It is 5-15 a.m. I have been awake since around 4am. I can hear the wind howling outside. I thought I heard a curlew about 20 minutes ago. I love the sound of the curlew. A single duck is quacking its head off on the river bank. The dawn chorus has not yet started. I have just made my first pot of tea and have decided to write today’s blog.

I have been thinking during the night of the many characters I have met down through the years. Every one of them has enriched my life and so this morning I am going to share just a few of their stories with you.

It seems to me that the pub is no longer the place it once was. I seldom visit the pub now. The pub used to be a place not only with a character behind the bar but also full of characters on this side of the bar too. Pubs now appear to have become restaurants that sell beer rather than pubs that sell food. No one seems to know who the landlord is anymore. There was a time when you identified a pub by the landlord or landlady. Whatever happened to people like Mousey Christian from the Swan in Ramsey, Herbie Nelson from the Whitestone in Ballasalla and Billy Williams from the Albert in Port St. Mary? Folks like these made the pub what it was, they actually worked behind the bar and they stood out in the community. Herbie Nelson was a perfect example. His beer was so bad, it was said (albeit by Herbie himself) that folk used to travel over to the Island from Llandudno on daytrips to visit his pub and sample his beer because they could not believe it was so bad. There was not a lot of point in complaining about the state of your pint to Herbie either as, his standard reply to most complaints was. “Well you should be so lucky, you only have a pint of it, I have a bloody seller full.”

This tale was told to me by Herbie himself.

A certain postman in Ballasalla wandered into Herbies pub for a pint after finishing his round at lunchtime. He called out for a pint and emptied all the change from his pocket on to the bar. Herbie was not the greatest mathematician in the world and began counting the pennies and halfpennies, washers, bits of string and Heaven only knows what else. . The postman downed his pint and headed for the door. As he passed through the door Herbie yelled after him “Oy Quirk, you are a penny short here?” “No” came the reply. “Tis you Nelson that is a penny short!”

Another character that used to frequent the Station hotel in Port Erin was Bluey Watterson. The story goes that one night, Bluey was making his way home after a heavy day’s session in the Station after a Rushen United win. As he wandered along the pavement with a slight wobble, the passing duty constable called out from across the road. “Drunk again Bluey!”. “So am I Constable,” replied Bluey.

My Uncle Sean was a larger than life character and a publican in County Tipperary, Ireland.

He had an awful temper on him but, was one of the kindest men I have ever met. He was so quick witted and his mind was razor sharp.

This particular saga took place in my very presence one Sunday afternoon in his pub.

The pub was empty and Uncle was not in the best of humour when two American tourists walked in to the bar and asked if they could use the toilets. Down the corridor and last on your right said Uncle in a clipped and grumpy Irish accent. We, that is me and Uncle both stood in silence at the bar awaiting the return of the two American gentlemen. I had hoped that they would simply do their business and leave as I knew that if they came over and said thank you or whatever to Uncle before leaving, they would probably get more than they bargained for. The two Americans wandered back along the corridor having relieved themselves and made their way over to Uncle. I trembled as I heard one of them say. “Sir, we would like to thank you for allowing us to use your lavatory. However, if you don’t mind Sir, we would like to point out to you that there is no bolt on your lavatory door!” “Is that right” said Uncle. “Well, I have been in this pub now for 15 years and in all that time no one ever broke in and stole a bucket of s--t yet!”

At the end of this month, the smoke will disappear from our pubs and so be it. However, it seems to me that most of the characters disappeared several years ago. I don’t miss the present day pubs. It is not just the smoke that will vanish at the end of this month; the witty and humorous landlords along with the characters that dwelled in the villages from Ballaugh to Cregneash seem to have vanished too.