carolyn harris

I probably started going in there about 1978, and worked there for a spell in 1981. I was Carol Burns then.  I turned eighteen in December and I started work in January. It didn't go down very well with my mum and dad, but I needed some money. 

I remember walking in on the first night. It was a week night so it was quite quiet early on.  And when I went behind the bar, before he showed me how to use the till or how to pull a pint or anything, Mick (the bar manager) pulled this box out from underneath it. There was a baseball bat and a couple of other weapons and he said If any trouble starts this is here. I thought Oh my God, what have I let myself in for? Never had to use them. 

At the time I'd just turned eighteen, and I worked there every Friday and Saturday. I'd get in there at the start of my shift, put a pound in the jukebox and choose a load of songs that I wanted on so I knew they would play during the evening. On a Saturday night when the place was heaving and there were loads of people there it was a really good atmosphere. I was in my local, and all my friends were coming in, and if there was anything going on later on a Friday or a Saturday we'd meet in Queen Square and go, back to somebody's house or to the Laff or whatever.

There was a blanket ban on the Angels at the time from all M&B pubs. On my first night there Mick said to me Under no circumstances are you to serve any of the Angels, and if you do you'll lose your job. But every time Jimmy and some of the others came in, Mick would disappear off to the flat upstairs, leaving the young bar staff to deal with the Angels. They'd come to the bar and ask for a pint and you'd say I'm sorry, I can't serve you. You'd expect trouble and they'd go Alright! And they'd just walk over to a table and pick somebody else's pint up and stand there drinking it. What could you do? 

One night, me and Helen Stack – who used to work in the Giffard at the time – were in the Laff, and Jimmy came in. He spotted us, and he came over and made some comment about both of us refusing to serve him in the pubs that we worked in. We were both Oh my God. What's going to happen? And he just said Do you want a drink, girls? You never knew which way it was going to go, did you?

There was so many people underage there and it was just this central meeting place for lots of people. Perhaps a little bit rebellious and like-minded, who liked the same the sort of music. It was amazing. A good night in the Tavern was amazing, I've never known anything like it since.

Because we always met in Queen Square, we'd see how many people we could get in the phone box. We did this two or three times. You'd squeeze everybody in. People'd be scrunched down the bottom and you'd squeeze in as many as you could, and somebody'd be on the outside to close the door. Once when we were all in there, whoever was shutting the door from the outside ran off and left us. We were all stuck there, and then this police car drove onto the square and one of them came and knocked on the door. We all got out sheepishly and walked off.

I don't know whether anybody's told you about the ladies' loos? Those toilets were a mess. They were quite legendary. You went up the stairs, there were two cubicles and a queue.  Sometimes there was a queue coming all down the stairs.  Someone – and I don't know who and I don't know when, but it seemed to be always there – had written a song on the wall. You know the song Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend?

It was Durex Are A Girl's Best Friend. And you sang it to that tune. I can still remember most of the words.

A poke with a bloke might be quite incidental. 
Durex are a girl's best friend. 
You may get the works but it won't be parental. 
Durex are a girl's best friend. 
As he let's fly, none gets by…. 

I can't remember the end, but the full song had been written in black felt pen on the wall. Whoever did it was very clever. It was there for years and years.  

Every now and again – I think it happened three times in the year that I worked there – Mick would have a party, an after hours party. He would invite the other managers from town centre pubs. The bar staff would all be invited and you could ask a couple of friends to stay over. They'd cash up all the tills, so if the pub was raided it didn't look like they were serving out of hours. The drinks weren't free – you aid cash and one of the bar staff would take it and it'd be put separately – and those parties went on till 6 or 7 in the morning. But whenever the pub doors were locked and everything was cashed up and cleaned up, and the party began, the blokes always went I've heard about the ladies' loos, can I go up and have a look? and they’d troop up to the ladies' loo to see this legendary song.

The Tavern was a bit like a Tardis, wasn't it? It had got that little doorway tucked in the corner, and if you didn't know it was there you’d walk straight past it. Then you went in and it opened up, and it was amazing.

I don't think the Tavern could exist now as it did then, because kids have got to provide ID now and they’re so much stricter about it. You’d never get away with it. Back then, the police would come in on quite a regular basis, whether they were looking for particular people or just a general scan for underage drinkers or drug dealing – as I say, my family were horrified to hear that I was going in there, and I was warned off the place – but the older people in there looked out for you, didn't they?