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.

Our recent round Britain cruise: a few notes from the journey

In case anyone was wondering, my most recent post relating to my drinking habits and early pub experiences, was written before we set off on our recent round‑Britain cruise. I’d sketched out the bare bones of the article, but there simply wasn’t sufficient time to “polish it” - no chance to add the bold text that certain readers so much adore, and no opportunity to drop in the photos, most of which are still on my phone. Additionally, there was certainly no time for a proper re-read, prior to hitting the “publish” button. So now that we’re back, what of the voyage we’ve just returned from?

For those paying attention, Mrs PBT’s and I embarked on a ten‑day cruise around the British Isles. The official title was “Highlights of the British Isles,” and our route took us from Tilbury, the home port of Ambassador Cruise Lines, up to the Orkney Islands, then down to the Hebrides, including the islands of both Lewis and Mull. From there we headed across the Irish Sea to Belfast. After leaving Ulster, our ship sailed down to Cobh in the Republic of Ireland, the port for nearby Cork, which is southern Ireland’s second‑largest city.

An evening’s south-easterly cruising brought us to the Isles of Scilly, that small, sub-tropical archipelago off the south-west tip of England. From the Scillies, we enjoyed a slow, scenic sail home, hugging the coasts of south-west and southern England before joining the shipping lanes that funnel traffic through the English Channel. This meant crossing over to the French side of La Manche and followed the coastline for a while, before heading back to Blighty in the early hours of Thursday morning. We then picked up the local pilot and entered the Thames estuary, arriving in back Tilbury in good time for an early disembarkation.

Those who’ve been following the blog, will know this was our second round‑Britain cruise. The first took place in May, last year, aboard the Queen Anne, travelling anticlockwise. That itinerary included Leith (Edinburgh), Invergordon, Stornoway, and Greenock, before heading down to Liverpool. From Liverpool we crossed the Irish Sea to Cobh and then returned to Southampton. A similar itinerary, but different towns, different cities, and different experiences. Both cruises were good, and both were distinct in their own way — so I’m not going to start making comparisons.

Highlights

There were plenty. Kirkwall, in the Orkney Islands, was a delight - a lovely little town, untouched and unsullied by many of the 21st‑century woes that afflict mainland Britain (litter and mindless graffiti, posing as art). Stornoway was enjoyable too, even though our visit was practically identical to our previous visit, last May.

Mull was different, and very enjoyable. I’ve got enough notes to write a separate post about the visit I made to Tobermory, the island’s largest settlement, so I shan’t elaborate too much, here. But with no suitable berth for even a relatively small cruise-ship, passengers were ferried ashore by tender — essentially a repurposed lifeboat — landing at the east side of the town. Mrs PBT’s didn’t join me for that one, and despite her absence I enjoyed a smashing day wandering around Tobermory, with its gaily painted houses, shops, bars, and restaurants. Sunshine, wind, colour, atmosphere, and more, and all spot on!

Belfast was a complete contrast and represented a first visit for both of us. I’m pleased to report that Belfast is a thriving, dynamic city, full of recent developments and new investment. It’s a city that’s clearly determined to put the infamous “Troubles” firmly behind it. We called in for a drink at the famous, "CAMRA Heritage" Crown Liquor Saloon, a pub which met all our expectations, and more, although surprisingly, at just after 11.30 am, the place was absolutely heaving, and incredibly busy. (More about the Crown in a separate post).

We didn’t do anything overly ambitious in Cobh, just a stroll along the waterfront, a sit‑down overlooking the sea, a bit of shopping, and a visit to a different Irish pub from last time. Not Professor Pie Tin’s former local, I’m afraid, but quite close to it, and it must be said that the Rob Roy was a cracking place that served an excellent pint of Murphy’s. Murphy’s, of course, being one of Cork’s two rival breweries that challenge Guinness’s hegemony. In common with a number of fellow cruisers, we sat outside at one of several tables and watched the world go by.

The Isles of Scilly were another story. The transfer ashore involved an open boat belonging to local fishermen rather than a ship’s tender, and with choppy seas I decided to give St Mary’s a miss. I’ve got a few regrets about that, and perhaps I made the wrong call, especially as conditions had calmed down by the time the transfer boats were running steadily. But I really didn’t fancy the two, 30-minute crossings, sitting on an uncomfortable wooden seat, bouncing about in the swell – and that’s coming from someone who doesn’t suffer from seasickness! There’s always next time, although perhaps not?

A Few Final Thoughts

Ambassador Cruise Lines’ Ambience is obviously quite different from Cunard’s Queen Anne, and whilst there are aspects of the former that I prefer, there are also things I missed from the Cunard vessel. You can’t have everything, and in summary, both round‑Britain voyages were interesting, enjoyable, and memorable. The later one was blessed with mainly fine weather, unlike the first, where Liverpool, in particular, gave us a couple of very wet days, but that’s the “joy” of cruising in home waters!

 

A reflection on drinking habits, family history, and changing times

I’m not entirely sure what to make of recent reports about declining alcohol consumption, and it’s hard to know what exactly is really driving the change. Are we witnessing a genuine cultural shift in attitudes and behaviour, as some commentators suggest? Or are more practical factors at play, such as the high price of a drink today compared with 40 or 50 years ago, when people of my generation first started going to pubs?

I didn’t grow up in a household where alcohol was freely available. Neither of my parents drank. My maternal grandparents, however, both enjoyed a tipple: my grandfather favoured bottled pale and brown ale, while my grandmother preferred gin. Her story is particularly interesting. Raised in the Welsh Valleys by strict, chapel‑going Methodist parents, she never touched a drop until she moved to London to work in service. She told me she was horrified to discover that my grandfather enjoyed a few pints, and her first visit to a pub - somewhere in north-west London, Hampstead quite probably, was a shock. It was a proper spit‑and‑sawdust place, nothing like the genteel surroundings she’d imagined. Despite that rocky introduction, both grandparents came to enjoy a drink and were no strangers to the pub.

Things were very different on my father’s side. Neither of his parents drank, though I’m not entirely sure why. My paternal grandfather originally came from South Africa and arrived in Britain during the First World War to fight for "King and Country". He was injured somewhere on the Western Front and invalided out of the services. I never saw any sign of lasting injury, but it wasn’t something one talked about at the time, and I never thought it appropriate to ask my father. My Granny Bailey was something of an enigma, and whilst, as a child, I was very fond of her, I knew little about her background. She dressed in a distinctly old‑fashioned way that’s best described as late Edwardian. If you’ve ever watched Dad’s Army, my grandmother resembled those elderly ladies who pestered Jack Jones the Walmington-on-Sea butcher, although she also bore a resemblance to Godfrey’s sisters, Sissy and Dolly.

Fast‑forward to my late teens, and I became the family member who broke the mould - the “black sheep”, if you like, when I discovered the pleasures of going to the pub and enjoying a decent pint. This was much to my mother’s horror and my father’s indifference. During my student years and well into my twenties, pub‑going and beer drinking were regular fixtures in my life. When I lived in Maidstone, I’d wander down to the nearest pub, which was one just around the corner, and spend an hour or two knocking back two, or sometimes three pints in an evening. I doubt I was unusual in that.

Later, when life changed and I moved from wife No.1 to wife No. 2, my drinking habits shifted, at the same time. Eileen has never been much of a pub‑goer, and whilst we’re chalk and cheese in that respect, we get along perfectly well in most other respects. My involvement with CAMRA ensured I still got out for a few pints, and on quieter evenings I’d enjoy draught beer at home, initially from the nearby Priory Wines Cellars, off‑licence in Tonbridge, and later, when I changed jobs and began commuting to and working in Lewes, direct from Harvey’s Brewery. I’d regularly visit the Harvey’s shop to fill my plastic, 4-pint container with freshly drawn Best Bitter or whatever seasonal beer they had on tap, and this situation continued for a number of years.

Over the last few decades, my consumption has dropped considerably, especially since our son was born. It’s now quite rare for me to go out in the evenings, and I also no longer have a “local”.  If I did, it would be the Nelson Arms in Tonbridge, even though it is a bit of a hike: thirty minutes there, forty minutes back. This is probably just as well, health-wise.  Instead, I might have a small can or bottle in the evening, but my alcohol consumption has definitely declined. The health lobby would say that’s a good thing, although brewers and publicans might disagree.

What I haven't included here are the years – the best part of a decade, when I was a committed home brewer. I ended up as a pretty a good well, and accomplished brewer producing full mash (all-grain), and well-hopped beers on a plant that I'd cobbled together in our lean-to garage. Once every four to six weeks, I’d churn out five gallons of eminently drinkable home brew, in styles that ranged from pale ales and bitters to strong, winter ales, with practically everything in between. Once primary and secondary fermentation were finished the beer would be racked into polypins that were kept cool, out in the garage. The whole process was a real labour of love, and but it was something I enjoyed, and found very satisfying. However, it was rather time consuming and invariably involved an early start - to get the mash. That was then followed by running off the sweet wort, into the second hand, stainless steel Burco-boiler, that I picked up in a junk-shop. Sparging (look in up!) then followed, before a rolling, 90-minute boil, which was when the hops were added. Cooling and fermentation then followed, and in approximately three weeks’ time, the beer was ready to drink. 

Things changed when we had an extension built on the side of the house. The garage disappeared, to form a new kitchen and adjoining dining room, with a new bedroom and bathroom built up above. That was the end of my home brewing which, although a shame in some respects, did give me freedom to do other things. This was important, because from start to finish, the process was quite time consuming. I also hate to think how high our electricity bill must have been at the time, as boiling 5 gallons of wort, for a period of around 90 minutes, must have consumed a lot of energy.

Somewhere at home, I've got a brewing log detailing the various beers I produced over the years, and I must try and find it sometime, as there was a substantial amount. I started out using books edited by the late Dave Line, who was one of pioneers of mashing at home – as opposed to brewing using malt extract. I later switched to the CAMRA sponsored, home brewing series, written by Graham Wheeler.  There's plenty of opportunity here for some further articles about home - brewing which I might get round to writing, once I fully retire. 

Finally, and quite by chance, I met a character on our most recent cruise, who was a dedicated full-mash, home brewer. We also met his wife who, came across as not being quite so keen on her husband’s “hobby”! It was good chatting to this individual, as well as encouraging to learn that there are still home-brewers out there, dedicated to keeping this ancient craft alive.