Manchester in the 1960s

An artist in Radcliffe does some great work featuring Manchester then and now

maine-rd-pub.jpg
 
Prestwich_Blue said:
I can see the window i used to sit by on the 8th floor of Peter House, which was my first workplace. Used to go in TD's regularly.
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Do you remember the free pint if you gave them some knickers to pin on the ceiling , two free ones if they were still warm. Pre PC obviously!
 
blueyorkie said:
Do you remember the free pint if you gave them some knickers to pin on the ceiling , two free ones if they were still warm. Pre PC obviously!
Click to expand...
The landlord was called Ken Rigg who ran the pub with his son Ian. My recollection was that the knickers always had to be warm but if some of the ladies were a little shy taking them off in the bar he allowed them to go to the bogs to drop them. Ken also always gave the knickers a good sniffing before putting them up. He probably sniffed more knickers than me in his lifetime.

They moved to the Nags Head from Tommy Ducks and had a ‘funeral’ march from pub to pub carrying the famous coffin. Once at the Nags he was raided by the Police at 5am for after hours drinking. Ken was outraged because he said it wasn’t after hours it was before hours as he always opened at that time to cater for the remnants of the Press Club that closed at 5am. Great fella.
 
Sid C said:
The landlord was called Ken Rigg who ran the pub with his son Ian. My recollection was that the knickers always had to be warm but if some of the ladies were a little shy taking them off in the bar he allowed them to go to the bogs to drop them. Ken also always gave the knickers a good sniffing before putting them up. He probably sniffed more knickers than me in his lifetime.

They moved to the Nags Head from Tommy Ducks and had a ‘funeral’ march from pub to pub carrying the famous coffin. Once at the Nags he was raided by the Police at 5am for after hours drinking. Ken was outraged because he said it wasn’t after hours it was before hours as he always opened at that time to cater for the remnants of the Press Club that closed at 5am. Great fella.
Click to expand...
The landlord in my time was called Barry (I think his surname was Davis but he wasn't the commentator). We'd go in straight from work, get completely arseholed then go in on the Saturday to collect the stuff we'd left and he'd put behind the bar. Years later I went to get my hair cut and the lad who did it had moved to a new place in St Anns Square. As he was cutting my hair, the guy who owned the salon kept smiling at me and I realised I knew him from somewhere but just couldn't place him. When I'd finished, I asked him where we knew each other from and he said "Tommy Ducks" and it was Barry.
 
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