Mystery Pub: How Happily Wrong We Were
Located on Adelaide’s connective West Terrace, we’ve all crawled past this pub countless times. Some twice daily. Its looks are dire. Beige, daggy, less architectural interest than a toilet block.
This doesn’t mean I haven’t patronised it. Its drive-through bottle shop is my port of call for a triumphant sparkling ale for the trip home (express lane) following a Glenelg premiership. That’s three now. And last year a consolatory beer when defeated by Sturt.
We wedge into the carpark’s last spot. Inside a boisterous and dedicated crowd is in the front bar. The dining room seems expectant in a country pub way. There’s good stuff such as Schnitzel Night (under fifteen bucks), comfy booths, our promptly arriving hot chips. A well for watering horses is below glass on the bar floor. Claire investigates. The abandoned Kings Head was another with a well.
By the rear entrance Hump Day, Rump Day is promoted which could be an over-promise. Dusty ceramic elephants grace the salad bar. Above our booth is a photo of Zip Zip Aray, winner of the 2002 Goodwood Handicap, posing at the finishing line.
There are men; large men, anchored at the bar, as men sometimes are. Many modern venues don’t accommodate this. They appear to be on chairs over which they’ve claimed sovereignty. This might be a diminishing sight. It’s suggestive of a former, black and white era. I can imagine Don Dunstan sipping awkwardly at a schooner while cameras flash.
On the distant wall of screens, the first at the Dubbo trots is run and won. There is a Happy Hour and each of the eight beers on tap has a unique price. The barman is agitated that he can’t recall these. In his world Rowdy is West End Draught and Dave enjoys a Carlton. I’m tempted to ask for a butcher of Southwark. Claire’s white wine comes in a 1970’s glass. No goldfish bowls here.
We talk of our days, my new (old) job, our autumnal trip to Italy and Greece. After our allotted hour, I’m reluctant to leave this so clearly beloved hotel. I jettison Claire in Victoria Square for the opening ceremony of the Tour Down Under. She’s interpreting the proceedings and later reports how teenage girls screamed as the jockey-like European cyclists were presented to the throng. Phoney Beatlemania hasn’t bitten the dust. I head beachward along Anzac Highway.
How happily wrong we were about this beige, daggy pub.
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About Mickey Randall
Now whip it into shape/ Shape it up, get straight/ Go forward, move ahead/ Try to detect it, it's not too late/ To whip it, whip it good
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Thanks Mickey enjoyed that but which pub ?
I haven’t lived in Adelaide for over 40 years but my guess is The Elephant and Castle. They used to do a great filet mignon in the late 70s!
Thanks Mickey. Enjoyable read. Haven’t been there for years.
The Elephant and Castle (or E&C) had a much more interesting, “authentic” outlook back before the makeover that produced its current beige-ness. From your description the interior vibe does not seem to have changed much from the 70s when it was the watering-hole of the Mile End Cricket Club (the self-titled Mile End Mongrels) who played in the hard wicket Independent Central Association. Their ground was situated a straight driven four away in the South Parklands.
An unwritten clause in the unwritten constitution of the club stated that every endeavour should be made to finish a match as soon as possible in order for the team to adjourn to the E&C. The Skipper was nominally in charge of the team that included Beags, Val B, Max King, Chuckles and a good looking fast bowler known as Smooth.
Cricket commentator Ali Mitchell’s brother batted for Mile End on one occasion while on Christmas vacation with the family. In 40 degree heat. A case of Mad Mongrels and an Englishman go out in the noonday sun.
Hope you enjoy future sparkling ales although not after a match with the Roosters.
Ah, you finally got there!
A few years back (at this very time of year), Marg and I stayed at Rydges on the corner of West and South Terraces. We passed the E&C a few times on foot without ever being tempted to enter. But on one extremely hot January day (sound familiar?) we decided that its proximity would trump everything else. Happily we enjoyed a great pub feed, and the help yourself salad bain-marie was a winner!
Thanks for this, Mickey.