This distinguished establishment was located at the corner of Summer Lane and Snow Hill, and for many years until it fell down in about 1970 was the trad-jazz place in Brum. I'd go every Friday night, a quick pint in the bar, then upstairs to argue the entry-fee with the delightful maniac who ran the jazz club; all I can remember of him is that he was thin as a rake, wore NHS specs and was called John. Most nights it was 2/6 to get in, but if there was a 'big name' band on, then it could go as high as five bob, and that's when the bartering began. It was a matter of honour to negotiate at least a tanner off the demanded entry-fee.
The resident band for many years was The Artesian Hall Stompers led by the late lamented Danny Pawson, cornet-player extraordinaire and quaffer par excellence. The gaffer of the Sally was a splendid warm-hearted Irish bloke called Jerry, and I remember the night the Sally closed he was weeping like a baby, even though he'd been given a much 'better' pub elsewhere in Brum (The Warwick Castle, I think). As far as I recall, the Sally had to close because its foundations where being eaten away by seepage from the nearby canal. Wonderful pub, wonderful people, all part of an old Brum that sadly appears to have gone for ever.
I also remember a tramp who haunted Summer Lane at that time - he'd suddenly appear out of nowhere and say, "Hey, gis five bob for a cuppa tea!" "Five bob for a tea?" "Aye, I'm a big tipper, see!"
And the weird thing is, I hated trad jazz!
Big Gee.
The resident band for many years was The Artesian Hall Stompers led by the late lamented Danny Pawson, cornet-player extraordinaire and quaffer par excellence. The gaffer of the Sally was a splendid warm-hearted Irish bloke called Jerry, and I remember the night the Sally closed he was weeping like a baby, even though he'd been given a much 'better' pub elsewhere in Brum (The Warwick Castle, I think). As far as I recall, the Sally had to close because its foundations where being eaten away by seepage from the nearby canal. Wonderful pub, wonderful people, all part of an old Brum that sadly appears to have gone for ever.
I also remember a tramp who haunted Summer Lane at that time - he'd suddenly appear out of nowhere and say, "Hey, gis five bob for a cuppa tea!" "Five bob for a tea?" "Aye, I'm a big tipper, see!"
And the weird thing is, I hated trad jazz!
Big Gee.