Here
is a story from happier times.
Up
until 1960, Sheffield was served by a network of tram routes. One of
these ran between Middlewood in the North of the city and Ecclesall
in the South West, passing near Sheffield Wednesday's ground at
Hillsborough, and the front of the Banner Cross Hotel in the suburb
of the same name.
The
landlord of the Banner Cross had a dog - a
Jack Russell called Buster. He was always running across Ecclesall
Road, especially when the pie shop had hot pork sandwiches on the go,
because the warm, meaty aroma wafted over the road when the wind was
in the West. He'd go in all the food shops: the greengrocer's, the
chippy, the butcher's, who always chased him out with his chopper,
but mainly the pie shop. He loved that pie shop.
One
day Buster was coming back from the pie shop, the chippy, and the
butcher who chased him out with his chopper. It was a match day and
there was a tram full of Wednesdayites heading up Ecclesall Road. The
driver must have been distracted by the football fans questioning the referee's decision about that goal, and consequently his
parentage, and he didn't see the dog until it was too late. The
driver was terribly upset. He stopped his tram, picked up the dog,
and carried him into the pub. Well he was a right mess,
all covered in blood, and whining and crying and yelping. And as for the dog...
The
landlord and his missus cleaned Buster up and were just about to take
him to the vet, when the landlord noticed something wrong.
"Where's his tail?" he shouted, “Where’s his tail?” Staff and
customers all ran out onto Ecclesall Road, and eventually found the
tail. The landlord rushed off to the vet's with
the dog and his tail, which the landlady had carefully packed in ice
from the bucket in the lounge bar, but the vet said there
was nothing he could do. Buster was a fit healthy dog, and could
manage perfectly well without a tail. He'd just have to wag his bum
when he was pleased.
The
landlord wanted to hang Buster’s tail up behind the bar, but his
wife put her foot down. “It'll smell and attract flies,” she
said. People were worried about hygiene even in those days, so he had
it pickled and kept it in a jar in the tap room.
Buster
lived a good many years as the Banner Cross pub dog. He'd still run
across Ecclesall Road on his way to and from the chippy, the butcher’s
(who chased him out with his chopper), and especially the pie shop.
He was more careful crossing the road since his accident, and wagged
his little bum happily when he got safely home again.
Eventually,
the little dog went to the great lamppost in the sky. Everyone was
sad, and they held a wake for him in the taproom of the Banner Cross.
The landlord brought out the jar with Buster’s tail in it, draped
it round with a black ribbon, and put it in pride of place on the
bar. All the shopkeepers came - the owner of the chippy, the butcher
(who came without his chopper), and the owner of the pie shop. Even
the tram driver came, although nobody spoke to him and he had to buy
his own drinks.
After
they’d all gone, the landlord sat on his own in the tap room in the
dark, with a glass of his favourite malt, reminiscing about his lost pet. Suddenly, he heard a noise.
He turned round in time to see the jar containing Buster’s tail
sliding along the counter.
“What’s
goin’ on?” he yelled. The jar crashed to the ground. Gradually, a
ghostly shape materialised.
“Buster!”
cried the landlord.
“Yes,”
said the dog, “and, as you can tell, I can talk! I’ve been
granted the power of speech for a very important reason. Listen! When
I died, my spirit flew up to Doggy Heaven. But St Bernard, who
guards the Canine Gates, wouldn’t let me in. Only complete doggy
souls are allowed to enter Paradise. Please, re-attach my tail so
that my soul may be at peace!"
The
landlord shook his head sadly. “Buster,” he said, “you've spent
all your life in this pub. You know the rules as well as I do. I’m
afraid I can’t help you. Look at the clock. It’s five-and-twenty
past eleven. You know it’s against the law to re-tail spirits after
hours!"
