REME Association

Farewell to the ‘Brams’

Arborfield Branch Secretary, Johnny Worrall, reflects on the loss of a landmark institution for many Corps personnel who passed through Arborfield.

Most of our readers will know the Bramshill Hunt Public House in Arborfield - in fact there must have been thousands of members of the Corps, who have at one time or another had a pint or two in there (in some cases three or four or more!). Located, only a few hundred from the old Depot REME, sadly, on 28 September the building started to be demolished.

I went over to Arborfield to take some pictures of its demise as did Branch Member, Malcolm Heppolette, days before me. Malcolm writes: “I was watching the start of the demolition of the pub on Monday 28 September, and got talking to the Team Foreman about the pub’s heyday in the 50s-80s. My stories about the thousands of REME Soldiers letting off steam in the pub at weekends got to him slightly so he sent two of his men scurrying around, in what remained of the building, to look for anything he could give me as a souvenir!

They came back with a framed poem which was still hanging on the wall at the side of the bar. The poem was written by a former publican but not signed.

I sent a copy of the framed picture to the Museum to be considered for their collection and they will get back to me soon.”

I am sure a book could be written containing anecdotes of times spent in the pub. I was looking at the website of the Arborfield Historical Society and discovered the following: “The 1841 Census listed the ‘Bramshill Hunt’ as an Inn, with Anthony Cole as ‘Beerseller’. However, Anthony had been there for some years. When the 1837 Tithe Apportionment Map was drawn up, his dwelling was simply described as a ‘cottage and garden’, owned by William Cordery. By 1851, Anthony Coles [sic] was only a labourer, while his wife Ann was the beer

“Located, only a few hundred from the old Depot REME, sadly, on 28 September the building started to be demolished.”

seller. Charles Clacey was the publican for many years, appearing in the 1861, 1871 and 1881 Census returns, but by 1891 he was a widower living nearby at Langley Common, while Richard Whitley was at the inn, combining the occupations of publican and blacksmith. Charles died in 1898, and is buried with his wife Annie at Arborfield.

Kelly’s Directories show that Thomas Kelly was landlord in 1895 and 1899 (and in the 1901 Census), then William James Rapley in 1907 and 1915; William died in December 1926, aged 63. John Henry Allen had taken over by 1929, followed by William Kent, as recorded in the 1935 edition.”

Of course, a lot more has happened since then. I understand that the Co-Op has put in planning permission to build a small store on the site.

A Poem written by a publican of the Bramshill Hunt in Arborfield

The poem was framed and was hanging in the bar of the pub. The Man Behind the Bar

He deserves a hero’s medal for the many lives he’s saved, And upon the Roll of Honour his name should be engraved; He deserves a lot of credit for the way he stands the strain, As the ‘bunk he has to swallow would drive most of us insane. He must pay the highest licence, he must pay the highest rent, He must settle with the agents though he don’t take in a cent; And when it comes to paying bills he’s ‘Johnny on the spot’, He’ll pay for what he sells you, whether you pay him or not. And when you walk into his place he’ll greet you with a smile, Be you workman dressed in overalls, or banker dressed in style; Be you Irish, English, Dutch or French, it doesn’t matter what, He’ll treat you like a gentleman, unless you prove you’re not. He must listen to your arguments that happen in this place, And no partiality for any creed or race; The bunch outside can knock the King, the Kaiser or the Czar, But he has to be a neutral does ‘The Man behind the Bar’. It matters not the aches and pains and hardship he endures, He tells you not his troubles, though you always tell him yours; And if the weather’s hot or cold, or it turns to rain or snow, It’s up to you to tell him so, he ain’t supposed to know Should he sit down to read the news, some fool with half a jag, Pulls up a chair beside him, and begins to ‘chew the rag’ Though Job they say had patience, a more patient man by far, Than Job could ever hope to be, is ‘The Man Behind the Bar’ Yet the preacher in the pulpit, and the lecturer in the hall, Will tell you that the churches are against one and all, But when the church decides to hold a fair, or a bazaar, They start in selling tickets to ‘The Man Behind the Bar’ Yet the time will come when he must shuffle off this mortal coil, Hang up his coat and apron, no more on this earth to toil, When St Peter sees him coming he will leave the gates ajar, He’ll know he’s had his hell on earth, ‘The Man behind the Bar.