We were on a 10 mile walk today, not far from Glastonbury, which included several small Somerset villages. It was a magnificent day and we walked along beautiful riverbanks, past rustic old farmsteads and through ancient cider orchards. At the end of the walk we chanced upon a village pub in a little place called Barton St David which made you wonder if time had stood still. It was magical but quite sad because it reminded us of what we've thrown away. Just like football, pubs have been destroyed by improvements. I'd forgotten just how much we've lost until we walked in there today. Just a basic village pub without plastic menus, no deals on daft shots and no happy hour ... ... the locals are happy in their ignorance and we were jealous.
They're still out there, proper pubs. Just check out the CAMRA pub of the year for the last few years.
Well yeah, I'm not saying this is the last authentic village pub in Britain, just that they're increasingly rare. As we travel around the country we see endless village pubs 'aluminiumed up' which takes the heart out of the village. The British pub was always a big part of our culture and they're slipping away. Little can be done but it's a real shame.
A couple of years ago we were in South Devon and stopped at this lovely village pub, I was driving and it Was a hot day, it was an Otter brewery pub and I had a pint of their best and was impressed by the Otter design on the glass and I asked if I could buy one as I like to collect pint glasses, the barman gave me one and asked only to put a small donation in the charity box on the bar which I duly put a fiver into it as we left. Out in the car park the barman came over to us and handed me a half pint glass with the Same Otter design saying I'd put too much in the charity box. I thought that was such a nice gesture and seemed to typify the welcome we got in all these little pubs wherever we went in Devon. Just saying......
One of the best pubs I ever visited was in Inverary in bonny Scotland. Sunday morning and I asked the landlord "what time do you open"? About 12 he said. What time do you close? He said "about the end of October". If I'm not here dodge behind the bar, pull ya pint and leave ya money side the till. Class to be trusted like that but brill answer from the landlord.
Brilliant that Gil. Reminds me of a real Provencal hillbilly bar me and my sons used to go to. We drove past one night and there were loads of toothless shepherds and straggly haired blokes on scrambler style bikes held together with baling twine. We turned the car round and sat outside on a bench made of an old tractor tyre. Someone came out and we asked for three beers and this carried on until midnight. He walked his hunting dogs then went off to bed. One of the locals said to just leave what we thought was right. This carried on for years and we'd pop in if we ever passed that way. Me and our lass were near when we drove down to Italy, this year, so I thought I'd show her this mystical bar. We pulled up, sat down and the owner shuffled out. I asked for a couple of beers and he literally laughed his head off. "Ah yes I remember you, used to come with your sons. Well you can have two beers on the house but I'm afraid this'll be the last time." "Why is the bar closing?" "Not as such, it was never a bar. The other people were just mates I go hunting with, we always wondered who the hell you were!"
Good story Gil Reminds me of 1989 in Crete I found this pool with an honesty bar Just help yourself from the fridge then replace from the crate next to the fridge Two weeks later there was a big jar next to the fridge full of drachmas Honest tourist aswell
One of my all time favourites, last visited 1950's, but what a pub, tiny, cosy, friendly, stained glass, Toby Jugs, polished wood,, fresh flowers pewter mugs and shove halfpenny in the back bar, magical place. Anybody visited Birch Hall Inn, Beck Hole, another Gem.
I used to go practically every Saturday and Sunday, late 50's early 60's, all day in Durham, ending up at the Ice Rink, leaving on the last bus for Sunderland, well soaked, truly blue remembered hills. .
Yeh I never did the ice rink but a few of my mates made friends there I lived next door to Paul Smith the son of The so called icey smith who ran the place he played hockey
Never got to that level, but remember the family well, there was a great atmosphere in the place, the locals were friendly, the music was great and the pubs from the bus Station down through the Market Square area were well worth a visit, but the afternoons in the Shakespeare were a treat, nice to know it still delivers.
We've just done a nine mile walk around a place in deepest Somerset called Compton Martin and found a pub called the Plume of Feathers at Rickford ... it's like a 17th Century film set with added yokels. Seriously there are people coming in straight off the fields with straw in the hair. If you're ever down this way don't miss it.
Just arrived in Fort Augustus, at the floor of Loch Ness ... ... some decent pubs with loads of local beers. I'll be conducting research over the next few days and reporting back.
Quite a while ago now but we went into a bar at Loch Ness where women werent allowed on Sundays. Ah bless. Had to tell our lass n her mate to go and look for the monster for a couple of hours.
