God Save the Queen and A Very British Village Pub
About Norman RampartI am an Englishman, originally from a small village in Lancashire where everyone looks the same - even, slightly worryingly, the sheep. I have been residing reluctantly in the general area of London for 38 years. I came here for three weeks, ran out of money and couldn't afford the coach fare home. I believe that an Englishman's home is his castle. Even if it is only a small end of terrace pile of bricks.
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Britain has long believed itself to be famous for many things, but the ‘British Pub’ is often seen as synonymous with – er well – um – Britain?
It’s a local pub, using fresh ingredients from the surrounding area and drinks from Lincolnshire breweries.
Real Ale and Tudor beams in the ceiling. A warm fire and local ale brewed ten yards down the road by ‘old Barney’ who knows more about brewing beer than John Willie Lees or Carling or Stella Artois or Budweiser would ever know if they existed for another million years.
The pub is a place of sanctuary against the British summer with it’s rain and storms and football hooligans.
The British pub is a place to retire from a nagging wife to enjoy the camaraderie of like minded souls. A place to sit by the open fire, warm the cockles of your heart and set the world to rights.
A place of warm sanctuary from all of life’s ills. The British pub. Warm and welcoming. A place to rest your weary legs and/or head. A place to sample the fine ales of Britain or even – if you are a heathen – the not altogether fine ales of foreign fields.
Nirvana.
Oh dear.
There are any number of unique establishments. For example, ‘The Woolpack’ is occupied by Asians and Eastern European strippers. Some are very attractive I hasten to add – that’s the strippers not the Asians – although I’ve only been in there accidentally – honest. There is this little petite girl – I think I will shut up now.
Then there’s ‘The Crane’ which has a sign outside stating : “Customers welcome at any time. Full training will be given free of charge”
The once mighty ‘Ram’ is now a block of flats. ‘The Dog and Partridge’ sort of fell down. I’m not aware that we had an earthquake but I am a heavy sleeper so I think it was mainly due to nobody having the money to maintain it. As a result it gave up, breathed a last sigh, and keeled over – not unlike the last drunk to leave by its front door.
‘The Warren’ is now a Tesco Express. ‘The Kings Head’ is now a Tesco Express.
The ‘British pub’ is dyingm they say, but some carry on the fight!!!!
“We will not die, we will prevail, we will not go under without a fight!
“We will persevere, we will continue, we will not vanish into the night!” – Am I a poet and I didn’t know it?
‘The Five Bells,’ in Harmondsworth village, is a case in point. The local community is always there and that’s the real point isn’t it?
A village pub is a centre of the village community. Alright there’s a church too but you can’t get a decent ale there so it doesn’t really count. I somehow can’t envisage a church with ‘optics’ on the wall. “Evenin’ Vicar, I’ll have a large vodka and lemonade please” - if such existed I may get religion into my soul! The center of British village life is, and has always been, the village pub.
I, and so many others, would and will put our lives on the line to ensure the Five Bells continues to survive. Well, as I don’t actually live in Harmondsworth they can put their lives on the line and I can cheer them on at a safe distance which sounds a far better deal to me.
In my hometown of Oldham in Lancashire, Northern England, a pub closed down and was taken over by local Muslims. It is now called ‘The Halal Inn’ and is entirely alcohol free. I didn’t make this up.
Somewhere in the back of what passes for my mind I recall a comedy song of yesteryear called ‘The Pub With No Beer’. I think it was by someone called Slim Dusty or something.
It has come to pass.
‘The Halal Inn’ – a pub with no beer.
That I should live to see such a day.
God Bless The Queen and CAMRA (The Campaign For Real Ale) – actually most of them are mad but I quite like them
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John Bull
March 21, 2013 at 12:48 pm
I don’t know what I’d do without our pub. We’ve local colour and the best beer anywhere. Pubs in England aren’t going anywhere. They are part of our culture.
Norman Rampart
March 21, 2013 at 7:01 pm
They are indeed Mr B, but a worrying number are going to the wall and re-emerging as Tesco Express.
Are we saying our culture is under threat in certain areas of England?
Let’s face it, you get more culture in a yoghurt than a Tesco Express
Chelsea Pickering
March 21, 2013 at 1:23 pm
Our pubs are much friendlier and far classier than most American taverns. They’re run smart as well. No shenanigans in the pub or you’re out and never can you come back.
Norman Rampart
March 21, 2013 at 7:02 pm
No shenanigans? Oh dear – I’ve never been there and I’m barred
Jess
March 21, 2013 at 7:25 pm
We have an Irish pub we go to in San Francisco, that says it’s like an English pub. I may have to do a vacation to the whole of Britain to make certain of this with my friends and ok, I’ll bring hubby along
Norman Rampart
March 21, 2013 at 8:41 pm
An Irish English Pub? Now there’s a novelty
Carol Maietta views
March 21, 2013 at 7:27 pm
Makes me long for an authentic Irish pub….lots of foul smells and that doesn’t even take into consideration the men
Norman Rampart
March 21, 2013 at 8:48 pm
I once went into a pub in Dun Laoghaire at 9 am in the morning with 2 pals. We fell out of it at about 2 am the following morning.
My pals and I were sharing a room. 3 of us.
We had drunk Guinness from 9 until 2 am.
The description of the smell in our room when we awoke is not one I can begin to describe without almost throwing up at the memory.
…But WHAT A NIGHT!!!
Carol Maietta views
March 21, 2013 at 9:52 pm
And that’s what I’m talking about! BTW, I love a good thick Guiness!