Topsham's Bridge Inn, at last

In the previous post, you left me at the Lighter Inn, the rather posh Hall & Woodhouse establishment, overlooking the Quayside, in Topsham. I was about to head off, through the town, up the hill, and past the station, before turning right at the top, and along a road lined with a mix of rather ordinary looking suburban bungalows and houses. 

After turning left, into Bridge Hill, it wasn’t long before the pink-painted, Bridge Inn came into view, just a short distance away at a point where the houses thin out, and the road takes a turn to the left. The bridge that gives both the road and the pub its name, over the River Clyst, comes into view, as does the more open countryside overlooked by the hills in the distance. There, overlooking the river, stood the pub I had travelled through several southern English counties, in order to visit.

There’s always a palpable sense of excitement when approaching a new pub for the first time, especially when it’s one like the Bridge that I’d been wanting to visit for some time. There’s a danger that the excitement can be dissipated when you discover that the place isn’t quite what you were expecting, despite the description and photos you may have seen beforehand. The other side of the coin is the place is much better than you’d thought it would be OR, it is just different. Usually, the place you’ve been looking forward to visiting, is a combination of all these actions and emotions. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, recently, even to the extent of writing a separate post on the subject, but after teasing and tempting you all over recent posts, let’s launch straight in to the Bridge Inn, at Topsham. As I descended the hill, towards the pub, there was a decorator painting the window frames - an unenviable task given the cold, outdoor temperatures. Unsure for a moment, which door was the entrance, I asked this painter which was the way in. Once inside, it still took me a while to get my bearings and spy out the lay of the land.

A long corridor ran towards the rear of the building, with a door marked private. There were various rooms leading off from both sides, and as I discovered, the middle one on the right, was private, and was where the beer was kept, and the food prepared. Even now, I’m still a little confused, but I think there was a room at the front, again to the right. The room I wanted to be in was at the far end of the corridor, and this is where orders for beer and food were taken and paid for. It was packed, and there weren’t any spare chairs, or indeed tables there, but I did order a pint of Golden Fiddle, a highly quaffable, 4.0% golden ale from Branscombe Brewery. Served in a dimple, pint mug, as are all the beers at the Bridge, it was both pleasant and refreshing. It was also another tick on Untappd.

I ordered one of the Bridge’s legendary homemade pasties, and after giving my name to the lady behind the bar, made my way to the front of the pub, where I managed to squeeze onto the end of a table, in the room on the left. With windows on two sides, this room was bright and spacious, with a friendly and welcoming feel. It was a while before my pasty arrived, but this large, and freshly warmed, homemade delicacy, was worth the wait. It was brought in by the same person who took the order, and from what others in the room referred to her by, I gather her name was Caroline.

Her name, linked to the Bridge Inn, crops up in the acknowledgements at the end of Adrian’s book, where she receives a very special thanks, from the author, and as I’ve noticed other, online references to this lady, I’m of the opinion that she’s a member of the family who own, and run the Bridge. That aside, I didn’t feel inclined to introduce myself, as I’m just another beer writer and pun enthusiast, and I’m sure that the pub receives plenty of visitors, throughout the year, drawn from various parts of the country, and all eager to experience the atmosphere and ambience of this classic, English pub. My pasty arrived, piping hot and served with a simple garnish of tomato and pickle onion, both of which were sliced. It was an excellent pub snack, but after watching other peoples’ lunch arrive, the bowl of warming, homemade vegetable soup, with crusty bread and butter, looked equally inviting. 

Perhaps I should have pushed the boat out, and gone for the soup as well? Another beer was called for, and this time I went for Darkness – The Prince of Ales from Exeter Brewery. This 5.1%, smooth chocolate stout, wasn’t as impressive as my first pint, but was still another beer for Untappd. It was time to make tracks back to Exeter, although I’m still kicking myself for not visiting the Passage House Inn, back in Topsham. The train journey to Exeter, is along the mainly single-track line, that runs up from the coast, at Exmouth. Its noisy, diesel-powered DMU’s, brought back memories of the Tonbridge-Redhill line, prior to electrification, as well as the lines out to Romiley from Manchester Piccadilly, back in my student days.

You will already be familiar with the ending of my day-out, in the welcoming warmth of the Imperial, close to Exeter St Davids, as well as the broken-down train on my journey back to London. Leaving that incident aside, it had been a most enjoyable day out, visiting a part of the country that I hadn’t been to before. One or two work colleagues questioned my sanity, as did Mrs PBT’s, but in the general scheme of things it wasn’t that lengthy a journey – I’ve done Tonbridge-Edinburgh in a day, and found time to visit a local brewery. The only question that needs answering, is where to next?