The English Pub

in·sti·tu·tion –noun

1. an organization, establishment, foundation, society, or the like, devoted to the promotion of a particular cause or program, esp. one of a public, educational, or charitable character: This college is the best institution of its kind.
2. the building devoted to such work.
3. a public or private place for the care or confinement of inmates, esp. mental patients or other disabled or handicapped persons.
4. Sociology. a well-established and structured pattern of behavior or of relationships that is accepted as a fundamental part of a culture, as marriage: the institution of the family.
5. any established law, custom, etc.
6. any familiar, long-established person, thing, or practice; fixture.
7. the act of instituting or setting up; establishment: the institution of laws.
8. Ecclesiastical.
a. the origination of the Eucharist, and enactment of its observance, by Christ.
b. the investment of a member of the clergy with a spiritual charge.

[Origin: 1350–1400; ME < L institūtiōn- (s. of institūtiō). See institute, -ion]

For the most part I was actually expecting a rather dull result from the meaning of the word. Yet as it is I am in fact pleasantly surprised to find that actually the word has more qualities hidden away in its definition than it originally let on. The most significant finding for me being that an institution is more than just a building or organisation or any of the other things I thought it was, but very intriguingly, it could also be a person, "...6. any familiar, long-established person...".

Something I find very amusing is that I can actually relate to this personally when thinking about the pub I work at, in particular the regulars. Familiar faces, that you see everyday, in the same environment, surrounded by the same sounds and movements, and always saying the same things and ordering the same drinks, - long established person? - i'd say so, certainly familiar. So I think this maybe more interesting than doing a building or company for example. I'll have a think.

When I was looking again at 'in·sti·tu·tion' and thought a bit about what the word actually meant, I also came across the word 'institutionalised' which in its self plays a good relationship to what I was talking about with the idea of the people in the pub. I know as well that this must happen in pubs all over the world and in all the pubs i've worked in I have realised this is the case and it has always intrigued me that pubs do actually become 'public houses' as they are less commonly known, and the people in them are in fact a family if you like. They are in fact institutionalised. And just for the record this is not an excuse to go and sit in the pub to do some 'research'. It is something that is of actual interest to me.

institutionalised adjective

1. officially placed in or committed to a specialized institution; "had hopes of rehabilitating the institutionalized juvenile delinquents" [syn: institutionalized] [ant: noninstitutionalised]
2. given the character of an institution or incorporated into a structured and usually well-established system; "institutionalized graft"; "institutionalized suicide as practiced in Japan" [syn: institutionalized]

So here you have it. This is my story on the good old English pub as an institution, with a more direct focus on the people in
it. What I want you to remember is that all the information given in the story is true and that these people actually exist. I am however, for the purpose of confidentiality going to give the characters stage names, not only for arguments sake but also for the fun of making names up.

You know when you wished you'd never asked? When an attempt at making short polite conversation beyond the boundaries of, "carling?...cheers!", or "same again?" turns completely sour. Thats what you get for working in such a place with a 'family', all accustomed to the extent of no return. Day in day out, undergoing the same old routine, asking for the same old drinks, seeing the same old faces, hearing the same old stories told by the same old voices, at just about the same hour of the same day of each and every week. Now that my friend is an institution, and that my friend is institutionalised!

The good old English pub! A place where people, ordinary people just like you and me, come together, rendezvous, drink, talk and chat, laugh, relax, joke and shout, argue, discuss and debate, dance, hug and kiss, clap, act daft, play, gamble, fight, cheer, and above all, in the majority of cases get absolutely wankered. And the wonder is, haven't they got something better to be doing? Something more valuable to be spending their money on? But even if they had why would they? For some its almost home and this is the pub and the drink is the most valuable thing they have. Young or old! Man or women! Under-age or legal! It really is a 'public house'. A house, shared by the public. Anybody welcome, at any time the place is open, and thats just the customers, not to mention the staff. Incredible.

And that brings me on nicely to introduce myself. I'm Archie Grimble, worked behind the bar for three years or more now. Worked in two completely different pubs, and have been institutionalised in both as well as a third in which my good friend Jimmy is the assistant manager, and a big group of my friends call their 'local' making it a convenient meeting place for us, and a place we are often found. Over my three or so years behind the ramp, I have learnt many a thing. Not all about working behind the bar but probably more importantly so about life in general. Yep, the pub has, believe it or not, taught me more than I learnt at school.

I'll start at home. My home town, Sheffield. The pub, in a small village on the out skirts of the city, a mile down the way form where I live. A large stone built structure with low beams, an old stone fire place and hops hung above the bar with an old fashioned till that dings when opened. A selection of real ales, a snooker table in the tap room and everybody's favourite in the kitchen, the land lady, Mrs Marmytes, home made rabbit pie. A good a person to start with as any I suppose,

NAME: MRS Marmyte
AGE: 45
DRINK: Half a lager
JOB: Land lady and chef
STORY: Mrs Marmyte, always a great laugh. A short plump lady, standing at around 5ft 1", short brown curly hair with a round face and an apron always tied high just below the bust. A fantastic character with a wicked sense of humour and an incredible ability to feed the village. Home made pies her speciality with rabbit pie as I mentioned being at the top of the list. Lived in the village all her life and was born into the pub trade at the pub up the hill. Its in her nature. Daughter to the boss, Joan, wife to the grumpy arse that is my boss, MR Marmyte, the landlord, and sister to Bob. Mrs Marmyte is my one of my favourites, always looking after me, cooking my tea for free when I'm working.

NAME: MR Marmyte
AGE: 48
DRINK: Real ale in his 'landlords' glass
JOB: Landlord and general lazy arse
STORY: A grumpy man, always moaning, never doing anything about it. Standing around 5ft 11". Scruffy, always un-combed hair, and a serious lack of personal cleansing. Above possibly the laziest man on the face of the earth. You see, as I've learnt from the very very authotarian, 60+, panel of village farmer blokes, and Joan (the boss) the landlord of a pub should be there, from open to finish, behind the bar, talking to his customers. Not this one though. Spends the majority of his time upstairs, shouting orders at Mrs Marmyte and his kids, and the rest of his time out at other pubs and often comes home drunk. Nothing is ever good enough. Definatley not a favourite. Disliked by the majority of the institution, but one plus as I have also learnt is he takes care of his beer.

NAME: Joan
A.K.A: Boss, Mother, Coach
AGE: 66
DRINK: Gin an tonic (slimline), ice and slice of lemon
JOB: Mother to all and in charge
STORY: A wonderful women, very, lets say, cuddly, round from head to toe and a bigger personality than her belly. A huge laugh, three missing teeth at the front, and hair scraped back and tied in a bun a the back. Should probably be grey after hearing the stories she's told but she's holding out, jet black it is. An absolute delightful lady, caring for everyone in the pub, yet at the same time handing out clips round the ear'ole when required. I've had a few when late. Always taking care of Mrs Marmyte and giving it large to Mr Marmyte when he comes home pissed. An ex-landlady her self for about 48 years so she knows her stuff and don't we know it. Always keeping us in line. Best mates with old Alfie who promised her husband she'd be taken care of when he passed away, 16 years ago. Another favourite.

So maybe, hopefully I've set the scene. A family business, and more, a lifestyle rather than a job. Its a fantastic place, and great fun working their. Certainly not like working for a company. None of this rules and regulations bollocks, or training this and filling in this form and that form. A free house it was. Cash in hand, no nonsense, common sense run place. A proper 'locals pub'. A spade's a spade an all that. Everyone knows everyone.

A bit like my mate Jimmy's pub that he works at. At the other side of the valley but a simliar sort of pub. All locals, he's mates with him and his brothers married to her aunties cousin an that sort of thing. Only this one a chain pub. Proper forms to fill in when you start working there. Your wages paid into an account, and a proper landlord that actually does his job. Has a proper closing time and a chuckin out time. Doesn't stay open till the last man standing stumbles out the pub. Also there's more than, well, me an Fred who work behind the bar. (I'll come back to him but in brief, he works tuesdays cause his old friends come in for a shindig, and thats about all he can do cause of his heart. Although a huge one, it's a bit touch an go, more on that later) At Jimmy's pub, there's proper rotas and set shifts and that sort of thing. The hours are put into the computer, not come to work, work longer if its busy and then right your hours on a bit of paper when you leave, before asking when your next on. Nope Jimmy's place was company run. Arthur and Ernie pubs they were. Staff under paid and overworked and made to follow rules right down to how to welcome people into the pub. Very proper. Had to watch stock an all that. Weren't allowed a bag of crisps without payin for it and puttin it through the system. Not run with common sense. However with Jimmy the assistant and Paddy the landlord (who we soon made friends with when he took over the place about 2 years back) theres no doubt in saying its a fanatstic institution to be apart of.

NAME: Jimmy
AGE: 21
DRINK: Pint lager and after that anything alcoholic
JOB: Assistant manager and my best mate
STORY: A top lad. Having known him four years after meeting him at 6th form, I couldn't ask for a better mate. Like a brother. After living in Sheffield for most of his life since moving up from Luton where he was born, Jimmy left school at sixteen and went onto do A-levels and worked in the pub part time to fund the partying of 6th form life and other dossing activities that we so often took part in as a way of escaping lessons. A young, fit and healthy lad at the time, playing football at the weekends and that sort of thing. However, after leaving 6th form, started at the pub full-time, and spent most of his days there. Choosing to spend the odd evening and day off with the local blokes, of which group me and the rest of us joined as well, sat drinking, laughing, watching the footy and playing pool or golf when it wern't raining. Often these times turned into full on sessions involving becoming extremely drunk and stumbling home calling for a fantastic greasy kebab on the way. Gambling also became apart of day to day life, wether it was between each other or nippin in the bookies for the accumulator for the weekends football fixtures. We loved it, he loved it, I loved it, and still do to be honest. Its not very often we'll pass up the chance for a session. His only downfall, not that drinking copious amounts of alcohol is any way to argue against the lad but he smokes. I'm not the biggest fan of the subject. Anyhow, what a mate. Good times. He doesn't do relationships.

NAME: Paddy
AGE: 34
DRINK: Pints lager or real ales and again anything alcoholic after that
JOB: Landlord
STORY: Another top bloke. Always suited when behind the bar. Came into the pub around 2 years back. Works for the company as a relief manager, traveling the city and standing in till they find another, more permanent manager for whatever pub it is he's in. His last, a bar in city centre. A totally different ball game, and quite clearly less enjoyable cause having only been there a matter of months he requested a move to us in the pub, and hasn't shifted since. Irish, brilliantly hard working and fantastic at his job, a looks after the beer. Allows lock ins which are a great laugh and is always around for a drink with the customers. Together with Sandy his girl, they live in the house next to the pub, with there staffy-bull-terrier called Locai. A monstrous piece of dog but soft as a brush and mad as a hatter. Paddy is a legend, always up for a session but although a great laugh, doesn't let things drop like when Jimmy comes in late he knows about it. Loved by all in the pub. Wouldn't be the same without him.

session - noun

1. a term used by 'us' in our pub to describe a period time in which a number of around 8 or more pints are consumed by each participant, normally ending in some rather funny activity taking place

So again, a little bit of information to set the scene if you like, and thats just some of the staff. I'd like now to introduce you to some of the customers, the locals.

NAME: Billy Bones
A.K.A Cote du Bones
AGE: 68
DRINK: Magners then Gin an 'slim line' tonic due to high blood pressure ice and lime, glass of red wine (Cote du Rhone) with meal
JOB: Architect
STORY: At the ripe old age of 68, Billy's a fantastic man, a fairly average height at about 5'10", a wonderfully large beer belly, short grey hair and a bright red, round face, one give away that he drinks to much which he knows. Always smiling although a few problems with his blood pressure. Comes to the pub 2-3 times a week. Monday evening without fail, most

Oreyt billy what we havin'?
Magners lad, to start with anyhow.