Ahoy there, your Ship has come Inn

My dealings with Freckleton have been few, and far between, down the years, and mostly consisted of passing through on the way to somewhere else.

My loss, specifically in regard of the fine pub sat at the end of Bunker Street, a sharp right off the Old Preston Road as you leave town.

The Ship Inn arrived like a gift from the gods; quite oblivious to its existence until a matter of hours before I was in there, gazing down on four big slabs of beef in gravy alongside a proper popover
Yorkshire pudding big as a bull terrier’s head.

It’s not as if I ain’t had time to get wise. The Ship Inn was first licensed in 1677, but it is thought that ales were being imbibed hereabouts right back to the 14th century, making it the oldest pub in the Fylde.

Must keep up. Happily am now fully up to speed.

The premises themselves are careworn but spotless, bit wonky but comfortable, and the location – beer garden prominent over the Ribble plain – priceless.

The cask selection ran to six, with a pair of rotating guests, and first up a Theakston Lightfoot was bang on the money. A straw pale blonde with floral aromas and a peachy tang, light drinking, ideal for a barely beyond-noon opener.

An Abbot Ale, smooth and full-bodied as a good Dundee Cake, confirmed beyond doubt that whoever was in the cellar knew their onions.

Off the beaten track, but with a number 68 Stagecoach picking up and dropping off every day ‘til late, there’s no reason a summer session in the Ship Inn should be other than plain sailing.