Tavernen, Pubs...Trinkgelage, Schlägereien etc
Verfasst: Sa 27. Dez 2008, 18:10
London, 1921 - Covent Garden
“The old „Bucket of Blood“ is located just at the end of Rose Street, Covent Garden and has a more or less dubious reputation among the honest townsmen. Amongst the daily visitors are blacksmiths, tradesmen, railroad workers, tinkerers, day labourers, shoemakers and of course some occasional crooks. Mr. Samuel Mackenzie, or better known among the common folk as “Shady Sam” has inherited the pub from his father, who passed away a few years ago (actually Shady Sam cut his throat and trashed the body of his old man in one of the city sewer). Since the mysterious and somehow strange son has taken over the Bucket, another kind of citizen has discovered this old pub in Covent Garden. Now, apart from the usual crowd, one can sometimes notice some well-dressed Gentlemen enter the pub through the back door and leave it hours later when everybody else has been kicked out of the pub already. Even some noble Ladies have been seen once or twice a month.
The old Bucket is very famous for its bareknuckle prize fights. In summers, the fights took place on the cobbled front yard, whilst in the more common rainy and foggy evenings, the back room which became known as the “Bucket of Blood” which gave the pub its name. “
The youngest of the seven Lamont boys stepped out of the carriage and followed his father into the dark alley. It was past midnight, and only a few people were still outside. Most of them hasted to their family homes, more or less drunk, drugged or in other (worse) ways intoxicated.
The old Bucket of Blood was lying in a dark corner of Rose Street and as soon as Jonathan and his father entered through the wooden back door, all noises from the street outside faded away. Silence. And absolute darkness. Not the darkness you feel safe in, like in your bedroom at home during night hours…no. This darkness was hiding someone…or something. Though only 5 years old, Little Jonathan knew exactly what to do. His father had told him since he was able to talk and walk. He stood still, not moving an inch, keeping perfectly silent. He kept waiting, only being able to feel his father standing right next to him in the dark rook. From what Jonathan could tell, the air smelled of cigarettes, ale, red wine and some sort of old, salted meat.
“So. You have brought the boy, Lamont. I’m impressed – he seems bigger as you at that age. Come boy, step forward and show yourself properly.” Jonathan obeyed immediately without hesitation.
“The old „Bucket of Blood“ is located just at the end of Rose Street, Covent Garden and has a more or less dubious reputation among the honest townsmen. Amongst the daily visitors are blacksmiths, tradesmen, railroad workers, tinkerers, day labourers, shoemakers and of course some occasional crooks. Mr. Samuel Mackenzie, or better known among the common folk as “Shady Sam” has inherited the pub from his father, who passed away a few years ago (actually Shady Sam cut his throat and trashed the body of his old man in one of the city sewer). Since the mysterious and somehow strange son has taken over the Bucket, another kind of citizen has discovered this old pub in Covent Garden. Now, apart from the usual crowd, one can sometimes notice some well-dressed Gentlemen enter the pub through the back door and leave it hours later when everybody else has been kicked out of the pub already. Even some noble Ladies have been seen once or twice a month.
The old Bucket is very famous for its bareknuckle prize fights. In summers, the fights took place on the cobbled front yard, whilst in the more common rainy and foggy evenings, the back room which became known as the “Bucket of Blood” which gave the pub its name. “
The youngest of the seven Lamont boys stepped out of the carriage and followed his father into the dark alley. It was past midnight, and only a few people were still outside. Most of them hasted to their family homes, more or less drunk, drugged or in other (worse) ways intoxicated.
The old Bucket of Blood was lying in a dark corner of Rose Street and as soon as Jonathan and his father entered through the wooden back door, all noises from the street outside faded away. Silence. And absolute darkness. Not the darkness you feel safe in, like in your bedroom at home during night hours…no. This darkness was hiding someone…or something. Though only 5 years old, Little Jonathan knew exactly what to do. His father had told him since he was able to talk and walk. He stood still, not moving an inch, keeping perfectly silent. He kept waiting, only being able to feel his father standing right next to him in the dark rook. From what Jonathan could tell, the air smelled of cigarettes, ale, red wine and some sort of old, salted meat.
“So. You have brought the boy, Lamont. I’m impressed – he seems bigger as you at that age. Come boy, step forward and show yourself properly.” Jonathan obeyed immediately without hesitation.