8: The Cross Keys

Stop. There it is, on the corner. In mourning. With its details outlined in

black paint. The Cross Keys Pub. A neon blue coloured sign with the

promise of a Dance Bar above the door.

Missing its signage. It’s Shingle. Missing the footsteps through its lobby,

Bar-parlour, vault, smoke room, kitchen, scullery , clubroom, four bed

rooms and three cellars.

I am the 200 years of history attached to this name,

I am not the original, I moved 50 yards along the road.

I am every Ancoats pub. All with a piano. A sing song.

Mothers playing piano and children listening from outside the window.

I am all the things being sold in the bar, leather jackets, sheep, a

motorbike.

I am a Tetley’s Bitter…. You can’t beat it.

I am the thwarted plans to demolish. You won’t take me down like that.

I won’t become another Lost pub.

Tun right on Radium street. Walk on.

Cross over to the other side of the road.

New cobbles, old cobbles.

Red brick

The smell of bread wafts out of the bakery.