I didn’t really want to write up Mytholmroyd, mainly because I always spell it wrong and have to keep looking at Bing Maps. Why can’t places be called easy-to-spell things like Llandrindod Wells and Balaruminmore ?
The other advantage of my central Halifax hotel was proximity to the station, with a cheap day return to Myth..etc, with Sowerby on the way back. I could have gone all the way to Hebden but I’d had enough excitement for one day. And people fuss about the Pennine Rail Trail.
Myth (or t’Royd to its mates) suffers from tough competition on both sides, but it’s made a decent effort around the station, which is all you can ask.
I feel like I’ve been to Myth more times than I actually have; that’s because the Beer Guide occasionally sticks the in cyclist stops on Cragg Vale just to confuse us pub tickers.
This is a “solid” village, a guarded compliment if ever I gave one. At least GBG stalwart (until this year, anyway) the Shoulder of Mutton sells Black Sheep, so you know you’ve not inadvertently slipped into Greater Manchester yet.
I had 30 minutes before the train back via Sowerby, enough time to run out of footpath twice, buy a packet of turkey bites for 31p (75% off) and realise the new GBG entry wasn’t going to be a micro pub. Perhaps uniquely in Calderdale.
Saying that, What Pub has some exciting news that looks like it might drag me back here again soon.
Yes, a brewery tap with the generous opening hours,
Closed Mon-Thu; 3-7 Fri; Closed Sat & Sun
as well as bars called Aux Delices, Libertine and the WMC.
I then saw the barber I’d stopped at last time I was here (£8 for a tidy-up). Note the complete absence of a pavement outside David Paul. It keeps the population numbers under control.
In fact, hairdressers and chippies dominate Myth to such an extent that you’d think you were in Lancashire, not West Yorks.
I’m a bit reluctant to write about the Dusty Miller, as it seemed to be undergoing a period of transition. What looks like the biggest pub in Calderdale from the outside does a reverse-Tardis once you step inside what feels like a building site.
3 beers on the bar, 3 Old Boys watching a BBC drama* and sharing chips in the living room, accompanied from time to time by the cheery Landlady.
I guess 3 Old Boys is as much as you can hope for at 3pm on a Friday, and it was a relaxed atmosphere I warmed to, unlike some very average Nettlethrasher which I wanted to leave but was too embarrassed to.
“I only come out for a pint and a chat. I’ve got 50 cans of Carling at home” said OB1. I presume they were a Christmas present.
“You can’t wear a cloth cap round here anymore” said OB2, mysteriously.
Anyway, here’s the sign to the Clog Factory you’ve been waiting for.
*Russ will be able to identify it