Hector and Marg went tearing down the M74 as soon as the bell went. No Mahogany (Teachers’ New Year’ ) for us. Marg has a Vets hockey tournament in Sheffield, Hector was taking the opperchancity of maximising the Curry intake before July’s self imposed barren period. Mr. Holden the Curry-Guru of Bradford was to be my host. The fact that he also is responsible for organising Bradford’s Real Ale Festival may be the attraction most relevant to this Blog. A lover of Curry and Bier?
Oh no, there’s two of them!
It was still raining when I abandoned the car in Brighouse, the closest spot we could find to the M62 which had Ale. Marg sped on in the dark to her hockey tournament. I approached a chap at the bus shelter and asked for directions to the Richard Oastler, the local Wetherspoons. Another chap passing by had overheard: ‘Follow me.’ I did, it was around the corner. I entered at 21.30, my ETA had been within acceptable parameters.
The Richard Oastler is one of the two Brighouse pubs I had previously visited with Ricky last October, Marg drove. It is a converted Methodist church and the interior décor is certainly impressive. There was no sign of Ricky and so I got myself up an Ale. Ossett’s Excelsior is one of my favourites. Sadly this evening it did not hit the spot at all. No matter how much I tried.
Ricky was found under a balcony sitting with friends. The majority left after a good bit of banter. There was now Mr Holden, Hector and Eamon. The latter was to be dragged into our Curry plan. The optimum departure time from Brighouse was discussed, the penultimate bus was decided upon.
At the very same bus stop as previously encountered, we were advised that the next bus was the last. Mr Holden’s Tours are legendary for their (d)efficiency.
The bars of Bradford have been a mystery to Hector for some time. Ricky has observed the quality Ale pubs are moving out of the city as the ethnic diversity of Bradford becomes minimal. Haigys Bar (31 Lumb Lane, Bradford, BD8 7QU) was the venue of choice, that it is around the corner from one of Bradford’s Curry Houses – the Sheesh Mahal may have had something to do with this.
The outside of Haigys is done up in the colours of Bradford F.C. I felt I was in Motherwell. The Bier choice was extensive, the Ale choice was apparently not up to its usual standard.
The Super Chief, a light hoppy pale Ale at 4.6% (Bob’s Brewing Co, Ossett) looked as though it ticked the boxes. Sadly it was less than impressive. More hops required. After a couple of pints of less than impressive Ale I switched to something cold, yellow and fizzy. Perhaps my mind was on more important things.
The charge hand was in good form. He was in no hurry to see us leave. We enjoyed the hospitality. There was just the three of us left, closing time?
Later at Chez Holden, I was permitted to share a bottle of La Gauloise, the best Bier of the evening. Ricky’s funny hat collection made an appearance. This was the first time I had stayed at Ricky’s, if this is what one does whilst listening to old Yes CDs then this is fine with me.
The Saturday
Otley – this is where Ricky now wanted to go. He was raving about an array of great new pubs opened in the town. Menston- Ilkley – Otley, this is where my Yorkshire sojourn began back in 1996. I had been promised Sowerby Bridge, Todmorden and Hebden Bridge, something new please.
With a local rover ticket for two in hand, we took a bus and then the train to Sowerby Bridge.
The Jubilee Restrooms at Sowerby Bridge Station are another in the world of great Ale outlets along the train lines between Leeds and Manchester – The Ale Trail. To say this venue was an old station waiting room given a lick of paint and an Ale tap or two installed would pretty much describe it. Echoes, bare floor, some Ale and Station memorabilia adorn the walls. We had either forty minutes, or an hour before our next train. Ricky’s plan was to see the train arrive on platform and then stroll on t’train. Having missed the first train, we had another pint. It was too short, the train, he didn’t see it come in…
Willow’s Wood, a 4.2% offering from the Old Mill Brewery, Snaith, was the Ale which set us up for the day. Light and slightly hoppy, a refreshing and undemanding start to the proceedings.
Serendipity
As a result of missing the first train we had gained a follower for the day. Richard, no not that one, a local from Sowerby Bridge decided to join our quest for good Ale.
This time we stood on the platform and waited for the train, somehow we managed not to miss it. A few minutes later we alighted at Todmorden. Twenty fours hours prior to this I had never heard of the place. I suspect it may feature again in future trips.
The Queen Hotel at the station (Rise Lane, Todmorden, OL14 7AA) had an array of Ales to satisfy all tastes. What we had not envisaged was the mob who also alighted from the train. Some of them were Ale drinkers, some were lager boys, what they all had in common was volume. We did not hang about, the strategy now being to get a step ahead.
Moorhouse’s (Lancashire) Blond Witch at 4.5% was a slight step in strength and was perhaps a bit more rewarding. Again light in colour, this was establishing the trend.
The Polished Knob (31 Burnley Road, Todmorden). Now there is a name for a pub.
A charming young lady serving behind the bar exchanged good banter as Hector did the photographic survey of what was a good sized pub. We opted to sit at a high table just off the immediate bar area. With a big agenda for the day before us, it was a case of sup up and go. Little did Hector know he would be back so soon.
Elland Brewery’s Blond Citrus Bitter at 4.2% was in keeping of the Bier style demanded by Hector.
The town of Todmorden was appealing in terms of the blending of the old architectural style with the new. Some very impressive buildings were passes as was a pub which no longer had Ale.
We arrived at a pink monstrosity. Who has been watching too much Ballamory? A lilac-pink pub? In we go.
The Gallery, the BareArts brewery outlet (110 Rochdale Rd , Todmorden, OL14 7LP) had some cumfy chairs at the entrance, these were already occupied. The staff took us on. They set us the task of choosing a bottle from the extensive list.
It was then suggested by the very cooperative staff that we have the Ale poured into jugs so that we could each sample the produce. We took our place in the far room and got down to the business of supping Ale. The Bier was a couple of degrees too warm for Hector’s palate.
The resolve was made to return, but at a time of year when the natural ambience would chill the Bier to a more acceptable level. The opening times can be difficult to decipher I am told. We have the phone number. (Howard and Craig would love this place, 5% plus features prominently in the range.)
Holden Tours
Richard and Ricky had worked out the optimum time to leave to catch the bus. To Hebden Bridge. Missing it by minutes were decanted once more to the Polished Knob. En route to Todmorden, Mr. Holden had related his experience of a market and Black Pudding. At the end of the day this would lead to the most memorable feature of the weekend – Hector and Co evicted from pub. Having contacted Derek of Kelburn Brwery fame earlier in the day to inform him that I had spotted an Ale with estivo as part of it nomenclature (Pivo Estivo being one of Derek’s creations), this was the first time I had seen the term employed in this country outside of the Paisley source. At 3,8% it was not really on my radar, but what the… let’s try it. This would turn out to be a wise decision.
The Estivator Ale was from Old Bear of Keighley.
Richard disappeared first, then Ricky. They both returned with their purchases from the market across the street. Richard unwrapped the smallest of pies which was topped with a layer of the much celebrated Todmorden Black Pudding. As altruism was to the fore, a knife was liberated from an adjacent shelf and said pie was cut into slivers for sampling purposes.
A Bert appeared
‘Get out of my restaurant!’ Now Hector looked up in surprise, firstly because of the suddenness of the outburst from a person who had appeared from nowhere, and secondly because as I gathered myself and looked around the pub, in no way had the word restaurant come into my mind. The guy was serious! He kept repeating his request, Hector and Mr Holden had pretty much a full pint before us. He wanted us out – now. Ricky asked for a refund, none was offered, we carried on supping. Still the chap continued, his audience now diminishing somewhat because one suspects the other drinkers, were there any diners (?), were probably embarrassed by the continuing harassment. Richard had finished smartly and left. We continued, With reference to the used knife on the table: ‘I have to pay people to wash the cutlery...’ Ricky offered to wash it. We were playing with the poor chap.
Now Hector’s understanding of Scot’s Law is that one can only be asked to leave licensed premises in such a manner if a refund for the Beer before one is provided. This is the practice I have observed, but have never fallen victim to in approaching forty years of drinking in pubs. What the law is in Yorkshire, who knows. Our pints were disappearing faster than was planned, just as well they were at the low ABV end of the market. Still Bert stood at the end of the table barking away.
We took our time and left, without a raised voice or angry word on our part.
It was mid-afternoon, we were in good spirits, at the time of day when such minor setbacks can be taken in one’s stride. We joined Richard at the bus stop and headed for Hebden Bridge.
The Unfortunate
Having left quietly, with our heads held high, all dignity on our part had been maintained. As for the chap we had upset… Yes a liberty had been taken using the premises knife, but we had offered to wash it. The chap was clearly in the wrong business. A quiet word was all that was needed and the offending pie would have been put away. To stand up in one’s own premises and put on such a display to the gallery was simply poor.
Are we not all European? In Parisian Cafes, one can order a coffee and eat anything one likes to bring in. Throughout Germany one can bring baskets of food and consume it, even when the venue sells a full menu. In Glasgow a take away from any Chippie is accepted. What have we come too?
To the good people of Todmorden, I like your town, I even liked your pubs. I will be back unless my photograph is on display with a reward sign. Him, you can keep.
Perhaps he wasn’t a Yorkshireman?
Hebden Bridge
This was another first for Hector. How it can be nine miles from Haworth I do not understand. The highways and byeways of Yorkshire must take devious routes to get from A to B. (Haworth, the Bronte Village, is one of Hector and Marg’s weekend break destinations and will feature eventually.)
The first pub, The Stubbing Wharf (King Street , Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire , HX7 6LU), is famous for its Cider festival, to be held, wait for it, next weekend. A fine sized venue with a good array of Ales and some lovely young Dorises serving. The menus were on the table, that this was an eating establishment too was self evident. Ricky took out his remaining Black Pudding and polished it off, no he didn’t!
The Ale of choice was Tabatha, The Knackered at 6% from The Anglo Dutch Brewery. Let all Ales be light and hoppy, Hector was doing well, I could easily have stayed and made a session out of this delightful Bier, but I was dragged away, perhaps in good time.
Just along the road from the Stubbing Wharf was the award winning Fox and Goose (9 Heptonstall Road, Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire, HX7 6AZ).
This was a much smaller venue with a considerable range of Biers both domestic and European. We were destined to stay here a while. Having become used to one chap serving at the bar, his shift ended and the proprietor took over. It is with he with whom Hector is photographed.
Sunshine Pale, Pale Premium Bitter at 5.3 % from Pennine Beers got us underway again. Another thoroughly enjoyable Ale. This day out was reaching legendary status. Hebden Bridge, Hector will be back…
This was a thoroughly pleasant visit. Were we in the same valley as Todmorden? The same county? By now the three of us were telling our story to anyone who would listen, even people with parachutes on their back…
A rather substantial bus station provided the means of our return to Bradford. It was fond farewell to Richard, no not that one, and time for the main event of the day: Curry at The International.
The Sunday
Hector suspected that he would be doing the bulk of the driving from Bradford back to Scotland. He was right, just as well I did not have a Bier in what Mr Holden describes as Bradford’s finest pub…
I bet the suspense is killing…