Hello,
this weekend saw Wee Fatha celebrate his birthday. For reasons which make us, his passengers, seem like we have enslaved him in automobile ferrying servitude, he came up with a plan to visit some of the best unspoilt pubs in Staffordshire, and one in Cheshire, on a day long escapade that promised up to 11 pubs. Given this level of self sacrifice, it would have been rude not to attend and sample some excellent boozers along the way.
We set off in a howling maelstrom and consoled ourselves that there were really only views from car windows and the inside of buildings awaiting us - as it was there were sunny spells all day - along with ferocious showers. Luckily more time was spent inside pubs than walking to them.
We started in the wilds beyond Eccleshall down a network of lanes that once were tracks and lanes that had since returned to being tracks, to arrive at the Anchor at High Offley. This two roomed canal-side pub has a fantastic setting up a flagstone path from the waterway near a bridge affording views along the Shropshire Union. There are outside toilets, one real ale, and conversation prevails in the bar, which comprises two giant settles, an open fire and a quarry tiled floor. WF and WK were on halves (and once again, please remember WF has no more than a quarter of every half), whilst myself and Miss N were on pints of the Wadworth 6X.
The only minor shame from a photographic point of view at least, was that the pub was still quite brilliantly and painstakingly decked out in Halloween decorations. That didn't make the company or the surroundings any less enjoyable though, and we were there for nearly an hour in the end. Pub 2 and pub 6 were studiously removed from the itinerary to accommodate this reckless but wholly necessary extra long stop.
We parked up at Norbury junction for our dinner then headed onto the Swan at Whiston. Set in acres of land and bathed in bright winter sunshine this long white pained building is not really in Whiston at all - its just the nearest group of buildings find-able on the map on the isolated road the pub stands beside. Included on the basis of it having long been a Holdens outlet, here I had a pint of the mild at £2.35, Miss N a Harvest Pale at £2.90 and there were also halves of Enville Ale and Holdens best to try. The mild was perhaps the best of the bunch, although the Harvest was in good nick.
Into Cannock next and the Crystal Fountain is owned by Black Country Ales (or at least run by them) and is on the National Inventory of unspoilt pub interiors. An unusual high wall forms the frontage with entrances at both ends linking and giving access to the main bar and snug with access to the lounge and function room from the left. A good range of beers included 3 from the Black Country Ales fold - WK had the BFG and WF the Pig on the Wall - whilst myself and Miss N opted for pints of the excellent Great Heck Citra. The Pig on the Wall was great but the BFG a tired and disappointing brew - which is surprising as the session bitter in that breweries pub.
Despite that this was a cracking boozer, the interior of which is, to my mind, 1950's - lots of austere lines and frugal yet elegant fittings. For more info on the interior, here is a link to the Heritage pubs website.
Into Stone next and a chance to visit the ever popular Swan in daylight. This pub sells Coach house and Joules (are they not the same?) beers plus guests in a large multi-roomed pub wit real fires and stone floors. We chose halves of Coach-house Wizards Wonder, Rudgate Thunder Flash, Coach house Gunpowder Mild and Blythe Bridge Ridware Pale. It was telling that the non Halloween themed beer was far and away the best - but this was an enjoyable visit to a comfy, welcoming, busy pub nonetheless.
Outside Stone a couple of miles away lies Oulton. Curmudgeon profiled the Brushmakers here back in July, but visiting now in the dead of winter the photo on the blog was of limited use - since the sign had been lost. Luckily, blind boy here spotted an illuminated Bass sign and insisted we went back for a look - and sure enough there it was. The Brushmakers is a one room (I think!) drinkers pub selling three beers - two from Thwaites and a guest. On this occasion we all went for the Coach House Dick Turpin which was a pleasant drop, and settled in the corner to talk and soak up the scene. There was sport on the telly and plenty of customers, and nearly as many dogs, with a refreshing mixture of ages chatting convivially in the warmth. Well worth a visit.
Food came next as we broke our own rule and visited Cheshire - just over the border at Scholar Green to visit another National Inventory pub, the Bleeding Wolf. An impressive interior of dark wood and leaded glass windows on the bar along with impressive heavy wood doors to the loos in a style similar to the Racecourse in Salford awaits - along with three real ales. We all went for Trooper and ate from a menu that was somewhat more expensive than your usual Robbies fare - not that it mattered because the food was excellent. On the way out I noticed some Robinsons bottled ales stained glass features in the glass either side of the entrance door - a nice subtle and more easily photograph-able touch.
Back into Staffordshire and despite getting lost, which is customary, we did eventually find our way to the Vine at Tunstall. A quiz was on in the darts room in this unspoilt back street boozer, also on the National Inventory and which boasts outside gents, a long drinking corridor, lounge, and a redoubtably old gas fire in the narrow bar. Our round of J2O for WF, bottled Guinness for WK and halves of Walkers something unreadable on keg for myself and Miss N came in at under a fiver. Although, arguably, the Walkers was sufficiently dire to make that total about right. Alas this was a short visit as time was getting on, nut its good to see the Vine still quietly and unassumingly getting on with being a proper boozer.
Time was literally getting on for our penultimate stop - the Coachmakers at Hanley. The bus station across the road has been built and despite opposition from a mixed brigade of concerned and passionate supporters plus people who know what they are talking about when it comes to pub preservation, the powers that be have confirmed demolition will go ahead to make way for a car park.
Despite this the locals remain upbeat, unified by an understandable dislike of the municipal overlords who seem to have ploughed on with the decision to show that they were right all along rather than for any claimed benefit. They also seem convinced that the demolition is a long way off, but I'd still get there sooner rather than later before its too late. On our visit, halves of Black Sheep Ruddy Ram, plus a half and a pint for me of the Bass from the cask in the cellar were ordered. We sat in the right hand room warmed by the fire listening in on the conversation and plotting our next move. Lets hope this wasn't our last visit.
Our final stop was to have been the One Legged Shunter - a pub seemingly with no phone number or website, attached to a heritage railway and situated down a dark lane. The GBG claims it opens 18.00 til 23.00 weekends in winter but the fact that the station isn't on Caverswall Lane and we had reached it without spotting signs of life suggested our search was fruitless. We did turn down a few lanes initially before returning to the station to spot a pub open sign behind the locked gates. Perhaps they don't open Sundays in winter anymore, and no doubt its run by volunteers and is not exactly likely to attract passing trade on a chilly Sunday, but its surely not impossible to announce such a decision or confirm such an arrangement via the tinterweb. To be fair, a search on the web in the comfort of my home identifies a phone number but it still says they open 12-23.00 on Sundays. A case perhaps, with this being their FB page, of getting but not utilising social media. Humph.
Unperturbed we pushed on to Cheadle where the Hunstman was holding its quiz. A range of about 7 beers heralded some LocALEs including Joules but I went for the Lymestone Einstein - an overly sweet beer that I probably should have had a taste of first. Initially the loud music round was a bit annoying but once we'd found a corner to sit in and guessed a few of the answers, along with listening to Fawlty Towers and Blackadder in the loos, I think we all rather warmed to this pub.
So started a long punt home and ended a tiring day out for all concerned. Stand out pubs were probably the Anchor, The Swan and the Brushmakers but there wasn't a bad pub in the ones we visited. A great advert for unspoilt pubs in Staffordshire, and the existence of the National Inventory.
Cheers!
Wee Beefy.
Showing posts with label The Vine Tunstall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Vine Tunstall. Show all posts
Monday, 4 November 2013
Saturday, 13 April 2013
Cask-less wonders
Now then,
it struck me writing about cask only pubs that as an aficionado of unspoilt boozers it was actually harder to think of those selling just real ale. Whether you like t or not, in pubs with restricted hours or that are well out of the way, a cask is a slightly dumb idea. Wastage. Disappointment. Ullage. Not good.
The thing is, many in the beer blogging fraternity consider that one of the central, if not the primary considerations for a pub being good, is that it sells the fine drink. Whilst I conceded there is a mix of criteria for greatness, I increasingly find myself visiting truly amazing pubs, both interior and atmosphere wise, that haven't a drop (I'd like) to drink.
Before I continue I must add the long closed Hop Pole at Risbury in Herefordshire to my list of none keg pubs. There was only room at the bar for the landlord. I saw bottles of cider, but his cask was kept in a pin under the stairs as you came in. Woods Parish Bitter, at £1.10 a pint. Very agreeable!
So here is a list of some cracking unmissable pubs that don't sell real ale. I think if you can get over that, you will be warmly rewarded.
The Royal Cottage Inn, A53 Leek Road, near Upper Hulme. According to Ken at the Quiet Woman, Cliff's Dad used to serve Worthington from the barrel (more likely the jug) in this isolated moorland pub, where it is claimed that anyone in their 50's to 70's now would certainly have earned their drinking stripes. Cliff senior apparently used to be up and down the stairs to the cellar non stop fetching ale for throngs of customers. Now the restrictive opening hours means that even smooth flow Tetleys is a gamble - if it's not sold at the popular music nights on the last Friday of every month. Well worth a visit despite all of the above - Friday and Saturday, 20.00 til no-ones in.
The Duke Of York Leysters Herefordshire. A quintessential unspoilt pub with two rooms and an ancient bar, with just Bass Toby Ale for drinking, plus bottles. One of the longest established family pub ownerships in the UK, the unchanging pace and appearance of life here is something rare these days. Not too restricted opening hours, and always part of community events, its well worth popping in, especially if you are visiting the excellent Talbot at Knightwick for heady freshly hopped ales followed by the Sun at Leintwardine.
Railway Tavern, Kincardine, Scotland. An amazing pub the size of a matchbox, one doorway in with a room at each side (but mainly only the left hand used), with a tiny bar and a long table in the window. Room for about 16 in the main room. An amazing surviving small wet led pub that is well worth a visit, if nothing else to note the natural ebb and flow of conversation between regulars who I imagine have been drinking together for decades. Tennents Ale and Heavy plus lager on here, plus a limited spirits choice. A full review from 2011 is here.
The Seven Stars, Halfway House, Shropshire (now closed). This is, or really, this was, a very unusual set up of a public bar adjoining a hotel in a separate building. Am not sure why the hotel would not have had a bar, but wonder if maybe the Seven Stars was the destination for a more down at heel traveler - maybe the hotel bar was ostentatiously exclusive?
Me and Wee Fatha visited in 2003 and it was one of a kind. The landlord and landlady were in the kitchen behind a closed door. We sat on giant settles just to the side of the fireplace and the door to the toilets to our right (a tiled bit of wall on the detached house next door, with a screen to hide you from the road, but no provision for sitting down!), and we listened in on the radio for a good few minutes before Wee Fatha went to order our drinks.
An old lady opened the door and said "Yes?" and WF responded that he would like a couple of beers. The landlady agreed but he wanted to know what the beer was. This was not a good question. Without a flicker of sarcasm or irony of the lack of information that repeating the same information provided, she reiterated that it was "beer". Three times. Only, it wasn't strictly beer. Like an odd under-mixed beer concentrate it was hardly recognisable as the Burtonwood they served next door. And it didn't bloody matter. The place was completely unique.
Goat, Llanfihangel Yng Ngwynfa, near Welshpool Wales. Recently a venue for Dimpled Mug, if anything the interior in the bar seems more modern than when me and Wee Fatha and Wee Keefy visited in 2001. The first room is unmistakably domestic, the second, now with a rashly installed bar (about 30 years ago?) is still barely a pub room. We only got to visit because when we called them the lady who answered the phone said that her cousin was coming in specially on the Saturday lunch to clean the pub, so even though they didn't usually open she would leave the door unlocked so we could come and visit. Bottles of Marstons with not a hand pump to be seen. And only one sign, on the right hand wall, proclaiming the word "Goat". Brilliant.
Vine, Tunstall ,Staffordshire. An amazing back street local in the Pitts Hill area, very hard to find if you are expecting to see it from the road, since its tucked away round a corner. A dwindling army of regulars attends mainly in the right hand bar room; sadly the older female customers have now passed away and the lounge on the left, which in 2001 was just that, is more prosaic in its appearance, whereas before it had table cloths, doilies, cushion covers, curtains and tea pots.
So as this eulogy doesn't run forever I must also briefly make mention of the Fiddichside Inn at Craigallachie, near Abelour Aberdeenshire, the now sadly long closed Colliers Arms at Mossley, the Lion Royal Hotel at Rhayader, Wales, The Mawson , Brunswick, Manchester, the Cornewall Arms, Clodock, Herefordshire, and in a cheeky move, am going to once again include the Cider House, Defford, Worcestershire. Coz it dunt sell beer at all.
All are stunning examples of pubs that stand out for being unusual, isolated, ultra traditional and interesting in equal measure. Anyone who knows me can vouch for my love of real ale, but these are venues that encapsulate the better features of pubs gone by. They are unswervingly tilling a course that means they remind people of what pubs used to be like, and indeed what they can be like.
A last special mention should go to the Red Lion in Wensley, Derbyshire. Now closed (as far as I can ascertain, although its been difficult to tell for years) the Red Lion was a unique pub. And that's borderline euphemistic. I went in once with Chala, and Wee Keefy has been in twice with Ralphus. When we went there was no draught beer (even the keg fonts were covered with towels, al-a the Station Hotel on the Wicker Sheffield) and the only canned beer other than Guinness seemed to be Youngers Tartan Special.
We walked in muddy from a climb down the dale and were immediately greeted with a sign insisting we removed our footwear and placed plastic bags round our feet. Once inside there were possibly two rooms plus toilets. The Ladies had no running water so having fallen on her arse down the hill Chala had to wash her hands behind the bar. The gents did at least have cold water.
A couple sat to our right with a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches, every flavour of which had beetroot in. There were formica tables and hollow cylinder chairs (made of bent metal pipe) and an old Mackeson sign, plus the smell of soup. And tea. And fear of photographs, as we discovered. The pub struggled on until the last year or two, gaining notoriety for its "special" - half a pint of milk mixed with a can of Guinness, which, apparently, you had only 30 seconds to drink before it congealed. Ralphus was a fan. I cannot realistically explain why.
Irrespective of the odd tale above, I would still strongly urge you to seek out interesting and unspoilt pubs, even if they don't sell real ale. After all, you can always have a decent pint somewhere nearby afterwards. Though, chances are, you'll not find a glass of special....
Happy wandering
Wee Beefy
it struck me writing about cask only pubs that as an aficionado of unspoilt boozers it was actually harder to think of those selling just real ale. Whether you like t or not, in pubs with restricted hours or that are well out of the way, a cask is a slightly dumb idea. Wastage. Disappointment. Ullage. Not good.
The thing is, many in the beer blogging fraternity consider that one of the central, if not the primary considerations for a pub being good, is that it sells the fine drink. Whilst I conceded there is a mix of criteria for greatness, I increasingly find myself visiting truly amazing pubs, both interior and atmosphere wise, that haven't a drop (I'd like) to drink.
Before I continue I must add the long closed Hop Pole at Risbury in Herefordshire to my list of none keg pubs. There was only room at the bar for the landlord. I saw bottles of cider, but his cask was kept in a pin under the stairs as you came in. Woods Parish Bitter, at £1.10 a pint. Very agreeable!
So here is a list of some cracking unmissable pubs that don't sell real ale. I think if you can get over that, you will be warmly rewarded.
The Royal Cottage Inn, A53 Leek Road, near Upper Hulme. According to Ken at the Quiet Woman, Cliff's Dad used to serve Worthington from the barrel (more likely the jug) in this isolated moorland pub, where it is claimed that anyone in their 50's to 70's now would certainly have earned their drinking stripes. Cliff senior apparently used to be up and down the stairs to the cellar non stop fetching ale for throngs of customers. Now the restrictive opening hours means that even smooth flow Tetleys is a gamble - if it's not sold at the popular music nights on the last Friday of every month. Well worth a visit despite all of the above - Friday and Saturday, 20.00 til no-ones in.
The Duke Of York Leysters Herefordshire. A quintessential unspoilt pub with two rooms and an ancient bar, with just Bass Toby Ale for drinking, plus bottles. One of the longest established family pub ownerships in the UK, the unchanging pace and appearance of life here is something rare these days. Not too restricted opening hours, and always part of community events, its well worth popping in, especially if you are visiting the excellent Talbot at Knightwick for heady freshly hopped ales followed by the Sun at Leintwardine.
Railway Tavern, Kincardine, Scotland. An amazing pub the size of a matchbox, one doorway in with a room at each side (but mainly only the left hand used), with a tiny bar and a long table in the window. Room for about 16 in the main room. An amazing surviving small wet led pub that is well worth a visit, if nothing else to note the natural ebb and flow of conversation between regulars who I imagine have been drinking together for decades. Tennents Ale and Heavy plus lager on here, plus a limited spirits choice. A full review from 2011 is here.
The Seven Stars, Halfway House, Shropshire (now closed). This is, or really, this was, a very unusual set up of a public bar adjoining a hotel in a separate building. Am not sure why the hotel would not have had a bar, but wonder if maybe the Seven Stars was the destination for a more down at heel traveler - maybe the hotel bar was ostentatiously exclusive?
Me and Wee Fatha visited in 2003 and it was one of a kind. The landlord and landlady were in the kitchen behind a closed door. We sat on giant settles just to the side of the fireplace and the door to the toilets to our right (a tiled bit of wall on the detached house next door, with a screen to hide you from the road, but no provision for sitting down!), and we listened in on the radio for a good few minutes before Wee Fatha went to order our drinks.
An old lady opened the door and said "Yes?" and WF responded that he would like a couple of beers. The landlady agreed but he wanted to know what the beer was. This was not a good question. Without a flicker of sarcasm or irony of the lack of information that repeating the same information provided, she reiterated that it was "beer". Three times. Only, it wasn't strictly beer. Like an odd under-mixed beer concentrate it was hardly recognisable as the Burtonwood they served next door. And it didn't bloody matter. The place was completely unique.
Goat, Llanfihangel Yng Ngwynfa, near Welshpool Wales. Recently a venue for Dimpled Mug, if anything the interior in the bar seems more modern than when me and Wee Fatha and Wee Keefy visited in 2001. The first room is unmistakably domestic, the second, now with a rashly installed bar (about 30 years ago?) is still barely a pub room. We only got to visit because when we called them the lady who answered the phone said that her cousin was coming in specially on the Saturday lunch to clean the pub, so even though they didn't usually open she would leave the door unlocked so we could come and visit. Bottles of Marstons with not a hand pump to be seen. And only one sign, on the right hand wall, proclaiming the word "Goat". Brilliant.
Vine, Tunstall ,Staffordshire. An amazing back street local in the Pitts Hill area, very hard to find if you are expecting to see it from the road, since its tucked away round a corner. A dwindling army of regulars attends mainly in the right hand bar room; sadly the older female customers have now passed away and the lounge on the left, which in 2001 was just that, is more prosaic in its appearance, whereas before it had table cloths, doilies, cushion covers, curtains and tea pots.
So as this eulogy doesn't run forever I must also briefly make mention of the Fiddichside Inn at Craigallachie, near Abelour Aberdeenshire, the now sadly long closed Colliers Arms at Mossley, the Lion Royal Hotel at Rhayader, Wales, The Mawson , Brunswick, Manchester, the Cornewall Arms, Clodock, Herefordshire, and in a cheeky move, am going to once again include the Cider House, Defford, Worcestershire. Coz it dunt sell beer at all.
All are stunning examples of pubs that stand out for being unusual, isolated, ultra traditional and interesting in equal measure. Anyone who knows me can vouch for my love of real ale, but these are venues that encapsulate the better features of pubs gone by. They are unswervingly tilling a course that means they remind people of what pubs used to be like, and indeed what they can be like.
A last special mention should go to the Red Lion in Wensley, Derbyshire. Now closed (as far as I can ascertain, although its been difficult to tell for years) the Red Lion was a unique pub. And that's borderline euphemistic. I went in once with Chala, and Wee Keefy has been in twice with Ralphus. When we went there was no draught beer (even the keg fonts were covered with towels, al-a the Station Hotel on the Wicker Sheffield) and the only canned beer other than Guinness seemed to be Youngers Tartan Special.
We walked in muddy from a climb down the dale and were immediately greeted with a sign insisting we removed our footwear and placed plastic bags round our feet. Once inside there were possibly two rooms plus toilets. The Ladies had no running water so having fallen on her arse down the hill Chala had to wash her hands behind the bar. The gents did at least have cold water.
A couple sat to our right with a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches, every flavour of which had beetroot in. There were formica tables and hollow cylinder chairs (made of bent metal pipe) and an old Mackeson sign, plus the smell of soup. And tea. And fear of photographs, as we discovered. The pub struggled on until the last year or two, gaining notoriety for its "special" - half a pint of milk mixed with a can of Guinness, which, apparently, you had only 30 seconds to drink before it congealed. Ralphus was a fan. I cannot realistically explain why.
Irrespective of the odd tale above, I would still strongly urge you to seek out interesting and unspoilt pubs, even if they don't sell real ale. After all, you can always have a decent pint somewhere nearby afterwards. Though, chances are, you'll not find a glass of special....
Happy wandering
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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