Two neighbouring, but contrasting pubs, at the heart of a Kent village

With the “slightly extended” pre-amble of the previous post out of the way, it’s time to cut to the chase, and report back on the main purpose of last Friday’s visit to the mid-Kent village of Lenham. I’d arranged a meet-up with my friend John, and between us we’d chosen the Red Lion, which is one of two pubs in the village. The pub is a grade II listed, heavily beamed inn, spread across a number of different levels, and like many buildings overlooking Lenham’s historic square the Red Lion is of considerable antiquity. It dates from the 15^th Century and like its near neighbour, the Dog & Bear was formerly used as a coaching inn.

We’ll be looking at the Dog & Bear later on, so let’s stick with the Red Lion for the time being, as that is where I spent the majority of my stay in Lenham.  As mentioned in the previous article, during my late teenage years, I wasn’t overly familiar with the Red Lion, primarily because the beer it stocked – or rather the method of dispense used, wasn’t CAMRA approved. It was only after I graduated from university, and returned to live in Kent, that I set foot inside the pub for the first time.

By that time (late 80’s), the Red Lion was selling hand-pulled Fremlin’s Bitter, so it was considered worthy of a visit. I still don’t recall that much about the pub, as it continued to remain firmly in the shadow of its neighbour, the Dog & Bear, so much so that when I stepped inside the right-hand bar of the Red Lion on Friday, I didn’t really know what to expect. My friend had found a place on the bench seating close to the window, and I recognised him straight away. He was nursing a pint of Harvey’s Best, and after we’d exchanged the usual pleasantries, I accompanied him to the bar, where he bought me a pint of the same.

There was a crowd of middle-aged men standing in front of the counter, and they were having a rather heated debate about the price of a packet of cigarettes.  The main protagonist was complaining, quite profusely, about the price he was charged for his fags, so much so that he told the shopkeeper that he didn’t’ want them. The debate continued, but fortunately the landlady had finished serving the whining tobacco addict and was free to pull my pint of Harvey’s.  My friend broached the subject of food, and was told menus, plus cutlery would be brought over to us shortly.

In the meantime, John and I had plenty to catch up on, including a health scare on his part, that fortunately now seems under control.  He also presented me with a pre-ordered copy of his latest book about Lympne Airfield, a once thriving military and then commercial airfield, close to where he lives. The airfield closed in the mid-1980’s but given its history and the part played in two world wars, plus subsequent events, continues to attract a lot of interest.

Back to the food, and given our ages, we were presented with the standard menu, plus one for senior citizens. The prices for the latter were significantly cheaper, but of course, portions were proportionally smaller as well. I was tempted by the latter but given the occasion plus my friend’s determination to go for the full monty, I did the same. When it arrived, John’s liver & bacon, with mash and peas looked the business, although you won’t be surprised to hear that I went for the steak & ale pie. It was quite substantial, and I was almost wishing I’d gone for the “seniors” option. I probably will next time, but as a dedicated pie-man I enjoyed getting stuck into what could only be described as a “thing of beauty.”

John departed just after 2:30pm, but I had around 50 minutes to wait for my Stagecoach bus back to Maidstone. A pint next door, at the Dog & Bear seemed a good idea, but not before a quick look around the rest of the Red Lion, on my way to the Gents. There were a couple of rooms on the other side of the serving area, as well as a separate seating area leading off from the front bar, but as the pub was still quite busy, there weren’t many opportunities for taking photos. The Red Lion certainly turned out to be a cracking pub, offering the perfect combination of good beer, well-presented and value for money food, plus a lively bunch of regulars.

Upon leaving the Red Lion, I headed along to the Dog & Bear, an imposing grade II listed former coaching inn built in 1602 facing the village square. Queen Anne apparently stayed here in 1704, and her coat of arms appears over the front door.  Like its near neighbour, the Dog & Bear has a wealth of exposed, oak beams, and its large, cosy and comfortable bar is heated by a welcoming log fire. For those contemplating a longer stay, there are 24 letting rooms available, including one with a four-poster bed, if that’s your sort of thing! The number of rooms available at the Dog & Bear, hints at the size of the pub, but after stepping inside I had difficulty reconciling the interior to that I remembered from its days as a two-bar establishment. I’ve a feeling that the saloon bar was situated in the left-hand part of the building whilst the public was on the right, although the exact configuration doesn’t really matter, 40 years on. What is important is the husband-and-wife team who ran the pub, and between them had many years’ experience of running a public house. The couple were perhaps getting on a bit, and their names were immortalised by the bars they were in charge of.

The Saloon bar was known as “Squirrel’s Bar” Squirrel being the nickname of the characterful landlord, with his trademark handlebar moustache and mutton-chop whiskers. He was a man of few words and was rather dour in character. I never learned his real name, but I later found out that he was a proper “boffin” who had worked on various radar installations during the Second World War. His wife Joyce ruled over the male dominated Public Bar, with a firm hand, and her no-nonsense approach kept a potentially unruly public bar crowd in good order.  She seemed a little scary, to a young lad like me, so I tended to give “Joyce’s Bar" a miss, but Joyce and Squirrel were the perfect couple to be running a lively village pub, such as the Dog & Bear. 

The pub was a favourite of the local CAMRA branch and was renowned for the quality of its beer. Although not revealing his name, "Squirrel" did divulge his secret of keeping and serving such an excellent pint of Shep's. This was to keep the casks in the cellar, for a minimum of two weeks, before tapping them. The result was an absolute explosion of hoppiness, combined with an extremely well-conditioned and matured pint. It certainly ranks as being amongst the finest beer I have ever tasted.

40 years on, and whilst much has obviously changed at the Dog & Bear, including the loss of the public bar, the pub still offers a warm welcome to locals and visitors alike. With a roaring log fire to take away the winter chill, and the interior looking appropriately festive, it seemed the perfect place to unwind, not that I needed to after a good catch-up with my friend, plus an equally good lunch. The beer offer was also appealing, with cask Bishop’s Finger putting in a rare, but very welcome appearance on the bar.

It was in good nick as well, and as I sat relaxing in a comfy armchair, in a tucked away corner of the bar, savouring my pint and soaking up the timeless atmosphere of this centuries old inn, it proved the perfect ending to a perfect lunch. I still had to get home, but the 10X bus to Maidstone turned up more or less on time, and by quickening me pace I was able to walk from the King Street bus stop, across the river to the west station. I even managed to catch the 17:00 train back to Tonbridge.