The Richmond Arms - Part One

We discovered The Richmond Arms while looking for an apartment in the spring of 2000. David’s inner English pub-sensor spotted it from down the street. While he was happy about the number of good Mexican restaurants in Houston, the thing he missed about the UK was going to the pub.

We sat outside on the patio on our first visit, and David endeared himself at once to our server, Jackie who was also English, by asking if the cottage pie was fresh or frozen. The pie was prepared fresh each day, she informed him, and she was a bit frosty to him after that. She thawed some over time; luckily, she liked me.

Our new apartment wasn’t far from the pub, and it became our almost-daily stop. Opened in 1979, it had been a mainstay for many years before we came along, but we were a big part of the last twenty years of its existence.

In the early years, Pat was the day manager during the week, Jackie mostly worked the weekends and Michelle took over in the evenings. We didn’t know Michelle very well at first, since we were day patrons, mostly there to watch the English football matches on weekend mornings or stop in for a drink after work. Pat was no-nonsense with very high standards. Every single seat was perfectly set for lunch each day at 11:30 and she was a stickler for the rules. The one-time David tried to pre-order a beer for me before I arrived after work, she shot him down, insisting he could only have one drink at a time. That probably really is a law, but she also probably did it to annoy him, and it worked. At first, we thought she didn’t like David, but it turned out she didn’t like English people, in general. She disappeared suddenly and I heard she had a breakdown of some sort. I hope she healed. Those English people can be brutal. I don’t mean this in a callous way. Happy hours and important sports matches were not for those who were not incredibly strong in body, mind and constitution.

I learned most of the rules of English football (soccer) over a traditional breakfast of eggs, bangers, bacon, beans, potatoes and of course, beer on weekend mornings. There was always a queue waiting for the doors to open, sometimes before dawn, to watch their favorite Premier League teams. Jackie covered the dining areas while Gerry ran both the bar and the tech, keeping the assigned matches on the televisions positioned in each area, often showing several different matches at once. Wireless wasn’t the norm then, there were boxes stacked floor to ceiling behind the bar and wires going every direction. It was no small feat keeping the satellite connected and the signal where it was supposed to be for the duration of the morning, hoping something wouldn’t fail at a crucial moment in the match. Also… all moments in a match are crucial, according to the fans. Gerry was the only one who could work the football magic.

There was no live US broadcast available without a subscription service at the time, so not only was the pub the only place to watch the matches, but it was also the best way. Often filled to over maximum capacity with ex-pats singing football songs, buying rounds, and sharing their general merriment it was only occasionally that someone crossed the line and shown the door (I wonder what ever happened to Manchester Mike who always had black Russians for breakfast). One morning, a young couple stopped in with their two adorable little girls. Dad was English, mom was French, and the girls attended school in America. They conversed with their mother in perfect French, spoke to each other using American slang and vernacular, and sang the Newcastle football song in a perfect Geordie accent. The old men in the pub were completely besotted. So was I.

We became ‘regulars’ during the time when Beth and Allison typically worked the evening happy hour shift. Beth was going to school and Allison was just floating through time and space. This isn’t a euphemism. Beth regularly had to physically find Allison and bring her back from wherever she’d wandered. Beth graduated and they both moved on. I heard Allison married and now lives in Austin. I hope her significant other looks after her as well as Beth did.

During this same time period, Jackie left to work at a new ‘sister’ pub opened by the owner of the Richmond. The new pub was across town and though we said we’d stop in, we never did. Jackie caught pneumonia over Christmas the year after she left and died a couple of weeks later. Her picture hung near the bar after a memorial gathering for her at the pub and her spirit set up permanent residence soon after. She was a firecracker in a short skirt and knee-high boots who often asked me to keep an eye on the door while she put on her makeup before the early morning arrivals (lucky for everyone that I never had to do anything, but we were that much of a fixture). She left the world too young, but her spirit never left the pub. I only had to go to the ladies’ room if I wanted to say hello to her. She’d answer with a light flicker or a toilet flush, depending on her mood.

For a while, we tried being friendly with the more tenured regulars. They mostly camped at the opposite end of the bar, which we dubbed the shallow end (sour grapes on our part because the cool kids didn't want us to sit with them), and would nod amiably in the general direction from time to time. Except for Kate. She floated quietly from end to end, moving from inside to outside and would stop to chat. She and David were from the same region along the southeast coast of England, so they had common ground.

We tried briefly socializing with Kate away from the pub. She invited us to her birthday party and asked if we could come a little early. We agreed and realized once we arrived that she expected David to prepare the food and me to keep things picked up during the party, and clean afterwards because the friend who normally did those things for her was unable to attend. We left before 9 pm. I hope someone stuck around to help her clean up.

Giving it one more shot, we invited her and a friend to join us for dinner and a performance at the Shakespeare festival. We met them at the restaurant, had a lovely meal and everything seemed to be going great. I gave them their tickets and we drove to the outdoor theater in separate cars. Kate and her friend never showed up. She later said something about sitting across from us on the opposite side of the theatre, which was highly unlikely, but by that time we’d decided to keep our friendship contained within the pub.

Kate taught English literature at an exclusive international school until her Visa expired. She lost her work authorization and had to fight deportation but sorted it all out in the end and began teaching at an inner-city high school, a very different world from whence she came. She was an enigma, but those kids were lucky to have such a talented and caring teacher.

This takes us just about to the end of the first ten years and around this time, there were quite a few staff changes. Although I don’t remember the details, we got mad one day and broke up with the pub for a time, regularly and defiantly making the six-mile drive to The Red Lion, which now has its own special place in our hearts and deserves its own column in the future.

I’m pretty sure the Richmond never noticed our extended absence as we were welcomed back upon our return as though we’d never left. More about the remaining cast of superstars and their stories next week. This has turned into a two-parter.

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