The Plump Duck has had something of a checkered history since it opened in 1737. Some say that the smallpox outbreak that its opening coincided with was a bad omen. Some say it was the landlady’s meat pies that started it in the first place. Regardless, it became what George Herbert, famous poet and rector of Bemerton church referred to as ‘a wretched hive of villainy and scum’ (even though he died 103 years before it opened).
But some say its nefarious and indecent history actually extends back further to 1644 when it was originally called ‘The Witchfinder General’ after Matthew Hopkin took rooms there and ate a fine repast before hanging three of the local wenches for ‘bewitchment’ and ‘not putting out.’
One theory is that its present name is derived from the Witchfinder’s practise of ‘ducking’ and that this more wholesome image was agreed on when it began its official trade in the eighteenth century.
A den for tinkers, gypsies and ne’er-do-wells some remnants of its previous clientele can be found in the Terrace – horseshoes affixed to brick fascia still denoting the days when the street would be littered with the heather-toting residents singing the filthy songs of their fathers.
After a bloody fight between the regulars of ‘The Plumpe’ and the sheperds of The Wheatsheaf erupted after a dispute over knife sharpening it was condemned and boarded up at the end of the eighteenth century and left to rot. Years later Sidney, the 14th Earl of Pembroke came to the rescue of the local carpet factory, building houses for its workers and foremen on the site. The Plump Duck opened for business again to keep the workers refreshed. Under the management of the factory foreman (Tim Meldrew) times were hard and it had competition from a new pub (The Six Bells) that had opened on the other side of the Terrace not ten feet away.
A particular bone of contention was the fact that The Six Bells had secured the finest caterer of the district and the pies in The Plump Duck were still no better than the ones that had been sold all those years earlier (and were probably, in fact, the same ones).
Today the Plump Duck has been renovated - the impressive new bar lovingly built from finest timber by master craftsman Columbus R Parker. It is now an exclusive private members club run by Landlord and Landlady Richard and Anne-Marie. It has a main bar, a cosy fireside snug, a beer garden with a duck pond and ludicrously impractical carpets. Sports talk is forbidden, fine ales are served, pickled eggs are outrageously priced but it still retains the tradition of serving the local gypsies.
Just be careful when you stagger home though or you might tumble and get a ducking in the Wyle…
(Watch that space - the slideshow to your right will soon feature our regular members in a variety of ignominious circumstances)
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