The Three Tuns

By Jane Scoggins

It had been a long time since I had set foot in the Three Tuns. Years in fact, and what a transformation. A lot of the old features had been kept but it was now one of those trendy gastropubs. All pale greys, chrome, and discreet well placed lighting. I had to admit it did look good, but a bit of me thought it a bit of a shame that the old pub with its stained walls, dusty beams, and murky corners was lost in time together with my memories. I went to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic and a ham sandwich, and went to sit in the dimmest corner I could find and take it all in while waiting for my sandwich. The old open fireplace was still there but spruced up and with a log burner installed. The wonky floorboards had been replaced and the old tapestry style fabric on the chairs, benches and corner couches refurbished with a royal blue velvety fabric. I ran my hand over the seat and had to admit it did all look rather smart. I was on my way to visit my Mum’s sister Auntie May. She lived in the village. I had told her I would not need lunch and would arrive early afternoon. She was over eighty now and I didn't want her to be bothered with preparing a meal, so thought I would pop into the pub that had been my haunt back in the day. The pub had been closed for a few years and with no buyers offering to take it on it had taken a shrewd brewery eventually to buy it when they saw that two small housing estates on the other side of the village were being built. Auntie May had come to live in the village after her divorce when I was about seventeen. I was very fond of her. She was a lot of fun, in a way that my Mum was not. She was an art teacher and much more happy-go-lucky than my rather more straight-laced mother who worked in something corporate that I never really understood. I did love her and she loved me, but not in the cuddly carefree sort of way that Auntie May did.  So from my late teens, I visited her quite regularly at weekends. As I finished my gin and tonic I mused on the memory of my first alcoholic drink in a pub at aged 18. It had been right here at the Three Tuns with May. The bartender brought over my sandwich. As I tucked into it my eyes roved around the room and reminded me of all sorts of memories and encounters within these walls whenever I had visited. Auntie May would often come with me and I would meet some of her friends. Sometimes I would go by myself and chat to whoever was there. It was a very friendly pub and the same locals went there year after year. Surrounded by the blue velvet chair coverings prompted a memory of a girl I had once met there in the pub one evening when I was much younger. I remember it as I was visiting May on that occasion to tell her all about my new job. I was sitting in the corner, in fact, the same corner I was sitting in now and hadn't noticed in the gloom that a girl was sitting nearby. I smiled at her in surprise and she smiled back, and then we got talking. It was that sort of friendly pub where it was easy to start chatting to people around you. I told her I was visiting my Auntie May and introduced myself. She introduced herself as Amy.  She said her father had once been the landlord here. The reason I was prompted by the blue velvet to think of her was because over her maxi skirt she wore a long blue velvet coat very similar to the colour of the new seat cover, with pretty buttons down the front and at the cuffs. It was really beautiful. She had long wavy light brown hair that swung across her face from time to time. Every so often her hand would go up to push it aside and there would be a tinkle from the collection of thin Indian bracelets on her wrist as they jangled against each other. She was probably in her early twenties and her boho look reminded me of myself years earlier when I dressed like her and bought my clothes in Carnaby St and Camden market. I was quite taken by her.  During our conversation, I told her I had traveled quite a lot before settling down to a proper job. She said she had hoped to travel too but her situation had changed and she had not managed to get away, after all, she seemed sad so I didn't want to ask her any more about the circumstances in case it was something awful like her mother had died. I didn't feel I knew her well enough to ask, and selfishly I didn't want to dampen the enjoyable mood of the evening. She asked me about the places I had visited and the adventures I had had had traveling. I was happy to oblige and there had been quite a few to recount. Amy listened intently and said she wished she could do the same. She said that her father had refused to let her go and insisted he needed her to help out at the pub.  He got stressed about her leaving and sometimes drank too much. She said he had hidden her passport at one point. She had tried rebelling but it had ended badly.  I asked about her Mum. She said she had left her Dad when he began drinking too much. She had met someone else and moved out knowing that Amy was also planning to leave too and travel abroad. Of course, I tried to convince her to try again reminding her that she was of an age when she could make her own decisions and do as she pleased even if it meant going against her father. She did not reply and looked upset so I changed the subject. I was going home the next day but on the next couple of visits, I looked out for Amy but didn’t see her again. I hoped she had managed to get away on her travels. Time passed, I got married. I smiled to myself as I took one last look at the blue velvet upholstery and remembered the old-style pub of my younger days. When I got to Mays cottage I asked her if she had been to the new-look Three Tuns.

‘Occasionally, but not often, bit posh now isn't it, she said.

 And then she told me the story of the refurbishment and how it had taken so long because of the damp in the cellar and dry rot in the timbers. The cellar had been enormous and taken a while to clear, still had some of the old wooden casks, hence the name The Three Tuns. Apparently, in the very old days, they had brewed their own ale and spirits down there. Due to the damp conditions the water company had had to dig deep to renew pipes and in doing so had dug up bones. It had been in all the local papers as the bones were human. It took some time to identify the bones as that of Amy Parsons whose father had run the pub over 40 years ago He had been known to be a drinker and eventually he had been dismissed by the brewery and died a few years later. He left the pub in a poor condition and was closed as business had been poor. As far as everyone knew the daughter had gone off traveling or gone to live with her Mum. Apparently not though. She had been murdered and had lain there, maybe for 40 years, Beside the body were some little Indian bracelets and the remains of what could have been a passport. This would all have happened before May came to the village. Amy’s bones had since been buried in the churchyard. That afternoon I walked to the churchyard and looked for the little stone plaque set in the grass at the side of the church. It read Here lies Amy Parsons. May she rest In Peace now and forever.

There was no one about so I said aloud.

 ‘It was good to meet you Amy, even though you were a ghost. I am glad you were found and put here to rest in the churchyard. I'm sorry you never got to travel’

 Copyright Jane Scoggins