes dusty store, Forestville Video is truly the stuff of childhoods for us 90’s kids. It has all the ingredients of what made a great night for 1996; copious amounts of lollies and softdrinks, new releases on video and a fairly negotiable late fee policy.
None of that today.
Replaced by a modern milk bar, any “’90s kids” looking for jollies best jog on should they find themselves at The Centre. The toy shop, Kids Paradise, is full of strange ersatz Lego kits seemingly generated by AI; the corpse of the TAB has been coopted by a tax agent; and the pizza option is Dominos. More like the centre of hell…
Anyway, how do I know that Old English is Forestville Video? After all, it’s not like FV was the ‘ville’s only video option back in Sally R’s heyday:
That’s right. Video Ezy, one of the industry’s giants, came to play in Forestville. Shop 25 (today a pharmacy) is located opposite Shop 14, making this into one of the more interesting video shop head to heads of the era. Forestville Video ultimately prevailed, with Video Ezy content to shrivel into one of those vending machines and relocate to nearby Forestway Shopping Centre. A TKO, I think that’s known in industry parlance.
No, the evidence you crave can be found stamped right on Old English’s dirty brick posterior. Let’s away!
It’s seen much better days, but this sign tells us more about the colourful history of The Centre than even Sally R’s faded memories. Tear your eyes away from that bathroom and take a closer look.
Old as it looks, this sign is actually younger than the Master System games found strewn across the used gamiverse. The phone number (book ahead, seriously!) is preceded by a nine, a post-1994 development. Find a Sony PlayStation game with the Forestville Video branding and it’s likely to corroborate.
Also of note: Forestville Video was your headquarters for tennis court bookings. The court still exists, found nearby at Melwood Sports Complex, but the combination of sport and the ultimate prone pastime seems like an uneasy alliance. Maybe it was a role the lovely old man took on out of guilt for all the guts he was responsible for.
Less surprising is the reference to the TAB, which was a couple of doors north of Forestville Video. The final iteration of Forestville TAB was much smaller than the “next to” direction suggests, but as you can see in the photo of Old English, vintage TAB livery can be seen right beside it. It’s likely the TAB downsized as the area’s clubs cut its deplorable lunch. Also, the acronym doesn’t usually feature the periods, so methinks this is just a bit of free advertising on behalf of a lovely old man who may have been a patron.
Old video games are a goldmine of reminders of a world the Sally R in all of us pines for, a world when happiness cost $3 weekly and the game was only ever really over when the fine was due. Next time you pick up an ex-rental game, take a closer look and see where it takes you.
C’s Flash Back Second Hand Clothing/City Convenience – Newtown, NSW
What’s this? A second hand clothing store in Newtown that’s no longer in operation?! How could this be?!
I’m sure C didn’t see the convenience in this situation. Nor did the council when it was forced to take a bite out of the awning to get that pole in. It’s not a good look, but neither were most of the fashions C had up for sale. Let’s please leave flares in the past.
Please.
C actually fills in the historic blanks him/her/itself on the C’s Flash Back website: “C’s flashback began as a humble stall at Glebe Markets selling antique collectables 20 years ago.”
Here’s where the timeline gets a little muddy: “Within 2 years they had expanded to a brick and mortar store in Newtown and later in Surry Hills.”
So this sign has been here for 18 years? There’s no mention of when the Newtown location closed; in fact, the website speaks as if it’s still operating: “With quality low-cost exotic clothing in the heart of Newtown, the King Street store provides many of the costume pieces for fancy-dress uni-parties throughout the year.”
You don’t say.
It’s also noted that C’s love of dressing people in outdated styles continues to have outlets at Surry Hills, Paddington and Glebe Markets.
Thank goodness Glebe still has a place to buy second hand clothing.
Old Book & Comic Emporium/First Choice Family Lawyers – Beverly Hills, NSW
We specialize in selling American, British and Australian Comics and Pocket Libraries, Story Papers, Science Fiction/Fantasy Books and Pulp Magazines, First Edition and Out of Print Books, Vintage Paperbacks, Vintage Magazines, Records, Children’s Books
“Tell me this,” says Tony as he reclines in a chair that’s more like a throne. Fittingly, he’s surrounded by plastic subjects that dedicate all five points of articulation to the whims of their king. Tony is the proprietor of the Old Book & Comic Emporium in Beverly Hills, which specialises in books, toys…and comics.
“In the first one, you had Lex Luthor running a real estate scheme. In this new one, you’ve got Lex Luthor running a real estate scheme. You’re telling me that there wasn’t another plot they could have used from the nearly 70 years’ worth of stories?” He snorts as he dismissively turns the page of the newspaper he’s absently reading. “For that reason alone, I’m not going to bother.”
On the subject of dodgy Superman movies he is, of course, completely right. And he should know; he must have well over a third of those stories in his collection.
At the counter, familiar faces from decades of pop culture stare back. On the far wall, Freddy Krueger dares you to go to sleep. The Joker laughs eternally from behind Tony’s desk, while perched atop his cash register (no EFTPOS) is the withered visage of Emperor Palpatine. They feel as much a part of the place as gruff old Tony. He’s made this shop his own.
I first became aware of Tony’s Old Book & Comic Emporium in about 1999, when I was on a serious nostalgia trip. It’s a familiar story: disposable income, an age that’s at once responsible and irresponsible, a firm grip on the past and a tenuous one on the present. In the shop window was a factory sealed box of Topps trading cards (with gum) from 1989’s Batman, a movie I’d originally seen just down the road. I’d never gotten the whole set as a kid, so I had to have them.
But the cards were the gateway drug. Once inside, I marvelled at just how many blasts from my past the owner had accrued. Monsters in My Pocket. Fangoria. The Inspector Gadget doll with the telescoping Go-Go-Gadget neck. Among these, the past-blaster was set to stun: Hardy Boys books. Monkees lunchboxes. Old Playboys below a sign marked ‘Adults ONLY’. Nice try, Tony.
During the short time I lived in the area, I became a regular. I’d hang out in the shop on Saturday afternoons shooting the shit with Tony about movies, his new arrivals and our favourite topic, the past. Never the future. Tony liked my writing style, and one afternoon wrote down the contact details of the editor of a pulp sci-fi magazine called Andromeda Spaceways for which he thought my work would be a perfect fit. I didn’t see it myself, so I never followed it up.
Thinking back now, it’s gobsmacking to imagine a two-storey modern-age antiques shop in a suburb like Beverly Hills.
Fate must have noticed the oversight. Long after I’d moved away, I swung by one afternoon only to find the shop empty. All that remained was the sign on the side of the awning and the piece of paper with the Andromeda Spaceways details still sitting in my wallet.
If you’re reading this, Tony, I hope your bold and much appreciated experiment didn’t meet too painful an end. You added a bit of colour to an otherwise boring area, and no-one’s ever going to fill your shoes. I mean, I’m sure the world needed another family law centre (especially the long-awaited first choice), but I’m sorry: you ain’t no Tony.
Unlimited Discs/Nothing – Beverly Hills, NSW
Underneath the rust and soot of this building lies a dinosaur: a. it existed years and years ago, and could not exist today. b. it died out around the same time as its brethren in some kind of mass extinction. and c. there’s plenty of evidence left behind for us to use in piecing together what happened. Spoiler: the discs weren’t so unlimited after all.
Unlimited Discs, in north Beverly Hills, sold cool stuff – vinyl, CDs, comics – and I’d wager it was both first and second hand. I never went here BITD, but if I’d been able to, I would have. While all of the shop’s touted inventory have either become obsolete or are on their way out, back in the heyday, you could get any of them easily, be it from music shops like Brashs, or in the case of comics, your local newsagent. Things have changed, obviously. Shops like Unlimited Discs existed for people wanting to buy then-prohibitively expensive CDs on the cheap, or those enthusiasts who couldn’t get what they needed (back issues, rarities etc) from mainstream outlets like newsagents or record shops. Unfortunately, as the mainstream outlets dried up and the internet rose to prominence as a shopping medium, the Unlimited Discs of the world died out.
Not helping the situation of this particular record shop is its extremely close proximity to the Beverly Hills entrance/exit of the M5 Motorway, which opened in 1992 and would have impacted upon Unlimited Discs’ business. Suddenly, in their rush to hit the motorway (presumably to go to the ‘better’ record shops in the city) no one wanted to shop local anymore. Also a factor: the shopfront appears to have been set on fire at some point, which isn’t good even if you don’t stock a tonne of vinyl. We can’t know exactly what happened here (unless YOU do, in which case let me know) but we can get an approximate date as to when it happened. The shop looks as if it’s been abandoned for years, with this Visa sticker in the window providing insight into the time when business was good:
Good luck, team.
I’d love to be able to get inside Unlimited Discs and see what’s still in there. I imagine stacks of unsold stock lying around waiting to be rediscovered and introduced to the 21st century. I imagine someone living there with hundreds of stories to tell about the golden years, when the discs really did seem unlimited. I also imagine I’m completely wrong, but I can dream, can’t I?
Bonus: around the back of this shop is Moondani Lane. Some of the locals have had some fun with it (perhaps they got the record at UD):
Past/Lives of the Near Future 