Danny plays Mine Host.
As we were so few living in Mess, almost everybody had a place on the Mess Committee. I think John Newboult was PMC, and I picked up the task of Wines Member (Bar Officer) for pretty well the whole of my time, so they must have been fairly satisfied with me.
Our beer came from the Vaux Breweries of Sunderland, and we always had to arrange delivery "just in time", as we had no refrigeration, and after tapping the "Samson" was only good for 48 hours in the warmer weather. And I think we used to get it in "kilderkins" (half-barrels), as there weren't all that many of us to drink it.
Although we carried a fair selection of bottled beers (Newcastle Brown Ale being the favourite), most people were content with the bitter "from the wood". In those days, lagers were almost unknown, and canned beer was far in the future. I soon found one trap that I should have to guard against. A chap would button-hole me: "Why don't you try a case of (somebody or other's) bottle ? Marvellous stuff. Had it in my last place, sold like hot cakes". So I'd order a couple of cases, he'd drink a bottle or two, then get posted and no one else would touch the stuff - I'd have to drink the rest myself to get rid of it.
Most of our trade would be on the Saturday and Sunday nights when the Auxiliaries came in with their WAGs after they'd been out for the evening (and the pubs had closed, and we were cheaper, anyway !) As until the very end of my time there, we were all ex-war aircrew or ground officers from the same era, much of the atmosphere of a wartime Mess (only ten years ago then, remember) still prevailed. We fried sausages on a pan over the open fire which was the only source of heat in the room, and if a carelessly aimed butt ended in the pan, well, that just added to the flavour.
As for pubs, we left the "Oddbods" (Oddfellow's Arms) opposite the camp gate, and the town pubs to the airmen. 608 Squadron had adopted the "Bull" at Seamer (a small country village a few miles out of town) as "their" pub. I mainly remember it as a crowded little place, blue with tobacco smoke as they all were; the bar and lounge stools being two-inch slices of solid walnut cut from right across the trunk, mounted on wrought-iron legs. They were exremely heavy, it would need a Samson to wield them as a weapon.
Of course all this meant a lot of running about in our old and dilapidated cars. Luckily there was no MOT then, and the breathaliser was a long way away still. But your old car was still your most valuable material asset, and you would not risk losing it from being "under the influence", for it would only be insured third-party, and a write-off would be a financial disaster (and death to your social life).
Besides the bar, I had my own "lock-up" in a former storeroom in the old house. The Mess had dealt with Harveys of Bristol from time immemorial, and although we were only very small customers, we were very old ones, and they treated us well. At Christmas they would always give me an allocation of three or four cases of Scotch, when it was virtually unobtainable outside for love or money (had to go for export to bring in dollars, you see - or onto the Black Market).
In this Aladdin's cave of mine I found all sorts of things which had been gathering dust in far corners for years. Who drinks Madeira now ? Yet it's quite pleasant stuff - if an acquired taste. I had a dozen tucked away (probably since the war), it was my bounden duty to the Mess to turn these back into cash. For stock that is glued to the shelf is bad news in any business, even if it's still on your Balance Sheet.
Nobly, I therefore wrote the stuff down to historic cost and (as nobody else volunteered) started to work through it myself. In three years, even a modest drinker like me can make a mark. And there were other wonderful finds. I can scarcely believe it now (and I haven't imagined it), but there was Chateau Margaux and Chateau Latour (admittedly non-vintage and under the "Harveys" label - "house wine") at four bob a bottle ! - say £5 now.
Wine drinking in Britain (at least among us lower classes) was in those days a rarity, but I'll try anything once. A couple of glasses a night helped our meagre fare to taste better; the part-bottle (with my name on it) safe under lock and key inbetween times. (Actually our grub wasn't at all bad, even if, on one occasion, quite improperly short-cutting through the kitchen into the Mess, I caught the cook turning a pan of potato soup into Creme of Tomato with a bottle of Mr Heinz's best).
I cannot leave the name of Harveys without reference to their most famous import - "Bristol Cream", of which we are inordinately fond. I have never understood the Anglo-Saxon preference for wines which turn the lining of your mouth inside out. The supermarkets must sell ten bottles of Brut for every Demi-sec, even though that is (to my mind) a better drink. And I longingly recall their "White Cap" Port, which we trotted out on Dining-in nights. It had an "incense" flavour, which I liked (yes, I know, you can get "White Cap" still, but it isn't the same thing).
Off-thread for far too long. Must do Better Next Time.
'Night all,
Danny42C.
"For Malt does more than Milton can,
To justify God's ways to Man". (Houseman: Shropshire Lad - IIRC ?)
Last edited by Danny42C; 13th May 2013 at 21:53.
Reason: Better idea for Title.