THE old Feathers pub collected colourful characters like a stray cat gathers fleas. They abounded amid the foaming pint pots and glugging optics of that now-demolished St Helens watering hole of a million memories.

A Kitchener Street correspondent, who asks to be identified only by the pseudonym 'Green Banker', turns the pages back to the time when he worked for landlord Jack Crook, back in the 'sixties.

"What a delight it was to listen to the tales spun by the characters who patronised the old Westfield Street haunt.

"I fondly recall window-cleaner, Claude Williams, the Sid James look-alike, and Little Chunis with his side-kick, Sid Mapstone."

Others who tumble back to mind were the hilarious Frankie Myers ("one of the funniest men I ever met") and Joe Dolan, who invariably backed horses at long odds, seldom seeing a return for his money.

There was the formidable Jonty Pilkington, former Saints player who mercifully mellowed in his middle years and progressed from hard man to big-hearted campaigner for the afflicted.

"Little Abner Appleton and Whistling Tommy Davies were also regular clients of this fun-packed establishment," adds Green Banker.

Glass collector, Dicky Green is also mentioned in despatches, continually puffing away on his pipe and chunnering on about "them new-fangled"products."

Chris and John Brunt, together with ex-pugilist, Jimmy Donnelly, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Desmond Stevens "who was a marvellous straight man for the wickedly witty comedians who populated the bar.

"But," says Green Banker, "probably the pub's kingpin was Jimmy (Plonker) Harrison, ex-miner and a charmer if ever there was one!

"He'd hold court every afternoon in the Feathers, being an expert on every subject under the sun.

"I waited-on sometimes when Jimmy was in full flow and never ceased to be amazed at the amount of 'shoulder ale' (free drinks) he received.

"Incidentally, Jimmy never asked anyone for a pint in his life. It just came in from all parts of the pub, as if by magic!"

And thereby hangs a tale . . .

John sets the scene at around noon on a warm summer's day in the early 'sixties.

The only people present were landlord, Jack, our Kitchener Street correspondent himself, and the aforementioned Dicky Green.

Then in walked Jimmy Harrison, and the conversation went as follows:

Dicky: 'Bah gum, Jim lad, tha looks a bit darn in't marth!'

Jimmy: 'Aye, tha can say that agen. Just bin darn to Tarn 'All payin't watter rates. Seven pound bloody ten for watter rates. It's a scandal.'

Dicky: 'Tha what?'

Jimmy: 'Here! Wot can't spake, can't lie' (with that he produces his receipt as evidence).

Silence reigns for about a minute as Dicky takes a long, pensive puff on his pipe, puts on his most serious expression and declares: 'Ah'm just thinkin' Jim. Tha must pay more money for watter than tha does for yer ale!'

OF such dry humour was the old spit-and-sawdust scene created.

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