It’s amazing how sometimes we don’t notice the things that are right under our noses. My sister’s recent death, shortly before her 50th birthday, has sent me into a spiral of reflection on her life. I’ve realised that she shaped my worldview much more significantly than I had ever credited when she was alive.
She had an incredible mind. Exceptional. Her natural gifts meant that she displayed an aptitude for everything she turned her hand to. She could achieve anything, with remarkably little effort. At least, that’s how it felt to those of us growing up in her shadow, who had to work steadfastly and diligently for our own meagre accomplishments.
The possibilities for her life were endless. Would she be an engineer? A classical musician? A politician? The only limit was her imagination, it seemed, when she finished her GCSEs.
But with such boundless potential comes a shrewd understanding of one's own self-determination. My sister, frankly, dismayed all observers by not doing what was expected, but doing what she wanted.
Leaving the family home at 16, she went from a Saturday job on a market jewellery stall into bar work to support her new life in a bedsit. Before long, or so it seems in my memory, she was managing her own pub. She spent almost all of her working life behind one bar or another.
Her no-nonsense personality suited her perfectly to the trade. I think that this biker and heavy-metal fan could reasonably be described as formidable – and she could easily handle even the rowdiest customer. Yet her many years of dedicated charity and community work through her pubs show a softer side, one that won her a place in the hearts of all she came into contact with.
And only now that she’s gone do I realise that my sister is, for me, the archetypal publican. Whenever I write about pubs, I have noticed that I display a fondness for those landlords whose brusque exterior barely cloaks a genuine dedication to, and love for, their beer, their community and their regulars. It’s our Vic that makes me think they are the best landlords.
Of course, a woman of such limitless prospects “throwing her future away” in pubs was a bitter pill for many in the family to swallow. It’s probably at least part of the reason that she chose not to have very much to do with her relatives for much of her life. And, looking back, those careless attitudes towards hospitality make me particularly sad.
I have the privilege of also living a professional life that gravitates around the pub. What I see is a skilled trade. Publicans have so many roles to play that go far beyond pulling pints and cashing up. They are (usually) skilled in cellar management, they are called upon as mediators and confidants. Quite often, they are keepers of our precious built heritage and all of them are custodians of our unique and valuable pub culture. That’s not even beginning to unpick the complex everyday grind of running a business against a complex socio-economic background.
I don’t see that choosing to manage pubs for a living is a waste of potential. I understand that it can offer an enjoyable and fulfilling career that brings with it a commendable amount of social good. I also recognise that it is not an easy way out. It’s a stressful job with a huge amount of uncertainty, unsociable hours (ironically) and little respite. We are not necessarily defined as people by our work, but it often feels like being an exemplary publican is more of a calling than a job.
I’m proud of what my sister achieved in the pubs she called home. Her job and her life had value.
She was certainly dedicated to doing things properly. I still laugh that she once ratted me out to our parents for visiting her pub on the sly when an under-16s disco I was intending to attend was unexpectedly cancelled. I was pretty livid at the time, but what I didn’t know then was that I was putting her licence at risk and she was “doing the right thing”. Although I also suspect that she didn’t like the idea of her youngest sibling having far more freedom than she had enjoyed at the same age, so there was a touch of petulance in her actions.
I raise my glass to everyone in the hospitality industry. I believe your work has real, tangible value and I thank you for taking it on, even the really messy bits that demand a significant application of blue roll. I hope, in turn, you’ll raise a glass to my big sister, Vicki. One of your own, gone too soon.
