Where is the THT?

 

Regular readers of this blog will know that my chosen pseudonym Tandleman is named after my local pub, the JW Lees owned Tandle Hill Tavern, which in turn is named after Tandle Hill, a landscape feature between Middleton - where I live - and Royton - where I don't. The Tandle Hill Tavern is usually abbreviated by me and by locals as the "THT" or, simply "the Tavern."  A further geographical - or is it a political point  - is that the Tavern and Middleton are in Rochdale Borough Council area, while Royton, mentioned above, is in the Borough of Oldham. The boundary between the two is about 200 yards from the THT on the lane which connects the two.

The Tavern is a mile from either the A663 on the Middleton side or the A627 on the Royton end of Thornham Lane. You may have seen me mention the lane in my blog, usually referring to my traipse up there every Sunday from the bus stop, to join my pals for a pint or several. To quote the Good Beer Guide - which maybe I shouldn't - but I wrote it anyway - "It nestles amid a number of farms, reached by  an unmade, non-metalled farm track". Or, writing from memory, words to that effect, as the descriptive words vary from year to year. In other words it isn't that easy to get to. In fact when I speak to locals here in Middleton, it is surprising that many haven't heard of the pub and if they have, have never been there, or the adjacent 110 acre country park.

Now this isn't about to turn into a paeon of praise for my favourite pub, which has been a welcome part of my life for over twenty years, it is simply to let people know where it is and is inspired by the photo which accompanies this piece.  I came across this photo a couple of weeks ago on a local Facebook site. It was taken by a drone two or three weeks ago and illustrates, better than words, where this unique pub is situated. My first thought on looking at the photo, was "Where exactly is the pub?"  My second was to ask the owner, Jon Graham, if I could use it. He kindly gave his permission, for which I am grateful.

So what are we looking at?  This is the open farmland between part of Middleton on the left side and on the right-hand side of the photo, the lane,  continuing into Royton. The right-hand part of the photo, where it ends, is, more or less,  the boundary between the two boroughs mentioned in the first paragraph above.  If you look at the left of the photo, in front of the farm with the wind turbines, you'll see Thornham Lane. Follow this right with your eye to the clump of buildings in the middle and the reddish looking building - it isn't red - with an  apparently white roof - it isn't white  - is the Tandle Hill Tavern.  To save you the counting, there are four farms in the photo, so to say that it "nestles" amongst them, is pretty accurate I think you'll agree.

Going back to the wind turbines, you'll see the lane disappearing left. Obscured in the photo by cloud, is a bridge over the A627M -  itself just visible above the wind turbines - and hence after three quarters of a mile, the A663 and the 17 bus back home. (If we are not diverted to the Ship Inn, also owned by JW Lees,  a couple of hundred yards away that is.)

Of course at the moment neither the Tavern nor the Ship are available for anything other than visual inspection, but one day soon I hope, they'll be open for drinkers once more. Then that trek up the hill will be rewarded not only by pints of Lees Bitter, but importantly,  by the company of my many friends there.

From the War Memorial above the Tavern the views are similar to the drone, but of course more panoramic. It was here that in the period leading up to the Peterloo massacre it was said the area had been used by radicals for practising marching and drilling. 

Views include a clear line of sight across the Cheshire Plain to Jodrell Bank. Its famous dish can clearly be seen as can , across to Merseyside,  Fiddlers Ferry Power Station. North to Lancashire, is the TV transmitter at Winter Hill which provides my TV signals. Its red hazard lights are easily visible when walking back down the lane to the A663.
 

Once again my thanks to Jon Graham for his permission to use his work in this blogpost.

All Quite Pleasant

I may have mentioned it before but Sam Smith's,  through its takeover of Rochdale and Manor Brewery, have a lot of pubs in my area. They also, in common with Sam's elsewhere, have a lot of closed pubs, with the usual sign in the windows "Management Couple Wanted - Live In". Thus was my plan to visit the Yew Tree, a fine and imposing pub between Rochdale and Royton thwarted. The pub was closed, awaiting the next hopefuls.

But you are never too far away from a Sam's boozer, so I went back towards Royton to one which is well known to me - it is in fact probably the closest equal pub to my local the Tandle Hill Tavern - but is in the opposite direction for Tandleman Towers. So, oddly, despite my thirty odd years in the area - and knowing many who go there, I've never set foot in the place. Time to rectify this oversight.

The pub, The Pleasant, is on a main road, a rather modern looking building in a residential row.  Pretty ordinary really.   As I approached at teatime in pissing rain, a fellow imbiber entered with me. At least I wouldn't be on my own.  To my left a door said "Lounge" and right another said "Snug". My companion turned right and I glimpsed a pool table. Hmm. I don't think I've ever seen a pool table in a Sam's pub. I thought Humphrey scorned all forms of entertainment for the masses, but there it was. "How odd" I thought, turning left into the lounge.

A rather bare, but comfortable room greeted me. A sole drinker sat reading a newspaper, glancing up and nodding to me. The room was served by the same bar as the snug, in which I could see four workers in various degrees of highvizness, overalls and whatnot, bantering cheerily. So not that busy then, though I do know Sundays are popular. I should have gone then probably.  Still we have to work with what we've got. The woman serving me remarked on the unseasonality of the weather - and being British and knowing the correct style of response, I agreed, adding for good measure some disparaging remarks about the quality of the summer we've just had. So all was well. My pint of Sam's Light Mild (perhaps a little sharp) was a mere £1.34.  Looking round there was the usual number of prohibitions on the wall. No effing and jeffing, no phones, laptops or downloading music (why?) and a reminder of how long you had to sup up at closing time. This seems a somewhat repetitive obsession of Messrs Smith, but there you go. At least you know where you are. Beers were Light Mild, Taddy Bitter, Old Brewery Bitter, Alpine and Taddy Lagers. The famous half Alpine, half Taddy was the choice of my sole companion.  The lads in the snug were all on lager too, though of what mix, I couldn't tell.

Then horror on horrors. A mobile phone rang in the bar and in hushed tones, after exchanging endearments with his/someone else's wife/girlfriend or whatever, the callee, said words to the effect of "I have to go. I'm in The Pleasant and mobiles aren't allowed."  Seems Humph has put the fear of God into his customers on that one. Less so on the effing and jeffing I'd suggest, but all of it was in the context of fitting bathrooms, exchanges about how the day had gone and so on, so to my mind at least, harmless enough.  One lad called through to me saying that he didn't care ("couldn't give a fuck") about Humph's rules. Sooner or later he'd shut the pub anyway, like he had the Yew Tree he observed.  "Aha" I thought. "I could have saved a journey here."  

My pint was finished, so bidding goodbye to my sole companion in the lounge and shouting a farewell to the denizens of the snug, which was answered by all, I left in the (still) teeming rain.

Pleasant in the Pleasant? Certainly. I hope Humph doesn't shut it.

I must go on a Sunday and see what it is like. It would, like most pubs, be better full I'm sure, but I quite like the bare 70s look. Sorry about the photos which reflect the gloominess of the day.

No evidence of any Sam's bottles were seen. Just a fridge full of various Scintilla soft drinks.

Where's Humph When You Need Him?

One thing that can generally be said about Sam Smith's pubs is that while they are often rather bare looking, they are always spick and span.  That's a good thing. A nice clean pub means, in the main, nice clean beer.

The Corporation Inn is a pub I've noticed before when on my way to the nearby Curtain Theatre in Rochdale, or the odd time when sampling the delights of the curry shops on Milkstone Road, but I've never been in before.  This predominance of eateries, sari shops, kebab houses and small grocers, tells you that the pub is in an Asian dominated area, relevant only because they don't tend to frequent the boozers. (Well not officially anyway, though one hears tales.) But I digress. On a windy and wet night recently, I popped in.  Now the pub has the usual Sam's job lot of paint and no sign of ownership. Well I say popped in, but I couldn't open the door. From within came a chorused shout of "LATCH". The penny dropped and I lifted the latch and stumbled in. Three grinning faces met me. I reckon they'd observed this scene playing out a number of times, but were still enjoying it. As I would if I was them.  I sussed out one was the landlord, the other his better half and a sole customer stood at the bar.  In a small side room half a dozen other denizens were playing crib - another regular feature of Sam's pubs - and the whole place smelt strongly of cigarette smoke. I reckon the smoking area was directly outside this room, but it was so gloomy I couldn't see exactly where.

I scanned the lit plastic boxes before me, their false brass edges tarnished by years of neglect. Behind the bar I could see a room with various junk. It wasn't exactly tidy this place.  I chose Dark Mild. "Haven't got any" quoth the barman, a sort of Chauceresque rogue. The other choices were Taddy Lager, Cider or Old Brewery Bitter. "Why not have one of each? suggested my bar companion. Deciding to disregard that advice I had a pint of OBB. It was fine.  "Heading for the station?"  I replied in the affirmative, not feeling it wise to say "No actually, I've just come for a nose at you lot and your manky pub".

Looking behind me there was a rather soulless room on the left as you come in with nobody in it and on the right a carpeted and benched seating area which had two customers. One, a fairly young woman sat on her own with a half of lager, while the other, older guy sat reading his paper and supping his pint.  The landlord and his wife had gone to watch the crib players. My fellow barfly asked me what train I was getting, which put me in a difficult position, as I wasn't. This is how lies multiply, but in for a penny, I said I was meeting someone there and that seemed to satisfy.

Nothing else happened. The crib players hadn't looked in my direction once. Nor had the woman or the newspaper reader. My bar mate was lost in his own thoughts and as my pint went down, the landlord returned and watched hopefully, no doubt willing me to have another. When I finished and didn't I was given three goodbyes as I left, not forgetting to keep up appearances by turning left to the station, even though it was quicker to go right.

I again overlooked the bloody latch on the way out, but nobody shouted this time.



This pub reminded me or an old Liverpool boozer or two from 30 years ago. A few locals and year upon year of neglect. Pity, as actually with a few touches and a good clean, it could be a lot more appealing.  Wonder if owner Humphrey Smith would approve? I suspect not, but it was a pub where you are treated well enough and that's not so bad at all.

The pub sign was flickering epileptically as I took the photo. Apparently this is not a recent thing.

Keep the Home Fires Burning

What has Admiral Lord Nelson got to do with Rochdale? Nothing it seems, other than I suppose being a national hero a long time ago.  So the Nelson Hotel in Rochdale, we can safely assume, is not actually connected to the one armed sea dog, but his likeness adorns the pub's sign nonetheless.  Until fairly recently it seems, the pub was run for many years, until his death, by a motor bike loving landlord who loved the TT races.  I often wondered as I went by on the bus, why the pub flew the Manx flag, but now I know.  Pubs can be interesting that way.

Anyway in pursuance of my endeavour of visiting (or visiting again in some cases) every Sam Smith pub in my CAMRA Branch area, I popped in on Wednesday night.  First problem was actually getting in. The door and passageway was blocked by an old geezer on a mobility scooter of bus like dimensions.  There was a bit of a stand off as we both considered the problem. He wasn't about to move and clambering over him would have been undignified, so I grabbed his handlebars and dragged him out onto the pavement.  Well I considered it, but he (somewhat reluctantly) turned his chair a little sideways and I scrambled around him with great difficulty and entered the inner sanctum.

It turned out to be quite a nice little boozer, with the bar facing you as you come in, a room on each side, one of which was nicely appointed, with a roaring fire and two old Asian gents, each dressed in a shalwar kameez, who appeared to have come in for a warm. Drinkless, they were arguing loudly in their native language. Kind of unusual even though this is a pretty Asian dominated area.  Inside the bar was another roaring open fire. Not often you see two in such close proximity. Even more so since there was only one other old codger within, soon to be joined by the door guardian who nearly ran his pal down as he reversed up the passageway into the bar, giving his companion's table a resounding knock as he did so. A few frank words in Lancastrian were exchanged, concluding with the traditional "Fuck Off."

No real ale here, so instead the somewhat 1970s illuminated plastic boxes favoured by Sams, showed three lagers, a mild, Keg Old Brewery Bitter and a cider.  I chose Double Four, but there wasn't any, so Taddy Lager it was, pleasant enough in its own way and a mere £2.20 a pint. Very reasonable for a 4.5% beer.

As I stood at the bar I surveyed the pub and decided I liked it. It was how pubs used to be and I reckon with a few in, it would be great fun.  I remarked to the barmaid who was busy putting more fuel on the fires that I wouldn't like her coal bill. Wisely she observed that as she was only the part time barmaid, that wasn't her problem. "Fair enough" I thought as I basked in the heat, taking in some rather good old photos of Rochdale and a decent tiled image of a sailing ship in the passageway.

Before I left my Asian companions did, and as I supped up, thanked the barmaid and departed, only the two old Rochdalians remained.  I could still hear them arguing as I walked down the road to the Regal Moon and Draught Bass.

I am pretty sure there is quite a step into this pub. God knows how the guy on the scooter got in.

This review here is worth a read. 

The Pub - Evolving and Relevant

Dredgie in his inimitable way has a speculative and thought provoking article here, in which he postulates that the pub is doomed in its present form and that if it survives at all it will be as a specialist outlet for Fancy Dan beers, sold at premium prices to the cognoscenti or curious, who will visit once a week to eat as well as drink. These people according to young Mark - who as far as I can see has little by way of pub going pedigree and I don't mean that as a criticism, but as a point of observation - will be generationally ill disposed to pub drinking and that pub going will die or radically change when all us pub going old fossils have shuffled off our mortal coil. Well maybe, but I reckon not.

Now there is no doubt these days that there is a lot of pressure on people to behave more responsibly, eat healthily, take exercise etc. (we used to be brought up to do most of that by the way) and the rise of alternative entertainment and cheap supermarket beer has had an effect on pub going too, but there are one or two factors that Mark doesn't take into account. His assumption that the current habits of younger people will continue in exactly the same way into later life, is unlikely in the long term to be true. If it was, the older generation would be hobbling around in winkle picker shoes, loon pants, heavy metal T shirts and all the dodgy paraphernalia of their youth. But they don't. They change. As people get older, more comfortably off and want to see the world from a vantage point other than their sofa and see their friends in person, rather than through text and tweet and need a break from family, they will, at least sometimes, seek the pub as a place to meet. Their aim will not always be to eat, but to socialise. It won't be to seek out strange new beers, but to drink something they are comfortable with in the company of people they like. Much as it always has, the pub is constantly changing due to social evolution. It has always survived by adapting to meet new challenges and changing social habits and it always will.

A lot has been said about the smoking ban and pub closures, but one thing is true, like it or not. It is the bottom end of the pub market that has failed, but that was always going to happen sooner or later, in the face of a widening gap between supermarket and pub prices, especially as these pubs had no USP (to use Mark's phrase) and were effectively selling expensively in grotty surroundings, to relatively poor people, the same cheap beer that can be bought from the supermarket and drunk at home for a quarter of the price. Why drink Carling or Fosters in the pub when you can get the same product and drink (and smoke) at home much cheaper? For some, that question is a no brainer. Given the expectation of higher standards on top of this, a weeding out of the weakest was always going to happen. This is an evolutionary change just as much as food led pubs are and should be recognised as such. Shake outs of pubs are nothing new and it is usually the bottom end that is shaken out.

Yes, the pub is changing and yes there will be more specialism and yes it will be the more affluent that will frequent them, but it was always thus to some extent and became more so as the gap between on and off trade prices widened. It is also a bit of a myth that people of my generation spent all our time in pubs as young people. While we may not have had the dubious pleasure of Sky's 500 channels, or Nintendo Wii, we had the same problem that everyone starting out in life has; that is, coppering up to find enough money for the cinema, or a night down the pub (and the bus fare home) and concentrating as much then, as now, on horizontal activities with the opposite gender. (Trust me, the pub always came second to that.) The pressures on modern youth are no more difficult than they were for me and my generation, though they may differ in some aspects of course. Money, jobs, sex and a finding a way to relax with friends will always be a basic human requirement and will, in my forecast, in the UK at least, always include a drink or two at the pub from time to time. (It is also my belief that even though we are bombarded by Nanny State nonsense about health, that there will always be sufficient numbers of sceptics that will take it all with a pinch of (forbidden) salt.)

Maybe if Mark had a local where he met his friends, where he knew everyone and where the pub is the centre of village or neighbourhood life and gossip, he'd see things more optimistically. I'd also speculate that in time he probably will. In many thousands of pubs up and down the country, people still go for that feeling of community, where the bar staff know you and your family, call you by your name and where you know most people and the sense of belonging and being part of things is palpable. It happens everywhere. You just have to visit Stonch's pub, with its loyal set of characterful customers to see that it can be done, even in the heart of a big soulless city. I would guess that the same feelings of belonging are engendered there as in my local. And yes, in most community pubs, in towns, villages and neighbourhoods, young people are there and gaining the same sense of the pub that I have. But here I need to scotch a myth once more. Pubs were always dominated by the older generations. How younger people see pubs today will likely change as they get older and evolve. It was always thus. I think we have to remember that what we do when young and what we do when older, are vastly different things. Life changes us all.

So will the pub change? Yes it will. Will the way we use it change? Yes it will. Will the numbers of pubs continue to diminish? Probably. Will how we perceive pubs change? Yes it will. Will pubs evolve and change to meet the new demands of their customers? Of course they will or they will close.

Above all, will we adapt to the new situation and want to go to the pub however it evolves? Yes we will, as long as we have the need to mix and socialise over a drink and I forecast that won't die out any time soon.

Thanks to Mark for a really interesting post. I would have replied there, but hey - I have also have a blog to write. I reckon too that we aren't far from (mostly) agreeing.

Take Me to the Pub

I mentioned that as well as the Pete Brown trilogy - no I haven't started reading the damn things yet - I got a SatNav for Christmas. Now in the heady days when I drove 30,000 miles a year on Her Majesty's business, such a device would have been a great boon and would have meant a great deal less stress and many fewer meetings where I stumbled in late, muttering apologies. But nowadays, where I rarely drive anywhere I don't already know, I am not so sure. Still, I mean to use the thing one way or another.

Two things caught my eye which provide a useful addition to my new technology. Firstly CAMRA supply a Point of Interest version of the Good Beer Guide for a fiver, so that's a good bet. Secondly, Cask Marque has put all their pubs on a similar platform and this can be downloaded free. I'll probably get both as soon as I can work out whether there is enough on board memory in my Garmin, or if I need an SD card. I can guess the answer, so I might as well buy the card now.

Of course this is well and good, but it doesn't solve the problem of designated driver. It seems I am doomed mostly to using this to check out pubs for articles for my CAMRA magazine, which I now edit, or for delivering them by the quickest route. There's always a use for technology, though I reckon a compliant partner would be a better option. She also likes a slurpo, so isn't likely to drive me to drink, at least in that sense.

Oh well, it works in walking mode too!

The Good Face of the Pub

We lost a couple of our Sunday regulars at the pub yesterday. Dave and Gwen who have been going there each Sunday, more or less, for the last twenty years, have decided to move to Wensleydale, where Gwen originates and where she still has relatives. They maintain a caravan there, so it's familiar to them.

So there was a little celebration yesterday. The Sunday regulars were out in force including a few old faces, returning for the occasion. Sandwiches were provided by the landlady and a framed print of the pub, signed by all the Sunday crew, was presented by me, on behalf of the regulars, to Dave and Gwen. It was an honour to be asked to do so and to say a few words on behalf of everyone. Of course I recalled old times and faces, I mentioned that the pub just won't be the same without them, as it is the comforting familiarity of seeing the same faces, of passing a few words at the bar with each other, of the ease with which we can talk of this and that in our cosy little world, that makes it such a good place to spend a Sunday. You really can forget your cares for a while.

Dave replied, saying that truly, the thought of leaving the THT behind was a major factor in deciding whether or not to move. He said that it had been hard to think of times without the company of all their friends at the pub. It had been a close call. He went on to praise the unique nature of our pub and to thank everyone for the happy times they had spent there. It was an emotional occasion. We were saying goodbye to two of our own. We all felt a sense of loss.

When you hear so much negativity about the pub trade, it is good to remember that there are thousands of decent pubs, with splendid regulars, whose lives are enhanced by their pub visits and by the people they meet there. I feel lucky and privileged to be one of them. I am sure that Dave and Gwen will find a new pub to go to and that they'll settle in to their new lives well, but I know that from time to time, they'll think of their old friends in our pub and we'll look over to their usual corner and picture them there.

When E and I left, much later than we intended, Gwen and Dave were still there, with some of their usual crew, having a last one for the road. I hope the picture got back down the lane safely!

Pictured are Dave, Gwen and the Landlady (centre).

Sunday, Lovely Sunday

The Sunday trip home on these weekend jaunts invariably gives the best beer of the trip. It's a kind of welcome Sod's Law with the sting in the tail being that time is restricted by the need to get everyone home and of course, the drivers hours are (rightly) limited by law. The dedicated toper has to use his or her time wisely.

We left Tewkesbury in time for a pre noon pint in Worcester. Pre noon means Wetherspoons as none of the GBG pubs opened until 12. The Postal Order was a typical example and absolutely jumping at around 11.30 when we added to the hubbub. Now the usual suspects will moan about JDW, but this one was filled with all sorts, from soaks to shoppers, with as many teas, coffees and breakfasts being scoffed as pints. It also gave us the opportunity to stock up on sandwiches from the nearby Tesco as we were unsure about the availability of grub in later venues.

A quick stop in Uphampton for the Fruiterer's Arms, home to the Cannon Royal Brewery. The pub is down a narrow country lane, with I assume, fruit fields on one side and a straggling hamlet on the other. The pub was old fashioned, full of locals and had a nice ambience with some outside enjoying the sunshine, locals chatting and a family function kicking off in a side room. Clearly a place at the heart of its community. The Fruiterer's Mild was dark and luscious. Some of us collectors regarded the framed poster from a defunct brewery. The old gent in the smock looks quite content does he not? Radcliffe of Kidderminster was taken over in 1947.





Our next stop shook off the brown beer with a vengeance. Coombs Wood Sports and Social Club is a thriving Cricket Club among other things. It was friendly and had an impressive array of six beers, Mauldon's Silver Adder did just fine for Tyson, me and E and the time passed all too quickly before we made our reluctant way to our final stop, the Waggon and Horses, also in Halesowen. What a pub! Fourteen beers from handpumps, bread, cheese and a rip roaringly hot salsa on the bar, the friendliest and chattiest locals you could imagine and the beers in wonderful condition. Bloody great. I can't list them all - I can't remotely remember, but beers from Nottingham, Oakham, Holdens and more were scoffed by Tyson, E and me. I looked around, We were chatting to a couple of locals and most of our group had a local attached, chatting away. We left with considerable reluctance.

It is worthwhile to reflect that when there are unpretentious, friendly pubs like this (and indeed the Fruiterer's and the Cricket Club) thriving and serving fantastic beer, you really know all this talk of the pub going down the tubes is just that. Great pubs, selling great beer in a great atmosphere will thrive, leaving those that can't cut the mustard to fail and that's just how it should be. I've said it before and it is worth repeating. It is really all about the offer.

No pictures of the Waggon and Horses. Sorry. The time just flew by and I didn't get round to it.

The Rifle Range

I was at the Rifle Range last night. This is very decent local, its kind being the very backbone of Lees estate. It has recently been done up as part of Lees community local refurbishment programme, which has seen quite a few of Lees local, rather than flagship, pubs getting a makeover. The architect has moved the bar to make better use of space and overall the pub just looks splendid. Lees Brewer's Dark and Bitter were on handpump and in good form. With a welcoming and pleasant young barmaid serving and good natured locals thrown in, it was a joy to be there.

We read these days of pubs not doing well, but the simple pleasures of the true local never wane. They are still serving their communities as they always have done. OK it probably won't be Lees, but seek yours out. It will be there somewhere.

The Rifle Range is at the Boundary Park end of Burnley Lane, Chadderton, Oldham and is very handy indeed for those visiting Oldham Athletic's Boundary Park, though you may have to knock the back door to get in on match days!