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By Dennis Rookard We all have our regular local pubs, Somewhere we're are 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. As we all know leap day falls on February 29th, a date which comes round only once every four years. It is also the date on which traditionally the ladies can get their man by forcing him to name the day. It was also, thought Jack, our landlord in the Traveler's Rest, down in New Road, a very good excuse for shifting a few more gallons of best bitter, thus making a little extra cash. The only problem for Jack, gazing out from his pubs door early one morning, empty beer barrels neatly stacked ready for collection by the brewers on the pavement, the stale beer and tobacco smelling air floating out into the Brentwood sky from the bar room behind, was how. Time thought Jack, to call in the experts, which is why one chilly evening in early February, certain regulars of Brentwoods best pub found themselves clustered around the end of the long bar. Sad Eric, having recently stepped across the road from the library with his usual ration of books was holding court with 'Scoop' Fred our tame journalist who along with Jerry and Big Brian were deep in conversation with Jack. "So what you need Jack," inquired Brian, "is a good reason to get the lads in for a beer up, am I right," Jack's smile became broader, "well you and Russell never need any excuse, but yes" But remember Leap Days on a Thursday, so it's got to be a special reason, to get them in." The sound of a heavy book dropping on the bar came from Eric. "Got it lads," he cried. "if Leap Days, the only time the girlfriend can ask us poverty stricken men to marry them, why don't we organise an escape route for them." Russell who's own problems escaping from the prison of marriage with his true love Sandy, were legend around the Pub was all in favour. "All you have to do Jack is to get a late night license till midnight, and put a ban on women in the pub for that evening," he cried warming to his idea, "and they'll come running to fill the place. Particularly," he said with a laugh, "if we lay on a stripper or two as well." "Sounds like a great idea," said Fred, getting out his reporters notebook, "especially if I invent a recently found Brentwood tradition to go with it," a comment that brought the head of Eric up from his book..."It's never going to work. Look lads," he went on, "let's face it, nobody bothers about Leap Days any more, the traditions dead, Bloody women's lib killed it off, now they do the asking any time they like." he said, turning back to his book. "Oh ye of little faith," replied Fred, notebook in hand, "by the time I work this angle up, the town will have a new tradition for the books." "I still say you'll never get away with it Fred," said a disgruntled Eric from behind his book. "Listen little bookworm, just who was it who gave the town the ghost dog," asked Fred, "and I might add, the ghost of William Hunter. A new tradition about Leap Day will be dead easy, you leave it to me folks," he said from the side of his mouth, as he headed for the entrance door. "Read the paper on Friday," came his cry, the door slamming behind him. He was as good as his word, for there in the Paper on Friday morning was Freds story in the form of a article headlined, 'Leap Day loophole found'. According to Fred, alleged research in old Church and Council records had shown that back in Seventeen Hundred and Frozen to death, the British East India company had set up shop in Warley to run a little business sideline in private Army's. All went well for a year or so. The lads after a hard days marching up and down Warley Hill, before clocking off to head on up Kings Road towards the seventeenth century bright lights of a town. Which according to Freds diligent research was at that time, packed full with Brothels all full of good time girls. Come the first Leap Day however, and up at Warley, the East India Company had an attack of pure panic. For back then, wrote Fred, Leap Day marriage requests were taken a great deal more seriously, and once trapped by a designing female, the poor chap was well and truly lumbered. So the thought of Brentwoods many ladies of the night, charging out to India with their newly won menfolk as wives, rather then as Camp Followers had all the makings of disaster to the East India Company who just hated spending money. It would mean the building of married quarters, maybe a school or two for the results of those nights of horizontal pleasure. So they came up with a cunning plan to keep their lads free, wrote Fred. For they had revealed the finding of a mysterious document supposedly written by the aged monks of the little known Thoby Priory in Mountnessing. Where the Monks back in the dark ages, were having every four years come leap day, not a few problems with the local Mountnessing Village lasses, who, what with their menfolk nipping off the Crusades and the outbreaks of Plague and the odd case of black death, getting a bit desperate seeing as how the marriageable men in the area were in short supply. So the Monks had devised a new local law... to wit. "If the man asked for his hand in marriage could be shown to be drunk at the time, it did not count, "so the law said, "as he couldn't have been in full control of his actions." It was for this reason that for Leap Day the monks brewed up a very special brew known to this day as 'Old Trouser leg shaker', which was guaranteed to put those who drunk it flat on their backs for twenty four hours. That it worked can be shown, reported Fred in his article, by the fact that after the last monk died, the Priory was left to decay into ruins and largely forgotten. Rounding off his article Fred then let slip that round at the Traveler's Rest, they had re-created the great brew, and were going to sample the brew throughout the day of doom, and that between opening and closing times no women, other the two strippers booked for the lads entertainment, No girlfriends would be allowed through the doors. Well Fred's article did the trick all right. throughout that week, Jacks phone never stopped ringing, extra barrels of the breweries special extra strong winter brew, renamed 'Old Trouser leg Shaker' for the occasion, were shipped in, and Sue the pubs normal barmaid was given the night off her place taken by Pete, Russell and Big Brian. Whether it was the idea of strong booze and the strippers or just an evenings escape from their various girlfriends we never did quite discover, but come the Thursday of February 29th that the place was packed out with hardly an inch to spare. Jack even had Charles our trainee village idiot acting guard on the door, checking out the sex of those trying to enter. He had a hard time of it by all accounts for not unnaturally, the various girlfriends sensing a good game ganged together to try it on. The ones wearing false beards were easy to spot, others were not so easy one even getting as far as the bar undetected until she blew her chance by asking for a gin and lemon. Outside however it was tough of Charles. First came the joking approach to Charles, then when that failed, a spot of bribery in the form of money. Charles however was having none of it. Even shouted accusations of blatant sexism and more pointed comments about his manhood had no effect. Charles may be as thick as two short planks, but he knows how to guard a door, even managing with enthusiastic help from the lads, to stand his ground during the later mass charge of angry females. The door remained however firmly closed to them. But if Russell thought he was safe acting as barman for the night, he was in for a shock, for the love of his life, one Sandy was wise in the ways of the publicans trade. She knew that sometime that evening, Russell would have to pop out into the back yard to roll in another barrel, the Traveler's Rest not having a cellar. So hiding up Sandy waited her chance. True it was a long time in coming, Sandy hiding in the yard for close on two hours. But her wait was rewarded when through the back door came Russell rolling an empty barrel. Leaping out from the darkness, she grabbed her man, and with her hand on his bent shoulder cried, "Russell will you marry me." It was a very white faced and ashen looking Russell who staggered into the bar a few minutes latter she the grinning Sandy, still whipping the traces of lipstick from his mouth as with a shrug he looked around at the shocked faces in the bar and with a sort of foolish grin said, "sorry lads, she got me." Well what could we do, we've all chipped in for the present, and promised to attend the wedding, when ever that is. Seems Russell is still holding out on the date. ENDS |
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