In Chiddingstone, at the castle gates

Last Sunday, on one of the hottest days of the year so far, I made a brief visit to the historic, Castle Inn, situated in the equally historic village of Chiddingstone. I’d been called into work unexpectedly, because the intruder alarm system in the factory was indicating a potential, unauthorised entry, and the mobile patrol officer despatched by the monitoring station, had contacted me, as one of the authorised key-holders. Fortunately, it was a false alarm, a fact I ascertained the following day, when I contacted the alarm company, but my presence in the vicinity plus the stifling hot weather, provided the perfect excuse to go looking for a pint. And where better than the aforementioned Castle Inn, less than 10 minutes’ drive away?

It must be at least a couple of years since I last set foot in Castle, despite the pub only being 10 minutes’ drive away from my workplace, but with narrow roads, and a lack of car-parking spaces, it’s not the sort of pub that leads itself to nipping in for a quick lunchtime pint. This is a pity, as this lovely old 15^th century inn, oozes both history and charm, in equal doses. Like much of the village, the Castle Inn is owned by the National Trust, after being bequeathed to the charity during the 1930’s. Parking has always been something of an issue, in a settlement which has remained largely unchanged since it was sold to the Trust, but normally, there are sufficient parking spaces by the side of the road, between the church and the village shop- post office. But on a baking hot Sunday lunchtime, opportunities for parking seemed few and far between. 

Fortunately, luck was on my side, because just down from where the road makes a sharp turn to the right, (in order to avoid the stately pile known as Chiddingstone Castle), there were a couple of spaces, close up to a hedge, and what’s more, there was plenty of shade available – a real bonus, on such a scorching day. After parking my vehicle, I strolled up towards the Castle Inn, pleased to observe that nothing had changed. But it had, because the pub hadn’t long re-opened, following an extended, and enforced period closure of that lasted for 16 months.

 The closure followed the unexpected discovery of a deep, and hidden medieval well beneath the building, which had collapsed. Unfortunately, what began as a structural concern quickly became a much more complex issue, as the collapsed well had led to both soil erosion and a significant amount of subsidence which made the building unsafe. With the pub closed, a team of structural engineers and dedicated conservation specialists was engaged to stabilise and restore the historic inn. The team worked tirelessly, to ensure the safety of this historic old inn, for generations to come, but with the renovation and restoration that followed such a long period of closure, it wasn’t until the beginning of June that the pub finally opened its doors to the public. You can read more about this unfortunate, but ultimately successful event in the Castle’s long history, by clicking here, on the link.

Chiddingstone, with its well-preserved row of old houses, and a church dating back to 1120, has been described as the most perfect surviving example of a Tudor village in the country. The settlement is allegedly named after the nearby Chiding Stone, a large sandstone rock formation, which tradition asserts was used as a seat of judgement, mainly to remonstrate overbearing local wives. What about the overbearing husbands? It lies well off the beaten track, and this has, no doubt helped preserve both its character and its charm. Ownership by the National Trust, has no doubt helped as well, particularly over the past 90+ years, or so.

Driving into the village from the east, and passing the entrance to the well-known Larkin’s Brewery, travellers will see on their right, the Grade II listed, church of St. Mary’s, which is said to be the fourth place of worship, built on the site. Opposite, is the village school, followed by the row of old cottages, mentioned above. One of these houses the village shop and post office, but separated from the others, at the end of the row, is the 15^th century Castle Inn, rightly described as Chiddingstone’s crowning glory. Next to the pub, and where the road veers off to the right, are the gates to Chiddingstone Castle, a former manor house with Tudor origins. The building was remodelled in the 19^th century to resemble a medieval castle – more about that later on.

Despite its slightly isolated location, I have made quite a few visits to the Castle Inn over the years, and several of these have been chronicled on this blog. But given the events of the past 16 months, I was slightly concerned as I approached the open door of the pub, although at the same time I was glad to get away from the intense heat, and into the cool interior of the pub itself. Fortunately, very little seemed to have changed, as I stepped into the staunchly traditional, Public Bar. 

With its quarry-tiled floor, low-beamed ceiling and log burning stove, (obviously unlit last weekend), the bar is the haunt of proper country types, who visit in their working clothes, often accompanied by their (working) dogs. It is a place where the world gets put to right and where the cares of everyday life can be forgotten for a while over a well-kept pint of Larkin's beer, brewed just a few hundred yards down the road. right-hand public bar and really is like stepping back in time to a simpler age. 

Larkin’s founder, head brewer and former owner, the late Bob Dockerty, was one of the regulars here, and a photo of him hangs adjacent to his favourite chair, next to the bar. It’s almost as though he was keeping an eye on proceedings. Other characters include farm workers, gamekeepers, foresters and other assorted “country folk”, but on Sunday the crowd was perhaps, a little more "refined." 

Given the tropical temperatures outside, or perhaps because of them, the Castle seemed a little quiet, but then my explorations didn’t take me through into the snug and adjoining Saloon Bar. What I did take a look at was the small “Private Bar,” immediately to the right of the entrance. I don’t think I’d ever seen this room before, but with its mis-matched tables and chairs, plus an antique bookcase and mirrors, it had that old-fashioned, country-house feel to it.  

Back in the Public Bar, Larkin’s Traditional plus the ubiquitous Harvey’s Sussex Best were the two cask ales on sale. I opted for the “Trad” as it’s universally known, partly because I was driving, but also because I fancied something a little lighter. I’m not usually a massive fan of Trad, but on that scorching hot Sunday, it really hit the spot. (I had the same experience, yesterday evening, at the Little Brown Jug in Chiddingstone Causeway, but that’s another story!) The biggest and most pleasant surprise though, was the price of the beer at a very reasonable £4.00 a pint. Not bad for an upmarket pub in a National Trust village!

 I ventured outside, to finish my drink, and to keep an eye out on the comings and goings at both pub plus country pile, and after finishing my pint, and returning the empty glass to the bar, I decided to take a peep at Chiddingstone Castle. 

The gate was unlocked, and there was no one manning it, or indeed requesting entrance money, so I followed the shady woodland path, through the trees, and towards a wooden footbridge. This spanned a cool-looking stretch of still water, covered with lily-pads and shaded on both sides by overhanging trees. The woodland suddenly opened up on the other side of the bridge, exposing Chiddingstone Castle, in all it glory.

I didn’t want to visit the castle, although on closer inspection one can see that it’s an obvious, Victorian fake. It has been owned and lived in by an eclectic mix of people: the Streatfeild family, Lord Astor, members of the military, during WWII, Long Dene School and the collector Denys Eyre Bower, who bought Chiddingstone Castle in 1955 to house his extensive collections of art and antiquities. His dream was to share his collections with the nation and to preserve them for future generations. 

After his death in 1977, a charitable trust was set up to honour his wish. I’ve never visited the place, unlike a number of my Japanese colleagues, no doubt drawn by the extensive collections of Japanese lacquer-wares, samurai swords and armour, plus articulated iron models of animals, all the result of a lifetime’s work by a gifted and dedicated collector. Today, the house hosts wedding receptions, plus other private functions, and is far more extensive than first appears. So, worth a visit, if you are in the area, either before, or after a beer or two at the Castle!

 

 

No errors at Tonbridge Cardinal's

This post is written with Retired Martin in mind, after he commented on one of my recent posts. He wrote that he was looking forward to reading about the Cardinal's Error, which might be the only Tonbridge pub he hadn’t been in. For those who don’t know the town, and I’m assuming that probably means more than a few of you, the Cardinal’s is an attractive, old tile-hung pub which dates back to the 16^th century. Surrounded by a post-war housing development, the pub seems a little incongruous, but it’s worth remembering that following World War II, the country faced an acute housing shortage. The solution was the construction of a large number of housing estates, under the control of the local authority, and then rented out at an affordable rate to local people.

Known as “council housing” at the time, and “social housing” today, the planners of the estate just to the north of Somerhill House, had the foresight to provide occupants of the new dwellings with their own public house, in conjunction with local brewer, Frederick Lenny & Sons Ltd. Leney’s, who brewed at the Phoenix Brewery in Wateringbury, acquired the two farmhouse cottages in 1946, with the intention of converting them into a public house. They transferred the liquor license from the old White Hart beer house on Tonbridge High Street, and the pub opened for business a few years later.

The pub was named the "Cardinal's Error” with the figure of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey featuring on the sign. Wolsey had suppressed Tonbridge Priory (plundered the place for its wealth), with the blessing of his master, Henry VIII, but much against the wishes of the townsfolk. By way of reparation, the Cardinal promised to build a grammar school in place of the priory, but unfortunately for him, and the good people of Tonbridge, he fell from favour before he could carry out his promise. His “error” of course, was putting his trust in the bloodthirsty tyrant, that was Henry VIII.

It's interesting to note that Leney’s had been a subsidiary of Whitbread & Co Ltd since 1927, but in 1961 sold their tied estate to Fremlin’s Ltd of Maidstone. That situation didn’t last long, because six years later, Fremlin’s was purchased by Whitbread & Co Ltd, returning the Cardinal’s Error to its original brewery. In 2002 Whitbread sold its pub estate, to Enterprise Inns, and today the pub is run by Pendry’s Pubs Ltd. That’s enough history, apart from saying that at one time, I was a regular visitor to what was then, a two-bar local, on the edge of town. 

That was when I first started working in Tonbridge, which was some five years before I moved to the town. The Cardinal’s was a good place for a lunchtime drink, back in the days when enjoying a couple of pints at lunchtime was perfectly acceptable. The pub served a particularly well-kept pint of Fremlin’s Bitter, and you could also get a decent sausage sandwich there, as well. The Cardinals had two bars, back then, which were quite distinct from one another, but this arrangement worked. Things changed a decade or so later, and whilst I can’t remember exactly when the changes took place, they were to the detriment of both bars. The cosy atmosphere of the former saloon bar vanished, as did the more down-to-earth feel of the public bar.  

Today, the Cardinal’s remains divided internally into two distinct drinking areas by a massive brick chimney, with open fireplaces either side, although the addition of a games area, for pool, darts, plus TV sports, has now left the former public bar as the quietest part of the pub. Over the years the Cardinal’s has become much more of a local’s pub than it had been previously, which is probably due to the demise of the lunchtime, office, drinking crowd, but the main thing is it is still trading. The Cardinal’s had been unknown territory since before the pandemic, and whilst I’d contemplated calling in there for a while, when push came to the shove, I kept backing away. 

This situation continued for the best part of a year, and whilst I’m not usually a procrastinator, I was in this instance. I’m not quite sure where this reluctance stemmed from, although it may have been because I perceived the pub as being a bit rough. It might well have been, back in the day, but following the piecemeal sale of a large chunk of the former council estate, under Thatcher’s “right to buy scheme,” the area has undergone a transformation, so that argument no longer holds true.

So, last Thursday lunchtime, I bit the bullet and took a wander along to the pub. It was just over 5 minutes’ walk, so nice and convenient then, but would it deliver on the beer front, plus the “somewhere to go for a nice quiet drink” front as well. I’m pleased to report that the pub ticked both those boxes, as well as wiping away all my negative expectations. I would guess there were a half-dozen or so customers in the pub, some sitting at the bar, some playing pool, plus one or two nicotine addicts standing outside. They were all male, with the landlady the only member of the opposite sex. Quite a few of the blokes seemed a similar age to me, which was a good sign, as far as I am concerned.

I spotted pump clip for St Austell Tribute, affixed to one of the beer engine handles, and whilst I am quite fond of this beer, I asked the landlady whether the pub also stocked Harvey’s. They didn’t, apparently as it’s an expensive beer when bought wholesale, I already knew this, plus I was told, it didn’t keep particularly well. She also mentioned that there wasn’t the turnover for the pub to stock two cask ales. It was then that the penny dripped, because, as mentioned earlier, the Cardinal’s is owned by Pendry’s Pubs Ltd, a small pub-co that also includes the Chequers in Tonbridge High Street, as part of its estate.

The beer was fine, so seeing as I was a nice day, I tool my pint outside, and sat under the semi-covered pergola area, adjacent to the games area and over looking the pub garden. The latter seems to count include a marquee as a semi-permanent fixture, so possibly the pub caters for weddings? At other times, the food offering is confined to hand prepared, stone- baked sourdough pizzas plus bar snack sides, and these seem restricted to Saturday and Sunday afternoons.

All in all, I was impressed with what I found, and I shall definitely be returning. The thought of a nice quiet pub where I can sit and read a book, or engage others in conversation, should I wish, appeal to me. The fact that this particular pub is just a 5-minute stroll away, appeals to me even more, so in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back!”

 

A Pub For All Seasons - a year long journey in search of the perfect British local

After the previous post I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that this one is a lot lighter as well as more uplifting. It revolves around the book I’d been reading, since the end of April, and which I finally finished a couple of days ago. It was the publication I took on our recent cruise, and whilst I didn’t finish it on the voyage, it’s the sort of book you can dip in and out of, without losing the thread. It's a light hearted sort of book and one you can put down when needed, and then pick up on afterwards, whilst knowing exactly where you left off. The book I am referring to is the latest publication from former British Beer Writer of the Year, Adrian Tierney-Jones, an esteemed individual whom I have had the pleasure of meeting on several occasions.

Adrian had been diligently working on this latest offering for quite some time, and whist he didn’t come straight out with it, reading between the lines, the break in normal activity (especially pub going), that was such a depressing feature of the pandemic, must have influenced his choice of subject. 

The book is titled "A Pub For All Seasons," with the subtitle "A Year Long Journey in Search of the Perfect British Local," and is the chronicle of a year-long journey which saw Adrian exploring various pubs across Britain. The quest, which begins with the simple aim of finding a pleasant place to sit and enjoy a pint of beer, ultimately reveals to the author the essence of what truly constitutes the perfect British local.

Throughout his travels, Adrian engages with locals and landlords alike, listening to their stories, and whilst experiencing the food, drink, and general ambiance of each pub. He states that during a lifetime of dedicated pub going, he’s come to believe that there is a pub for every season, and it is this seasonal effect that is the main theme of the book.   

He kicks off with autumn, that mellow, and often gentle, time of the year, but one which can also mean events such as Halloween, (an unwelcome import from across the Atlantic, in my view), Bonfire Nigh, Remembrance Sunday, plus the grand-daddy of them all, Christmas. Despite its overblown commercialism, Christmas does brighten up the dull and often dreary days of winter, and the cheer associated with parties, and festive dinners, provides a welcome, and often much needed boost to a pub’s finances.

 

 Moving towards spring, there is Valentine’s Day, if that is your thing, followed by Easter, followed by a cluster
of very welcome Bank Holidays, all of which can help give businesses that extra boost to help them stay afloat. Summer, of course is where pubs really come into their own, and this is where the cycle of the seasons turns full circle. So, from providing dimly lit and cosy retreats, where one can hide oneself away during autumn and winter, preferably in close proximity to a roaring log fire, through to spring when the first green shoots start to appear, the circular nature of the seasons continues, into summer. This is where life really returns, after the drab, and chilly days of autumn, winter and sometimes spring too. It is where things move outside – think pub beer gardens, barbecues, beer festivals, or just generally chilling out with friends, whilst enjoying a few welcome pints of refreshing, and lightly chilled beer.

Adrian believes that many pubs and bars exhibit seasonal variations in their atmosphere, impacting the experiences of dedicated pub goers. As the weather warms, outdoor seating becomes more common, yet April may still bring a chill, before summer arrives in a blaze of glory. Then, as autumn begins, the feeling of solitude starts creeping in, and may become more pronounced as the days become shorter and the nights longer. During this time, dark and malty beers often replace the pale, hoppy beers of summer, with stouts and porters becoming more appealing – evidence again of the effect that the seasons have on the nation’s pubs.

There’s nothing here that I’ll take issue with, and "A Pub For All Seasons” is one of those books that is a joy to read. Whilst it's obviously been written from the author’s perspective, it also rings a bell with its intended audience, due to the similarities with their own pub-going experiences. It certainly had this effect on me! There’s a reasonable percentage of pubs in Adrian’s book that I have visited, just as there are quite a few others that I would like to set foot in, given half the chance. 

Topping the list is the Bridge Inn at Topsham which the author refers to several times, revealing that it is one of his favourites. Seeing as he lives in Exeter, this is perhaps, no surprise, but there are others such as the Haunch of Venison, in Salisbury, that I visited last year, plus a couple of classics that I remember from my early days of pub exploration, that I would definitely like to experience again, before my time is up. I am referring here to the Square & Compass, at Worth Matravers, in the splendid, setting of the Isle of Purbeck, plus the Three Tuns, at Bishop’s Castle, close to the border between Shropshire and Wales. Both are real classics, with the latter, doubly so, because of its long-standing, home-brew credentials.

There are many other pubs I could list out that I am either familiar with, or would like to become acquainted, and they all have that elusive quality that, whilst difficult to define, is what makes a pub so special. In his quest for pub nirvana, Adrian is seeking out the atmosphere and ambience associated with all good pubs, along with the way in which these elements seem change over the course of the year. He manages to do this with the use of specific examples which highlight what is unique about each season, but there are also some pubs which he describes across all four seasons. Unsurprisingly, these places are usually ones he is very familiar with, such as those in the areas around Topsham and Totnes in Devon.

So, what started as a simple quest to sit and drink in a few favourite pubs, ends up revealing much more regarding the secret to what truly makes the perfect British local, when viewed across all four seasons. For someone who has just spent a fortnight, cruising around the British Isles, and experienced parts of these islands that in many cases, were just names on a map, the opportunity to visit a hostelries, in some of these far-flung places, was too good an opportunity to miss. And whilst the voyage provided just a brief snapshot of what’s available on home turf, Adrian’s book proved the perfect travel companion, for a good holiday read.

 

 

Martyn Cornell - a few thoughts, and some recollections

This post was always going to be a hard one to write, and even now three weeks after the event I'm still not certain where or how to begin regarding what I'm writing. However, once I reveal the individual’s name, then I’m sure many other people will feel the same way. I'm talking, of course, about Martyn Cornell who passed away suddenly, and quite unexpectedly at the beginning of the month, and just in case you are unaware of Martyn’s achievements, he was almost certainly, one of the most knowledgeable and most successful beer historians, of his generation.

He was highly sought after as a lecturer about beer, its history and development, an at the time of his passing, he was preparing to travel to Iceland to visit a number of breweries there. Four years ago, he moved to the Norfolk town of Cromer, home of the Poppyland micro-brewery, and operated by his brother Dave and Dave's wife Mandy. His final, and much anticipated book, "Porter and Stout: A Complete History," which explodes some of the myths surrounding that great Victorian beer, Porter, will be published this month and is expected to be well-received.

Now unlike those writers, who have posted their own tributes to Martyn, I didn't know him particularly well, in fact I only met him on a handful of occasions. Primarily these were events organised by the British Guild of Beer Writers. In June 2016, the Guild’s Annual General Meeting was held at the historic George Inn, situated just off Borough High Street, and close to London Bridge. According to the article I posted at the time, Martyn was present that evening, although I never managed to speak to him.

That opportunity occurred several years’ later at one of the Awards Dinners that the Guild organised in London, during the run-up to Christmas. 2021’s event was held in the sumptuous surroundings of Institution of Mechanical Engineers, close to Westminster, and I remember both Martyn and I being seated at the same table, alongside Gillian Hough who, at the time, was one of CAMRA’s national directors. 

Apart from me spilling out my reasons for leaving the Campaign, to Gillian, I can’t remember what else cropped up in the conversation, but five years’ earlier, Martyn and I were both delegates at the 2016 European Beer Writer’s Conference, held in Amsterdam. Although we didn’t know it at the time, that year’s event, proved to be the last, because Zephyr Adventures, the US-based organiser of these events, decided to call it a day. Whether Zephyr just got cold feet, or whether they found the logistics of organising such an event in a different continent, too difficult or too taxing, remains unknown, but for budding beer writers like me, these conferences were excellent. During the mid-teens of this century (2014 – 2016), I attended conferences in Dublin, Brussels, and finally Amsterdam, and it was at that particular event that I first saw Martyn in action. He was one of two speakers who addressed the conference’s opening session, along with Tim Webb, another writer from what I call the “old school” of beer writers.

Tim’s conference address, stuck in my mind more than Martyn’s, but that’s not to detract from a person who was quietly spoken, and extremely knowledgeable, without any no hint of wishing to show off to the audience. Although Martyn could be a stern critic of other writers, he was always pleasant company when meeting for a beer.  Prior to the conference, along with a dozen or so other beer writers, the pair of us were guests of Visit Brabant, the tourist agency which looks after this province of the Netherlands. The agency had certainly pulled out all the stops to make us feel welcome, and to show off this attractive and inviting area of the country. The excursion included an overnight stop in the historic city of ‘s-Hertogenbosch; normally abbreviated to Den Bosch.

Earlier that morning, our group was transported by coach, to the Abbey of Koningshoeven at Berkel-Enschot; home to the Dutch Trappist Brewery of La Trappe. Koningshoeven is one of just two Trappist breweries based in the Netherlands, out of the 11 currently in existence world-wide. The abbey is home to a community of 16 Benedictine monks, and as well as brewing beer it also produces cheese. Brewing began at Koningshoeven back in 1884, as a means of financing the monastery, and whilst the monks originally produced the beer themselves, it eventually became necessary to obtain outside commercial assistance.

After a tour of the brewery, we adjourned to the shady beer garden, next to the visitor centre, for a lunch of local ham, cheese, salad, and bread rolls. More beer followed in the form of a 7.5% Isid’or beer for me, whilst others went for either the 4.7% Puur (a pilsner-style beer), or the Witte Trappist 5.5%, wheat beer. The garden was crowded with visitors, most of whom appeared to have arrived by bike. Afterwards it was our turn to cycle, although those who preferred not to, were transported to the next destination by coach. Ten years ago, I was still a regular cyclist, so I was definitely up for a bike ride, even though our route along the bank of a canal, was a lot longer than expected.

Later that afternoon, after visiting a couple more breweries, our coach transported us back to Den Bosch, where we enjoyed a boat ride along the network of canals which ring the city. After checking into our hotel, we had an evening meal, plus several more beers the Café Bar le Duc, a brewpub and beer-café, situated right in the historic centre of the city. I’ve looked back at the photos of that day, and picked out both Martyn Cornell and Bryan Betts, another much missed beer writer, who was also taken from us, far too soon, (Bryan, sadly passed away in February, last year).

Midway through the conference, we given a tour of the legendary Jopen Brewery in Haarlem - a city that lies to the west of Amsterdam. The brewery visit was followed by an excellent, beer-related dinner, held in the almost ecclesiastical setting of Jopen’s original brewery, situated in a converted church. At the end of the conference, there were several, optional, beer-related activities, and the one I chose was a trip out to the renowned Brouwerij De Molen, housed in a converted windmill, in the small town of Bodegraven.

Martyn was present on that trip, which involved taking a train from Amstel station, and then making an hour’s rail journey, south-west from the Dutch capital to Bodegraven. It poured hard with rain, for much of the day, and we arrived at De Molen, looking like a group of drowned rats. Regrettably, much of the narrative surrounding not just this brewery visit, but the conference in general was lost when my old laptop decided to die on me, but I do remember we were well looked at renowned Brouwerij De Molen. Although the brewing originally took place in the old windmill, the majority of the company’s production is now concentrated place inside a couple of modern, industrial units, just a couple of blocks away. We were shown this during the tour, along with brewery’s impressive setup for producing different, barrel aged beers. 

By the time we arrived back in Amsterdam, the sun was shining, and we enjoyed a pleasant walk stroll to the hotel, along the banks of the Amstel river. I took a few photos which demonstrate that with Amsterdam being built on water, you can't go more than a few 100 yards without stumbling across a canal.

 I learned the sad news of Martyn’s passing, the day after I returned from holiday and thinking about both the writer and the man, is what prompted me to pen this tribute. Martyn was only three years older than me, which makes this loss particularly poignant, even though we are all unaware of how much time we have left on this earth. I am confident that Martyn's work will continue to inspire, both through his published writings and his blog. Apart from offering my heartfelt condolences to Martyn's family and friends, there is not much more I can say. His passing, far too soon, leaves a significant void, and his extensive knowledge, factual insights, pleasant nature, and friendly demeanour will be greatly missed.