The Wager at the ford. John Hurstwood Tales of a Legend. Part II.

If you've ever crossed over the River Ryburn to reach our front door, you’ll know how lucky we are to have the old stone bridge beneath our feet. But back in 1754, when John Hurstwood stood behind the counter, getting across that water was a very different business.

Before the bridge was built, everyone including packhorses, wool merchants on the way to or from The Piece Hall, and weary travellers, they all had to ford the river bed. On a good summer’s day it was an ankle deep paddle. On a bad day after rain on the moors, the riverbed turned into a thick, greedy mire that loved nothing more than swallowing whatever stepped into it. It brought with it many perils and dangers.

Which brings us to one of our favourite taproom legends about John... you'll like this one... picture the scene...

As the story goes, a high-and-mighty cloth merchant from over the Pennines rolled up on the far bank one autumn evening, maybe like the ones now. He had a purse full of silver, a sharp suit of clothes, and very little patience for Yorkshire mud. Seeing John standing by our open doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder, the merchant called across the water, boasting that no little northern brook was going to slow him down hehehe little did he know!

John leaned against the doorframe, looked at the churning brown water, and called back:

"A full night's free ale says you don't make it to my threshold without losing a boot to the Ryburn mud."

The merchant scoffed, hitched up his breeches, and took three confident strides into the shallows. On the fourth step, the riverbed took hold with an almighty sucking sound. The merchant lurched forward, lunged for the bank, and stumbled onto our gravel out of breath, completely soaking wet and wearing exactly one leather boot.

True to his word, John poured the man his ale, though he didn't waive the cost of the lodging. And according to the old story, that stray boot was retrieved with an iron rake the next morning and nailed right above the taproom hearth for luck, such a shame we don't still have it!

Now, as a publicans we can’t officially confirm the boot and centuries of 'slight' renovations have seen plenty of odd relics like clay pipes and coins. However I can certainly confirm the bar, the river’s stubborn streak and the fact that a Yorkshire landlord OR Landlady rarely loses a bet!!