The Rum Jungle

We love a good pub yarn; even better if it is about a bootleg operation

As recounted by Kevin Richards

………..

There’s a yarn about a place that used to exist on Wilmington Street, a bit of a bootleg operation, so to speak, a ‘classic place’ where all sorts of things went on. It was known as the Rum Jungle. It was just for the blokes, and Saturdays and Sundays were prime.

Kerosene lamps flickered in the corners, records spun on the wind-up record player, beers were pulled from ice boxes, and home brew rum passed around the tables. Archie, owner and rum connoisseur, often cooked for his patrons, usually corned beef.

One Saturday afternoon, Rum Jungle regular Bert pulled up to share a brew or two with his mates. As always, Bert was not alone; his friendly dog was in tow. Just as Bert pulled up, Archie was pulling a freshly cooked, steaming, juicy corned beef from the pot. He placed it on the bench to cool before moving away to tend to his patrons.

Bert’s dog bolted into the Rum Jungle, launched his front paws onto the bench and pulled the beef off the counter before bounding outside to devour his prize. Archie was oblivious to what had happened and blamed the men sitting around nearby tables. “Right, where is it, you jokers?” We assume the language was a little more colourful. Roaring laughter filled the Rum Jungle, and a collection of fingers pointed out to the yard to Bert's dog, corned beef firmly in his jaw, juices running down his front legs.

Needless to say, there was no corned beef that evening, just a lot of beers and a few scratched records.

The Rum Jungle no longer exists on Wilmington Street; a home has since been built in its place. All we have left are the stories.