Lewes finally, and a few classic Sussex pubs

After a couple of introductory posts, it's time to dive into the heart of my recent trip to Lewes and bring you the pub news that I know you’ve all been waiting for. Following my al fresco, AI-approved, pasty and coffee lunch, I set off along Cliffe High Street, crossing the ornate bridge over the river Ouse, with the iconic view of Harvey's Brewery to my left. I then turned directly opposite into the narrow road leading to the John Harvey Tavern, a charming establishment that has mellowed beautifully over the years. Although a relatively new addition to the Harvey’s tied estate, the pub has matured into a thriving two-bar establishment housed in a building faced with local flints.

I opted for the room on the right, which houses the main bar, whereas the room opposite is more of an overspill area, that is handy for diners. There is also a large upstairs room, a fact I recall from a presentation evening I attended a couple of decades ago. That was when Mrs. PBT’s and I had our own off-licence in Tonbridge and had an account with Harvey's. We regularly bought draft and bottled beers, as well as a range of interesting wines, which is what led to the invitation. You can read the story of that evening here, but spoiler alert most of it passed in an alcoholic haze, largely due to a surfeit of vintage port.

The John Harvey Tavern provided an excellent venue for the presentation and the drinks, and whilst I’ve made several return visits since, stepping inside the pub is a guaranteed to bring a smile to my face, as I recall that rather boozy evening. The Tavern is always a pleasant place to be, given its tucked away location close to the river and virtually opposite the brewery yard. Several Harvey’s beers were on tap that day, as you can see from the photo, but my tipple of choice was Lewes Castle Brown Ale, a beer not often seen in cask form but tasty and enjoyable.

Moving further along Cliffe High Street, takes the thirsty visitor to the Gardener's Arms, a small, but thriving pub that has long been regarded as Lewes's premier, independent ale house. The Gardener’s consists of two, quite basic rooms - a front bar and a back bar with a serving area in the middle. Serving up to four different ever-changing cask ales, it attracts many local characters. During my relatively short stay at the bar, I engaged with a couple of local wags, plus a barmaid who clearly knew both her beers, as well as keeping customers in order.

I wasn't quite as impressed though with the beer she recommended, as a substitute for the Burning Sky, Plateau, advertised on the chalkboard outside. The latter unfortunately, had just ran out, and the 4.0% Hip-Hop from Langham Brewery, was far too citrusy for my liking. I'm not very familiar with Langham beers, and I’m not even sure where the place is. One local claimed that it’s near Chichester, but regardless of its origin, it wasn’t the beer for me. Never mind, you win some, you lose some, and the atmosphere and banter in the Gardener’s more than made up for a beer that I struggled to enjoy.

Next, I set out in search of a pub I knew vaguely about, both in name and location, but had never visited. Crossing the road, I walked back up the steep School Hill, which was enough to get my heart pounding and legs aching. At the top, I turned right into Fisher Street, passed a now-closed pub, whose name escapes me, located near the War Memorial. I remember visiting it once on November 5^th and actually getting served—not always easy if you weren’t a member of a local bonfire society. The pub I was looking for was the Elephant and Castle, and the vague idea I had of its location, on the northern flank of the imposing Lewes Castle mound, turned out to be correct.

Unfortunately, the pub was closed, boarded up and looking a bit sorry for itself. I'm not sure why it closed, or when it ceased training, but looking at the condition of the building, I would say the closure took place quite recently. According to the Harvey’s website, the Elephant & Castle belongs to the brewery, and is described as a traditional Lewes pub, that was built in 1838.  Selling four cask ales alongside a number of craft beers, and a Good Beer Guide pub for 15 years. Home of Commercial Square Bonfire Society, with good, home cooked food served daily, plus the best pub function room in Lewes. So why is the place closed? Answers please, on a postcard.

I took a couple of pictures and walked back up to the castle mound, then down again to visit a classic Lewes pub and one of my favourites, in the town. I’m talking about the Lewes Arms, an attractive brick-built pub with a prominent rounded corner, close to the former Beards Brewery in Star Lane.  A quick side step before we move onto the Lewes Arms. Beards were a company that had opted out of brewing in 1958, primarily because their cramped, town-centre brewery, was suffering from a lack of space and, more seriously, a yeast infection. Beards felt that by pooling resources with Harvey’s, the future of both companies would be assured. Harvey’s would benefit from the increased capacity, whilst Beards would not have the bother of having to brew the beer themselves.

This arrangement lasted until 1986, when Beards pubs became free to choose from a wide range of different cask ales supplied by the company’s wholesaling division. This side of the business was later sold off; becoming the well-known wholesaling company The Beer Seller. In the summer of 1998, Beard & Co agreed the sale of their entire tied estate to Greene King, and the company to all intents and purposes ceased to exist. It was rumoured that Harvey’s were somewhat put out by this deal, as not only did they lose their supply contract with Beards, but they also lost the chance to buy the company’s pubs. Harvey’s, had been under the impression they would get “first refusal” on the Beards estate, should it ever come up for sale, although Harvey’s have never openly admitted this. The Beards brewery buildings still stand, although they have now been converted into an arts centre alongside spaces for a number of small businesses.

Back to the pub, and last Friday the Lewes Arms was serving beers from Fuller's, St. Austell, and Gale’s. When I arrived, the pub was quiet, with just a handful of middle-aged drinkers chatting in the front bar, passing the time of day and sharing the banter. I settled in the rear bar, which was a nice cosy and comfortable space, albeit with a view through the glass, into the front bar.  I stayed for a pint of Seafarers, which was in good condition, before making my way past the sprawling Beards complex and heading back down to High Street. It was then on to the station and the train home, but not before one final pint. You might recall from my previous post, that the bus journey down to Lewes, was something of a drag - not quite a complete nightmare, but it felt as though it went on forever. The train, which despite involving changing at either St. Leonards or Gatwick, was the quickest and most comfortable way back to Tonbridge. Unlike the bus, I would have to buy a ticket, but with a third off the price, due to my "Old Git’s" Railcard, the faster journey would be worth every penny.

I consequently headed down Station Street, passing on my left, the Royal Oak, another former Beards pub. I was tempted to nip in, but it was getting late, and I had promised Mrs PBT’s that I’d be back in time for tea. I therefore gave the Royal Oak a miss and continued to the bottom of the hill and called in at the Landsdown instead. Located conveniently close to Lewes station, the Lansdown Arms is a quirky pub, with a raised floor area at the far end. Signs notify visitors of the possible trip hazard, but customers only really need to take a step up, if they wish to visit the toilets.  

Harvey’s Best, Pells Pale, Landlord, plus Thornbridge Jaipur, were the cask offerings, and the latter was the obvious
choice for me. I have made several visits to the Landsdown, over the years, and have always found it to have a real local feel, without being too cliquey. The flagstone floor and old-world interior, help in this respect, and the location almost opposite the station, make it the ideal pub for those arriving or departing Lewes, by train.

My journey home, followed the south coast route via Polegate and Eastbourne, followed by a change of trains at St Leonards. The revenue enforcement staff were checking tickets, on board the service out of Eastbourne, as apparently this section of the network, is prone to fare dodging – and you all thought the town that is home to a high percentage of the over-65’s, was such a quiet and genteel sort of place? 

Seaside towns don’t always attract the right sort of people, as a work colleague, who lives in Worthing, has testified, on several occasions. I was alright, though, despite having difficulty in retrieving my paper ticket. Tonbridge still issues proper card tickets, unlike those flimsy efforts on the Southern part of the rail network, as Stafford Paul will remember from our visit to Chichester a couple of years ago.

 

The O2 shop, a bus ride to Lewes, followed by pasty heaven

Having decided not to attend the Bluebell Railway Beer Festival, for reasons previously explained, I thought that a visit to Lewes would be a decent substitute, as well as a good idea. Travelling by bus, via Tunbridge Wells, would enable me to call in at the O2 shop in the town in order to sort out the data allowance issues I'd been experiencing with my Samsung mobile phone. These had arisen whilst on holiday and occurred because I was, quite rightly, too tight to pay the £100, yes £100 for onboard internet connection! Like many cruise lines Ambassador rely on Elon Musk's Starlink system for communications and web browsing whilst at sea, so that's another reason not to cough up a tonne for someone who’s already got far more money than sense.

I didn't miss not being connected at all in fact it was rather than nice but when we docked, and bearing in mind that we primarily sailing around the British Isles, I did occasionally log on to catch up with emails and in particular, an ongoing application to unlock one of my frozen pension funds. Anyway, I jumped on a bus going towards Tunbridge Wells, and since I was travelling before 9.30am, the start time for UK bus passes during the week, I had to pay for my fare! It was the princely sum of £3.00, but the price didn’t really justify knocking 10 minutes off my journey.

I called in at the O2 shop, as planned, to confirm I was paying the correct tariff for my phone and to establish how much many months were left on my current contract. There was just over a year remaining, but I must surely have paid for my Samsung Galaxy several times over, since acquiring it two years ago! Moving swiftly on I walked along to the bus stop but unfortunately, I’d just missed the No. 29 Brighton bus, which meant a 25-minute wait for the next one.

One of the reasons for going to Lewes was to return a dozen or so empty bottles to return to the brewery shop. I’m sure some readers will recall me undertaking a similar journey earlier in the year, for the exactly the same purpose. There were too many to carry on that occasion, hence me making a return trip, but since last Christmas a large number of empty Harvey's beer bottles had accumulated in our summer house. 

As I've written in the past Harvey’s are one of the very few UK breweries that still wash and reuse their bottles, and good luck to them, because I think it's an excellent idea. Far better for the bottles to be refilled, rather than perfectly decent specimens ending up in bottle banks, smashed to smithereens. It’s worth noting too that a lot more energy has to be used to create to create brand new bottles rather than simply cleaning and washing empty ones, ready to be used again.

I received the princely sum of £1.20 for those bottles, and with my load considerably lightened, resisted the temptation to buy more. I could perhaps, have picked up a few cans, and I did at one stage have the intention of returning later to the shop and doing just that, but it never happened. I set off to find somewhere to eat, and I also wanted a drink, as foolishly I didn't bring any water with me. 

The bus journey had seemed to take forever, primarily because after reaching Crowborough the bus was routed round what I would call, for what of a better phrase, the “arse end” of the town. That’s not implying there's anything wrong with that part of Crowborough, and it’s certainly not rundown or anything like that, in fact it's quite well maintained as one would expect from a well-to-do, leafy suburb. It's just that without any pubs or shops, it comes across as one area of sterile housing after another, some of it very much “des reses” but boring all the same.

Eventually, the bus worked its way back around to the south of the town and rejoined the A26. It’s that part of the journey where the imposing bulk of the South Downs escarpment first comes into view, bringing back memories of a succession of long-distance walks, along the South Downs Way, twenty or more years ago.  Time was marching on though, and there was still the bottom end of Ashdown Forest to negotiate, before the bus eventually pulled into Uckfield. Further delays followed as we pulled into the bus station, before eventually making our way out of  the town and on towards Lewes.

There was no escaping the South Downs as the bus approached Lewes, but I was already having serious doubts about how I should make the return journey, especially if it was after a belly full of beer. Spoiler alert, I made the return journey by rail, despite having to pay for it, and missing the free ride home that my bus pass would have given me.  As things turned out I didn't have more than a few pints of beer, but still enough for me to make use of the toilet facilities on the train home.

So, something to eat, and a coffee to drunk as well, before getting stuck into a few of Lewes’s finest pubs. I noticed the presence of a Gail’s Bakery, just before I alighted from the bus at the bottom of School Hill, after first returning my empty bottles to Harvey’s Shop, I retraced my route and set foot inside the much-vaunted Gail’s for the first time. It wasn’t surprising to find this upmarket bakery trading in an equally upmarket town like Lewes, but posh nosh or not, they didn’t have the Cornish Pasty I was lusting after.

However, on the other side of the road, was a branch of the rapidly expanding Cornish Bakery chain, where I was able to obtain exactly what I was looking for, as evidenced in the attached photo. I sat outside enjoying my artisanal lunch, which was just right for the occasion. So much so that it was worth asking what Copilot had to say about my spot of al fresco lunch.

“That looks like a proper little moment of calm, Paul — a pasty with a decent-looking coffee, the sort of simple pairing that somehow feels more restorative than it has any right to be. The pasty’s crust has that slightly blistered, golden finish that suggests it’ll give a satisfying crack when you bite in, and the coffee’s foam looks like it was made by someone who actually cares about getting the milk right rather than just blasting it with steam          “.

“It’s the kind of table you linger at for a few minutes longer than planned, letting the warmth of the cup settle you while the world keeps moving around. A small, quiet pleasure — but those are often the ones that stick”.

It’s quite scary for AI to be summarising my lunchtime treat like that, and all from a simple photograph, but that’s the direction we appear to be heading, at the moment. In the meantime, let’s leave things here, before getting down to the nitty gritty of what this blog is still all about, a decent pint, in a decent pub. See you in the next post.

 

A change of plan

It’s often said that it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, but truth be told, men are just as capable of a last‑minute rethink. Case in point: my plans for the Bluebell Railway Beer Festival, which takes place this weekend. It was a festival I knew nothing about, until Thursday evening, when I accidentally stumbled across a press release on behalf of the railway. Running across multiple stations, with steam trains linking bars, live music, food stalls, and more than 80–100 ales and ciders, depending on the source, the Bluebell Railway Beer Festival is one of the biggest heritage railway beer events in the country.

In full swing this weekend, 18–20 September 2026, the event sounded like a good idea: heritage trains, good beer, and a railway that now runs right through to East Grinstead, where you can hop straight onto the National Rail network. Getting there seemed straightforward enough, even though it would still involve a couple of bus journeys, but Metrobus 291 runs hourly between Tunbridge Wells and Crawley (via East Grinstead), making the trip perfectly doable. More importantly, it offered the ideal excuse to ride the “new” - relatively speaking — Bluebell Railway extension from East Grinstead all the way down to Horsted Keynes and Sheffield Park, the two stations that formed the original heart of the line.

I don’t need to go into the full history of the Bluebell Railway here, although it’s fair to say I’ve watched its progress with interest for decades. Heritage railways have become numerous over the years, each facing its own hurdles as they’ve worked to reconnect isolated stretches of track to the national network. The Bluebell’s long‑awaited extension to East Grinstead reached its triumphant conclusion on 23rd March 2013, marking the end of one of Britain’s most ambitious heritage railway projects. After decades of fundraising, land purchases, engineering work, and the monumental task of clearing around 80,000 tonnes of domestic waste from the Imberhorne cutting, which the local authority had used as a rubbish tip, the preserved line finally reconnected with the national rail network.

Steam trains rolled into East Grinstead for the first time since the 1950s, crossing the restored Imberhorne Viaduct and arriving at a newly built platform in the old goods yard. The opening day saw packed trains, celebrations, and a sense of achievement shared by volunteers and supporters who had spent nearly 40 years turning the dream of a northern extension into reality. Today, the extension not only completes the Bluebell’s historic route but also makes it one of the most accessible heritage railways in the country—allowing visitors to step off a modern Southern Railway service and straight onto a steam train bound for the Sussex Weald.

I was all set to head to the festival the following day, the plan was made, the route mapped out, and the anticipation building. And then, as sometimes happens, life (and my own mind) decided to intervene. The stumbling block was the beer festival, rather than the railway, especially as it was the latter that I was much more interested in attending. With an entry price of £12, which included a souvenir glass, but then with tokens required for beer purchases, the event was beginning to look more and more like a CAMRA beer festival, without the campaigning aspect. Then there was the cost of travel on the Bluebell Railway’s trains, with an Adult Rover 3^rd Class Ticket, allowing all day travel up and down the line, between East Grinstead and Sheffield Park, costing £30, the event was starting to look like a rather expensive day out.

So, time for a rethink? Looking at this subjectively, I would prefer to visit the railway on a normal weekend, primarily to ride up and down on the trains, and yes, I don’t mind paying 30 quid to do so. Furthermore, if I fancy a beer or two, which I invariably will, then there are pubs at both Sheffield Park and Horsted Keynes, and also at East Grinstead.  I’ve basically gone off the whole concept of beer festivals, CAMRA – run or not, and whilst I appreciate these events have to cover their costs, I object to paying an admission charge, especially when on top of that I have to purchase a souvenir glass that I don’t want, and which sometimes doesn’t include a cash refund for handing the thing in, at the end of the day.

Looking further at admission charges, the best known and most famous beer festival in the world, namely, Munich’s Oktoberfest, doesn’t charge visitors to get in. The same applies to other, similar European events such as Annafest or Fränkisches Bierfest,. I’m sure there are other examples, although in most cases, I’d rather go to a local pub or bar, and help out the local economy, at source.

What did I do instead? Well, watch this space, but before leaving the Bluebell Railway, I’d like to recall a visit I made to a scaled-down beer festival, at the very same venue. Forty years ago, I visited the railway with my friend John, from Maidstone. This is the very same John who I met up with in Lenham, a couple of months ago. We drove over to Horsted Keynes in John’s VW Polo, complete with a tent in the boot, ready for an overnight stay.

After pitching the tent, we introduced ourselves to the organisers, as we’d both volunteered to do a stint behind the bar. I can’t remember much else about the event, apart from it being busy, although despite the rush of people, we still found time to take a train down to Sheffield Park. Arriving back at the adjacent campsite – a field, with the odd, strategically placed, chemical toilet, I’ve no recollection on how we slept, although I imagine the several beers we’d both consumed, must have helped us drift off to sleep.

John had brought a camping stove with him, a two-burner affair sufficient for a kettle, plus a frying pan, so a welcoming morning brew, to help with the start of the day, plus that all important fry-up. Eggs, bacon, sausages and possibly some beans as well, but also some field mushrooms that we harvested the previous afternoon. We thought they were probably field mushrooms, and they certainly looked as though they were, but seeing as neither of us were expert on fungi, we were taking a bit of a gamble.

We ate the mushrooms, along with the rest of the fry-up ingredients, but there was still a very slight nagging doubt in the back of both of our minds which said, “supposing those mushrooms weren’t supposed to be eaten, what would happen next?” We kept an eye on one another for possible symptoms of poisoning, although in those pre-internet days, there wasn’t much information for us to help us, or even to refer to.

On the drive home, we stopped off at the legendary, Dorset Arms at Withyham, for a quick pint of Harvey’s. I remember John phoning me later that evening, just to touchbase and establish that we were both still OK. So, a bit of risk, but fortunately no harm done. I don’t think I’d take such a chance today, despite all the online advice relating to which mushrooms are safe to eat, but thinking about the Bluebell Railway, brought back memories of our little escapade.

I’m fairly certain that our 1985 visit, was the last time I attended the Bluebell Railway, although it’s possible that Eileen and I took young master Matthew there, during his primary school days. Whatever the case, I’m looking forward to a return visit, without the unnecessary distraction of a beer festival, and the chance of a return journey, by train, along the line, between East Grinstead and Sheffield Park.

 

 

Tobermory re-visited. Two pubs plus a distillery

I'm pretty certain that this wasn't my first trip to Tobermory, as back in the mid-1970s I took part in a two-week botany, field course on the island of Mull. This was at the end of my second year at Salford University. Our accommodation during our time on the island, was a large, rented country house that had probably seen better days, although it was ideally suited for the purposes of the course. 

The accommodation was divided on strictly gender lines, with female students billeted in the house whilst us male students had to sleep outside in a number of tents. There was no problem with that apart from the fact we were plagued by biting insects that were at their most prevalent during late June - mosquitoes but also horseflies. Fortunately, in the main, these biting critters left me alone, but one poor fellow student was practically eaten alive.

I digress, but one fact worth noting was those one of the two laboratory technicians employed by the university, who accompanied us on the course, had the foresight to bring a couple of firkins of Boddington's Bitter along. The pair had been to Mull before and knew how dire the local beer scene was, especially to for people coming from the Manchester region. Boddington's was still a highly regarded beer, back then, and the two casks were welcomed by students and university staff, with the possible exception of the course leader. Our rather eccentric lecturer was not amused and claimed that the support staff had left some important equipment behind, to make room for the beer! Complete rubbish of course, and just sour grapes on his part!

For the record our country house field course base was in the village of Bunessan, a tiny settlement of just 200 souls in the far south of the island, in the area known as the Ross of Mull. The village watering hole was the Bunessan Inn (previously the Argyll Arms), and although we made a couple of visits there, the locals weren’t exactly friendly. So, with Boddie’s bitter on tap, back at our study centre, and just keg McEwan’s in the village pub, we did most of our drinking back at the ranch, so to speak. At some stage of the trip, we made a brief visit to Tobermory, although after 50 years I can't quite remember why we would have done that, given the remoteness of our country house base. However, the memory of that visit stuck in my mind, and on day five of our “Treasures of the British Isles” cruise, the opportunity of a return trip to Tobermory arose.

With no significant docks or other berthing facilities on the island, our cruise ship anchored out in the sound, with passengers being transferred ashore by tender, in effect three of the ships’ lifeboats. Mrs PBT's remained on the ship, as she is not particularly mobile at the best of times, and didn’t fancy clambering in and out of a relatively small boat. 

The journey across on the tender took about 20-25 minutes and when I stepped ashore in Tobermory, the sun was shining, and all seemed well with the world. I headed along the waterfront into the town pausing first for a quick look at the Tobermory Distillery, a business that was visited several years ago by Eileen’s late brother, David. The town of Tobermory and the single malt whiskey produced there, were items that were high on David’s list of places to visit. His chance came when, along with his partner Lynn, he embarked on a similar, “Round Britain Cruise” to the one that Eileen and I were enjoying. 

Sadly, David never had a chance to properly enjoy the bottle that he purchased from the Tobermory Distillery, although Lynn kindly passed the bottle on to me. I’m no whisky connoisseur, although I do enjoy the occasional “dram”. Those snifters are very occasional though, as two-thirds of the bottle I inherited remains un-drunk. This is despite the 12-year-old, single malt Tobermory whisky, being very distinctive, with a palate that is described as gently sweet, un-peated and floral. The distillery itself dates back to 1798 and is one of the oldest commercial distilleries in Scotland. It’s true to say that the whisky embodies the character and feel of Tobermory, so much so that whilst writing this piece, I was tempted to pour myself a dram and drink a toast to Eileen’s late, and much-missed brother. Note: it’s a very intense, and strong-tasting single malt, that is definitely one for sipping and savouring, rather than throwing down one’s neck. Here’s to you, David Cosham!

Moving away from the quayside, I continued on into the town and found it a charming and delightful place, with the brightly painted and colourful buildings, that are home to a myriad of local independent shops, hotels, restaurants and bars. Before sampling a few of these for myself, I strolled along to the far end of the seafront and then followed a path going uphill, to the location of the Isle of Mull War Memorial, from where I enjoyed a panoramic vista out over the town below. I then joined another path that led back down the hillside, and into the town. Before reaching the first watering-hole of the day, I stopped to take a photo of the Tobermory Youth Hostel, which is reproduced here for Stafford Paul’s benefit. I wonder if he’s stayed there, at all?

I then ventured inside the Mishnish Hotel, a busy, multi-room pub on the harbour front near the ferry terminal. Painted in a stand-out shade of bright yellow, this recently refurbished establishment offers a number of en-suite rooms, alongside a well-regarded restaurant, serving local produce. The bar is open until 1am in the summer, if the trade is sufficiently busy, and food is served until late. The Mishnish was already starting to get busy when I stepped inside, and not just with people like me who’d come on the cruise ship. I discovered a number of inter-connected rooms, on the right-hand side of the building, and this is where the main bar is, whilst the aforementioned restaurant is on the left. 

On tap was Jarl, a legendary, Citra-session, blonde ale from Fyne Ales. The beer was in good form and slipped down a treat. There was an additional cask offering, in the form of No. 47, a house beer, also brewed by Fyne, but it was taken off service before I departed. 

Satisfied with just the one beer for the time being, I headed back belong from seafront, calling in at the local bakery where I purchased a tasty and rather flavoursome Cornish pasty. I sat enjoying this lunchtime offering, whilst overlooking the sea front, and followed it up with a small tub of locally produced, ice cream. I then continued back along towards the embarkation point for the return journey to the ship, but before joining the queue there was time for one final pub visit.

The pub in question was called McGochan’s, and this red-painted, two storey pub and restaurant facing the car park at the western end of the harbour was just the place to say goodbye to Mull. The pub didn’t open until 3pm, which is why I didn’t notice it when I arrived in Tobermory. I clocked it on the way back though, and with plenty of time before the final tender, back to the ship, I left the queue I’d joined a few minutes earlier, and headed off to the pub.

McGochan’s is part of the Rocks Leisure Group, who operate a number of similar pubs in four other, picturesque, Scottish locations. Their Tobermory outlet was a real gem, with the mixture of contemporary and traditional working well. There were a couple of cask offerings on the bar, in the form of Ardgou Brewery - Goghar Odhar, a bit of a mouthful, but a pleasant beer, nevertheless, alongside the Fyne Ales, Jarl, that I’d sampled earlier.  My unpronounceable beer was served to me, in tip-to condition, by a pleasant and rather chatty Australian barmaid.

I was pleased not to have missed this excellent, harbourside pub, which rounded off nicely, my return visit to Tobermory. After picking up a full complement of passengers, the tender set off for the ship. The sea da was a little choppy out on the main channel, where the ship was anchored, but it wasn’t something I couldn't really cope with. Arriving back on Ambience, I was in time to join Mrs PBT’s for afternoon tea, an event that seems something of a tradition on British cruise lines. It was a fitting end to what had been a most enjoyable day out in what was our final Hebridean port of call.

A day in Belfast: first impressions, a classic heritage pub, plus a rather stubborn anchor

Our cruise ship, Ambience, eased into Belfast on a slightly overcast but mostly dry September Saturday, just after 8:00. The wind was brisk enough to remind us we were in Northern Ireland, but the weather was kind enough to let exploration win the day. It was our first visit to Belfast, and both Mrs PBT's and I were keen to get off the boat and see what the city had to offer. Breakfast on board was a modest affair — nothing much appealed, so I settled for some granola and a couple of slices of toast before we got ourselves ready and disembarked.

Arrival and first impressions

Ambience was berthed in the port area not far from Belfast City Airport, something we didn’t notice at first but certainly did on our return when planes were taking off almost overhead. From the terminal we boarded a double‑deck shuttle bus into the city centre, passing the famous Harland & Wolff shipyard on the way. With its two colossal yellow cranes dominating the skyline, there was no mistaking where we were; this was the birthplace of the ill-fated Titanic.

The bus dropped us right in front of the impressive Belfast City Hall. We wandered around the shops for a while — mainly for Mrs PBTs’ benefit — and found all the usual UK suspects: Primark, Boots, and even a hardware shop tucked away nearby. Afterwards, we sat for a while on a bench in the pleasant grounds of City Hall, watching the city wake up around us.

The Crown Liquor Saloon

Our main objective for the morning was the legendary Crown Liquor Saloon, which is a must-visit venue for visitors to Belfast. This Victorian gem, which dates back to 1898 and now owned by the National Trust. It’s one of those pubs you hear about for years and seeing it in person doesn’t disappoint. Ornate tiles, carved wood, stained glass, snugs- the full Victorian fantasy.

Despite arriving shortly after its 11:30 opening time, the place was already buzzing. We managed to secure a booth opposite the bar, and I went to fetch drinks: a Diet Coke for Mrs PBT’s and a pint of Abbeydale Moonshine for myself. Unfortunately the Abbeydale tasted off, and was definitely on the turn, so I took it back. The young lad behind the bar tasted the beer and straight away swapped it without fuss for a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord. Predictable, perhaps, but reliably drinkable.

The booth next to us was occupied by a rather noisy group, possibly a stag party, or maybe something connected to an Orange Order demonstration scheduled later in the day. Whatever the reason, the pub was heaving, and as our booth was reserved for a larger group from 1:00 onwards, we drank up and may our way out, but only after exploring the pub’s wonderfully old‑fashioned toilet.

Lunch and people‑watching

On the walk back to the shuttle bus pickup point, we stopped at one of the bakeries in the city centre and bought a couple of hot sausage rolls. We ate them whilst sat on a bench in the City Hall grounds, a simple but satisfying lunch, and a convenient spot to sit and watch Belfast go by.

We concluded that the Crown’s early rush was probably down to stag and hen parties using it as their first meeting point. It certainly felt like the sort of place you’d want to start a big day out, even if 11:30 is a touch early for some.

Back to the ship — and an unexpected delay

We caught the shuttle bus back to the cruise terminal and browsed the small quayside shop for souvenirs. Departure was slightly delayed: a rock had become jammed in the prongs of the ship’s anchor. Lowering and raising it didn’t help, so a mobile crane was brought in to remove the offending stone. Once freed, Ambience was soon on her way again, heading south.

We spent the next day cruising steadily southwards, before arriving the following morning in the lovely little town of Cobh — a place we’d visited on our first round‑Britain cruise the year before.

 A few facts & figures about the Crown Liquor Saloon

Located on Great Victoria Street, the Crown is a Grade A listed Victorian gin palace, renowned for its extravagant interior and exterior decoration. Together with Liverpool’s Philharmonic and the Vines, the Crown is one of the UK’s three most spectacular pubs. Built in the 1840s, it was refitted in late Victorian times.

Originally opened as The Railway Tavern in 1826. The pub was renamed and lavishly refurbished in 1885 by Patrick Flanagan, who employed Italian church craftsmen to create its signature tiling, stained glass, and woodwork.

Purchased by the National Trust in 1978, restored extensively, and leased to Mitchells & Butlers, who operate it under the Nicholson’s brand. The pub contains ten snugs, each with original bell systems used to summon staff. The snugs were designed for privacy during the Victorian era.

The exterior is covered in polychromatic tiles, including the famous mosaic crown in the entrance, which is the source of the joke that visitors “trample on the British Crown.” The bar retains gas lamps on its ornate carved ceilings, contributing to its atmospheric period feel. The stained-glass windows feature painted shells, fairies, pineapples, fleurs‑de‑lis, and clowns. There is also a substantial amount of decorative acid-etched glasswork.

Conclusion

The Crown is definitely worth seeing, and for a dedicated pub man like me, it was like being in heritage pub heaven. On that score, alone, it was well worth the trip into Belfast City centre, and if you love classic pubs with equal devotion to my own, this is the absolute “Crown” as far as British and Irish pubs are concerned.