The good, the bad and the ugly

Back in the '70s, the Dog and Partridge in Sheffield would have been tough enough for Clint Eastwood and his spaghetti Westerns.

Phil Dixon explains Sky One's depiction of the six roughest ­ ie, the worst ­ pubs in Britain, really had a few people at the BII (British Institute of Innkeeping) worried.

I, in my part-time capacity, and other colleagues watched Sky's Toughest Pubs in Britain (screened in January) nervously, dreading the potential scenario of: Journalist: "So landlord, what do you do when the three guys with the tattooed foreheads have a drink 10 tequilas in a minute competition,' then sexually assault your bar staff and bite the dog?"

Landlord: "Oh, it's no problem.

I phone the BII's legal helpline for advice".

But, in the end, we were all somewhat relieved that no plaque or any reference what-soever to the BII appeared.

There was also a scandalous rumour going around the sector that Avebury Taverns was devastated that only four out of the six houses were theirs.

In fact, it was just one ­ the Parkway Tavern in Sheffield ­ which I did feel to be somewhat unfair.

Its key qualifying factor was a simple case of topless exhibitionism by a female member of bar staff who appeared oblivious to the gravitational effect of the passing years!

It certainly paled into insignificance when compared to the Sheffield outlet where I spent my formative years, the Dog and Partridge in Attercliffe.

There were extenuating circumstances: My then fiancée's cousin being embroiled in an affair with a railway worker from the Asian subcontinent and the limited choice of outlets (in 1972-74) where such a couple could socialise without some bigot passing comment or worse.

In pub terms, all types of people were there, but it was amazingly sectioned into bespoke areas.

As you entered, on the right would be the West Indian domino players turning a bar game into almost a blood sport.

There would be few tables segregated into the various religions of the former British Empire ­ Islamic fundamentalism had yet to reach Yorkshire.

In an aura of leather and musky body odour would sit a chapter of Hell's Angels next to a group of transvestites, who were certainly not of the La Cage Aux Folles variety, more Bob the Builder in a frock.

Mindful of last August's court case on cross-dressers and pub loos in Northampton, in the Dog and Partridge the verdict was a simple one: "Where does a six-foot-six bricklayer in high heels and lipstick go for a pee?"

Answer: "Anywhere he wants!"

Over in the other part of the pub the lesbian darts team would be having a competition.

The focal point of the venue was the stage, where the world's greatest white soul singer, Joe Cocker, had performed.

A mixed group would surround it, enjoying the entertainment.

Highlights were always "going down nights" when a regular was up for sentencing on the Monday and was thus enjoying his/her last Saturday of freedom.

Another was a "loss of limb" celebration, usually a little or second finger of the left hand, lost in an industrial accident.

And the victim was clearly determined to enjoy the financial compensation received.

There would be a toast to the lathe that had committed the act and a multitude of three-fingered hands would raise their glasses!

There was a vibrant hub, which occasionally would descend into total silence when a well-known street-walking lady would enter the pub with a client, ordering a drink and commenting: "Do you know what that dirty ******* has just asked me to do?'

The "locals", ie, the pre-second world war indigenous population, resplendent in their cloth caps, would sit quietly, contemplating the digestive systems of a whippet, sipping from their pints and evaluating just how their pub had evolved through the 20th century.

"Tha nows it's not like it yoissed to be."

After a pause of three and a bit minutes another would look up and confirm: "Ah, tha ryte theer".

Each would keep to its own and respect the set space of every group, religion, sexual preference or entity.

Well, except for one day a year when the whole pub would unite in a pre-determined mission of co-operation and unity of purpose ­ to keep out the visiting travellers!

It was nearly two decades later in a luxurious historic oak-panelled Bass boardroom that director Bob Jones asked me if I had frequented any of the company's pubs whilst growing up in Sheffield.

"Oh yes," I replied.

"I used to go in the Dog and Partridge, Attercliffe Common, every Saturday night."

I think to describe his response as gobsmacked would be an understatement.

too hot to handle Sheffield Council, in effect, rendered the Dog and Partridge unviable by removing the majority of dwellings in the vicinity and relocating the local populace out towards the Derbyshire Hills.

Bass took the decision to sell the site.

How do you get a family brewer to buy the pubs you don't want?

Apparently the secret is in the name.

You lump a few decent pubs together and then add every uneconomic one which has a tenuous reference to "countryside pursuits"; hence the Dog and Partridge being bought by no less member of the "beerage" than Hardys and Hansons' (Kimberley Brewery)

Tim Bonham.

Old Etonian Tim certainly had a bit of a surprise arriving at the pub after driving past the run-down former steel works.

On entering the house, he was apparently relieved to find a lady in full equestrian gear with Manfred Mann's Fox on the Run providing background ambience.

As the lady began to disrobe, it suddenly became obvious as to what type of pub Kimberley had acquired.

The pub still had it's "going down nights", but in a different variety than in the past.

In Tim's strategic evaluation he had to admit that alongside their fine community, destination and family eateries there was really no place for the Dog and Partridge within Kimberley.

So, it was sold, and sadly, it continued to decline ­ by 2003 it closed.

Beauty is, of course, in the eye of the beholder and this spring, after a major investment, the Dog and Partridge will re-open once again.

Unsurprisingly, it will become an up-market (if that's possible in Sheffield) lap-dancing bar.

phildixoncmbii@aol.com