In the 19th century, temperance bars were a common sight in many British towns, but now they have almost vanished. Lisa Grainger pops in to the last remaining one for a herbal brew.
Harry Green politely doffs his cap as he shuffles into Fitzpatrick's dark, wood-panelled bar and takes his seat at a worn oak table. "Mornin', lad," says the 81-year-old, smiling at the bartender, who is dressed in a natty Victorian waistcoat and scarf. "Me usual, please: lemon and ginseng. Yes, warm, thanks."
Such requests may be greeted by blank looks at most drinking establishments, but at this cosy nook in the former mill town of Rawtenstall, Lancashire, they have have been ringing out for over a century. Fitzpatrick's is the last of Britain's temperance bars, a breed of boozeless public house created in the 1830s to lure the poor away from the evils of drink. Often run by herbalists and enthusiasts for natural medicines, temperance bars offered concoctions that were as healthy as they were tasty.
By the 1960s, dandelion and burdock had been replaced in the British public's affection by Coca-Cola, and most of the country's temperance bars disappeared. But Fitzpatrick's stayed afloat, and still serves thousands of customers a year, from fascinated visitors to long-term regulars like Harry.
While the pub is no bigger than a corner shop, it's packed with every kind of herbal tincture, ointment, brew and remedy on the market. Lined up on its shelves are 13 different varieties of bottled home-brewed herbal drinks that the company has
been making since 1890: dandelion and burdock, lemon and ginger, ginger beer, sarsaparilla (prepared from the aromatic roots of the climbing plant of the same name), blood tonic (dark red, with a raspberry flavour) and cream soda. At the shop front, scores of enormous old screw-top jars with tarnished gold labels hold natural remedies and old-fashioned sweets. On the bar sit ceramic and wooden vats of the liquids that customers flock here to buy: Fitzpatrick's famous non-alcoholic drinks, sold hot or cold, fizzy or still, and dispensed into what the owner calls "fancy Victorian glasses".
While the room itself offers a charming snapshot of the past, its clientele is by no means restricted to the older generations. About 30 schoolchildren a day come in for what they refer to as "posh pop". Pregnant women come in for raspberry leaf tea, because midwives have recommended it to prepare the womb for childbirth. Local men stop off in the evening to meet friends at the bar, without worrying about the restrictions of last orders and licensing laws.
Harry Green has been coming to Fitzpatrick's for more than 50 years. After the second world war, when he became a postman, he and his colleagues used to come in daily for black beer and quinine, a malty tasting brew containing an extract from the spruce tree, rich in iron and vitamin C. "Never in 25 years did I have a cold," he says. "But the moment the authorities stopped them putting quinine in, and insisted on raisins instead, we all got them. Them old remedies were great."
The original owner of the shop was Malachi Fitzpatrick, whose father owned a chain of 24 temperance bars in the local area. There was a growing market for non-alcoholic drinks in industrial England: the British Association for the Promotion of Temperance (established in 1835) had its roots in nearby Preston, while the Band of Hope was founded across the Pennines in Leeds. This was a youth organisation that campaigned loudly in favour of teetotalism in working class communities, and claimed a membership of millions. The cause was further championed by the Quakers, Baptists and Methodists, as well as by factory owners hoping to encourage sobriety among their employees.
Malachi Fitzpatrick himself certainly flourished on his own drinks – according to locals he had not been sick for nearly 50 years before he died, at the age of 90. "He looked about 50 when he was in his eighties," says Chris Law, 45, the bar's current owner. He has been a regular here since he was a boy, and bought the place in 2000. "Lots of the old chaps who started drinking these as lads are fit as fiddles now. Harry regularly does 10km walks. In your eighties, that's not bad."
When Law bought the business, he knew nothing about herbal remedies, or brewing. "But my grandfather was one of Old Man Fitzpatrick's friends, and so we used to come here a lot. He told me he had these secret recipes, which interested me, and when it came up for sale, I thought – why not?" Today, Law and his assistant, 20-year-old Gareth Hawden, do all the brewing. He and Hawden are, he says, the only people who know how to create these products. The 100 or so recipes for concoctions, from ginger beer to cough sweets, were written down by Malachi Fitzpatrick in a lined notepad, and are kept locked up in a safe. "We can't risk anyone reading them but us," he says. "They're the secret of this business. It's the special ingredients we add that win us the awards…" The crystal trophy for the country's best sarsaparilla brewer that takes pride of place at the bar backs up his words.
The customers for the Fitzpatrick's £2.99 bottles of cordial go far beyond thirsty schoolboys and retired postmen. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall frequently visits to restock his supplies and the stylish Manchester restaurant Marmalade uses Fitzpatrick's dandelion and burdock to poach their sea bass. But the majority of the clientele are here because they love sipping the sweet coloured liquids in such a friendly, old-fashioned environment. On the day I visit, the flow of customers through the doors is non-stop: housewives coming in for dandelion and burdock to prevent water retention, blokes trying the black beer and raisin hangover cure and small children wanting treats such as fizzy cream soda (originally created to taste like ice-cream).
If the old-timers in the shop are to be believed, a switch to Fitzpatrick's cordials from tea and coffee and I'll soon be the healthiest person in Britain: full of vitamin C from black beer and raisin; my liver cleansed by the dandelion and burdock; my skin cleared by the sarsaparilla. "And," says Gareth before I leave the bar, "you probably won't get syphilis either, because that's what the sarsaparilla was used for by the Native Americans.
"It's a pretty good pick-me-up for all sorts of situations: cowboys used to take it in the saloons in the Wild West before they hit the burlesque parlours, or before a shoot-out. And during the war, soldiers used to come from the dance hall over the road for a shot. And no one's ever complained it hasn't worked…"
Fitzpatrick's is at 5 Bank Street, Rawtenstall, Rossendale, Lancashire
BB4 6QS. Tel 01706 211152.
Prices correct at time of publication.