Lenham, a village in mid-Kent

It's not often you come across a village with two pubs, both virtually next door to each other and both thriving, but I encountered such a phenomenon on a visit to Lenham - a village situated roughly halfway between Maidstone and Ashford. My visit last Friday, was the first time in nearly 40 years that I have set foot in the village, although I passed quite close by, in late 2020. That was when I was walking a section of the North Downs Way, the long-distance footpath that follows the line of the North Downs. On that particular section, the path runs just below the escarpment of these chalk hills, just a few miles to the north of Lenham village.

The reason me visiting Lenham was to meet up with an old friend I knew when we both lived in Maidstone. That period in our lives was nearly 40 years ago, and whilst we kept in touch, met up for the old drink and even enjoyed a joint holiday to Bamberg, Germany with a group drawn largely from the ranks of Maidstone CAMRA, those times were before the pandemic – a moment that is much more defining for many, than people now realise. 

Like me, John no longer lives in the county town, having moved to the East Kent village of Lympne. The latter is quite close to Hythe, and lies at the foot of the North Downs, that range of chalk hills which traverse the county, as anyone who has walked the NDW long-distance pathway will know. Looking at the map, I must have walked quite close to my friend’s house, back in July 2019, when I completed the Wye to Arpinge section of the trail. With John living in East Kent and me residing in the west of the county, we decided to meet-up roughly halfway.

Finding a suitable pub, that opened at lunchtime, and served decent, good value food, rather than fancy, over-priced gourmet stuff, proved a lot harder than I thought it would be. The task was made more difficult by many rural pubs not bothering to open at all at lunchtime, even on a Friday. This is a topic worthy of blog post of its own, but fortunately the Red Lion at Lenham ticked all the right boxes. It also turned to be a pub John was not only familiar with, but had used himself, on past occasions, for similar meetups with people he knew from Maidstone.

I was able to journey to the Red Lion by public transport with a choice of bus or train for the first section (Tonbridge to Maidstone), followed by bus for the latter stretch to Lenham. I decided that the train would be more reliable than the bus, for the journey over to Maidstone and it also gave me time for a quick wander around the county town. After going through something of a rough patch, post-Covid, Maidstone definitely seemed on it uppers. As well as several new bars that have appeared, including a Bavarian Bierkeller, plus a contemporary bar-cum restaurant called the Herbalist (part of the Elite Pubs group), there are plenty of interesting shops, which makes welcome change to the tattooists, nail-bars, vape shops and Turkish barbers, that now dominate many town centres.

The one thing the town is lacking though are public toilets. I gave up trying to find the ones located in The Mall shopping centre, and in the end, somewhat cheekily nipped into the Society Rooms, one of two JDW outlets in the county town. (I pulled the same stunt on the return journey, calling in at the Muggleton Inn, on my way back to Maidstone West station). The former Spoons was convenient, if you’ll excuse the pun, as the starting point for the 10X Stagecoach service to Ashford, via Lenham.  

Suitably relieved I boarded the single-deck bus, and enjoyed a nostalgic journey out of Maidstone, and along the A20, a road I knew well, back in my youth. The M20 motorway now carries much of the east-west traffic, but it was pure nostalgia seeing familiar sights, including a number of pubs I knew from my youth, flash by the window. The bus arrived in the village 30 minutes or so before I was due to meet my friend, so I nipped into one of the cafes that I’d noticed in Lenham’s spacious village square, for a welcome cup of coffee before heading over to the Red Lion, where I found my friend already waiting.

It’s worth mentioning that Lenham and I have some history, that dates back to the summer of my first year at university. I was back home in Kent scratching around for a holiday job, when my former school-friend Roy, noticed an advert in the local newspaper, looking for cleaners at a nearby hospital. The hospital turned out to be the former Lenham sanatorium, a building dating from the 1930s, and constructed high up on the North Downs. Such establishments, with their bright and airy, south-facing rooms, offering wide vistas across the surrounding countryside, were used for the care of tuberculosis (TB) patients. In Lenham’s case the views were across the Weald of Kent. This was how TB patients were looked after during the first half of the 20^th Century, because whilst there was no cure for TB, the care that people with tuberculosis received at these sanatoriums, helped ease their symptoms and prolong their lives.  

The discovery and development of antibiotics during the late 1930’s and early 1940’s, changed all that, and today tuberculosis is no longer a disease to be feared. Alternative uses were found for sanatoriums, including that of isolation hospitals, where patients with highly contagious ailments were confined, whilst undergoing treatment. I was incarcerated in such a place as a child aged six years, after developing meningitis, but my stay was at Ashford Isolation Hospital, rather than Lenham.

I don’t remember that much about it, apart from patients being place in individual rooms, rather than wards. The rooms were separated by large glass partitions, so that you could see through into several adjoining rooms. There was a young lad, of a similar age, in the far room, so he and I communicated by sign language, and trying to make each other laugh. Long story short, and to my parents’ immense relief I made a full recovery, and it was a relief to me too, as I later discovered there was concern that I might not have been able to walk again.

I don’t know what happened to the isolation hospital at Ashford, except that it is no longer there, but at the time of my summer holiday cleaning job, Lenham Hospital had morphed into a residential home for people with learning difficulties, or possibly with more severe mental disabilities. Sadly, Lenham was sometimes used as a place for severely disabled children that parents found too difficult to handle. The cleaning job wasn't particularly hard and the company that employed Roy and I, picked us up in Ashford each morning, and then drove us over in a mini bus, to Lenham. They then returned us to Ashford at the completion of our shift. Sometimes we were able to escape, as it were, to the village because the hospital operated its own minibus transfer down into Lenham, mainly for the benefit of full-time staff, or people who perhaps needed to get to the bank or post office or, as my friend and I did on occasion, visit the pub.

There were two pubs in the village back then, and I’m pleased to report that the Red Lion, plus the Dog & Bear are both still trading. As mentioned, it was at the former inn that I met my friend last Friday, but back in the mid 1970’s, the Red Lion belonged to Whitbread Fremlin’s and at the time only sold pressurised Whitbread Trophy beer. The Dog & Bear, on the other hand, was owned by Shepherd Neame, which meant it sold hand-pulled, cask-conditioned bitter and mild, produced at the Shep’s brewery in Faversham. 

Roy and I had recently become interested in so-called “real ale” and as a result had both joined CAMRA. We naturally gravitated towards the Dog & Bear where the legendary landlord, known as “Squirrel”, sold one of the best pints of Shepherd Neame bitter imaginable. The beer wasn’t known as "Master Brew" back then, even though Shep’s referred to themselves as “Master Brewers.”

I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave things there, for the moment, as I’ve obviously waffled on, far too long. I thought it important though to describe the relatively short period of my life where I became quite well acquainted with Lenham village and its two pubs. Next time you can read how these two village inns have not only managed to survive into the 21^st Century, but how they are both thriving in their own individual ways. Until next time, then.

 

Green Jack tap takeover at the Nelson Arms

The Suffolk coastal town of Lowestoft has the distinction of being the most easterly settlement in the British Isles, and thus the first place in the UK to see the sunrise. Nearby Ness Point is the actual most easterly point in Britain, and there is a marker here, overlooking the shoreline, which celebrates this unique fact. Once famed for its fishing industry, Lowestoft still boasts a thriving fish market, which sits alongside fish processing facilities servicing a fleet of inshore and deep-sea fishing vessels.

I know I have been to the town, but only for s brief visit, as a child. I remember a sandy beach, with lines of groins leading down to the water’s edge. Such structures are a common feature on beaches further south and would have been familiar to children like my sister and I, who spent many a happy day playing and exploring the sandy south Kent beaches of Dymchurch, St Mary’s Bay and Littlestone. Under the watchful eye of my father, we did the same at Lowestoft, and I’m fairly certain that we visited Ness Point. Landmarks such as this appealed to dad, and he wouldn’t have been one to miss sharing this feature with his family.

Six decades on, I’ve a yearning to return to Lowestoft, although I’d prefer to make the visit when the weather has improved, and the days become longer. It won’t be fishing though, or sandy beaches that will draw me back, instead it will beer that will prompt my return, and it won’t be just any beer either. Some, but not all beer connoisseurs will know that Lowestoft is home to the legendary Green Jack Brewery, producers of some of the finest and most characterful beers in the country.

Green Jack was founded in 1993 by Tim Dunford and from humble beginnings, has grown into one of the most renowned breweries in East Anglia. It is now a multi-award-winning brewery specialising in cask beer.  In 2009 the company built a new 38-barrel brew house, located in an old smokehouse in the heart of historic Lowestoft. This enabled Green Jack to produce significantly improved volumes of its award-winning cask ales.

Green Jack specialises in brewing beers with its own contemporary take on traditional English beer styles. As well as a permanent range of core beers, a number of seasonal and one-off beers are also available at different times of the year. The company delivers directly into Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex, but until very recently, not into Kent. Here’s where I’m going to let you into a little secret, because for the last few years, Green Jack beers have put in occasional appearances at the Nelson Arms, in Tonbridge.

They have featured on the bar, thanks to the efforts of Nelson landlord, Matthew Rudd, who drove up to Lowestoft, in a hired van, to collect a selection of Green Jack casks, from the brewery. I seem to recall that Matt and his wife enjoyed a few days in that part of the country, after all, why, wouldn’t you? Judging by the number so times Green Jack beers have featured at the Nelson, the couple must have made a few such trips over the past few years. This year, the pub went one better by having a selection of a dozen or more beers delivered directly to the pub. Matt told me that it was a pallet load of Green Jack beers that was delivered to the pub. The delivery included 11 cask ales in total, plus a couple of keg beers, and in a “Tap Takeover” this impressive range of beers was presented to eager local drinkers, from 21-24 November.

I managed to get along to the Nelson last Sunday, with son Matthew acting as my chauffeur. We’d popped over to Tunbridge Wells first, but then, after a spot of shopping – new pair of trousers for me, Matthew confirmed that he’d join me for a beer or two, at the Nelson. That suited me fine, as I’d planned to head along there anyway, so his offer of a lift, saved my legs. We’d picked a good time to visit, as most of the Sunday roast dinner crowd had finished their “blow-out” and were getting ready to leave. We found a small, high table, close to the window, and within sight of the bar, and with an array of Green Jack hand-pumps opposite us, the only difficulty was in knowing which one to choose.

So, it was in or a penny, in for a pound, as I dived straight in on the high octane, Mahseer IPA. This is a strong (5.8% abv) India Pale Ale, high in strength, bitterness and overall hoppiness, and a beer that slipped down a treat. For the record, a Mahseer is a large edible, freshwater fish of belonging to the carp family, and native to northern India and the Himalayan region. Next up was Gone Fishing, a lightly hopped, Extra Special Bitter, packed full of malt, and characterised by a fruity finish. With an abv of 5.5%, it is deceptively drinkable for a beer of this strength and is brewed with a blend of three roasted malts.

My final beer was the cream of the crop, and a real classic. It is also one of Green Jack’s most renowned beers – certainly as far as the Nelson Arms is concerned. Baltic Trader is an extra strong Export Stout. Brewed to a strength of 10.5% abv, from a grist that includes three different roasted malts, with an addition of molasses, to produce a beer packed full of fruity flavours with hints of vanilla and roasted coffee. As the brewery says, it’s like a rich plum pudding in a glass!

I wisely restricted myself to a half of this legendary beer, especially after the previous two brews. There was a pleasant atmosphere in the Nelson, that afternoon which reminded me of how pubs used to be on a Sunday. I haven’t been down to the Nelson since the weekend, but according to the pub’s website, there are still seven Green Jack beers on tap, so if you’re passing through Tonbridge, over the next few days, it would be well worth your while calling in.

As for that trip to Lowestoft, I’m afraid that will have to wait until the next time Mrs PBT’s and I are in East Anglia, as the town isn’t really doable by rail, in a day. With no direct trains from London, it is necessary to travel from Norwich, from where it is six stops via Oulton Broad. This makes driving the preferred option, combined with say a long weekend in the border region between Norfolk and Suffolk.

 

Rotherfield, at last

On Friday, I finally crossed Rotherfield off from my list of pub places to visit. This followed one reconnaissance visit, whilst on the return journey of a bus trip to neighbouring Mayfield, and then a failed attempt, two weeks later as part of a CAMRA bus outing. The latter was the result of the dreaded, “essential” roadworks – notice how such disruptive activities are always “essential” but as I wrote in a blog post at the time, “the driver advised that due to road works, narrow country lanes, and a not quite so narrow bus, the 51 would not be calling at Rotherfield until the works were finished.”

So, with Mrs PBT’s up to her arms, in a pile of VAT returns for her clients in the construction industry, I was free to go off exploring, despite volunteering to make a start on the next kitchen-refurb project. My bus journey from Tunbridge Wells, still wasn’t all plain sailing, as services were running late due to, you guessed it, yet more roadworks. This time it was the Pantiles area of the town where the first holdup occurred, followed by yet more holes in the road and more temporary traffic lights causing mayhem on both sides of Frant – a two-pub village on the A267. Consequently, I arrived in Rotherfield some 25 minutes later than I should have done.

No matter, I was finally in the village, and there were two pubs waiting for me to walk through their doors and sample their wares. Before describing the pubs, here’s some background information about the village. Rotherfield was originally a Saxon settlement in an area generally covered with oak forest. It stands on high ground, surrounded by areas of cleared woodland, and the hill on which the village stands is the source of the River Rother, which drains much of East Sussex. The river bubbles up from a spring, before commencing a 30-mile journey along the Kent-Sussex border to the sea at Rye Harbour.

Rotherfield is one of the largest parishes in East Sussex and encompasses the neighbouring villages of Mark Cross and Eridge. In modern times it has been eclipsed in size and importance by the neighbouring settlement of Crowborough, leaving Rotherfield as something of a backwater. Today the village has a population of 1,222 persons and is generally considered a nice location to live. From personal observation, Rotherfield seems much more workaday than nearby Mayfield, which I visited back in August. The latter seems to be a place where plenty of money abounds, giving it a more upmarket feel. I also wrote, following my late summer visit, that the Mayfield had a slight “alternative” feel to it.

None of this was evident on a cold, but bright November day, as I walked up the hill from the bus stop, into the centre of Rotherfield, to the T-junction at the top of the hill separates the village's two remaining pubs. These are the slightly upmarket Kings Arms to the left, and the more down to earth, Catts Inn to the right. I opted for the latter hostelry to begin with, in the knowledge that this “wet-led” pub, would provide that welcoming, first pint. I could then gravitate to the Kings Arms for a second pint, plus a bite to eat.

The Catts Inn is a community village local, with a quiet bar at the front, for conversation and general socialising, plus a separate games and TV room at the rear. It was bought by a family-owned, independent pub company in 2019 from Enterprise Inns, and being free from the constraints of this large pub chain, is now free to stock a range of beers to suit. Having said that, Harvey’s Best was the only cask option available at the time of my visit, although it was in excellent form. The building is said to date from 1741, and its bare wooden floors, plus plain unadorned walls, mark it out as a pub of character. As mentioned above, food is no longer available at the Catts Inn, but customers are encouraged to order in take away food when plates, cutlery, etc will be provided.

There was just one other customer sitting at the bar, when I entered the bar, but after I’d ordered my pint, of Sussex Best, and inquired about bus times with Lee the barman– see photo at top, I was drawn into conversation with the pair, who wanted to know (in a friendly sort of way), what had brought me to Rotherfield, and the Catts Inn. I explained that I was semi-retired and enjoyed the occasional bus trip out to hard to get to pubs. Satisfied that my intentions were honest and that I wasn’t there to steal their wives and daughters, the conversation opened up. The chap sitting at the bar had lived in the village all his life, and had attended the nearby, prestigious Matfield College, as a daybed. His father had been the village butcher, and whilst there are still a number of shops in Rotherfield, including the village stores, with its post office, plus the inevitable antiques shop, commercial activity has declined, as in so many rural settlements.

I mentioned that I was after something to eat, so was advised to head over to the Kings Arms, before the pub stopped taking food orders at 2pm. It seemed that a healthy relationship exists between the two pubs, which is good.  There used to be a third pub in Rotherfield, called the George, but this 700-year-old pub closed its doors for the last time in 1998, and is now a private residence. Also closed, but not in the village itself, is the quirky sounding, Bicycle Arms, at Argos Hill, a mile or so to the south of Rotherfield.  Fortunately, the Kings Arms is still trading, and it was literally a short hop across the road to this 17^th Century former coaching inn, but before departing the Catts, my new-found friend at the bar, insisted on taking a photo of me, on my own phone. It’s reproduced at the top of this post.

After pushing open the heavy wooden entrance door to the Kings Arms, I encountered a heavy curtain, suspended from a circular rail. Obviously designed to keep out the cold, the curtain reminded me of pubs in the Czech Republic and Bavaria, where freezing-cold winters are the norm, and such protections against icy draughts are essential. The pub’s heavily beamed ceilings, walls of exposed brick, and open hearth, complete with a blazing log fire, were just what I expected. The beer offering was also welcoming with Dark Star Hophead, and Long Man Long Blonde complementing the ubiquitous Harvey’s Best. I went for the Long Blonde, which was pale, cool and refreshing, although perhaps not the ideal beer for a cold winter’s day.

Conscious that the kitchen might soon be closing I ordered myself a BLT baguette. It arrived with the seemingly obligatory chips, but with nice fresh, crusty bread, bacon that was well-smoked and equally crisp, it was a welcome, but not too filling spot of lunch. The young couple behind the bar were professional and engaging, and their efforts were seemingly appreciated by the handful of diners in the pub. There is a larger room, behind the serving area, but I didn’t explore further, as I was keeping an eye on the time. The No. 51 bus operates an hourly service, and I didn’t want to miss the next departure to Tunbridge Wells. Fortunately, the Stagecoach website gives real time departure information, so I was able to finish my food and drink and walk down to the bus stop in sufficient time for the 14:40 departure. 

My route to the bus stop took me through the extensive terrace and garden area at the rear of the Kings Arms. With its views over the High Weald, it’s the perfect spot for al-fresco dining during the summer months, and there’s even an outside kitchen, bar and toilets - points worth remembering for future visits. So, that’s another High Weald village and it pubs ticked off, although I'd like a return visit to explore Rotherfield a bit more thoroughly. But where to next?

 

Nothing lost in translation

 

One would have thought that switching to part time working would have meant a significant increase in the amount of available leisure time. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have worked out that way, and whilst this is partially my own fault, I’m sure it’s a situation that many people encounter as they loosen their connections with the world of work.

After a most enjoyable day out in Bath at the start of the month, I found myself thrown back into an ongoing project at work with a vengeance. Not a problem, as we are making good progress with our plans to upgrade and expand our production facilities. Far less fruitful, was the  Safety & Cyber Security Audit, which took place the following week. It was carried out by our Japanese parent company and was, shall we say an “interesting experience”. Cyber security is definitely of high importance for companies in this day and age, especially those operating in the field of e-commerce. 

We don't fall into that category, but earlier in the year, one of our customers - a major international player in the dental industry, had their entire IT system hacked and taken off-line. As if this wasn't bad enough. the ransom demands that followed were even more "inconvenient." My understanding is the company in question had to rebuild their IT system from the bottom up, and then repopulate their customer database. Not wishing to fall foul of such a scam, prompted our parent company to tighten up on procedures, which is why they sent five compliance personnel halfway across the globe to audit us, an then their main European sales and marketing division, which is based in Germany.

We were advised that the audit was a “corporate necessity,” as the group is listed on the Tokyo Stock Exchange. Fortunately, as company Safety Advisor, I was able to demonstrate adequate compliance in this field, but they seem to forget that we are just a tenth of the size of their operation in Japan. This mean having to sit through an overly long session on cyber security, and if anyone wanted to find an example of Parkinson’s Law, where “work expands to fill the time available for its completion,” then this was it. 

An interesting aside was the use of an outside interpreter, which is something of a first for the interactions between us and Japan. However, the charming and distinguished looking septuagenarian Japanese gentleman who turned up, was worth his weight in gold for the way he took charge of the meeting, and ensured everything stayed on track. He had the ability to simultaneously translate what had been said, whilst at the same time listening to what was being said, in order to translate the next package of information. 

All this reminded me of a previous occasion when I had to engage an interpreter when we were audited by representatives from the Kazakhstan Health Ministry. This was on behalf of the aforementioned German sales division. Kazakh-speaking interpreters weren't easy to come by, so I was advised to engage a Russian-speaking translator instead.  The person I found, was a tall and very striking blonde, Russian woman who, as she later revealed, had been a member of the Russian Special Forces! So, not someone to fall out with, but fortunately, as with our Japanese interpreter, she was professional and possessing the same abilities to ensure that all those present were singing from the same hymn-sheet. I've gone seriously off topic, but when recent events invoke memories of past, similar occurrences, it's often worth bringing them to the fore.

A decoration/refurbishment project on the home front occupied most of the following weekend, although it did earn me more than a few brownie points from Mrs PBT’s. Our kitchen window now has a blind that not only looks good, but operates correctly. The downside was the project took longer than first though (these exercises invariably do). and left me feeling too tired to attend the launch of the new season’s Porter, from Larkin’s, a staggered event that took place at both branches of Fuggles Beer Cafés (Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells). It was an event I’d been particularly looking forward to, and the annoying thing is, I still haven’t managed to find the beer on sale, anywhere else. This is despite online searches of those pubs, that are likely to stock the beer. There’s still plenty of time, though!

Some friends who have tried this season’s offering, claim that it is not as good as previous year’s, but when there’s period of say, half a year between the end of one year’s offering and the start of the next, then it’s hard, and also a little unfair to make such comparisons. It’s also a rather pointless exercise, given the seasonal nature of such beers. The final point here, comes from a highly experienced home-brewer I know, but unfortunately a person who allows his own strong opinions to cloud his judgment. This particular individual claims that Larkin’s Porter is a strong mild, rather than a true porter – a view I strongly disagree with.

Several weeks ago, I managed to pick up a 10 bottle, Kalea Wiesn-Tragerl pack, from out local Lidl store. This is the second year running that I managed to acquire one, although as Pub Curmudgeon points out, the packs were rather late in appearing this year – mid-October, which is a month later than in 2023. I know this, because I obtained last year’s box shortly before we disappeared on a Mediterranean cruise, that meant we were out of the country, for much of October.

The packs this year are identical to those available last year, so as I wrote about the beers then, and Mudgie has written extensively about them here, I shan’t repeat myself. Despite saying that I would leave my selection until the Christmas break (holidays, for American readers), before sampling, I succumbed to temptation this evening and cracked open a bottle of Falter – Pichelsteiner Festbier 5.9% abv, and very good it is too. Pub Curmudgeon’s blog piece includes tasting notes, so check these out if you want to learn more. 

And so, at the start of another long weekend, there’s another, albeit smaller home-related project looming, in the form of a decent mirror for the bathroom. As with the kitchen blind, it’s a question of too much choice, rather than too little. With any luck though, I shall factor in a pub visit or two, and you never know there might be the chance of some Larkin’s Porter.