The Village Pub. The 500 Year-old Solution To All My Emotional Needs.
When I was 4 years-old, I met a kid at school. He was intriguing for some reason and, with 45 years of hindsight, I was right to have invested some time in him because his parents owned a village Pub. When he smashed my Dad’s greenhouse with a football within five minutes of his first visit to my house, I knew he was that exact kind of genius that I needed in my life.
Our friendship blossomed in the pub. Village pubs spend a surprising amount of time closed to the public, enabling the cleaning, re-stocking, cooking, tasting and general preparation of the space. With the doors locked, we had the place to ourselves, the big fire places, the stone floors, the dart board so high on the wall that we needed all our strength to get a dart even close to it and, of course, the pipes, taps and drip trays. Even at a young age I could remember a feeling of privilege, a sense of being behind the scenes in something, a theatre or a fairground without lights.
We would be given five minutes notice of opening time, to put down the darts, and get upstairs. In those five minutes, the staff would appear (always called Uncle someone or Aunty somebody else) the lights would come on and the whole space seemed to take a deep breath and come alive.
Our friendship lasted. Aged 10 we were introduced to the room in which the barrels were kept by Chris who had been responsible for keeping the barrels and casks just so for decades. An artist by nature, he would give us intricately detailed accounts of all his beer related decisions. It was theatrical, big, loud and everyone smiled. It was an art, full of passion.
Aged 16, we were more than capable of determining whether an array of ales and ciders were of suitable quality for public consumption. We learned, albeit early, that Theakstons Old Peculiar stops your legs from working correctly if you have too many tastes. We also learned more and more about the theatre of the pub.
My friend’s Dad was the Master of Ceremonies. With an addictive, welcoming style he would position himself centrally to both bars, insisting that every new customer received a personal introduction, the opportunity to make themelves known to him and a brief historical fact or connection that he could effortlessly make.
Other actors in the show were the locals. For those who do not know, village pubs in the UK have three very well policed populations. First, visitors. Those people who have researched the pub as a source of fine beers, wines and food, the people for whom the theatre exists and without whom the other populations could not exist. Keeping the visitors entertained, well fed and well watered is an absolutely priority. Second, those who live locally BUT WHO ARE NOT YET ‘LOCALS’. This is a curious differentiation to make but it is the most important differentiation in pub culture. Pubs have rules. An individual may only be promoted to the Premier League of becoming a ‘local’ when a series of unspoken, un-written and often mystical quests have been successfully undertaken…….or they have lived for fifty years in the village, whatever occurs first. Thirdly then, we have the ‘locals’.
The locals act in a kind of socially symbiotic relationship with the visitors. As a visitor, part of what you pay for in the price of your pint of beer is the atmosphere, the show, the ‘theatre of the locals’. The theatre cares not for your background, social status, good bearing in society or delicate nature of your mother-in-law who is waiting patiently for her sherry. The theatre of the locals starts when it starts and has no run plan, theme or boundaries. It would be quite common for a retired vicar and his wife to be sat at a table in the corner of the bar looking quite stunned as one local describes rubbing butter on his dogs bottom to stop it from itching thus preventing the dog from rowing itself across the floor of his home. Equally common would be the discussion across two rooms, louder than you would ever have hoped for, more rude than anyone was ready for, and simply hilarious.
By nine o’clock on a Friday night, the whole theatre would be in full swing. Sights, smells, tastes, laughs, shocks but mostly laughs.
Aged 22, I worked at the pub, did my time, created the trust and become accepted by the locals. I’m pretty sure I can still remember all of their names and their drink of choice, sadly of course, many have now passed.
What makes the village pub so important to me? What emotional needs does it meet?
Well lets first consider that most British villages will have two buildings at their beating heart, the church and the pub. Both often ancient and therefore both needed in village society. Its very common to find pubs that are approaching their fifth century of existence. Five hundred years of theatre, five hundred years of cultural refinement, twice the age of the United States of America.
For me, there are two important emotional needs that the pub currently provides for me.
Psychological Safety
All village pubs are made of thick stone walls (fact). There are no exceptions to this rule. Once you open that big door and take your first step inside a pub, you leave the real world behind you, like an episode of Mr Ben, like walking back in time, like a film montage but sped up, like walking into a big safe hide-away, full of laughter. The walls are thick enough to prevent your worries of the day from following you, your Bank Manager can’t get in, nor your Boss. Darker than your home would be, often with a real fire, you are drawn to the brightly lit, colourful bar. Bottles, taps, cans and reflective paraphernalia found nowhere else in human-kind. The soft sounds of chatter interspersed with loud laughter, you can be noticed or you can be ignored. Nobody cares which you choose to be, nobody judges you. You are welcome because you are an adult of the species homo sapiens. Dogs are also allowed.
Belonging
For some of us, a sense of belonging is a critical core value. I used to be able to hit my value with the sense of belonging and service that I felt from my time in the military. However, I can also remember just as strong a sense of belonging from my time getting to know the locals as I worked to keep up with the drinks orders and their banter. Finding your tribe is important. My tribe was uniformly uniformed in the military. My tribe in the pub ranged from 80 year-old farmers to 20 year-old students, men, women & farm dogs. We all came together to listen, talk, make people feel better when they were down, and celebrate when they were up. But mostly we came together to laugh.
Do you know your values? What do you value the most in life? Why are things so important to you? Only when you know your own values can you reconcile other critically important elements of your life AND your interactions with others. Speak to a coach, maybe even in a pub!
