The man who redefined the Great British pub by banning both mobile phones and profanity has passed away at the age of 81. His death marks the end of an era for an industry he helped shape with an iron hand and a velvet glove.
For decades, he championed the notion that a pub should be a sanctuary for conversation, not a cacophony of ringtones and expletives. His policy was simple: no phones, no swearing. It was a controversial stance in a world being reshaped by digital technology and ever loosening social mores. Yet he stuck to it, arguing that the pub was a ‘third place’ for community, a refuge from the demands of the outside world. Under his leadership, his chain of pubs became known for their atmosphere of respect and conviviality.
The man, whose name became synonymous with traditional hospitality, began his career in the 1960s when the British pub was still a bastion of sawdust and smoke. He watched as the industry weathered smoking bans, the rise of gastropubs, and the relentless march of chain bars. Through it all, he adapted while holding onto core principles. His pubs were known for their real ales, hearty food, and a strict adherence to his personal code of conduct.
His influence extended beyond the bar. He was a vocal advocate for the pub as a social institution, a place where people of all backgrounds could meet without the intrusion of screens or the lowering of discourse. He spoke frequently about the erosion of community and the role pubs play in maintaining social bonds. ‘A pub is not just a place to drink,’ he once said. ‘It is a living room for the village.’
His passing has prompted an outpouring of tributes from across the brewing and hospitality sectors. Colleagues describe him as a ‘true gentleman’ and a ‘firm but fair employer’. One former employee recalled that he would personally visit pubs to ensure the no-phone policy was being enforced, once gently explaining to a customer that the bar was not an extension of their office.
But his legacy is complex. Critics argue that his approach was paternalistic and out of step with a changing world. In an era of remote work and constant connectivity, some saw his ban on phones as an attack on personal freedom. Yet he remained unapologetic. ‘You can live without Instagram for two hours,’ he would retort.
His career also mirrored the decline of the traditional pub in the UK. Numbers have fallen from nearly 70,000 in the 1970s to around 45,000 today. He fought against this tide, modernising his outlets without losing their character. He introduced food menus when many scoffed at the idea, and he invested in cask ale while others turned to lager.
His death is a stark reminder of the fragility of the industry. The British pub faces threats from cheap supermarket alcohol, changing drinking habits, and the aftermath of the pandemic. Yet his life’s work suggests that a focus on quality and atmosphere can still draw customers. The no-phone rule, in particular, has seen a resurgence in some quarters as people seek digital detoxes.
As the sun sets on his era, the question remains: who will carry the torch? The industry has lost one of its most distinctive voices. But his pubs, still standing and still enforcing his rules, will serve as his monument. In an increasingly uniform world, his insistence on a certain kind of decency and decorum feels almost revolutionary.
He is survived by his family, his industry, and the countless patrons who raised a glass in his honour last night, no phones in hand, no swear words on their lips.
