The Green Man

John Macdebs

You are in the Green Man, a Free House, in an extensively adapted 18^th century building, off the village green next to the river.

It serves real ale, not craft beer. You won't find Brewdog or Beavertown here. It sells fine wines and for those with demons or angels telling them to stay clear headed, there is a wide range of good soft drinks.

For those who do indulge, there are– as you would expect - a lot of spirits.

There has been a public house in the village since at least the early years of the Norman Conquest, and it’s very possible there’s been something of the sort here even longer.

It hasn’t always been called the Green Man.

It’s been The Star, the Plough and Furrow, the Greyhound and once – for a silly couple of years in the early 2000s when a brewery got hold of it – the Sooty and Sweep.

It hasn’t always been in the building it is in now either, but for all the name and locational shifts it’s always been the same pub.

The Green Man rambles over three floors above a cavernous cellar that goes deep, deep into the secret roots of the earth and hides passageways to the church and other, much more distant places.

There is a snug, two public bars and a clean but comfortably shabby restaurant.

There’s an upstairs function room for big meetings and parties and there are a few smaller private rooms and sealed booths – nobody is entirely sure how many of these there are.

Certainly more than two.

Certainly not more than five or six.

Surely no more than that.

Much of our history can be found in the photos and memorabilia hung on the walls – cricket teams, jubilee celebrations, horse-brasses, shining yards of ale and the stranger things you’ll need to ask around to find the mostly forgotten purposes of.

There is a cheerful beer garden and an outside bar that opens when the weather is good. Here buccaneer the wise old African Grey perches, sunning himself, munching his nuts and fruit.

Since the late 1970s the Green Man has been a Desi Pub serving biryanis, blackened chicken tikka, sizzling kebab mixed grills and Anglo-Indian classics like kedgeree and mulligatawny.

The Green Man is protected space.

Sunny – our current landlord -says in the most important ways, the Green Man was Desi before there was a name for Desi.

Keeping the peace is one reason Sunny won’t have the internet, although it also makes for a nicer atmosphere because it means people talk to each other more, so there is no wired connection and no wi-fi.

The tills are old fashioned cash-registers, the jukebox – filled with classic albums - only takes coins. There is a phone at the end of the bar for anyone who needs to call home to say they’ll be back later than they said, and for those waiting to call in to say dinner is ready and won’t wait.

The Green Man is neutral.

Even during the Civil War, when like the rest of the country the village’s peoples were divided between King and Parliament, to enter meant leaving the howling storm in the country outside.

The Green Man was why Willerby was spared the worst horrors of a conflict that caused so much devastation and heartbreak in so many different worlds and still scars both the human world and the secret commonwealth.

It is hard to truly hate a person – any type of person - you played shuffleboard or skittles with the night before.

Tipsy is encouraged and drunkenness tolerated so long as it does not bother anyone, especially those who prefer through tradition or choice to keep clear heads.  

Swearing is frowned upon and will get you told-off then asked to take it outside and down the street if you persist with it.

Violence and hate-speech gets people thrown out and barred, but this is rare.

The Green Man understands while everyone is entitled to their opinions on any subject they have interest in, in a good pub everyone must feel safe. This is not the place to get into politics or culture wars.

There are other places for that.

Leave your hobby-horse at home or keep it well-tethered and take it out with you.

Instead, tell stories.

Listen to stories.

Children are lovingly welcomed with books, toys and their own menus. They have the range of the whole building and parents can relax knowing somebody will always be watching out for their most loved ones. Dogs can go where they like.

Cats too, going about their secret, private business.

There are many clubs and societies based here.

The Church flower arranging society. The mixed Five-a-Side football teams. Bible Study Group. The Current Affairs Debate Society. The Change-Ringers. Mums’ Netball. The Coven and The Junior Coven. The Tumulus Wrecks Open Jam. The Lengths (Wo)men.

Others.

To outsiders it’s something of a mystery as to how the pub is always so busy, because the village doesn’t seem big enough to support it, and it’s so out-of-the-way.

But it does well enough because much of its trade comes in; from near, from far, and from very, very far.

Whoever you are and wherever you come from, you’re also very welcome.

Thanks for stopping by.

Park your car or stable your horse. Step in out of the rain. Have a drink. Take a menu from the bar and order some food. Hang up your middle-aged, middle class down-jacket or your adventure-stained woollen cloak.

Take off your boots, borrow some slippers from the rack, and pull a chair up to one of the fires.

Unless you want to be, you won’t be alone long.