I’m writing this in Copenhagen after two of the great pub visits, which I really ought to be writing about instead of Clayton-le-Moors (which I always confuse with Clayton-le-Woods). But discipline is needed if I’m going to maintain any sense of chronology.


As if to prove I’m abroad, Bing won’t let me show you the OS Map of Clayton, so you’ll just have to imagine the contours.  Anyway, it’s the rough bit of Accrington, unless Great Harwood wants to claim that crown. A town of tight terraced streets and a takeaway for every other resident.  My sort of town.

The information board in the most apologetic I’ve seen in years.


And it’s tucked in a Village Centre that Pevsner seems to have missed on his travels.


But I don’t care about fluff like that; it’s a lively, cheery place unaffected by the Burnley obsession with Prosecco.

Throughout the town, the smoking ban has left a trail of devastation of some solid looking locals;


The survivors, like  the neighbouring Forts Arms and Old England Forever are gems.


I could describe the Wellington as unpretentious and leave it at that.  I bet there aren’t many pubs that look like this in Copenhagen.



A one beer pub can be a joy or an example of “when CAMRA encouragement to add cask goes bad“;  here the Reedley Hallows was decent enough (NBSS 3).  It cost £2.80 a pint, which is probably extortionate by Wigan standards, but I’ve just paid £7 for a pint of Harvey’s Sussex, so let’s count our blessings,heh ?


It’s a long time since I sat down with a pint of ale and the Daily Star. In truth, I was put off by the padded bar and forgot to memorise my horoscope.

Padded bar for headbangers ?

The Wellington had a polite social club feel, enhanced by four locals playing cards, oblivious to the TV sport. In the week before Wimbledon, I didn’t expect the joy of minor grass-court competition.

I can’t joke about accents, given no-one understands my Fen, but these were the broadest of the year so far.  The talk was of booze cruises and day trips to Accrington; someone even said “That’s reet“, and it was.

Apart from the Christmas tree still up in town.







  1. This is nothing to do with Clayton Le Moors as i have never been there.
    But this is a really big story that i thought of when you talked about Great Harwood,i though about Harwood which is a posh suburb in North Bolton.

    Warning this will be a long story.
    I was on holiday in Great Yarmouth with a gang of mates in 1983,it was a great holiday and i met two girls,one from Nottingham and the other from Bolton,i went with the girl from Nottingham and after the holiday stayed over at her house,i had forgot about the girl from Bolton,but she had gave me her address as it was the days before mobile phones.

    A couple of months later me and one of my best mates went abroad to go camping in Belgium,Holland and Germany,i got blind drunk on the overnight ferry and got into a massive argument with a load of old women from Birmingham Alabama as i had knocked my rucksack over while waiting to leave the ferry and broke a bottle of whiskey so i decided to drink it while it was pouring out of the bottom of my rucksack,this did not go down to well with the Alabama women.

    Off the ferry and my mate who was the camping expert said i have forgotten the tent poles,so we travelled up to Holland and went to the Hague a rough looking city and we went to the coast at a place called something like vlisingen and slept on an old German gun type thing,in the early morning we got the train back into the Hague and had a bit of a walk round and found a crummy back street bar that was open and it was just after 8am,we were straight in and on bottles of Heineken out of the fridge 1.5 Guilders for a bottle,when we asked for more the price dropped to 1 Guilder a bottle,it was a Turkish bar and as the morning went on it filled up with Turkish people who were playing a weird game,we were by now ordering four bottles at a time and the large round table was full of empties,they were cleared and we carried on drinking,then when we ordered more bottles we were told no by a shake of the barmans head,then the Turkish people started giving us bad stares,but the barman made it clear that there would be more drinks soon,as we were finishing the last of our drinks a small Heineken van pulled up outside to do a delivery,we had drunk the bar dry,we was well pleased and then left.

    We went on to Amsterdam and saw some really strange things while staying in a right dump of an hotel called The Parima which was in the middle of the red light district,the bedrooms had bunk beds and were for both sexes which we did’nt mind,we liked it so much we stayed in Amsterdam for a week with no problems.

    We still had a few days left and i was still in the same cloths as all of my spare cloths stunk of whisky,then by luck we found a launderette in the middle of Amsterdam and i asked a nice lady to help me do the washing.
    My best mate said he was going down to Antwerp to meet up with some mates and come back with them to Amsterdam,i was to meet them in the Parima’s bar which never closed,i was sat in there having a drink mid afternoon and the bar was busy with a rough crowd,so i fitted in well,then the phone went and the barman said international telephone call for Alan Winfield,i was gob Smacked and when i went to the bar everybody was looking at me,my mate was not coming back to Amsterdam as his mates had not turned up and he was getting drunk with a couple of lads from Liverpool,he asked me to go down and meet them,we were booked into the Parima for one more night,so had to tell the barman i had to leave the country straight away,he gave the little money back that we had paid,it was a quick walk to the main train station in Amsterdam and on a train down to Antwerp,my mate knew Antwerp well as he had been knocking off a Belgium girl for quite a while,but had finally split from her,i went to the bar where they said they would be and finally met up with my mate and the two guys from Liverpool,they were all well pissed and i needed to catch up,we went to a crap strip show and decided to go down to Brugge for more drinks,i was given an half drunk bottle of Southern Comfort which i drank on the train journey down to Brugge we staggered off the train and down the underpass to get to the town centre,we threatened some locals who had English football scarfes on and across the road and into an almost empty bar,they refused to serve us as we were all very drunk and it all got a bit out of hand with tables and chairs flying ,we left and staggered down the street,then a police van turned up and the two policemen in it offered us a lift into town where the girls are,we all got into the back of the van.
    When we got out the friendly policemen were not so friendly and took us downstairs into what looked like a prison,we were all separated and when i was took out of my cell they strip searched me and called me an English Pig.
    We were let out after about 18 hours and we all felt rough,but we were free,the lads from Liverpool were paranoid and thought we were being followed,we then went down to Ostend for more drinks before getting the ferry back to Dover,we all had a great time in Ostend,i decided to sent a post card to the girl from Bolton who lived in Harwood,she had a great name as she was called Kimberley,one of our local breweries, when back in England the lads from Liverpool said me and my mate were the roughest people they had ever met,we were proud of that,when the train stopped at Faversham,we said lets go for a Shepherd Neame pub crawl,they declined but we went on to do loads of pubs in Faversham.

    We got back home after good two weeks binge but it was a great time even though we got locked up.
    My Mam and Dad who let me do what i wanted to do but always let them know what, were so mad when i got home as i had not got in touch with them for over two weeks.
    My Mam said more letters from girls,you have one from Bolton and another from Kent.
    Kimberley from Bolton had sent me a letter and asked me and my mate to go up and meet them,my mate had already met her best mate while we were on holiday in Great Yarmouth.

    A few weeks later and we were on the early train from Nottingham which stopped at Bolton without changing,we were in Bolton well before 11am and gagging for a drink,we were to meet the girls on the town hall steps at 1PM,we had a bat round loads of pubs and got to the twon hall steps in plenty of time,the girls turned up so we said do you want to go for a few drinks,which they did,but we were already getting pretty drunk,we did a few pubs with no problems,then things started to go downhill,i put my pint of a narrow shelf and my pint fell onto the floor,we all got chucked out of the pub,then after a few more pubs my mate fell back off his stool and knocked the table over with our drinks on it,we were chucked out of that pub.

    When the pubs closed both girls said we have never been chucked out of a pub before,we have been with you two for two hours and been chucked out of two,we thought it was funny.

    We left them and had a good session in Sheffield on the way back.

    To my surprise Kimberley wrote another letter to me and we carried on writing letters for a few years with us telling each other about what was going on in our lifes,i finally gave up writing to Kimberley when my wife to be told me to stop as we were by now living together.

    I hope the story is not too long.


  2. Thanks for reading it Martin,
    Kimberley was a really nice girl and far too posh for me,but it was nice writing to her and we sent each other photos of our selves.
    She had also met another lad who was more than likely more suited to her than me.
    We had some great times on our early pub crawls and i can remember them so well,loads of stories to come in the future.
    Yes i knew you were joking Martin.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I never met Alan Winfield but that long account of his proper fortnight abroad shows that he lived life to the full.


  4. And “it all got a bit out of hand with tables and chairs flying” reminds me of The Cockleshell Heroes film, which is the same age as me, with a large Bass mirror in the mess and in the pub, the lower left corner of the mess one I think getting broken during the fight scene.


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