Although it’s now famous for - if
anything - the only occasionally better than mediocre art school pop band Blur, Colchester
is England’s oldest town. Named Camulodunum by the Romans - although a settlement
existed long before these Johnny come latelies turned up - it was England’s first
capital, until Londinium assumed supremacy. Colchester has always been a military town. It
was a garrison town then and remains so today. This has meant that, in common with other
such places – Aldershot springs to mind - visits here have often been made on a
Friday night. Something to do with avoiding those touching moments that occur when stir
crazy squaddies meet beered-up football yobs. Is there really that much between them?
Colchester is an intriguing place, though. Its history makes it a more
rewarding stop than the average lower division town. The centre is still more individual
than most. There is a Norman castle and some surviving Roman walls. That said, Layer Road
is an unprepossessing dump, although its small and shallow away terrace, when closely
packed with a decent following, can create a decent atmosphere. I’d forgotten what a
shed it is until our recent visit, mind, and the terrace was so closely packed that I
couldn’t particularly move in any significant direction. A half time toilet or food
break was impossible. This is something you might like to bear in mind if you follow the
below itinerary: get something to eat beforehand and try not to fill your bladder beyond
what you can hold until after the game.
Visitors from Colne will feel at home here, as that is the name of the
river on which the town is built, and there are a number of streets named after it.
Colchester also boasts its military connections - you could hardly miss them, there are
barracks everywhere, particularly south of the centre where the ground is - with the
unequivocally named Military Road. Lots of generals and battles have roads named after
them too, although my favourites are the Allied trio of Churchill Way, Roosevelt Way and
Stalin Road. I would love to live on Stalin Road. If you’re the sort of person who
feels uncomfortable at close quarters to the forces of might – and I know I am –
then the walk to Layer Road can be disconcerting. You pass lots of fenced off, low
buildings, and signs covered in acronyms incomprehensible to the average civilian. If you
want to get a feeling of what England would be like if we ever had a military coup,
Colchester might be a good place to come. A road marked on a map is suddenly barred by two
spotty youths, uniformed with guns. Not really an argument you can ever hope to win. Best
move on.
Colchester also has two railway stations, which seems excessive, until you
remember that Burnley has three. Colchester Town is – oddly enough – in the
centre of town. Naturally, trains rarely stop there. Most trains go to Colchester station,
AKA Colchester North, which is – have a wild guess – some way to the North of
the town centre. Most trains stop there. I’m sure there’s a good reason. Unless
you’re lucky enough to pick up one of the trains which occasionally travel from North
to Town via an unfeasibly long and slow arc, then travellers arriving on the Colchester
train from Liverpool Street therefore face a weary foot slog – a Roman march? –
to the ground. Half an hour, easily. Oh yes, and although you somehow expect this part of
the world to be flat, the centre of Colchester is built on top of the hill. Of course, the
high and narrow ridge on which the centre rests would have been of tremendous strategic
importance in olden times, and was doubtless a key factor in the choice of Colchester as
an early military centre. Now it’s just a pain.
Before climbing up, you may wish to fortify yourself with a pint from the Bricklayers
Arms, Bergholt Road, off the roundabout just by the station. This is an Adnam’s
pub. Indeed, Colchester is real Adnam’s country, and you’re likely to find this
fine Suffolk brewer strongly represented around the town. So much better than the dull
products of regional giant Greene King. As for the Bricklayers, it’s something of a
local’s pub, but friendly enough for that; you get left alone to enjoy our beer, and
what more can you ask? I thought the bitter was a little off form on our most recent visit
compared to an earlier sampling, although I must be honest and concede this may have had
something to do with the shocking state I was still in from the night before. The pub sign
shows a hen laying a brick. Honestly.
Make sure you avoid the Beefeater place south of here, however. As we all
know, these are not pubs. There is another nearby pub, which we found heading back up to
the station some hours after the game on our last visit. Perhaps it was called something
like the Norfolk Hotel. They sold a mediocre pint of Greene King IPA, but then, it
usually is.
It’s worth taking a detour left off the road that heads down from the
station to look at Colchester’s intriguing Dutch Quarter. Row after row of authentic
Dutch houses nestle here, in the heart of Essex. Apparently when the Huguenots were kicked
out of Holland this is where they settled, and naturally enough they built their homes in
the only way they knew how. This may sound odd, but of course if you a look at a map
you’ll see that Colchester is nearer Holland than it is most of England. I wonder if
the Dutch football fanatics you occasionally read about stop off here?
Sharply upwards from here and acting as a convenient staging post for the
fat and breathless is the Stockwell Arms, West Stockwell Street. This pub is about
six hundred years old and is said to have a ghost. Not that I found the air obviously
suffused with a sepulchral chill. This has to be one of the most over-heated pubs
I’ve ever encountered. It’s an odd place, but the beer is good, and this must be
the sort of Sunday-lunch oriented pub that will sell you some stodgy food.
Up to the top of the hill and left is a pub you can give a miss, the King’s
Arms on Crouch Street (off Head Street / Balkerine Hill. This is a Hogshead pub, so
standard Hogshead drill applies: over-priced, reasonable beer, a menu; why don’t we
go to a real pub instead? Actually, it’s better than most, but still unthrilling.
A far better bet is the Odd One Out, on Mersea Road, heading south
from Town Station. The initial impression you may get is that you are about to enter
someone’s front room. Persist, for this is a genuine free house with an emphasis on
good beer in comfortable surroundings, and there aren’t many of those around these
days. They were a mite taken aback when we arrived. Apparently they don’t normally
get much of a football crowd. We explained that not many are dedicated beerhounds like
ourselves. Initially only one bloke served, and the cheese rolls were instantly exhausted,
but the beer was worth the wait. I don’t know what their normal range is, but there
was a fine selection on offer on our last visit, including a splendid Nethergate Umbel,
and they sell real cider too, as well as milds and stouts at lower than the usual inflated
local prices, in glasses with handles. Food is limited to the rolls, with a choice between
cheese and onion and cheese and pickle. Every so often they produced another tray which
was instantly cleared. The cheese and pickle are cunningly designed to launch a blast of
pickle down the front of your shirt every time you bite in. Be warned. How can there have
been that much pickle on there in the first place? The pub’s interior is wooden and
unfussy, although the occasional step may test you. Mobile phones are banned from most of
the bar, with children, animals and feet on the furniture being given short shrift
throughout. Quite right too.
From here it is about a twenty minute walk to the ground, although there
are nearer pubs (see below). Head further up Mersea Road then next right onto Napier Road
and then Circular Road, which takes you on to Butt Road, thence Layer Road, which is
where, surprisingly, you’ll find the ground. We did pass a pub on the way but I
can’t remember what it was called.
If you’ve only sampled a cheese roll and were unable to brave the
queues for inadequate supplies at the round, you may be tempted by the chippy back down
Mersea Road towards Town station. It opens at six. In the interests of research, I gave
this a whirl, and was astonished to find a chippy that wasn’t selling any, erm,
chips. There were doubtless some on the way, but when will these places, particularly
those close to stations, grasp that people sometimes need food in a hurry? Not impressive.
It transpired that the only things available for immediate consumption were a large
battered sausage and a spring roll. I opted for the former and munched it as I turned
right at Town station down Military Road, heading for the British Grenadier, a ten
minute walk which inevitably took me past a much better stocked chipshop en route.
Military Road. The British Grenadier. A pre-fab army church opposite.
Large barracks down the side of the road. Hmm, reckon we’re in army territory here? I
don’t know if this pub fills up when the lads are allowed out, but on the Saturday
night we visited, it was deserted until our instant crowd poured through the door. Even
then, I didn’t get the impression that the grumpy landlord was pleased to see us.
Still, this served the best pint of Adnam’s all day, had a pool table and a lot of
dubious 60s compilations on the jukebox, and best of all, sold erotic dart flights. I
repeat, erotic dart flights. These detail sexual positions in silhouette according to the
signs of the zodiac. I don’t know what the market for these is, but I have travelled
the world and the highways and byways of this fair land, and I have never before seen
erotic dart flights. Never imagined them. It never even crossed my mind that such a
combination of words could exist. Naturally, these kept us amused for several minutes.
I’m just grateful I’m not a Taurus. My back’s bad enough already.
One pub you may prefer to avoid is the Rose and Crown, on East
Street by the level crossing, just at the divide where Colchester goes from being military
to historical. Unless you’re of retirement age, middle class, looking for a big plate
of expensive food and have plenty of cash to spend on ludicrously pricey pints of poor
Adnam’s, give it a miss. From outside it looks old, timbered and cosy, but inside
it’s a snooty, upmarket and utterly food oriented. They can’t get many football
fans, and we must have been the youngest customers by about twenty years. Ties and smart
frocks abounded, and the uniformed staff rushed hither and thither fulfilling food orders.
Couldn’t quite understand why they let us in here, or why we wanted to go in.
It’s basically a hotel bar, attached to what claims to be the oldest inn in
Colchester, and therefore the country, but I just hated it. Worst pint of the day, too.
Rather downbeat note to finish my round-up on, and I should stress that I
do genuinely like Colchester. Indeed, a lot of my family come from these parts, and I
recently found out that my great grandfather was a drayman at nearby Ridley’s
brewery, which goes some way to providing a genetic basis for why I adore the fine
products of this Chelmsford company. Another Essex based brewer whose products are worth
seeking out is Crouch Vale, by the way.
Once headed back to Liverpool Street, given that most pubs in the City
close at weekends (and indeed, tend to close early on Friday nights), your most sensible
drinking option will be the station Wetherspoon’s, the Hamilton Hall. This
might be one of the worst Wetherspoon’s, with a defiantly poor beer range. However,
in perspective, it’s probably one of the best station bars. Most are worse than this.
I am indebted to Colchester-based Claret
for providing further information on pubs near the ground. David says:
"Nearest pub to the ground is Drury Arms. AVOID -
entrance will be denied.
Second nearest is the Ancient Britain. As with most pubs
this side of Sheffield you will not drink an award winner, but nevertheless it is normally
very quiet on a Saturday lunchtime and sufficient in size. On street parking is available
and is less than half a mile from the ‘stadium’.
The only other pub within walking distance is the Huntsman,
which is a short distance from the Leather Bottle."
According to the map David sent me (which I don't have the wit to turn
into HTML, unfortunately), the Ancient Britain is on Iceni Way, which leads of Layer Road
south of the ground, with the Huntsman and the Leather Bottle further on if you go to the
end of Iceni Way and turn left. Now what could possibly go wrong?
Meanwhile, French-based Claret Andy Braid
seems to recollect the following town centre pubs from when he frequented these parts:
"The Castle, suprisingly next to the Castle at the
bottom of the High Street.
The Lamb, opposite McDonalds and Burger King on the High
Street.
The Market Tavern, a few doors down from the Lamb.
Fagin's Den, next to the wrong station. (Colchester
Town).
The Hole in the Wall, (follow the wall, when you find a
hole with a pub in it you're there).
Can't tell you if any of them sell real beer but they do all sell fizzy
lager, although I think The Hole in the Wall might have been more to your tastes."
So there you are: good beer, characterful pubs, some nice buildings and
Burnley even win here more than once in a blue moon. That’ll do, don’t you
think?
