At the top of the hill we saw it, the Church of St Nicholas rising up through thick clouds of smoke. I imagined it was what heaven would look like after centuries of purgatory, and checked the inside pocket of my jacket again with a light tap, hearing the reassuring rustle before following the rest of the Honourable and Worthy Pedallers down the hill towards our longed-for destination, Barton-in-the-Clay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It had been a long day. A quick stop-off at the Rose and Woodbine in Coventry extended past dark and we were forced to cover over a hundred miles the next day to get to Luton in time for the two o\u2019clock kick off. An early reveille from our harmonica player, Don Flatt, gave us a healthy start, however, and our thirsts informed our legs, getting us to Kenilworth Road with an hour to spare and appetites that would be a joy to sate. \u2018It\u2019s a picturesque little place,\u2019 I managed to say to Frank Copley, though the need for beer and snout was both clouding my vision and interfering with my speech. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Ar,\u2019 said Frank, \u2018but it do\u2019 exactly look built to welcome Wolves.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What he meant by this wouldn\u2019t dawn on me until later, for now there were more pressing things on my mind, like pressing open the door of the Black Horse and ordering as quickly as possible while dexterously placing a Woodbine on my lower lip and striking\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Oi! What on earf do you fink you\u2019re doin\u2019?\u2019 came a voice from behind the bar, \u2018Bob: fetch the constable!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two dozen unlit cigarettes bobbed up and down in time as two dozen South Staffordshire voices said What\u2019s the matter?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Do not light those matches!\u2019 cried the landlord.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked around the public bar. You rarely saw \u2018No Smoking\u2019 signs in those days outside of coal mines, and there didn\u2019t appear to be any in the Black Horse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Could you at least continue to draw those pints,\u2019 said Ezekiel Graves after twenty seconds of shocked silence, \u2018I\u2019ve got a thirst on me like a swarm of locusts.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018We\u2019ll see what the Constable has to say first,\u2019 replied the landlord.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was about to ask what any of this had to do with the Constable when a gust of January air blew into the bar and a plump, freshly shaven policeman entered with \u2018Bob\u2019 and a man in a strange red uniform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018What seems to be the trouble here, then?\u2019 said the copper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018These\u2026 strangers\u2026 were about to light about two dozen fires,\u2019 said the landlord. \u2018Thought you ought to know, Harry.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Yes, thank you, Sid. Now could I ask you gentlemen to put any matches you may have on the bar, please.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As Honourable and Worthy Pedallers, we had no wish to antagonize the law, and conformed to the policeman\u2019s request. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Is this a no-smoking establishment?\u2019 asked Natty Painter, placing his Bryant and May on the bar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Are you trying to be funny?\u2019 asked the Constable Harry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018No. I\u2019m just trying to enjoy a pint before the match.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Here, here,\u2019 came some muttered approval.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man in the red uniform spoke at this point, in a weird, needling voice. \u2018Make them jump up and down, Harry.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Christ and two sticks!\u2019 said Ezekiel Graves, \u2018What on earth is happening here?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018You can cut that language out for starters,\u2019 warned the constable. \u2018Do what the Fire Warden says, please.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018We have just ridden a hundred miles on bicycles. We are not going to jump up and down \u2013 certainly not before we\u2019ve had some rest, some beer and some cigarettes.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Like I said,\u2019 muttered Frank Copley, \u2018Not a place built to welcome Wolves.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was then that the penny dropped. It was not unusual, of course, to see straw-lined floors in a public bar in those days, but the picturesque town I had admired was more than just rustic. Plaited straw was everywhere: the furniture was made of it, the chairs and tables and the bar were made of it, and even the walls of the pub appeared to have been constructed entirely of plaited straw. And all the picturesque buildings that had lined the street when we arrived were made entirely of straw, too. Probably strong enough to withstand the huffs and puffs of two dozen wolves, but a single spark might raze the town to the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018If you cannot jump up and down and prove you have no more incendiary devices on you, I will have to arrest you. This is a no smoking town.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018What if we stand outside?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018The streets are made of straw,\u2019 said Constable Harry, as he collected the matchbooks and matchboxes from the bar, \u2018The street signs are made of straw, and when you get to the football ground you\u2019ll see that\u2019s made of straw too.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018But I saw a tobacconist\u2019s down the road\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018If snuff is your pleasure, Mr Talke\u2019s emporium is well worth a visit. He may even have some cigarettes and pipe tobacco for sale. But you won\u2019t find a light there or anywhere else in Luton. Now please, jump up and down like the Fire Warden says.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We looked at each other with glum faces. Frank Carding, Jimmy Blight and Bob Crockett placed some spare matchboxes on the bar, shrugged our shoulders and jumped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Excellent. The Fire Warden will be accompanying you to the ground to be sure you are safe; there are plenty of fire stewards in attendance on match days who will do the same once you\u2019re on the ground. Enjoy the game and your drinks, Gentlemen.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Enjoyment is relative. Though Wolves won out against the Straw Plaiters, and Bill Barraclough and Wilf Lowton in particular had excellent games, every time the ball was out of play all I could think about was smoking. At 2-1 we were all biting our nails for the final whistle, but carried on biting them until our fingers were wrapped around our handlebars and we were cycling feverishly north, towards the first pub that would allow us to combine our pleasures. So driven were we that I don\u2019t think Antonin Magne himself could have kept up with the pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As we descended the hill into the village of Barton-in-the-Clay gusts of cigarette smoke pulled us in like the hands of angels. I inhaled joyful gusts of passive smoke from the pavements lined with smokers chatting, laughing and coughing as nature intended. Church bells rang through the twilight and we parked up and walked through the sturdy streets. Ezekiel Graves even stroked the stone wall of the Royal Oak before we entered, and Jack Dudley looked ready to lick the nicotine stains off the plaster in the public bar. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Twenty four pints of your best bitter,\u2019 said Natty Painter, turning round and adding \u2018What are you having, lads?\u2019 with a glint in his eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Twenty four boxes of matches, as well,\u2019 called Ezekiel from the door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I\u2019m sorry chaps; you\u2019re out of luck. The barrel\u2019s just gone.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Pale, then\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018We have no\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Porter, stout\u2026 anything\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018No beer tonight, boys. There was a big wedding. I\u2019ll be getting in a delivery on Monday.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Are there any other pubs in the village? An outdoor? Social club?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The landlord shook his head. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I\u2019m afraid not,\u2019 he said, sadly, \u2018Now, do you still want those matches?\u2019 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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