Folk in Oxford appear to be telling Harry Ramsden's what many have thought for some time: it has lost its way, writes Yorkshire lad Peter Unsworth.
What plush eating houses, fancy chandeliers and even fancier waitresses have to do with a plate of fish and chips, heaven knows.
If you can hear a whirring it is old Harry himself, turning in his grave.
More than 50 years ago, a day out in the Yorkshire Dales meant one thing - fresh air and fish 'n' chips at Harry's on the way back. As the bus trips returned to the industrial areas of the West Riding (a few well-off folk had cars, but it was a few) most had to pass the shop where the road divided to Leeds or Bradford.
But pass they didn't without a paperful of fish and chips. There were always queues because it was good food at a reasonable price. Harry kept it that way. After he had built the poshest fish 'ole in Christendom (there were tablecloths and saucers, and you could even get bread and butter!), he still stuck to the ideals he had when he first opened in a converted railway carriage years before.
Good quality haddock and the best spuds, all cooked in beef dripping - that's what the public wanted and that's what they got. His determination to maintain standards but keep prices reasonable stirred him to buy back his business after his first retirement. There was a reputation to maintain.
The trouble is the present owners of the now massive group are trading on a legend. We know fish is no longer a cheap food but it is hardy in the luxury class. There are far more exotic meals to be had in Oxford for the price of a Harry's meal, so you can't blame the public for going for these.
After all it is only fish and chips when all is said and done.
But one final word - this time in defence of Harry Ramsden's 1998-style. There's still nowt wrong with beef dripping, no matter what non-northerners will tell you. If you want to eat vegetable oil, stick to salads. Right Harry? Right lad.
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