Take the long way home

Apologies for the rather lengthy introduction to this post, but please bear with me as the points raised are not only relevant, but help to set the scene. They revolve around my journey home from work and the fact that, over the course of the summer, my drive home has often necessitated me taking a slightly different route.

My choice has, at times, been dictated by the weather, but the influence played by local geography should also be taken into account. My drive to and from work involves crossing  over the River Medway; the largest river in Kent. The Medway rises on the high ground of Ashdown Forest, before making its way to Tonbridge, Maidstone and then eventually out to sea. 

My home town of Tonbridge is the limit of navigation for all but the smallest of boats, but this still doesn’t prevent the  river from forming a significant barrier to travel by land. Apart from the viaduct that carries the A21 trunk road across the Medway flood plain, the next crossing, upstream from the town, is at Ensfield Bridge, between Leigh and Haysden. The crossing here forms part of my normal route, but  unfortunately it is prone to flooding. This means that following prolonged spells of heavy rain I am forced to use the crossing further upstream at Penshurst.

For several months now, I have been travelling home via the Penshurst route; not because of flooding, but more so because of the irresponsible behaviour of groups of “yoofs.” You see Ensfield Bridge has become popular, during spells of hot weather, as a place where the local idiots can jump off the parapet, and “dive-bomb” into the water below. Not the safest of pastimes, and one that has become known, not without some degree of irony, as “tomb-stoning”  in maritime areas, where people jump off from rocks and even piers, into the sea. 

This doesn't always end well, especially when there are underwater obstructions, or the water is not as deep as the jumpers believe, but whatever the appeal of this rather reckless behaviour, it does seem to have increased in popularity and prevalence over the course of this increasingly strange summer. If people are stupid enough to risk injuring themselves in this fashion, that’s up to them and if they are removed from the gene pool, then this is natural selection at work, but they should consider the impact this could have on loved ones and on increasingly stretched healthcare resources, before doing so.

That’s enough pontificating, but these activities have often obstructed the road that runs over the bridge, due to the limited amount of car-parking spaces available at this spot. In normal times, this would be where anglers, walkers or local farmers would park their vehicles, but with the “tomb-stoning” craze at its height, there have been times when the road has been  blocked and virtually impassable.

So when the sun is shining and the mercury is high in the glass, I tend to take the slightly longer homeward route, via Penshurst. This isn’t too much out of my way, and does make for a pleasant change of scenery. Penshurst is an attractive village and is home to Penshurst Place;  a 14^th Century  manor house that has remained largely untouched since late medieval times. It is also home to the Leicester Arms; an imposing inn situated almost opposite the entrance to Penshurst Place.

The  Leicester Arms had been closed for some months, before the start of lock-down, so driving past one afternoon in early July, I was pleased to notice the pub had reopened. A couple of days later, I saw a couple of drinkers, sat out at a tables in front of the pub, obviously enjoying a pint.

I felt as if I ought to be joining them, so for several weeks I thought about leaving work early, and calling in for a pint. There’s something really attractive about sitting out in front of a pub, bar or café, preferably with a beer in front of one, and then just watching the world go by. A picturesque village such as Penshurst, attracts plenty of passers-by, especially now that the stately pile has re-opened (for pre-bookings only), so yesterday I took the opportunity of paying  the Leicester Arms a visit, on my way home.

I arrived shortly after 4.30pm, and after negotiating the narrow entrance to the car park, made my way to the front of the pub and stepped inside. The Leicester Arms still has the look and feel of an old fashioned country hotel, with an entrance lobby, reception area, plus dining and restaurant areas towards the rear of the building. The spacious bar area leads off to the right, and although it is a while since I last called in, not much seems to have changed; apart from an obvious spruce up.

For many years the Leicester Arms traded off the fact that film stars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton had stayed at the hotel whilst filming a period drama set in the nearby Penshurst Place. There were some modern-day guests staying whilst I was there, which I took as a good sign – see below.

There was the by now obligatory hand-gel dispenser by the door, but apart from that no other obvious track and trace procedures.  I approached the bar and ordered myself a pint of Larkin’s Traditional. A beer from Brakspear’s was the other offering, but with Larkin’s brewed just a few miles away,  I prefer to remain  local.

I told the barmaid that I wanted to pay cash, which was fine, and handed over a tenner, but after her colleague had pulled my pint, she took it round the corner of the bar, and left it on a tray, complete with my change. All nice and professional, and presented with a friendly welcome as well.

I headed outside for the front of the pub, but before I left, another customer appeared and ordered pint of Guinness. He asked if he could put the beer on his room – a clue that he was actually staying at the hotel. Another clue came shortly after, when he joined me outside, at one of the other tables, and shouted up at someone looking out from an upstairs window. I presumed correctly that this was  another member of his party.

A young lad then appeared who turned out to be connected with the hotel owners. He very commendably asked the guest with the Guinness, as to why he wasn’t drinking Larkin’s. The chap looked puzzled until the boy explained it was the local ale, brewed just down the road. He muttered something about always drinking Guinness, but if truth be known he really should have been drinking Larkin’s, as it was exceptionally good.

It was by far the best pint of cask I’ve had since before lock-down, and worth every penny of the £4.25 I paid; not too bad a price for the area, the hotel and the general rise in prices, after re-opening. More to the point, it was that good that I awarded it a very rare 4.5 on the NBSS.  

I sat there enjoying my pint, watching the passers-by – dog-walkers, ramblers, visitors to Penshurst Place and no doubt locals from the village as well. I accept that lovers of the traditional pub will probably be aghast at this blatant enjoyment of café culture, and will mumble amongst themselves that I should be inside, soaking up the totally different atmosphere of the dimly-lit bar, but to hell with them. I enjoyed my little moment of beer appreciation and people watching.

As I made my way back to the car, I noticed a garden area, complete with tables and umbrellas, at rear of pub, opposite car-park. There were several groups of customers taking advantage of the early evening sunshine whilst enjoying a drink and a chat together.

All this, and more is evidence that the great British pub is still alive and kicking – even for those sat inside in the bar. Long may it continue!