THE PARTYNICE GUIDE TO PONTEFRACT

Sir John Betjeman described Pontefract thus, 'The light and dangling licorice flowers / Gave off the sweetest smells; / From various black Victorian towers / The Sunday evening bells / Came pealing over dales and hills / And tanneries and silent mills / And lowly streets where country stops / And little shuttered corner shops.'

The tanneries, mills and shuttered corner shops have since been replaced by, well, public houses, mainly. So much so, in fact, that it is believed that the town now has the highest concentration of pubs in the whole of the UK. We sent Vincent Krasauskas to investigate.

Pontefract.

“What a nice town. I think I’ll name it Pontefract, after that broken bridge we found on our way here. It’s Latin, you know.”

William the Conqueror might have said this after his acquisition of England. When the Normans started re-naming everything in sight after their victory in 1066, they left the townspeople of Pontefract with a rather misleading name. The “broken bridge” which supplies its name is actually closer to nearby Castleford. As if that weren’t confusing enough, the “castle” referred to in Castleford is actually back in Pontefract! This must be how the Normans managed to defend their newly won land for so long; their enemies couldn’t find the bloody place in order to try and take it.

“Men! We must go to Castleford and attack said castle!”

“But sir, the castle is in Pontefract!”

“I thought that’s where the broken bridge was?”

“No, that’s in Castleford!”

“Oh sod it, let’s just go home!”

Pontefract is allegedly featured in William’s Domesday Book. What actually featured in Domesday was just a small part of Pontefract that is now called Tanshelf, which contains a college, a train station and not much else. No tans, no shelves. Imagine if people thought your entire hometown was made up of two cows, a mud hut and a fence to surround them. That’s just how offended the townspeople were back then, though in those days if you owned two cows you’d have been Ye Olde Bill Gates. Of course, being born and brought up in Pontefract offers me some natural insight into the way the town operates. Trying to see it through a fresh pair of eyes requires a fresh way of thinking. And a surgeon.

First of all, the town’s varied claims to fame. The aforementioned castle is located in the south-east of the town, five minutes’ walk away from an all-night garage, which will have provided invaders with much-needed petrol and Mars bars all those years ago. It was built in around 1070 (the castle, not the petrol station), by Ilbert de Lacy, a knight who had been granted the land by King William I as a reward for his efforts during the Norman conquests.

The castle is mostly in ruins now. It was knocked down at the end of the English Civil War due to a petition from frightened townsfolk. Following three separate sieges by the Parliamentarians, they believed that had action not been taken, the castle would have been attacked at regular periods. Oliver Cromwell agreed with their views, seeing any stronghold within his country as too risky to maintain for fear of another uprising. The paranoid git. The castle was home at some stage or another to many monarchs, though sometimes at someone else’s pleasure. Richard II was incarcerated at the turn of the 15th century, as all you Shakespeare buffs know. Local heritage groups now offer guided tours, and the castle is open to the public on most days, complete with overpriced souvenir shop. A popular attraction occurs on Halloween when ghost-walks and tours of the dungeon are offered. Personally I have never undertaken such expeditions due to fear of boredom. Maybe when Derek Acorah turns up to shout at his assistants in a ghoulish voice, I’ll nip down.

Pontefract’s other major historical attraction is its liquorice fields. Due to the town possessing some of the crumbliest, flakiest soil outside of Bourneville, Pontefract was one of the few growers of liquorice in all of Europe. This trade has carried on down the years, to the point where two sweet factories operate in the town; Haribo, located in the Tanshelf area (apparently, kids and grown ups love it so), and Trebor Bassett in the Monkhill region. During my ill-advised gap year, I was employed by Bertie Bassett himself (the interview was quite surreal) to help out in the factory. The placement lasted only two months, and I was only too happy to leave the place where I had become forever known as “The Slow Agency Kid”, because I had not yet acquired the ninja-speed packing skills that some of the life-timers there are so adept with. Eating the products may be fun and tasty, but producing them is a different matter. (Oh, and Trebor Bassett burned down a couple of years ago. As Mr Loverman himself, Shaggy, would proclaim, it wasn’t me.)

If it’s leisurely activities you’re looking for, Pontefract is…well, not really the place. A swimming pool can be found in the town centre; to find it just follow the school bus and codgers. The park boasts tennis courts, football pitches, and not one single ray of sunshine in which to make either of these things tolerable. Summer time brings families and gangs of disowned youths to these parts, making relaxing impossible and sporting pursuits difficult to accomplish, what with all the hyperactive toddlers running around. A safer bet for a fun time can be found just down the main road out of Pontefract, and into the middle ground between here and Castleford that is known as Glasshoughton.

The Xscape and Junction 32 complexes provide an excellent mix of shopping delight and entertainment. Xscape comes complete with indoor ski slope, family restaurants, bars, a bowling alley and a multiplex cinema. However, don't be taken in by the costs; a three-course meal for four at Frankie and Benny's costs roughly the same as several years of intensive private education for your smallest child. Personally I’d stick with the Burger King.

Back to Pontefract, then, and more shopportunities. The biggest supermarket is Tesco’s, an establishment that caters for the reluctant shopper. Items are placed conveniently so you can just bang them in a bag and pay before speeding home. Tesco’s also provides the distinct advantage of having front and rear entrances, placed near the bus station and the actual hub of the town respectively. It’s so handy to cut through there under the pretence of fancying a sandwich, but announcing loudly “I think I’ll have a KFC instead” so as not to arouse suspicion of your cheeky ways, and leaving through the other entrance.

There is an excellent selection of shops within the town centre, and big-name branches such as WH Smiths and Boots all along the same street. The main street hosts a market on Wednesdays and Saturdays, with people coming from as far as the other Four Towns of the district to peddle their wares. One thing learned about Pontefract market from personal experience is not to shout “do one!” and make to run away while holding items that have not been paid for, even if you were only kidding.

And so, to Pontefract’s most populated: the public houses. Apparently Pontefract possesses the most pubs per square mile in the country, each of which can accommodate most tastes. Watching the football on TV? The Tap and Barrel’s your place. Sunday lunch? The Highwayman is just down the street. A quiet drink? The Liquorice Bush will suit your needs, especially with its surplus of crazy old men being the reason the place is quiet; driving out all custom with their mental ways. The Counting House is the oldest pub in the town, its name deriving from an old King of England who used this location to count his money. This pub is ideal if you want to catch a gig on a Tuesday night, and just as ideal if you want to find the one place to blame for low GCSE test scores. If it’s a party you’re looking for, then the best recommendations would be to mix and match your own combinations of pubs. If you pick the right places and manage to dodge the trouble-making scallies (in which case my advice is to avoid the Big Fellas nightclub at all costs) then you should have all the makings of a great night out. Or alternatively, you could bus it to Leeds.

So this is Pontefract. Not the most lively town, but certainly steeped in enough history to retain one’s interest. The bloodshed is not just limited to the old days either, as anyone out on a Saturday night will attest to.

WORDS BY VINCENT KRASAUSKAS, PHOTOGRAPHS COURTESY OF WIKIPEDIA