The Snug Bar At The Pewter Tap.

The Snug Bar At The Pewter Tap.

anachronous history forums EUROPE THE WESTERN ISLES Eire (Ireland) Mide The Pewter Tap Inn The Snug Bar At The Pewter Tap.

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  • #6859

    Loegaire
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    @loegaire_buadach

    The Snug Bar :

    The Pewter Tap Inn is a 16th century public house with oak beams, it was originally a coach house on route to Dublin before the Athboy Brewery Company took over management, renowned for its friendly atmosphere, its hearty food menu, its plethora of Irish ales & spirits, where dialogue about politics and religion are banned, but conversation of Irish sports and harmless past-times are permitted.

    The Snug Bar is a cosy little annex to the main bar, always with a blazing wood fire, every Friday night it gets a bit rowdy because its Folk Night, when the local bands play traditional Irish music, there is a slate where you can drink on credit, but beware of the Brewery owners, the Mac Caba brothers who like their debts paid and their slates wiped clean.

    There are old tales that The Pewter Tap was an old grocery store that use to sell ‘potcheen’ that was distilled in the backroom, that is now The Snug Bar, The Pewter Tap has been the pillar of the community since the 18th century, where great words of pathos have been spoken, or over-indulgent words of bathos, depends on your point-of-view.

    The Pewter Tap is also renowned for welcoming outsiders, drawing strangers, tourists and extra-terrestrials into the conversations of the locals, creating a melting pot of casual social conversations, behind the bar there is an array of wooden barrels of Indian Pale Ale & Guinness, but if Bushmills & Jamesons are your tiple, there’s the longest optic of bottles you will ever see.

    There’s a gentle play-list always in the background of Irish jigs, reels and folk ballads with bagpipes, fiddles, drums, flutes and penny whistles to help create the atmosphere that is the Pewter Tap, I purchased a pint of frothy of IPA, – as I spied my fellow amateur historian Beric warming himself by the fire, with a copy of the glossy archaeology magazine ‘Dig For Ireland’. ‘By Balor’s beady-eye, its over to you Beric !’

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  • #7204
    Loegaire
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    We waited in silence for Dervla Kirwan I chair-lady to appear, but it was as though a coach load had taken over the main bar. Denarius said she looks very busy, should we proceed without her ?

    ‘I call this ghostly meeting of the Fahrenheit Club officially open, my extract will be from ‘The Phantom Coach’, by Amelia Edwards’. Were my words as I cleared my throat.

    The atmosphere of the coach seemed, if possible, colder that that of the outer air and was pervaded by a singularly damp and disagreeable smell. I looked round at my fellow passengers. They were three men, and all silent as the grave.

    They did not seem to be asleep, but each leaned back in his corner of the moving vehicle, as if absorbed in his own reflections. ‘How intensely cold it is tonight,’ I said, addressing my opposite neighbour. He slowly lifted his head, looked at me, but made no reply.

    I continued. ‘The winter seems to have began in earnest’. Although the corner in which he sat was so dim that I could distinguish none of his features very clearly, I saw that his eyes were still turned full upon me, and yet he answered never a word.

    At any other time I should have felt, and perhaps expressed, some annoyance, but at the moment I felt too ill to do either. The icy coldness of the night air had struck a chill to my very bone-marrow, and the strange smell inside the coach was affecting me with an        intolerable nausea.

    I shivered from head to foot, and turning to my left-hand neighbour, asked if he had any objection to an open window ? He neither spoke or stirred. I repeated the question somewhat more loudly, but with the same result. Then I lost my patience and let the sash down. As I did so, the leather strap broke in my hand, and I observed that the class of the coach window was covered in mildew, the accumulation, apparently, of years of neglect.

    My attention being thus drawn to the condition of the coach, I examined it more narrowly, and saw by the uncertain light of the outer lamps that it was in a state of dilapidation. Every part of it was not only out of repair but in the condition of decay.

    The sashes splintered at the touch, the leather fittings were crusted over with a green mould, and literally rotting from the unstable woodwork, as for the floor of the carriage it was almost breaking beneath our feet, the whole buggy, in short, was foul and damp, and had evidently been dragged from some leaky outhouse.

    I now turned to the third passenger. ‘This coach is in a deplorable condition I don’t even think it’s road worthy sir ?’ He moved his head slowly in my direction as my heart turned cold. His eyes glowed with a fiery unnatural lustre, his face was white and livid as a corpse, his bloodless lips were drawn back if in the agony of death, displaying the gleaming white teeth between his dead lips.

    As I heard these croaky words from his dry throat. ‘Monster, monster !’

    Reference : Amelia Edwards.

     

  • #6861
    Beric
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    @beric_debenkah
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    Role-Playing In The Pewter Tap :

    Interesting history Loegaire ! (Used as a seamless link between dialogue). My love of  Irish mythology was born from the complexity of the old tales and their interactions with the Irish deities, various royalty, the druidic system of the old pagan religion, the heroines and heroes that resulted in place names for particular geographic characteristics of Ireland .

    The beauty of the Gaelic language expressing these geographic place names, like Emain Macha, pronounced as ‘owen mahkah’ the Royal Enclosure of the Red Branch, and the Belach Conglaise, the Belach Pass, pronounce as ‘bela konglaze’ and lastly Nemthend, Sliab Mountain, pronounced as ‘nev-hehn’.

    Also the 16 Sacred sites of Ireland, the stone hills of Ailech & Aine, the grassy hills of Aillend, Almu & Ard Macha, the mountain passes of Sid Nectain, Cnogba & Dubad, the stone enclosure of Fornocht, and the 3 ring-forts of Rath Cruachan, Rath Lugdach & Rath Rigg.

    White Cow Road, where Manannan’s white cow came out of the sea at Baile Cronin, or the Red Cow Road, where Manannan’s red cow crept out of the sea travelling one mile to Baile Cronin, and the Black Cow Road where Manannan’s third cow emerged from the sea.

    Then there’s the Slige Dala, the Great South-Western Road, extending from Temhair (Tara) into the settlement of Ossory, then on to Roscrea, passing the castle of Belach Mor, which is located near Mag Lena.

     

  • #6860
    Beric
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    Role-Playing In The Pewter Tap :

    Loegaire, I have just been reading this article about the archaeologists uncovering the skeleton of what they believe is Queen Maeve, at the Royal burial-grounds at Cruachan, in the ancient Kingdom of Connacht, the over-tall skeleton was buried with what they thought was a child, but the DNA taken from the teeth pointed in the direction of Aillill, the king of Connacht.

    From the Queen’s torso, neck and skull which measures a normal three feet, but her legs measured, from thigh to knee, – four feet and lower leg five feet, that meant she stood in her bare-feet twelve feet tall ! So it would appear that the statue of Maeve, outside the Connacht House in Dublin is anatomically correct.

    The skeleton of her husband Ailill, which means ‘Elf’ in Irish Gaelic, was only four foot and ten inches tall, no wonder on their marriage vows, –  Maeve made Ailill swear a solemn oath to be without fear, meanness or jealousy, because she needed to satisfy her capricious natures with other partners.

    Wow! Nine foot legs, imagine that woman in hot pants or a mini-skirt Loegaire, it explains how she could out-run the wild horses of the Ulster warriors while being nine months pregnant, I just love reading about Maeve, totally respect for the colourful Maeve.

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anachronous history forums EUROPE THE WESTERN ISLES Eire (Ireland) Mide The Pewter Tap Inn The Snug Bar At The Pewter Tap.