life is a journey

Things ticked over at the Swordfish as they always had done. There were other incidents of people hearing their names called out but no-one around and many occasions when the manhole cover was “walked” upon by unseen feet.

Sue, the landlady, casually threw into the conversation one day that she had been awoken late one night in their apartment above the pub to find an old lady standing in the corner of the room. No sooner had Sue sat up and switched on the light than the apparition disappeared. Apparently, this lady turned up on more than one occasion, giving Sue cause to have a few sleepless nights. No-one knew who she was or what connection she had with the pub.

Being close to Portsmouth, there were inevitably links with the Royal Navy as well as the Royal Air Force and hanging at the bottom of the stairs leading to the upstairs function room (the same stairs where I had heard the loud footsteps) was an old oil painting of Lord Nelson. Now this painting was extremely eerie, no-one liked it nor could anyone put their finger on why not! It was mainly the eyes – they stared out from the picture and no matter which way you went, they stared straight at you. They made you feel extremely uncomfortable and many a time we longed to take it off the wall but there was a tale attached to the painting, that it shouldn’t be removed from the wall or ill luck would befall you. Who knows where this tale began or by whom, but needless to say, the painting stayed put until the day the pub closed. Even when the lights were out, those eyes still stared right out of the frame into your soul …

One of the saddest events which took place at the pub was the death of our young chef. In her 30′s, she had been very ill and finally passed away late one summer. My husband and I had known her for quite a while and we were actually abroad when Sue phoned us to let us know about her death. The chef, who I’ll call Mandy, had worked at The Swordfish for many years and on the day of her funeral, every single member of staff turned out to say their goodbyes to her. Before we all left for the crematorium, we held a private ceremony around one of the huge pine trees which stood in the pub grounds, overlooking the beach. Each of us had written a note to Mandy and tied it to a single white rosebud. Stepping up to the tree, we each then placed the flower around the trunk before Alan said a few very emotional words. For some of the very young members of staff, this was their first experience of death and they were clearly upset and had to be comforted throughout the day.

The cremation over, we all returned to the pub for the wake and spent the rest of the afternoon reminiscing about Mandy before the pub was opened again for the evening trade. Needless to say, everyone’s spirits were extremely low but the public had to be catered for, so we went into autopilot.

A few days’ later, my husband was helping Alan out in the bar; he walked past the infamous stairs and directly below the painting of Nelson, he saw Mandy sat, in her chef’s get-up of checked trousers and lime green tunic and hat, which she loved. She had often sat on that very spot during her breaks – she had no ruck with the tales about the painting! Before he even had time to take in what he was seeing, he called out “Morning Mandy!” then realised what was happening. Turning, she had gone but for the rest of the day, the atmosphere was different in the dining/kitchen area – it had lightened and you could sense that something special had taken place there. My husband and Mandy had got on well – she could be a typical chef when she wanted and could be very cutting when under stress but hubby could always make her laugh. For the rest of that day, staff members kept hovering around the bottom of the stairs, just hoping that their friend would make another appearance but to no avail.

Some months’ later, the pub was sold – the land on which it stood was prime development land, ripe for new housing as is the way. That meant, of course, that everyone was made redundant. It was an upsetting time, not just for the fact that we no longer had jobs but because there was such a family atmosphere there; people had worked together for many years, strong friendships had been forged. My husband I had become very close to Alan and Sue and we had gone to Tenerife every November with them to relax before the punishing December schedule of Christmas functions began. Clearing out the pub was a major event, especially as it was also a home but eventually it was done and dusted. The doors were locked for the last time and we said goodbye to a huge part of our lives. Each member of staff took some small momento of the old place; mine, a piece of stained glass from inside the bar is displayed in our conservatory and my husband’s, a Naval plaque, is in his office. Looking at these reminds us of the great times we shared with our friends and colleagues, times which can never be duplicated.

Not a month later, the pub caught fire and burnt almost to the ground. Arson was suspected but could never be proved. The remains of the building were demolished over the course of the summer and new, expensive apartments were built where once we had enjoyed a happy working environment. Srangley enough, many of the trees which grew around the pub were cut down – but Mandy’s tree, as it came to be known to us all, still remains untouched today,exactly as it was.

Not much is known about the history of The Swordfish before it was a pub. Apparently, it was once used for recuperating RAF service men (hence the ghostly visitor we saw in the bar), it was an hotel and then the pub. Trying to source information on its history has been difficult to say the least and certainly no photographs have come to light that I can lay my hands on.

As I said before, the land was sold off and numerous expensive apartments built on the site. Those of us who still remember the old days of The Swordfish’s glory can’t help wondering whether the inhabitants of those luxury residences hear or see things which may cause their hearts to beat a little faster. After all, just because you demolish bricks and mortar, doesn’t mean you destroy the living entities which chose to make The Swordfish their home …..