The other day I received bittersweet news that the Gardeners Arms in Oxford had closed; bitter because it’s my favourite pub in the world. Sweet, because I know long time custodians David and Jenny are now enjoying a well deserved retirement after 30 years behind the bar.
My experience of the Gardeners Arms is very personal… almost supernatural — I will attempt to recount my first visit…
The first night I arrived in Oxford as night fell; a postgraduate student alone in the city. I dumped my bags and decided to head for a walk, not knowing my way.
After walking for an hour, taking in the sheer beauty of the place, and getting thoroughly lost I found myself about half a mile outside the city centre. Annoyingly my phone battery had died at the worst possible time, and so I tried to navigate my way back from memory. Suddenly, I saw a small side street. The whole street had a warm glow emanating from it, due to bunting and warm fairy lights strewn across the buildings on opposite sides. It looked inviting, So I walked down…
A side street beckons
As soon as a walked onto the side street, I had an overwhelming feeling of being out of time and place. I saw a pub; and ready for a rest, I entered.
I can only describe walking into the Gardeners Arms that night as crossing some interdimensional portal to another time and place. It’s no exaggeration to say that the pub WAS the 1970’s. It’s vital to point out, that I don’t just mean a pub with ‘outdated’ decor. The whole atmosphere of the pub was from decades past. The narrow main room was quiet and peaceful, the air felt heavy and respectful and a handful of regulars held court. An old boxy TV, mounted on the wall above the entrance, was showing the 9 o’clock news. It’s two custodians (who I later learnt were named David and Jenny), an elderly married couple, dressed smartly, Dave in shirt and tie, and Jenny in an immaculate dress and pearls, presenting themselves in a way that pub landlords just don’t anymore.
The seating was perimeter style — long cushioned benches attached to, and hugging the walls, upholstered in a beautiful dark green. David and Jenny sat at ‘their’ table watching television, doing a crossword, or talking to regulars. This gave the impression that you were in David and Jenny’s sitting room, making the atmosphere intimate and warm. They would take turns to jump behind the bar every time a customer needed serving. The rear of the pub, almost deserted, was an odd clutter of chairs and a piano, with notice boards plastered with flyers and cards of long forgotten student shows.
I only stayed for a couple, just soaking up the feeling of being transported back in time. It was magical.
I left the pub, exited the street and was suddenly back in the 2010’s. I returned to the Gardeners Arms many times over the next few years, and whilst never quite recapturing the supernatural element of that first encounter, it remains the best pub I have ever visited.
I wish David and Jenny all the best, but I mourn the loss of one of Oxford’s finest pubs, and one of the last of a dying breed of traditional British pubs; pubs which are now critically endangered. The Pub’s owner, Greene King, have announced plans to ‘refurbish’ the pub, I implore them to keep it exactly as is.