BRAPA - Johnny Rawtenstall : Never Mind the Weather, Here's The Pub (Pt 1/2)

Last Saturday, Dad drove me around rural Derbyshire, dodging cyclists, potholes and sheep, taking in such delights as Wardlow Mires, Crowdecote and Litton, to help me achieve my pubby aims. 

So this weekend, the plan was for something much more sedate.  Hop on the ELR (East Lancs Railway) at Bury to mop up the pubs I needed on each stop on the line.  It'd be my third time on this line, but 'new' pubs keep appearing. 

But just like Chapel-en-le-Frith the previous night, every step of the way would be a battle and I feel sorry for Dad having to suffer with me, though he said he enjoyed it looking back.

We set off from York to Manchester Piccadilly where I'd got off a train less than 12 hours earlier, and you could be forgiven for thinking this would be the easy part of the day.  Wrong! 

Geordie teens high on Strongbow Dark Fruits and god knows that else with glittery outfits that even put BRAPA to shame were filling every sinew of every carriage, bound for a music festival called Parklife at a place called Heaton Park which must be near Manchester.  We had to stand in the aisle.

Our initial thoughts were to get off and catch a later train, but this wouldn't help our cause, so we stuck with it all the way, they were a decent bunch actually, and I asked four young ladies if any good bands were on?  Well, they looked confused and Dad interjects "Simon, it isn't about the bands these days ..... it is all about the DJ's" and the girls look approvingly at him. 

Time to escape the crowds at Manchester Piccadilly and hop on the Metro, but to my horror, on the Bury line, is the stop Heaton Park!  You couldn't make it up.  Furthermore, I could've saved us time and hassle by jumping off earlier at Manc Victoria where the Metro went through anyway!  Never mind.

As a station guard told the revellers to ditch the last of their Dark Fruits and gear, one face painted lass blew up an inflatable alien the same colour as my highlighter pen, Dad said I should ask her for a BRAPA picture.  Richard Coldwell would've done, but I chickened out. 

Finally at Bury, delays had meant we had 10 minutes to run across to the ELR in the rain and buy a ticket.  An old lady was complaining in front of us, slowing us down further, but as we rushed down to the platform, everything was delayed anyway.  Panic over ..... for now .....

City of Wells.  Looks more like a train to me.  Sorry.

The other one

Selling off craft cans cos little demand for Peaches & Cream in Bury means going out of date?  Surely not!

After a nice restorative station coffee and scone (much nicer than a Costa), we finally hopped on the steam train up to Rawtenstall.  

The rain was bouncing down sideways as we powered the 10 mins walk to the GBG entry.  We had an hour to do two micropubs.  It was all very Chapel-en-le-Frith deja vu from last night! 

Despite the flooded pavements, cheek to jowl traffic and Saturday hustle and bustle, you could still tell that Rawtenstall was a beautiful and incredibly Lancastrian little town.  And what a relief to finally get inside our first pub .......

Okay, so the Hop Micro Pub (1639 / 2608) didn't really do much for me.  Ale was a bit warm and average (first of day pulled through despite having been open two hours?), locals and barmaid jolly if a bit insular, as we gathered in the busy but rather bland downstairs bar.  As I carefully selected an ale 'cos it had a frog on the pump clip', an old couple left and barmaid asked if they were going for a 'chippy tea' later.  Before you could say Hotpots, Dad had discovered a quiet upstairs retreat where a Hipster man taught his three twild folk the art of chess, though they had little appetite for it in truth. 

Closer to the station, a pre-emptive tick that a nice bloke on Twitter had suggested to me back in January.  Being pre-emptive, I could exercise 'BRAPA rules' and just have a half, and if we weren't 25 mins in the pub, it didn't matter, which could be quite useful under the rushed circumstances!

Dad poses under the funky frontage

From the moment an old bloke appeared from the doorway as Dad posed, nearly photobombing us just so he could say "Grrrrowl, when will this rain ever end?", you just knew that Casked, Rawtenstall was going to be a step up from the Hop.  It's all in the detail, and with Dad's glasses steamed up, the lovely long haired gangly bloke and wife pass him kitchen roll to wipe them.  A little thing, but indicative of the touch of class and warmth you could feel in this surprisingly cosy micro.  Quite why I chose us Marshmallow Milk Stouts when we had to neck them, I don't know, and miscommunication (i.e. Dad's deafness) meant we did end up with pints AND staying 25 mins after all that!  A few too many dogs were fawned over, but a lady let us sit in her husbands seat because "he's just spreading himself out" she says rolling her eyes.   Random Welsh beermats an added bonus, and the stout slipped down easily like milky nectar! I can REALLY see this getting in the next GBG, if ya know what I mean.

We made the train easily, and one step later, we were 'alighting' (as they say in the trade) at Irwell Vale where the GBG claimed the pub at Edenfield was an easy walk.  Pffffttt.

Dad doing some top level alighting

More heavy rain, muddy paths, A roads and railway bridges were negotiated, and about half an hour later, our third pub finally came into view.......

You shouldn't judge a pub by its cover, but the big Sky Sports banners, many letters missing from the sign of Rostron Arms, Edenfield (1640 / 2609), and '2016 Good Beer Guide' sign on the door made me wonder if this place was to be a bit of a shithole.  Still, you'll note the flowers above look pretty healthy, and how can you not enjoy a good estate style pub - though on a main road rather than in an estate, if you know what I mean.  Not an obvious inclusion for the GBG you might say, but that is no bad thing.  Another downside was the barmaid, a proper miseryguts with no people skills.  I ordered us two pints of Pedigree, but she couldn't get the till open.  As I waited patiently for my change, I glanced up at the Sky Sports screen above the bar and saw the breaking news that Hull City manager Nigel Adkins had resigned.  Considering a huge reason for this will have been the very mean transfer kitty, the locked till incident as a means of discovering this news felt very apt indeed!  Finally, I located £6.60 in change in the depths of my pockets and put her out of her misery.  Well, not really, cos she remained miserable, but you know what I mean.  But time for two huge plus points, a glorious roaring wood burner to warm ourselves up on (is it really June?) and best of all, the Pedigree was absolutely splendid quality, so THAT is why it is in the GBG!  Pint of the day, and quite frankly, I hadn't been expecting it.   We knew we had a long walk back to the station, so we didn't dawdle, but this pub had won me over after a shaky start. 

Waiting for my change

Plus pub points for pool table and proper carpet

Dad enjoys the woodburner

So there we were, about half way through the day, but things were just about to get even more traumatic!  Join me for tales of that one in part two, released later tonight cos gotta bang these blogs out before my holiday .......

Si