The Three Tuns, Bedford Bank East

Introduction

Tom Fisher's "Tale of a Pub" - and Hogmanay on New Years Eve!

"ln the Travel Section of the lndependent on Sunday, 21 Nov 1993, there appeared a full page article by Jill Crawshaw, entitled "ln Search of Swans". lt was a eulogy about Fenland and in particular the area around Welney and Ely.

Referring to Welney she wrote:

"The inhabitants grumble that nothing ever happens in Welney, but at Christmas and New Year, to us at least, the village seems to be en fefe. Even The Three Tuns, an old waterside inn and almost the last truly genuine Fens pub - with no video games, no television, no fruit machines, and serving no food apart from crisps and pork scratchings with its Elgoods bitter - puts on its party frock for the holidays. Tinsel and glitter festoon the dart board and the punt gun which stretches the length of the wall above the open fire......... On New Years Eve, for reasons no one can remember, the pub puts on its own Scottish Hogmanay, with a local accordionist and haggis on the house........."

Mine hosts: John Waring on left, Mabs Waring in pink blouse. Photo from the Three Tuns Collection, c/o Welney Webmaster.

Well, of course, some of us can remember and the story goes something like this. Cath and I and three small children acquired Bank Cottage on the Hundred Foot Bank in 1968. At that time we were both teaching and lecturing in Leeds and from being a "camping family", we changed to being weekend visitors with a second home and spent nearly all of our annual 12 weeks holiday, living, working and playing at Welney.

It so happened that, about the same time, Mabs and John Waring had acquired the tenancy of The Three Tuns on John's retirement from British Petroleum (BP). They had spent a long time as expatriates in the oil fields of lran and finally in Aden after the lranians nationalised their oil industry and virtually threw out what was then the Anglo-lranian Oil Company (AIOC). I believe it was when arab nationalists and Yemenis pushed the British out of Aden that John Waring earned his MBE for his efforts during the evacuation of families in a time of great stress.

Whatever! John and I had an almost immediate rapport because my first job as a young civil engineer just out of university was with Scottish Oils Ltd., a subsidiary of AIOC (later British Petroleum, BP). My first boss later became the Resident Engineer/Project Manager for the Aden Refinery Project in John's time there. We were able to recall a few names we knew in common. While in the Middle East, John and Mabs had obviously been delighted to attend social gatherings of the expatriate St Andrews Societies and had acquired a number of Scottish friends who visited The Three Tuns now and again.

The next ingredient to add to the recipe is the accordion. My father put me to leam to play when I was 11 and I continued till I was 16, tutored by his cousin who, at the time, was considered to be as good a player as the up and coming young Jimmy Shand. I never aspired to those heights and I tended to play by ear rather than by the music. Mainly I played regularly at dances, social evenings and as accompianist at pub sing-songs.

We tried it out at Welney in The Three Tuns to the delight of Mabs, John and certainly George Butcher. Our sing-songs at The Three Tuns developed from there. Mabs in deference to Cath and I as professional teachers, used to say The Tuns was The Welney College of Further Education (in the broadest sense, of course.) On one occasion, an old lady asked if she could 'put round the hat". Mabs was aghast!! 'Oh no!" she said. "You would hurt him. He only does it for pleasure!"

For quite a number of years there was no haggis at The Three Tuns at New Year. However as a family we have nearly always celebrated, at Bank Cottage, the birthday of Scotland's poet Robert Burns on the 25 January, as this almost coincides with my own birthday. News gets around and our haggis on these occasions had always been supplied by friends from Scotland and we advertised the fact. Shortly, John decided he would like to offer haggis, tatties and neeps to his customers on New Years Eve. Originally the imports were via our Scottish source. Then a friend of ours supplied some from Harrods and later, another family from London took on this ceremonial duty.

ln some years, frantic efforts were made to secure the 'creature' at the last minute. Once, Morrisons supermarket in Leeds came to the rescue. Another year, in what seemed to have been a poor shooting season, we couldn't find any and ended up buying it in tins from Baxters (you know! from just across the firth!). That occasion led to a conference on how to cook it.

The usual stories were bandied about. Was the haggis farm reared, open range or organic? Was it possible to get the wild variety with its one long leg and one short leg? This deformity was conditioned by its having to run round the mountainsides in one direction only. This in turn leads to the ingenious method of its capture, namely by constraining the creature to run round the hill in the reverse direction. As a result of its now obvious and inherent instability, it can do no other than roll to the bottom of the hill, where it is stunned and put into a game bag before being exported south.

John desperately wanted the haggis to be "stabbed" on New Years Eve, something which is culturally "not on" in Scotland. So I swallowed my pride and with the accordion, the kilt, Cath and our entourage, we "piped in the haggis" on a platter and initiated the annual 'Address to the Haggis', in ceremonial fashion, in the Three Tuns in Welney and it continued for many years.

I never did have the heart to tell John that, really, you shouldn't mix up the celebration of St Andrews Day, 30th November, New Years Eve/Hogmanay, 31st December and Burns's Birthday, 25th January, as they all have their own distinctive cultural significance for Scotlands people.

Yet, perhaps he was right, because it made lots of fun and good humour for lots of people.

I remain convinced that ghostly figures can still be seen flitting about in the night air, on Bedford Bank East in " the wee sma' hours ", especially at the time of the winter solstice. Brrrrr !! You might even hear the breeze whispering a verse from the Selkirk Grace,

"Fair fa' your honest sonsie face,
Great chieftain of the pudding race,
Above them all, you take your place,
Paunch, tripe or thairm.
Well are ye worthy o' a grace,
As lang's my airm."

ln the atmosphere you may just hear the faint sound of the fading notes of 'Auld Lang Syne', drifting away across The Washes.

Tom M Fisher."

Narrow Boats

Mary Dockerty recalls teenage life as a publican's daughter

"I moved to Welney in 1952, having been born and raised at One Hundred Foot Bank in Pymore. My father was Will Kent who lived as a boy at the Welney Hotel. My mother had been a local midwife before marriage, so most of the Welney people knew the family well, if not directly related.

On moving to Welney we moved into the Three Tuns on the Bedford Bank. My father was landlord of this establishment and also helped out on the land and also occasionally went punt gunning and shooting.

We took in fishermen, mostly from Sheffield, London and Leicester. Many came to us every year while we lived at the Tuns. They paid 5 guineas a week for full board, which included breakfast, lunch, tea and supper. This was very hard work for my mother as we sometimes had 18 men staying with us at any one time. There was always a big crowd from Sheffield in the two weeks when the cutlery firms closed down for the holidays. When we had so many guests, I was moved next door to stay with Lionel and Hazel Carter, so that my bedroom could be used to house extra guests. lf you are wondering where they all slept - in those days the living room was off the bar, where the modern toilets are now - and upstairs there were as many as six beds to a room. These fishermen from Leicester, pictured here with me, tried catching eels.

Some fishermen came just for a Sunday's fishing aniving in buses and my mother made a suggestion to enable me to earn some money to buy a racing bike I had set my heart on. She suggested that I sell cups of tea to the fishermen when they came up from the riverbank to catch the bus. As my mother kept my overheads at a minimum by providing me with the tea, milk and sugar, I was soon on my way to Wisbech to purchase my much dreamed of new racing bike. Unfortunately my bike proved no match to the speed of Roy Loveday's which had a fixed wheel.

Many of the under age young men in the village started drinking at the Three Tuns. My father was very strict and would only allow them so much. He also had a knack for knowing when the local 'bobby' was about. One young man (who still lives in the village) insisted that he wanted more to drink after my father had said that he had had enough, so my father took the offender down to the river and ducked his head under! I was allowed my first cream stout on my thirteenth birthday.

During the week, in the winter, we often used to have only one customer, Mr. Bill Rolfe from the Bedford Bank near the pumping station. To save the expense of lighting the taproom, Mr. Rolfe used to come into our living room for his Guinness. As he would never drink from a glass, he did not make much work.

All drinks served in the pub were kept in the cellar located down some steps at the back of the pub. Pints were drawn from barrels. We had a piano in the taproom and when my Uncle, Hugh Carter, was persuaded to play, everyone had a good singsong. I remember that the taproom had a red floor, which my mother polished with Cardinal red polish. We had two elderly men who regularly came to the pub. Mr. Alf James (Emie's father) and General Booth. Whoever arrived first would sit by the fire in the 'Granddad' chair and the other would spend all night glaring because they had not got the good chair."

The Punt Gun

Owner/Brewery

Licencees

Acknowledgements: