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.

 

Southampton, via the A272 cross-country route

Our drive down to Southampton the other weekend, followed a different route from our usual one. I shall explain the reason shortly, but for a moment let's reflect on our usual drive which is to follow the A26 from Tonbridge, down to Lewes, via Tunbridge Wells, Crowborough and the Uckfield. 

It's a route I know well, after having worked for three years in Lewes, but as far as speed is concerned, the A26 is not the quickest of roads as it's single carriageway in its entirety. At Lewes, we turn onto the A27, which then takes us into the back of Brighton, close to Falmer and Brighton & Hove Albion's football ground, before continuing on past Hove, Worthing, Arundel and Chichester, before picking up the M27 at Portsmouth. From there it's a relatively straight forward run into Southampton - providing you don't follow the route suggested by Mrs PBT's sat-nav! That's a story for another day, though.

This time around, I was advised by a work colleague to avoid Worthing altogether, as the roads there recently have been gridlocked, due to cable installation, or some other "essential" task. My colleague lives locally, and because of the road works, advised me to seek an alternative route. He came up with the same road as me, which was the A272, a cross-country road that starts just outside Uckfield, and then continues all the way to Winchester. It's not the fastest of roads, as not only does it twist and turn a lot, but it also crosses several of the major routes that radiate out of London, like the spokes on a wheel. The A272 is a road I've long wished to journey along, as it would bring back memories of the time my father decided that taking the cross-country route, that avoided London, back from South Wales, was a good idea.

I think that like me now, dad wanted to experience a part of his youth, which was why after stopping off at Stonehenge (an attraction the family had visited before), he continued on to Winchester where, up on St Catherine's Hill he'd carried out various manoeuvres and other military stuff, as part of his National Service, with the 7th Armoured Division of the King's Royal Rifles aka, the "Desert Rats". Dad was in his element here, reliving the experience of, what he described as, "playing soldiers." He was also fortunate that his National Service only took him as far as Hampshire and Germany, as some unlucky conscripts were posted to active war zones, in areas such as Malaya, Kenya or even Korea, and quite a few of them, sadly, never came back. 

I've a feeling that on that trip we also visited Winchester's imposing cathedral, although that might have been on a different occasion, but whatever the case we picked up the A272 there, and continued on what seemed like a never-ending journey back to Kent. The family lived just outside Ashford at the time, so not only did we have the whole of the A272 to travel along, but there was then the added "bonus" of the rural route across to Tunbridge Wells, followed by the A262 back through Goudhurst, Cranbrook and several other villages further east. 

In short, the journey took an age, but my father seemed to relish it, and it was almost certainly the inspiration for me wanting to repeat part of that monumental drive. There were places such as Petworth and Petersfield, with similar sounding names, that stuck in my mind, there were also several "hursts" along the way as well (Midhurst, Billingshurst), and whilst hurst is a common suffix in the Wealden areas of Sussex and Kent, these places had a certain appeal about them, that like my father, I also wanted to experience again. The fact that some of these places, whilst not quite on my doorstep, are close to home, was also not lost on me either. 

So, shortly after 8.30am, on a bright and sunny Sunday morning, Eileen and I set off on our drive down to Southampton, in order to join our cruise ship. I'm not going to describe the whole journey, but the strange thing is that 50+ years after that journey along the A272, none of the towns and villages we passed through, looked remotely familiar! 

This didn't matter though, and if anything added to the experience, although the drive from Uckfield to Petersfield did seem to take an inordinately long time. The road now bypasses certain towns, such as Haywards Heath and Billingshurst, although I don't think it did 50 or so years ago. There are plenty of twists and turns along the way, and some quite narrow stretches as well. The A272 isn't a road for putting your foot down either, and most of the way we were lucky to make 40mph, but despite the slow progress it was a pleasant and enjoyable drive.

We stopped for a "comfort break" at Midhurst, which seemed a pleasant and attractive town, and a bit later on we passed through Petworth. If anything the latter seemed even more appealing than Midhurst, and it set me thinking, that this relatively unknown part of West Sussex would be a good place to explore further, and get to know some of its pubs. I noticed that Simon (BRAPA), has recently been GBG ticking in the area. I haven't got round to reading his reports yet, although I expect they will make interesting reading. I'm not sure yet whether we will be taking the same route when we return from Southampton, but I will be checking in advance with my colleague to establish the state of play regarding the roads around Worthing. 

Spoiler alert, after consulting my colleague, and finding the roadworks had been lifted, we took the southerly route, via the A27. It was not as attractive, but was considerably quicker.

Along the edge of the Forest - Pt. Two

In the previous post you left me outside the Bear in village of Hartfield, waiting for the 291 bus to carry me in a westerly direction to Coleman’s Hatch. I had a rather late appointment to keep there at the Hatch Inn, which was the pub I should have visited first, on this little outing, in view of its 11:30 opening time. I shan’t bother repeating the story again, but oversleeping that morning, if only by about 20 minutes, rather put a spanner in the works. I was still keen to visit the Hatch Inn, after being impressed with the place on previous visits, and this is despite the pub being regarded as quite an upmarket drinking house.

I like the setting of the pub itself, as well, standing as it does on the edge of Ashdown Forest, where it forms a big attraction for those wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Originally a row of three cottages dating back to 1430, the Hatch Inn became an inn during the 18^th century, when it was known as the “Cock.” It was later renamed the Hatch, at Coleman's Gate, which is one of the gates, or “Hatches" that lead onto Ashdown Forest. The inn is one of several in the area, and the allure of this low, dark building nestled into the landscape, contributes to the allure of this atmospheric old inn.

The Hatch Inn has earned numerous accolades, featuring in The Good Pub Guide, AA Best Pubs, AA Best Pub Food, Country Life Magazine, Time Out Magazine, and the Daily Telegraph's Best of British Pubs, among others, which perhaps explains its upmarket reputation. This would be my third visit to the Hatch Inn, but a work colleague who knows the area better than I do admits to having indulged in a spot of celebrity spotting at the pub.  I can’t remember any of these people’s names, but rather than trying to impress, my workmate was attempting to illustrate just how much money there, is floating round locally.

As for Ashdown Forest, it’s an ancient area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and with its highest point reaching 732 feet above sea level its views are legendary, stretching as far as the North Downs and South Downs, depending on which way you are looking. So, whether it’s a gentle stroll before lunch or a more challenging trek to build your appetite for an evening meal, the Forest offers a diverse range of fauna and flora, heathland and forest. I’ve written before about how my walking friend Eric, and I traversed the Forest as part of our Wealdway Walk, in 2010.

The 291 metro bus services include a
feature where some buses have a visual display indicating the name of the next stop, and in some cases, this is also announced audibly. However, not all buses are equipped with these features, and some that do have them may not have them switched on. This can be a disadvantage for bus travel, especially if you are unfamiliar with the route, as it makes it difficult to know where the stops are and increases the possibility of getting off at the wrong stop.

The bus I took lacked an information system, but fortunately, I had a rough idea of where to disembark based on my previous visit. As we approached the church at Coleman’s Hatch, I recognised it was time for me to get off. I pressed the button, and the bus came to a halt—not too abruptly, although the driver still seemed slightly surprised. After leaving the bus, I crossed the road to check the return times. I realised then that I would not have much time at the pub, so determined to make the most of my visit, I headed up the hill towards the Hatch Inn. Although I could have extended my visit and taken a later bus back, I was determined to visit at least one other pub before returning to Tunbridge Wells.

It was a warm and balmy summer’s day as I walked up the hill and across the junction at the top, which was the point where, almost hidden on the other side of the junction, was the Hatch Inn, peeping out from behind the trees and looking splendid in the late spring sunshine. The majority of customers were sitting outside taking advantage of the sun at on it inside and ordered myself a pint of 360° Double Act, a 3.9% abv pale ale, which certainly hit the spot, after my uphill walk. It was too nice to sit inside though, so after a quick nose around to re-acquaint myself with the pub, I headed back outside and found a seat at one of the tables.

I sat there enjoying my nice hoppy beer, along with the general ambience of this quiet rural pub. Many of the customers seemed to be agricultural or forestry workers, who were no doubt celebrating the end of the working week - in the best way possible with a pint or two of refreshing beer. Unfortunately, I had to rush my pint, despite not really wanting to, so after drinking up I headed back down towards the church, at Coleman’s Hatch, and the bus stop. The latter is in an unfortunate position being directly on a bend which means passengers have to stand out, partially in the road just to make sure that the bus driver sees them.

Despite me being at the stop in good time, I had a 20-minute wait before the bus finally appeared. I was left thinking that I needn’t have rushed my pint, but also that I should have visited the Gents, before leaving. I was tempted to get off a couple of stops before Hartfield and call in at the Gallipot Inn, an attractive little pub overlooking the B2110, but after seeing the place described as a bit of a "gastropub", I decided to remain on the bus, and stick with my original plan. This was to have my last pint at the good old Dorset Arms, which lies in the tiny hamlet of Withyham. That way, I’d be a little closer to Tunbridge Wells.

The Dorset is a pub I've known for a long time, as for many years it was Harvey’s "show pub". However, it turns out the pub didn't actually belong to the brewery, but was only leased to them. The real owners are Buckhurst Estates, as referenced by the signs in front of the pub. To all intents and purposes, the Dorset might as well be a Harvey’s pub, because as far as cask is concerned, their Best Bitter, plus the occasional season offering, are the only beers on sale. I rushed in and promptly alarmed the barmaid by asking for directions to the toilet. Needs must and all that, but after feeling very relieved, I headed back to the bar and ordered a very good fine pint of Sussex Best.

There was quite a crowd in the bar, similar in nature to the drinkers at the Hatch Inn. So, builder types, and agricultural workers again, people who’d finished their shift for the day, or even the week, and enjoying a few well-earned pints. As with the Hatch, I took my beer outside and found a convenient spot on the terrace, just outside the entrance to the pub, where I could sit and watch the world go by. My contemplation's were interrupted by the appearance of a member of the kitchen staff who was taking a break, following a busy shift. Her appearance was quite fortuitous, as she gave me the Wi-Fi code for the pub. This was handy as with a non-existent 4G signal, I’d been unable to confirm the bus times back to Tunbridge Wells.

Not long after, it was time for me to go, and with another dodgy bus stop right opposite the pub, I had to stand out in the road again to flag the vehicle down. Fortunately, the bus driver saw me as he rounded the bed, so there was no need for any heroics on my part. It had been a good day out visiting these four fine, and largely unspoilt Sussex pubs, and it’s an exercise I wouldn’t mind repeating. Next time I shall head a bit further west, to take in Forest Row and East Grinstead. The 291 bus dropped me in the centre of Tunbridge Wells, and I headed towards the RVP for, yet another pee stop. When I emerged from the shopping centre, there was a No. 7 bus waiting at the stand, which took me back to Tonbridge, and home.

 

 

Along the edge of the Forest - Pt. One

The first stop on last Friday’s outing, was the lovely old Crown Inn, overlooking the green in the Kent half of Groombridge. Living where I do, I’m bound to say that the Kentish side is by far the most picturesque and attractive part of the village, especially when one considers the tile- hung Crown along with the adjacent houses overlooking the green. The nearby Groombridge Place, a moated manor house known for its formal gardens and vineyards, is another point of interest. This former tourist attraction is currently closed and awaiting conversion into a boutique hotel and luxury spa.

The Sussex part of Groombridge is a far more recent settlement. The growth of this area was likely due to the arrival of the railway in the late 19^th century. Groombridge Junction was an important part of the rail network in this part of the country but it gradually lost its significance not just because of the infamous Beeching cuts, but also due to a shameful lack of investment by the Thatcher government, some 20 years later. The "Iron Lady", of course, wasn't a fan of the railways, and in 1985 encouraged a cash-strapped British Rail to close the Eridge line in order to save money. Although the savings were minimal, the sale of railway property, especially the  impressive Tunbridge Wells West station, generated substantial revenue for the government, but not for British Rail.

I digress, and the Crown Inn is a pub I became acquainted with right from the start of my time working in Tonbridge, and several years before I actually moved to the town. This was because the company I worked for, operated in the field of water treatment. We had a new piece of kit that the local water company allowed us to have on test, at their Groombridge pumping station. “Just driving over to Groombridge to check on the chart-recorder,” was code for disappearing, during work time, to carry out a quick check of the equipment, a task that was then followed by a pint or two at the Crown Inn.

And why not?  for this splendid old inn has a timeless atmosphere that seems to have changed very little over the years. It reminds me of what pubs were like when I first started drinking back in the early 70’s. Stepping inside, one is greeted by a heavily beamed public room, overseen by a bar counter. A couple of open fireplaces provide welcome warmth during winter, whilst a separate restaurant-cum-dining room leads off to the right and the rear. To the left of the bar, and the fireplace, is what is almost a private or snug bar, adorned with some wonderful old advertising posters. I’m not sure whether they genuine or repro, but they certainly add to the feel of this part of the pub. 

As well as a restaurant the Crown offers accommodation, in four comfortable period rooms. Given the age of the building, I would imagine that the stairs up to the rooms must be both steep and narrow. I was a bit wary myself, when returning from the Gents, as there are some quite steep steps down into the snug. (The same obviously applies to the Ladies as well). So if you have mobility issues the Crown is probably not the pub for you.

When I arrived on Friday, there was a couple sitting out at one of the tables overlooking the green, and with several other bench tables spare, I thought I would join them. Thirst things first, and I popped inside, and ordered a pint of Sussex Best. The other choice was Larkin’s Traditional, a beer that is not there amongst my favourites, as I would much rather see the brewery’s Best Bitter adorning the bar. That’s just me, as the 3.4% Trad is the best-selling beer by far, in the Larkin’s cannon. (Something about it being a low-strength session beer, that you can have a couple of without risking your licence.)

It was very pleasant sitting outside, sunning myself, although soon afterwards, a very thirsty looking rambler appeared, climbing up the hill, with a huge rucksack on his back, complete with a bedding roll and sleeping bag slung underneath. This individual wasn't your average rambler out for a country stroll, instead this was someone who was doing some serious walking. 

He asked if I would keep an eye on his pack while he went inside and ordered himself at pint. “Of course,” I replied and when he returned, I asked him where he was heading for, and where had he come from. It turned out he was following a route of his own choosing, that didn’t take in any of the better-known footpaths, but his route was taking him deeper into Sussex for an overnight stop. Before drinking up and returning my empty glass to the bar, I bid farewell to this intrepid hiker and wished him well on his lengthy journey.

I wandered down the road, and across bridge over the river Grom, which separates the Kent side of Groombridge, from the Sussex side. I didn’t have long to wait until the next 291 bus heading towards East Grinstead, came along. My destination was the village of Hartfield, a large, and well laid out settlement, with a famous literary connection on the one hand, plus a rather tragic ending for a musical legend, on the other. 

I don’t want the rather obvious connection between Winnie the Pooh author A.A. Milne, and Rolling Stones’ guitarist and founder member, Brian Jones, both of whom lived at Cotchford Farm, to the southwest of Hartfield, to overshadow this piece, so I shall leave you to do your own research here. What I will say is that the village pub, formerly known as the Anchor, has recently been transposed into the Bear, picking up on the Winnie the Pooh stories, written by Alan Alexander Milne, during the 1920’s.

I suppose one can’t blame the pub’s owners for cashing in on the Christopher Robin stories, but the Bear seems a strange name for a pub because there aren’t any bears in this part of the world. Come to think of it, the Anchor is also an unusual pub name in an area where there aren’t any ships! That said, apart from the new name, little seems to have changed at this substantial two bar pub, parts of which date from the 14^th century. According to Google, I last visited the Anchor/Bear 10 years ago, although I thought I’d been to the pub since then. As Google doesn't lie, that 2016 visit would have been on an outing by vintage bus, that I undertook, with friends from Maidstone CAMRA branch. On that occasion we enjoyed a pre-booked pub-lunch in the spacious dining area at the rear of the pub.

Last Friday was slightly different, as I sat in the smaller of the pub’s two bars, situated at the front of the pub, and reached from the street by an attractive, colonial-style veranda. This feature is repeated in the building next door which, if you look closely, is a former pub. Known as the Hay Waggon, it was closed, and up for sale, back in 2016, and today, it has become a private residence. 

A very nice-looking residence, mind you, and decked out, like its neighbour, with Union flags, to commemorate the recent VE Day, 80^th anniversary celebrations. The article I wrote at the time, records that many years ago I called in for a drink at the Hay Waggon whilst on a cycle ride through the area. That would have been with the previous Mrs Bailey, but I only have very vague memories of that occasion and am struggling to remember the route we would have taken, as we lived in Maidstone at the time.

Back to the present, and there was a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere in the bar on Friday, with a mixed group of customers, some eating, but most just drinking, like me. The beer range was divided between Harvey’s and Long Man Brewery, with Best Bitter plus Sisters’ Table Beer from the former, plus Long Blonde,  Copper Hop from the latter. I opted for a pint of Copper Hop which, as it says on the pump-clip, is a hoppy, amber ale. The most popular beer though, seemed to be Cruzcampo, the 4.4% abv Spanish lager which for the young and trendy, aka “fickle”, appears to be the new Madri. Brewed in Seville, a city that I would like to visit on my next trip to Spain, and a place where I’m sure the Cruzcampo would taste much better, than in an English village. To be continued...........................................................