July 2024. Guilsfield. Welshpool.
From Hollywood (Wrexham) I headed south back into England and then Wales again for a night in hilly Welshpool, my respite from weekends in the flatlands of Waterbeach.
The 76 or T12 bring you to Guilsfield in 10 minutes.
A pleasant village of 1,640, with a picturesque bus station,
manicured gardens,
and abandoned GBG ticker notes displayed on the wall of St. Aelhaiarn.
I love the suspense of visiting new pubs in remote Welsh villages. Will it be a dining pub run by a nephew of a Brunning & Price founder, with greeter and £9 starters,
or characterful beamed all-rounder with mobility scooter (and mystery garment on the floor),
alive to the sound of village post-school life.
Phew. It’s the latter. The beams, the benches, the banter about pick ‘n’ mix
the burble of baby words, the sensational beer.
Another cool, crisp, chewy HPA, possibly my beer of the year so far (NBSS 4).
I thought it might fade a bit in the second half. It didn’t.
“Thank you, sweetheart” says the landlady
No, thank YOU, Guilsfield Oak.
retiredmartin 
I’ve never been to Guilsfield but I was most likely conceived there. Now I’m annoyed my parents moved from there a few months before i was born, probably worried (being teetotal chapel goers) that I’d love that pub too much.
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Thanks for that charming recollection, Rhys. Where were you, in fact, born ?
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HM Stanley (but we don’t talk about him anymore) maternity hospital, St Asaph, same as Ian Rush. I don’t have his nose for goal, but I do have his nose.
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Thought HM Stanley was a navy ship !
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Dad was a thorough diary keeper- essential for a farmer. I looked at the entry for the day I was born and it read:
“Y fuwch efo chill
Cafodd Rhys ei eni”
(Cow has chill
Rhys was born)
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That’s brilliant !
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