By
Rob
I
consider it a testament to my good character that, if I were to count
the number of times that I’ve been thrown out of a licensed venue, I
could do so with the fingers on one hand.[1]
Looking
back at those moments in which I was forcibly ejected from
someplace or other, I notice that the reasons behind each individual
occasion are surprisingly varied. For example, I once had to leave
West Street Live because a female friend involved herself in an
altercation that was taking place between a bouncer and an extremely
tall Brazilian transsexual and, through association, I too was rather
unfairly relegated to the curb outside.
As
for some of the other instances: I’ve been required to vacate the
premises of a nightclub for not being attired in the appropriate
footwear; for seeming too drunk when I actually wasn’t; for seeming
too drunk when I actually was; for trying (and failing) to sneak in
without a ticket; for not being over the age of eighteen and,
finally, for being incorrectly identified as someone who’d just
snorted cocaine when, in actual fact, I’d simply been using the
toilet.
The
point I’m making is that, like many people of my age, I’ve been
asked to leave pubs/clubs/bars for a variety of reasons. However, I
can safely say that I’ve never been required to shuffle out of a
place on account of my political affiliations, and I suspect that not
very many people have.
Yet
this was precisely the reason given by a group of political
activists, all of whom belonged to a well-known mainstream party, for
being required to leave the Three Cranes pub in 1980. Having been
asked to finish their drinks and depart by the landlord, one of the
men refused and the police were subsequently called. Later, the men
would write to local magistrates to try and prevent the renewal of
the landlord’s license, complaining that he’d flung them out of
the pub because he didn’t approve of their political leanings
(something the landlord strenuously denied).[2]
Fortunately,
and presumably without the aid of media spin doctors, the Three
Cranes managed to survive this earth-shattering political scandal and
continued to serve alcohol to the thirsty people of Sheffield city
centre: something made evident by the fact that the pub was still
there when we wandered down Queen Street in search of our next boozer
over 35 years later.
Having
been solidly underwhelmed by the Tap & Barrel (a visit excellently documented by our guest blogger Richard), the exterior of the
Three Cranes did little to suggest an impending increase in the
overall quality of pubs visited thus far that evening. However, given
that we were still loitering around some of the more insalubrious
parts of the city centre, we were simply hoping for a non-hostile
drinking environment.
Stepping
inside, we knew immediately that the customers wouldn’t offer us
any trouble. Not because they looked like a friendly bunch, but
because there weren’t any. Besides ourselves and the landlady, who
was sat at one of the tables on her laptop, the place was entirely
empty.
On
a possibly related note, the service was impeccable. For starters, we
were served immediately, which doesn’t always happen in a
city-centre pub. In addition, the landlady ushered us to our seats
and then took our drink orders while we settled into our chairs,
which we all enjoyed. To a Pubquest novice like Richard, it probably seemed that the dedicated
service was linked to the fact that we represented 100% of
the pub’s custom at that time. However, it was clear to both Andy and myself
that we were being treated to table service on account of our
semi-celebrity status as local pub aficionados.
The
total absence of any other human beings allowed us to get a good,
long look at the inside of the pub. The place had a very cosy feel to
it and was, in every way conceivable, as typical of an old man’s
watering hole as you could get – which is certainly not a bad
thing! The pub was also home to a pool table, although our enthusiasm for cue sports had already been expended at the previous venue.
We
soon had a pint of Sharp’s Atlantic pale ale delivered into our
hands. The pint was very nice indeed, with quite strong citrus tones
and a slight taste of tropical fruit. However, the promised "touch
of candy floss" failed to make itself noticed amidst the other
flavours.[3]
Overall, it was a refreshing drink and, as a result, it didn’t take
us long to imbibe the full amount.
As
the landlady came over to collect the empty glasses (thus preventing
us from making our usual goodwill gesture by returning them to the bar), we were forced to
disappoint her by not ordering a second round of drinks. Knowing we
were condemning the pub to be empty once more, we headed for the
door with a pang of sadness in our hearts.
But,
on the plus side, we weren’t being thrown out.
Pub:
Three Cranes (74 Queen Street, S1 2DW)
Rating:
6/10
Pint:
Atlantic
Brewery: Sharp’s Brewery (Rock, Cornwall)
NEXT UP: Chatted up in Wetherspoons, at The Bankers Draft...
NEXT UP: Chatted up in Wetherspoons, at The Bankers Draft...
References:
[1] And by one hand, I actually mean two
[1] And by one hand, I actually mean two
[2] Peter
Tuffrey, Sheffield
Pubs; Landlords and Landladies, Fonthill
Media, (2012), p.130
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