Welsh Country March-April 2017

PARSON & PUBLICAN
THE PUBLICAN
Snowy hilltops stand against a sky of cornflower blue.
The even tin fluting of a Great Tit, so evocative of
late winter, carries on the wind as I stand here, one
hand on the knob of the front door of The Harp Inn,
looking over the valley to the Radnor Hills beyond.
‘Oh dear’, I hear The Parson mumble to his daughter
Katie, who is keeping an eye on us for the day.
‘I hope he doesn’t stay too long by that door, he’ll
disappear’. I look down at my usual attire then at the
sludgy green of the door and the soft mellow grey stone of
the longhouse.
‘In his hedgerow colours he blends in’. His parsonical
asides can be so cutting. Choosing to ignore him I push
open the door and am met with a warm glow from the
open fire. Odd chairs are scattered around scrubbed pine
tables, dark wood settles are set at odd angles upon slate
flagstones. I immediately feel at home. Joined by my two
companions we make our way towards the small, bright
corner timber fronted bar bedecked with glistening ale and
cider pulls, where we are warmly welcomed by our hosts.
I am just stepping over the greyhound resplendent on
tartan travelling rug when it raises its noble head.
The starters all sound good and difficult
to choose.
‘Why don’t we have three and share?’
Expounds the Old Codger. The best idea
he’s had this side of Epiphany.
‘I know you’; those three immortal words. I freeze with
foot raised,; a jealous husband with a long memory, a
creditor perchance or some long forgotten family member?
I should not have concerned
myself as the comment
from the hound’s owner was
directed at the Parson.
We retreat to a table in the
window and I sit next to Katie
who can read the days runners
on the blackboards. He sits
opposite to enjoy the view
across to the ecclesiastical pile.
The starters all sound good
and difficult to choose.
‘Why don’t we have three and share?’ Expounds the Old
Codger. The best idea he’s had this side of Epiphany.
Three seared scallops arrive each resting on a slice of
black pudding and a tarragon flavoured sprout puree topped
with a square of pork cracking. Parsnip fritters come with a
classic blue cheese, walnut and apple salad and a red onion
jam. It is picky to say the duck liver pate was a bit crumbly
but everything else is of such high standard.
As its Friday my Old chum has to have the cod in batter
and when he lifts up his eyes unto the church Katie and
I nick his excellent chips. My butternut squash and sage
arancini on creamed leeks are just right with the pecorino
crisps. Katie has the bubble and squeak on creamed spinach
topped with a perfectly poached egg and a drizzle of lightly
curried Hollandaise which again works well.
As we sit in companionable silence over coffee listening
to the ticking clock, I am reminded that our hosts’ statement
was to have a real pub, a place where they themselves would
like to visit. They have achieved exactly that and long may it
last. U
Words: Parson - Ian Charlesworth, Publican - Richard Stockton
Illustrations: Richard Stockton
Who are the Parson and the Publican?
Richard Stockton is a retired Innkeeper who once kept a 16th Century sporting Inn of considerable repute and Ian
Charlesworth, the Rector of five rural parishes in the beautiful Wye Valley. Together they enjoy jolly jaunts around
the countryside. Frequently these lead the Parson and the Publican along the road less travelled, where interesting
churches and welcoming hostelries lead them astray. There is always a story to be found in either place. Sometimes
told in marble, sometimes heard over the pumps. Such tales and their observations form the substance of their
articles, each delicately illustrated with daubs from the InnKeeper’s brush.
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