Return to the Rock

Despite three intense heatwaves in rapid succession, it’s been nice and cool at our factory. This is because we’ve spent a small fortune over the years installing air-conditioning throughout the premises. So much so that it’s almost a pleasure calling in at the office – almost, but not quite! I had to call in last Saturday morning though, to oversee an outdoor project, that involved having our car-parking area delineated with some carefully measured and marked out white lines. The task was only possible out of normal working hours, so me and a colleague drew the short straws to go in and supervise the work.

The bonus was I got to go to the pub afterwards, although my colleague, who had a couple of extra jobs to attend to, was unable to join me. (Don’t feel too sorry for him though, as he is a self-employed electrician, engaged on a contract basis). I left the site, shortly after midday and headed for one of my favourite pubs, although given its isolated location, it’s I don’t often go to. This is a shame as the Rock Inn, at Chiddingstone Hoath, is an absolute gem of a pub, which certainly ticks all the right boxes, as far as I am concerned.

Regular readers of this blog will recall me having written about the Rock, an old drover’s inn, which has retained many original features. It is reported as being close to 500 years old and is so named because it is close to one of several rocky outcrops, which are a feature of this remote corner of Kent. Chiddingstone Hoath is a small, isolated settlement, consisting of a few houses, plus the pub, huddled together on a high sandstone plateau, to the south of the River Eden, in an area known as the High Weald.

The Rock’s antiquity is reflected in both the exterior and interior of the building, which has been lovingly cared for over the years, and the recent alterations have only enhanced this. I have known the pub for the best part of 40 years plus, and despite its remote location have tried to visit it whenever possible. So, last Saturday morning I left my colleague supervising the painting of the car-park, jumped in the car, and drove up to the Rock. My route took me down and across the River Eden - little more than a large stream really, and then up past Larkin's Brewery. The road then begins to climb more steeply, through woodland and then up towards the High Weald.

I left the car in the overspill car-park, just across the road from the pub. This additional space is a welcome addition to the Rock, as parking directly opposite the front of the building was often cramped and congested. Given the heat of the midday sun, it was perhaps not surprising that no-one was sitting out in front of the building, as I made my way towards the entrance, and stepped inside. 

Barring my way were two enormous hounds, with thick bushy coats. I tried to get them to move aside and allow me to enter, but the dogs were having none of it. Fortunately, their owner, who turned out to be the landlord, moved them. They seemed indifferent, and certainly not bothered about being in the way, but they certainly were a size. I imagine they were sweltering, given their substantial woolly coats, and whilst I have no idea as to what breed they were, these beasts would certainly be sufficient to scare off burglars, or other unwanted intruders.

Once passed these hairy pub guardians, I made my way across to the bar counter, which was straight ahead. One feature of the Rock which has always impressed me, is the bare-brick floor, worn smooth by the passage of time, as well as by numerous feet. The large fireplace, with its equally large wood-burning stove, was of course unlit, in contrast to the winter months when a roaring blaze provides a welcoming warmth to that side of the pub. There is also a smaller, and cosier saloon bar leading off to the right, but that area appeared quite quiet. One fairly welcome addition is the opening up of a passage to the left of the counter, which leads down to the rear entrance, and the pub’s attractive garden, but do, however, hold on to the handrail and watch out for the two, steep, brick steps that lead down towards the garden area.

I was greeted by the friendly girl behind the bar, who asked me what I would like to drink. There were two cask offerings the perennial Larkin’s Traditional, or Off the Hook, a hitherto unknown beer (for me at least), from Lakedown Brewery. Lakedown is set on actor and Rock Legend, Roger Daltrey’s family farm, which is home to a brewery, trout fishing lakes, and also provides the inspiration for the business. Lakedown is very much a family affair and is run by Roger's son Jamie and sons-in-laws Des and Chris.

I originally ordered the Larkin’s, but the barmaid mistakenly started pulling me a pint of Lakedown. She noticed before I did, but realising her mistake, and full of apologies, offered to pour me a pint of Larkin’s instead. I told her not to worry and said I would give Mr Daltrey’s beer a go, instead. It was fine and feeling a bit peckish I asked her what snacks were available. I opted for a nice fat, sausage roll, straight out of the oven, and for a few short moments, the conversation turned to beer. I gathered she was a uni-student, home for the summer holidays, and similar in many ways to the girl working behind the bar last year, when I made a previous lunchtime visit.

I took my beer and sausage roll outside to the garden area at the rear of the pub. A strategically placed awning provided some welcome shade, and as if to rub salt in the wound, I forwarded a photo to my work colleague, just to wind him up.  Being a vegan, he probably wasn’t over impressed with the sausage roll, although I’m sure the photo of my pint would have made him thirsty. With body and soul satisfied, I returned my glass to the bar and made tracks for home. 

Fortunately, there were no massive dogs to squeeze past, as I left the pub. On the drive back to Tonbridge, I reflected on how lucky we are to live in such an attractive and picturesque part of the country, and of how blessed we are to still have such fantastic pubs. I really love this rugged, isolated, and quite wild looking, corner of West Kent, as it possesses something that really appeals to me.   

I enjoyed the lengthy, and picturesque drive down into Penshurst, as the road slowly descends from the high ground, characterised by those rocky crags, down towards the river Medway, at the edge of the village. If you are ever in the area, do stop and take a look at the scenery, and if time allows call in for a pint at the unspoilt Rock, as you will have to travel far to find such a fine example of an historic and totally unspoilt country pub.