September 2023. Armthorpe, Doncaster.
498 pubs to do in the new GBG, and I’ve set off like a raging tortoise ticking a new pub a day.
I always like to finish the local counties early. The last pub in South Yorkshire was a short train ride away in delightful Donny.
Sadly, the short hop on the train is followed by a bumpy trip on a bus. I could have walked,
but I was terrified the Horse & Groom would shut unexpectedly just before I arrived, and the route looked so, so dull.
Not as dull as Doncaster Transport Interchange, reached via a terrifyingly dark corridor from the station, out of which you emerge to a bright room with an empty vending machine.
I detest buses. But Donny’s buses at least seemed to arrive on time,
and there’s a good view from the top deck.
OK it’s a view of not much as it whizzes past the infirmary and then heads towards Armthorpe’s nether regions.
Not wishing to see Armthorpe’s nether regions I jump off at the Catholic primary school.
I have been to Armthorpe once before, to tick this stately looking roadside hostelry.
Sadly the Wheatsheaf is closed today, so I can’t review the afternoon tea for Trip Advisor. “One of Doncaster’s most affluent suburbs” says Wiki, which is like saying the poorest part of Monaco.
I can’t actually find much to review at all, though the Markham Main Miners Memorial Garden seems an excellent example of northern alliteration.
It’s a mining village, famous mostly as the birthplace of this legend.
I think that’s Kevin walking the streets of Armthorpe looking for an open pub in 1977.
The Horse & Groom seems to be open all day,
though with no food trade in the lovely lounge it’s a drinkers crowd.
A lager drinkers crowd, too. Two Pheasantry beer; I have the bitter, it’s a lovely cool and rich pint which starts a 4 and ends a 3.5.
Half a dozen blokes my age (youthful middle age) talk racing.
“Know what I mean Katie. Rule FOUR”.
I have no idea what they mean, but it’s great.
And I’m relieved when I finally get to see the pheasant on the side of the glass, just like that Titanic on the Plum Porter.
I could have explored the back streets of Armthorpe for an hour, but just as I opened the door the bus turned up. It said “FULL”. It wasn’t.
retiredmartin 