Inns and Taverns

"Joby" James he kept the Pine Apple; Phil Penman kept the Dragon,

You had to have a pint or quart; they never stocked a flagon.

Of course we had the Greyhound, a good old English dog,

'Twas close behind the Mitre, which was kept by Mrs Hogg.

Dennis Driscoll kept the Queen's Head; Giles Griffiths Rose and Crown;

Charles King was at the George Hotel before it was burnt down.

Jack Benjamin the King's head; William Price was at the Coach;

Henry Phillips kept the Royal Oak, a house beyond reproach.

And just below the Town Gate, a pub you could rely on,

'Twas kept by William Barrett; you remember the White Lion?

Miss Stobart kept the noted Bush, I knew the lady well,

And Charlie Dobbs would always bid you welcome at the Bell.

And here we see the Beaufort Arms, it stands in Beaufort-square,

Mrs Garrett is the lady that reigns supremely there;

It's quite a fashionable hotel, and one can plainly see

Its patronage is found amongst the aristocracy.

Another cosy little place in winter or in summer,

A fine old English gentleman was Roberts of the Rummer.

Fred Smith was at the King's Arms, Bill Hooper kept the Bunch;

You could always get a "double" there or a fine bowl of punch.

William Barge was at the Five Alls, John Ely at the Plough,

That's over fifty years ago; wherever are they know?

George Richards at the Three Tuns, Miss Watkins at the Moon;

There's still a few more noted pubs, I'm coming to them soon.

In Nelson Street was Mrs. Goss, she kept the Mason Arms,

And whoever knew the lady, could not resist a her charms.

Let's have a drink at the Fountain, we had this off quite pat,

For there we'd meet with Sydney Jones, for a quiet smoke and chat.

But sir, the dearest pub I knew in the days of Auld Lang Syne

Was the Berkeley Arms; I'll tell you why in this account of mine.

Bob Griffiths was the landlord there, and everybody's friend.

Upon his word of honour you always could depend.

Bob was our cricket umpire, beloved by all the boys,

He did his work so thoroughly without a lot of noise,

And often in my dreams at night, I stand behind the stumps,

And watch them as they come along, the ones that shoot on bumps.

I watch the batsmen at the crease, and also watch the bat,

And very often in the night I'm shouting out "How's that."

And then I look at Robert, but he was always dumb.

But when he knew the man was out, up went old Robert's thumb.

But Bob was never questioned, and it's only fair to say,

That cricket was the poorer when Robert passed away,

And when the funds were getting low, to meet them was a job,

We were never quite down and out! We've always had a "Bob."

I've given just a few of those of fifty years ago,

Who in my younger days it was a pleasure just to know

They still retain a hallowed spot within my memory,

And pleasant are the thoughts of Chepstow as it used to be.