Wrexham always used to be the answer to two
perennial pub quiz posers. One was about clubs with the letter X in their names, a much
known and loved question which Halifax have worked hard to restore, but the second was
this: which league ground is owned by a brewery? The ground in question was indeed the
Racecourse Ground, and just to snare the attention of the Clarets faithful, the Marston's
pub the ground was attached to had the splendid name of the Turf.
I don't know if this situation has changed. While the Turf still
stands, and Burnley supporters are as unlikely to get past the doormen as ever (I've never
been inside and have stopped even trying these days), the decrepit remains of a demolished
stand that surrounded it for as long as anyone can remember are finally gone, replaced by
a shiny and new odd curving structure, a stand with a hat on. You will walk past this, and
the Turf, on your way to the away end if you travel via Wrexham General railway station
(Wrexham’s other station, Central, is further away). The away end is about ten
minutes walk from General, or a five minute sprint if you require the five to five train
for an early jaunt back to Chester. Possible, if not comfortable.
Apart from the Turf, drinking options close to the ground are slender.
Wrexham sources indicate that the next nearest pub to the away end is the Plas Coch,
although I can't vouch for it.
In general, although there are worse towns, you’ll need to do a
little work to seek out the best pubs. This is north Wales, and the pub scene here is
dominated by large scale English brewers and generic pubs selling standard products.
Somehow, because you’re in what purports to be a different country, you expect local
colour, exotica, something new, but you don’t particularly get it here.
Wrexham at least used to be unique for its German-style lager brewery,
Wrexham Lager having first been brewed to serve a local German immigrant population.
Miraculously, this rare institution survived years after the Germans had downed tools and
left. However, it was owned by a major brewery and major breweries are run by accountants
who can never ultimately resist the macho satisfaction derived from closing things down.
The brewery accordingly went the way of all sentimental things. A facsimile of the product
is still available, although Lancashire visitors who sample it may find themselves closer
to home than they imagine; Thwaites of Blackburn now produce it.
Not that I drink lager anyway. In terms of proper beer, you’re
guaranteed access to plenty of Marston’s, which has a fair number of pubs in the town
as a consequence of their mid-80s takeover of the Border Brewery, and, if you’re
lucky, the odd pint from a Manchester brewery. Things could be worse. Although their
Pedigree is an overrated pint, Marston’s as a whole isn’t bad, and if these days
it’s been swallowed in turn by the large regional Banks’s, it’s still
better than completely mainstream slop. That is, however, assuming you can get into the
pubs to drink the stuff. This hasn’t necessarily proved easy before. While no
Cardiff, this is still a town with a few yobs, and of course we have our own following in
that line, and this is one of the few occasions of the year when we laughably attempt to
represent not just ourselves but ‘England’ vs Wales. A lot of the town centre
pubs put discretion first. This doesn’t mean it’s impossible to get a drink, and
small groups, lowered voices and no colours will probably open (back) doors for you.
If you’re very lucky you might find a pint of Plassey, which is
brewed around these parts. One travels in hope.
Serious drinkers will probably look to the nearby and fine city of
Chester for a fuller day out. Chester and Wrexham are but a short distance apart, as
evidenced by a healthy rivalry, although of course Wrexham has long had the upper hand on
the football pitch, if not in the pub. Many Chester pubs are tourist-led and not
particularly enjoyable, but there is decent beer on offer for a price and one or two
backstreet locals are worth a look. An obvious pre-match option, you might therefore
think. However, you reckon without the worst efforts of one of Britain’s patchiest
train services. There is but one train every two hours that travels the handful of miles
from Chester to Wrexham on a Saturday. And they’re badly timed. The 11.30 gives you
no time in Chester and too much in Wrexham. The 13.30 leaves you vice-versa, and is to
boot always full of Burnley yobs.
Wrexham is Wrecsam when rendered into Welsh, (thereby rendering the
famous X question mistaken, it just occurred to me), and you’ll see both in use,
although apart from some pleasant street names, I don’t believe there is that much
Welsh spoken in this part of the principality, as opposed to, say, north west Wales. This
is as much a hotbed for the merchandising operation of manu as anywhere else. Indeed, on
last visit (March 2000) I saw people wearing manu shirts coming out of the game, along
with people trying to find out the Liverpool score. At least Burnley aren’t really a
second club.
Still my favourite pub in Wrexham is the Albion (Pen-y-Bryn). Am
I the only one who thinks that it’s an odd name for a pub in Wales? This is a classic
stripped-down boozer of a vanishing kind, a seen-better-days Victorian hotel, large,
basic, foodless but pretty welcoming, and a long-standing entry in the holy CAMRA Good
Beer Guides. Indeed, it’s Wrexham’s only entry in the current guide. On our
March 2000 visit it seems to have been given a lick of paint, and is less dingy than I
remember. On the jukebox too, Lord Rockingham’s XI and their seminal waxing
‘Hoots Mon’ has tragically been axed, although that other foreign language
classic, ‘Je ne regrette rien’ by Edith Piaff has thankfully been retained.
Perfect for encouraging that mood of melancholia. The beer remains very drinkable, and is
the only Lee’s to be had for miles around. Not near the ground, unsurprisingly
enough. You need to turn into Hill Street – there’s always a hill – and
head back towards the station.
A nearer option is the predictable Wetherspoon’s. The Elihu
Yale on Regent Street has been open since December 1998 and boasts absolutely standard
Wetherspoon’s decor. This is about ten minutes down from General Station, walking in
the opposite direction to the ground. It's busy before and afterwards, but then
Wetherspoon's always are, and the bouncers seemed pretty laidback on our March 2000 visit.
I suspect they look out for away shirts, but otherwise you should be okay. An excellent
pint of Cain's Dark Mild was on offer for £1.20 as part of a good range, and can you say
fairer that that? This will also be your best bet for pre-match eating.
There are other pubs around town, but nothing outstanding. Despite
numerous visits to Wrexham in the past, the memory is a complete blank, so I trawled
through a pile of old Good Beer Guides. I must have been in most of the following, but if
anything was that good I’m sure it would stick in the mind. There seems to have been
a high turnover of listed pubs, almost as though they were trying them out to make the
numbers up.
So here goes. The Railway, up past the ground on Railway Street,
promises Banks's and Marston's. The Black Horse on Yorke Street is yet another
Marston's house, which sounds like a bit of a kid's pub, reading the description, as does
the Golden Lion on the High Street, while the Seven Stars on Chester Street
just sounds bog-standard. Going back further, a ten year old book on ‘the Best Pubs
in North Wales’ which I won in a raffle also puts forward the Horse and Jockey,
Hope Street and the Nag’s Head on Mount Street. The former is apparently
thatched and sells Tetley. The latter is a Marston’s pub which I have a feeling we
had some trouble getting into and then found a bit genteel for our tastes a few seasons
ago, if it’s the one I’m thinking of. Interestingly, this book contends that,
"there are more bad pubs per square mile in North Wales than almost anywhere else in
Britain."
If these seem like pretty slender rations, another option is to go to
one of the surrounding villages. In March 2000 we called in at the Black Lion (y
Ddol), in Bersham, close to Bersham Industrial Heritage Centre (cab from round the corner
of the Wetherspoon’s). We were very glad we did so. This is an excellent country pub
in a very picturesque spot, down a dip in the road and with a beer garden close to the
river. What a splendid place this would be to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon. As it was, it
was Saturday afternoon, and we were cramming three top class pints of Hyde’s (of
Manchester) into an hour. One always suspects that these middle of nowhere places will
react adversely to a couple of car loads of football fans turning up uninvited, but
nothing could be further from the truth. We were made very welcome and the locals seemed
keen to work out why Burnley supporters from London were drinking in a rural Welsh pub. No
food (but ‘if you’d told us you were coming we’d have made some
sandwiches’) and another terrible jukebox, plus a separate pool room. This is a
complete vindication of the Good Beer Guide. You don’t just stumble across these
places. I managed to blag a lift back into Wrexham – although I’m reliably
informed it’s a 25 minute country walk – leaving the rest to wait for the cab
we’d booked. Which never turned up. It was 1.30, and four of our lot were stranded in
the middle of nowhere. At this point, the landlord got his van, told them to hop in and
drove them on to the next pub, refusing all offer of payment. Truly, this was service
beyond the call of duty. We might just go there again.
Those with a weekend to spare will probably spend it in Chester
(perhaps taking in the Albion, the Boot, the Talbot and the Union
Vaults), although going West to proper Wales, perhaps to the coast around Porthmadog
or the walled town of Conwy, has some appeal.
The away end is now all-seater, with the little terrace that they used
to have at the front of the stand now seated, although this bit is still fenced off from
the much larger upper tier. Previous games have seen fairly chaotic scenes as more
supporters than there are seats have been admitted, and even when all-ticket in March 2000
they somehow conspired to produce quite long queues to get in. Still, this is frequently a
happy hunting ground for the Clarets, there are worst places and it’s only once a
season.
