There’s nothing better than a pub walk. A countryside ramble is simply made infinitely better by the promise of a cold pint at the end of it. It’s not only my preferred pastime for any random Sunday, it’s the highlight of any long weekend away.
Most recently, I embarked on a pub walk with some friends while we were spending a weekend together in rural Monmouthshire. We located a likely candidate on Google Maps and set out with hope in our hearts and a couple of cans stuffed in our pockets – just in case we got thirsty along the way. We arrived at The Halfway over an hour later, hot and sweaty and covered in pricker-bush scratches courtesy of an ill-advised shortcut. Our provisions were long-gone, and our canine companion was dripping muddy water after he’d taken a flying leap into a creek we’d passed. The sight of the pub’s white-washed walls was as welcome a sight as a long-lost friend raising a hand in greeting. Relief turned to despair, however, when we got close enough to read the sign on the door:
Closed for a private party tonight
Those of us with mobile service located the next-nearest pub — a full 45 minute walk further away from our accommodation. This seemed an unappealing option, as did turning around and going back empty handed. Calling a taxi seemed equally impossible; even should we coax one out to our location, we suspected most drivers would object to having a wet dog as a passenger. It was at this point that a couple of the braver souls in our group decided to make a desperate plea and begged the landlady to take pity on us poor out-of-towners. Local hospitality won the day, and we were granted the reprieve of one drink, as long as we kept out of the way while she set up for the party.
We were thrilled, not only because we could slake our growing thirst, but because The Halfway turned out to be every bit the homey country pub you hope to find at the end of a long walk. The ceilings were low and bore hundreds of ceramic tankards, and its well-worn wooden furniture emanated a rich, cosy scent. We sat in the garden overlooking the valley, where you could spy sheep grazing on the hill opposite. The pleasure of our pints quickly wore off, however, as we guiltily watched the landlady hurry about the garden, putting up decorations for the party later. We felt it was the least we could do to offer our assistance, and minutes later, we were handed a box of balloons and put to work.
Far from being a chore, blowing up the balloons and hanging them around the garden proved to be a fun and novel treat – a surprising twist on the afternoon that we already knew would be a highlight of the whole trip. On top of our gratitude at being served despite the pub’s closure, we felt privileged to be part of the team, contributing towards a special birthday celebration for a woman we would never meet. While helping with the decorations, we started chatting with Rhiannon, the aforementioned landlady. She explained how she and her husband had recently purchased the pub, and were pouring everything they had into it. She was a bit nervous, as the party was the first private event they were hosting at The Halfway since they took ownership. Though I’ll never know for sure, based on the amount of love and care she was investing in it, I can’t imagine it was anything less than a roaring success.
Reinvigorated by both beer and balloons, we set out soon after hanging the last decorations, lest we become a burden on Rhiannon. The walk home seemed quicker and easier after having experienced the kindness of a stranger, as well as having done our part to return that kindness. As a pub enthusiast, I was particularly cheered to see that charming pubs run by kind, welcoming people were not just something that lived in some hypothetical, idealised version of Britain – but rather off the B4233 in rural Monmouthshire.
- Beer selection: 3/7
- Food selection: -/7
- Ambience: 5.5/7
- Aesthetic: 5/7
- IPQ: 6.5/7
- Overall: 71.43