Pub Quizzes in the UK

Here in the UK we have this venerable tradition of the Pub Quiz, an evening where people compete to answer questions often for a cash prize. Well on March 25th the Family Holiday Association(UK charity) are attempting to create the Worlds Biggest Pub Quiz!

I have to tell you about one of my experiences...

It was an isolated Pub on the Isle of Wight (a small island off the South Coast of the UK) and we chose it because it seemed quite popular and therefore probably served good beer or food.

When my wife, eldest child, and myself walked in a thick silence suddenly descended as all eyes swiveled to inspect us. I swallowed hard. This treatment would be about right for an isolated pub in North Wales where the locals all spoke a different language, but for a friendly English Country Pub it was all wrong.

When I walked up to the bar to order, I realised why. The Barman pointed to the sign that said 'Quiz Night - Entry Fee £5 per team. Prize £200' and asked me if we were going to compete. Apparently the event was held monthly and the pubs champions were also the Island champions. I declined.

Unfortunately my wife was of a different frame of mind, since I can remember all sorts of dodgy facts, she knew a lot about politics, and my eldest had that obsessive knowledge of sports that many pre-teen males of a certain age do. She marched up to the bar, handed over a fiver and returned clutching a piece of headed paper and a pencil.

Soon the quiz began - every two minutes or so the Bell behind the bar was rung and a new question was shouted out. An hour later we had answered twenty five questions as disparate as "What is Cilla Blacks real name?" and "What is the chemical formula for Sulfuric Acid?" and the forms were given to neighbouring tables for initial checking. The barman read out the answers for people to mark the papers.

"Put your hands up if the paper you just marked has the score I shout out!" Yelled the Barman.

"Twenty Five?" Nobody put their hands up.

"Twenty Four?" Two hands shot up. A draw.

"Looks like its the Champions Versus Overners, " declared the barman. A mixed chorus of whistles, boos and cheers subsided slowly.

We were the Overners - an Island word for Tourists and anybody really who is not born there. So it was to be a sudden death tiebreaker question.

The champions, six large full-bearded guys who looked like they either sang folk music or danced in a local Morris troupe, glared at me.

"What is the exact height of Salisbury Cathedral Steeple? The nearest answer wins, Champions first."

The champions muttered together while my wife tried to suppress a fit of the giggles. The largest of the Beardies got up and fixed me with a beady eyed glare. He thrust out his chin, pointing his beard straight at me agressively.

"Well we reckon," he said in a thick Island accent, "its got to be nigh on four hundred feet. Thats my answer."

The barman looked at me. I swallowed. Dare I give them the exact answer or should I deliberately fluff the question. What my wife knew, and they did not, was that I had played a cruel trick on the Religious Education teacher at high school and he had retaliated by making me learn off by heart the heights of the spires of all the major Cathedrals in England. Oh damn it, two hundred quid is two hundred quid.

"Exactly four hundred and four feet to the top of the stonework," I said quietly. "The top of the weathercock adds another twelve feet - it used to be fourteen feet but the tower was struck by lightning in 1741 shortening the spike by two feet."

There was a silence broken only by my wifes undiplomatic snikkering.

"Well right you are then... Heres your two hundred quid!" Said the barman, handing me the envelope and retreating hastily behind the bar.

I think the only thing that saved us from a lynching that night was that I put fifty pounds behind the bar to buy drinks for the Champions!