The day after Bank Holiday Mondays’ disturbing events in Liverpool, Mrs PBT’s and I spent some time time ashore in the city. The incessant rain didn’t help lift the rather sombre mood in the city, although it didn’t seem to deter tourists, or indeed cruise ship passengers. There was an air of excitement onboard ship, as Princess Anne had been due to visit the ship that day, and my good lady wife was keen to catch a glimpse of the royal personage. The Princess Royal’s schedule was delayed, because quite understandably the royal personage had stopped off to visit one of Liverpool’s hospitals where people injured in the previous day’s “incident” were being treated.
It was my wife’s idea, rather than mine, to indulge in a spot of princess spotting, although in the interests of marital harmony, I went along with her. We ended up flitting around the ship in search of the elusive “Mrs Lawrence”, although as things turned out, we’d have been better staying in our cabin. From our balcony,we would have had a bird’s eye view of the royal party as they arrived, as well as saving ourselves a lot of dashing about. We apparently just missed the royal personage as we were getting out of the lift, not that it really bothered me. Five decades ago, when I was a student at Salford University, Anne’s late father the Duke of Edinburgh, visited paid a visit to the campus in his capacity of University Chancellor. Myself, plus a group of friends had been hanging around in much the same fashion, trying to catch a glimpse of “Phil the Greek”, and were surprised when he wandered across to where we were standing, to say hello.
That was then, and this was now, and once the Princess Royal and her party had departed, it was time for Eileen and I to go ashore. So, despite the rain, which by now had started to fall in earnest, we stepped off the ship and set off to explore the city.
We headed along the water front towards the Albert Dock, and after stopping for the obligatory photo of ourselves by the statue of Liverpool‘s most famous sons, the Beatles aka, the Fab Four, found a convenient coffee shop, next to the Beatle’s Experience. I explained to Eileen that there weren’t many pubs in the direction we were heading in, and that we’d be better off climbing up the hill towards Lime Street station. She wasn’t over keen on the idea, so we agreed to part company, and meet up back at the ship.
So, I set off into the city, in search of a few public houses. I had a few possibilities in mind, although one was probably rather ambitious. That particular pub was the Roscoe Head, an outlet that has featured in every edition of CAMRA’s Good Beer Guide. That’s 54 issues, at the last count, and the Roscoe is one of just five pubs to have achieved this distinction. Looking at Google Maps, it was about 30 minute’s walk from the city centre, not too far, but far enough, especially in view of the heavy rain, so with no firm plan in mind, I set off in a roughly northerly direction to see what I could find. When we first got off the ship, I had a brief chat with one of the advisors from the Liverpool Tourist Authority, regarding the best pubs nearby, and the quickest, plus most convenient routes to them.
The area where the previous evening’s incident took place, was still cordoned off, and to a much greater extent than I expected, so I continued up the hill where a block or two away, I noticed an Okell’s pub I’d been to before. Back in April 2010, I enjoyed a pint of Okell’s Bitter at the Thomas Rigby. I was on my way across to the Isle of Man, where that year’s CAMRA AGM was taking place, and had a couple of hours to kill before the IOM sea-cat departed to the island. The Thomas Rigby was inaccessible, this time around, stuck on the wrong side of the police cordon, erected around the previous day’s crime scene, but the nearby Railway, was well and truly open. Decked out in the livery of Robert Cain, a legendary, former Merseyside brewer, it looked very inviting, so I stepped inside.
I discovered a well-laid out, multi-room establishment that was buzzing which, for a wet and windy, post-bank holiday, Tuesday afternoon, was a real turn-up for the books. I ordered a pint of Higson’s Pale, which turned out to be an excellent drop of beer. Higson’s was another, equally famous Liverpudlian brewery, before succumbing to
the advances of Boddington’s of Manchester.
The
Higson’s name has now been revived under the ownership of the Home Bargains
chain and, according to the barman, its beers are now produced by a brewery
based in Liverpool’s Baltic Triangle area. I noticed the
menu board on the wall, and found the prospect of a fish-finger
sandwich too good to resist. At just £7.95 it was good value, especially
when it turned up with a small wire basket of chips! With a pint of good beer, a tasty and filling lunch, plus the vibes associated with a thriving, and traditional city-centre alehouse, what was there not to like?
Whilst tempted to stop for another, I thought it would be good to visit another pub whilst in the city, so after consulting What Pub, set off along a side street. Unfortunately there was a police barricade at the bottom of the road, indicating I had inadvertently entered the exclusion zone surround the scene of Monday’s incident. Retracing my footsteps, I stopped to take a few photos of what I thought was the other corner of the Railway, even though it was actually another fine, traditional pub called the Lion Tavern. I didn’t realise my mistake until back on board ship, and only then after stumbling across the Lion in the book I was reading at the time.
“A Pub All Seasons” by Adrian Tierney-Jones, constituted my chosen reading material for the cruise, and whilst I still haven’t finished it, I’ve read more than enough to know what Adrian is getting at in this real gem of a book. I’ll leave out the name-dropping, despite having met Mr Tierney-Jones, but without giving too much away (I will probably write a review of the book, in the fullness of time), the publication can best be summed up by the sub-title- “A Yearlong Journey in Search of the Perfect British Local.” Starting with autumn, Adrian works his way through the four seasons, contrasting the mood and the atmosphere that he finds in journeys up and down the land. Two days after our cruise ship departed Liverpool, our intrepid author finds himself in Liverpool where, unlike me, he finds time to visit the Roscoe Head.
His description was enough to make me wish I’d called in at the Roscoe, but worse is to come, as on page 145, Adrian stops off at the Lion Tavern – the very same Lion I mistook for the rear of the Railway. I’d obviously missed another gem of a pub, and one which, if anything surpassed the adjacent Railway. It’s obviously easy to be wise after the event, but had I been a few pages further on in the book, then I could have visited the Lion, alongside the Railway.
We’re getting near the end now, and I ended up at the nearby Denbigh Castle, thanks in no small part to the aforementioned police “exclusion zone.” Situated in the quirky named Hackins Hey, just off Dale Street, the Denbigh Castle is one of two pubs owned by the independent Small Hands Company.
With its attractive, blue-painted frontage, spacious and well-laid out bar, plus four cask ales, it was quieter inside the pub than was the case at the Railway, and there were fewer customers as well, but the pub had a nice chilled-out atmosphere. A pint of Heaps of Sheeps from Castle Rock Brewery, rounded off the afternoon, before I headed back to the Queen Anne, and a catch up with Mrs PBT’s.
