Timber Batts - revisited

It's difficult to describe exactly how I felt walking into the Timber Batts at Bodsham the other Sunday. As I mentioned in the previous post, that was literally my first visit to the pub in 50 years, and I have to admit it felt more than a little strange. As Matthew and I set foot in the entrance lobby, we got our first taste of the quirky, and very off beat decor of the pub.

I can't say that after half a century the memories came flooding back because they didn't. The strange thing is that what I recall of my last visit to the Timber Batts was the bright and airy feel to the pub. This time around, things could not have been more different. The interior was dimly lit and the red painted walls, together with the heavily beamed ceiling were in complete contrast to the impressions I had carried in my head over the past 50 years.

This wasn't to say that I didn't like what I found, if anything the dimly lit interior had a cosy and comforting feel to it, something that was enhanced by the log fire blazing away to the left of the bar. We were greeted by the two women behind the bar, and after a quick scan what was available beer-wise, I opted for a beer from Hop Fuzz Brewery. Matthew asked what lagers were on sale, and his face lit up when told Paulaner from Munich was one of several options on sale.

We were asked if we would be eating, but we declined because, as I said to the lady who served us there would be a large roast dinner waiting for us when we arrived home. I inquired what snack options were available, but these were confined to a couple of obscure flavoured crisps, plus or peanuts. We opted for the latter, and after paying for our drinks I Informed the couple, that this was my first visit to the Timber Batts in 50 years. I explained the circumstances behind that claim, and in return I learned more about the recent history of the pub, including the origin of its unusual name – see below. Trade apparently had been good and had recovered nicely since the end of the pandemic.

Given the pub's isolated position, with very few chimney-pots in the immediate vicinity, motor borne transport is more or less essential to reach the pub. However, one hardy cyclist put in an appearance whilst we were there, but that was only to collect the donation's box for the recent British Legion Poppy Appeal. With the winding narrow roads and steep hills, the surrounding countryside isn't exactly best suited for cycling. It might not be that good for walking either, although looking at the map, it isn’t too far from the Bowl Inn, at the village of Hastingleigh.

Before sitting down, we had a wander around the pub looking first at the games room, and then what appeared to be a dining area to the left. There was another, smaller dining area to the right of the main bar. The games room had a pinball machine, along with a bar billiards table and like the other rooms in the pub, had the same red painted walls, in other words a “symphony in red.” The pub seemed completely different to the picture I had in my mind, which is perhaps not surprising after such a lengthy period, and the memory starts playing strange tricks.

The other thing that was particularly striking apart from the décor, was the pub’s quirky interior, that bordered on the eccentric. Those with an interest in taxidermy will not go away disappointed, as there are a number of stuffed animals, along with skulls belonging to various animals, on display. These objects would certainly appeal to fans of Angel Strawbridge, from the Channel 4 series, Escape to the Chateau. Mrs PBT’s is one such fan, and would certainly have appreciated this off-beat, and slightly bizarre collection of critters. I have told her that if we ever find ourselves over that way again, we will make a point of calling in.

There was only one other customer in the pub when we arrived, but after sitting down at a large wooden table opposite the bar, a party of three arrived, and made themselves comfortable in the smaller dining section. They'd obviously pre-booked a table, and whilst not eating ourselves, the menu certainly looked interesting. We stuck with our beer and peanuts, and my Hop Fuzz Fallout, served in a Beavertown glass, was excellent. There were no complaints either from Matthew, regarding his Paulaner – a beer which seems to have increased its availability in the past few years.

Before leaving, I asked the couple behind the bar whether the Honest Miller pub in Brook had re opened yet. I was aware that this former Whitbread pub, with its gravity-served cask ale, had ceased trading, several years ago, and was reported as boarded up, awaiting a buyer. I have a personal and emotional interest in this fine old village local, as even before I was legally old enough to drink, I spent many a happy evening there, during my late teens.

One of the ladies thought that the pub had reopened, but we found out for ourselves, on the drive home, that sadly the Honest Miller remains shut. I hadn’t intended to drive back through Brook, but when we reached Wye, we were forced to take a diversion due to roadworks. I later discovered work to replace the manual level crossing gates, next to Wye station with fully automatic barriers, was the reason for the diversion. I’m sure one of my old school friends, whose father was the station master at Wye, will be thinking of his dad, who was out there in all weathers, opening and shutting those heavy gates, and wondering why this work hadn’t been carried out decades ago.

After passing the Honest Miller, we drove past my parents’ old bungalow which, from the brief glimpse we had of it, has been extended, with rooms and windows fitted into the former loft space. We also passed the village church, which remains virtually unaltered since Norman times. We were soon back on the M20 motorway, but with just two lanes open on either carriageway, and a 50-mph limit in force the entire stretch between Ashford and Maidstone, progress was slow.

The lane closures were the latest shenanigans caused by operation “Brock,” the direct result of erecting trade barriers between the UK and the world’s largest free-trade area, due to the Tories’ insistence on a damaging, ultra-hard Brexit. This is the direct result of “taking back control,” the slogan parroted endlessly by the Leave Campaign and their mainstream backers in the right-wing media,

This reminder of the folly of “cakeism” didn’t detract from what had been a very successful day out, with another missing section of the North Downs Way, ticked off the list, and a pub that I thought was long gone, revisited. The remaining “missing link” is at Knockholt, which is much closer to home, but when planning that small section of the NDW, I shall make every effort to include a pub or two, along the way. 

Footnote: For many years, the pub was a simple country alehouse, known as the Prince of Wales. The change of name came about during the 1960's, when the PoW was "modernised," and came about due to the proximity of a saw-mill, where timber was sawn up into battens or "batts."