Cheers to Ron Lambton, the dapper pub boss I’ll never forget
Ron Lambton was a dapper little man, business suits, shiny shoes, smart shirts and slick garish ties.
He was a sharp-dressed man with a smile as big as the North-east.
And he had ambition … he wanted everything he did to entertain and look and taste good.
I met him when, one day about forty years ago, he washed up on the doorstep of Maxims, Bradshawgate, Bolton, a monster of Gothic bizzareness, glazed brick and Victorian tiles.
When he arrived the pub – a few yards from Yatess Blob Shop – had a chequered past and a bad reputation.
But Ron and his missus, Lorraine, took to the place like Geordie ducks to Northern water. And his children were in their element too … upstairs where they lived, there were long dimly-lit corridors, dark abandoned rooms and spooky corners and crannies. It became their 18th century indoor playground.
Ron’s playground was the massive cellar which ran like brick tentacles under the pub … he painted it white and arranged trips around it for customers, passers-by and coaches.
I hit it off with them all immediately and me and the likes of Dave Rigby became as big a features at the bar, as the Vaux beer he was determined to sell by the gallon to Boltonians. Dave, like me, was a sub-editor at the Bolton Evening News, just down a narrow cobbled – I seem to remember – dead-end street which bordered Maxims.
Maxims became the Bolton Press Club for many of us who worked there.
The place was uproarious, it was like a house full of Blackpool, beer, food, side shows in its thousand corners … bouncers, local bands, an alcoholic magician, storytellers and garrulous drunks!
And all the time Ron was there, sipping on small glasses of bitter – Lorraine opted for white wine spritzers, quite exotic at the time – standing at the hatch to the bar.
Often Ron was silent, almost sullen – other times he was a wild erratic one-of-the-lads crying with laughter!
His laughter was infectious and suddenly Maxims became the happiest home in the world for all us reprobates and fools.
We all loved Ron Lambton.
He did some mad things – things hatched over ten pints in an afternoon – like sneaking a wax head of himself into Madam Tuessauds in Blackpool – like arranging a Rambo look-alike competition which ended up with a customer being arrested for carrying a rifle!
Or the time he challenged celebrity steeplejack Fred Dibnah to race him up a 200ft factory chimney, a staple of Bolton’s landscape way back then.
Bernard Manning, who lived 20 miles away, was a regular at Maxims. It was the call of Ron’s magnificent food that did it.
Ron died on 28th July 2022 at the East Lancashire Hospice. He was 74.
Dave Rigby said: “Smashing bloke. It was good to know you Ron. Some fun times at our Press Club!”
I think many of us will echo that…
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