The weekend finishes on a high

After an extended weekend of atrocious weather, cancelled trips, and sitting at home, bored kicking my heels, it was good to get out of the house today, visit a classic rural pub, and spend some quality time with son, Matthew.

The day started with breakfast at Chiddingstone Causeway village hall, a move that ushered in the return of what had once been a regular Sunday morning activity for Matthew and I. The pandemic an associated lock-downs put a stop to those breakfasts, as it did to lots of things, so it was good to return and enjoy a hearty and well-cooked, full English classic of bacon, sausage, tomatoes, fried egg, and bread, plus toast. With a cup of tea, and re-fill, thrown in as well, and all for the princely sum of £7!

The Causeway breakfasts take place once a fortnight, and the profits they generate, go towards the upkeep of the village hall, but before you start wondering what the connection is between this small village and me, it is the place where my company is located. Working on the basis that it is good to support local enterprises, for more years than I care to remember, I have enjoyed these breakfasts, usually accompanied by Matthew.

The events have always been well supported in the past, and we have discovered that it pays to arrive early, especially if you don’t want too long a wait for your food, so earlier today we arrived just after 9.15am. Matthew was driving and parked the car at my company’s factory, a few minutes’ walk away, just down the road. We planned to call in there after breakfast, but more of that later.

There were about half a dozen others in the hall, when we arrived, several of whom I know. One was a member of my old department, who told me that the workforce had been sent home early on Friday, because of storm Eunice. Our breakfast duly arrived and was wholesome and tasty. Decent and locally sourced bacon and sausages make all the difference, and were a complete contrast to the rather bland, catering versions we’d had a few weeks ago, at an unnamed café in Tonbridge.

We walked back to the factory afterwards and entered the building. I had the regular checks on the emergency lighting to carry out. These form part of my Safety Advisor remit, and I quite often perform the checks when the building is unoccupied – primarily because the main lights have to be switched off, in order to carry out the checks. Matthew helped me, as he performs a similar role at the High Street retail outlet he works at.

By the time we finished, it was "beer o’clock," so I suggested we try a couple of local pubs in the search for some Larkin’s Porter. We drove out to Chiddingstone village first, passing Larkin’s Brewery on the way. Thoughts of getting a pint at the Castle pub, in the village, were dashed by the number of cars parked along both sides of the street. There was also a group of drinkers sitting outside.

With this in mind, I told Matthew to drive on, and we doubled back to the other pub I had in mind – the Rock, at Chiddingstone Hoath. Regular readers of this blog will know I adore this unspoiled, classic rural inn, set in its equally attractive and isolated rural location.  As the road continued to climb up to the high ground, where the Rock is situated, I was beginning to have doubts as to whether threw would be space in the pub’s car park, but fortunately there was, and we stepped inside.

There was a reasonable amount of people inside, but still, plenty of room. The raised area to the right of the main bar, had tables laid out for diners, and there was a reservation sign (for after 2pm) on the large table by the window, facing the fireplace. We chose to sit at one of the high, bench-style tables, close to the door, but not before ordering our drinks.

Joyfully, Larkin’s Porter was one of the cask ales available, alongside the brewery’s Traditional. Dark Star Hophead was the other offering – a beer that I have noticed on several previous visits. Matthew chose a pint of Amstel, although had he noticed its presence, he would have gone for the Pilsner Urquell. This was his first visit to the Rock, and I don’t think he’d been anywhere quite as basic and unspoiled as this before.

Being a proper country pub, the Rock attracts proper country folk, and by that, I mean “proper country” rather than what used to be called the “gin and Jag brigade” or, worse still, the “green wellington gang.” From our vantage point, at the high table, we could see what was going on, ranging from the loved-up couple, sitting in the window seat opposite, the group with their dogs, crowded round the bar, and the extended family group who came in, slightly after us, complete with parents, children, and grandparents.

They grabbed the group of comfortable chairs, set in front of the log-burner, and it was amusing watching “mum” trying her luck at the “Ringing the Bull” game, set on the wall where the kids and grandma were sitting. She had several near misses, including nearly giving grandma a black eye, but it was quite entertaining, and no real harm was done.

The group also had a rather lively, nine-month-old puppy with them who was looking enviously at the packs of Pipers crisps that Matthew and I were enjoying. Several more groups arrived, including the people with the table reservation, but as one group departed, Matthew recognised one of them as his former headmaster – now retired!

The food that was brought out looked good, but there weren’t as many diners as I thought there might be. The two young girls behind the bar, were doing a sterling job, pulling pints, taking orders, and bringing out the food. One of them also fetched a bowl of water for the puppy. I thought I heard one of them say they’d had several cancellations, due to the stormy weather, but the winds had actually died down by then. 

They’ve certainly got up again now, but not enough to deter a friend, who’d seen my post on social media, from making a visit, earlier this evening, and then posting a photo of his own. Strangely enough, my friend has just posted again on social media, to confirm that the Rock is now open again, mid-week, Tuesday to Thursday. This follows the staffing issues the pub had experienced, at the end of last year.

We took the scenic route home, passing the rocky outcrops at the top of the road which give the pub its name, before dropping down from the high ground of this remote area, and into Penshurst. From there, it was a climb back out of the Medway Valley, and onto Bidborough Ridge. This small section of West Kent ranks amongst my favourite parts of the county.

I amused Matthew by calling it “bandit country,” before explaining that the term was due to its remoteness and feeling of isolation, rather than a place where bad things happen. I’m grateful to have such an attractive area on my doorstep, and equally grateful for the lovely old pubs that lie hidden around some of its narrow lanes, and isolated settlements.