The Carnarvon Castle, Liverpool

Jun 23 2007 by Mike Chapple, Liverpool Daily Post

THERE’S nothing better for the weary shopper than to find a cosy pub to lay down their Scouse briefcases (that’s plassie bags to you, missus) – and chew the fat.

THERE’S nothing better for the weary shopper than to find a cosy pub to lay down their Scouse briefcases (that’s plassie bags to you, missus) – and chew the fat.

One of the classics in Liverpool city centre is the Carnarvon Castle. Its equivalent over the water in Birkenhead is the Garrick Snug, in the Grange Road shopping centre. Tucked in like an old sock down the back of the settee between the con- crete monoliths of J-D Junior and TK Maxx superstores, the 19th-century Garrick has survived all the changes going on around it, a bit like watching Rod Taylor fast-forwarding his gizmo in the film adaptation of HG Wells’s The Time Machine.

It’s a compact one-roomed boozer whose interior is caked with the yellowed ciggie smoke of ages, so thick that it’s impossible to distinguish if the classic prints on the wall were painted by John Constable or Police Constable.

Lady Penelope of Pensby had thus deemed it the perfect place for the Daily Post’s Puffing Billy Arts Editor Phil “Wotcher cock” Key to light up his tabs and watch the world go by. Which is why all three of us walked into the place on an early afternoon this week, when Mr Key’s trade- mark trilby was mistaken for a Stetson by one of the pub’s many old codger characters, Irish Benny. He pretended to draw a gun and declare: “Here they are – The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”

Precisely which label fitted who I couldn’t possibly comment, but landlady of 10 years Brenda Grocott said that she had no objection to the Garrick being referred to as a traditional codgers pub full of banter and reminiscences.

“Benny’s just one of them – there’s the Dolly Sisters, Pat and Joyce, and don’t forget Old Nick. That’s Frank Nicholson, who’s 88, but who is always first through the door when we open at 11 o’clock every morning,” said 58-year-old Brenda who gave up her jobs as a knickers seller (well, someone’s got to do it) to succeed her Dad, Eric, who was landlord before her for 15 years.

Besides the regulars, which include a group of faithful ex-dockers, there is a lot of passing traffic of shoppers attracted by the cheap and cheerful prices. There is a cask ale of draught Boddies to appease the real ale brigade, and Mr Key was espec- ially pleased at the very reason- able whisky doubles bar for under £2.50. There were also a plate of freshly-made cheese and onion butties to stoke up Lady P before she returned to work.

These were a snip at just one pound, especially since the general mark-up on a simple sarnie nowadays amounts to grand larceny.

The only cloud – literally – on the horizon for the likes of Mr Key is the ban on smoking in enclosed spaces which becomes nationwide in a week’s time. And it’s not only smokers such as Penge’s only honorary Scouser who are worried about it.

Like many other Merseyside pubs which are smokers’ favourites, there is no scope for the Garrick to provide areas for a quick puff in back yards or beer gardens.

“What makes it worse for us is that we’re in zero tolerance area for drinking outside, so anyone who wants to smoke won’t be able to take their pints with them,” said Brenda.

The only compensation is that after the ban is imposed she will instigate a spring-clean purge of all nicotine stains.

Then perhaps we may be able to finally distinguish precisely which print on the wall is Constable’s Hay wain.