ADVENTURES IN THE PUB TRADE

Well over 50 years ago, not long after our departure from Hythe on the shores of Southampton Water, my parents entered the `licenced trade.` After a spell of `training` at a pub called `The Dover Patrol` at Kidbrooke in south-east London, which was run by an aunt and uncle of mine, we moved first to an off-licence in Catford and then to The Royal Oak at Wrotham Heath, which was my first introduction to the Garden of England.

As an impressionable youngster, I looked upon this move as a bit of an adventure and despite the fact that I missed all the friends I had had to leave behind in Hythe, I entered into the spirit of our new life by embracing the shock of the new. There were a few early lessons to be learned; the first being that my broad Hampshire burr did not always make me easily understood, especially by the maids of Kent. Another was the idiosynchratic pronunciation of some of the place names in the area - Wrotham is, of course, `Rootam` and who could possibly mistake Trottiscliffe for `Trosley?`

Now, in those far off days, the popular thing to do if you lived in London was to go on day trips to the Kent coast - Margate, Folkestone, Ramsgate and all the other fleshpots of the day. As most people didn`t have their own transport, the preferred method of making the journey was by coach and companies such as Timpsons, operating out of south London, built up vast fleets of 36-seater coaches and did very well out of people`s desire for ritual escape.

It was, of course, a long and arduous journey from south London to the Kent coast, not helped by poor roads and the need - before the age of the motorway - to crawl through town centres such as Maidstone and Ashford. It all took time and the needs of the passengers for various forms of `comfort` meant that pubs such as the Royal Oak - about a third of the way to and from the chosen destination - built up a reputation as a welcome stop along the way.

During summer weekends, therefore, our pub was extremely busy, catering for both the outward and the return journeys as coach after coach arrived, discharging their passengers into one of two huge bars, an equally huge tea bar and a large set of `conveniences,` with the clanging fall of pennies in slots as feminine comfort was sought and found.

I think the busiest day was when 168 coaches stopped at the Royal Oak both on the way and on the way home - over 6000 customers with only a limited time for their needs to be met before their coaches left. The drinks orders, I recall, ranged from the beautiful economy of "Gissarf" to a burly demand for "Twenty-four pints of brown and mild - and make it quick, son."

(A stop along the way - Wrotham Heath in olden days - click on photo)

I guess my experiences of seeing the other side of the `licenced trade` have been responsible for me being quite unable to see any attraction in drinking myself into a stupour in order to have a good time.....so I don`t. Well, I had the odd lapse during my military career, but then who wouldn`t? But in all honesty, I simply don`t like the taste of alcoholic drinks, preferring to rely on my stock of Lilt, Sprite and J2Os for my yuletide revels. I may be miserable, but at least I`m sober.