A Carlton Club Shaped Hole?

A bar, dance studio, market, art school, playhouse and more, if it’s community-focused, the Carlton Club has it on offer. But can it bridge the gap to the divine? Tom Galvin visits for a pub quiz and finds himself part of something much more grand.

My Friend has been having a rough time. He's seven or eight years younger than me (I’m 34), and seems to be tying himself in similar existential knots to the ones I found myself in during my mid twenties. At the time I put a lot of those feelings down to the fact I was still at university, on track for an academic career that ultimately was not right for me. My Friend on the other hand is experiencing these with the backdrop of mild Sisyphean horror that is Modern Office-Based Work (we are also colleagues). During these times of crisis, My Friend orbits around exploring philosophy, spirituality, practical hobbies with tangible results (in stark contrast to Modern Office-Based Work), and wanting to change his job/life and move elsewhere. I would estimate My Friend’s rotations have a period of about 10 months. He has, during his spiritual perigees dipped his toe into organised religion to seek answers. He will attend Sunday services and speak with preachers, even once attending a home-cooked lunch and spirited discussion at a pastor’s family home. We’ve discussed visiting a local mosque to see if that could provide him what he needs, but his orbital trajectory leads him to a welding course instead. Maybe we’ll go next year when he’s back on the God stuff. This is all to say My Friend is yearning for something but does not know for what he yearns.

The God-shaped hole is a concept often attributed to 17th century philosopher and polymath Blaise Pascal, although the idea is certainly much older and he never actually used the term. It describes a universal human urge for a sense of being and belonging that can allegedly only be satisfied via a connection to the divine. An infinite void that cannot be filled with the finite. Those not of the faith are therefore in a perpetual state of longing for something to give them meaning, and are destined for endless futile attempts to fill the God-shaped hole with things other than God. Or Jesus. Sometimes the metaphor is a chasm between the mundane and divine and Jesus is the bridge. You get the idea. I, like My Friend, like Seinfeld’s Kramer, have yearned, continue to yearn, as do we all. But I don’t think what I yearn for is God.

One morning in the office, over coffee My Friend says “we're overdue a trip to the Carlton, want to do the quiz on Wednesday?”. The subtext is not lost on me; he is particularly stressed and wants an evening of existential discussion. The feats of trivia are a pretense, albeit a fun one. I, who do not need any reason to attend beyond his invitation but who is also a bit pissed off with work at the moment and would really be glad for the opportunity to vent at him, agree. On Wednesday, we will chat absolute wham to each other and be all the better for it.

Credit: Tom Galvin

‘The Carlton’ refers to The Carlton Club, a legendary community centre and pub in South Manchester, not far from My Friend's flat. Originally an affluent manor house, Rowan Lodge, for over 111 years it has served as a hub for the people of Whalley Range as (at various times and sometimes concurrently) a social club, bowling green, snooker hall, and community garden, as well as being more or less the only place to get a beer in the neighbourhood (I have been told on several occasions that this is because the area used to be owned by Quakers who forbade the sale of alcohol on the land, but this seems to be apocryphal).  As community centres go, it’s one of the best I have been to, with activities and events on almost every day and night of the week. I’ve attended jazz nights, comedy, vegan supper clubs in support of Palestine, modular synthesizer open mics, poetry slams, and the monthly car boot sale Rummage in the Range. Not to mention countless sessions in the bar. This is my first time at the quiz though.

After a rice and three round the corner we enter the club, greeted at the entrance (a coincidence, not a custom) by Bridget, a regular and the quizmaster, who greets My Friend warmly and with affectionate familiarity. We enter the main room, which hosts the quiz and more importantly has the bar in it, and are greeted with a generally run-down dimly lit interior eclectically decorated with photos, art, and grubby wall-hung carpets. None of the tables match. The floor is uneven. Cold light peeks round the edges of a drawn curtain, cutting off the corner with the room’s only television from the rest of the space. You could be forgiven for thinking you had stepped into the People’s Republic of Stokes Croft, an anarchist squat commune, or any other modern left-leaning community space were it not for the genuinely representative age demographics in the place. This to me is the beauty of the Carlton. Almost all the events I’ve attended have comprised a mix of the ‘very young’ (read: early twenties) to the ‘getting on’ (fifties and sixties), all actually interacting, not just coexisting in the space. My Friend is greeted twice more by regulars in the entry queue, one of whom admonishes him for not renewing his membership yet as we pay the £2 quiz entry for non-cardholders.

“One does not find God and then stop going to church.”

Religious buildings are arguably one of the oldest examples of third spaces, and have a significant overlap in function with secular community centres like the Carlton. I think about this often, as I spent a lot of time as a kid with my mother’s family in religious third spaces, despite me and my immediate family not really subscribing to All That. At a church bake sale, a singalong or even a quiz, one could almost imagine it taking place in either space, save for all the God stuff, and the lack of alcohol, nose rings and leftist politics. Like other third spaces, most religious communities are based around regular attendance to their events. One does not find God and then stop going to church. So I would argue that the God-shaped hole is not something to be permanently filled by the divine, but instead is to be constantly topped up. I am of the opinion that the endless futile search for stuff to put in it is a Good Thing, actually. David Foster Wallace, discussing themes in Kafka’s writing, noted that “The horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.” It’s all about the trip, not the destination. Community events, mass, friendship, welding courses, all fill the God-shaped hole for a time, but because they’re finite you keep going back for more, and therein lies the beauty. Perhaps it is better to think of it as a Community-shaped hole, one that we must all keep fed, whether God is involved or not.

The room is abuzz and it looks like the place is full. The regular taking entry fees points us at the one remaining table in the corner and we successfully claim it. The quiz is still 40 minutes from starting. I return to the table with two beers and My Friend shows me our team name is “The God Hole” and we Cheers to an evening of Frasier-and-Niles–esque discussions on the nature of being. Almost immediately, a fourth regular involved in organising the quiz asks (after warmly greeting My Friend) if we are just a ‘two’ and if we would mind teaming up with another ‘two’ who would otherwise not be able to participate as the tables are all full.  We can not reasonably deny this request, although I do sense some mild disappointment flash over My Friend. The bloviating must wait. Two guys maybe in their mid-late Forties join us at the table. They are apologetic and grateful for their perceived intrusion, and buy us our next beers as thanks for letting them join us. They do not seem enthused at our team’s name, and after a brief explanation of the term, do not further question why this is a suitable quiz team name.

Credit: Tom Galvin

In August 2024, the Carlton Social and Bowling Club CIC that handle the operations and bar were served an eviction notice by the Carlton Social and Bowling Club Building Company Ltd. who are the owners of the building and grounds itself. Initial reports on social media supposed the CS&BCBC Ltd. wanted to either flatten the place for new builds or subdivide the large manor into a ramshackle HMO, and therefore needed the CS&BCCIC out of the way, which led to a local outcry and the story going partly national. In reality it seems that the CS&BCBC Ltd. were unhappy with the way the CS&BCCIC were running the place and wanted them out so that they could put their own spin on things, but the exact reasons for the eviction notice have not been made public. The CS&BCCIC fought back, rallying members and crowdfunding under the “Save Our Club” campaign, launching legal action against the CS&BCBC Ltd. Rumours and confusion abounded. My Friend, and many others at the time, were devastated.

My Friend vaguely recognises the two Forties from previous events and stokes up hearty conversation with them: old school friends from Blackpool who now live in Manchester, and are quiz regulars but tonight missing their usual third team member. One of the Forties remarks that he loves the Carlton because it’s like a bit of village life in a big city, in the sense of the community spirit and togetherness. Gold dust, I think to myself as I discreetly paraphrase him in my notes app. We share some bacon fries as Bridget delivers the questions. The God Hole scores consistently between rounds and from the points being called out at the end of each section it sounds like it’s going to be a close one.

“Perhaps it is better to think of it as a community-shaped hole, one that we must all keep fed.”

Come November 2024, a shakeup on the CS&BCBC Ltd. board and the legal challenge by the Community Interest Company led to the revoking of the eviction notice and the CS&BCCIC declared tentative victory, but that the future was fragile and uncertain. Still more legal work was required to build a lasting framework of checks and balances between the CS&BCCIC and the CS&BCBC Ltd. so that this can’t so easily happen again.  At the time of writing the Club’s website (the CS&BCCIC’s) still says their legal challenge is ongoing and the club can operate safely for at least another 12 months, although it is not clear when this statement was dated.

Of course, the two Forties turn out to be sound and My Friend and I have a great evening with them. The God Hole fails to make the podium in a remarkably tight finish (only 5 points off top) but based on the scores called out we have at least beaten The Creamy Boys. I offer to return the Forties’ favour of drinks but they insist it is not required, and end up leaving us shortly after the end of the quiz. Hopefully we’ll see them again next month. My Friend seems happier: his God-shaped hole, if not filled, then at least topped up for now from the night. Our evenings together in the Carlton often end up like this, with My Friend, a regular, touching base with all the other regulars at various points in the evening, reinforcing his sense of being and belonging. He’s even hosted a round or two of the quiz with some of the other regulars when Bridget has been unavailable. My Friend has lived here for about 3 years, and when his orbit brings him close to leaving Manchester, he struggles to imagine losing easy access to the club. Access to belonging, and one of his communities.

It being a school night after all, My Friend and I get a final half in and settle down, at last, for our long-awaited discussion. A shot of nonsense to chase his pint of community, a last-gasp before a return to Modern Office-Based Work. We yearn, but we know not for what we yearn. There is talk about the spread of early humanity and the drive within to explore. About whether indigenous Mesoamerican peoples or aboriginal Australians would, without colonial intervention, default to a capitalist society or not. About how spirituality in all its vagueness gives a rudimentary but accessible framework of language to talk about difficult concepts with people from varying backgrounds. We discuss Schopenhauer and his ‘will to life’ and the bleak implications it has on freedom of choice. The fact that all the hairdressers we know seem to be extremely into conspiracy theories. Whether or not an emergency dentist could tell if one had consumed too many scampi fries. To the few remaining people sat nearby, we sound like absolute cunts. It is life-affirming and it is glorious. ⚭

Tom Galvin

The Carlton Club is open Monday—Sunday at Whalley Range, Manchester M16 (metro: Firswood)