19 MAY 1979, Page 37

(Pub lunch with Beowulf)

Shouldering the swing doors the saloon he entered. Cheerful the chatter as he champed his lunch, Plateful for a ploughman — onion in pickle, Of Cheddar cheese a hearty chunk,

Hunk of a loaf, liberally cut. This was plain bread, crustily baked;

ll simple fare, no fastidious fripperies, NO subtle sauces to swindle the palate. It was a base for beer, a bubbling brew Se. rved for the Scyldings, no sterile slop PIzzed unhealthily in the halls of Heorot. This was real ale, matured and mellowed, Laid down long years to wait in the wood — Sweet to the soul and soothing to the throat, or worker or warrior, drink right welcome.

Then brave Beowulf rose to do battle. Awful his adversary, waving its one arm And flashing lights to befuddle the foolish, Brazen bandit, it threatened to beggar him. With a chink of coin he closed for combat.

(G.H. Harris)