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Lancashire's Historic Pubs

The History Press

Affetside near Bury: The Pack Horse

Affetside: M60 to J15, Bolton A676 to Edgworth–Tottington crossroads. Turn sharp right for Affetside; or M60 to J18, M66 to J2, Bury A58 west along ring road. Turn right on to B6213 towards Tottington and fork left almost immediately for Affetside.

Little need for a postcode for this pub. What a historic address: 52 Watling Street! That was the name of the Roman road that ran all the way from the Romans' landing place at Richborough in Kent to Wroxeter near Shrewsbury and passed through Affetside on the stretch between Manchester and Ribchester, where there is a crossing of the Ribble.

This important road, built by the legions, was increasingly used as the centuries passed by merchants who needed to move goods such as cloth for sale at distant markets. Packhorse trains would have toiled up the hills here; Affetside stands on the highest local point, so the appropriately named Pack Horse was well located to provide shelter and refreshment for travellers. Today's visitors come by car and can linger to enjoy marvellous distant views such as Winter Hill.

Successive landlords of the Pack Horse have needed to increase their dining space. Apart from the main lounge bar at the front, there is a games room with dining tables near the entrance and a 'snug' by a side bar; access through the side bar allows diners to go through to two more dining rooms at the rear where the kitchen is located. At weekends every table is taken.

A feature at the Pack Horse which is remembered by everyone who visits it is the skull which is on a shelf at the back of the main bar. Bizarre and gruesome, it is that of George Whewell (variously spelt), a local man whose family was massacred by Royalist soldiers commanded by James, 7th Earl of Derby, at the time of the siege of Bolton during the Civil War.

An account in the form of a poem at the Pack Horse tells of the Royalists' defeat by Cromwell at Wigan, then again at Worcester, after which the King and Derby fled. The Earl was captured at Chester, tried and sentenced to death. He was sent back to Bolton where so many had died at the hands of the soldiers: Whewell volunteered as an executioner and gained his revenge.

One explanation of the display of Whewell's skull in the pub is that the Royalist soldiers came back to make him pay for executing their commander. His skull was said to have been displayed outside to warn everyone; eventually it was taken inside, where it remains. Needless to say there are numerous stories describing the horrific experiences of people who attempted to move the skull out of the Pack Horse. In publicity terms, the skull is better than the usual ghost only seen by a few select believers; the skull is there for all to see. It is also well positioned to see what is going on at the bar: just try to forget it is there!

Across the road and no more than 50 yards away there is evidence of the village's history. To celebrate the year 2000 a Millennium Green has been established, including a garden with pool and ducks: a so-called 'breathing space' with public footpaths giving people an opportunity to wander. The Rotary Clubs of Bolton have promoted a 50-mile circular walk, 'The Rotary Way'. A notice announces the start of Stage 1, from Affetside to Little Lever, 5? miles.

By the roadside nearby, facing a row of cottages, is the Affetside Cross. Heavily pitted, it stands on a plinth consisting of two circles of huge stones fastened together with metal straps. The shaft has a socket cut into the top which originally probably supported a cross, now lost; it would have served as a market cross for Affetside and district, and was possibly a place for preaching and public proclamations. This form of standing cross would have been quite common in medieval villages, but most were destroyed during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, making the Affetside Cross a relatively rare survival. It is listed as an Ancient Monument, and tradition dates it as Roman, possibly because it marks the line of the Roman road. It may be Saxon or even medieval; both are more likely than Roman. A continuation of Watling Street can be seen north-west of Edgworth, but there is no cross on that length. The cross at Affetside is said to have a special significance as it is exactly half-way between London and Edinburgh.

One wonders how much that half-way position really matters – except perhaps to the people of Affetside. What does matter is transportation in such a scattered landscape, both public and private. There is a bus service to and from Bolton and there are parking bays on the narrow Watling Street close to the Millennium Green and the Affetside Cross. For patrons of the Pack Horse there is a good car park, excellent food and, of course, the famous skull of George Whewell.

Arkholme (Kirkby Lonsdale Road) The Redwell Inn

A6 or M6 north to Carnforth. Turn east on B6254, Market Street, leading into Kellet Road and Kirkby Lonsdale road. The pub is beyond Over Kellet.

Why the official address of the Redwell Inn is given as Arkholme is one of life's mysteries. Perhaps it is something to do with the postcode. Don't look for it in the village, as it isn't there; watch for it on the Kirkby Lonsdale road well on the way to Over Kellet. There will be plenty of cars at the front, such is the pub's popularity; fortunately there is plenty of space. Its sign is eye-catching, brilliantly glowing and illustrating the pub's red well from which it takes its name.

Like so many country pubs that have a long history, the Redwell was once a farm as well as an inn. The building goes back to the seventeenth century and later served travellers as a coaching inn: the archway on the front is evidence of that, as are the outbuildings at the rear, which would have been stables. A barn was often an extension to these farmhouse inns and was so here, but is now converted into a handsome, spacious dining and function room.

Food is the focus here. Choose your evening according to its speciality: Monday is steak night, Thursday is duck night, Friday is fresh fish night and so on. Food is on offer every day from 12 to 9 p.m.; one of the most popular dishes is Cumbrian roast lamb.

Well before eating out in the evenings became regular and car travel made it easy, the Redwell was an important place for people to meet socially and, of course, to drink together. It had an official function, too, as a courthouse, and served business as an auction room.

The present landlady at the Redwell, Julie, has recorded a number of stories or legends connected with the pub. Sadly this is all too rare, and when the story tellers are no longer around the stories may be lost for ever. She mentions the return visit of a former German prisoner of war who worked at the Redwell during the Second World War; he spoke highly of his treatment and how well he was fed.

Of past landlords, Matt Slaughter seems to have been ready to ignore food regulations in 1945. He became famous for his quick thinking when police came to inspect the premises in the belief that he was trading bacon when it was rationed. They didn't find the pig they thought was involved, as Matt had put it in bed with his wife!

A really poignant legend is that of Jack and Bess, the Redwell version of the willow-pattern plate story. It was 1685 when the Redwell stable boy Jack was found to be having a secret love affair with Bess, the daughter of the local master of the hunt. In spite of several warnings as to the serious consequences if Jack did not end the relationship, love seems to have been too strong and the affair continued.

The master of the hunt was known to be a heavy drinker and of a cruel disposition. One night when cock fighting was going on in the cellar at the Redwell and he was present, having had plenty to drink, news was brought to him that Jack and Bess had been seen. He ordered his men out, caught the lovers together and had Jack tied up. Despite Bess's distress and pleas to her father, a large fire was built and Jack was burned at the stake. The message to poor Bess was 'you are not to marry below your class and a gentleman of fine standing will be found for you'.

It is said that the experience of seeing Jack's death robbed Bess of the power of speech and she sobbed continually for twelve months before dying of a broken heart at the age of eighteen. On a clear night under a full moon Jack and Bess can be seen walking hand in hand down the lane by the Redwell Inn whispering their love for each other. The story ends by saying that they will not notice you: they have eyes only for each other.

The well giving the Redwell its name is still there under a modern cover close to the back of the pub. For some unknown reason way back in the past the well water is said to have suddenly turned red; the easiest explanation at the time was witchcraft. Today we would look for some change in the soil through which the water filtered.

Certainly, like the famous Chalice Well at Glastonbury, the water at the Redwell gained the reputation of having strange healing properties. A recent letter received at the pub from a lady in Canada aged ninety-one confirms this.

As a baby barely a year old she became seriously ill with what sounds like pneumonia. When the doctor came he told the family that she was dying and would not see the night out. With nothing to lose, and led by her grandmother, the ladies of the house drew water from the well, warmed it on a stove and put it in a pan by the baby's bed. A towel was spread in the water, the baby was laid on the towel and she was bathed and soaked in the warm water. The ladies worked all night keeping the baby warm and clearing mucus from her nose and throat with a goose feather dipped in goose grease.

Next morning there was laughter and tears: the baby was well and is living ninety years on. She says now that her life was saved entirely because of the power of Redwell water and that it has always helped to build healthy teeth and bones for children there. One of these days perhaps the mystery of the red well will be solved, but if not, we have a ninety-year-old story with a happy ending.

Arkholme village is worth a visit – even Kirkby Lonsdale is only 4 miles further on. Turn at the Arkholme crossroads down to the river Lune and the church. There is no through traffic so the peace and quiet allows visitors to admire the stone cottages, Georgian houses and delightful gardens. The beautiful little church stands by an ancient earthwork above the river and the remains of the old market cross are by the south side of the church.

Past the Ferryman's house a track leads quickly down to the riverside and its walks. This was the source of material, willow, for Arkholme's traditional cottage industry, now gone: basket making.

Stay on long enough for time to go to Kirkby Lonsdale, which affords wonderful views of the Lune valley.

John Ruskin, who knew a thing or two about the countryside, called it 'one of the loveliest scenes in England – therefore in the world'. The artist J.M.W. Turner painted the scene from a point close to the church there. They can't both be wrong!

Bacup and the Coconutters: The Crown Inn

M60 to J18, M66, A56, A681 via Rawtenstall; or M65 to J8, A56, A681 via Rawtenstall.

The father with a little boy asked 'Have the Nutters gone past yet?' There were people waiting about, some for buses, others looking anxiously at watches, so possibly something was expected. The father and son relaxed.

It was on St James Street near the library in the centre of Bacup on the Saturday of Easter weekend. Then the penny dropped. This is the one day in the year when the Britannia Coconut Dancers come to town to perform their ancient dances at every Bacup boundary – and at all the pubs on the way. If the number of pubs really matters, some say 'about twelve', others 'probably fifteen'. Since the Nutters get free beer at all of them, perhaps some uncertainty about the exact number is understandable. The Nutters say that they lose a lot of body fluid walking and dancing many miles and need to replace it!

As the crowds grew that day, including groups with walking boots and backpacks – certainly not locals – and many young people whose interest would usually be in something 'cool' rather than in tradition, the Britannia Coconut Dancers were a unique spectacle. But what makes these men of mature age black their faces so that the Devil cannot recognise them, don white hats decorated with red, white and blue rosettes, black jerseys, red-and-white kilts, white stockings and black Lancashire clogs?

They go on to perform dances accompanied by members of Sacksteads Silver Band and collect for charity. Ask one of the Nutters why they do it and keep to the same route every year. 'It has always been so; it is a way of life.' Their leader, Richard Shufflebottom, joined the Coconutters at age twenty-two; he retired in 2005 after fifty years. The Secretary, Joe Healey, has a tattoo on his arm that says 'Coconutter Born & Bred'.

More about the Coconutters later, but with their experience, surely a re-commendation of a Bacup pub for inclusion in this book would be very simple. But nothing ever is. Remember the free beer for them at every pub along the way? This poses a diplomatic problem, the only solution being careful detective work to find a way forward.

Every weekend from Easter to September the Coconutters are out and about dancing at carnivals, folk festivals and charity functions of all kinds. Where are they to be found when they are back home, have washed off their black and have taken off their 'gear'? Answer: at the Crown, which they seem to have made their own, bringing their wives and partners, also adding their own special brand of togetherness to the friendly informality of hosts Trevor and Kathy. A powerful combination!

Do not give up on your search for the Crown. There is no sign on the hill climbing out of Bacup along Yorkshire Street; look for Greave Road, fork right here and watch for a pub with no sign on the wall. A few parked cars give a clue, but the only other evidence is a tiny notice in a window partly hidden by ivy; all it says is Crown Inn, Greave Road, Bacup. Mon-Fri 5 p.m., Sat & Sun 12 noon. East Lancs Pub of the Year 2003 CAMRA.

Greave is a small community on the edge of Bacup, but the pub's regulars know it, love it and come from a wide area – and not just because of the quality of its beer. It is the quality of the company there that counts and reflects the personalities of Trevor and Kathy. Trevor has been landlord for more than eighteen years and his father before him for thirteen years.

They have kept a thick ring-file full of historical facts, illustrated with scores of photographs, all of which show how active and entertaining the pub has been during their years there. Records go back to 1866 when the Crown was owned by John Baxter Ltd of Glen Top Brewery at Bacup and James Lord was the licensee.

Changes have been many since then. James Lord would be astonished to know that on Thursday evenings the Bare Arts Class meets upstairs in the function room to paint and draw, but then Kathy is a professional artist. Trevor and Kathy also have a gallery with exhibits for sale at Todmorden called Bare Arts.Com. with its own website and Trevor plans to set up his own brewery nearby.

That is not all: every couple of weeks there is music – live music – in the Crown. It all started when a group of local musicians occasionally played in the pub and Trevor gave them free sandwiches. The group decided to go public and adopted as their entertainment name 'The Free Sandwiches'. Now fame is beckoning.

In the summer there is folk music at the Crown, a weekend festival, and the popular black pudding competition. Trevor feels that throwing black puddings is a waste of good food. If you are looking for a sandwich to beat all sandwiches, ask for one of Trevor's. They are on wholemeal bread with fillings to gladden the eye, such as roast beef with onion and horseradish or mustard. Mine had a printed label that said 'The Crown Inn, The Butty, Beef, £2.50' and satisfied my appetite until the following day. If your wish is a drink that is different you will find it at the Crown, because Trevor has two beers brewed specially for him at the Pictish Brewery at Rochdale.

The L-shaped bar has blazing fires at opposite ends, with two rooms opened out at the left-hand side of the bar, all facing the front. Country style-chairs, wooden topped tables and a flagged floor set the tone. But if you make a first visit to the Crown, you will not be a stranger for long. Trevor, Kathy and their regulars will see to that and there will be a chair pulled out for you immediately.

To end with the Coconutters, their origin is believed to go back to the days when Moorish pirates settled in Cornwall and were employed in the mines there. Some came to Lancashire in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as mines were opened in the north, bringing the dances with them. Of those early groups, only the Britannia Coconutters are left. Their own evidence goes back to 1857.

The dancers blacken their faces to prevent their being recognised by evil spirits and one of the group, known as the 'Whiffler' or 'Whipper-in', walks in front of the dancers cracking his whip to drive evil spirits away.

The routine of the dancers begins with the garland dances, in which each member carries a garland decorated in red, white and blue to resemble flowers, part of the spring ritual. The Nut Dances follow and involve the use of wooden discs like coconut shells fixed to palms, knees and waists; dancers strike them together in time with the music, originally that of the English concertina. The so-called coconuts would, in the past, have served as a protection for the miners as they crawled down passages in the mines.

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Excerpted from Lancashire's Historic Pubs by Peter Thomas. Copyright © 2013 Peter Thomas. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
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