everybody.
'Never dared to dream it'd be this pub.'
The Man I'th Moss hung around him like a great black
overcoat many sizes too big. Ernie hoped to God it was all going to work out.
Draughty old pile, too many rooms ... cellars, attics ... take a bit of upkeep,
absorb all the contents of your bank account by osmosis.
'To me, like to everybody else, I suppose, this was
always Bridelow Brewery's pub.' Matt was dressed up tonight, suit and tie. 'We
thought it always would be.'
At which point, quite a few people turned to look for
Shaw Horridge, who'd long gone.
'But everything changes,' Matt said. 'Fortunes rise and
fall, and this village owes the Horridge family too much not to make the effort
to understand why, in the end, they were forced to part with the pub ...and, of
course, the brewery.'
We've all made the effort, Ernie thought, as others
murmured. And we still don't understand why.
'Eeeh,' Matt said, his accent getting broader the more he
spoke. 'Eeeh, I wish I were rich. Rich enough to buy the bloody lot. But at
least I could put together enough for this place. Couldn't stand seeing it
turned into a Berni Inn or summat.'
No, lad, Ernie thought. Left to rot.
'But ... we got ourselves a bit of a bank loan. And we
managed it.' Lottie Castle's fixed smile never wavering, Ernie noted, when Matt
switched from 'I' to 'we' covering the money aspect.
Matt went on about how he didn't know much about running
a pub, but what he did know was music. They could expect plenty of that in The
Man I'th Moss.
Matt grinned. 'I know there's a few of you out there can
sing a bit. And I remember, when I was a lad, there used to be a troupe of
morris dancers. Where'd they go to?'
'Orthopaedic hospital,' somebody said.
'Bugger off,' said Matt. There's to be no more cynicism
in this pub, all right? Anyroad, this is open house from now on for dancers and
singers and instrumentalists. If there aren't enough in Bridelow, we'll ship
them in from outside ... big names too. And we'll build up a following, a
regular audience from the towns ... and, brewery or no brewery, we'll make The
Man I'th Moss into a going concern again.'
At which point, somebody asked, as somebody was bound to,
whether Matt and his old band would get together in Bridelow.
'Good point,' Matt accepted. 'Well, me old mucker
Willie's here, Eric's not far off. And I'm working on a bit of a project which
might just interest... well, somebody we used to work with ... eeeh, must be
fifteen years ago. Late 'seventies.'
Everybody listening now, not a chink of bottle on glass
or the striking of a match. Outside, the sun was just a rosy memory.
Matt broke off. 'Hey up. For them as can't see, Lottie's
giving me a warning look, she thinks I should shut up about this until we know
one way or t'other ...'
Lottie smiled wryly. Ernie Dawber was thinking, What the
'eck was her name, the girl who used to sing with Matt's band and then went off
on her own? Very popular, she used to
be, or so he'd heard.
'But, what the hell,' Matt said. 'If I'm going to do this
right, I'll need your help. Fact is ... it was this business of the bogman got
me going. Lottie reckons I've become a bit obsessed. He laughed self-consciously. 'But the thing is ... here we
are, literally face to face with one of our forefathers. And it's my belief
there's a lot he can teach us ...'
Ernie Dawber felt Ma Wagstaff go still and watchful by
his side.
'I mean about ourselves. About this village. How we
relate to it and each other, and how we've
'Never dared to dream it'd be this pub.'
The Man I'th Moss hung around him like a great black
overcoat many sizes too big. Ernie hoped to God it was all going to work out.
Draughty old pile, too many rooms ... cellars, attics ... take a bit of upkeep,
absorb all the contents of your bank account by osmosis.
'To me, like to everybody else, I suppose, this was
always Bridelow Brewery's pub.' Matt was dressed up tonight, suit and tie. 'We
thought it always would be.'
At which point, quite a few people turned to look for
Shaw Horridge, who'd long gone.
'But everything changes,' Matt said. 'Fortunes rise and
fall, and this village owes the Horridge family too much not to make the effort
to understand why, in the end, they were forced to part with the pub ...and, of
course, the brewery.'
We've all made the effort, Ernie thought, as others
murmured. And we still don't understand why.
'Eeeh,' Matt said, his accent getting broader the more he
spoke. 'Eeeh, I wish I were rich. Rich enough to buy the bloody lot. But at
least I could put together enough for this place. Couldn't stand seeing it
turned into a Berni Inn or summat.'
No, lad, Ernie thought. Left to rot.
'But ... we got ourselves a bit of a bank loan. And we
managed it.' Lottie Castle's fixed smile never wavering, Ernie noted, when Matt
switched from 'I' to 'we' covering the money aspect.
Matt went on about how he didn't know much about running
a pub, but what he did know was music. They could expect plenty of that in The
Man I'th Moss.
Matt grinned. 'I know there's a few of you out there can
sing a bit. And I remember, when I was a lad, there used to be a troupe of
morris dancers. Where'd they go to?'
'Orthopaedic hospital,' somebody said.
'Bugger off,' said Matt. There's to be no more cynicism
in this pub, all right? Anyroad, this is open house from now on for dancers and
singers and instrumentalists. If there aren't enough in Bridelow, we'll ship
them in from outside ... big names too. And we'll build up a following, a
regular audience from the towns ... and, brewery or no brewery, we'll make The
Man I'th Moss into a going concern again.'
At which point, somebody asked, as somebody was bound to,
whether Matt and his old band would get together in Bridelow.
'Good point,' Matt accepted. 'Well, me old mucker
Willie's here, Eric's not far off. And I'm working on a bit of a project which
might just interest... well, somebody we used to work with ... eeeh, must be
fifteen years ago. Late 'seventies.'
Everybody listening now, not a chink of bottle on glass
or the striking of a match. Outside, the sun was just a rosy memory.
Matt broke off. 'Hey up. For them as can't see, Lottie's
giving me a warning look, she thinks I should shut up about this until we know
one way or t'other ...'
Lottie smiled wryly. Ernie Dawber was thinking, What the
'eck was her name, the girl who used to sing with Matt's band and then went off
on her own? Very popular, she used to
be, or so he'd heard.
'But, what the hell,' Matt said. 'If I'm going to do this
right, I'll need your help. Fact is ... it was this business of the bogman got
me going. Lottie reckons I've become a bit obsessed. He laughed self-consciously. 'But the thing is ... here we
are, literally face to face with one of our forefathers. And it's my belief
there's a lot he can teach us ...'
Ernie Dawber felt Ma Wagstaff go still and watchful by
his side.
'I mean about ourselves. About this village. How we
relate to it and each other, and how we've
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