The best pub in the world!

On Easter Sunday afternoon, my friend Jen and I (ably accompanied by the ever-wonderful Deefer the Springer Spaniel) stumbled upon a little slice of magic in the Wiltshire countryside. Many pubs are good; it goes without saying. Some have small flashes of genius or touches that edge them closer to perfection. I don't take this statement lightly, but I think, in that particular moment in time, the universe conspired to reveal to us a path to public house utopia, and so we found ourselves in the best pub in the world.

As with a lot of momentous discoveries, we didn't intend it. After our exciting explorations at Imber village, we were in need of refreshments and a space for Deefer to run in. We were headed up to the Westbury white horse whilst keeping our eyes peeled for a country pub we could stop in. As we neared the turning for the white horse, a wooden sandwich board caught our attention. It was a small sign, but it irrevocably changed our lives. The sign read 'The best pub in smiles'. We scoffed at the pun, rolled our eyes and threw caution to the wind to follow the sign. We drove into the car park and that's where the magic began to unfold before our very eyes. I cannot stress this enough: it was like veils of perfection being whipped away in front of us at every turn. So many little details combined to make it a wonderous place. (So much so that I now wonder, if I were to return, would it still be there, or was it simply a figment of our imagination?) 

Allow me to lead you through the stages of discovery that meant The Horse and Groom at Westbury is the best pub in the world. 

1) There was a garden. With grass. And trees. And a stream at the end. And benches. It was a tad cold to sit in the garden, but I logged the information for future reference.

2) On the way in, there was a sign saying dogs were allowed. With well behaved owners. It was obvious we were on the same canine wavelength. On entering the pub, we found Deefer had two inquisitive, furry friends for company. There were also dog treats available (for a small donation to charity) at the bar. We were all amongst friends.

3) We had spotted a sign outside saying that there is live music every Sunday afternoon. Seemingly, we had pitched up right on cue. Our first sight as we passed through the doorway was of three men noodling on a variety of instruments. We took a seat in the bar directly opposite the 'stage' area. The musicians were billed as a blues, rock and country group, and that's exactly what we were treated to. There was a singer who beautifully growled his way through a range of songs, some I knew, some I didn't, but all I enjoyed. A guitarist who had a few more years of life experience under his belt gave us plenty to riff along to. And then there was the third musician...

4) This man was harmonica player. The harmonica is my weapon of choice; I quite terribly attempt to eke a tune out of mine. This means I am a sucker for any song adorned by a lonely wail of the 'monica. This man was a king of harmonicas. He coaxed blindingly bluesy riffs out of his to accompany the others. And he had a few harmonicas to choose from. I kid you not, this man had a harmonica utility belt: about eight of the blighters lined up along his waistline. It was as if Batman had branched out in his superhero capacity. This man was a true harmonica hero in my book.

5) They were serving food. We were starving and bracing ourselves for the worst as it was way past lunchtime on Easter Sunday. The lady at the bar cheerily told us they were serving food all day. I looked down the menu and my heart sailed as I found several vegetarian options. Being a vegetarian can often be a minefield. But here, in the best pub in the world, there were choices. And good choices. And when my choice was brought to the table, it tasted good too.

6) Alongside the condiments on the table sat a small box. It was a box of quiz questions. Jenny and I looked around, and on each table was a different box. My eyes widened with joy. Each table had a different box of trivia: Trivial Pursuit, travel questions or others of the sort. Who doesn't love a quiz? Such a simple idea. What a nice thing to do.

7) By the menus at the bar was a box of spare reading glasses for the convenience of all. By the door was a pile of blankets for the hardy folks who want to brave the garden. It's those little touches that give this pub the edge.

8) We sat with full bellies, quizzed out, with dogs by our feet and being serenaded by a fantastic group of musicians. Just as we thought it couldn't get any better, the man from the bar strolled over to us and handed us a tambourine and a percussion shaker (of the extra loud variety) and looked at us encouragingly. We were being invited to join the party! And join we did. We played along (as much as our musical ability allowed us) and smiles of joy spread across our faces. We laughed with the gents at the table next door to us and then went on to share some music anecdotes with our new friends. One of our comrades was the father of the singer in the group and his pride for his son beamed out of him to cheer us all even more.

Eventually we had to leave this pub paradise. Deefer needed a run and we had a long journey ahead to get home. But the smiles that we had been given in that magical place never left our faces for the whole journey home. It was a very opportune discovery, a legendary story for us to remember, and most definitely, the best pub in smiles.

The Crowded Deserted Village

An oxymoron, but no less true.

This story begins in 1943. Just before Christmas, the residents of the village of Imber, in the middle of Salisbury Plain, were requested to leave their homes. The MOD needed to use the village for training purposes as World War Two developed. The residents were originally told they they would one day be able to return to their evacuated homes.

That never happened.

The result is that somewhere in Wiltshire, miles from anywhere, surrounded by barbed wire and military warning signs, there is an empty village which is stuck in time. The army have continued to use the village; some of the original houses and other buildings abandoned in the forties are now joined by a number of purpose-built shells of houses for various training purposes. It is still an operational facility. But on a small number of days each year, the village is reopened for public visits.

We visited on Easter Sunday which meant that the place was teeming with visitors. I had been expecting quite an eerie location, but the swarms of families meant that it felt more lived in than many housing estates I've dared to pass through. I was happy however with the number of canine companions accompanying their owners. Dogs of all shapes and sizes joined the crowds on the exploration mission. I can't blame people for joining me in wanting to visit this slice of history; Imber is a unique story and an opportunity to travel back in time.

A visit to Imber allows you to see some of the buildings and locations that formed part of the everyday lives of the people of this village back before their lives were irrevocably uprooted. But as we wandered around these physical markers in time, a more interactive form of time travel was clear to see all around us. We had travelled to a time before the dreaded killjoy of  'Health and Safety'.

Yes, we were on a functioning military training location (albeit one on a bank holiday hiatus). Yes, we could wander in and out of many buildings that had questionable standards. And yes, we found discarded debris of plastic shells, tin cans and cracked glow sticks littering the floors. But no one was around to warn us of any dangers or guide us as to which precautions to take. We, and by 'we' I mean the general public, were left to fend for ourselves in this giant playground of danger. It was like having a whole village as an adventure playground. You can explore shells of houses by ducking through old timber door-frames; you can climb well-worn stone stairs to reach rickety, creaking upper floors; you can peer out of the gaping hole that once was a top floor barn window with nothing to warn you that it's possible you could hurt yourself if you fell out. The risks we took!

I took great heart from watching the families run around this odd, time-travel playground. This week I had heard a report on the news about how children didn't play outdoors as much as they did in the past. But here was a little slice of common sense prevailing in the most random of places. A couple of times I heard the excited calls of make-believe battles: kids hiding from their playmates in preparation to jump out at them at an opportune moment, with a blatant disregard to any dangers that might befall them. At one end of the village, a giant, fallen tree added another dimension to the playground. The kids (and adults, to be fair) swarmed over it like ants. Who doesn't love to climb on a tree?

The journey to Imber took us back in time in more ways than one. The echoes of the people who once lived there are etched on the worn walls and the surrounding landscape. But they are joined by the spirits of the more recent visitors. It is a place where your inner child can play like it used to. I hope Imber forever remains a playground for the inner child of all who dare to climb its walls.