Back in 1979 I would to go to a pub called the Henley Cross Keys, which was a favourite haunt for motorcyclists, orange people, a few locals and a horse.
It really was a great place to go as it was truly neutral territory.... anyone could go there and be welcomed. There was an initial HA problem (in those days they wanted to make there presence "felt" at any "biker" do) but this was soon; and unusually, amicably, resolved.
The landlord and lady moved into the keys the previous year from the Bentley Case is Altered which although being told "ya gotta go there" by many a friend I never went...... and Judy's story and love of motorcycles started much earlier and, at the age of 18 she became the youngest landlady in the country, taking over at the Fox and Hounds in Ramsden Heath, Essex.
So the "keys" became my local..... and then my home for a while...
The landlady Judy was beaten up and thrown down the stairs by her husband, who then walked out taking everything of value. Luckily Judy only had bad bruising and nothing broken. In the very small world that it is my father knew of Judy's husband and did not have a kind word to say about him, but then it never ceased to amaze me how many people my father knew and was know by..... there were high hundreds, from all over the country, attending his funeral in 1990.
Fat Bob, a long time friend of Judy's, came to help her but work commitments meant that the first week was a problem and so by very strange connection he asked me if I could help out...
I said yes and one week turned into six months... wondered many times since how different my life would have been if I had just said no.....
The days were interesting as with little money and little food its surprising how inventive you get. But the nights and especially the weekends were always brilliant.... And as i knew, or knew of, most of the "customers" (which was part of the reason Bob asked me in the first place) it was a blast.
The juke box simply got opened up and if you wanted a record on there... on there it was... Bands played in the biggest room which ended up sort of purple and black with a postured ceiling and written on walls....
The "middle" room was kept clean and "normal" with wheel backed chairs and polished tables
And the end "tap" room was for the locals with a tiled floor and bench seating... but it did end up with a pool table in it... We liked the locals but the locals did not always like us. This was never truer than with the matriarch that lived in the one house opposite
I have enough memories to write a book but the ones I can repeat, and remember, I will add here...
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First that comes to mind was one cold winters night, with not to many customers, and no wood for the fire.... someone says.... "I have an idea" and off they all toddle....
Did not think much of it but about half an hour later I went outside to the toilet (they were outside in those days....) when from up the road and coming round a bend were six motorcycles....... with said passengers holding onto a (cough) tree...... gobsmacked..... three bikes each side of the "tree" slowly coming down the road......
Ya gotta love the old days with little traffic and a freedom that is lost today.... and we invented the CBT....... Carrying Big Trees certainly teaches you balance and control.....
So warm customers for the evening then......
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We had a music festival one weekend with bands playing off the back of a 40ft trailer and bales of stray for boundaries and seating.... very basic but a great weekend all the same....
There are two, related, memories here and one being that on the Sunday afternoon Bob, Judy, Andy and myself were sorting and counting out the takings on the bar counter..... so there were piles of notes everywhere....... people still coming in and out of the pub..... when the police chief came in, as he often did... he just stood there looking at us and the through flow of people....... before saying "aren't you worried about someone stealing this money" we all stopped and looked at each other..... then a customer, simply, turned and said "why... who's gonna steal from here...."
And the other memory being that with several plain clothed policemen, and more than a few cars watching us..... having a great time..... someone broke into a nearby post office and stole loads...
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There is one person from those days I would like to meet again, or at least know if the bugger is still alive...... So...... Mark Herman Garron..... if its still ticking drop me a post....
Guess you don't want people on here to know the twisted testicle story..... but I will never forget that poor little nurse, at the Lakenheath base hospital, you picked up and kissed before simply legging it across the grass to where I was waiting on my old CX500...... You're such a big guy and she was such a little nurse.....
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You don't often realise that you are part of something unique, you just enjoy the moment, but when its gone....
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