It was as uninviting as the proprietor. Dingy and depressing with a preponderance of dark brown walls and dark brown tables and chairs, a room which had never seen the gesture of a woman’s hands in a cheering vase of flowers. A warning notice read, ‘No Alcohol or Spirits Served Here.’ It could hardly have provided an enticing prospect for visitors to the Abbey and had it been unoccupied at that moment, I think I would have fled the dismal scene. However, taking courage from the presence of two women with a teapot and cups on the table before them, I sat down nearby. The elder of the two women smiled. ‘You have to press the bell near the fireplace there if you want service.’ Thanking her I did so and a moment later a young lad entered. Obviously hastily recruited and by his surly expressions sharing the same sentiments as Donald, it went severely against the grain having to serve despised womankind in a public house, this hallowed realm of men.
