This letter is about memories of the Mermaid public house, Surfleet.
In the 1841 census the person who was keeping it was a Jane Richardson, a widow who had a son. I have no idea if she was in any way related to my forbear, who moved into the village about 20 years later.
The Mermaid is a place where darts and dominoes were played. Out on the lawn, one day in the 1950s, children from the school danced to entertain older people in the village – probably the Forget-me-Not Club.
It’s the place where someone told me that if you want to start an argument in a pub, the way to do it is to wait until everyone’s ‘had a few’ and then drop into the conversation the possibility that pit ponies never existed. That might be an equivalent of an ‘old chestnut’ joke – one that everyone’s heard.
Thank you to Mr and Mrs Reg Webster, to Billy and Ella Ward, to Freda and Jack Manning, to Gert and Chris and Mary, for all the pints pulled and the meals cooked. Apologies to all those I forgot or never knew.
Please, oh please, if it has to stop being a pub, and I understand why, let it be developed in a very sympathetic way indeed.
At one time in the history of the pub there was a list up in the bar, carrying the prices of various drinks.
The last line read ‘Cordial nips 4d’.
Other people will have other memories of the dear old place.
Frances Richardson
Surfleet
