Message in a Bottle - Bacardi

Bottle sorting. A smelly, sticky way to spend a few hours on weekend mornings and probably the dirtiest job I ever did in our pub. Depending on which bars we’d had open, there would be two or three huge bottle-skips to wheel into the yard and empty the contents into the correct crates ready for returning to Schweppes, Britvic, Guinness and many more. The sweet smells of Cherry B, Babycham, Zing and Pepsi mingled with Pale Ale, Newcastle Brown and assorted lagers and ciders. Tomato juice was popular, as was pineapple. The bottles were tacky with dribbles and spills and I had to beware of the wasps. The last part of the job was swilling the skips out with the hose and not soaking myself in the process.  There was a message somewhere for me amongst those multi-coloured bottles.  Probably along the lines of ‘earn your ice-skating money’. I hated doing that job at the time, but I look back on it with fondness now. I used to wish I was eighteen and worked behind the bar. I was fifteen collecting glasses, emptying ashtrays and wiping tables, and if rowdy young men came in, I got sent away to do the washing up instead.

I’ve mentioned before that most of my family ran pubs. None of them could be described as anything more than an occasional drinker and never touched it when they were working. My father and my grandfather were of the opinion that having a taste for the ale can be the downfall of a landlord. They had acquaintances in the business that had a different opinion, and some customers needed a gentle word as they were guided towards the door. From quite a young age I was aware of the negative effects of alcohol, though not fully understanding the consequences until I was much older. I’ll never forget the important lesson I learned from Bacardi and Coke when I was too young to be drinking it. Some things just stay with you. There was certainly a message for me in that Bacardi bottle.

I have Victorian bottles in ornamental clusters. Collecting them started off as a hobby but didn’t get very far. My favourites, the blue 'poison' bottles, are hard to find so I think I gave up actively searching, though I like any and tend to buy them. If anyone has a blue, green or brown bottle embossed with ‘Boots Cash Chemists’ that they would like to re-home, I’m your person.

 

One Reason Why I Don’t Drink

 

Oh pour me another Bacardi

And top it right up with some coke

I’d better have ice and fresh lemon,

No pips, though, I don’t want to choke.

 

It takes me right back to Majorca,

When fourteen was really grown up

And Pedro, that sweet Spanish waiter,  

Brought me more Bacardi to sup.

 

I drank it until I felt funny

And something went wrong with my eyes

Walking was all of a wobble

Then being sick took me by surprise.

 

My dress was a sea of brown liquid

Warmed coke still bubbly and fizzy

And I was the worst ever mess,

Scratching the ground, feeling dizzy.

 

I don’t really want a Bacardi,

I don’t want to relive the pain.

I might have a Tia Maria

On the rocks, just now and again.

 

                              PMW 2017

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x 

 

 

 

 

 

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Games People Play

When I heard the announcement that Joe South had passed away, I felt personally bereaved. I remember the disbelief as I hurried to the radio at the end of my kitchen as if being in closer proximity to the source of information would change anything. It didn’t.

Joe South was an American songwriter and performer. His style has been described as country / soul. He wrote Lynn Anderson’s hit, ‘(I Never Promised You A) Rose Garden)’ but the song I hold him dear for is ‘Games People Play’. I couldn’t get enough of that guitar intro, so rich and deep, then repeating through the song. I wasn’t listening properly to the words, just singing along without paying attention. It was 1969 and I was waking up to the music of the time and developing my life-long love of the blues and progressive rock. ‘Games People Play’ I thought was very bluesy. It was the best thing on the juke-box in our public bar.

I was brought up in an assortment of pubs. My parents, grandparents and other family members were licensees. There was always music on, somewhere. I spent my childhood to mid- teens being drip-fed the ‘Hit Parade’ from juke-boxes, the wireless, as it was known, and my mother’s record collection. It’s a legacy I feel thankful and privileged for.  1969 was a year of significant changes for my family. Those memories are wrapped in the music, including ‘Games People Play’.

Fast-forward a few years. Living in a house instead of a pub felt weird, too quiet and too small. I was working in my first proper job, which didn’t involve washing glasses or filling shelves with Britvic or Schweppes bottles. Sunday afternoons were for lazing around, listening to the Dave Lee Travis request show on Radio 1. He played good stuff. I decided to join in, so using a Parker fountain pen filled with turquoise ink and bright orange paper and envelope, (this is the early ‘70s), I wrote a letter to DLT requesting ‘Games People Play’ and was thrilled when he gave me a mention and played the record. My name on the radio! It was like being famous. My favourite DJ played one of my favourite songs for me. What a shame there was only me to hear it and no ‘listen again’ facility in those days. It was a memorable, special moment, none the less.

That guitar riff still stops me in my tracks and takes me straight back to those happy days. I’ve learnt to understand the poetry of the lyrics and when news of his death came through in September, 2012, I cried.
 

With thanks to Joe South, for what his song means to me.

Games People Play

Oh the games people play now

Every night and every day now

Never meaning what they say now

Never saying what they mean

While they wile away the hours

In their ivory towers

Till they’re covered up with flowers

In the back of a black limousine

Chorus

La da da da da da da

La da da da da da de

Talking ‘bout you and me

And the games people play

Oh we make one another cry

Break a heart then we say goodbye

Cross our hearts and we hope to die

That the other was to blame

But neither one ever will give in

So we gaze at an eight by ten

Thinking ‘bout the things that might have been

And it’s a dirty rotten shame

Chorus

People walking up to you

Singing glory hallelujah

And they try to sock it to you

In the name of the Lord

They’re gonna teach you how to meditate

Read your horoscope, cheat your fate

And further more to hell with hate

Come on and get on board

Chorus

Look around tell me what you see

What’s happening to you and me

God grant me the serenity

To remember who I am

‘Cos you’ve given up your sanity

For your pride and your vanity

Turned your back on humanity

And you don’t give a da da da da da

Chorus

Joe South, 1940 - 2012

Thanks for reading - Pamela Winning

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