Peter Slinger – Publican and Entrepreneur
I sometimes joke that I’ve never really escaped the pub trade and truth be told, I’m not sure I ever wanted to. The clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the satisfaction of a perfectly poured pint—it’s all in my blood.
I was born in Streatham, London, but that was just a temporary pitstop for my family. When I was 9 years old everything changed. We moved to Tilford, near Farnham, where my dad took over the Barley Mow pub. To this day, people say it’s the most photographed pub in the world—aside from maybe the Queen Vic and the Rover’s Return. It’s a classic: whitewashed walls, a village green with a cricket pitch in the front and 2 medieval stone bridges framing it all – the perfect picture postcard!
My interest in real ale began back in 1972 when I was 16. A couple of guys turned up at the back door of the Barley Mow and told my father they were from the Brewery’s Technical Service Team. “We’ve come to take away your handpumps,” they said, “and replace them with illuminated top-pressure units.” My father politely asked them to wait for a moment whilst he went off to get something and he returned with his double-barrelled shotgun. He then sat on the stool behind the bar with the gun across his lap and said, “You touch my handpumps at you peril.” Dad won the day but he did get into big trouble with the Brewery. The good news is that this incident sparked me into thinking there must be something really special about hand-pumped beer and so I started out on my journey of discovery and delight.
Dad, however, wasn’t too thrilled to be running a pub. Life had thrown him a few curved balls and it was the only job going. But I fell in love with it. The river running behind the garden, cricket matches played in the summer and the gentle rhythm of rural life—it was paradise to me. That environment shaped who I am today. I grew up in love with cricket, football and later, rugby.
School was a means to an end, really. I played football for Surrey under 15s, which I loved, as well as cricket but everything changed when Farnham Grammar turned into a 6th form college. They brought in new staff, including a rugby nut who introduced the game to us and that was it—I was hooked. Rugby became my winter sport and cricket remained my summer passion.
As for work, like many in my position, I started by helping my dad behind the bar. I absolutely loved it. Being with your mates, pouring pints, sharing a laugh—what more could a teenage boy want? But Dad insisted that pub life wasn’t a proper future. When a man who handled his life insurance mentioned a job was going in Aldershot for Collections of insurance subs, Dad pushed me to apply for it. And so, I entered financial services and what began as a small job grew steadily. I ended up in a partnership, managing pensions and mortgages.
It was a decent living until the 1992 recession hit. In one fell swoop I lost everything—the business, my home and even my marriage. It was a tremendously difficult turning point. I reverted to what I knew best — pubs – and started running them for receivers, picking up the ones that had gone under and turning them around. I did that with about 5 pubs. I would get them back on their feet, restore their reputation and help sell them on. Eventually that led me into the world of brewery sales and beer wholesalers. It was like the trade just wouldn’t let go of me—and I wasn’t exactly fighting it.
In time, I met my second wife and we started a family. I was working for some breweries and things were stable—until she had the bright idea that we should run a pub together. It’s a romantic notion – a couple, a family, a little country pub. But the reality is that running a pub is work—relentless, exhausting work. Our kids were young and I couldn’t be with them and the stress broke the marriage. We gave it a shot, but it just wasn’t sustainable so we walked away.
I returned to one of the breweries I’d worked for and said, “Look, I’m not in a great place. I don’t want a big job. I just want to get back on my feet.” They handed me the southern territory for a new beer brand they were developing—Wainwright—and I spent the next stretch of time travelling from pub to pub, selling beer and rebuilding my confidence.
When my mum passed away, she left me just enough inheritance to take a gamble on a pub of my own. I nearly bought the Barley Mow back in Tilford, the very place where it all began. But someone else with more money and less experience swooped in. He asked me to run it for 3 months and while I was doing that, a rep from the Stonegate Group walked in and said, “Peter, you’ve got to look at the Three Horseshoes in Cranleigh.” I came to have a look—and well, the rest is history.
When I arrived The Three Horseshoes was in a mess, it wasn’t in a good place. The young couple before me were lovely people, but they’d tried to turn it into a sports bar—white walls, silver-painted beams, massive screens everywhere. The big, beautiful fireplace was ripped out and replaced with a sterile wood burner. The back room was stark white, dominated by a green pool table and 2 people usually occupied the entire space. The regulars weren’t the kind of crowd most folks would welcome into their home. But I saw the bones. I took my time by giving it 3 months of watching and listening. Then I got to work by removing the pool table, repainting, brought the fire back to life and politely discouraged the rowdy element. Bit by bit, I created a space where people felt safe and welcome. Where you didn’t hear swearing at the bar and where manners mattered again.
The pub wasn’t serving food when I arrived so I decided to give it a go. For the first 3 years I cooked every single meal myself. I’d get up at 5 or 6am, work through the day and collapse into bed after midnight—then do it all again the next day. At 59 I had the energy and more importantly, I had no choice. If I didn’t make it work, I didn’t have a future. Retirement would have been a bleak prospect. I knew I could do it, I’d turned pubs around before but this time, it was personal.
Eventually, I found Stuart—our chef. He used to work at a restaurant that stood where Wild & Green is now. A friend recommended him and when he walked in I said, “I want old-fashioned pub food, done properly.” I wanted him to embrace what this pub stands for. He lit up and now he’s here at 7am every morning, making everything fresh—especially the pies, which have become something of a local legend. When the evening comes, I’ve got a solid team—myself included—who know how to plate up Stuart’s creations, make them look beautiful and deliver them hot. It gives him the chance to have a bit of life outside the kitchen, too.
I always had a clear vision. I even wrote it down in a document when I started. I wanted to create a pub where everyone who knows how to behave feels welcome, where a road worker and a guy in a pinstripe suit can share a joke. Where old ladies feel safe and young women can come in alone. Where there’s no pretension, no “gastropub” nonsense, just good, honest food and beer so lovely it might as well be champagne. And you know what? I think I’ve got pretty close to that now. We even do our bit for charity as well. We sell dog biscuits at 10p a biscuit and give the proceeds to the Guide Dogs for the Blind. Their Guildford branch tell us we are their biggest contributing single outlet and we raise nearly £1,000 a year for them.
Beer is everything, beer matters here. We’re a cask-led pub and I won’t put anything on the bar I haven’t tasted myself. I’ve been involved with CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale) since the 1970s—I was one of the first thousand members. Their people come in and score pubs on clarity, condition, aroma, taste—the works. Last year, we won ‘Pub of the Year’ for the Mid-Surrey branch. And this year we took the title for the whole of Surrey. On top of that Stonegate, who own the pub, gave us the national award for ‘Best Beer’ back in February, in their 3,000-strong portfolio. It felt pretty good, I have to admit.
We’re spoiled with the variety Stonegate let us buy through them, so I can get incredible beers from local names like Surrey Hills and further afield from breweries like Thornbridge, whose ‘Jaipur’ is legendary. But again—if I haven’t tasted it, it doesn’t make the cut.
I’m not certain what’s next but I’m not done yet. I’ve got a right-hand man here, a lifelong mate who grew up in the pub next door to mine in Tilford, we played rugby together. We helped to run the Farnham Beer Exhibition with many helpers to support us and now he works with me.
My plan is to help him set up a pub of his own, using the same philosophy that’s worked here. Something joyful, welcoming and proper. As for me, I’ll retire in a couple of years, possibly, we’ll see.
If I was asked to advise aspiring publicans I’d give them the answer I offer so often – I get asked this question repeatedly, “What does it take to run a good pub?” I say the same thing, “Just because you drink in one doesn’t mean you can run one. You wouldn’t assume you could be a bank manager just because you use the ATM.” Running a pub is a profession. You need training, experience and stamina. If you don’t know the industry inside out, you’ll be exhausted within a week and bankrupt by the end of the year. You’ve got to maintain standards of hygiene, customer service and consistency.
I had the cellar rebuilt so it could be properly cleaned and temperature-controlled and the same goes for the kitchen. There are no shortcuts. It’s a million-pound business, and you need to treat it like one.
At the Three Horseshoes you’ll get ‘more than just a pint’. To anyone in Cranleigh who hasn’t been in for a while, please come and see what we’ve built. The garden’s a real highlight, with a children’s play fort halfway up a eucalyptus tree, complete with climbing wall, Tarzan net, fireman’s pole—the works. We’ve got private huts with heating, fans and charging points. The pub itself is warm, welcoming and full of character—especially in winter with the logs blazing in the hearth.
It’s not just a pub, it’s a place where people connect, where standards matter, where every pint has a purpose. And after nearly 10 years, I think we’ve finally made it what it was always meant to be.
www.threehorseshoescranleigh.co.uk
01483 276978
