Harp Scratchings 8 - Never on a Sunday

The Harp from the meadow - open for business

At one time licensed premises were not allowed to open on Sundays in Wales. I believe that edict also applied to other retail outlets but what that meant in the village of Glasbury was that the pub and the two village shops on our side of the river were “out of bounds” on Sundays – at least officially.

It’s really interesting how the village network operated. If Mum was in desperate need of some grocery item because of an unexpected bed and breakfaster, a knock on the back door for the required item was generally all that was needed, as long as one didn’t behave outside the bounds of propriety – for instance interrupting Sunday dinner or being public about the transaction.

I recall that was the state of play at the Harp. With the blackout blinds drawn down at the front of the pub to indicate the business was closed, Dad obliged the dire need of some of his trusted regulars on Sundays now and again.

I digress for a moment to mention that the blackout blinds were a relic of wartime when German bombers flew overhead to the factories of Hereford. Dad was with the 8th Army in Italy and North Africa during World War 2 and Mum had the job of managing the Harp.

She often worried about her sisters who worked at the Hereford munitions factory and in later years mocked the US Army officers billeted at Glasbury castle. “They think they can buy us with nylon stockings and chocolate” she would be heard to mutter when talk in the bar turned to wartime memories.

On any given Sunday, the front door entrances to the Harp were bolted, the blinds were drawn but the cellar door at the side of the property was left unlocked.

The Harp was a “free house” which meant it was not owned by any particular brewery and Dad as “owner operator” could deal with whoever he wished. A steep concrete ramp with stairs built into the structure provided the means by which the various suppliers would roll their barrels from street level down to the cellar, through the cellar door and into dispensing position. Mum and Dad used the cellar for various things besides bar supplies – laundry, storing feedstock for pigs, fowl and of course our two dogs as well as gardening supplies.

I didn’t like the cellar, it was dark and damp and the place of nightmares. So when a thirsty local appeared from the depths of the cellar, stepping apologetically through our scullery and into one of the blacked out bars it would catch me off guard.

I was very young when all this activity went on and have vague memories of what took place but I do seem to recall the village constable parking his bike by the cellar door and appearing on the scene once. I am not sure whether it was to join in the Sunday session or to issue Dad with a warning not to get caught again.

As with all things, they change. Soon Sunday opening was commonplace. That led to other problems. Sunday hours were restricted to a short late morning opening and a second evening opening.

Everyone seemed to enjoy a Sunday drink, whether it was after church, a pre-Sunday lunch nip or to obtain the hair of the dog from the previous night's activities. As you would expect, there were those who opposed the activity because it got in the way of family members being present and correct for Sunday dinner when they overstayed their welcome at the pub.

Mrs. Meale who lived three houses down from the Harp was so angry on one particular Sunday when her husband didn’t appear at the appointed time that she brought his beef dinner, complete with vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and gravy, and was observed by the entire bar hurling the plate at the front of the Harp along with some colourful language.

Dad did sell pork pies, pickled onions and crisps (potato chips) but I don’t remember whether Mr. Meale actually felt like eating after being embarrassed so badly.