The Bridge Keepers
As a local, you know exactly what the ringing of that bell means.
Hear it as a visitor and you might spot the locals around you breaking into a jog.
The Bridge Keeper rings the bell just before they close the gates on Whitby’s swing bridge. For a local trying to get to work, it can be an inconvenience. For a visitor, it’s a signal that something special is about to happen.
Choosing to drive through town is always a gamble.
Stopped in the queue approaching the bridge, a glance at the water level tells you that high tide is approaching. The sinking feeling in your stomach grows.
Then you see it.
A sailing boat heading towards the bridge.
You’ve mistimed it again.
I often see the Bridge Keepers in their little hut at the western end of the bridge as I head to work. They’re usually sat in armchairs, listening to the VHF radio for requests from vessels wanting to pass through.
It looks basic, but cosy.
I’ve always felt strangely jealous of them. The Authorised Personnel Only sign on the door makes the little hut feel like somewhere you’re not supposed to know much about.
They have a kind of power over the town.
With the ringing of a bell they can bring traffic and pedestrians to a halt. While I’m trapped behind the gates, they get to ride on the bridge as it swings open.
The childhood desire to ride the bridge has never really gone away.
Things don’t always go smoothly, though.
Built in 1908, the bridge can be a little unreliable. The bell doesn’t always mean get across quickly or you’ll be waiting another five minutes.
Sometimes it means get across quickly because the bridge might get stuck.
And if it does, it’s a very long walk around.
I wouldn’t want to be the Bridge Keeper when that happens. The whole town feels the frustration. Surely they can fix it? Surely they know when it’ll be working again?
Of course, they probably feel the frustration too.
I think I’m happier running when I hear the bell than being the man ringing it.
The Bar
I’m not talking about the pub.
I’m talking about the actual bar within the pub.
We Brits are supposed to be good at queuing, but the bar wasn’t somewhere we used to do it. Not properly, anyway.
We used to make use of the whole length of the bar. Somehow, the bar staff and customers made the system work. We all got served in roughly the right order. The call of *“Who’s next please?”* was rarely abused.
Getting served at a busy bar involved a fine balance of confidence and manners. You needed to make it clear you were there without making it look like you were trying to get served before someone else.
Then came Covid.
Social distancing meant queues became necessary, and we got used to them.
But now, all too often, I find the bar is half empty while the customers have formed a queue snaking through the pub towards the door.
I don’t like it.
Some pubs have enormous bars with hardly anyone standing at them. Everyone is in the queue.
Pubs and bars weren’t designed to work this way.
It felt strange enough coming out of the pandemic. Now it feels stranger still.
Perhaps I’m in the minority. Perhaps everyone else has grown accustomed to it. Maybe they even prefer it.
I have an urge to rebel.
I don’t want to jump the queue. I just want to queue like we used to.
Would it be acceptable to take note of who’s last in the queue, then go and stand at the bar until that person has been served before placing my order?
I’m not sure.
While I’m grumbling, I should mention bar snacks.
When did chocolate become an acceptable bar snack?
Confectionery belongs in the sweet shop. Leave it to the children.
I’m not sure I’m particularly happy about any bar snacks being on the bar. Fancy crisps, spicy corn niblets, pork pies and pickled eggs are all very welcome, but perhaps they could stay behind the bar.
The bar should be for standing, drinking and getting served.
That’s quite enough for one piece of furniture to do.
There are some changes I’m happy about.
Bar towels have been replaced by rubber mats. I’ve never enjoyed resting my elbow on a soggy beer towel, and somehow the rubber seems less likely to find its way under my elbow.
Ashtrays have disappeared too. As a non-smoker old enough to remember when smoking indoors was perfectly acceptable, I still appreciate being able to leave the pub and return home without smelling like an ashtray.
But the biggest improvement at the bar has been the growth in choice.
I remember when the choice was either bitter or lager, but the growth of small, local breweries has created a much more varied bar. More styles, more flavours and more to discover. Even the names and artwork on the tap badges are more interesting.
So perhaps I’m being unfair.
The bar has changed in plenty of ways for the better.
If I could make just one change, though, it would be the queue.
The chocolate can stay.
The queue would have to go.
My Fjallraven No 21 Rucksack
I picked this rucksack out for myself when we used to sell Fjällräven bags.
I’ve carried it almost every day since.
It’s a simple bag. There’s an internal water bottle holder, a small zipped pocket, a laptop sleeve and, other than that, not much else.
Actually, I’m underselling it.
The padded back can be removed and used as a sit mat.
But that’s about as complicated as I like my rucksacks to be.
The more pockets and compartments a bag has, the more they frustrate me. No matter how well thought out the design is, my things never seem to fit the compartments quite as well as they should.
When the bag is one big compartment, it’s up to me how I fill it.
I nearly always carry a water bottle, but it’s very rarely in the intended holder.
I don’t really like being told what to do.
I guess that’s why I’ve ended up doing what I do.
It’s also why I like a simple rucksack.
Those complicated bags with their carefully considered pockets and compartments feel to me like they’re telling me what I should be carrying, and where I should be putting it.
The No. 21 Medium has proved to be the perfect size. Big enough for a day hike or a day in the woods, small enough for work.
Six years of almost daily use has left its mark.
I feel a little guilty about that. I could have rewaxed it before now, and the wear on the back would probably have been easier to repair if I’d dealt with it sooner.
But I don’t think it’s too late.
With a little care, and some good advice, I think it has at least another six years in it.
If you know someone who could help me bring it back to its best, please email us at shop@furbellow.co.uk
From Our Shelves
Summer feels like it’s coming to an end. Is it too early to be organising my autumn wardrobe
Beautiful
Tootal Silk Scarf
Tootal—a name synonymous with British heritage, quality, and unmistakable style for over a century.
Paisley, polka dot and geometric designs. Wear them with a blazer, on your scooter or under your gansey.
They look and feel beautiful
Useful
Dents Hand Sewn Three – Point Gloves
Cold hands are less dextrous, uncomfortable and unnecessary. A good – quality, well – fitting pair of gloves should be a part of every gents wardrobe.
Made Properly
Dents Abraham Moon Cap
When a firm with the heritage of Dents, chooses fabric from a Yorkshire manufacturer like Abraham Moon all the ingredients for a fine product are at hand. Properly made fabric and a properly made cap.
