Jubilee pubs

Hello,

    the Diamond Jubilee has meant bunting and flags on pubs, plus festivals and other events in pubs this weekend. Its interesting because with the unfortunate associations that people make between patriotism and bigotry, more so with the Ingurrlish flag of the Israeli Saint George, the site of bunting and Union Jacks can sometimes be a bit off putting.

Add to this the rather vexatious issue of sovereignty and the monarchy and you have quite a few weighty issues attached to the way pubs are done out during the jubilee, but personally, irrespective of my feelings about Royalty, Jubilee flags on pubs means only one thing to me - the Vine Inn, Tunstall, Stoke On Trent.

Back in 2002 Wee Fatha was collecting firkins of real ale for Del at the Hillsborough Hotel. I was accompanying him on a jaunt round Cheshire picking up some Weetwood ales or similar, and I twisted his arm to drive us to the pub in Tunstall. I didn't have Internet at home or at work back then so information was very limited, and a good part of the visit comprised of trying to find the place. Once there it was quickly apparent why I'd wanted to go, and the effort had been worth it.

With only the address to go on, we stopped somewhere near Pitts Hill to ask directions, got some to Pitts Hill, and then stopped on Pitts Hill itself to find someone who knew where Naylor Street was. Luckily they did, because its off a little side street, and you can't see the pub from the road. We inched up the street in the van and pulled up just past the tiny back street gem which is the Vine, resplendent in flags and bunting for the Silver Jubilee.

I had rang earlier in the week and had one of those conversations that you only seem to have with the owners of redoubtable old boozers. Having taken a few goes to ascertain that it was the pub, I then enquired if it would be open at the time we would be in Tunstall. "Why do you want to know" came the puzzled response. I explained that the pub was on the National Inventory and I wanted to visit but needed to know ir would be open. Further questions followed about where I was coming from, and who I worked for, before I stated that in fact, I was a customer. Silence followed, then reiteration of opening times, and the lengthy process was finished.

Arriving at the pub it was busy and we just managed to grab a seat in the tiny bar room on the right. The interior of the pub is its draw, and it still retains three separate rooms. A long corridor led to the private kitchen, where I understand, one of the old ladies who owned the pub were sat.  Down the corridor on the left was the games room, with a hatch for service opposite. On the left as you entered was the lounge.



A not very good picture of the hatch and corridor.

This was the most unspoilt room in the pub. The lounge really was just that. Tables with tablecloths and mats, net curtains, period furnishings and a lot of older ladies sat nursing delicate drams of the spirit bars finest. Its a phrase you hear a lot about unspoilt pubs, that its like walking into someones house, but this room really was. It wouldn't have looked out of place if someone had brought in a pot of tea, popped on the radio and opened a pack of biscuits.

Back in the bar there was no real ale (still is) but there was keg Double Diamond on the bar, a novelty if not entirely enjoyable beer if nothing else. Unfortunately, our stay was short, as we had to get the beer back to Hillsborough, and this coupled with how busy the pub was prevented me from taking any photo's whilst I was there. I did get one or two when I visited in 2009 though.

The Vine is an amazing example of an unchanged back street pub, and I highly recommend a visit - bunting or no bunting. And no matter whether I get to go again or not, I'll still remember how it looked decked out red white and blue in 2002.

There is a link to the CAMRA heritage pubs website page for the pub here . The photo's are far better.....

Cheers!

Wee Beefy

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