Marching down from the top of the hill to the Grand old Duke of York

I nipped over to Tunbridge Wells on the bus, last Monday. It was a miserable day, weather-wise, although the rain fortunately held off long enough to allow me to set the Christmas lights up, outside the house.The reason for my trip was to return a pair of shoes that I’d bought online. They shoes were made by Clarks and I’d picked them up at the end of last month, at a heavily discounted price, in the company’s so-called "Black Friday" sale.

The shoes were delivered, ahead of schedule, but when I tried them on, they were uncomfortable and too far too narrow, especially across the widest part of my foot. In some respects, this serves me right as whilst the Clarks website did show several photos, taken from different angles, it was difficult to know whether they would fit, or how they would feel on my feet. This was in spite of the ability to enlarge the photos, on the site.

So, a lesson learned as, in a way, I broke my own rule about not buying clothing or footwear online. The clue is there folks – you can’t try the items on, prior to buying, no matter how large the discount! Fortunately, there was the opportunity of returning them, so there was no real harm done, and reading the small print, I discovered I could return the shoes to a local store.

This certainly beat the hassle of having them to be couriered back to Clarks and was also the perfect opportunity of calling in at one of Tunbridge Wells’ many pubs. I travelled over by bus, from a stop that is just three minutes’ walk from my house, taking full advantage of the free travel afforded by my bus pass. I alighted a short distance away from the company’s Tunbridge Wells shop, where I not only managed to return my “uncomfortably tight” pair of shoes, but also managed to exchange them for a pair that fitted well, and comfortably too.

Mission accomplished, I decided it was time for that rewarding pint of beer, I had been looking forward to, since lunchtime. The rain that had been quite light earlier on, turned heavier, so taking advantage once again of my free travel pass, I hopped on a bus, for a quick three-stop ride down to the town’s historic Pantile’s area. I was making for the Duke of York, an early 18^th Century pub, on a prominent corner site, close to the historic Chalybeate spring, that established Tunbridge Wells as a spa town.

I have used the pub on and off, over the years, but in 2012 it went considerably upwards in my estimation, when it was bought by London brewers, Fullers. I had it in my sights last Monday, as providing the chance of a pint of the brewery’s famed ESB, and when I walked in, and embraced the Duke’s warm, inner glow, the pub and the beer did not disappoint.

 

A welcoming log fire was blazing
away at the far end of the bar, whilst the bar, that runs virtually the entire length of the back wall, was festooned with Christmas decorations. A bank of five hand-pulls adorned the counter, offering a range of beers that included Dark Star and Gale's, as well as Fuller’s. I of course went for the ESB, which despite retailing at £5 a pint, was well worth it. Full-bodied and satisfying, and packed with rich, juicy malt flavours, I had forgotten just how good this beer, which was once Britain’s strongest, regularly brewed draught bitter, could be.

There was a reasonable amount of people in the Duke of York, particularly for a damp and dismal Monday afternoon, but the pub wasn’t crowded, by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps it was the soft glow of the fire, or the twinkling of the lights from the Christmas tree, by the door, but the bar that afternoon, possessed a real feeling of warmth and contentment, which not only added to the general atmosphere, but was also something that is hard to describe at times.

It was difficult to take photos, without making it too obvious, and in this respect, I admit I’m nowhere near as adept at surreptitious photography as seasoned "pub tickers” such as Retired Martin or Simon Everitt (BRAPA). So, short of standing up and pointing my phone in the general direction of people, who might not want to be photographed, the internal scenes of the Duke of York, captured here, are the best I managed to come up with.

There wasn’t time to stay for a second pint, or the visit another pub, especially as “dad’s taxi” had been booked to pick son Matthew up after work. His car was awaiting repair. So, after consulting my Arriva Bus App, I walked up to stop outside the rail station in order to catch the bus, back to Tonbridge.

I missed the No. 402 bus, because I was unable to read the number and destination displayed on the front of it. My glasses had steamed up, as a result of the mask I was wearing. The sensible thing would have been to have not fitted it until just prior to boarding, but I dislike having to keep faffing around with the wretched thing. Unfortunately, waiting for the next bus meant missing my connection in Tonbridge, by a couple of minutes.

The latter was a local bus that would have saved me a 20-minute, uphill walk, but the exercise did me good, and it had stopped raining.  I still arrived home in time to drop off my new shoes, pick up the car and then drive back down into Tonbridge, to collect young master Matthew. 

Before finishing, I’d like to share a few facts with you, about Clarks Shoes, and my association with this iconic brand of footwear. The company was founded in 1825, at Street in Somerset, by two brothers Cyrus and James Clark. It might sound strange, but it was one of the first companies to offer proper, “foot-shaped” shoes. In 1873, James’ son William mechanised the shoe making process, and by 1910, Clarks had become a “must-have” brand for the fashion conscious.

When my sister and I were growing up, our parents insisted on buying Clarks shoes for us, but it was only recently that I discovered the reason why. It was in the early 1940’s, that one of the company’s directors developed a foot measuring system for children, that ensured that shoes were fitted correctly. I mentioned about having my feet measured in a blog I wrote, back in April, describing my purchase of a brand-new pair of walking boots. They were Meindl, rather than Clarks,but the principle remains the same.

Today, Clarks shoes are once again being made in Somerset, following a 12-year hiatus, when production was transferred to the Far East. The company has changed hands a number of times since the start of the new century, and is no longer family owned, but it remains in the collective consciousness of many of us, especially those who spend large amounts of time on their feet.