There’s something quietly satisfying about meeting an old
friend in a familiar corner of
Kent. A couple of weeks ago, my friend - now
living out on the eastern side of the county - and I arranged one of our
semi-regular catch-ups. We settled on
Lenham, a village almost perfectly placed
between us, and one with just enough pubs to make an afternoon disappear very
pleasantly.
I opted for public transport, partly out of habit and partly
because, after a few pints later on, the presence of a train toilet is a
comforting thought. I could have taken the
No. 7 bus from
Tonbridge to
Maidstone and then transferred to the
Stagecoach 510 service, but instead I made a
hybrid trip: train from
Tonbridge to
Maidstone West, then bus onward to
Lenham.
Changing at trains at Paddock Wood, transferred me onto the Medway Valley Line -
a wonderfully scenic route that winds its way up to Strood,
following the river Medway through rolling hills and quiet countryside. It’s
one of those lines that reminds you Kent is far more than commuter belt and
motorways.
Arriving at
Maidstone West, I took a stroll toward the
river. The old
Broadway Shopping Centre - once a must-have feature of any ambitious town
in the 80's and 90's - now stood boarded up, a casualty of changing habits and
online retail.
Maidstone isn’t rundown, but it has undeniably changed since I
lived there forty-odd years ago. The traditional shops have thinned out,
replaced by vape stores, Middle Eastern groceries, and cafés. Not seedy, just
different. A town with a new accent.
The
510 was late, but once aboard, the reasons became
obvious. Roadworks, tight bends, and the usual assortment of cars abandoned seemingly at
random in villages like
Harrietsham - a place that seems to have no parking
restrictions whatsoever. Rural bus drivers deserve medals; ours threaded that
vehicle through impossible gaps with admirable calm.
Lenham’s village centre is known simply as
"The Square", and it really is one. With time to spare before meeting
my friend, I ducked into the
Dog & Bear - an impressive white-painted
Shepherd Neame coaching inn that still offers accommodation. I remember it from decades ago, when it had two distinct
bars:
Squirrel’s Saloon bar on the left, and Joyce’s Public bar on the right. Squirrel, named for his great mutton-chop whiskers, had apparently been responsible for important work on radar installations during the war, and was regarded as something of a "boffin". Joyce, meanwhile, kept the local "lads" in line with effortless authority. There was never any trouble. The modern single-bar layout feels different, but the Master
Brew was in good form - better than I’ve had in recent years. Spitfire was also
on, but I’ve never been a fan.
Two doors down sits the
Red Lion, a
14th-century former
Fremlin's pub, now a free house. My friend was already there, sitting in the
left-hand bar. We exchanged greetings, he bought the first drink, and I
returned the favour, later on.
Harvey’s Sussex Best was on tap, and in good form
We spent a couple of hours catching up - life, work, family,
the usual threads that weave long friendships together. He’s made a full
recovery from a cancer scare a couple of years ago, which added a quiet note of
gratitude to the afternoon.
We reminisced about past holidays, including a boating trip
with friends, and talked about his writing. His latest book, centred on his
uncle
Jack’s experiences as a
POW on the
Burma Railway, seems to be his best
yet - full of human interest and extraordinary survival. Jack endured brutal
conditions, survived being torpedoed by
"friendly fire" from an
American submarine, while being transported
by the Japanese, and still made it home to live to a ripe old age.
The food looked good, and I went for the steak pie - proper
shortcrust top and bottom, generous filling, succulent steak, rich gravy, mash,
peas, and more gravy. Absolutely excellent. One of the best pies I’ve had in a
long time, and I told the barmaid so.
It was one of those quietly perfect days: a scenic train
ride, a nostalgic wander through a changing town, two characterful pubs, good
beer, excellent food, and the kind of conversation that only happens with
someone you’ve known for decades.
Sometimes the best days out aren’t grand adventures - just a
village square, a couple of pints, and an old friend.
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