OK – the link between today’s pic and story is tenuous to say the least. It’s a pic of an old mine building (Wheal Jenkin for those interested in such matters) shrouded in mist and the story is about an old building that I thought about yesterday…

I mentioned a pub that I used to drink in in South Ruislip when I was a teenager and my early 20s, the Deane Arms. I knew it’d had a facelift and changed its name to the Middlesex Arms (pic from the website mentioned below) but I wanted to remember “the Deane” so I googled it. I came across a website called www.ruislip.co.uk and their reference to the Deane was: “Formerly the Deane Arms (sp?) this pub was an establishment frequented by Ruislip's less desirables. In order to force them to drink somewhere else some bright spark decided that if the name of the pub were to change then they would move on to pastures new.” Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha……..etc. (Imagine me roaring with laughter on the sofa.) The site is obviously a labour of love made by an individual bloke and perhaps he’s from “the posh end of town”.

He had a “visitors book” with a couple of comments…


1. “The Pub was a rough place.” (Roger)

2. “I am pleased to say that I was one of the teenagers who drank in the Deane Arms in the days your article describes the customers as ‘less desirables’ (1970s)!

‘The Deane’ as it was fondly known (must be said in a Sarf Ryslip accent!!!) was a haven for under aged punters, many of whom attended the local comprehensive. It was here that the pupils and the teachers all drank and made a lot of noise together. Contrary to popular belief though, while there were literally hundreds of us crammed in there from Friday to Sunday having fun, there were only a handful of youths that caused a nuisance. Yes, there were drug pushers, but then the same pushers went to every other bar in Ruislip; they left the rest of us alone to drink and have fun!

The Deane provided a much needed meeting point in the local heavily populated community; there was no youth club (except the Boys Brigade club once a week, and you had to go to church to attend that!), so The Deane kept us all off the street. Most local teenagers were going in the back door in the 70s regularly from the age of 13 or 14.

But do you know what? Many hundreds of us turned out ok in the end… amongst my friends from the good old days many of us can read and write, and some of us even own our own homes. One or two of us might even be worth a bob or two, so it wasn’t all bad, was it?!

Your article said that it isn’t a good pub for a pub crawl – we always managed it!” (Jan)

I have subsequently discovered that the Jan who wrote the above is someone I know intimately – my little sister! Good for her for defending our former home from home. I have such happy memories of nights (and a few days) in the Deane. I do remember a few little things that seemed hilarious at the time although a “posh boy from the top end of Ruislip” may have viewed them differently.

One Sunday lunchtime, a friend, Jane rode her horse Charlie in through the back door of the pub, at which point the horse panicked, pooed all over the floor and then bolted back out into the pub’s garden. We all thought it was hilarious although I doubt that the landlord did or even Jane who I expect was the one who ended up clearing up a mountain of poo from the floor of the pub. I’m not even 100% sure that I was in the pub at the time although if not, the story has been recounted to me in such pristine detail that I can visualise the whole event.

There was a group of older guys who were escaping their home lives and spent their evenings on a long bench seat along the front wall of the lounge bar. They were known imaginatively as the left hand bench boys and we’d often join them on the bench as “guests” of the LHBBs. They would sit nursing a pint all evening watching the antics of the other punters. You got a great view from the bench right through the pub. From there I watched people become so addicted to “space invaders” that they would pump a fortune into the machine every night to try to outwit them. Some of them did this sort of jiggly dance when they knew they were about to get caught.

A lot of very heavy drinking was done in that pub on a Saturday night. One night, a regular had more than he could take and, while sitting on the bench, puked on the carpet next to the bench. At the Sunday lunchtime session, the puke was still there but the landlord had ingeniously placed a bar stool over it so people wouldn’t notice. Strangely one of the Deane's bar stools ended up in our house. I can't remember how or why.

I had more declarations of undying love in that pub than I have ever had before or since. There was a bloke called Frank who’d follow me into the ladies and ask me to marry him on a regular basis.

After the messy end of my relationship with my first love, Paul, I returned to being a regular at the Deane and found myself a group of Spurs buddies to go to games with – the Silk brothers, PG and a few others. We’d meet at the Deane, go to the game and then head back to the pub post-match, often stopping over the road at Bruno’s pizzeria where I had my first taste of pizza and boy, was it good. Bruno’s was run by a pair of Italian brothers and the pizzas were phenomenal. I think it closed down probably thirty years ago and didn’t even make it as long as the Deane but if there are any members of that family still in the area then I’d like them to know that I have craved a Bruno’s pizza for years.

Despite its reputation as a “bad place” I can’t recall a single fight ever happening in there in my presence. I can’t picture the landlord’s face at all or those of most of the punters. I do remember dashing up the hill with my sister when we’d stayed in the pub for the whole 2 hour opening session on Sunday lunchtime and being very aware that our Sunday lunch would be landing on our table at home imminently. All I have are happy memories of a legendary gusher.