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A brass clock stuck at ten past nine, a cracked tile rescued from a skip, a photograph nobody can date. A wander round The Leopard's walls, and the regulars who keep the stories attached to them.
A stranger walks into a Burslem pub and the room makes a decision in ten seconds. The nod, the banter, the pint already being pulled — these are not accidents. They are a local skill, passed down quietly, and The Leopard is as good a place as any to watch it work.
Burslem’s lost pubs are not just footnotes in a guidebook. They are part of the town’s memory — and they still have something to teach The Leopard about ale, scran and the sort of welcome that keeps a door swinging in 2026.