When is a beer, not a beer?

Question, when is the beer not a beer? Answer, when it's a brand. So, what exactly do I mean by that statement? Basically, several named beers, that were formerly part of a brewer’s portfolio, evolve to become brands in their own right. So instead of having X beer you have several different varieties of X beer, all marketed under the name of the original. Meaning that what was once a single beer, has now morphed into an all-encompassing brand. I'm going to list a few examples to illustrate the point I'm trying to get across.

At present, the most prolific brand in the beer world, and to my mind, the most cynical example of this is the well-known Hobgoblin brand. Hobgoblin was originally a dark amber, mid-strength, beer produced by the Wychwood Brewery, based in Witney, Oxfordshire. The brewery was known for its character-based label artwork, inspired by the myths and legends surrounding the ancient Wychwood Forest. Purchased by Marston's plc in 2008, Hobgoblin grew to become one of the fastest growing premium beer brands in the UK, and today, despite the closure in November 2023, of the original Witney Brewery, is now Marston’s best selling ale brand, with around 45 million pints sold in the past 12 months alone. The brand is currently owned by Carlsberg Britvic and the 5.2% abv Hobgoblin, is the company's flagship brand in the ale/bitter sector.

Hobgoblin is a Ruby coloured mid-strength bitter, promoted by the use of a clever advertising campaign featuring a slightly threatening and quite nasty looking little chap called a Hobgoblin. Back in the day there was a poster circulating, and I probably still got my coffee somewhere at home, where the hobgoblin's raises a glass almost to his lips, turns round and says, “What's the matter lager boy? Afraid you might taste something?” Wychwood did pretty well out of that campaign but now, with Danish money behind them and the closure of the Witney Brewery in Oxfordshire, other “hobgoblin” beers have started to appear. Just take a look at the beer aisles in most major supermarkets, and you won’t just see plain old Hobgoblin, but instead you will find Hobgoblin Ruby, Hobgoblin Gold, Hobgoblin Session IPA, Hobgoblin Original IPA, Hobgoblin Amber, Hobgoblin Stout, and a strong beer known as King Goblin. So, what was once just a single beer is now a “brand” and in theory, they could add other beers to that such as a lager, or a “craft” brew to the range, to complete the circle.

A similar scenario has unfolded with Kent based, brewer, Shepherd Neame, who claim to be Britain’s oldest brewer. The company launched Spitfire Premium Kentish Ale back in the early 1990's, and with its references to the Second World War fighter plane and it's none too subtle digs at the Germans, the beer was a runaway success. Despite this I was never a massive fan of Spitfire, or indeed most other Shepherd Neame beers, but in line with the developments at Marston’s several other Spitfire beers have been launched. These include Spitfire Gold plus Spitfire Lager. I’m assuming that Spitfire Amber, is the new name for the original Spitfire beer, but as with Hobgoblin, what was once just a named beer within the brewery’s range, has now become an all-encompassing brand,

To a lesser extent, a similar situation occurred with Wainwrights, a beer originally brewed by Blackburn based Thwaites, to commemorate the legendary, Lake District fell-walker, Alfred Wainwright. For those unfamiliar with the latter gentleman, Alfred Wainwright was a dedicated hill walker, based in the Lake District, who took the trouble to record many of his favourite walks in a series of detailed, and self-penned, publications. Compiled between 1952 and 1966, each book was described as “A Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells,” and was illustrated with hand drawn maps and sketches to help guide walkers in this beautiful area of the country. There were seven such guides in total, although Wainwright later produced a number of additional guides, including the famous Coast-to-Coast Walk – a route which he was instrumental in devising. Since then, this walk, which starts at St Bees Head on the Cumbrian coast and ends at Robin Hood's Bay on the North Sea coast, has become one of the most popular of all long-distance walks.

I’m not sure whether Wainwright would have appreciated, or even condoned these beers, as he died in 1991, but I’m assuming his estate would have given them its approval, but as with the other two examples, Wainwright beer has also expanded into a brand. Once again, the people responsible are Carlsberg-Marston's, who acquired the rights to the Wainwright brand in 2015. Today, beers sold under the Wainwright name include Wainwright Amber, possibly the original Wainwright beer, Wainwright Gold (how predictable) and finally Wainwright Wanderer, a limited-edition brew.

Now there's nothing unethical or intrinsically wrong with what Marston’s/Carlsberg are doing, of for that matter, Shepherd Neame, but if nothing else it demonstrates a lack of imagination. Some might argue, it’s milking a name for everything it’s worth, and I’m sure others would be less kind, but the thinking behind it is obvious, as when consumers see one of these beers on sale, they are quite likely to go for it, on the basis that it’s a name they know and trust. Put another way, this is a means for Marston’s and Co, to increase their market share, by elbowing less well-known beers, off the bar. The same applies in the off trade, where supermarket shelves are increasingly stacked with these beers, and customers are even more likely to opt for a name they are familiar with.

Platinum status

I wouldn't go so far as saying that I'm suffering from "writer's block,"  but I don't seem to have much to write about, at present. There are couple of few events, plus days out coming up, towards the end of the month, but until they happen, there's a definite shortage of material to use on the blog. With this in mind, here is a piece I bashed out, on our British Isles cruise, back in May. It does have a slight resemblance to a post I wrote last summer, but it contains sufficient new material to be worthy of a post, in its own right, so, here goes. 

Our most recent cruise saw Mrs PBT's and I achieving "Platinum Status" as far as Cunard are concerned. We attained this level after clocking up eight different cruises since undertaking our first voyage, on a four night sailing to Zeebrugge and back. That cruise was made in the company of Eileen's sister, and her husband who, sadly, is now no longer with us. One cruise is sufficient to attain Silver level on Cunard's scale, and somewhere along the way we achieved Gold status. 

This hierarchical system is obviously designed as a marketing exercise, encouraging people to book further voyages, than  perhaps they might otherwise have done, but attaining Platinum level does confer a number of benefits, the chief one being Priority Boarding. This proved to be very handy when we turned up at Southampton back in May, and found the queue snaking right outside the terminal. It was Mrs PBT's who remembered this benefit, and after flashing our boarding cards we were shepherded straight to the front of the queue.

So far, we've only voyaged with Cunard, even though many other cruise lines are available. I'm keen to try one of them, with Fred Olsen topping the bill, but my good lady wife doesn't like change, and prefers to stick with what we know. Personally I feel that Cunard are rather staid, and content to trade off past glories, and this manifests itself more than anything in the dress code that the company enforces for passengers dining in the main restaurant - the Britannia It also applies in several of the more upmarket bars and lounges.

Now I accept the need for a certain degree of decorum, as the last thing that's needed is blokes stripped to the waist, parading around in cut-down jeans, or women in skimpy beachwear, flaunting themselves, whilst sitting opposite you at the dinner table, but there's a whole world of difference between smart casual, and full-blown penguin suits or ballroom gowns. On their famous "Gala Nights", Cunard push cruisers in the direction of the latter, although a business suit for men, plus a dress, rather than a frock for the ladies will still get you seats at the table.

For many of the people who cruise with Cunard, putting their glad rags on and getting all tarted up, is part of the attraction, and for some it's almost the MAIN event. Getting poshed up is very low on my list of priorities, and increasingly the same applies to Mrs PBT's as well, although it doesn't explain why she still thought it necessary to bring four suitcases with her! Despite her surfeit of outfits, on our last two cruises we only dressed up on a handful of occasions, and whilst dedicated Cunarder's enjoy the theatrical "look at me" posing, associated with these formal dinners, we both find the events rather stuffy. I could go further and say that many of those on board, aren't really our type of people. In addition, as I've probably mentioned before, having spent a lifetime of having to dress formally - or at least, semi-formally at work, this isn't what I want to do when I'm away from the office, and on holiday. 

If you don't want to get tarted up on a Cunard cruise, then there are venues such as the food-court buffet, or the Golden Lion pub, where people can wear what they like - within reason. If you're feeling really anti-social, there's also the option of Room Service, where a limited number of dishes can be brought to your room - foc, at the moment, but according to my good lady wife, the cruise line will soon introduce a charge for this service, with the exception of breakfast. The bean counters strike again!

Returning to the theme of "other cruise lines are available" Norwegian-owned Fred Olsen would be my choice of carrier. Less formal, but still with a “British” feel to them, their smaller ships seem more personal, and are able to access smaller ports that the larger vessels are excluded from.  Some of their destinations also look interesting – Scandinavia (obviously), the Baltic, and the British Isles, but also Croatia, and some of the smaller Greek islands. Some Fred Olsen cruises, depart from other UK ports, such as Dover, Liverpool or Newcastle, instead of Southampton, withe Dover being the obvious choice for myself and Mrs PBT's. We have ruled out Princess, Holland-America, Royal Caribbean and Celebrity, as many of these vessels are "party ships"geared up to a younger audience. The size of some of these ships too, can be rather off-putting. 

 

Eating out, not just once, but twice in one week!

Over the past week and a half, I've managed a couple of early evening pub meals, something that's quite unusual for me, as Mrs PBT’s is an excellent cook and usually takes care of culinary matters. If she doesn't fancy cooking, then a takeaway is in order, normally fish and chips from the excellent Avebury Avenue Fish Bar, but sometimes we go for a Chinese. Unlike the chippy, the Mandarin delivers, but then it is situated at the other end of the town. A new kebab shop has opened there too, just a couple of doors down from the Chinese, and it has ended up replacing old favourite, Kebab Express. 

Sited rather too conveniently, in the parade of shops opposite Tonbridge station, and offering some of the best chicken shish kebabs in town, a recent change of ownership has seen the closely knit team move away. New people are in charge there now, and the food, plus the welcome doesn’t quite seem the same, so a kebab now means a drive up to Martin Hardie Way, at the other end of town.

Back to the story, last Friday Eileen was out for a meal with a group of her girly friends, for one of their regular get togethers. The girls first met when they were expectant mothers, although I can’t remember if this was at the ante-natal or post-natal classes they attended. It doesn’t really matter which, as the main thing is the group has stayed together for the past 35 years. They meet up for a meal, plus a few drinks, two or three times a year, invariably at Christmas, but also on other occasions, and Friday evening was one of those. To Eileen's relief they have stopped going to a certain, nearby establishment, that wasn't delivering, particularly in terms of service. I’m not sure whether it's changed, following a recent makeover, but it’s reportedly being run by the same team.

The girls also had a rather poor Christmas meal experience, at a Tunbridge Wells bar-cum-restaurant, close to the Pantiles. Mrs PBT’s wasn’t impressed there either, after the group found themselves crammed into the first-floor restaurant, that was accessed bar by a narrow, and rickety looking staircase. I gather the food wasn’t all that special, either. I won’t name or shame these two establishments, but it was interesting that the same group member had chosen both venues. Several years previously, she had scored a hit with her choice of the Grey Lady, situated at the other end of the historic Pantiles.

Last December, I experienced the Grey Lady myself, when the company selected it for a pre-Christmas get-together, with some of our Japanese directors. The group were over, for a board meeting, and we enjoyed a good evening, that helped promote good relations between us, and our parent company. I'm digressing, although I’m pleased to report that the new favourite hangout for the ladies, is the Ivy House, at the top end of Tonbridge High Street. It's a pub that needs little in the way of introduction, so I won't repeat what I've written previously about the place.

So back to little old me. Matthew was out that evening, staying the night at his girlfriend’s place. This left me footloose and fancy free, but not in the mood for a take-away. I decided that a pub meal would be the best idea, especially as the combination of good food, equally good beer and comfortable surroundings, is hard to beat, but which one to choose?  I spent some time online, exploring the various options, and concluded that I would almost certainly have to drive out somewhere. I was looking for a place that sold decent beer alongside, reasonably priced food, with none of that gourmet nonsense, but just a good, old-fashioned, no-thrills pub. I also had to bear I mind that Friday evening was likely to be a busy time, so I needed to make my mind up fast.

Without too much hesitation, I opted for the Dovecote, out at Capel. I’d eaten there a few times when visiting with members of West Kent CAMRA, the last time being whilst attending the pub’s Dark Ales Festival. I wasn’t sure whether the chef was still the same person, but on that occasion, it was Yvonne, the former landlady of the Royal Oak in Tunbridge Wells. What I saw on the menu looked familiar, so I picked up the phone and booked a table for one. “It sounds a little sad,” I explained, as I made the booking. “Don't worry,” the landlady said, “we’ll look after you,” and I’m pleased to report that she and her staff did.

Come Friday evening, Eileen’s friend Trisha's husband picked her up and drove the pair of them down to the Ivy House, leaving me free to make my way over to tiny hamlet of Capel. Situated within easy walking distance of the nearby village of Five Oak Green, but not close enough to walk, safely, from Tonbridge, I checked the public transport options, but bus companies seem to think no one wants to use their services after 6pm, leaving people with little option to drive there, or get a taxi. I'm not a fan of taxis unless I really have to use them, although I do admit that the door-to-door service they provide can be handy, at times. However, without the option of sharing a cab, they don't come cheap, so on this occasion I was quite happy to drive to the pub and stick with just the one pint.

I'd already checked the Dovecote’s cask offering on the Real Ale Finder app on my phone and was pleased to see that one of the beers on sale was Micklegate Dark Mild from Brew York. Coming in at 3.4% abv, that was a beer unlikely to impede me from driving.  Following a 10-minue drive over from Tonbridge, I parked the car, noticing that the extensive car park behind the pub was more than half full, and walked into the pub. After checking in with the landlady, and being shown my allocated table, I went to the bar and ordered a pint of the aforementioned dark mild. Sitting at the bar was a couple I knew from the days when they were regular customers at our old off licence. I had a brief chat with them, discovering that being a similar age to me, they had both taken the plunge and retired.

I also ordered my main course of chicken, ham & leek pie, with mash potato, vegetable and gravy, a choice my family would describe as “somewhat predictable.” It was rather nice, and also quite filling, so much so that I decided to forgo a dessert. There were quite a few other customers dining that evening, although given the reasonably priced menu, plus the high quality of the meals, this wasn’t really surprising.  So full marks, once again to the Dovecote, not just for the food and the beer, but for the friendly welcome of the staff, and the ambience of the pub, in general.

Less than a week later, I enjoyed another early evening pub meal, this time at the Little Brown Jug in Chiddingstone Causeway.  The Jug is just over 5 minutes’ walk from my workplace, and it was a work-related function that brought me to the pub. A colleague, who is a similar age to me, was retiring, having just reached the biblical, three-score years and ten. Unlike me, she’d decided not to continue at work, although she could have carried on in a part-time role. The company had booked the Jug for a few “farewell drinks,” with an open bar between 4.30 & 5.30pm.

With Thursday being one of my “non-working” days I took the train over from Tonbridge, alighting at the conveniently sited, Penshurst station, directly opposite the pub.  I recall being told that the LBJ was originally called the Station Tavern, and that its name was changed by a former licensee who was a massive Glen Miller fan. “Little Brown Jug” was a well-known number, played live, as well as recorded by Miller and his big band, but unfortunately, I have never been able to substantiate the story.

This aside, there was quite a crowd of company employees, standing outside the pub and enjoying a drink, as my train pulled in at 16.32. I joined them, and enjoyed several pints of Larkin’s Traditional, which were on top form – I hinted at this in the previous post. As company “dos” go, it was pretty good and acted as a good send-off for our retiring colleague. 

As the clock ticked on, and the tab behind the bar came to an end, people started to drift off, but a hard core of us stuck it out, and ordered ourselves some food. My Mac ‘N’ Cheese, with added bacon, was very good, and accompanied by a side of mixed salad and garlic bread, formed just the right portion for an early evening meal. The Italian Tortellini Pasta, with crayfish and prawns, that one of my colleagues enjoyed, looked equally tasty, with both dishes demonstrating the quality of the food at the LBJ. I caught the 18.56 train back to Tonbridge, leaving the hard-core drinkers, to carry on with the evening. For me, two pub meals in relatively quick succession was a rare treat, but a welcome one, nevertheless.

 

In Chiddingstone, at the castle gates

Last Sunday, on one of the hottest days of the year so far, I made a brief visit to the historic, Castle Inn, situated in the equally historic village of Chiddingstone. I’d been called into work unexpectedly, because the intruder alarm system in the factory was indicating a potential, unauthorised entry, and the mobile patrol officer despatched by the monitoring station, had contacted me, as one of the authorised key-holders. Fortunately, it was a false alarm, a fact I ascertained the following day, when I contacted the alarm company, but my presence in the vicinity plus the stifling hot weather, provided the perfect excuse to go looking for a pint. And where better than the aforementioned Castle Inn, less than 10 minutes’ drive away?

It must be at least a couple of years since I last set foot in Castle, despite the pub only being 10 minutes’ drive away from my workplace, but with narrow roads, and a lack of car-parking spaces, it’s not the sort of pub that leads itself to nipping in for a quick lunchtime pint. This is a pity, as this lovely old 15^th century inn, oozes both history and charm, in equal doses. Like much of the village, the Castle Inn is owned by the National Trust, after being bequeathed to the charity during the 1930’s. Parking has always been something of an issue, in a settlement which has remained largely unchanged since it was sold to the Trust, but normally, there are sufficient parking spaces by the side of the road, between the church and the village shop- post office. But on a baking hot Sunday lunchtime, opportunities for parking seemed few and far between. 

Fortunately, luck was on my side, because just down from where the road makes a sharp turn to the right, (in order to avoid the stately pile known as Chiddingstone Castle), there were a couple of spaces, close up to a hedge, and what’s more, there was plenty of shade available – a real bonus, on such a scorching day. After parking my vehicle, I strolled up towards the Castle Inn, pleased to observe that nothing had changed. But it had, because the pub hadn’t long re-opened, following an extended, and enforced period closure of that lasted for 16 months.

 The closure followed the unexpected discovery of a deep, and hidden medieval well beneath the building, which had collapsed. Unfortunately, what began as a structural concern quickly became a much more complex issue, as the collapsed well had led to both soil erosion and a significant amount of subsidence which made the building unsafe. With the pub closed, a team of structural engineers and dedicated conservation specialists was engaged to stabilise and restore the historic inn. The team worked tirelessly, to ensure the safety of this historic old inn, for generations to come, but with the renovation and restoration that followed such a long period of closure, it wasn’t until the beginning of June that the pub finally opened its doors to the public. You can read more about this unfortunate, but ultimately successful event in the Castle’s long history, by clicking here, on the link.

Chiddingstone, with its well-preserved row of old houses, and a church dating back to 1120, has been described as the most perfect surviving example of a Tudor village in the country. The settlement is allegedly named after the nearby Chiding Stone, a large sandstone rock formation, which tradition asserts was used as a seat of judgement, mainly to remonstrate overbearing local wives. What about the overbearing husbands? It lies well off the beaten track, and this has, no doubt helped preserve both its character and its charm. Ownership by the National Trust, has no doubt helped as well, particularly over the past 90+ years, or so.

Driving into the village from the east, and passing the entrance to the well-known Larkin’s Brewery, travellers will see on their right, the Grade II listed, church of St. Mary’s, which is said to be the fourth place of worship, built on the site. Opposite, is the village school, followed by the row of old cottages, mentioned above. One of these houses the village shop and post office, but separated from the others, at the end of the row, is the 15^th century Castle Inn, rightly described as Chiddingstone’s crowning glory. Next to the pub, and where the road veers off to the right, are the gates to Chiddingstone Castle, a former manor house with Tudor origins. The building was remodelled in the 19^th century to resemble a medieval castle – more about that later on.

Despite its slightly isolated location, I have made quite a few visits to the Castle Inn over the years, and several of these have been chronicled on this blog. But given the events of the past 16 months, I was slightly concerned as I approached the open door of the pub, although at the same time I was glad to get away from the intense heat, and into the cool interior of the pub itself. Fortunately, very little seemed to have changed, as I stepped into the staunchly traditional, Public Bar. 

With its quarry-tiled floor, low-beamed ceiling and log burning stove, (obviously unlit last weekend), the bar is the haunt of proper country types, who visit in their working clothes, often accompanied by their (working) dogs. It is a place where the world gets put to right and where the cares of everyday life can be forgotten for a while over a well-kept pint of Larkin's beer, brewed just a few hundred yards down the road. right-hand public bar and really is like stepping back in time to a simpler age. 

Larkin’s founder, head brewer and former owner, the late Bob Dockerty, was one of the regulars here, and a photo of him hangs adjacent to his favourite chair, next to the bar. It’s almost as though he was keeping an eye on proceedings. Other characters include farm workers, gamekeepers, foresters and other assorted “country folk”, but on Sunday the crowd was perhaps, a little more "refined." 

Given the tropical temperatures outside, or perhaps because of them, the Castle seemed a little quiet, but then my explorations didn’t take me through into the snug and adjoining Saloon Bar. What I did take a look at was the small “Private Bar,” immediately to the right of the entrance. I don’t think I’d ever seen this room before, but with its mis-matched tables and chairs, plus an antique bookcase and mirrors, it had that old-fashioned, country-house feel to it.  

Back in the Public Bar, Larkin’s Traditional plus the ubiquitous Harvey’s Sussex Best were the two cask ales on sale. I opted for the “Trad” as it’s universally known, partly because I was driving, but also because I fancied something a little lighter. I’m not usually a massive fan of Trad, but on that scorching hot Sunday, it really hit the spot. (I had the same experience, yesterday evening, at the Little Brown Jug in Chiddingstone Causeway, but that’s another story!) The biggest and most pleasant surprise though, was the price of the beer at a very reasonable £4.00 a pint. Not bad for an upmarket pub in a National Trust village!

 I ventured outside, to finish my drink, and to keep an eye out on the comings and goings at both pub plus country pile, and after finishing my pint, and returning the empty glass to the bar, I decided to take a peep at Chiddingstone Castle. 

The gate was unlocked, and there was no one manning it, or indeed requesting entrance money, so I followed the shady woodland path, through the trees, and towards a wooden footbridge. This spanned a cool-looking stretch of still water, covered with lily-pads and shaded on both sides by overhanging trees. The woodland suddenly opened up on the other side of the bridge, exposing Chiddingstone Castle, in all it glory.

I didn’t want to visit the castle, although on closer inspection one can see that it’s an obvious, Victorian fake. It has been owned and lived in by an eclectic mix of people: the Streatfeild family, Lord Astor, members of the military, during WWII, Long Dene School and the collector Denys Eyre Bower, who bought Chiddingstone Castle in 1955 to house his extensive collections of art and antiquities. His dream was to share his collections with the nation and to preserve them for future generations. 

After his death in 1977, a charitable trust was set up to honour his wish. I’ve never visited the place, unlike a number of my Japanese colleagues, no doubt drawn by the extensive collections of Japanese lacquer-wares, samurai swords and armour, plus articulated iron models of animals, all the result of a lifetime’s work by a gifted and dedicated collector. Today, the house hosts wedding receptions, plus other private functions, and is far more extensive than first appears. So, worth a visit, if you are in the area, either before, or after a beer or two at the Castle!

 

 

No errors at Tonbridge Cardinal's

This post is written with Retired Martin in mind, after he commented on one of my recent posts. He wrote that he was looking forward to reading about the Cardinal's Error, which might be the only Tonbridge pub he hadn’t been in. For those who don’t know the town, and I’m assuming that probably means more than a few of you, the Cardinal’s is an attractive, old tile-hung pub which dates back to the 16^th century. Surrounded by a post-war housing development, the pub seems a little incongruous, but it’s worth remembering that following World War II, the country faced an acute housing shortage. The solution was the construction of a large number of housing estates, under the control of the local authority, and then rented out at an affordable rate to local people.

Known as “council housing” at the time, and “social housing” today, the planners of the estate just to the north of Somerhill House, had the foresight to provide occupants of the new dwellings with their own public house, in conjunction with local brewer, Frederick Lenny & Sons Ltd. Leney’s, who brewed at the Phoenix Brewery in Wateringbury, acquired the two farmhouse cottages in 1946, with the intention of converting them into a public house. They transferred the liquor license from the old White Hart beer house on Tonbridge High Street, and the pub opened for business a few years later.

The pub was named the "Cardinal's Error” with the figure of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey featuring on the sign. Wolsey had suppressed Tonbridge Priory (plundered the place for its wealth), with the blessing of his master, Henry VIII, but much against the wishes of the townsfolk. By way of reparation, the Cardinal promised to build a grammar school in place of the priory, but unfortunately for him, and the good people of Tonbridge, he fell from favour before he could carry out his promise. His “error” of course, was putting his trust in the bloodthirsty tyrant, that was Henry VIII.

It's interesting to note that Leney’s had been a subsidiary of Whitbread & Co Ltd since 1927, but in 1961 sold their tied estate to Fremlin’s Ltd of Maidstone. That situation didn’t last long, because six years later, Fremlin’s was purchased by Whitbread & Co Ltd, returning the Cardinal’s Error to its original brewery. In 2002 Whitbread sold its pub estate, to Enterprise Inns, and today the pub is run by Pendry’s Pubs Ltd. That’s enough history, apart from saying that at one time, I was a regular visitor to what was then, a two-bar local, on the edge of town. 

That was when I first started working in Tonbridge, which was some five years before I moved to the town. The Cardinal’s was a good place for a lunchtime drink, back in the days when enjoying a couple of pints at lunchtime was perfectly acceptable. The pub served a particularly well-kept pint of Fremlin’s Bitter, and you could also get a decent sausage sandwich there, as well. The Cardinals had two bars, back then, which were quite distinct from one another, but this arrangement worked. Things changed a decade or so later, and whilst I can’t remember exactly when the changes took place, they were to the detriment of both bars. The cosy atmosphere of the former saloon bar vanished, as did the more down-to-earth feel of the public bar.  

Today, the Cardinal’s remains divided internally into two distinct drinking areas by a massive brick chimney, with open fireplaces either side, although the addition of a games area, for pool, darts, plus TV sports, has now left the former public bar as the quietest part of the pub. Over the years the Cardinal’s has become much more of a local’s pub than it had been previously, which is probably due to the demise of the lunchtime, office, drinking crowd, but the main thing is it is still trading. The Cardinal’s had been unknown territory since before the pandemic, and whilst I’d contemplated calling in there for a while, when push came to the shove, I kept backing away. 

This situation continued for the best part of a year, and whilst I’m not usually a procrastinator, I was in this instance. I’m not quite sure where this reluctance stemmed from, although it may have been because I perceived the pub as being a bit rough. It might well have been, back in the day, but following the piecemeal sale of a large chunk of the former council estate, under Thatcher’s “right to buy scheme,” the area has undergone a transformation, so that argument no longer holds true.

So, last Thursday lunchtime, I bit the bullet and took a wander along to the pub. It was just over 5 minutes’ walk, so nice and convenient then, but would it deliver on the beer front, plus the “somewhere to go for a nice quiet drink” front as well. I’m pleased to report that the pub ticked both those boxes, as well as wiping away all my negative expectations. I would guess there were a half-dozen or so customers in the pub, some sitting at the bar, some playing pool, plus one or two nicotine addicts standing outside. They were all male, with the landlady the only member of the opposite sex. Quite a few of the blokes seemed a similar age to me, which was a good sign, as far as I am concerned.

I spotted pump clip for St Austell Tribute, affixed to one of the beer engine handles, and whilst I am quite fond of this beer, I asked the landlady whether the pub also stocked Harvey’s. They didn’t, apparently as it’s an expensive beer when bought wholesale, I already knew this, plus I was told, it didn’t keep particularly well. She also mentioned that there wasn’t the turnover for the pub to stock two cask ales. It was then that the penny dripped, because, as mentioned earlier, the Cardinal’s is owned by Pendry’s Pubs Ltd, a small pub-co that also includes the Chequers in Tonbridge High Street, as part of its estate.

The beer was fine, so seeing as I was a nice day, I tool my pint outside, and sat under the semi-covered pergola area, adjacent to the games area and over looking the pub garden. The latter seems to count include a marquee as a semi-permanent fixture, so possibly the pub caters for weddings? At other times, the food offering is confined to hand prepared, stone- baked sourdough pizzas plus bar snack sides, and these seem restricted to Saturday and Sunday afternoons.

All in all, I was impressed with what I found, and I shall definitely be returning. The thought of a nice quiet pub where I can sit and read a book, or engage others in conversation, should I wish, appeal to me. The fact that this particular pub is just a 5-minute stroll away, appeals to me even more, so in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back!”