ii. is from 'Eric - or, Little By Little, A Tale of Roslyn School' by Frederic W. Farrar, D.D. (1902). Never heard of it.
They went to "The Jolly Herring," as the pot-house was called, and passed through the dingy beery tap-room into the back parlor, to which Eric had already been introduced by Wildney. About a dozen boys were assembled, and there was a great clapping on the table as the two new-comers entered. A long table was laid down the room, which was regularly spread for dinner.
"Now then, Billy; make haste with the goose," called Brigson. "I vote, boys, that Eric Williams takes the chair."
"Hear! hear!" said half a dozen; and Eric, rather against his will, found himself ensconced at the end of the table, with Brigson and Bull on either hand. The villainous-low-foreheaded man, whom they called Billy, soon brought in a tough goose at one end of the table, and some fowls at the other; and they fell to, doing ample justice to the [Greek: daiz heisae] while Billy waited on them. There was immense uproar during the dinner, every one eating as fast, and talking as loud, as he could.
The birds soon vanished, and were succeeded by long roly-poly puddings, which the boys called Goliahs; and they, too, rapidly disappeared. Meanwhile beer was circling only too plentifully.
The bar of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters was a bar to soften the human breast. The available space in it was not much larger than a hackney-coach; but no one could have wished the bar bigger, that space was so girt in by corpulent little casks, and by cordial-bottles radiant with fictitious grapes in bunches, and by lemons in nets, and by biscuits in baskets, and by the polite beer-pulls that made low bows when customers were served with beer, and by the cheese in a snug corner, and by the landlady's own small table in a snugger corner near the fire, with the cloth everlastingly laid. This haven was divided from the rough world by a glass partition and a half-door, with a leaden sill upon it for the convenience of resting your liquor; but, over this half-door the bar's snugness so gushed forth, that, albeit customers drank there standing, in a dark and draughty passage where they were shouldered by other customers passing in and out, they always appeared to drink under an enchanting delusion that they were in the bar itself.
For the rest, both the tap and parlour of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters gave upon the river, and had red curtains matching the noses of the regular customers, and were provided with comfortable fireside tin utensils, like models of sugar-loaf hats, made in that shape that they might, with their pointed ends, seek out for themselves glowing nooks in the depths of the red coals, when they mulled your ale, or heated for you those delectable drinks, Purl, Flip, and Dog's Nose. The first of these humming compounds was a speciality of the Porters, which, through an inscription on its door-posts, gently appealed to your feelings as, 'The Early Purl House'. For, it would seem that Purl must always be taken early; though whether for any more distinctly stomachic reason than that, as the early bird catches the worm, so the early purl catches the customer, cannot here be resolved. It only remains to add that in the handle of the flat iron, and opposite the bar, was a very little room like a three-cornered hat, into which no direct ray of sun, moon. or star, ever penetrated, but which was superstitiously regarded as a sanctuary replete with comfort and retirement by gaslight, and on the door of which was therefore painted its alluring name: Cosy.
Miss Potterson, sole proprietor and manager of the Fellowship Porters, reigned supreme on her throne, the Bar, and a man must have drunk himself mad drunk indeed if he thought he could contest a point with her. Being known on her own authority as Miss Abbey Potterson, some water-side heads, which (like the water) were none of the clearest, harboured muddled notions that, because of her dignity and firmness, she was named after, or in some sort related to, the Abbey at Westminster. But, Abbey was only short for Abigail, by which name Miss Potterson had been christened at Limehouse Church, some sixty and odd years before.
It's from 'The Free Fishers' (1934). Anthony Lammas is said Professor.
Mr Lammas stepped ashore on the pier of Leith with a not unpleasant solemnity upon his spirit. A hackney carriage took him to his inn behind the Register House, for he had no time to lose if he would keep his appointment with Lord Mannour. There he spruced himself up, and set out briskly on foot for his lordship's residence in Queen Street. […]
He greeted Mr Lammas with a gusty friendliness. A servant was at his heels as if waiting for orders. "You have left your mails at Ramage's, Professor? Away down with you, John, and have them moved to the Tappit Hen, which will be more convenient for the coach."
vi. is from 'Far From The Madding Crowd' (chapter: Joseph and his Burden) and the inn is the Buck's Head.
It was a relief to Joseph's heart when the friendly sign-board came in view, and, stopping his horse immediately beneath it, he proceeded to fulfil an intention made a long time before. His spirits were oozing out of him quite. He turned the horse's head to the green bank, and entered the hostel for a mug of ale. […]
" Where be ye trading o't to to-day then, Joseph ? " " Back to Weatherbury. I've got poor little Fanny Robin in my wagon outside, and I must be at the church yard gates at a quarter to five with her."
We took our traps into the Stag, and laid them down in the hall. The landlord came up and said: “Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Oh, good evening,” said George; “we want three beds, please.”
“Very sorry, sir,” said the landlord; “but I’m afraid we can’t manage it.”
“Oh, well, never mind,” said George, “two will do. Two of us can sleep in one bed, can’t we?” he continued, turning to Harris and me.
Harris said, “Oh, yes;” he thought George and I could sleep in one bed very easily.
“Very sorry, sir,” again repeated the landlord: “but we really haven’t got a bed vacant in the whole house. In fact, we are putting two, and even three gentlemen in one bed, as it is.”
This staggered us for a bit. But Harris, who is an old traveller, rose to the occasion, and, laughing cheerily, said: “Oh, well, we can’t help it. We must rough it. You must give us a shake-down in the billiard-room.”
“Very sorry, sir. Three gentlemen sleeping on the billiard-table already, and two in the coffee-room. Can’t possibly take you tonight."
x. is from The Big Six by Arthur Ransome. The inn is the Roaring Donkey, where the World's Whopper (a pike) caught by the Death and Glories was taken, stuffed and put in a display case.
They went to "The Jolly Herring," as the pot-house was called, and passed through the dingy beery tap-room into the back parlor, to which Eric had already been introduced by Wildney. About a dozen boys were assembled, and there was a great clapping on the table as the two new-comers entered. A long table was laid down the room, which was regularly spread for dinner.
"Now then, Billy; make haste with the goose," called Brigson. "I vote, boys, that Eric Williams takes the chair."
"Hear! hear!" said half a dozen; and Eric, rather against his will, found himself ensconced at the end of the table, with Brigson and Bull on either hand. The villainous-low-foreheaded man, whom they called Billy, soon brought in a tough goose at one end of the table, and some fowls at the other; and they fell to, doing ample justice to the [Greek:
daiz heisae] while Billy waited on them. There was immense uproar during the dinner, every one eating as fast, and talking as loud, as he could.
The birds soon vanished, and were succeeded by long roly-poly puddings, which the boys called Goliahs; and they, too, rapidly disappeared. Meanwhile beer was circling only too plentifully.
Reply
The bar of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters was a bar to soften the human breast. The available space in it was not much larger than a hackney-coach; but no one could have wished the bar bigger, that space was so girt in by corpulent little casks, and by cordial-bottles radiant with fictitious grapes in bunches, and by lemons in nets, and by biscuits in baskets, and by the polite beer-pulls that made low bows when customers were served with beer, and by the cheese in a snug corner, and by the landlady's own small table in a snugger corner near the fire, with the cloth everlastingly laid. This haven was divided from the rough world by a glass partition and a half-door, with a leaden sill upon it for the convenience of resting your liquor; but, over this half-door the bar's snugness so gushed forth, that, albeit customers drank there standing, in a dark and draughty passage where they were shouldered by other customers passing in and out, they always appeared to drink under an enchanting delusion that they were in the bar itself.
For the rest, both the tap and parlour of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters gave upon the river, and had red curtains matching the noses of the regular customers, and were provided with comfortable fireside tin utensils, like models of sugar-loaf hats, made in that shape that they might, with their pointed ends, seek out for themselves glowing nooks in the depths of the red coals, when they mulled your ale, or heated for you those delectable drinks, Purl, Flip, and Dog's Nose. The first of these humming compounds was a speciality of the Porters, which, through an inscription on its door-posts, gently appealed to your feelings as, 'The Early Purl House'. For, it would seem that Purl must always be taken early; though whether for any more distinctly stomachic reason than that, as the early bird catches the worm, so the early purl catches the customer, cannot here be resolved. It only remains to add that in the handle of the flat iron, and opposite the bar, was a very little room like a three-cornered hat, into which no direct ray of sun, moon. or star, ever penetrated, but which was superstitiously regarded as a sanctuary replete with comfort and retirement by gaslight, and on the door of which was therefore painted its alluring name: Cosy.
Miss Potterson, sole proprietor and manager of the Fellowship Porters, reigned supreme on her throne, the Bar, and a man must have drunk himself mad drunk indeed if he thought he could contest a point with her. Being known on her own authority as Miss Abbey Potterson, some water-side heads, which (like the water) were none of the clearest, harboured muddled notions that, because of her dignity and firmness, she was named after, or in some sort related to, the Abbey at Westminster. But, Abbey was only short for Abigail, by which name Miss Potterson had been christened at Limehouse Church, some sixty and odd years before.
Reply
It's from 'The Free Fishers' (1934). Anthony Lammas is said Professor.
Mr Lammas stepped ashore on the pier of Leith with a not unpleasant solemnity upon his spirit. A hackney carriage took him to his inn behind the Register House, for he had no time to lose if he would keep his appointment with Lord Mannour. There he spruced himself up, and set out briskly on foot for his lordship's residence in Queen Street. […]
He greeted Mr Lammas with a gusty friendliness. A servant was at his heels as if waiting for orders. "You have left your mails at Ramage's, Professor? Away down with you, John, and have them moved to the Tappit Hen, which will be more convenient for the coach."
Reply
It was a relief to Joseph's heart when the friendly sign-board came in view, and, stopping his horse immediately beneath it, he proceeded to fulfil an intention made a long time before. His spirits were oozing out of him quite. He
turned the horse's head to the green bank, and entered the hostel for a mug of ale. […]
" Where be ye trading o't to to-day then, Joseph ? "
" Back to Weatherbury. I've got poor little Fanny Robin in my wagon outside, and I must be at the church
yard gates at a quarter to five with her."
Reply
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_White_Company
Reply
We took our traps into the Stag, and laid them down in the hall. The landlord came up and said: “Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Oh, good evening,” said George; “we want three beds, please.”
“Very sorry, sir,” said the landlord; “but I’m afraid we can’t manage it.”
“Oh, well, never mind,” said George, “two will do. Two of us can sleep in one bed, can’t we?” he continued, turning to Harris and me.
Harris said, “Oh, yes;” he thought George and I could sleep in one bed very easily.
“Very sorry, sir,” again repeated the landlord: “but we really haven’t got a bed vacant in the whole house. In fact, we are putting two, and even three gentlemen in one bed, as it is.”
This staggered us for a bit. But Harris, who is an old traveller, rose to the occasion, and, laughing cheerily, said: “Oh, well, we can’t help it. We must rough it. You must give us a shake-down in the billiard-room.”
“Very sorry, sir. Three gentlemen sleeping on the billiard-table already, and two in the coffee-room. Can’t possibly take you tonight."
Reply
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Six
FIN.
Reply
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