Farndon, Friendship and Favourites

The Riverside pub and kitchen

What's one of your favourite words? A bit of a silly question really, because it all depends on the context. I like the word 'friend', as it speaks of common likes and dislikes, and enjoyment of another's company.

It's extremely pleasant when you can feel that you have made a new friend. Tony and I have been blogging for about the same length of time, and found that we have many views in common. He also lives around Nottingham, and after a few months of communication, we decided that it would be good to meet up.

What better way to do this than to meet for a pint and a sandwich at some country venue. For me, it turned out to be a more than pleasant few hours. We drove down the A46 out of Nottingham towards Newark, and stopped at the village of Farndon. I'm sure that there are more modern descriptions of the village, but I like the one given in John Wilson's Imperial Gazetteer of England and Wales of 1870-1872.

"Farndon, a parish in Newark district, Notts; on the River Trent and the Fosse Way, near the Newark and Nottingham railway, 2 miles SW by W of Newark. It has a post office under Newark, Acres 1,710. Real property, £5,915. Pop. 692. Houses 152. Many of the inhabitants are stocking makers. The church is good, and there are chapels for Wesleyans and Primitive Methodists".

The Fosse Way

The A46 running past Farndon is also known as the historic Roman Road, The Fosse Way.

This is probably one of the most famous Roman Roads in the country, that linked Exeter in the South West to Lincoln. You may not share my fascination for this road, but to me it is remarkable for its extremely direct route. From Lincoln to Ilchester in Somerset, a distance of 182 miles, it is never more than 6 miles from a straight line. Having travelled through much of England, I can't help wishing that subsequent civil engineers had copied the brilliance of the Romans.

For the purists among you, and I know how much you love details, I quote the following. "The word Fosse is derived from the Latin fossa, meaning ditch. For the first few decades after the Roman invasion of Britain in AD 43, the Fosse Way marked the western frontier of Roman rule in Iron Age Britain. It is possible that the road began as a defensive ditch that was later filled in and converted into a road, or possibly a defensive ditch ran alongside the road for at least some of its length". Interesting or what?

The River Trent

It's this road that Tony and I travelled on to the village of Farndon, and The Riverside pub and kitchen. The pub sits by the side of the River Trent, with the sugar beet factory in Newark seen in the distance.

The Riverside pub was formally known as the Britannia Inn, which was originally built in 1763, and was a favourite stopping place for the Trent barge operators.

It has undergone extensive and beautiful restoration, along with the name change. Any place that sells 'Old Speckled Hen' beer is OK by me, and we enjoyed the beer and sandwich in very comfortable surroundings. I really do sound like a reviewer, don't I, but I want you to get a feel for the place, and you can learn more here.

Landing Stage

Opposite the pub, until recent years, there used to be a ferry across the Trent from Farndon to Rolleston. It is now a landing jetty for pleasure craft, taking people up and down the Trent on trips.

I liked this newspaper story from August 1948 which said, "The title of Little Hero of Farndon was bestowed on 12-year old Ronnie Ward, after he rescued a child from the river by the Farndon Ferry on Thursday. Seeing the four year old boy in deep water, Ronnie swam out to him and pulled him to the landing stage from where he was carried back to his mother. Amazingly, Ronnie's parents knew nothing about the rescue until they heard the story from eye-witnesses, because their son was too modest to tell them". You really can't beat a good human interest story.

Mark Ainsworth 1963

Before we had our lunch, and in case it started to rain later, Tony and I went for a short walk along the banks of the Trent, and then a circular walk around the fishing lake.

The walk was flat, and all done in about 20 minutes. It started and finished by the Farndon Marina, which is a joy to behold, and far more picturesque than many other Marina's that I've seen.

To show how the Marina started, I can do no better than quote from the Marina website, history page. "It was a cold day in 1963 when Mark Ainsworth, a passionate sailor and a man with a vision, discovered the old gravel pits at Farndon, near Newark. Mr Ainsworth managed to purchase the 25 acre site which was owned by a local firm of architects in 1964. Thus began the creation of Farndon Marina". It's still a family run business today, and is very impressive to look at.

Farndon Marina

It was just as well that Tony and I went for a walk before lunch, because after it, it started to rain. We were out less than three hours, but in that time I experienced many of the things that I love: friendship, pubs, food, rivers, lakes and marina's. So much enjoyment in so little time. Life at times is very sweet.

"Life is full of surprises and serendipity. Being open to unexpected turns in the road is an important part of success. If you try to plan every step, you may miss those wonderful twists and turns. Just find your next adventure - do it well, enjoy it - and then, not now, think about what comes next". Condoleeza Rice

Beside and on the River

Trent Bridge Inn re-opened 24th May 2011

The Trent Bridge Inn, just south of the Trent Bridge in West Bridgford has just had a £1 million plus make-over by J.D.Wetherspoon, and re-opened a few days ago. Some friends and I decided that when it was open again, we would 'test it out' by having a meal there. This we did at lunch time today. Yes, I know that this is another blog about 'a day in the life of', but some people have said (they really have) that they enjoy the rambling descriptions of fairly uneventful days in Nottingham and beyond. There really is no accounting for taste.

Wall Plaque

There's a new plaque on the wall outside The Trent Bridge Inn with information that I was not aware of. Seemingly, there is a map from 1838 showing an Inn on the site which was called The Three Horse Shoes and Crown. This was demolished in 1890, when the present pub was built behind the original site. I can't seem to find any information about the previous pub.

There is an interesting connection between The Trent Bridge Inn, The Bell Inn in Angel Row, Nottingham, and the Trent Bridge Cricket Ground.

The Bell Inn was owned by William Clarke, who was Captain of the All England Cricket Team. He married the owner of what is now The Trent Bridge Inn, and behind this pub was a large meadow. William developed the meadow into what is now known throughout the world as Trent Bridge Cricket Ground; home of Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club, and venue for many international cricket matches.

Trent Bridge Cricket Ground around 1890

Some history accounts say that the ground was opened in 1841, but I prefer to go with the West Bridgford History Society who say that the ground was opened by William Clarke in 1838.

It was in 1838 on this ground that the first recorded cricket match was held and the first Test Match took place in 1899 - England verses Australia.

In 1990, a new stand was opened at the cricket ground called the William Clarke Stand to commemorate his achievements, and place in Nottinghamshire cricket life. This Stand backs on to the Bridgford Road.

This is all very well I hear you say; interesting and all that, but what about The Trent Bridge Inn now? Was the wait for it to be re-opened, and the meal worth it? In my opinion the refurbishment is excellent. Lots of dark wood panelling, but there's plenty of light. It has a library room, one large eating area, plus a number of smaller eating areas. There were plenty of staff on duty, who were most attentive, and I hope that continues beyond the opening weeks. I chose Chili con Carni (£4.95 I think). It was excellent. There's a good range of beers, and the cheapest coffee I've seen for a long time. Both of which are important to some of us. Altogether, a very pleasant experience, made all the more so when you're in good company. I will be back. (That's a promise by the way, not a threat, even though it does sound a bit Terminatorish).

The Boating Association Annual Rally

What to do after leaving the pub. I thought of going into town, but the unmistakable sound of a tannoy system caught my attention.

Walking the very short distance to the River Trent, I came across The Boating Association Annual Rally.

I decided to see things from a distance to begin with, so I walked over Trent Bridge, along the north bank, over the suspension bridge and down the south bank to where the rally was taking place.

Trying not to look like a boating nerd (though to avoid offence, there's nothing wrong with that), I casually looked at the many boats moored by the steps. I didn't count them, but there must have been upwards of 50 there. Some were absolutely magnificent, and looked more suited to ocean travel, than sailing up the restricted waters of the Trent.

Everyone seemed to be having a great time, and no doubt there was a lot of renewing of friendships from the last rally. A rowing competition was taking place when I arrived. It seemed to consist of people, either on their own or in pairs, rowing a dingy around two bollards (is that right nautically speaking?) against the clock. I confess to taking great delight in seeing how inept many people were. This was no Olympic sport, and everyone joined in the obvious relaxed atmosphere. People fell backwards off the seat while rowing, and others lost their oars. The MC kept everything lighthearted, and everyone received a round of applause, no matter how terrible they had been.

I'm not a person who easily joins things, so I miss out on collective social contact. But I had fun at The Boating Association Annual Rally, and if you can't do it yourself, enjoy it by proxy. So not a bad day beside, and on the river.

My Village, My Home, My Life - part five

Yes, I know. I know. I said that the last one would be the last one, but I've changed my mind. Self-indulgent it may me, but I'm enjoying myself, and a few comments have encouraged me to keep it going.

Hill Street, Penycae

I went back to Penycae last Sunday to have a look around, and refresh my memory. I travelled around the lanes outside of the village to remember the walks taken in my youth. I took this photograph looking down Hill Street, with Lampit Street on the left. The house in the middle is where I lived for the first five years of my life. I'd always believed that the original cottages were pulled down and another house built on the site. On looking at the house a lot closer, it seems to be of an age from the late 1940's, and I now think that the original two semi-detached cottages have been knocked into one dwelling.

Continuing past the house on Hill Street, you pass over the Pentre bridge, with the river flowing beneath it. Just past the bridge, higher up the bank, (you can see a white house to the right of mine) lived the first girl I was ever keen on. I was only about 5 or 6 remember, and never told anyone about it. To be honest, I'm as useless today as I was then about mentioning feelings to females. Our respective families were quite close, and I remember walking up the steep path to their house from off the road. There were fruit hedges on either side of the pathway lined with the biggest, juiciest gooseberries you could ever imagine seeing. We ate loads of them, and I still love gooseberries to this day.

Hill Street Shop

The shop on the left was at the top of Hill Street, opposite the War Memorial. The picture was taken around 1973. The then owners had bought it the year before, and they say that the deeds to the building were 150 years old then.

There are two things that I remember about that shop when I was growing up. One was the range of sweets you could buy, that you could get from nowhere else locally. The weekly treat while very young was worth waiting for. The second thing that I remember is being absolutely terrified of the daughter of the shop owners. I have no idea why - time has been kind and erased this from my memory. It must have been of sufficient scale though, as my sister has occasionally referred to it. Terrified I may have been, but the need for sweets was all consuming in an age of general austerity, and purchases were made with the speed of a Usain Bolt.

Two doors up from the shop nearer Chapel Street stood the Cross Keys pub (I'll return to this later). Built at the back of the pub was the Post Office and the men's Barber Shop.

The Barber's shop was a small room where I used to have my hair cut on a Saturday morning every 4 - 6 weeks. Prior to going to secondary school, the style (don't imagine for one moment that there was any style about it) was fairly short on top with a parting down the left side. A pudding bowl, suitable to the size of your head was placed on it, and all the hair cut off that was not hidden by the bowl.

On going to secondary school, I rebelled. I had enough problems in school to cope with without the shame of a pudding bowl haircut. I needed a more sophisticated look. Unfortunately, the Barber had two styles available. One with the pudding bowl and one without. I think that the hair styles in the three periods of my life - junior school, secondary school, and everything after - could be summed up by one word, crap.




Pub Map of Penycae

The village during its history had thirteen pubs, but only two of them remain in business today.

1. Wheelwrights Arms
2. Bricklayers Arms
3. The New Inn
4. Royal Oak
5. The Anchor
6. The Cross Keys
7. The Bird in Hand
8. The Queens
9. The Black Horse (still operating)
10. The Cross Foxes (still operating)
11. The Eagles
12. The Red Lion



The Anchor Pub

13. Name Unknown

The Anchor Pub was opposite our house in Hill Street. It was the only pub in the area that had a thatched roof. A pathway down the side of it led to the Recreation Ground. It is said that a famous Welsh boxer (though I can't seem to find his name) used to train in the stables at the back of the pub - a bit like Rocky.

Unfortunately, on the 26th June 1953 a stray spark set the thatch roof on fire, destroying the pub. We moved from Hill Street in 1953 to live on the farm. I don't know if the move was before the fire, or after it. The Pentre area of Penycae was an interesting place to live.

Wales has always liked its beer. It may seem as if Penycae had a lot of pubs, but this was nothing compared to Blackwood (in South Wales area now known as Gwent), which boasted in 1842 to have one pub for every 5 inhabitants.

It is said that Wales has been brewing beer for 4000 years, and enjoying every minute of it. An 1850 report on public health in north east Wales stated, "Drunkenness I found complained of, by all parties, as the disgrace of Wrexham". The historian Russell Davies said in 2005, "The real opiate of the Welsh was alcohol. Alcohol was a thirst quencher, a reliever of physical pain and psychological strain, a symbol of human interdependence, a morale booster, a sleeping draft and a medicine. The hopelessness of destitution demanded a short-cut to oblivion".

We often hear today about marketing policies (offers on drink by supermarkets and pubs), youth drinking and binge drinking as if they are all new, and life was so different in the past. Look at some examples.

Marketing - in 1836, One Merthyr Tydfil publican was found to be offering three drinks for the price of one as an early morning special offer.

Youth drinking - in 1891, the popular novelist, Daniel Owen complained that pubs "were now filled with empty-headed youths, not old enough to shave, drinking like animals and going home in a worse state than any animal".

Binge drinking - in the 1830's, members of the Ebbw Vale Temperance Society were allowed two pints of beer a day, similar to the current recommended maximum for men of 3-4 units per day. However, problems arose when some adherents decided to save up their weekly beer allowance in order to knock back 14 pints at the weekend. The Society soon moved to the view of total abstinence.

Wales' love of rugby is well known, as is the fact that it went hand in hand with drink. The period from 1964 to 1979, when Wales won seven Triple Crowns and England failed to record a single victory in Cardiff, led according to John Davies to "a redefinition of the characteristics of the Welsh" from "puritan chapel-goers" to "muscular boozers who were doubtful whether there was any life beyond the dead-ball line".

Through pressure from the religious communities and the temperance movement, the Welsh Sunday Closing Act was passed in 1881 which meant that no pubs could open on a Sunday in Wales. This was the case until 1961 when every local district in Wales could separately vote whether to open pubs on Sundays in their District. Wales gradually became 'wet' on Sundays from 1961 to 1996, when the local government district of Dwyfor became the last district to lift the ban.

When pubs were closed on Sundays in Wales, people came up with all manner of creative ways to get a drink. In Penycae, buses came to the village on a Sunday to take people to Oswestry for a drink - this was a small town just across the border in England. This was one of the benefits of living near the border with England.

There's a wonderful story of ingenuity in Penycae concerning the Cross Keys pub. There was a house next door attached to the pub, and the house owner and pub owner agreed to knock a hole in the wall between the pub and the living room in the house. Drinkers would go to the house and be served drink through the hole in the wall, so technically people were not drinking in the pub on a Sunday. I loved the description given to me that the pub was closed, but the house had lots of friends.

Throughout Wales there were examples of man's cunning spirit. In the 1890's, Cardiff's Hotel de Mari arranged for gatherings of up to 2000 men on Sunday mornings to meet at a disused clay pit, where barrels of drink were provided free of charge in return for a 'voluntary' fee. Drinkers also made use of a clause in the legislation allowing the provision of drinks to genuine travellers, by walking to the next parish for a pint. Finally, one very enterprising brewery sought to take advantage of the ban by selling 'Sunday sustainers': two pint flagons of beer that could be bought on Saturday to drink on the Sunday.

I'm strangely proud that my village had its fair share of cunning plans to get a drink on a Sunday. We've spent a lot of time on drink here, which was important to my village, and I hope that the wider context has been of interest. Let me finish by pretending that we're in a pub quiz, and ask two questions.

1. What is the highest pub in the United Kingdom? - it is the Tan Hill Inn, Yorkshire at 1,732 feet above sea level.
2. What is the remotest pub on the British mainland? - it is The Old Forge in the village of Inverie, Lochaber, Scotland.There is no road access and it may only be reached by an 18 mile walk over the mountains, or a seven mile sea crossing. See http://www.theoldforge.co.uk/

Until next time, when I may subject you to stories of my first job on leaving school.