When nights in the pub meant a pianist, copies of War Cry ...and a visit from the seafood man

Anton Rippon takes a moment to look back but also has an eye on a brighter future awaiting us...

HASN’T this lockdown business left so many people feeling hard done-by? No sauntering up to the bar to order a pint. No pushing your way through a turnstiles to watch football. No sitting in a theatre, waiting for the curtain to go up.

There are some unexpected benefits, though. For us, lockdown has opened up new shopping experiences. When I say “shopping”, I don’t mean that we actually go anywhere. Instead, we have discovered a wide range of businesses that will deliver to the door. And I’m not talking only about supermarkets. We are now sourcing greengrocery, fish and baked goods from small suppliers.

Specialist goods, too. There’s a very nice a Norwegian aquavit, matured on a boat for six months as it crosses the Equator twice. Although I suppose that is another downside of lockdown: opening the home bar gets earlier each day. You don’t have to make an appointment, though. And the prices are cheaper.

I’m partial to Scandinavian buffet food. Those pickled herrings … I was chatting with my friend Wally Serra the other day, about the time when, at weekends, a man would enter your local pub, carrying a large basket full of seafood. For me that meant the Duke of York on Burton Road. It was there that I first sampled a whelk. It was also the last time. I took to prawns, shrimps and mussels right away. But whelks? No thanks. Same with jellied eels.

Still, weren’t they simple days? I loved the routine. Friday was the pianist at the Bell and Castle across the road. Saturday was the Salvation Army lady selling copies of War Cry.

Sunday night it was the seafood man.

Maybe it’s because there is more time to stand and stare that we now look back?

Shopping offered plenty of character, too. I found no greater pleasure than a wander around the Market Hall to see what delights were on offer at Frank Woore’s second-hand book counter. How times have changed.

Few people have been harder hit than owners of small businesses.

Consider the plight of stallholders in the Market Hall. Customers had already spent a couple of years picking their way around a maze of heavy scaffolding. Then came the first strict lockdown when the Market Hall, along with most shops, was closed altogether.

Now this: another month, at least, when traders cannot trade. Then will follow eviction notices so that the building can be vacated next year to allow repairs to the roof to continue. No one knows how long that will take.

You have to marvel at resilience of businesses there. They are not giving up. Linda Aston, chair of the Market Hall Traders’ Association, tells me: “The Market Hall traders are decorating the hall for Christmas for the last time with the hall in its traditional state. Although the new Market Hall will be a wonder, they are hoping to make it a Christmas to remember for themselves and their loyal customers. As soon as the Government says the doors can open, they will be back, ready to serve.”

In the late 1980s, when the building was undergoing a transformation back to its Victorianstyle design, Market Hall traders survived for two years in a temporary building in the Market Place. One hopes that something similar will be made available next year. In the meantime, they are busy putting up the tinsel in the old place.

Let us take a peep into the future. The vaccines work. Covid-19 is successfully suppressed. No longer does anyone have to wear a face mask or keep two metres away from their best friend. There is no need to phone ahead to see if your local can accommodate you. Theatres and restaurants are open for unrestricted business. The turnstiles at Pride Park are clicking again. And the brand new Market Hall is packed with happy shoppers. Stay focused. It will happen.

■ Anton Rippon’s local books are available from www.northbridge publishing.co.uk