In The Club Style

Now it can be told. I'm a member of a club where men go to meet other men, and women are not allowed.

There used to be dozens of these social clubs throughout the North. They were set up during the inter-war period by what were once patronisingly termed the 'progressive working-class' as a more respectable alternative to town pubs of the time. There are very few men-only clubs left, but two or three linger on in the Keighley area. I joined through tradition and because my dad and my uncle have been members for decades, and you really can't beat having a pint with your dad and your uncle. In our club there's a TV room, a small library and the click of dominoes. You get frowned at by older members until you remove your hat. The two full-sized slate snooker tables are immaculately maintained by the same local firm that installed them in the 50s. There are three handpumps, one for Timothy Taylor's Best Bitter and two for Golden Best, the stealth mild that is Taylor's biggest seller in their home market. Guinness is by the bottle, and Tetley Cask has recently been usurped by its ugly cousin, Smooth. I'm pretty sure that on my first visit a few days after I turned 18 they still weren't selling lager (no ladies, see), but these days there's a Carling tap.

When my dad, uncle and their mates joined there was a two-year waiting list and it would be three deep at the bar on a friday. Prospective members had to attend at least twice a month for those two years, and then present themselves to the committee to prove that you were of good character and had no criminal record (and presumably, not a woman). When I joined some eight years ago, there was no waiting list, and my exile Down South gave me special dispensation not to have to prove my worth in person. Fridays are very much quieter and the club no longer opens during the day. Times change. There's still an annual club trip - usually to Scarborough - though these days it's limited to veteran members and a crate of Landlord is no longer hoisted onto the coach.

The only female permitted on the premises is the Steward's wife - and she's not allowed out from behind the bar, even to collect empties. Some may consider the place a sexist anachronism, but it's a well-loved sexist anachronism, and one that nobody really minds too much about. The club's constitution doesn't actually bar women, but none have shown the slightest interest in joining (as my mum has pointed out) what amounts to two rooms of middle-aged and elderly Yorkshiremen complaining about the state of Rugby League and (in summer) cricket, and at all other times, the government.

Members still talk about the only time a woman got over the club's front threshold. One night an unknown elderly bloke pulled up in a Bentley and doddered in with a fur-coated peroxide blonde half his age, before being frantically but gently ushered out.

"I'm surprised they didn't rebuild the place after that" noted my mum at the time.

You Probably Didn't See It Here First.

I'm not normally one who spends time reading the planning applications in provincial newspapers. But in this week's Keighley News was a submission from the best brewery in the world (Timothy Taylor, obviously). It was informing the Environment Agency of their plans to drill on their new site, over the road from the famous Knowle Spring brewery. This is the old WASK foundry and currently Taylor's storage facility and parking for their racing green drays. The drilling is for a water source for 'cask washing', 'bus cleaning' (some local buses are parked there) and a new brewery. Hmmm.

It's A Yorkshire Thing

Here's wishing a happy Yorkshire Day to all Tykes, home or away.

The Keighley News

Bad news for the drinkers of Keighley. The Albert, leased from Timothy Taylor by the Ossett Brewery for the last eight or so months, is back with the original owners. I say bad news, but it's all relative - nobody will mind having Taylor's ales back at the Albert (although Ossett did have a couple of TT pumps as 'guests'), but it was nice to have the full range of another brewery in the town. I only managed to get into the Ossettised Albert once, but I was very impressed. The Albert had been refit from a tired old rocker's pub - complete with motorbike bolted to the wall - in about 1995 when Taylor's refurbished their entire estate, and ended up being done in a sort of chintzy Victorian-lite. Ossett improved the interior a lot with a their retro-contemporary touches, open fire and knocked about Windsor chairs. The beer was spot on, too - especially the Silver King which is still a favourite of mine. It's not clear why Ossett's bridgehead in Keighley failed - some say it was caused by contractual wranglings with Taylor's. It might simply be that footfall wasn't enough to justify the battalion of seven or eight (ten?) handpumps and a large pub which must have cost a small fortune to run. I don't have any pictures of the Albert's interior, but there are some here on the fine Huddersfield-based beer 'n' pubs blog A Swift One.

Life Enhancing Things, Part 1

I'm a fervent believer that spending time in a good pub, drinking good beer makes you live longer. The top picture was taken in the Boltmaker's Arms, Keighley. I'm sat waiting for my uncle to get back from the bar and my dad to get back from the loo. It's a tiny, town centre pub that serves the best beer in the world. I'm not exaggerating. The last 30 or so years have been hard to Keighley economically. Most of the mills are now derelict, and many of the engineering firms are rusting away. But, halfway up the Worth Valley is something the town is justifiably proud - the Timothy Taylor brewery. Founded in 1858, it's still family owned and fiercely independent. Until the restrained modernisation of the last few years visitors to the brewery always described it as "Dickensian" - they famously didn't even have a fax machine until about 1990. Also pictured above is Taylor's most popular drink locally, Golden Best. It's a good choice if you want decent conversation to be possible after five or so pints. Another of their beers, Landlord, has won so many industry awards that it is rumoured to have a year off now and then to let another company win.

I've been coming to the Bolts since I was old enough to be served. Back then it was run by a chap named Eric and the interior was highly reminiscent of a village function room, circa 1952. Red vinyl benches, low formica tables, bakelite light switches. In fact, similar to the Lorelei. I suspect I was the only one who liked it that way - there wasn't a murmur from anyone else when Taylor's refit their pub estate about 15 years ago. However, the new interior has weathered nicely and feels as comfortable as my living room, as all good pubs do. Quiet conversation, a roaring fire and a guv'nor who's one of three generations of Keighley publicans. If you're buying, mine's a Landlord, and a packet of Seabrook's Canadian Ham while you're up there. Cheers.