Golding Hop, Plaxtol - a lost rural treasure

In the recent post I wrote about the White Horse at Sundridge, I mentioned the journey that took me past the pub, back in the early 90’s.  This bumper to tail, traffic nightmare was the result of my being seconded to another company, within the same group as the one I worked for in Tonbridge, in order to complete an important project.

The nature of the project is immaterial to this narrative, but I’m happy to say it was successful. Whether it was worth me spending three months of my life in Hounslow, is open to debate, but it did enable me to save quite a bit of money in the process. This was because, to save on travelling, the company put me up in a hotel for four nights a week, and this was on an all-expenses paid basis (within reason).

This was to compensate for me being away from my wife and home comforts, but I made up for this by getting to know a few of the local pubs. Most Friday evenings, on the journey home to Maidstone, where I was living at the time, I took the opportunity to call in at whatever pub, along the way, took my fancy. This way I got to know quite a few of the pubs between Westerham and Maidstone, and various point south of the A25.

One pub I remember with particular fondness was the Golding Hop, just north of the village of Plaxtol. I briefly mentioned this classic old inn, towards the end of the White Horse article, and just thinking about the place, prompted me to write this piece.

The Golding Hop was a true time-warp pub, and I say “was” because sadly, the Hop closed its doors for the last time, back in 2016, following the retirement of long serving licensees, Eddie and Sonia. The couple had looked after and run the pub for just over twenty-five years, before finally calling it a day.

Located in an unbelievably idyllic rural setting to the north of Plaxtol, the Golding Hop offered gravity dispensed beers and ciders, simple and good value for money food, in surroundings that have not changed for many a year. The pub itself is built into the side of a hill, overlooking a narrow lane, and is over 300 years old. There was a large garden opposite, with facilities such as swings, climbing frame etc. to keep families occupied; an important point to note, as whilst dogs were allowed in the pub, children were not.

As well as beers served by gravity, from casks stillaged in a room behind the bar, the Golding Hop was famed for its cider. Alongside well-known brands, such as Weston’s the pub produced its own "rough cider", from a recipe that had been handed down over the years from one licensee to the next.

I can still picture my first visit to the pub 40 or so years ago, one evening on my drive home from Hounslow. It was dark, so I don’t know quite how I managed to navigate to the pub, on my own, without puling over to look at the map. What I do know is I approached the Golding Hop from the north, turning off the A25 at Ightham, and then continuing along the A227, towards Tonbridge.

As the road descends steeply from the Greensand Ridge, towards the village of Shipbourne, there was a sign, directing thirsty travellers to the Golding Hop. I drove long that road the other day and I am pretty certain the sign is still there. I do remember it being a wild and windy night; something that added to the appeal and the atmosphere of the pub that time.

By following my nose, I arrived at the Golding Hop, more by accident than design, and after pulling up in the large car park opposite, made my way inside. After spotting a vacant table, I made my way to the bar and ordered myself a beer. It was probably a pint of Young’s Ordinary, but four decades on, I cannot be certain.

There were a few locals sat either close to or actually at the bar. The took precious little notice of me, and I of them. The wood-burning stove was lit, and this provided a warm, welcoming, and cosy feel to the pub. I ought perhaps to have appreciated this feeling more, as most subsequent visits took place during the summer months. These would have been post 1985, which was the year I moved house, from Maidstone to Tonbridge.

I recall one such visit where a group of us sat outside on the small terrace in front of the pub, enjoying the late spring sunshine. We had taken the bus to nearby Plaxtol, and then walked the last mile or so to the Golding Hop. On the way we enjoyed some spectacular views across the Bourne Valley, to our right.  Another visit saw us walking from Ightham Common, where we’d spent a couple of hours at the equally unspoilt Old House. The latter remains a timeless classic and has enjoyed something of a renaissance under its new owner.

It was a comparison of the beer quality between the two pubs that really opened my eyes to what, for a long time, had been the Achilles Heel of the Golding Hop. Both pubs use gravity dispense, and both pubs keep their beers in a room out the back, but the Old House uses a cooling system, and the effect of this was clearly evident in the temperature of the beer and its subsequent high quality.

Unfortunately, the Golding Hop had no such facility for keeping the beer cool, and this often had a negative effect on beer quality, particularly in summer. I’d go as far to say that, over the years, variable quality beer was a downside of the Golding Hop, in my experience at least. The pub had been voted West Kent CAMRA Pub of the Year back in 2004, and there were many CAMRA members who wouldn't hear any criticism of the pub's beer.

On that particular visit, those with their heads in the sand had to agree that the Adnams Best, and also the Gale’s Seafarer's, really weren't up to scratch. Beer quality aside, a visit to the Golding Hop was always something to look forward to, and the charms of its rural idyll in summer, and the cosiness, of the pub’s interior in winter, with its low beamed ceilings and wood-burning stove were equally appealing.

A small, limited menu offering basic pub-grub of the chips and baked beans with everything variety, was another attraction and was always good value. The beers too were always competitively priced, but it was the setting and atmosphere of the pub itself, that were the main attractions.

Landlord Eddie was another attraction, and quite a character to boot. You had to take him as you found him, and whilst some regarded him as cantankerous, I never had a problem with him. Eddie was definitely part and parcel of what made the Golding Hop tick but running the pub day in and day out for 25 years, must have been hard work. It came as no surprise then, when Eddie and Sonia finally decided to call it a day and take that well-earned retirement.

A look back at this blog, over the years will turn up several posts where the Golding Hop was either the sole pub visited or, the main one, so it was particularly galling to learn of its closure. I’m not really certain what happened when the couple finally left the pub, but the rumour was they only leased the place, rather than actually owning it.

An online search reveals that the Golding Hop closed on 22nd September 2016, and its alcohol licence was surrendered. The new owners submitted plans to open a coffee shop in its place, and this appears to be what happened.

The premises are now listed as the Golding Hop Tea House, and photos on TripAdvisor show it as a rather twee-looking establishment, with soft-furnishings, distressed wooden chairs, and patterned tablecloths. A far cry from what it was five years ago. The same site indicates that it has now permanently closed. Perhaps that was the plan all along, but why turn a popular and successful rural pub, in such a charming and idyllic setting, into a chintzy tea shop, in the middle of nowhere?

If anyone does know the true story behind the pub’s conversion, or indeed any news regarding Eddie and Sonia, perhaps they could let me know.

When there's no cask, is a beer in the bottle worth two in the bush?

The lad and I took a drive over to East Peckham on Friday evening. Our mission was to find the location of the local vaccination centre, prior to Matthew’s first Covid jab in a couple of weeks’ time. East Peckham lies to the north-east of Tonbridge, and is a large, sprawling village with no obvious centre, apart from a small parade of shops.

It has suffered over the years from piecemeal development – mainly private residential estates, and it is on one of these developments, that the Jubilee Hall, which is where Matthew will need to attend for his vaccination, is situated. Fortunately, the hall is well signposted, but it was worth us doing a dummy run, rather than driving around frantically, trying to locate it, next Friday week.

East Peckham is also a village that has been badly affected by pub closures over the years, and since I first moved to West Kent, back in the late 70’s, I have witnessed the disappearance of four of them. One has recently been sold at auction, and no longer trades as a pub. Two others have vanished completely; burnt to the ground, possibly deliberately, whilst the other one is now an Indian restaurant.

The Harp, on the road into the village from Maidstone, was one of the pubs that went up in smoke. This was a shame, as at one time, it stocked an interesting range of cask beers, including a couple from Hog’s Back Brewery, which was unusual for the area. It’s later incarnation as a rather dodgy “hostess” bar, left the Harp out of favour with villagers and the local authority; the latter revoking its license on the grounds of public decency. I wrote a post about this, back in 2013.

The Rose & Crown was situated at the opposite edge of the village, and caught fire in February 2010, a couple of months after it closed. In its heyday it was an attractive looking pub, that dated back to the 18^th Century, but following the fire, and the flooding that occurred at Christmas 2013, the building was demolished and replaced by, what to me is, an ugly American-style condominium type development.  

The Addlestead Tavern, sited at a prominent junction on the road in from Tonbridge, is now a curry house, whilst the Merry Boys, which is in the centre of the village, opposite the parade of shops, was sold at auction in April 2020, with plans for conversion to some other use. I have vague recollections of setting foot in the pub once, but the Merry Boys was very much a local’s pub with little in the way of appeal, for visitors.

It’s worth mentioning the Village Coffee & Wine Bar, which occupies one of the above shops, as or attention was drawn to it on our drive through the village. This was on account of the people sitting outside. I took a photo (see above), as we drove by – we were travelling in Matthew’s car, and I have included my “drive past” shot for the sake of completion.

These closures leave East Peckham, with just two pubs: the Bush plus the Man of Kent. The latter is some way from the village, closer in fact to Golden Green. It occupies an attractive location at Little Mill, next to the River Bourne – a tributary of the Medway. It is a favourite watering hole for a particular group of Mrs PBT’s girly friends and is perhaps a pub worthy of its own write up.

The Bush, Blackbird & Thrush is also some way from village centre and is surrounded on all sides by open fields. When I first moved to West Kent, the Bush was renowned for its Fremlin’s Bitter (and occasionally Tusker), served direct from the cask. I’m not certain exactly when Shep’s took over the pub, from Whitbread, but they have continued this tradition. It was in order to enjoy a pint of gravity served Shep’s that Matthew and I decided to call in, before driving back to Tonbridge.

The quaintly named, Bush, Blackbird & Thrush is an attractive long tile-hung building, constructed in typical Kentish style, set back from the road. There is a large garden to the rear and the left of the pub and, given the fine evening, that that is where we headed. We were told by the rather young-looking member of staff that we could sit at any free table, and he would come and take our order. So, after parking ourselves at a convenient spot, we waited for him to come and take our order. “What cask ales have you got on?” I asked. The term “cask ale” nearly always seems to confuse the “yoof” of today, so I qualified it with the reassuring words “real ale.”

It was then that I learnt that none were available. There was some story about the pub placing their usual order, and then discovering that none had turned up. It sounds unlikely, but then we are not living in normal times. Also, Shep’s might be concentrating on packaged beers, such as bottled, canned or keg at the moment, but whilst disappointing, there were, several bottled options available.

I opted for a bottle of Whitstable Bay Pale Ale, which fortunately arrived with a glass. I suppose the 500ml size doesn’t quite lend itself to being necked, straight from the bottle! It was nicely chilled and hit the spot.  I wasn’t overly concerned that no cask was available; although some of the feedback I received on the Beer Socials WhatsApp group, I am a member of, made me think I was supping with the Devil.

Matthew went for a pint of Spitfire Lager. I wasn’t aware that such a beer was available, but the iconic WWII fighter aircraft is an important, and easily recognised brand for Shepherd Neame, and they appear to be applying it across a wide range of products.

As we sat their enjoying our beers, I took time to take in the scene in the spacious garden in front of us. There was a variety of people doing the same as us, and at the far end, a trailer, complete with cooking facilities and serving hatch, was dishing up food of the “chips with everything” variety. I imagine this was brought in back in April, at the start of pubs re-opening, when it was outdoor service only.

The area to the side of us, seemed popular with local youngsters, most of whom were sat under a gazebo-like cover. They all seemed to know each other, so the banter, and the insults all seemed good natured. I didn’t feel too happy taking photos though, especially as Matthew freaks out when I start snapping away. This means that the majority of the garden shots were taken surreptitiously, with by phone resting at 90° on the table and with the shutter noise silenced.

The same applied indoors. I didn’t feel the need to use the toilets but did stick my head briefly though the front bar to take a quick snap of the right-hand bar. Contrary to the trend of the last quarter of a century, of knocking down partitions between bars, the Bush appears to still have two separate rooms. There is also a block of two outside toilets, that are obviously not longer in use, given the substantial tree that is growing in front of them!

So, a quick beer plus the renewal of my acquaintance with an old favourite pub, provided a good end to what had been a busy and challenging week at work. Roll-on September!

The White Horse, Sundridge - another pub I've waited 42 years before visiting!

Anyone reading the comments that followed the previous post, will know that I’ve been rumbled, and that Higgs Bosun, otherwise known as Anonymous Matt, named the mystery pub I was planning to reveal in this article.

So yes, Sunday’s impromptu pub stop was indeed the White Horse, at Sundridge, and, in another scoop for this blog, this was my visit to this attractive village inn. This fact surprises me, as much as anyone, as I must have driven past the White Horse countless times, given its prominent position on the A25.

Back in the day, this single-carriageway road was the main artery for traffic travelling east-west whilst avoiding the capital. I was one of those vehicles, back in the early 1980’s, when the Tonbridge-based company I was working for seconded me, on a project, to a company in Hounslow, who were in the same group.

I was living in Maidstone at the time, so would join the A25 at Wrotham Heath, and then travel, nose to tail, westward, through several, long-suffering village, before joining the A217 at Reigate. There was actually a small section of the M25 open, between what are now Junctions 6 and 8, but how settlements like Borough Green, Seal, Westerham Brasted and Oxted managed with all that traffic (including HGV’s), is difficult to comprehend today.

The 67-mile journey was so time consuming as well as tiring, that I took to travelling up to Hounslow on a Monday, and staying at a local hotel until Friday, just to avoid spending several hours each day, sitting in slow-moving traffic.My journey west out of Sevenoaks, took me through the small village of Sundridge and there, at the traffic lights, on opposite corners of the crossroads, were two pubs.   

The Lamb closed quite a few years ago, but I’m happy to report the White Horse is very much open for business and doing alright. Matthew and I only discovered this on Sunday, and only then because there was nowhere remotely near to park the car, at the pub we’d originally decided to stop at. The place appeared to be literally bursting at the seams as well, as we drove past, which is how we ended up at Sundridge.

Fortunately, and much to our relief, there were spaces in the car park when we arrived, but before describing our visit, it’s worth writing a few words about our original destination. This was the Bricklayer’s Arms, one of two pubs in the village of Chipstead, overlooking the large lake, just along from the Tesco superstore, at Riverhead. 

The “Bricks,” as it is known locally, is a Harvey’s tied house, and probably the brewery’s northernmost outlet – with the exception of the famous Royal Oak, in south London’s Borough district. It’s renowned for its Harvey’s Sussex Best, served direct from the cask – the other Harvey’s beers (seasonal offerings, in the main), are dispensed by hand-pump.

It’s 10 years since I last set foot in the pub, so a return visit was long overdue, but it was not to be. The world and his wife appeared to be there, enjoying the warm weather, and the view out, across the green and over to Chipstead Lake.The latter is a former gravel pit, that has been transformed into a local beauty spot, popular with the sailing fraternity, anglers, and people out for a walk in the country.  

 It would have been nice to have stopped and admired the view, over a pint of Harvey’s, but I will try a mid-week visit next time. Thwarted in our plan for a pint of Sussex Best, we drove on, along a country lane which took us over the M25 motorway, before turning back towards Sevenoaks. This was how we ended up in Sundridge and calling in at the White Horse.

After parking the car, we approached the pub through the rear, passing the raised garden area on our left. We entered the pub, just to announce our presence, but also to have a quick scan of the hand pulls. We were asked if we wanted to sit indoors or outside, so being a fine day, we chose the latter. The friendly staff member told us to take whichever table in the garden took our fancy, and she would come and take our details, plus our drinks order.

True to her word, she came over and took my name, plus contact phone number, so no App clogging up the phone memory. She confirmed that Theakston’s Best, plus Hobgoblin Gold were the cask ales, before reeling off a list of lagers for Matthew’s benefit. One of the lagers mentioned, was Krušovice, a beer rarely seen outside its native Czechia.

Matthew had already settled on a pint of Amstel, but if I find myself at the White Horse again, I will give the Krušovice a try. My Theakston’s Best was in fine form, but as the correspondent who spotted my entry on Untappd pointed out, the beer was probably spoiled by not being pulled through a sparkler.

He was right, of course, and whilst it pains me to say it, northern beers are definitely tailored to be served in this fashion. We enjoyed our drinks but didn’t stay for another. I was driving, plus we had a boot-load of grocery shopping in the back of the car, that we needed to get home, and in the fridge.

The pub was reasonably busy, but nowhere near the level we’d witnessed at the Brick’s. Most customers were out in the garden, like us, with very few inside. I manged a quick glimpse of the latter, when I nipped in to use the toilets, taking a few surreptitious photos, on my way out. So, top marks for a genuinely nice pub, offering friendly service and good beer. The food looked good as well, and I’m pleased to report the place wasn’t crowded out with foodies.

Thinking back, it’s strange that I didn’t stop at the White Horse, on those journeys, all those years ago. It might have had something to do with the beer, as the pub belonged to Allied Breweries in those days, and closer to home, there were several prominent free houses, offering a more exotic range of beers.

Places such as the Crown Point Inn, the other side of Seal, the Padwell Arms, or the Golding Hop, both just outside Plaxtol, and both sadly closed. These were the establishments that appealed to a young real-ale aficionado, such as me, back in the early 1980’s.

Times change, as do pubs, and as just mentioned, some are no longer with us. Forty years on, things are rather different, so it was perhaps appropriate that I should have waited this length of time, before discovering the White Horse at Sundridge.

 

Groundforce - an early June update

Blogging has taken something of a backseat, at the moment, with the majority of my free time being devoted to gardening.  Some might say I should be out there saving pubs, and whilst I agree – to a point, the gardening blitz is only a temporary situation and is very much a case of making hay whilst the sun shines.

The plan has been to add both colour and interest to the brand new, but rather dull-looking fencing panels between us and next door. In order to reach and replace the existing fencing, the wretched leylandii hedge had to be ripped out;  although there was no loss there, and in the process we gained a four foot stretch of garden. There were also umpteen tomato plants that were getting out of hand on the kitchen windowsill, and in dire need of a new home, outside, and so the list went on.

The other evening, I was outside until nearly 10pm, planting out some of these tomato plants and tying them in to bamboo canes, for support. It’s actually rather pleasant being outside whilst the light slowly fades, even though as time marches on, you eventually have to concede it’s getting too dark to see, and then scurry back indoors.

Friday brought some welcome rain, and seeing as I was at work, it had minimal impact on outdoor activities. It has cased both the grass and the weeds to grow, so there will be mowing and weeding to be done, but not for a few days, and I’m pleased to report that the weekend did allow time for socializing, and a brief pub visit.

Back to the subject of work for a few moments, the person who will be taking over my role, when I step down in a few months’ time, started with us on Tuesday and already seems to be making her mark. This is good news, as not only will it make the handover easier, and a lot smoother, it will benefit both the department and the company as a whole.

The downside, albeit temporary, is I am being kept extremely busy. It’s all in a good cause, and by the end of September I should have fully transitioned to my new, part-time role which involves looking after Health & Safety, along with site-related matters.

We really need this virus nonsense to have disappeared by then, so I can properly enjoy my new-found freedom, but it’s not looking particularly good on that front, at the moment. Still, with the self-serving buffoon who is running the country, waiting nearly three weeks before stopping flights from virus-hit India, it is perhaps not surprising. And all this for a dodgy trade-deal that won’t go anywhere near compensating for the loss to our economy, caused by a damaging hard-Brexit which, incidentally, did not feature on the ballot-paper.

So, two dark clouds on the horizon at the moment, as along with the effects of the pandemic, the mountain of extra paperwork caused by the UK’s exit from the Single Market & Customs Union, is creating all sorts of unwelcome problems with my company’s lucrative export business to Europe. Perhaps those idiots from the ERG (the group of disaster capitalists extreme free marketers, running the Tory party), would like to come and witness these difficulties at first hand, and then explain exactly why we are better off.

Rant over, and back to more positive things, we took a drive over to Gravesend on Saturday, to visit Eileen’s brother and his partner; both of whom we haven’t for nearly a year. They both looked fit and well and with the return of the sunny weather, following that rather damp end to the week we sat out in the garden enjoying a barbecue.

It was all very nice, but there was rather too much meat for my liking. Brother-in-law David had thoughtfully picked up a four-pint container of Best Bitter, from local brewery, Iron Pier. The beer was a pleasant, malty, brown bitter, and David told us about Iron Pier’s taproom and outdoor drinking area.

I had to do a fair amount of tidying up when we arrived home, as the plan was for us to have a barbecue of our own on Sunday (today), so yesterday evening I was frantically shifting the stack of logs, that has been on the far patio, since March. I’ve re-vamped our log store, so at least there is now a dry shelter where they can be stacked and left to dry out.  Woodsmen refer to this drying out process as “seasoning,” so as that sounds good to me, my large stack of logs is now seasoning nicely!

I woke up and got up quite early for me, on a Sunday, and after bringing Mrs PBT’s her morning cup of tea, I was straight out in the garden again, putting the finishing touches to the patio, moving a few more plants, and all this before breakfast.

If I thought being out late, the other evening, was good, it was even better being out in the garden, shortly after 8am, enjoying the cool freshness of early morning. Mid-morning, the lad and I took a drive over to my workplace in Chiddingstone Causeway, to carry out the monthly check of the site’s emergency lighting system.

I wouldn’t normally go into work on a weekend, but the lighting system comes under my new remit of health & safety, and because of his own experience in checking the emergency lights at the store where he works, son Matthew offered to accompany me, and show me the ropes. It was quite straight forward in the end, as I had already printed off a floor plan for each area, showing the position of these lights, along with the points for activating them. It still took us over an hour, and when we finished, we had another task to perform.

This was to pick-up our pre-ordered “click & collect” grocery shopping, from the Tesco superstore at Riverhead. You might remember we did the same thing, a couple of weeks ago, and on that occasion stopped off for a pint on the way home.

This seemed like a plan, so we decided to do the same today. However, a combination of warm weather, and the relaxing of restrictions affecting pubs, meant it was a case of the best laid plans going astray. Our pub of choice, was absolutely rammed, with nowhere to park and what looked like a queue just to get in.

Plan B was to continue driving and see where we ended up – preferably at a pub that was less busy. Our quest was successful, but you will have to wait for the next post, for me to reveal its identity, along with that of the pub where there was “no room at the inn.”

Finally, after 42 years, the Wheel Inn at Westwell

I said in the previous article that despite living less than 10 miles away, I was of the opinion I had never visited the tiny village of Westwell. That may well be true, but standing outside the Wheel Inn, in the centre of the village last Friday, did bring a faint ray of recognition, and this got me thinking.

I spent my formative years in East Kent, having moved there from London, at the age of three, with my parents. We lived in a newly built semi in the village of Willesborough which, even then, was more or less a suburb of Ashford. When I was 14 years old, the family moved out to the country, buying another modern property, this time a detached bungalow in the village of Brook.

My parents seemed to have had a fascination with recently built properties, as the bungalow in Norfolk, they retired to, was also relatively new. None of this is really relevant, but it is only when you start looking back, that you pick up on these things.

More to the point, apart from a fondness of trips to Tenterden, my parents didn’t tend to travel much to the west of Ashford. I am not sure why, but for some reason they preferred going east, and this meant the coast, and towns such as Folkestone, Hythe and Sandgate. There was also Romney Marsh, with its associated beaches.

It wasn’t until I received my first motorbike, at the age of 16, that I was able to travel independently of my parents. Prior to that I relied on “dad’s taxi,” as bus services were limited, and even then, were being cut back. I had a push-bike and used it daily for my early morning paper round but cycling much further than the neighbouring village of Wye, was more or less unheard of.

Wye was the gateway to Canterbury, as far as my friends and I were concerned. We would cycle to the village, leave our bikes at the station, and then take the train into Canterbury. Brook itself, lies at the foot of North Downs escarpment, and the hilly nature of the local terrain may have been the factor that put me off cycling, or perhaps I was just lazy – as teenagers often are. 

When I obtained that motorbike, I joined up with a school friend, and we rode all over Romney Marsh, visiting local pubs. Yet again, for some reason, we never travelled to the other side of the Stour valley.

I returned to live in Kent after an absence of five and a half years; three years as a student at Salford University, plus an additional year at Manchester Polytechnic. I wonder what the latter institution is known as these days. This was followed by a year and a half living in the Norbury area of south London.

That return to Kent came in late 1978, when the previous Mrs Bailey and I bought a small, terraced house house in Maidstone. Property was much cheaper in the county town than in our preferred location of Sevenoaks. This was despite my first wife having a well-paid job with the MOD in Central London.

 I also worked in the capital, after landing a full-time position, working in my chosen field of quality control, but a few months after moving to Maidstone, I secured a job in nearby Tonbridge. This not only paid considerably more, but at a stroke removed the expensive commute into London.

We didn’t have a car back then, so explored most of the nearer pubs by bike instead, occasionally venturing further afield by train. Lenham was probably the limit of our eastward ventures, which coincidentally was the boundary between Maidstone and Ashford CAMRA branches. Westwell never really feature on the radar, and given its isolated position, on the road to nowhere, this wasn’t really surprising.

So, 42 years after my return to Kent, my walk last Friday, along the NDW finally provided the opportunity of visiting Westwell and its pub. I am pleased to report, is still trading, and offering good beer, food for those who want it, and a friendly welcome.

Whilst doing a spot of research for this article, I came across an old CAMRA guide to Real Ale in Kent. Published in 1993, the guide describes the Wheel as a multi-roomed pub, belonging to Shepherd Neame, but a much older guide shows it as a Whitbread house. Today, it is a free house, listed on WhatPub as stocking Fuller’s London Pride, plus a couple of local guest ales.

I hadn’t pre-booked a table or anything, when I stepped inside the Wheel, primarily as I was uncertain of my time of arrival. With no-one else in the pub when I arrived, that was not a problem., so after signing in (no track and trace for me), I was directed to a table opposite the bar counter.

With no pump clips visible, I was concerned there was no cask ale available, but the friendly barmaid informed me there were two beers from Musket Brewery on tap - Trigger and Ball Puller. I opted for the former, a crisp, hoppy and refreshing pale ale of moderate strength, that really hit the spot, as far as its thirst-quenching properties were concerned.

The photos show the interior, painted in contemporary colours, which adds both light and colour to what might otherwise have been a dull interior. However, being something of a traditionalist, I prefer the feel that goes with darkened wood wall paneling and floors, that are normally associated with a centuries’ old village inn.

No matter, the pub seemed to be doing just fine, as shortly after I arrived, two separate couples arrived and ordered some food. They asked if they could sit outside in the garden, and under normal circumstances that would have been my preference as well. But with pubs only just re-opened for indoor drinking, I wanted to show my support for this welcome return to some semblance of reality. I also couldn’t resist the simple pleasure of just being able to sit there, enjoying a nice cool pint of locally brewed beer, along with a packet of crisps.

My first visit to the Wheel Inn proved worthy of that long wait, but with Westwell really being on the road to nowhere, the village really is a place where it’s necessary to make a detour. For ramblers, walking the North Downs Way, the detour amounts to just half a mile, and comes as highly recommended.