Innocence: That first drink

 

Aged 16 on holiday with my godmother,
holiday cottage with her sons, niece and brother.
‘Take the boy away from grief and memory,
a break from stacking shelves and paper delivery.’

 

The boys were sporty types: members of the sailing club,
And so, the women and I thought - let’s walk to the pub.
The pub was on the water’s edge with water bright and clear;
but would I have the courage to order my first beer?

 

The pub, all thatched roof, flagged floors and low beams,
but I was more worried that I looked the age I seemed.
What to order? I looked along the shelf,
Knowing that I just needed confidence in myself.

 

Should it be a barley wine or even a Mackeson stout?
I needed to show the barman that I was in no doubt.
A bottle of brown ale would be my drink of choice
I ordered in a weak and trembling voice.

 

The barman didn’t give me a second glance,
I had finally managed to take my chance,
My first ever public alcoholic drink,
but what would my boyish palate think?

 

Would I even like this dark beer, brought up on Tizer,
my only alcoholic drink having been a crafty sip of cider?
I took one sip, rich and sweet and just couldn’t stop
and for years after enjoyed a brown ale top.

 

But oh, how it could have gone so wrong,
with a brew that was too strong,
which would have made my young head spin.
But that brown ale made a man of me, at the Pandora Inn.

 

There is also a postscript to this story as when I went back to the area over 15 years later, I had forgotten the name of the pub.
The only thing I could remember it had a thatched roof and that a ferry came from Falmouth at last orders to take customers home and rang its bell towards closing time.
I asked around the pier at Falmouth and, while the ferry was long gone, the person I asked knew the pub well and I spent a few happy evenings reliving my first visit.

 

Experience: Anticipation

 

Anticipation rises with my quickening step up the hill.
My breath clouds the cold evening air.
A warm glow shines through the frosted glass.
Muffled voices and laughter seep into the night.
Through the door I am smothered
in a comfort blanket of heat, noise
and the sweet aroma of alcohol.
I lean on the rich mahogany bar
and reassuringly rest my foot on the brass rail below,
order my pint and hold it to the light.
Amber ale, clear, bright and inviting.
I take my seat, take that first long sip and savour.