ALAN WHALLEY'S WORLD

FOND memories of jovial George Booth, one of the chirpiest of local landlords in his day, have come tap-dancing across this page.

They arise from our most recent yedscratter, in which a gaggle of Moss Bank arm-benders asked if anyone could confirm the actual measurement of a gill. Argument had raged as to whether this was a half-pint or quarter-pint measure.

And now, a regular customer of this page has provided a definition. He says: "The late George Booth, when mine host of the Abbey Hotel in Hard Lane, always maintained that a gill was a half-pint and a pony a half-gill."

Amid all this weight-and-measures confusion, I've resorted to the Oxford English Dictionary definition which states that a gill is "a unit of liquid measure equal to a quarter of a pint." But it adds that, in British dialect, it represent half a pint.

So the ale-slurpers of St Helens who persist in ordering a gill are right from a common usage point of view, if not exactly correct technically. (That's when, of course, our barflies aren't requesting a "glass" - yet another term for a half-pint which seems a description peculiar only to the drinking classes of St Helens.)

But back again to George Booth, a smart, tubby little fellow blessed with twinkling toes who could perform a little tap dance, jig or comedy step with the best of 'em.

Our correspondent (who wishes to remain anonymous) writes: "I recall a little story about George which is relevant to Saints' forthcoming Wembley appearance. "It concerns him and one of the Abbey regulars of the time - the late Jimmy Tickle, a towering man of somewhere between 6ft 7ins and 6ft 9ins tall."

Jimmy entered the Abbey one evening and, as usual, George helped him off with his topcoat. George, all of 5ft 2ins tall, then popped on the over-sized coat and performed a sprightly little jig around the pub, much to everyone's amusement.

The one exception was the human skyscraper who retained a straight face that "would have stood clogging."

Inquired little George: "Now, what's the matter Jimmy, why so fed up?"

It prompted the doleful reply: "I can't get a ticket for the Saints-Wigan final for love nor money; and I've watched Saints, home and away, since Adam was a lad!"

Ordering his pint, big Jimmy retreated to his usual seat in the pub, almost in tears.

Two evenings later, Jimmy ambled in again, still down in the mouth - to be cheerfully greeted by George Booth.

"Here you are, Jim lad!" said the chirpy landlord. And with that, he popped a stand ticket for the big game into Jimmy's top pocket.

Almost gobsmacked, a grateful Jimmy stammered out his thanks and asked how much he owed for that priceless ticket.

Sizing up his giant regular's light-blotting physique with a twinkling eye, George declared: "You owe me nowt, Jimmy. Give the money to the poor beggar who ends up sitting behind you!"

A TYPICAL anecdote about an irrepressible old-time landlord whose name has entered the realms of local legend.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.