BRAPA - THE WILTSHIRE COUNTDOWN PART 8 (PLAYOFF PUSH)
13. Benett Arms, Semley
'If the pub ain't open, I'm hopping straight on that coach and we're getting the hell outta here' I whisper to Colin, crossing the grassy area after an arduous twisty turning hilly 3.5 mile walk from the bus stop. The hardest I'd work for a tick all holiday. But it is open, as it should be, 12 noon every day advertised. Besides, I think this was a school bus so might've been a bit dodgy had I hopped on. Immediate bonus points for the carpeted stairs, more for the unspoilt bar area because whilst the pub opens up into something larger and more dining, the heart of an ancient Wiltshire village inn is still very much in evidence. Myself, a friendly landlady, a salty sea dog (or whatever the inland equivalent is), and his junior, a moody lad who speaks in grunts and pulls his hoodie up tight around his face. A genteel young lad staying here for the night asks if he can borrow a bar stool to take to his room, as he is studying and has nothing to rest on! If my first pint experience is lovely but uneventful (scampi fries did help), staying for a bonus half helps as it sparks landlady and salty land-dog into chat about my GBG challenge. "No I don't suppose they are a lot of buses around here" they comment, looking wistful in a 'never left the isolated hamlet of Semley in our whole lives' kinda way. Still, a positive end to a pub I liked. Sort of made the long walk worthwhile!
Salty land-dog goes in for another pint
12. Haunch of Venison, Salisbury
Following on from Semley, albeit a couple of hours later due to the long walk back to the bus stop, and the winding bus trip back into Salisbury, this was my most anticipated tick of the entire holiday. In fact, my most anticipated tick in the entire GBG. You see, it was a book called 'Britain's Strangest Pubs' which really started my love affair with the things, and nothing captured my imagination quite like the mummified hand of a card cheat, captured here at this ancient spooky inn. Spooky for all the wrong reasons on arrival though, as there is a stag do in the main bar. 'This is not how I wanted my Haunch experience to play out!' I'm thinking in frustration, as they sink the lagers, pretend to snog each other and generally behave like stag lads do. Managed to keep my head down, and Colin out of it, thankfully! I locate the mummified hand, but even this is an anti-climax, as not only is it behind a grate, illuminated in infra-red, but I have to push past a young American couple trying to have a romantic moment in the corner. I apologise, take a photo and make a hasty retreat. But I deserved some luck today after my Semley exploits, and to my immense joy, the stag do swiftly moves on, leaving undrunk pints strewn around the bar. A bit 'Marie Celest'e' how they just vanished, in keeping with this eerie place, but I wasn't complaining. It is bliss after that, alone in the main bar, just the creaking of the ghosts for company, occasional input from the staff. "Do you think I could convince people I own this place?" the barmaid asks her lazy male companion who hates working. "You are doing a grand job, convinced me!" I shout over, not just cos she's blonde and pretty, as I only notice people's personality #WokeSi2023 We bond over the relief felt when the staggers got vanished, a fire bubbles away next to me, and in the end, I feel like I had my perfect Haunch moment.
Pre 'The Vanishing'
11. Dolphin, Gillingham
A trip to Dorset's Gillingham with the Hard G on the Sunday morning was never part of the plan, but train cancellations north of Salisbury, plus a dearth of buses, meant this was the only place I could get to with required ticks before 3pm! And I'm glad I did. More smiling faces than I witnessed all holiday in this North Dorset town. Including the guv'nor here, or was he a bouncer? Stood at the front door at 11:57am, welcoming in some doddery Sunday lunchers. He eyes me so inquisitively, I'm sweating. "I .... I just want a pint!" I stammer. "Ah good, because we are fully booked up for lunch". "That's fine, I'm not planning on eating". "Just as well". "Isn't it?" "It is". This exchange could've gone on all day, but truth is, I was more interested in locating the loos than taking a sip of my 3.5% sessionable St Austell. I think 'touching cloth' is the technical term. Struggling hangover-wise (see Wyndham Arms entry in Part 7), I'd had two strong coffees with my breakfast. Which never ends well! Thankfully, the loo facilities are plentiful. And even better, the Dolphin is brilliant in terms of how it separates drinkers from diners. One of the key factors in making a pub successful in my eyes. You cannot expect pubs to be wet-led these days, but I don't think it is unreasonable for drinkers to enjoy pubs as drinking establishments. The light ale is perfect, the landlord is a top chap, and if ever I needed reviving from a difficult starting point, and I did, then this was the place to do it, and it did it with aplomb (and a plop!) Sorry.
10. Horseshoe, Ebbesbourne Wake
Not the pub, but close enough! And bye bye bus.
I don't think I've been anywhere on a bus route which feels quite so isolated as Ebbesbourne Wake. Deep in the South Wiltshire countryside doesn't do it justice! The sort of bus route, where rather than having designated stops, an old yokel will just jump up and shout "oi droiverrr, pull in behind this red car!" Yet, when I get off, there are folk lining the road. "Flippin eck' all happening here innit?" I say to a group of elderly walkers. "It always is" says a posh old man. But in my haste to get to the bar first, I stupidly make a beeline for the pretty building you see above. But the pub is behind me! And now we are queuing to get in. This is surely one of the UK's most ancient, unspoiled pubs. Finally, the landlord, a tall ageing chap (in his 80's someone tells me), who looks like he's presided over this place since 1765, stoops and peers out of a bar hatch and asks if I'm with the walkers. "No, I just want a pint" I squeak. "You can't eat because we are fully booked". He tells me. "Good, cos I'm happy just drinking". I reply. I feel like we've been here before! It is CHAOS in the small bar room, and I feel so sorry for those diners already seated because the walkers have formed an annoying semi circle and have no spatial awareness, blocking the room. The landlord sees me as a 'quick-win', so fast tracks my order (direct from the barrel) and points me to a side room free from the mayhem. Top bloke, showing all his 250 years of experience. Cash only of course. There is a group of posh walkers here, waiting for some late ladies to arrive, but they think BRAPA sounds like a jolly old wheeze, so we have a five minute chat before the menu distracts them. "Oh dear, the Wild Boar & Apricot pie sounds fabulous but I do love a good faggot" whines the Roger Allam soundalike. The gents loos are outdoors, of course they are, it is the most 'gents loos will be outdoors' pub ever. That allows me to find the vast rolling gardens. It is warming up a touch, the rain has stopped, so with the late ladies now arrived and food ordering in full swing, I order a second pint and take it outside. "Good man" says the guv'nor as I pay in exact coins. It means a lot coming from him. Red Kites screeching above, gentle trickle of a fishpond. This is bliss. A distant dog is whimpering at me, and its owner scowls like I'm to blame, but otherwise all good, and mercifully, I'm at the bus stop early because the two hourly bus comes chugging through 5 mins ahead of time! A must visit.
9. Rai D'Or, Salisbury
'It'll never work, it'll simply never work!' I'm thinking, as I step up to this Thai Restaurant doubling as a GBG pub. But I was wrong. BRAPA history had led me to this conclusion, I think back to places like the Vine in Norwich, where despite getting a cracking pint of Oakham JHB, the experience did absolutely nothing for me. There's been others too. Here it was different, I might say a bit of the 'something special'. The theme of Part 8 has been places which do a great job of segregating drinkers from diners, and they did it expertly here. To the left side, a group of fiercely loyal codger regulars perch in and around the bar area, taking me under their wing immediately, discussing extreme weather and pub ticking. I felt so at home. The lovely Thai staff felt like one giant family, they probably are, loved the formidable but secretly jocular matriarch. There's a blue plaque for a 14th century landlady here, pre-Thai days. You felt that spirit was being kept alive. Okay, so I was feeling the ale a bit by now, but I didn't fall off my barstool once, and with the reassuring smell of boiled rice filling the room and the diners starting to appear, I left feeling content with a big beaming smile, singing Delta Goodrem's underrated classic "I was Born to Try" but with the lyrics "I was Born to Codger". Oh, and the ale was NBSS A*.
Well, those five were pretty excellent. But it gets even better. Join me next time for the penultimate part 9 where we'll countdown four more pubs.
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