Tribute to John Rees marks end of era for Llandovery's Red Lion

The Red Lion has been in the family since the reign of Queen Victoria and for the last 60 years had been run by John Rees who was born in the building in 1933.

It closed its doors four years ago when the ailing John moved out to spend his last few years in a care home and his death on February 10 brought the end of an era of service to the local community.

With the full permission of his sister Non, this is the tribute to John, delivered at the public funeral at Salem Chapel, Llandovery on March 3, 2023:

John Rees was The Red Lion and The Red Lion was John Rees. And to the town he was – and always will be – remembered – as John, Red Lion.

As you walked into the Red for the first time, you doubted where you were.

The Red Lion in Llandovery. (Image: Huw S Thomas)

A tiny room, three settles to sit on, dado panelling, hand written bar prices stuck on the wall, a picture of Manet’s “Bar at the Folies Bergeres” above the fireplace and faced by a John ready to find out the smallest detail about you, suspicious that you might be a VAT or Customs and Excise inspector.

No carpets, no counter, no till, no music, no darts, no TV, occasionally lit by gaslight and only conversation from which you couldn’t escape as John served tables, plonking down pints of real ale poured straight out of the cask.

One visitor happened to walk in and remarked to his wife – ”well I never, the owner has gone to an awful lot of trouble to make the pub look as it must have been a hundred years ago”.

John and the Red welcomed and embraced all sorts. Poachers and con men sat next to the Governor of Cardiff Jail, Justices of the Peace and former Met Police detectives.

There were conversations between butchers, bankers, bakers, builders, solicitors, postmasters, ironmongers, vets, steamroller drivers, antique merchants, railway workers, schoolmasters, shopkeepers, film stars, millionaire businessmen, doctors, the President of Bath RFC and great local characters of the town such as Doris Black and of course Freda Black Ox – and from the farming community such as the storytelling Alun Rhyn and the beret wearing Vince Llethr.

Drawn by the fame of the Red and John, there were visits from the Manager of the 1989 Lions tour to Australia, Welsh rugby internationals and referees, the Ivory Coast rugby squad, the Presidents of both the Rugby Football Union and the Welsh Rugby Union, Tour de France riders, even the very Director of the famous Tour itself and high court judges.

There was the trio from St Albans – Tony, Luther and Sid – who would come down to Llandovery once a year, buy up all the chips, fish, sausages and burgers from Chippo’s frying range, spread them out on tables in the Red and quite literally grab people off the street, shouting “Free food and beer at the Red”, John delighted that the trio would be paying for all the beer he generously poured out.

And if you have a moment later on over a cup of tea at the King’s Head, read all the comments written in the Red’s visitors book – it is a treasure of warm tributes to John, his brother Dai and the Red.

All who came to the Red thought the world of John but they learned one thing – never lend him anything or bring a gift from your travels.

He would sell them on to anyone ready to make him an offer – a bagatelle board, a bull fighting poster from Spain, a doll from Romania, wine from France, cider from Devon, a baseball cap from Florida and Dic and Renske’s beautifully embroidered pennant RED LION EVEREST EXPEDITION from their trip to the Himalayas – all sold on.

Furniture and fittings, too, kept disappearing – a framed picture of The Flying Scotsman, a Victorian wrought iron table and a Windsor chair – were here today, gone tomorrow.

I once remember a minibus full of Lampeter Rugby Club members, stopping on their way back from an international in Cardiff and leaving the Red £20 lighter with a dining chair, a Dewars Whisky jug and a large poster of The Coliseum in Rome.

Visitors came from all over the world, intrigued by the entries in The Planet Guide to Wales or the Good Beer Guide.

But whatever visitors there were, John would be ready for them and their questions.

An American boasted that he had travelled all the way from Chicago to sample the beer and was promptly dismissed – “right, well, now, you can buzz off back there double quick – you’re not coming into my pub!”

A customer from the East End with a black beard was asked if he was with the Taliban, suspicious strangers would be ordered where to sit and outwardly prim ladies of a certain age would be directed to Slappers Corner, anyone using bad language banished to the Sin Bin in the dark far corner of the room.

There was the time when Saddam Hussein’s henchman Chemical Ali was slaughtering people left, right and centre in Iraq. Local chemist Alwyn Davies walks in – and John shouts out to a full pub Scram everybody – Chemical Ali’s come for you!

John was often accused – often unfairly – of selling out of date crisps, beer and lager cans to customers, one looking at the sell by date and complaining that “this lager was out of date last year.”

Quick as a flash John quips “What are YOU complaining about, see one of my regulars over there – Whitney – he’s drinking Kronenbourg 1664.”

As we have heard, after national service in the army and then working at a draper’s in Cardiff, John came back to help his aged parents run The Red as well as running a draper’s shop in Water Street, proud that he regularly supplied the late, great rugby coach Carwyn James – then a master at the College – with all his shirts and socks.

John relished the challenge of the many characters who frequented The Red and many a time, I saw him refuse to serve customers who in his judgement had had too much to drink or might have been under age. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, he had standards.

It was rare for anyone to get the better of him.

To John’s credit he was always ready to self deprecate, no better example than the Bill Bligh story of the cold ham.

Every Friday John would give Bill a £5 note and send him to buy slices of cold ham for himself and Dai from Mr Morse the butcher’s.

Back would come Bill with the ham, John would generously not only tell him to keep the change but have a pint on the house for his trouble.

And this went on for weeks until one day, John was in a queue at the Post Office, chatting with Mr Morse, the butcher, complimenting him on his excellent ham.

Bill Bligh had indeed picked up the ham, but spent the £5 in the Three Horse Shoes and White Hall on his way to the Red for his free pint from John.

I mention Dai, John’s brother who was the most gifted storyteller that you could ever meet and who formed a classic comic duo.

Some of his jokes and stories are definitely not suitable to relate here but his presentation and timing were, to John’s delight, without equal and drew tears of laughter from customers.

John loved his brother Dai and sister Non and I remember going to see Dai when he was very ill in hospital to find John there at his bedside whispering softly to Dai, stroking his hand and wiping his sweating brow with a handkerchief.

John dedicated himself totally to looking after his elderly parents and Dai, who – as we know – suffered poor mental health over many years.

John was well read and – little known to anyone here – scanned The Financial Times every day to keep abreast of all the financial and political news.

He did own up once that all the copies were read one day late as he had to wait for the Barclay’s Bank manager to drop in the Bank’s previous day’s paper in return for a pint of Worthington at the end of the week!

On a more serious note, John could hold his own with anyone in discussing the political or financial climate and often said to me how he envied those friends of his who had gone to the grammar school and then university.

He was also a very good sportsman in his early days, captaining the town cricket eleven and bowls club, Bowls champion in 1965 and winning the Llandovery Snooker Club Cup on a number of occasions.

As we have heard, John had a life-long passion for steam trains ever since as a lad in primary school he was once given the thrill of travelling up the line to Llanwrtyd in the driver’s cab.

John Rees with local farmer and regular Vince Llethr (Image: Huw S Thomas)

Ask John, too, how you could travel from Llandovery by train to Leeds or Liverpool, Plymouth or Penzance, and, off the top of his head, he could tell you time of departure, where to change and how many times, how long to wait for the next train and time of arrival.

The good you got from going into The Red was huge.

It was a tonic mixture of fun and laughter, of good humoured conversation, quizzes, sing songs, political hustings, bagatelle competitions, impromptu deliveries of late night left-over chips from Chippo’s, football pools, bring your own Beaujolais buffets and jumble sales of clothes left over from the draper’s shop that John had once run and stored in the downstairs room that came to be known as Ali Baba’s Cave.

It was all orchestrated, directed and overseen by ringmaster John.

There was even the occasional fracas – Chippo and John Lodge helping John disarm a lookalike cowboy, gun totting madman from Maesglas, before the police and constable Dai Thomas arrived on the scene.

It all made up for a kaleidoscope of reality and fantasy the like of which will never be seen again.

John had a great sense of fun.

John loved the Red Lion trips to the races and rugby matches to Cardiff, Aberavon and Llanelli.

He led the trip to the Principality Stadium in 2007 when the Red hired a bus to go and support the Drovers who went on to win the Welsh Cup for the first time in their history, beating Cardiff in the final movement of the game.

His favourite was the first trip to Cheltenham races in 2002 when he had taken his own tomato sandwiches – part of his diabetes diet.

And from our box in the Queen Mother’s stand he leans over to the adjacent box to offer Lady Vesty (wife of the owner of the course) one of his own home made that morning Mother’s Pride tomato sandwiches “a tomato sandwich my lady?”

And Lady Vesty, turns to John, then remarks with a large smile – true story – ”What a jolly crew YOU and your friends make!”

There was another side to John.

On the way home, we stopped for supper at The White Hart, Crickhowell. Chalked up on the specials board was WILD BOAR STEW – this was secretly changed by one racegoer to WILD BEAR STEW.

Milton Jones winds up the landlord with an order of WILD BEAR STEW and mash please at which the landlord goes furious on seeing the changed menu up on the blackboard.

In steps John to calm the landlord down, assures him that it could not have been anyone of us that fiddled with the specials board and explains that he, as landlord, was treating everyone to supper and would like to buy him a drink for running such a fine pub and serving such outstanding beer, inviting him and his wife to the Red anytime they fancied a trip down the A40.

Thanks to John’s tact and intervention, it all ended well with John paying for everyone, a rousing sing song ensued and the owner of the WHITE HART waving us goodbye “see you soon” as we sped off into the night.

To Non, Rhian, Ceri and family we offer our greatest sympathy but they will be proud to know that the John we all knew gave lightness to our lives and helped our mental well being more than anyone can imagine.

John was once interviewed by Martin Shipton, chief reporter of the Western Mail – and in a memorable and hilarious quote which gives an insight into what a star he was, John said :

John, you see, could laugh at himself, laugh with others but his nature was such that he never laughed at anyone.

As I first said, John Rees was the Red Lion and the Red Lion was John Rees – we will never again see such a combination of pub and landlord but we rejoice and smile at all the wonderful, happy moments they gave us.

Rest In Peace John bach, alongside your old friend and brother Dai.