Hello there,
I realise, as some of you may also, that I have written a number of posts about a triumvirate of Staffordshire boozers. Well, I say Staffordshire, only the Quiet Woman and Packhorse are in Derbyshire, just. Anyhoo, whilst I realise this may indicate repetition, I like to provide details of these trips which always, apart from last time, include the Royal Cottage. Mainly, if nothing else, because no other bloggers write about this pub.
On Saturday Wee Fatha picked me up and drove me through, and I quote him "unexpectedly busy" tea time traffic to Wee Keefy's. From here, we drove out via Rivelin to Bamford then up through Tideswell and Millers Dale over to join the A53, and down to Upper Hulme. We had booked in for food at Ye Olde Rock Inn, a 7 week early birthday celebration for me and a 3 week late one for WK.
There were three real ales on at Ye Old Rock, Bombardier, Wainwrights and Wincle Rambler. Two and a half pints of the latter were ordered and enjoyed. We sat on the right near the fire and enjoyed sizeable portions of food -WK had lamb chops, WF a mixed grill and myself a rare 12oz steak with chips, peas and veg. To be fair, the food was lovely. Not that we wanted to sit staring at the plates we had it on for 35 minutes afterwards. Me and WK had tp and one more pints, whilst WF managed to eke his half out.
Up the A53 next and thankfully we got to visit the Royal Cottage. There was a customer already in when we arrived, which was a surprise, and we asked Cliffe why he hadn't opened back in February - he couldn't remember, but it didn't matter. We were just glad he was OK. Alas, after Keith had asked, it turned out Jessie was not, she had been put down in December. It felt bad asking Cliffe because he was obviously still missing her.
We supped bottles of Newky brown, Old Speckled Hen and J20 for Fatha, and then more regulars arrived, including a guy we had seen at Ken's last year. We talked to the guy near us whilst he and the other bloke and Cliffe discussed local history. With the exception of the I'm alright Jack politics discussed by the others, this was a fascinating conversation to listen n on.
Being stuffed from the meal meant we drank slower, but me and WK had a bottle of Manns each then shared a bottle, whilst WF had another J20. Once more, this was a lovely visit to a pub which reminds, or at least suggests, how pubs used to be.
Arriving at Earl Sterndale at 22.59 the Quiet Woman seemed dark. Leaving the car to the chimes of the church bell, we found the pub closed. I know that bank holiday weekends are funny in terms of predicting numbers of customers, but this did seem a little strange.
Over to Hurdlow next and the Royal Oak was lit up and looked busy inside. However, on leaving the car and walking towards the pub the landlord told us he was now closed - although, when we asked, he did let us use the loos and recommended visiting our final stop.
Further up the road is Monyash and the Bulls Head. Four real ales to choose from, including Farmers Blonde, Hartington Bitter and Church End What the Fox Hat. WK had a pint of that and me the Hartington, with WF on a half of the same. In the end we stayed until gone 00.15 in the busy pub, listening in on the banter and chatting to a group from Woodhouse. The Bulls Head may not have the charm of the Quiet Woman or Royal Cottage but it opens late and serves a decent range of real ales.
So, not all 3 classic Staffordshire moorlands area pubs were tried. but this was once again a classic night out in excellent rural pubs. Will simply have to try again soon and get to see Ken.
Cheers!
Wee Beefy
Showing posts with label Bulls Head Monyash. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bulls Head Monyash. Show all posts
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Big lad goes for a walk.......
Hello, here are the details of some White Peak pubs and beer.
Now that its, erm, well winter still I suppose, me and Dave decided to go out for a walk and visit some new pubs, and a couple of old favourites. Luckily, despite three solid months of snow and rain, we picked a day when the sun shone and it felt warm and spring like to go for our yomp.
It’s perhaps diligent to point out that whilst a walk it may have been, the main traverse finished in the afternoon, allowing us to spread our net further. It still made me and Davefromtshop sweat and nearly pass out and so was no doubt good exercise.
We started by catching the latest version of non-integrated public transport, the TM Travel 218 to Bakewell - or Buxton, depending on what you read and who you know. We were going to Bakewell so didn't care, but Buxton bound travellers were less impressed, especially since about 3 buses leave for Buxton or Bakewell at the same time, so it’s crucial you know which to catch. Instead of having a PMT ( yes, that was their catchy name ) coach taking you from Sheffield to Hanley in Stoke straight-through, you now need to catch 3 buses, the first 2 of which almost certainly don't connect.
Anyhoo, I digress, we were in Bakewell on time and set about our walk, heading up to the school and then taking the left hand lane towards Conksbury and turning off to Over Haddon. We walked up a lane that becomes a surfaced track up to an estate near the school, the precipitous steep ascent reminding us that there was exercise ahead, and almost all the first part of it walking uphill.
Once at the school we followed the road and admired the views looking out across the valley and guessing where the path across Haddon fields might have come out. At our first turn in the road requiring a decision, inevitably got it a bit wrong, what with my defiant yet simultaneously stupid anti map crusade being in place. I mistook the road to Over Haddon on our right for an earlier one and carried on downhill expecting to find it.
Seeing time creeping on and knowing the road ( especially if you miss it ) was likely a spot further round, we set off across the fields looking ahead to spot the white of the Lathkil Hotel ahead. Several unlikely seeming sightings followed, and only when a larger path traversed the field in front of us did I look right - to see we were 20 minutes downhill from the Hotel and had gone too far.
Spirits undampend we headed up the path along the side of the dale and were at the Lathkil Hotel for 11.20, a bit later than planned. The Lathkil, as well as having been in the GBG for ever and won countless awards, has the sense to open for morning coffee at some early time, meaning the gar opens at 11.00. We strode into the bar which was drenched in white sunlight to find the fire lit (although we didn’t need it () and 4 real ales.
Me and Dave both had pints of Whim Hartington Bitter and sat down to admire the view and catch our breath. Within a short space of time we were requiring more beer and took the bar staff’s recommendation that we try the Whim Schnee Weiss, which was fantastic.
As we continued slaking and trying not to get too heavily involved in talking shop, the time came for a last one, and although I wanted to try the Storm Brewery Red Mist the wheat beer was too good so we had another pint of that. At this point my primitive limbic brain began to suggest that there was a bus about 13.00 so we should wait for that and go to another pub by bus, but we were determined to drag our considerable forms around on foot at least as far as Monyash.
This unplanned but not surprising long stop at The Lathkil meant I abandoned my careful plan to walk to Youlgreave then Monyash, and instead we opted to walk along the lane along the top of the dale and then follow a path along the side and into the dale into Monyash. We set off at good speed about 12.45 and reached Haddon Grove, where the path takes you dale-wards and the road goes to join the main drag into Monyash.
Following the path through the farm we arrived at the edge of Lathkil dale overlooking a side dale and the sheep track that lay ahead. We followed this precariously until we dropped down onto the head of the side dale, and decided that we should continue our precarious tiptoeing along the top side for a bit longer. Where the path seemed to diverge down into the dale itself it looked somewhat off putting so mindful of the time we headed up a path out of Lathkil, then over a hill and out onto the main road for the last 10 minutes into Monyash.
Dave predicted we would make it to the pub at 14.35, conveniently securing 25 mins for a pint before the bus. I can't let him gloat at how close we came so will instead point out that we arrived at 14.33, making him erm, miles out.
We ordered pints of Bradfield Blonde and Dave went to wash his face in the gents whilst I snapped some rare empty Bulls head photos.
At 15.00 we went outside and saw the bus - which is really a school service - waiting outside, so got on before being whisked away for a brief tour of White Park plateau villages, with a load of admirably well behaved bairns. Having deposited the last ones at Flagg the driver then finished his route and dropped us outside the Duke of York at Pomeroy.
This was a new pub to us both, no doubt passed an endless number of times, an isolated, large roadside Robbie’s house selling Unicorn Bitter. Despite our odd time of arrival there were a few people I, and the sight of someone having their food made us hungry. We knew we had a good hour here so made the most of our time by having a look round, taking pics outside and then ordering what was probably the nicest chip butty I have had in years.
The landlord was friendly and chatty throughout and although the Unicorn was a tad chilly it was in good nick and we ended up at time to leave without realising it. We caught the 42 into Buxton and sought out the Old hall hotel, a second new venue.
This is a large and very old building with stylish 1920's style polished wooden revolving doors at the entrance, and then a brief walk through corridors to the tiny bar at the back, where there are 2 real ales on, and you have to ring the bell for service. The main attraction was the promise of Buxton beer in Buxton, and we weren’t disappointed - the Buxton Spa was on. At £3.00 a pint it might have wanted to be a smidgen stronger and maybe a bit more adventurously flavoured, but the surroundings were nice, and by hotel standards it was a surprise to see two real ales on in what is probably not a renowned stop on the Town's drinking circuit.
After this we headed across the park ( scene of dreadful inebriated confusion in the past ) to another hotel - this time GBG regular Ramsays at the Buckingham Hotel. There were about 6 beers on and we had halves of Deverentino Medusa and Howard Town Ramsays ale. The Deverentino beer was bit limp and lacked flavour , it’s a brewery that seems to promise much but doesn't always deliver, which is a shame because the beer styles are very interesting.
The Howard Town had a bit more bite, and this whetted our appetites for 2 more halves, this time the weaker Howard Town Longdendale Light. Careful to finish with some light still remaining we headed up into the Market Square to check the bus times and found a 66 to Chesterfield in situ.
Naturally the diver was happy for me and Dave to stand half on and half off the bus for 5 minutes unravelling the possibilities of our route, but having learned that there was no longer a 67 to Chesterfield from Tideswell late on we opted to travel all the way to Chesterfield in search of more local beers.
We alighted at Brampton near Morro's and Dave used his somewhat eclectic directional ability to deliver us safe and sound to attractions including a dead end behind some garages, a housing estate, a patch of grass, and a path to some bungalows. Luckily we returned to the main road to find where he had been when he and his friend parked up to visit the Rose and Crown, before leading us up Victoria Street West and round the corner to our destination, 1 minutes walk from where we started.
Still, it was worth the tour, and we compensated with two pints of Impey Dark from Brampton brewery, the tap of which the pub is. So excellent was this beer that I had another whilst Dave tried a Tryst brewery bitter, before we had Brew Co Midnight Stout and then 2 final pints of Impey dark. The helpful bar staff secured us a taxi to the station and we were on the train with time to spare. Just in time on arriving back in Sheff to catch a bus rather than invest in a taxi and arrive home safe and sate and sloshed.
All in all our Oliver reed fitness diet comprised walking about 7 miles but maybe less, and drinking 12 pints, the very best of which by a mile was the Brampton Impey Dark.
It might not be a healthy walk but it was bloody enjoyable.
Wee Beefy.
Now that its, erm, well winter still I suppose, me and Dave decided to go out for a walk and visit some new pubs, and a couple of old favourites. Luckily, despite three solid months of snow and rain, we picked a day when the sun shone and it felt warm and spring like to go for our yomp.
It’s perhaps diligent to point out that whilst a walk it may have been, the main traverse finished in the afternoon, allowing us to spread our net further. It still made me and Davefromtshop sweat and nearly pass out and so was no doubt good exercise.
We started by catching the latest version of non-integrated public transport, the TM Travel 218 to Bakewell - or Buxton, depending on what you read and who you know. We were going to Bakewell so didn't care, but Buxton bound travellers were less impressed, especially since about 3 buses leave for Buxton or Bakewell at the same time, so it’s crucial you know which to catch. Instead of having a PMT ( yes, that was their catchy name ) coach taking you from Sheffield to Hanley in Stoke straight-through, you now need to catch 3 buses, the first 2 of which almost certainly don't connect.
Anyhoo, I digress, we were in Bakewell on time and set about our walk, heading up to the school and then taking the left hand lane towards Conksbury and turning off to Over Haddon. We walked up a lane that becomes a surfaced track up to an estate near the school, the precipitous steep ascent reminding us that there was exercise ahead, and almost all the first part of it walking uphill.
Once at the school we followed the road and admired the views looking out across the valley and guessing where the path across Haddon fields might have come out. At our first turn in the road requiring a decision, inevitably got it a bit wrong, what with my defiant yet simultaneously stupid anti map crusade being in place. I mistook the road to Over Haddon on our right for an earlier one and carried on downhill expecting to find it.
Seeing time creeping on and knowing the road ( especially if you miss it ) was likely a spot further round, we set off across the fields looking ahead to spot the white of the Lathkil Hotel ahead. Several unlikely seeming sightings followed, and only when a larger path traversed the field in front of us did I look right - to see we were 20 minutes downhill from the Hotel and had gone too far.
Spirits undampend we headed up the path along the side of the dale and were at the Lathkil Hotel for 11.20, a bit later than planned. The Lathkil, as well as having been in the GBG for ever and won countless awards, has the sense to open for morning coffee at some early time, meaning the gar opens at 11.00. We strode into the bar which was drenched in white sunlight to find the fire lit (although we didn’t need it () and 4 real ales.
Me and Dave both had pints of Whim Hartington Bitter and sat down to admire the view and catch our breath. Within a short space of time we were requiring more beer and took the bar staff’s recommendation that we try the Whim Schnee Weiss, which was fantastic.
As we continued slaking and trying not to get too heavily involved in talking shop, the time came for a last one, and although I wanted to try the Storm Brewery Red Mist the wheat beer was too good so we had another pint of that. At this point my primitive limbic brain began to suggest that there was a bus about 13.00 so we should wait for that and go to another pub by bus, but we were determined to drag our considerable forms around on foot at least as far as Monyash.
This unplanned but not surprising long stop at The Lathkil meant I abandoned my careful plan to walk to Youlgreave then Monyash, and instead we opted to walk along the lane along the top of the dale and then follow a path along the side and into the dale into Monyash. We set off at good speed about 12.45 and reached Haddon Grove, where the path takes you dale-wards and the road goes to join the main drag into Monyash.
Following the path through the farm we arrived at the edge of Lathkil dale overlooking a side dale and the sheep track that lay ahead. We followed this precariously until we dropped down onto the head of the side dale, and decided that we should continue our precarious tiptoeing along the top side for a bit longer. Where the path seemed to diverge down into the dale itself it looked somewhat off putting so mindful of the time we headed up a path out of Lathkil, then over a hill and out onto the main road for the last 10 minutes into Monyash.
Dave predicted we would make it to the pub at 14.35, conveniently securing 25 mins for a pint before the bus. I can't let him gloat at how close we came so will instead point out that we arrived at 14.33, making him erm, miles out.
We ordered pints of Bradfield Blonde and Dave went to wash his face in the gents whilst I snapped some rare empty Bulls head photos.
At 15.00 we went outside and saw the bus - which is really a school service - waiting outside, so got on before being whisked away for a brief tour of White Park plateau villages, with a load of admirably well behaved bairns. Having deposited the last ones at Flagg the driver then finished his route and dropped us outside the Duke of York at Pomeroy.
This was a new pub to us both, no doubt passed an endless number of times, an isolated, large roadside Robbie’s house selling Unicorn Bitter. Despite our odd time of arrival there were a few people I, and the sight of someone having their food made us hungry. We knew we had a good hour here so made the most of our time by having a look round, taking pics outside and then ordering what was probably the nicest chip butty I have had in years.
The landlord was friendly and chatty throughout and although the Unicorn was a tad chilly it was in good nick and we ended up at time to leave without realising it. We caught the 42 into Buxton and sought out the Old hall hotel, a second new venue.
This is a large and very old building with stylish 1920's style polished wooden revolving doors at the entrance, and then a brief walk through corridors to the tiny bar at the back, where there are 2 real ales on, and you have to ring the bell for service. The main attraction was the promise of Buxton beer in Buxton, and we weren’t disappointed - the Buxton Spa was on. At £3.00 a pint it might have wanted to be a smidgen stronger and maybe a bit more adventurously flavoured, but the surroundings were nice, and by hotel standards it was a surprise to see two real ales on in what is probably not a renowned stop on the Town's drinking circuit.
After this we headed across the park ( scene of dreadful inebriated confusion in the past ) to another hotel - this time GBG regular Ramsays at the Buckingham Hotel. There were about 6 beers on and we had halves of Deverentino Medusa and Howard Town Ramsays ale. The Deverentino beer was bit limp and lacked flavour , it’s a brewery that seems to promise much but doesn't always deliver, which is a shame because the beer styles are very interesting.
The Howard Town had a bit more bite, and this whetted our appetites for 2 more halves, this time the weaker Howard Town Longdendale Light. Careful to finish with some light still remaining we headed up into the Market Square to check the bus times and found a 66 to Chesterfield in situ.
Naturally the diver was happy for me and Dave to stand half on and half off the bus for 5 minutes unravelling the possibilities of our route, but having learned that there was no longer a 67 to Chesterfield from Tideswell late on we opted to travel all the way to Chesterfield in search of more local beers.
We alighted at Brampton near Morro's and Dave used his somewhat eclectic directional ability to deliver us safe and sound to attractions including a dead end behind some garages, a housing estate, a patch of grass, and a path to some bungalows. Luckily we returned to the main road to find where he had been when he and his friend parked up to visit the Rose and Crown, before leading us up Victoria Street West and round the corner to our destination, 1 minutes walk from where we started.
Still, it was worth the tour, and we compensated with two pints of Impey Dark from Brampton brewery, the tap of which the pub is. So excellent was this beer that I had another whilst Dave tried a Tryst brewery bitter, before we had Brew Co Midnight Stout and then 2 final pints of Impey dark. The helpful bar staff secured us a taxi to the station and we were on the train with time to spare. Just in time on arriving back in Sheff to catch a bus rather than invest in a taxi and arrive home safe and sate and sloshed.
All in all our Oliver reed fitness diet comprised walking about 7 miles but maybe less, and drinking 12 pints, the very best of which by a mile was the Brampton Impey Dark.
It might not be a healthy walk but it was bloody enjoyable.
Wee Beefy.
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Bank Holiday Monday Staffordshire pub trip
Hello,
sorry have not been on for a while, my eyesight problems have reoccurred and haven't really felt like posting, although that hasn't restricted my trips out.
Please note, there will be info on Cretan Kafenions I promise, but am writing up the Crete diaries on another blog and on the computer first, and theres a loy of info.
Anyhoo, have some pubs and crap weather.....
It was the latter part of summer and the Sunday of the bank holiday weekend loomed empty and frustrating. The weather wasn’t promising much and I was only just recovered from a very long Friday night where real ale had taken a back seat on a late night works do. The only solution was a crawl.
We started our journey by heading into Bakewell, a dubious transport bluff that I am not going to be blamed for, which saw us sit in solid traffic for 15 minutes. Once out, we headed towards Over Haddon and Youlgrave and carried on, arriving at Arbor Low about 14.30. The rain siled down sideways in a nithering cold wind and we parked as far as possible from the ancient monument, perhaps so as to fully appreciate traipsing in the deluge to the stone circle as if we were dressed of the period.
After an invigorating walk of solemnity round the flattened circle, we carried on through Hartington and out towards Stoke on Trent, mainly Hanley where we were looking for Lichfield street. The thing is, although the GBG mentions the A50, its not clear that long ago the pub we were seeking was on the A50, but was now set back a streets width and a pavement from the roaring main road, standing firm against council plans to knock it and surrounding businesses down for no reason at all.
Because its not clear on a road atlas where each A road comes off the Potteries way we came out at the roundabout above and travelled for 15 minutes down nearby tributaries, struggling to find anyone who had heard of the address or the pub, before we finally spotted the Coachmakers more by accident than anything.
Inside it was clear why it was on the N.I, and abundantly obvious how vibrant and popular it was. A traditional 3 roomed local, it has a bar and hatch, a snug, games room and lounge (or parlour), we settled in the snug on the left and surveyed the endless pump clips, on the wall, ceiling, and on pumps on the bar.
Pick of the ales was the Paradise brewery Mild, but there were tasty offerings from other local brewers, and those from further afield. We all signed the petition to abandon the planned demolition and the landlord was very informative and helpful.
We had spent so long in the pub and so long getting there that it was nearly tea time when we left, so we popped in the takeaway a few doors up. Once fed, we undertook the soul destroying journey along endless A roads and ways to Tunstall, to find a pub we had been to once 10 years before. I had provided rudimentary maps and details and we were doing well on Churchill way, but the main road into Pitts Hill eluded us, partly based on making our memories fit the scene, combined with a lack of signs.
We pulled into a garage and a friendly local put us in the right direction – the road we wanted was off a dead end street that used to be a main road, and once we were on it we had to remember which of the myriad turns to take, off which was Naylor Street, and the Vine.
Coming back down we somehow picked the right one and turned first right to see the pub just as it got dark. After parking up outside we went to take in the scene.
The Vine is a true unspoilt back street pub, with a long corridor to the private quarters, a lounge on the left, a narrow bar on the right, a hatch opposite the games room, and outside loos. When I visited in 1999 the lounge was literally that – tablecloths and place mats and vases on the tables, family pictures on the walls, more or less a residential living room. The interior is a littlie more sparse now. The landlord explained that 10 years ago it was kept like that for the older female clientele, it seems they have mostly passed on or stopped coming so its reverted to a plain working man’s lounge, although maybe parlour would be a better description. There is no bar counter in this room.
Its not a real ale haven, and its not meant to be. Keg Boddingtons is perhaps the best draught option, I went for bottled Guinness, sadly the original, but a nice change all the same. A few more regulars turned up, one had been serving behind the bar for a bit, and they were chatting with Wee Fatha, Wee Keefy and I before we made our excuses, since we had another couple of stops before home.
After squeezing our way out of the tiny streets and picking the right main road out, we missed the next turning and WF boldly took us up a random residential street. He claimed to know where he was going, but there was disquiet in the navigator’s seat, and tensions mounted as we guestimated where we might pop out. Full marks to WF though, as we turned up the side of an estate with open ground to our left I thought I saw Mow Cop ahead, and sure enough we were soon in Harriseahead, and parking up to go in the Royal Oak.
It was packed inside, sporting a range of permanent beers and guests. There was excellent Oakham on, sadly nothing from local brewers, but a clearly popular and well-kept range nonetheless. We topped up (well, not WF) on real ale before our next stop out on the Moors.
The weather hadn’t really improved all day and visibility was dire as we headed over the Leek to Buxton road, alas when we got to Royal Cottage, the pub f the same name was shrouded in darkness. Keefy hasn’t ever been in, but me and WF managed on a Friday folk night in February last year, and it’s a very friendly rugged pub inside. There are locals who go in, and it seems, like anyone who knows it who is asked about when or why it’s not open, there is a calm assurance that they know when it does. If in doubt, cut your losses and stop off at the excellent Butchers at Reapsmoor near Longnor, ask the landlord, even if he doesn’t know for certain you can always stop for a pint or two at his excellent pub.
We ploughed on through fog and then lashing rain and stopped finally at the Bulls Head in Monyash. None of us fancied Farmers Blonde, tempted as we were by the novelty of Burton Ale, but were slightly disturbed by the price – more than £3.00 a pint.
The landlady admitted it should come with a health warning – the less forgiving observer might have suggested an easy to spot price list - but she pointed out that the locals all drank it and complained if it was not on, and she couldn’t get it cheaper on account of its strength. I wasn’t sure if I realised it was strong before, but it was a nice pint and she was friendly, crucially, open, and selling a choice of 3 beers.
All in all an interesting trip to contrasting pubs, well worth a go yourself, and who knows, if you plan it for a first Friday of the month the Royal Cottage might even be open.
Wee Beefy
sorry have not been on for a while, my eyesight problems have reoccurred and haven't really felt like posting, although that hasn't restricted my trips out.
Please note, there will be info on Cretan Kafenions I promise, but am writing up the Crete diaries on another blog and on the computer first, and theres a loy of info.
Anyhoo, have some pubs and crap weather.....
It was the latter part of summer and the Sunday of the bank holiday weekend loomed empty and frustrating. The weather wasn’t promising much and I was only just recovered from a very long Friday night where real ale had taken a back seat on a late night works do. The only solution was a crawl.
We started our journey by heading into Bakewell, a dubious transport bluff that I am not going to be blamed for, which saw us sit in solid traffic for 15 minutes. Once out, we headed towards Over Haddon and Youlgrave and carried on, arriving at Arbor Low about 14.30. The rain siled down sideways in a nithering cold wind and we parked as far as possible from the ancient monument, perhaps so as to fully appreciate traipsing in the deluge to the stone circle as if we were dressed of the period.
After an invigorating walk of solemnity round the flattened circle, we carried on through Hartington and out towards Stoke on Trent, mainly Hanley where we were looking for Lichfield street. The thing is, although the GBG mentions the A50, its not clear that long ago the pub we were seeking was on the A50, but was now set back a streets width and a pavement from the roaring main road, standing firm against council plans to knock it and surrounding businesses down for no reason at all.
Because its not clear on a road atlas where each A road comes off the Potteries way we came out at the roundabout above and travelled for 15 minutes down nearby tributaries, struggling to find anyone who had heard of the address or the pub, before we finally spotted the Coachmakers more by accident than anything.
Inside it was clear why it was on the N.I, and abundantly obvious how vibrant and popular it was. A traditional 3 roomed local, it has a bar and hatch, a snug, games room and lounge (or parlour), we settled in the snug on the left and surveyed the endless pump clips, on the wall, ceiling, and on pumps on the bar.
Pick of the ales was the Paradise brewery Mild, but there were tasty offerings from other local brewers, and those from further afield. We all signed the petition to abandon the planned demolition and the landlord was very informative and helpful.
We had spent so long in the pub and so long getting there that it was nearly tea time when we left, so we popped in the takeaway a few doors up. Once fed, we undertook the soul destroying journey along endless A roads and ways to Tunstall, to find a pub we had been to once 10 years before. I had provided rudimentary maps and details and we were doing well on Churchill way, but the main road into Pitts Hill eluded us, partly based on making our memories fit the scene, combined with a lack of signs.
We pulled into a garage and a friendly local put us in the right direction – the road we wanted was off a dead end street that used to be a main road, and once we were on it we had to remember which of the myriad turns to take, off which was Naylor Street, and the Vine.
Coming back down we somehow picked the right one and turned first right to see the pub just as it got dark. After parking up outside we went to take in the scene.
The Vine is a true unspoilt back street pub, with a long corridor to the private quarters, a lounge on the left, a narrow bar on the right, a hatch opposite the games room, and outside loos. When I visited in 1999 the lounge was literally that – tablecloths and place mats and vases on the tables, family pictures on the walls, more or less a residential living room. The interior is a littlie more sparse now. The landlord explained that 10 years ago it was kept like that for the older female clientele, it seems they have mostly passed on or stopped coming so its reverted to a plain working man’s lounge, although maybe parlour would be a better description. There is no bar counter in this room.
Its not a real ale haven, and its not meant to be. Keg Boddingtons is perhaps the best draught option, I went for bottled Guinness, sadly the original, but a nice change all the same. A few more regulars turned up, one had been serving behind the bar for a bit, and they were chatting with Wee Fatha, Wee Keefy and I before we made our excuses, since we had another couple of stops before home.
After squeezing our way out of the tiny streets and picking the right main road out, we missed the next turning and WF boldly took us up a random residential street. He claimed to know where he was going, but there was disquiet in the navigator’s seat, and tensions mounted as we guestimated where we might pop out. Full marks to WF though, as we turned up the side of an estate with open ground to our left I thought I saw Mow Cop ahead, and sure enough we were soon in Harriseahead, and parking up to go in the Royal Oak.
It was packed inside, sporting a range of permanent beers and guests. There was excellent Oakham on, sadly nothing from local brewers, but a clearly popular and well-kept range nonetheless. We topped up (well, not WF) on real ale before our next stop out on the Moors.
The weather hadn’t really improved all day and visibility was dire as we headed over the Leek to Buxton road, alas when we got to Royal Cottage, the pub f the same name was shrouded in darkness. Keefy hasn’t ever been in, but me and WF managed on a Friday folk night in February last year, and it’s a very friendly rugged pub inside. There are locals who go in, and it seems, like anyone who knows it who is asked about when or why it’s not open, there is a calm assurance that they know when it does. If in doubt, cut your losses and stop off at the excellent Butchers at Reapsmoor near Longnor, ask the landlord, even if he doesn’t know for certain you can always stop for a pint or two at his excellent pub.
We ploughed on through fog and then lashing rain and stopped finally at the Bulls Head in Monyash. None of us fancied Farmers Blonde, tempted as we were by the novelty of Burton Ale, but were slightly disturbed by the price – more than £3.00 a pint.
The landlady admitted it should come with a health warning – the less forgiving observer might have suggested an easy to spot price list - but she pointed out that the locals all drank it and complained if it was not on, and she couldn’t get it cheaper on account of its strength. I wasn’t sure if I realised it was strong before, but it was a nice pint and she was friendly, crucially, open, and selling a choice of 3 beers.
All in all an interesting trip to contrasting pubs, well worth a go yourself, and who knows, if you plan it for a first Friday of the month the Royal Cottage might even be open.
Wee Beefy
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