Portsmouth - first impressions, plus a classic pub with annoying opening times

We now come to the second day of my South Coast mini-break, and despite the late-night road works going on close to the Chichester Inn (installing a Dutch-style roundabout) I had a reasonable night’s sleep. I awoke at around 7am, feeling refreshed and raring to go. The outlook from my room, across a grey and rather dreary looking Chichester, was perhaps to be expected for mid-February, but the greyness was tempered by me looking forward to travelling across to Portsmouth later that morning.

There wasn't a huge rush to get up because Stafford Paul and I weren’t due to meetup with Dave and Joan until 11am. Before doing anything else, I made myself a cup of tea, something I do every morning, regardless of where I am in the world. After a quick shower, I packed up my trusty, small red rucksack – the one that has been my faithful companion on various hikes across southern England. I’d certainly travelled light this time around, taking inspiration, from Christine Taylor’s excellent, One Small Bag website. I then headed down to the bar ready for a full English breakfast, which I knew would set me up for a walk around Portsmouth and fortify me against the chilly February weather.  

Paul was already there, and getting tucked into his breakfast. He was looking pleased because the landlord had furnished him with a nice large pot of coffee. After checking my breakfast drink requirements, mine host brought me an equally large, and most welcome pot of tea. As is common in many B&B establishments, breakfast was cooked to order, and when it arrived the plate was nice and hot, which is always a good sign! What really made it special, was the quality of the ingredients, a point I emphasise when out to breakfast with son Matthew.  

Quality comes across in the taste of the ingredients, especially the bacon and the sausages – something you just don’t get with cheap, mass-catering packs from the Cash & Carry. Mrs PBT’s agrees with me on this one, in fact she is the one responsible in our house, for the maxim, "you get what you pay for", and if we could instill this one point into our son and heir, it will be an important life lesson learned. (Cost considerations, of course, play a part here, but if finances allow, it is usually worth splashing out a little bit extra, especially where quality is concerned!). Whether young master Matt takes this on board, remains to be seen, but if he does, then maybe he will thank us one day.

Moving swiftly on, Paul and I enjoyed a leisurely, and very satisfying top-notch breakfast, which was spun out by the plentiful supply of tea and coffee we’d be provided with. There was just the two of us left in the bar by the time we'd finished, and we spent the time chatting partly about pubs, but mainly about the Campaign for Real Ale. We touched on memorable events associated with the campaign, both  past as well as present,  including various AGM’s we'd attended, (Paul is way ahead of me there), and some of the much-missed characters who seemed to come and go. CAMRA certainly attracted plenty of them and I think we both surprised each other bringing up name after name, as well as the foibles associated with many of these people, and how they helped shape the campaign, particularly in the early years.

Once the drinks were finished and the conversation had slowed down, it was time to make a move. I collected my rucksack from the room, ready to check out, but Paul was due to stay another night at the Chichester Inn and would be travelling back to Stafford the following morning. I believe he was planning to stop off in London on the way, where he had a number of carefully selected "heritage pubs" to visit. 

After handing back my room key, and thanking the landlord for a most pleasant stay, I headed off into town, with Paul, towards the station. We hadn't gone far before bumping into Dave, who was heading towards us. He was alone, as Joan had decided to enjoy a quiet day back at their Airbnb, so the three of us continued on to the station. A little grumble here regarding the new style tickets recently introduced on Southern Trains, which sees thin, flimsy paper replacing the card ones, that have been in universal use across the rail network for decades. Promoted as "kinder on the environment", but rather too easy to lose, or mislay, as Dave discovered, although fortunately he found his ticket, in the end.  

The train journey of just over half an hour, took us through the relatively flat coastal area of West Sussex, and into Hampshire. As a bonus the sun was peeping out from behind the clouds, which was the first time I’d seen it for several weeks. There was still a cold wind blowing, as we discovered when we alighted from the train at Portsmouth Harbour, but spirits were running high, and we were looking forward to getting to sampling a few of Portsmouth’s finest public houses. I'd been lazy again and had left the planning of the trip to Paul and Dave, and they came up with a good selection. The plan was to work our way from the harbour station and then make our way back slowly towards Portsmouth & Southsea - the other main rail station in the city. On the way we would be calling in at the pubs selected by the two pub men.

As mentioned in the previous post, I’d been to Portsmouth once before, but that was almost 60 years previously. Consequently, there was nothing of the city that I recognised, and that includes the iconic harbour – spiritual home of the Royal Navy. As we exited the harbour station, we could see the sea with the recently restored, Victorian warship, HMS Warrior taking pride of place. Launched in 1860, HMS Warrior was the world's first iron-hulled warship, and was larger, faster, and more heavily armoured than any ship before her. Her impressive size and firepower made her a symbol of British naval supremacy. We couldn’t see Portsmouth’s most famous preserved ship, HMS Victory because that is berthed in a dry dock, on the other side of the National Museum of the Royal Navy. The Victory is undergoing an extensive renovation so we wouldn’t have been able to have visited it, anyway. Nelson’s flagship is probably the only thing that I do remember from that 1969 visit.

As far as pubs were concerned, we were aiming for a Fuller's pub situated at Camber Dock, on the opposite quayside to the Isle of Wight car ferry terminal. It took a bit of finding, and we had to double back on ourselves at one point, but the Bridge Tavern was well worth the effort. The pub overlooks the water, and there were several boats moored up next to the quayside. Some were so close that, if you wanted, you could literally jump on board. Dave found this area particularly interesting given his experiences, several decades ago, of working on a lobster fishing boat, operating out a Maine port – possibly Portland.

We were not disappointed with the Bridge Tavern, where the nautical theme extended into the pub’s interior. There was an impressive bar counter, set towards rear of the building and a number of alcoves leading off either side. We sat, close to the window, in one of these, from where we had an excellent view of the nautical scene outside stop. I opted for a pint of Gale’s Seafarers, a beer we don't often see in Kent, but HSB was also available, alongside the ubiquitous London Pride – and before RM asks the question, I have no idea as to whether the Pride was “drinking well.”

We had an interesting chat, which included quizzing Dave about his time spent lobster fishing, before deciding to move on to the next pub. This was supposed to be the Sally Port Inn, a famous Portsmouth pub created in 1947 from a war damaged residence, dating back to the 1600's. Situated just a few yards from the seawall, in the midst of Old Portsmouth's High Street, the pub takes its name from the gate in the fortified section of the seawall, which is known as the “sally port”. There was some uncertainty regarding the pub’s opening times, but a visit to the Sally Port confirmed this was 3pm, as listed in What Pub. 

 

This was a shame, as from the outside, at least, the pub looked well worth visiting, but for those interested in the cold war, tales of espionage and the charismatic naval diver, Commander Buster Crabb RN, there’s a fascinating piece about Cdr. Crabb, who disappeared after embarking on a secret mission to investigate a Soviet warship, as part of a unauthorised spying exercise. Crabb had spent the night, prior to his disappearance, at the Sally Port. So, it was best foot forward and off to the next pub. 

 

Our route took us down to the water's edge, just below the sea defences of Portsmouth City Wall, and whilst I didn’t think to take a photo, right by the seawall, and adjacent to the Falklands Campaign Memorial, here was a small portal in the stonework, which led onto a paved walkway, overlooking the sea. Could this have been the Sally Port? (Yes, it was!) The sea looked rather choppy, and undoubtedly very cold, but there were a couple of hardy souls sea fishing off the break water. This was a hobby I dabbled in during my youth, and whilst never really catching much, it was an activity I enjoyed during my early teenage years, and it is one Matthew and I have had several attempts at, in more recent times.  You have to get used to being cold. Not just cold, but bl**dy cold!!

Well with four more pubs to write about, it make sense to draw the narrative to a close here, and continue next time, as I describe the remaining quartet of Portsmouth pubs, each with their own charm and unique character.