Demise enough to make a man cry into his beer
THERE comes a time to be serious. Global warming, perhaps? Or asking why Sonny Bill Williams is still tagging along on All Black tours?
But there are far more important matters about which it is ill to jest. The closing of country pubs is one such calamity which seems to have been overwhelmed by debate about samesex marriages, National Party squabbles and other trivia.
I was reminded of the plight of country pubs last week travelling through my childhood stamping ground in South Canterbury. Of course, in Timaru, while a few of the old pubs remain, there’s a glut of modern drinking holes which have neither history nor the quirkiness of the longgone Club, Excelsior, Crown or Hydro Grand, but in the country I saw pubs of my youth which were no longer pubs and such a loss is a serious matter.
At Washdyke the old Doncaster (named thus because the now underthreat racecourse is nearby) sits boarded up surrounded by a what looks at first glance like a junk yard but is, in fact, some sort of secondhand car outfit. A brutal end to the fine old brick building of fond memory. (Old South Canterbury is big on brick because of brick works in Timaru and near Makikihi). Only a few miles up the road sits the old Arowhenua pub, now it seems a private residence rather than a welcome resting place for travellers.
Temuka has lost at least one old pub, but that’s hardly in the country, is it? Very urban, Temuka these days. At Chertsey, where I enjoyed a quiet beer one summer’s day only a year or so ago, the pub has closed. Where do the locals go now to catch up on the gossip and swap yarns about the day on the farm? Perhaps, God forbid, they text each other.
With heavy heart, I headed south, regretting I had no time for a detour to a couple of the pubs of youthful times — the hotels at Cave and Albury, once presided over by legendary characters. At Cave, Ted Finnie’s acknowledgement of the licensing laws was limited to closing the bar curtain at 6pm with one hand while pouring another beer with the other. The farmers of Cave enjoyed a yarn after the day’s work was finished which wasn’t until after 6pm usually. At Albury, widow Mary ‘‘Nana’’ Gibson, who took over the pub on her husband’s death, was the maternal hostess who was revered by her locals and who once insisted I stay the night rather than drive home. How wise she was.
All this eulogising of the country pub was prompted by a recent report of the celebrations at Waikaka, almost on the Otago border, where the Royal Hotel put on a 150th birthday do. Nestled in the rolling Southland countryside, Waikaka was once a gold town and by the early 1870s about 600 miners were on the spot. A good time to build a pub, so in 1872 William
Edge opened the Royal Hotel proclaiming that ‘‘the bedrooms are all large, wellventilated and nicely fitted. The table will be provided in a manner satisfactory to all and attached to the hotel is a commodious billiard room’’. William’s ads appeared in the Tuapeka Times as he knew there were plenty of miners around Lawrence who would be heading his way. Denis Corcoran bought the pub in 1900 and his family ran it for decades. Wally Corcoran, who, in the nolicence days had a showroom in Gore where people could order alcohol which he delivered from the Royal, was there when I first visited.
In my working days I travelled a bit and would always stay in country pubs rather the motel chains with which the firm had jacked up cheap deals. No motel was cheaper than the Royal and no boring motel offered such appealing accommodation. A bar full of friendly locals, great food, and the bathroom just a short walk down the hall. Recently, I booked in for a night and got talking to the locals. In a country pub you don’t sit at a distant table squinting at a cellphone. You get drawn into the circle with a, ‘‘G’day. Where you from? On your own?’’ I told the group my wife was back in town and it was a sort of memory lane visit as we’d spent our honeymoon night at the Royal. My new friends moved away a fraction and one got a laugh with, ‘‘Well, we can’t help you there, mate.’’
You may have realised that the Royal, built in 1872, is actually only 146 this year. Some sloppy website called Publocation says it was built in 1877, five years out. But all that is of no account. Country pubs should celebrate every year of their existence and when 2022 rolls around I hope to be at the Royal Hotel, Waikaka. With the wife, of course.
❛ At Cave, Ted Finnie’s acknowledgement of the licensing laws was limited to closing the bar curtain at 6pm with one hand while pouring another beer with the
other.