Leaves falling, storm threatening, and a venture into a valley unexplored in search of a pub – we’d been given the name and not much else.
It was mid-week and quiet when we pushed open the door, but a few of the regulars were in and others coming and going. We found a corner, and ordered some lunch. There we sat, like strange stones in a new river watching its life flow past. It was still and peaceful – a proper quiet pint. A place to be.
On the way out we spoke to the man on the next door table savouring the last of his pint.
“Great place this.”
He nodded.
“Sad we’re losing so many of our pubs, our real pubs.”
He nodded.
“Places like this feel like they’ve got proper roots.”
He nodded, then added: “Won’t know what they’ve lost until it’s gone.”
We nodded.
Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023
The Phraser 