October 12, 1999 – British Pub Culture

There is a new guest at the B&B this morning, from Borneo. Tony calls him Borneo Bill. I don’t know if his name is Bill or not. Tony says he hasn’t thought up a nickname for me yet. But I am sure he will!

Britain still has milkmen or least Birmingham does. I see the milk truck on Oakfield Road—a low-bed, open truck with little crates of milk pints lined up on the flat bed—making deliveries. I feel transported to the 1950s.

The mysterious Simon, who is not so mysterious to me now, has moved out. Francis Taylor, my new officemate works part-time. She pops her head in and I greet her with, “Hello, Francis.” I don’t what I said, but she replies, “Oh, I love being called Francis; it reminds me of all the best days in the United States. Please call me that whenever you see me, in whatever exaggerated form you want.” I have no idea what she is talking about. A bit bewildered, I agree.

Chris Skelcher, one of the faculty, invites me for a drink at the Staff House after work. In addition to me, Dean, and Chris, there is also Mike Smith, a woman named Helen Sullivan, and another woman, Margaret Dalhstrom, who is in the office next to mine.

We talk about British television comedies. The conversation turns to Monty Python and how it is so popular still 25 years later. Everyone knows what you are talking about when you say, “I’m not dead, yet.” I tell them how Brian can practically recite every line of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but I think it’s just silly. They all laugh and say, “That’s the point.”

Mike lives in Worcester. When I ask what he likes about living there, he says, “Well, there’s the cathedral.” He is impressed that I know that King John is buried there.

Mike buys us a round. I know I am supposed to reciprocate but I don’t know the etiquette when I am only having one drink. Do I buy them around and leave?

There is a whole pub culture in Britain that seems like a minefield to me. In addition to sharing rounds, Mike tells me it is unmanly to order a half-pint (for men anyway).

Over time “public house” as it was called in the 15th century became shortened to “pub.” Pubs are casual, neighborhood places where people go more to talk and socialize than to drink. Most people have their own pub that they go to consistently, perhaps every night.

There is usually no table service. You order at the bar and bring your drink back to your table yourself. If you are with a group, you take turns buying a round for the table. This is not only convivial, but saves the area around the bar from being too crowded. You hold your money in your hand to let the barman know you are there to order. They know whose turn is next and will get to you in the order that you arrived at the bar. 

Instead of a tip, it is common to offer to buy a drink for your barman or barmaid.  When ordering, you ask for a pint “… and one for yourself?” You don’t say, “Can I buy you a drink,” because that implies charity.

After a half-pint (cider, for me), Dean and I grab the bus to his house and arrive just as the kids are sitting down to dinner. They are great kids, contributing to the conversation just like adults. Barbara has made a wonderful meal of lamb chops, baked potatoes, and a big green salad. It is hard to get fresh salad here (and the restaurants don’t do salad bars very well). I am always hungry for salad. I scarf down two helpings of Barbara’s salad.

Dean drives me home and I read until after 11:00 PM.

• A word about greetings: A common greeting here is, “Are you alright?” At first, I think people are asking because they think I am ill or have some problem. It begins to dawn on me that it is a friendly greeting much like we use, “How are you?”