The British pub may be a byword for hospitality – roaring fires, inviting booths, glinting bottles – but it’s a welcome that has not always extended to immigrants. From the “colour bars” of the 1950s and 60s to the Essex pub landlord who, earlier this year, refused to remove an array of ornamental golliwogs from his establishment, ethnic minorities have, historically speaking, had good reason to approach this bastion of British culture warily.

But there is another, lesser-heard story about pubs and the BAME community. Ever since 1965 – when Oliver “George” Berry took over Brixton’s Coach & Horses pub and became London’s first black licensee – non-white Brits have been taking control of the spaces from which they were once excluded, often transforming them into vital cultural hubs in the process.

Today, this tradition continues with Jamaican-run bars, rural gastropubs under the stewardship of African-born chefs and the Desi pubs of the Midlands which serve delicious Punjabi cooking to buck the general downturn in the trade.

It’s even getting the sitcom treatment, in the form of Romesh Ranganathan’s The Reluctant Landlord, inspired by his Sri Lankan family’s time running a Sussex pub, which starts on Sky1 this week.

So what are the unique challenges these landlords and landladies face? How do they balance the demands of thirsty students and first-generation immigrants looking for a taste of home? Here, five publicans share the view from behind the bar.

‘If we stopped the dominoes, there’d be trouble’

Lana Bewry, the Golden Anchor, Nunhead, south-east London

Lana Bewry, above left, with Greg Deer. Photograph: Steve schofield/Guardian

This was the first pub I worked in, doing Sunday shifts in the early 1980s because a friend of my family drank here. It was owned by an African man called Nelson. He was one of the people who led the trend around here for black people to want to own pubs. He showed that it was achievable.

If you’d just come here from Jamaica, the Golden Anchor was a place you could come in, meet family and friends, and maybe get work in the building trade. On the other hand, I remember walking into pubs in Bermondsey at that time and being the only black person there.

By 1998, Nelson had passed away and the new landlords, who were Jamaican, were looking for someone to take over as the licensee. When I started, there were drug boys who effectively ran the pub; it was why the other people had given it up. They would be getting their clients in here, not buying drinks. It wasn’t nice at all, but I had to front them out, little me against those boys. My brother helped me and, with some prayers, we got rid of them.

Our Caribbean food and music is a big reason people come here. And if we stopped the dominoes, there’d be trouble. We had to move the game from one room to another recently, and the men who play created such a fuss, threatening a boycott. They’ve been playing here for more than 20 years: we know what they’re going to drink, how hot they like their soup. They see it as home, and when they’re dancing on a Saturday night to our DJs, that makes me happy.

In all the time I’ve been here, we were never “a Caribbean pub” or “a Jamaican pub” in my mind. It was only when I heard people referring to us that way that I realised it was how people viewed us. But we can’t run this place for one group of people.

Obviously the area has changed and, from late 2016 until May last year, we had a pop-up bar in the basement, Little Nan’s Tropical Den, offering kitsch decorations and serving cocktails in teacups. There are young white people who love the food, know what they want and what it should taste like.

It’s important to me that they know they’re welcome, that we’re not just a black pub. Everyone is welcome.

‘Before we moved here, there was a colour bar at the pub’

Lakhbir ‘Lacky’ Singh Gill, the Ivy Bush, Smethwick, West Midlands

Lakhbir ‘Lacky’ Singh Gill. Photograph: Steve Schofield/Guardian

Mum and Dad are originally from India, but we moved to Smethwick in the 1970s and lived about 50 yards from the Ivy Bush. There was always a big Asian community and the men worked in the foundries, so after a day working with hot metal, they wanted to quench their thirst. The pub was a place to gather and talk, but it was how we helped each other and organised as well; we bought our first house because my dad’s friends in the pub lent him money. In the 1960s, before we moved here, there was a colour bar at the Ivy Bush, but those [Asian and black] customers fought the landlord at the time and eventually won.

In 1993, I was 32, selling tools at the market and drinking here. The landlord at the time had fallen out with the brewery and decided to leave. One of the barmen said I should go for it, so I went to Weston-super-Mare to do a British Institute of Innkeeping course, interviewed with Holden’s Brewery and got the tenancy not long after. It was hard work at first. There was a barman who was stealing from me, but I kept him on long enough that he could show me how a cellar worked, teach me about cask beers and what have you.

When I took over, there was no food at all; it was a watering hole. But when the smoking ban came in, it killed the pub – trade dropped by about three grand a week – so a lot of the Desi pubs started opening kitchens. We started with tandoori chicken from a tent in the yard in 2003 and escalated to a proper chef in 2007. Now everybody wants to eat Indian food. It makes me laugh because when I used to work as an attendant at the swimming baths when I was 19, people would go, “Eurgh, you smell of garlic!”

In the old days, we would get people coming to the pub and trying to intimidate us. I can’t say whether it was about race, but we dealt with it ourselves. If they wanted it, we gave it to them. It was like a cowboy film; you don’t get the sheriff, you just carry on punching.

These days, because of the food, my clientele has changed from a strong Asian base to a strong white British base. Sometimes I’ll bar an English fella for not behaving and he’ll say, “You’re racist.” But this is a business. It’s not somewhere you come and mess about. In its time, the pub has welcomed young, old, Irish, black, Asian. The stigma of racism has gone in Smethwick. And we Asian landlords bear no grudges.

‘This is an affluent, rural, white area. So I’m probably the only black person in town’

Victoria Cullen, the Red Lion, Holt Heath, Worcester

Victoria Cullen. Photograph: Steve Schofield/Guardian

Before taking over here in late 2015, I could probably count the number of pubs I had been into on one hand. I’m originally from Nigeria, but I moved here to study and met my English partner. My background was in business, but I did culinary courses and, in 2011, started a business called Kidderminster Catering. I started looking for cheffing jobs, but they tend to mean working evenings and weekends, and I wanted to be there for my kids, who are now 11 and eight. That was when the pub came up, and I thought it was a fantastic way to showcase my food while also being together as a family.

We live in the pub, so I haven’t needed babysitters. The children like being able to grab sweets and drinks from the bar. And my daughter gave the customers a laugh once when she came down in her pyjamas, thinking we were closed.

At first, running the pub was challenging. We decided to open on New Year’s Eve 2015, which I now know is the worst time. Oh, my God. Before we even opened the door, there were people queueing on the main road and everything that could go wrong went wrong. The draught line stopped working, 200 people were waiting to be served, the tills broke. In the end, we just stopped charging people. It was a disaster, but I learned from it. If my front of house walked out tomorrow, I could clean my own draught lines, and tell you how a pint of beer should taste.

This is an affluent, rural, white area, so I’m probably the only black person in town. But food offers common ground. People who would never have gone into an African-Caribbean restaurant come in here. There are people who a year ago would have said, “The thought of eating goat makes me want to puke.” Now, they’re sucking goat juices out of the bone and asking for really hot spice. That makes me so happy.

I don’t forget my African history or where I come from. I’ve had people come in and say something racist, so I’ve given them some facts about black history. My husband always says, “If anyone wants to say anything bad about black people, she’ll have your head on a plate.” One guy was talking about immigrants, saying they just claim benefits and so on. I told him, “You can leave now.” I actually had to drag him out. People think that because you’re a woman or you’re black, they can walk all over you. No way.

‘A lot of Indian people in the area are now buying pubs. They think it’s a money-growing tree’

Amrik Singh Saini, the Fourways, Rowley Regis, West Midlands

Amrik Singh Saini. Photograph: Steve Schofield/Guardian

I came to this country from India in 2003 – as a student of public administration – and became a pub landlord in 2010. There was a lot of hard work in between. When I first arrived, I worked in an Asian supermarket during the day and a bar at night. Some days, I would work for almost 20 hours. The best way to stay awake was to not drink alcohol. Energy drinks, coffee – I don’t like those things.

I think it was around 2008 that I decided I wanted to start a business, become a shopkeeper or something like that. But when I looked at it, I decided a pub would be easier and I liked the concept of Indian food in a British-style pub.

Taking over the Fourways was hard work because it was run down and there was a problem with drug dealing. Those first two or three years were very hard on me, but I just tried to push my food. My clientele is probably 90% white British and 10% Indian, and they all stood with me and helped me change the place. I must have banned 150 people during that time, just trying to make the pub feel like a drug-free, family place. Yes, people got angry and violent when I caught them doing drugs on my premises, but I never worried. Not once.

In 2012, I started the play area – the Paw Ways – because it was very hard for me to bring families back to the pub. Some regulars weren’t happy with it, but I told them, “This is my pub now and I’m going to do what I want with it.” It’s got fibreglass animals – giraffes, dinosaurs, a crocodile – that I went to Devon to collect myself. I’ll keep on adding as many as I can.

In our trade now, the biggest problem is staffing. It’s hard to find and keep good chefs because a lot of Indian people in the area are now buying pubs. They think it’s a money-growing tree, but it’s not. They don’t see the pain behind the story.

If I’m paying my chef £300 and somebody says to him, “I’ll pay you £350 if you come to me”, then he’s gone and that’s a big problem.

But I’ve got a good team and I’m proud of myself. I came to this country with no English and now I’m running a pub.

‘Caribbeans aren’t big on ales, so we don’t sell them. We focus on cocktails and rum’

Anton Smith, Blues, Sheffield

Anton Smith. Photograph: Steve Schofield/Guardian

This place used to be a music venue, and I remember when we first came to look around in 2014, the estate agent warned us that it was in a bad state. I thought, how bad could it be? But my God, it was disgusting. It smelled of puke and God knows what else; the toilet was smashed to bits.

It made sense to make the Caribbean aspect of the bar – the food, the music – our unique selling point. I didn’t want to go into any areas I wasn’t familiar with. Caribbeans aren’t really big on ales, so we don’t sell them. We focus on cocktails and rum instead. Another thing we brought in was our “Rastaman” mannequin. It was originally a statue of a blond-haired surfer guy that we asked a company to turn into a rasta; he basically just looks like a white guy with a tan. Some students stole him one night and another idiot punched his arm off, but he’s still standing, just about.

We’re not tied to a brewery or company, so I think we’re the first independent, black-owned bar in Sheffield. I’m only 25, but I’ve grown into being a landlord.

There are strange moments, though. We’ve had customers come in who have assumed that one of my white staff members is the owner. On the other hand, I’ve had some black customers say, “Oh, there are too many white people here.” My response is always, why does it make a difference? We get a good mixture of white British people and Caribbean people, and we try to balance both.

I also want to use Blues to start a black enterprise scheme. I got the taste for running my own business when I opened a cafe as part of my business and accounting degree. I had grown up with lots of moneymaking schemes – making beats and selling them to people, hiring my bedroom out as a studio. But as a young black guy, you’re probably less likely to be given a loan from the bank to start a business.

I want to use funds from special nights to give minority people in Sheffield that helping hand, whether it’s assistance with a business plan, DJing apprenticeships or even helping a young barber rent a chair in a barbershop. It’s important to me that this is a place that helps the culture and the community.

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