The Trans-Pennine Ale Trail

Britain may no longer rule the world but it is safe to say that Britain did go about inventing most of it. Not just the obvious stuff either, you know, rule of law, parliamentary democracy, gunboat diplomacy, cricket. Britain also invented railways, the jet engine, the pub, concentration camps, ale, the deep fried Mars bar and the myth of Welsh nationalism. All of which came about by taking something which already existed and making it actually work well – or in the case of the Mars bar, turning it into a precision guided killing machine. In batter. I mean, the ancient Greeks invented the steam engine but it took a slightly odd Cornishman and the allure of obscene amounts of money to make it actually do anything worthwhile.

As to this, allow me to return to this site's new apparent purpose; ale. Bit of a misnomer at the top of the page, but let's ignore that. Right. As I was saying about British inventions, they're all built on previous ideas made better. And what's better than taking a bunch of good ideas and mashing them together? Thermodynamics says you can never get out more than you put in but, in this case, frankly, I disagree. Take four of the best things to come out of Britain – trains, pubs, ale (obviously), and architecture. Architecture? I hear you cry, but this is the country that glorified Brutalism! To which I say, basically, shut up. Add to this mix the beauty of the Pennines and, with a stroke of maniacal genius, you have just invented the Trans-Pennine Ale Trail.

Running through the northern reaches of the Peaks from Manchester in the west through to the outer environs of Leeds in the east the trail comprises most of the stations between Stalybridge and Dewsbury. Charmingly, most of the pubs and bars in question are actually within the stations themselves. This is a throwback to a bygone age of rail travel, where most of the larger stations would have had a general tea-room which occasionally served something a little stronger. Now, with the exception of the detestable franchises selling unrecognisable styrofoam cups of grey, scummy liquid, upsettingly few remain. Those that do are often in some of the most ostentatious Victorian stations; most of which are located in the northern counties where new industrial money produced some truly remarkable examples of architecture.

First, the Dewsbury, at the easternmost end of the trail, is a town located about halfway between Hudderfield and Leeds. Here, nestled below the typical wrought iron gridding, is a pleasant bar of time-darkened wood named the West Riding Refreshment Rooms. The beer here appears to tend towards heavy, full headed varieties, which I wasn't quite sure we'd be able to cope with. This concern was not helped when two pints of white foam were deposited before our slightly concerned eyes. Given time and patience these coalesced into a surprisingly clear and light pint, perfect to take the remaining sharp edges off a hangover. However Dewsbury is not a place where one can spend a day; the bar is fairly small, chaotic and perpetually crowded, and so on to Huddersfield.

'Uddersfield, as the man on the train called it, proved to be a revelation. I was expecting a slightly decayed post-industrial town (shameful southern bias, I'm afraid). In contrast I found a huge station of pale stone, which opened up onto a similarly large esplanade of very impressive civic buildings. I mean, the one opposite the facade of Doric-columned stone which forms the station's entrance had a very large reclining Brittania placed on its roof. Its neighbour settling for the slightly less showy but always classic lions. The better of the two bars in this station is the Head of Steam, a slightly incongrously '50's diner-themed bar divided into four sections; in principle for dining and accommodating children and the like. The beer here is impressively varied in character and locality, with ciders being fairly well represented in addition. Having been amused by the name I settled in to a good few, very pleasant, pints of Copper Dragon, which I would recommend to all and sundry. My compatriot, clearly possessed of a more varied palate, sampled far more widely – even venturing so far as to try a beer from South Yorkshire.

And then...

Well, and then we went home. This is the inherent flaw of the Ale Trail; there are nine stops. Train services, while regular, and not as often as would be ideal and so it is very difficult to do all nine stops (or even more than two) in a given day unless you are starting in Manchester or Leeds. The train times/opening hours/point at which the sun has crossed the yardarm get into a bit of a snare otherwise. Starting late, with a hangover, was probably not the best approach to take. We do apologise.

Perhaps the most difficult part of the day was the slightly arduous journey back to the the relatively tame southern Peaks from the wilds of the Pennines, which caused some complaints. It is apparently very difficult to get around in the north. Not sure I agree. I mean, we managed to cover nearly two hundred hungover and drunken miles with fairly little fuss, confusion or tears. By contrast the very next day I managed to get in a bit of a muddle over the three stations in West Hampstead and, let's face it, that's just a road, a few houses and some grass. For all their complaining these northern jessies don't even know they're born.

James