A Tunbridge Wells saunter

Having recently enjoyed a Sonder around Broadstairs, spoiler alert - partially made-up word, although AI is not responsible, exactly a week ago, I headed over to Tunbridge Wells, ostensibly on a clothes shopping expedition. It was more of a saunter really, plus an excuse, to visit a few local pubs, whilst at the same time following Mrs PBT's suggestion to treat myself to a “smart jacket”. By smart, I mean one suitable for wearing in the evening, on board a cruise ship. It’s a style that’s best described as “smart casual”, and basically is a jacket, that I can wear with my regular chinos, and a decent shirt (one with a collar). Nothing too fancy, if I can help it, and definitely not too formal (or uncomfortable), but a garment that will make an evening visit to the posh restaurant, or bars like the Commodore Club, the Chart Room etc much more pleasant. It will also stop the “stuffed shirts” staring at me, although as most of those seem to be ballroom dancers from Pontefract, we can conveniently ignore them!

The fact that I’m splashing out on a new garment, when I’ve spent part of the recent summer, getting rid of unwanted clutter, hints that Mrs PBT’s and I have another ocean-going cruise coming up. It’s booked for the last week of October, through into the first week in November, and will see us heading out into the Atlantic on a voyage that takes in a couple of islands in the Azores archipelago, before a two-day stopover in the lovely island of Madeira. We then head back towards mainland Europe, where we will be calling at destinations in both Portugal and Spain.

Seeking suitable attire for a gentleman/man-about-town, I visited the recently renovated Marks & Spencer store in central Tunbridge Wells, expecting to find options that would complement my style. Unfortunately, I was disappointed that after extensively browsing the store – five minutes max, suitable jackets were apparently, unavailable. When I asked a staff member for assistance, she informed me that suits were in stock but not individual jackets, and she was uncertain about future availability. I appreciated her candour and resolved to check the website periodically for updates. With my shopping concluded, I proceeded to complete my other, and far more important errand, such as visiting a few local pubs.

My journey across to Tunbridge Wells began with an unduly long wait for a bus into town. Eventually the 402 service, one of several running between the two towns, turned up. Typically, this route is operated using double-decker buses, but that particular service was a single deck vehicle, which meant it was standing room only. Fortunately, quite a few passengers left the bus at Southborough, allowing me to claim a seat. I remained on the bus until the town's rail station, as the pubs I intended to visit were located at the bottom end of town. I then made my way up the nearby Grove Hill Road before stopping at a pub that has undergone several changes of name and ownership over the years. I was curious to see what difference its latest reincarnation had made.

The pub in question, has traded under various different names during the four decades that I have been visiting Tunbridge Wells, and after many years as the Kentish Yeoman, this Victorian town alehouse, has been the Black Pig, the Orson Wells and is now known as the Claremont. It is a two-minute walk from the station, and is a deceptively large and rambling restaurant-cum-pub.  It is reported as having a large garden at the rear, but I can’t vouch for this. It had been many years since I last set foot in the pub, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Upon entering I noticed a sign indicating that the pub is managed by Brakspear’s of Henley-on-Thames, a name I’m sure all beer lovers remember with sadness, following the owning family’s decision to close the brewery, and become a pub-co instead. There are at least two other Brakspear’s owned pub locally, with the George & Dragon, Speldhurst, plus the Leicester Arms, at Penshurst, springing to mind.

Nothing much seemed to be happening in the pub, and with no one present behind the bar, the enforced wait allowed me time to look around. I shall refer you to the pub’s website, for an over-effusive description of the pub, but despite that, the beer options, for serious connoisseurs seemed confined to a mix of the latest “in-vogue” lagers, plus the odd token craft beer. I can’t tell you which ones, as I neglected to take a photo, but had I stayed longer I’m sure I would have done. 

It was still quite early, and the fact that the clip on the single hand-pump had been turned round, didn’t allow for much optimism on the cask ale front. When the barman eventually appeared, he confirmed my fears about the lack of cask, so I asked for a flat white coffee instead. He muttered something about the pub not having a coffee machine, which seemed incredible for an establishment with such upmarket aspirations, but he could “do me a coffee with cold milk”. I presume he meant a cup of instant coffee, which wasn’t at all what I was looking for. I politely declined his offer and bade him farewell.  

On the basis of what I’d experienced since stepping into the Claremont, my verdict was one that was definitely “underwhelming”, especially on a Friday lunchtime, when might expect the pub to be busier. In addition, when viewed against the puff-piece on the Claremont’s website, I was beginning to think that I’d walked into the wrong place, altogether. Take a look, and you will see what I mean.

Undeterred, I continued up the hill and took one of the turnings into the area known as the Grove. I hesitate to call this area a park, even though it has a play area with swings and a side, but the main users of the of this green space, appear to be dog walkers. Sited in the middle of Tunbridge Wells, the Grove is a very pleasant and welcoming public space, and despite its proximity to the shops, the rail station and the general hustle and bustle of a busy west-Kent town, an air of peace and tranquillity hangs over the place. The leaf canopy from the many trees, helps filter out the noise of the traffic, although in a month or so’s time this will all change, as the annual, autumn leaf fall gets underway.

Virtually hidden by the trees, is the rear entrance to the Compasses, a pub with the distinction of being one of the oldest, and one of the cosiest pubs in Tunbridge Wells.  It's a long time since I last set foot in the place, and trying to find the entrance from the Grove, was as difficult as I remember. I walked along the path, which skirts the periphery of the park, and for a short while, things didn’t look too hopeful. It wasn’t until I was almost right upon it, that I found the moderately overgrown entrance leading to the rear of the pub. With parts dating from the early 17^th century, the Compasses blends in well with its surroundings.

There are still two separate bars, plenty of old wooden beams and floors, plus a number of open fireplaces. Leading off from the bars is a space set aside for dining with a quieter snug area looking out over the sunny terrace at the front of the building. The pub also has its own, small garden close to the Grove. My request for a flat white was more successful than in the previous establishment, and I was served a nice, and well-presented cup of coffee. At £3.00 this represented better value than the Costa’s and Starbucks of this world, and was light years away from the instant coffee, with a dash of cold milk, offered at the Claremont.

As I sat enjoying my drink, I couldn’t help chuckling at the dithering of two, late, middle-aged couples who’d met up for a meal. They took ages deciding which table and which chairs to sit at, and then they weren’t sure whether to have a lite-bite, or something more substantial. The thing that really made me laugh though, was the insistence of one of the men for a “best bitter” for his lunchtime tipple.  This could be interesting I thought, as the gentleman in question was obviously not a regular pub goer. Sure enough, his request threw both the bar staff and the customer himself into a state of confusion, when it came to deciding which of the several bitters on sale, might be classed as “best”.

By this time, I too found myself fancying a glass of bitter, best or otherwise, so I wandered into the left-hand bar, where the pumps were situated, to check out what was on offer. My eye was drawn to a striking looking, sky-blue coloured pump clip, advertising a beer called Genevieve. This is a cask beer, brewed as a collaboration between Greene King and Thornbridge, which later research revealed to be a hop-forward, clean and crisp, West Coast IPA, with an ABV of 4.5%. This collaboration beer looked really tempting, so imagine my disappointment at being told that the beer was “resting”. I presumed the young barman meant the beer hadn’t settled yet, although it was quite obvious the young lad didn't really know much about the mystique involved with cask ale (train your staff properly!)  That's a shame I said, as I really fancied the Genevieve, and with IPA and Abbot not really ticking the right boxes, I made my excuses and left a pub, for the second time that afternoon.

Departing via the front door, I paused to take a few photos on the way. My eye was drawn to another pub which serves the needs of this “village” area of Tunbridge Wells. Sited further down the hill, in the direction of the High Street, is the Grove Tavern, a smallish pub with an l-shaped bar. The first thing visible on entering, is a pool table which takes up most of the front bar, a feature I always think is rather off-putting. I also find the pub to be rather cliquey, and although I know quite a few of the people who drink there, I’ve never been overly keen on the place. The Grove ticks all the right boxes with CAMRA though, as it’s a Good Beer Guide regular, and keeps a well-cared for range of Harvey’s Best, Timothy Taylor's plus the odd guest beer or two.

I didn't fancy the Grove Tavern that Friday, so I headed back up the hill and then into the top part of the Grove. I then walked through the park and after crossing the road, found myself in a narrow street, containing a row of well-kept, terraced Victorian terraced houses. A narrow gate, at the far end of the road led into another of Tunbridge Well’s famous green spaces, namely Calverley Grounds, a popular and historic park with attractive lawns, ornamental gardens and welcoming café. During the run-up to Christmas, there is also an ice-rink, located on an area of flat ground, below the Calverley Hotel, now known as the Hotel du Vin. On Friday, the grounds were busy with people, mainly young, out for a stroll.

Time for one more beer before heading for the bus stop. I was in a bit of a hurry to get out of Tunbridge Wells, because come mid to late afternoon, the local schools all spill out at the conclusion of the academic day. There are three or four schools at the St John’s end of Tunbridge Wells and then going through towards Southborough. With hundreds of pupils, spiling out onto the streets at the same time, all pushing, shoving and jostling for space, travelling by bus, during this period is definitely best avoided. I therefore wanted to make sure I was sat on the bus before it got crowded and full of boisterous schoolchildren. They are normally quite well behaved, just a little noisy and excited, especially at the end of the week.

The pub I was making for was the Guinea, in Calverley Road, an establishment that has had a substantial of money thrown at it recently. Formerly known as Guinea Butt, but now just the plain “Guinea”.   I can't remember the last time I visited this town pub, but it must have been a long time ago, and as I stepped inside the first thing that struck me was the large expanses of dark wood. The interior was surprisingly spacious, certainly when compared against the pub’s frontage.

At the bar there were hand pumps for beers from Pig & Porter, alongside Downland, but the ones that caught my eye were dispensed from the T-bar and consisted of several genuine Oktoberfest beers. The bartender was enthusiastic and also very knowledgeable about Oktoberfest and its attendant beers, so we had a brief conversation, about this annual event. I chose the versions from Hacker-Pschorr, which is a slightly darker and more robust brew compared to some of the others. He also mentioned that all the Märzen beers from the festival were now available, at the Guinea, which was another plus point for me.

The pub itself wasn’t overly busy, although there were several parties of “ladies that lunch”, and I obviously chose the wrong area to sit.  I did consider moving away from the closest of these groups, particularly when the topic got around to breastfeeding, who was managing OK and who was having difficulties. It certainly wasn’t your average lunchtime conversation, but at the same time it is a perfectly natural thing, and if one or two group members were having trouble, or just seeking reassurance, then where more natural to talk about it than amongst your peers? (A slightly less public location might have been better, and certainly more discreet!) Moving swiftly on, the beer was very good, and if I hadn’t been rushing to catch that 3pm bus, I almost certainly would have stayed for another.

As I made my way towards the row of bus stops, there were already signs that the school exodus had begun. I didn’t have long to wait for a Tonbridge bound bus, and surprisingly very few school passengers were onboard. The same applied for the journey back to Tonbridge, which was just as well as it allowed me to scoff the reduced, price roast chicken and stuffing sandwich that I'd purchased in M&S. You're not supposed to eat on Arriva buses, but I was on the upstairs deck, and whilst I might have been visible on the vehicle's CCTV, no one said anything. I arrived back in Tonbridge just in time to cross the road and wait for the 219 bus, that would take me up the hill, and back to Bailey Towers.

Mrs PBT's said I should have just looked online, something I actually did in the end, and I’m currently waiting for the jacket to be delivered. However, she didn't quite suss out the logic behind me wanting to visit the town in person. It was the opportunity to visit a few Tunbridge Wells pubs, ones which, with the honourable exception of the Compasses, I wouldn’t normally have set foot in, that made that unsuccessful shopping trip, all the more worthwhile.

Halfway House re-visited

I’ve written before about how I’ve gone off large, CAMRA style beer fests, whilst continuing to enjoy pub beer festivals, or similar, small-scale events. Speaking of which, one particular event provides a real attraction, and particular affection for me, and here I’m talking about the beer festival, held twice-yearly at the Halfway House, just outside the village of Brenchley. It’s been several years since I last attended this excellent festival, so on Friday I decided to make up for the deficit. August Bank Holiday being almost a week early (due to the 25^th being the last Monday in August), really threw me, and neither I nor Eileen had made any plans.

My decision then, to attend the event on the opening Friday, was made very much on the spur of the moment and was made with virtually none of the forward planning I usually put into such outings. For example, I hadn’t been in touch with any friends or associated from CAMRA, and whilst travel arrangements had been notified in advance, there seemed little consensus, certainly on the local WhatsApp group, as to which bus(es) to go for, and who exactly was.  The specified bus was the 12:15 Hams Travel service from Tunbridge Wells station, but as I had a few things to sort out at home first, I ended up taking the next bus, scheduled to depart at 14:10.

It was already running 10 minute’s late, and was then beset by the inevitable roadworks, this time in both Matfield and Brenchley. Worse still I had to endure two complete strangers, sat a couple of rows behind me, discussing their various ailments and medical conditions – a trait that doesn’t seem confined to just the elderly! That was definitely an occasion when a pair of earphones would have come in handy! 

I was losing the will to live by the time the bus deposited me outside the Halfway House, and with the time at almost 3pm, I had quite some serious catching up to do. The festival was in full swing, when I arrived, but first I popped into the pub to “top up the lager barrel” as an old CAMRA friend used to say. Being jolted around on a bus, was putting unwanted pressure on my bladder, so a nice clean pub toilet was most welcome. It was also a pleasant contrast to the “trough” – quite literally a re-purposed, farmyard drinking trough for cattle, that represented the facilities provided for male festival goers.

A group of friends from West Kent CAMRA branch had arrived before me, but had taken a different bus out to Matfield, walked down to Hopbine at Petteridge, in order to check it out, and then walked along to Halfway House. They followed the well-trodden, cross-country route between the two pubs, that many of us have used in the past. The news from the Hopbine was positive which is good to hear during these difficult times for the pub trade. I joined the group in one of the barn-like structures, sited towards rear of site. There was plenty of seating, although if truth be known, I would have preferred to have sat outside – so did a couple of others, but that’s another story.

With an impressive lineup of 60, gravity served beers, racked up in the outside barn, plus an additional 10 in the pub, cask drinkers were certainly spoiled for choice. At the outside bar, there was none of the glass deposit nonsense that is so much a feature of CAMRA events, and no wretched tokens either - just good old-fashioned cash or card if that’s your preferred method of payment. 

I know apologists for CAMRA style events claim that punters like to take a festival glass home with them, after the event – a souvenir, but there must be cupboards and cabinets throughout the land, groaning with the weight of yet another “festival” glass.  They eventually end up at the charity shop, which is where a load of mine are going, next week! Others argue that tokens help overall security, plus centralise cash collection and storage. I did notice at the last GBBF I attended (2019), that bars were sensibly taking cash, or card, so perhaps things have changed on a national level, within the Campaign.

The Halfway House beer festival is a very laid-back event, which on the surface, appears more or less to run itself. Behind the scenes though, a lot of detailed planning and organisation goes into the event, which has now been running for 22 years. With two festivals a year, the current event represents the 46^th beer bash for this family-run, country pub, and whilst much of the organising might seem like second nature, I suspect there’s a highly polished, well-oiled machine, behind the laid-back approach.

My only look inside the pub, the other day, was that visit to the Gents, but for those unfamiliar with the Halfway House, it is well-known among pub enthusiasts, for its emphasis on cask-conditioned beer. The casks are stored in a temperature-controlled room directly behind the bar, and beer is dispensed through extended taps that pass through specially designed wooden barrel facades of the back wall of the serving area. This arrangement ensures that the beer is served at an optimal temperature and in its most authentic form—directly from the cask. The pub itself lies in an idyllic countryside setting, between the villages of Brenchley and Horsmonden. With a large and extensive garden to left of the pub, that leads down into the bottom of a valley, bucolic would be the best way to describe the Halfway House.

Another characteristic of this easy-going, laid-back event, are a number of live groups of musicians or solo acts that provide an entertaining, but not intrusive musical background to the event. The final ingredient, of course, is something solid to help soak up all that beer, and once again the Halfway House delivers, with items from the pub’s main menu available during normal opening times for the kitchen, supplemented by barbecue items on the Friday, plus Hog Roasts on both Saturday and Sunday.

What about the beers themselves then? Well, with 70 cask offerings to choose from, visitors to the festival really are spoiled for choice, but in common with most other festivals of this size and scope, I do find a slight tendency for them all to start tasting the same, especially after three or four pints, drunk as halves. I normally start with the lower strength stuff, and then work my way slowly upwards, but Friday was something of a blur. With a two-hour interval between the last bus and the penultimate one, my friends who had been there longer than me opted for the latter bus. This meant drinking up and heading along to the bus stop, outside the pub along with a couple of dozen other people. We all managed to squeeze on to the 16:46 bus, and whilst I would like to have stayed longer, it was probably the sensible thing to do. The last bus departs at 18:32, and I could just imagine the ensuing chaos if an even larger number of punters all tried piling on to that final service of the evening.

It was probably just as well that I left when I did, my companions certainly thought they were doing the right thing, but it did mean missing out on a few more beers, plus some barbecued food. I shall plan things differently next time, but whether I shall revert to walking there and back, as was my wont prior to the pandemic, is open to question. As in previous years, the event attracted a diverse group of patrons who appreciated the beer, sunshine, barbecue, and convivial company. Held in the expansive pub garden, surrounded by picturesque rural scenery, the Halfway House beer festival embodies a quintessentially English experience, and for many, including myself, often provides an ideal conclusion to an excellent summer.

 

 

40 years, you woudn't get that for murder!

Last Friday, 15^th August 2025 was a significant date in the Bailey household - a significant anniversary wedding anniversary no less, and what better way to celebrate than to head out for a decent pub lunch. Friday was one of the hottest days of the year to date, but with no control over the weather, and not wishing to postpone our celebration, we headed out anyway. The pub we chose wasn't our first choice, for the reason I shall explain in a minute, but fortunately, the restaurant we ended up at, delivered on all fronts. 

By that I mean excellent food – well-cooked and well-presented, a pleasant and welcoming atmosphere, all combined with the benefit of a central location. Our original choice was the Plough, at Leigh, a lovely old rambling country inn, between Leigh village and Hildenborough, but the pub we ended up at was the Ivy House at the top end of Tonbridge High Street.

Before booking a table, I’d taken the precaution of checking the Plough’s website, in the full knowledge that the pub is a popular wedding venue. Unsurprising perhaps, because attached to one end of the pub, is an impressive 16^th century barn, with lots of exposed beams giving the place a genuine, an all-round rustic feel. True to form, the Plough’s website was showing the pub and the barn as fully booked both for Friday and Saturday. 

I continued with my online research, as I had several other venues in mind for our romantic meal. First up was the George & Dragon, at Speldhurst, an establishment that is one of the most historic and best-known pubs in the area. The G&D also has the added bonus of returning back into the ownership of the Sankey family, who have a long tradition in the hospitality trade as publicans, restauranteurs, and fishmongers. Then there was the two equally attractive pubs at Smart’s Hill, near Penshurst.

For those unfamiliar with the local area, these two pubs are the Spotted Dog and the Bottle House. I really like the Spotted Dog and noticed from the pub’s website that the pub has recently changed hands. The new owner has gone for something different, with the food taking on a distinct North American flavour, with a menu that is strongly influenced by the two Carolina’s (north & south). This equates to plenty of steaks, smoked meats, pulled pork, burgers etc, food that is big on flavours, and big on portions, but not really what we were looking for.

Just up the road from the Spotted Dog, and close to the top of Smart’s Hill, is the Bottle House, another fine old 16^th century inn with an equally fine reputation. It’s a pub I haven't been to for a long time, probably not since before the pandemic, but it’s always been a little more upmarket than the Spotted Dog. It’s also larger, with a brighter interior and less cramped inside, but having not had the chance to try out the pub, or indeed speak to anyone who has, I decided to put the Bottle House to one side for the time being.

Before making a final decision, I called in at the Leicester Arms, a large and attractive old pub that describes itself as a "quintessentially British Country Inn." Situated in the centre of the picturesque village of Penshurst, and virtually opposite the entrance to the medieval Penshurst Place - childhood home of Anne Boleyn, this iconic pub has gone through a major transformation under the new ownership of the Little & Large Pub Company, who have restored the pub to its former glory. With 11 stylish bedrooms, the Leicester Arms offers visitors a choice of comfortable rooms, for those in search of a romantic getaway, or just a bed for the night whilst exploring the local area. The Leicester Arms was offering a lunchtime deal of any two courses for £25, which seemed inviting, but with Mrs. PBT's preferring the Ivy House, we decided to go there instead.

With its position at what is, in effect, the gateway to Tonbridge, the Ivy started life as a toll-house, known as the Elephant & Castle. It later changed its name to the Ivy House, presumably because of the rampant ivy which covered the building at the time. Friday was hot, as I've already mentioned, but with the car park literally behind the pub, we pulled up to take our chances on a “walk-in.” According to the pub website, turn up and dine is “normally OK,” as indeed it was. 

There's a large, partially covered, outdoor eating area to the right of the pub, which is, offers plenty of shade in summer, plus shelter from the wind and rain during winter. It's semi-enclosed position can be heated using those wasteful gas-fired, space heaters during the colder months, but such considerations seemed miles away on a sweltering hot, mid-August afternoon. We chose a table as close to the entrance as possible, in an attempt to catch a cooling breeze, but despite this it was uncomfortably hot.

Having reviewed the menu in advance, I opted for the “pie of the day” after ascertaining the filling - chicken and bacon, plus the fact it was a traditional pie, fully encased in pastry. The pie was served accompanied by chive mashed potatoes, a good selection of vegetables, and plenty of rich gravy. Eileen went for the daily special, of roast lamb shoulder, served with roast courgettes and plenty of salad. I was particularly pleased with my pie, along with a quality pint of Harvey’s Best, to wash it down, all the while considering the proposed new regulations regarding drink-driving. I reflected that even a single pint may approach the legal limit, even though I did not perceive any noticeable effects.

The pub maintained a steady flow of customers without feeling overcrowded, although noticeable amongst them were several “ladies that lunch.” One woman seated behind us, had three quite lively dogs with her, plus a hubby with a non-speaking part, but the high temperatures, might not have been ideal for her canine companions. With her heightened sense of smell, Mrs PBT’s found the dogs a bit too “whiffy” for her liking, but sat with my back to the group, I personally didn't detect any odour – doggy, or otherwise.

We opted not to have dessert at the pub, as we planned instead to celebrate at home with some cakes from M & S. The store excelled itself on the pastry front, and once back at Bailey Towers, we enjoyed a couple of exceptionally rich éclairs filled with cream and chocolate. The generous layer of chocolate paired with thick cream made for a truly indulgent treat, momentarily setting aside any considerations of dieting.

Returning to the Ivy House for a moment, it was encouraging to see that the pub continues to thrive. It certainly remains a popular choice with Mrs PBT’s and her girly friends, and the group has already reserved a table for December. As the festive season approaches, our office manager has also been diligently searching for a venue for the company Christmas bash, and if the rumours are true, she’s selected a distinctive pub in Tunbridge Wells, close to the Pantiles that has recently reverted to its original name. All will be revealed nearer the time because the “C” word is the last thing I want to think about during the height of summer.

As for our wedding anniversary, Eileen and I tied the knot in 1985, which makes 40 years, and a celebration marked with a ruby. Doesn’t time fly!!

Which Swan should I go for?

Sunday’s trip out, postponed from Friday, came down to a choice between two very different options. The simplest, and perhaps the easier of the two was a long overdue visit to the Swan-on-the-Green at West Peckham.  The second was a trip out along the Tonbridge-Redhill railway line, a route I was singing the praises of in my recent posts about a day out in Farnham. 

The train journey I had in mind, involved alighting (always a strange turn of phrase) at Nutfield – the penultimate stop before the end of the line at Redhill, visiting the pub nearest the station, and then heading two stops back, on the homeward journey towards, Tonbridge and again leaving the train in search of a nearby pub. That stop would have been Edenbridge, at what is known as the top station (there are two unconnected stations in the town), and then visiting the nearest of the town’s five pubs. For the record the pubs concerned were the Station, at South Nutfield (the pub that’s just a stone’s throw from the station) and the Swan, Edenbridge, again the nearest hostelry to the train stop.

I’ve been to the Swan a couple of times before, but Nutfield represents unknown territory.  I’ve never left the train there, and I’ve never visited any of the village’s three pubs. In the end, the nearest of the two Swans won the day, although I plan on reserving my mini Redhill line exploration for a day when the weather is far less clement than it’s been of late, and when I’m looking for a spot of pub exploration nearer to home. It’s amazing though, that sometimes you don’t realise what’s virtually on your own doorstep, but that triangle of territory, where three counties meet (Surrey, Sussex and Kent) is the south-east’s “Bermuda triangle.”

It’s a place where identities become blurred and where it’s easy to lose one’s bearings, but that’s all for another day, as my visit to the West Peckham, and its community-owned pub, was a chance to see how things were progressing since the pub was acquired by the village. 

It also provided an opportunity to see how my investment was progressing, because as you may remember, I purchased some shares in the pub, at the end of last year, being one of many local people determined to help save the Swan for the local community. Well, I’m pleased to report that the pub appears to be thriving, as I’m going to relate shortly, but first some information on how to get there using public transport (and Shank’s Pony), from either Tonbridge or Maidstone.

Arriva bus No. 7 operates a half-hourly service, in both directions, between Maidstone and Tunbridge Wells, and that 30-minute frequency amazingly applies on Sundays as well. Mereworth school is the stop you require, and from there it is roughly a 25-minute walk, to West Peckham. After leaving the bus, walk back for a short distance, towards the B2016 Seven Mile lane. Cross with care, making full use of the pedestrian refuge (traffic island) halfway across. Almost straight ahead is Mereworth Road which you need to follow for a mile or so, in order to take you to West Peckham. Like all country roads you need to have your wits about you, as whilst traffic is relatively light, drivers sometimes forget the pedestrians might also want to use the road, as well as themselves.

You will eventually see the sign, indicating you have reached the village, but make sure that you follow the left-hand fork, that is Church Road, into the village centre. On your right you will notice the attractive, little church of St Dunstan, which dates back to the 14^th century, although it is believed that a previous building of Saxon-Norman origin, predates this. The church looks out over the green, and on the left-hand side of this pleasant open space you will find the Swan-on-the-Green.

At the end of 2023, Gordon Milligan, the previous owner of the Swan, announced his intention to sell the pub, after 24 years in the trade. Instead of converting the pub into housing, Mr Milligan offered the opportunity for local residents to purchase it. The community formed a steering group with the goal of collectively buying the building. 

Interest in the project extended beyond West Peckham and into neighbouring areas of west Kent, which led to Mr Milligan granting the group six months’ exclusivity to come up with a plan.  After reaching a purchase agreement in principle, the group sought funding through the Community Ownership Grant scheme and solicited donations from villagers, other private individuals and local businesses. This was followed by the establishment of the Swan Community Project Ltd, a “not for profit” company with a mission to own and manage the Swan, for the benefit of the Community. Any profits generated are to be re-invested in the project. Last November, after expressing an interest in the project, I took the plunge and am now the proud owner of 250 shares in the Swan.

The weather last Sunday was dry and bright, but quite blustery, and with the buses operating mainly to time, it wasn’t long before I was deposited outside Mereworth Primary School. The conditions were ideal for a walk, and it wasn’t long before I reached West Peckham. The Sunday service at the church, was just finishing as I strolled by, and the vicar was shaking hands with his parishioners as they filed out through the front porch. Reaching the pub, I noticed quite a few customers sitting at tables, on the edge of the green, under the trees, opposite the pub.

This was obviously a good sign, and after popping inside I could see that quite a few tables were either occupied by diners or had signs indicating they were reserved.  Approaching the bar, I discovered there were two cask offering from Tonbridge Brewery, plus local, west-Kent favourite, Larkin's Traditional. I opted for Tonbridge Easy Street Pale which, as its name implies, is an easy drinking, mid-strength, pale ale. The beer fitted its description, and given the pleasant weather conditions, I took my pint outside, and parked myself at one of the bench tables, just outside the pub. I watched with interest, as a group, led by the vicar who I’d just seen, strolled over from the church and ordered themselves some drinks. They were sitting a few tables away from me, so I couldn’t really hear what they were saying – not that I wanted to, anyway!

The pub itself was ticking over nicely, which is good, regardless of any financial interest I might have, in the place. I asked one of the bar staff, how things were going, and he confirmed that the trade was good. For my second pint, I decided to go for something different, and having noticed a tap on the bar for Hawkstone Session – a beer associated with former Top Gear presenter, turned farmer, Jeremy Clarkson, I thought I’d give it a try. If nothing else, it would mean another tick on Untappd, but it was a bit more than that. The Session is 4.0%, whilst Hawkstone’s Premium weighs in at 4.8% abv. The company behind the brand, was formerly known as Cotswolds Brewing Company, before changing its name to Hawkstone.  

I timed my walk back to Mereworth just right, leaving sufficient time, if necessary, to nip behind a hedge, in order to siphon off any excess beer, but fortunately no such stop was necessary. Not quite so fortunate was the lack of buses up to Bailey Towers, from the Tonbridge High Street. Having just missed one and not wishing to wait 50 minutes for the next one, I trudged my way back up the hill. Once home, I found Mrs PBT’s taking much more of an interest than usual in my pub expedition.  It looks as if she wants to accompany me, next time although, as she doesn’t really do walking along country lanes,  I will need to drive us both there!