147 Pyrmont Street.
Not really a pub, but served the same purpose for a while.
“It was a funny place, the fire brigade. Early in the piece that was a drinking house. The coppers used to drink in there. My Uncle used to drink in there, the bloke next door used to drink in there on the quiet. They’d get a keg of beer, Sunday mornings and the Sergeant said “Ýou bloody well won’t carry it up, I’ll carry it up” (he’s a Scotchman)… He carried the keg up, put it down, took his coat off and he said “I’m here for the day.”
Hugh Goodwin, Doors Were Always Open, 1997.