 Home Page |
 Article Library |
 |
|
|
|
By Dennis Rookard We all have our regular local pubs, Somewhere were we're welcome and feel at home in. Mines the Travellers Rest. Now to be fair, for the first timer it's rather hard to find. being off the beaten track in one of the quieter parts of town., being hidden behind the as yet to be fully occupied sixties style shopping mall. But should you venture down New Road, you'll find the Traveler's Rest just tucked in between the United Reform church and the old Court house, just across the road from the Library. True it's not much to look at from the outside, a bit down at heel in fact, and sadly both inside and out, in need of a lick of paint. Now I don't want you to get the impression that all we ever do in the Traveler's rest, down New Road way, is spend all our time drinking. True it's hard to get away from the fact that it's the quality of Jacks beer that brings us into his pub in the first place. But we do from time to time organize between ourselves a number of other activities. One of which is our annual works outing. This is when we hire a coach and accompanied by various wives and girlfriends head off somewhere for the day, taking care of course to include a fraternal visit or two to any pubs listed in the good beer guide we can find in the area visited. As you can appreciate an activity of this nature will only be success if it has been proceeded by good planning. And that means a reconnaissance mission to the distant location. But after what happened last year Brian, Fred Jerry and Jack have definitely been banned from undertaking it this time round. Back then, the cheerful four had decided that the location for the day trip should be Aldeburgh up on the Suffolk coast. As they put it to us, after then unveiled the idea. A simple ride up the A12, call in at Snape maltings for morning tea followed by an able round the art gallery and craft shops before heading into Aldeburgh for a liquid lunch. As for the afternoon they suggested that could be taken up with a stroll along the beach to maybe buy some nice fresh fish from the fishermen's stalls. Then tea and a gentle drive home calling in a few pubs on the way. What they suggested could not be better. The prefect Travelers rest pub works outing. And to make sure, the four would the next day, it being a Saturday, make an early start to drive over the route checking out facilities along the way. This in retrospect was a mistake. Come the next morning, and prompt at mid-day the intrepid team made it's early start as jammed into Jerrys beat up 2CV they headed off towards Wilsons corner. It was the last we saw of them for five days. When they did turn up, their lost five days continued to stay a mystery, as Brian, Fred, Jerry and Jack all maintained they has suffered a total mass memory loss after the car left Brentwood. But over the months stories filtered back from various sources, from which it's possible to reconstruct their epic journey. The first sign of trouble had come after just twenty minutes when Jerry asked permission to divert into a Chelmsford sports ground to have a word or two with a mate who was a member of a visiting Rugby team playing a local side from near Chelmsford. Any doubts about wasting time were soon put aside on the discovery of a bar in the sports club. which resulted in a happy afternoon being spent by the gang watching from the bar, as twenty two or so grown men rolled around in the mud outside. The away team who turned out to be from the Cambridge area managed to win, So it was only natural for Jerry's mate, a farming type called George to invite the gang to join the team for a few more celebratory bevies. By around 9pm that evening the gang were well away, so much so that they found themselves in the back of the team coach heading towards Cambridge and a late night session that turned into an all night party at a village country pub outside the city. As light dawned over the Cambridgeshire fens the gang who had hit the hay, literally in a barn, found themselves waking up to massive hangover and a mug of hot sweet tea and Sunday lunch in the farm house owned by George. With their car still left in Chelmsford, they thought they might have a problem in finding their way back. But help as according to George, one of the other lads in the team, every evening drove a lorry load of potatoes down to one of the London markets. They were welcome to a ride he said, "but in the meantime lads," cried George, "how about trying some of his home made wine." An offer they had naturally to agree with, not wanting to offend their host. Now this was a bad move on their part, as the rest of that Sunday drifted past in a haze of elderberry and dandelion wines, most of which, had a kick like a mule. The lorry collecting the potatoes came and went, and it wasn't until the early hours on Monday morning that thoughts of heading home again came up, only to be put aside with the discovery of Burts American Express Gold Card and the information that Racing was due that day over at Newmarket, but a few miles across the fields, "Might as well make a day out of it," was Jacks opinion. "We can always catch a bus or something after it's all over," added Fred, "and sod it I need a day off anyway," he said to the general agreement of the others. It might have been beginners luck, but the net result was four wallets full of hard cash resulting latter in a Slap up meal, a merry evening among the Newmarket racing types around the local pubs and the best hotel rooms that night in town, followed on Tuesday morning by a taxi ride to the nearest station. So it was not until late Tuesday afternoon before Fred, Burt and Jack made it back to Brentwood, Jerry going on the Chelmsford to collect his much loved 2CV. So this year. Petes got the job of checking out the route. He's asked me to join him along with a couple of others, But we are under strict instructions not to accept any drinking invitations. ENDS |
|
Home Page |
Article Library |
|