I was delighted to read Phil Coughlin’s nostalgic account of Spike Milligan’s border-straddling pub in Puckoon (Letters, 1 May).
But, here in Wales, we have the real thing in the little village of Llanymynech in Powys, where the border between two nations goes through the Bradford Arms hotel. Sunday drinking was illegal in Wales until 1961, so customers would crowd into the private bar, which, being to the east of the border, was not under Welsh drinking laws. For the rest of the week, most customers were more comfortable in the public bar, on the west side of the border.
Nowadays you can drink in whichever bar you like, and no, people will not start speaking Welsh the moment you go in. If they’re speaking Welsh, they were already doing so before you arrived.
Fiona Collins
Carrog, Denbighshire
In light of recent correspondence on the absurdities of the border, I recall a senior Dublin politician who told me that of course there is a well-defined border in Ireland. It is called the beach.
Stephen Pound
Shadow Northern Ireland minister, 2010-19
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