York is a city thick with history, the kind of place where you can feel the weight of centuries pressing in around you. But few spots capture the raw, unpolished grit of England’s past quite like the Blue Boar Tavern.
Tucked away on Castlegate, this pub isn’t some tarted-up tourist trap trying to sell you a sanitized, heritage-packaged version of the past. No, here you drink where the ghosts of rogues and rascals still linger, where the air seems to carry the echoes of old drinking songs, conspiracies, and blood-soaked deeds.
This is the place where the infamous Dick Turpin, England’s most celebrated highwayman, was allegedly laid out after he swung from the gallows at York’s Knavesmire in 1739. His body, originally buried nearby, was so revered (or reviled) that grave robbers tried to snatch it. The authorities had to weigh his coffin down with lead to stop him being nicked from the grave—proving that even in death, Turpin was hard to keep in one place.
The Experience
Step inside, and the modern world melts away. This isn’t some gastro-pub pumping out overpriced, under-poured craft beer to hipsters who wouldn’t know a proper pint if it hit them in their ironic beards. The Blue Boar feels properly British with dark wood, stone floors, and a sense that a brawl could break out any minute if the wrong word is uttered. You can almost imagine Turpin himself, throwing back a tankard and eyeing up his next victim.
But the real thrill comes when you descend into the cellars. Down here, where the walls sweat history and the low ceilings force you into a conspiratorial hunch, you can drink in the very space where Turpin’s body was supposedly kept after his execution. The idea of quaffing a pint mere feet from where his lifeless form once lay, while shadows dance on the ancient brickwork, is the kind of visceral, no-nonsense historical experience that modern Britain seems hell-bent on erasing. This isn’t the sanitised history peddled in classrooms; this is the real deal—the kind of place that reminds you that Britain was built by men with fire in their bellies and iron in their souls.
The Ale
A pub like The Blue Boar Tavern doesn’t mess about when it comes to beer. This isn’t the kind of place that panders to the craft beer fad, where you pay six quid for a thimble of something that tastes like fermented fruit salad. No, here, the ale is traditional, robust, and unapologetically British; the kind of brew that would put hair on your chest and a swagger in your step.
Expect a solid lineup of Yorkshire’s finest, pulled fresh from the cask the way it’s meant to be. The hand-pulled bitters are rich and full-bodied, carrying that perfect balance of malt and hops that has defined British brewing for centuries. Some standouts include:
- Timothy Taylor’s Landlord – A legendary Yorkshire pale ale, crisp and subtly hoppy with a smooth finish. This is the kind of pint that has been fueling lively debates and backroom deals for generations.
- Black Sheep Best Bitter – A proper northern bitter with a caramel backbone and a slightly dry, hoppy finish. No nonsense, no frills, just a cracking pint.
- Theakston Old Peculier – A dark, brooding ale with hints of toffee and dried fruit. This is the beer you drink when you’re telling tall tales in the dim light of the cellar, channeling the spirits of Turpin and his gang.
- Yorkshire Terrier – A smooth amber ale brewed locally by York Brewery, carrying a light, biscuity sweetness that makes it dangerously drinkable.
If you prefer something stronger and darker, there’s usually a stout or porter on tap that delivers a proper punch—none of that watery, mass-produced stuff, but the kind of thick, velvety pint that could sustain a man through a long winter’s night.
And for the cider drinkers? A couple of proper West Country scrumpies are usually lurking behind the bar, guaranteed to knock the unwary on their arse if they don’t pace themselves.
No gimmicks. No hipster pretension. Just real ale, poured properly, in a pub that feels like it’s been serving thirsty rogues since before your granddad was a twinkle in the milkman’s eye. Whether you’re after a steady session of bitters and banter, or something stronger to fortify yourself before braving the cold York air, The Blue Boar delivers a pint worth raising to history.
The Final Verdict
The Blue Boar Tavern is a rare thing: a proper old-school pub that hasn’t been gutted by corporate nonsense or gentrified into soulless oblivion. It’s a drinker’s pub, a historian’s haunt, and a reminder of a grittier, tougher Britain that refuses to be forgotten. If you’re in York and fancy raising a glass in the shadow of history, this is the place to do it.
Dick Turpin may have met his end in York, but in the Blue Boar, his legend is very much alive.
