When the keg runs dry

Raoul de Vaux ­ trade stalwart of 30-odd years, host of the famed Red Lion and Pubwatch diehard ­ reflects on a colourful past after his recent retirement When the editor of the Morning Advertiser asked me to write a few words, I did not know which direction I should take.

This, of course, depends on which side of the fence you sit on in the trade.

So, for the benefit of both camps, here's Raoul's growl­ or my squeak.

Yesterday, I was lying in bed at 5.30am, thinking that it was about time that the dray arrived.

All deliveries should be in house by 8am, that's down to the security at Westminster, certain advantages of Blair's Boozer.

I felt that I should be getting up and doing something for the Red Lion ­ you can see how 30 years in the trade can affect the mind.

Meanwhile, I kept thinking about how my company hadn't even bothered to tell me that I had finished my "service".

Perhaps, someone in that resourceful department of humanities had probably failed to press my delete button.

I hate the phrase "human resources", it implies that I am some kind of meat on the rack waiting the call to labour, and when finished it's off to "human disposal", very Orwellian.

From this, perhaps, you can see that I am the product of a "Very Minor Public School".

I recall a young lady working for my last company, who said: "We don't recognise the BII [British Institute of Innkeeping] qualifications, ours are better".

Of course, I discussed this statement with her, and I was found to be difficult, or was it, not to be a team player.

Well, enough of the failings of others.

I entered the trade via a company of 49 houses ­ a multiple tenant called John Hussey ran a successful company called Vintage Inns.

I felt proud to be working with a man whose true light rarely came to exposure.

He funded a house for disadvantaged single mothers and elderly ladies and both parties worked for a common aim, to look after each other.

My employer was a gentle man, and he was honest, so I didn't feel the need to join a "union".

His only failing was that he couldn't remember the names of wives, it was always: "Hello Raoul.

How's Harrumph Harrumph".

He also made a point of asking on interview days: "Not thinking of getting pregnant?"

John probably didn't want his home for unmarried mothers filling up too quick.

At the time, my life with Jane was going along swimmingly ­ we had a nice pub in theatreland; nice customers, Danny La Rue and many others; I was left alone to run the business; and a first bombing by the IRA, which later became a major part of our lives.

Life passed rapidly on and found myself with Courage.

There was less pressure in Kent and I was nearer to relatives for a now pregnant wife and partner.

I felt the need to do something a little extra and was encouraged by the area manager to take part in the "joint liaison committee".

Geoff Scouse was my lasting memory of Courage ­ a man with a large bunch of flowers, congratulating me on the birth of our daughter Emma.

At one time, I recall his total embarrassment when he walked into our pub clutching a piece of paper and told us a scheme has been devised to maximise our true potential.

Somebody had divided our floor area into foot-square "tiles" and each customer in each square had a "spend potential".

Then, I asked the question that placed me on the downward spiral: "What about the dog with the Arrowroot biscuit?

He takes up more than a square foot in area."

Time to leave Courage, and join NALHM (National Association of Licensed House Managers) in passing.

St George's Taverns beckoned and I ended up with a beautiful pub in downtown Romford, the Golden Lion.

It had: 100-cover a la carte restaurant on the first floor; and a downstairs bar complete with an undeclared protection racket.

In fact, at the Golden Lion there was an attempted suicide on three occasions by the previous manager.

He used to stay awake with a loaded shotgun on his lap, waiting for the ungodly to turn up at their convenience.

A dinner party for 12 ex-police colleagues was held ­ problem sorted.

I received a phone call from a new director, Tony Tisshaw, who asked me if I could drive down to one of his houses to look at and comment on what was going on.

I arrived at Squirrels Heath Lane.

To my surprise, I saw a pile of furniture in the car park, complete with TV set, budgie in a cage, two wailing kids and a distraught wife and manager.

The area manager had, on his own authority, decided to evict them onto the street for some minor infringement.

I phoned the director.

The manager reinstated the family back into their flat, problem sorted.

In a more enlightened era, when I used to lecture at induction classes for new managers, I quoted this case as my reason for being a managers' representative and why I was keen for each manager to set out on the property ladder so that there was a degree of security for his or her family.

Chadwell Heath was the next stop.

This was when I took on the Coopers Arms as well as the Golden Lion for a period.

Jane and I ran the two tenanted houses in Essex and they were both nice in their own ways.

The cry from the company was keep the staff wages down, but, by the way, the public bar needs decorating and don't let the turnover suffer too much.

I became chairman of Romford LVA thanks to the help of the late Terry Mansworth.

I hope John Hall is still alive and well, he was invaluable as the secretary to Romford.

I recall meeting yet another gentleman of the trade in Willy Walker of Taylor Walker fame.

One day, he was introduced to Jane and myself at a banquet, where he discussed pâté with Jane.

He was pleased to be at the banquet and stated that the company had provided him with a car and chauffer for the evening and that he was so pleased to be allowed out for a change.

The next morning he arrived at the pub on his bicycle, about a nine-mile trip (he must have been about 80) and presented Jane with a neatly presented dish of freshly-cooked pâté .

I don't see too many people of that quality around today.

My next name to name is Kevin Holland.

If you are a manageress, this name can put fear into your heart.

Why?

Well, your "merry", husband would always be returned to you on a Monday evening by cab and by first thing Tuesday morning, a large bouquet of the loveliest flowers would arrive with Kevin's personally-handwritten card of apology.

Kevin was in "personnel" and he wanted to experience hands on, upfront area management.

He ran some of the most challenging areas and came up with the goods.

It was through him that Taylor Walker (TW) became the most professionally-run managed house company.

I am proud to say I was a TW manager, we trained well

and we had real fun together.

In the "blame culture" we find ourselves in today, we should remember the upfront managers are the ones that keep the money rolling in.

I have not been the most popular person, for defending others, but I do feel that this trade has come a long way since I started on the Vintage Inns' relief circuit.

I will end this with the thing that intrigues me most.

As chairman of National Pubwatch why is it, other than Wetherspoon's, Unique, Laurel, Greene King and, of course, Yates, have we been almost entirely ignored by the other "big players" of the trade?

Through National Pubwatch, we only want you to protect your staff, customers and your property, from injury and damage.

Well, after finally getting out of bed, it was off to the garage to spend another few pence from my retirement fund on my clapped-out Jaguar, and, perhaps, contact the Government's "pensions department" to find out where my money has gone.

Another day another challenge.

Tony Blair's just gone past, he's off to work.

And finally: It is nice to gain recognition, when I received my OBE from Her Majesty, she said: "Oh, you are the chap with the Red Lion, and you run Pubwatch, are you successful?"

After my reply she said: "Well done, very well done indeed".

That was enough for me!

Mine's, a large mineral water.