PUB OF THE MONTH
I’ve come from. As my beer arrives one
of the men from outside comes in.
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I put the glass down and begin to
head out.
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laughs, everyone laughs and I sit down.
The smiling fella behind the bar
is Mark, ́0DUN,VOHV,·PWKH&RPPDQGHU
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In 2014, Mark’s mother-in-law, who’d
owned the Royal for about seven years
decided she’d had enough but didn't
want to risk selling the place to someone
who’d not look after it.
So Mark and his partner Marissa
stepped up and took over as managers
and, well, ́,·PORYLQ·LWDEVROXWHO\ORYLQ·LWμ
And how’re the locals accepting them?
I swing to Jim at the bar.
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More laughter from Mark and another
group who’ve just come in from the
smoking tables.
I leave the bar for a bit of a wander.
On the back wall is a selection of
portraits of people and on the side wall,
a laminated plaque with a photo of the
pub and a poem by bush poet, Bob
Skelton from down Newcastle way.
Bob tells me later that he stayed at
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some work with Alf and liked the puband the town so much he
wrote the poem.
The second last verse
mentions, ́¶&KHU\OWKH)HUDO·
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Mark, asking who she is.
The place erupts.
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There’s another poem on the
wall, ‘Cactus Ryan’s Bicycle’
which begins with, ́7ZDV
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bottom features a bloke on a
bike with a South Sydney Flag.
Strange: the beers that Mark’s
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And the portraits?
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They’re the work of Phillipa, an artist
based in Nimbin but with a very good
mate in town. When she comes to
visit, she takes photos of the people
interested and then paints the works
back home on the north coast and sends
them back.
Pretty much everyone at the pub this
afternoon has a portrait on the wall. I
ask the Commander what happens if
anyone gets barred from the pub.́$KZH·GMXVWSXWWKHSDLQWLQJLQWKHQDXJKW\
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I head back to my pew next to Jim. Jim’s
80 – he started shearing when he was
fourteen and gave it away three years
ago. Shore all over NSW, it was the only
life he knew.
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