Ashford revisited

They say that you should never go back and whilst that is something I have not always adhered to; I feel there is more of a grain of truth in this adage. This post, and the pub-related ones that follow, is an account of last Friday’s return visit to Ashford, made in the company of son Matthew who was perhaps, rather less enthused than I was, at re-visiting the town I grew up in.

I spent my formative years in or around the Kentish town of Ashford. My parents had moved to the town in 1959. I was 3½ years old at the time, whilst my sister was around 18 months. We had moved from London, in search of a better life, trading the cramped rooms the family shared with my paternal grandparents, as well as dad’s brother and his family, for the joys of life in an expanding Kentish town, and the luxury of a new-build, three-bedroomed, semi-detached house.

The fact they were able to make the move, was due to my father working for the Royal Mail, or the GPO as it was in those days. Dad had been able to get a transfer from the London office he was based at (I never did find out which one), to the Crown Post Office in Ashford. Our spacious new abode was a new-build Taylor Woodrow property, on an estate on the edge of the rapidly expanding village of Willesborough.

It wasn’t that far to walk into Ashford, from where we lived, although to shorten the journey time, dad preferred to cycle to and from work. He also had a motorbike and sidecar combination, for transporting the family around.Moving from the familiar surroundings of northwest London to a provincial town, must have been a real culture shock to both my parents, more so for my mother who was not only missing the support of her parents, but was left in the house all day, whilst my father was at work.

I also gather that with a mortgage to pay, money was tight, certainly to begin with. It’s hard to comprehend now, especially as the sum borrowed was a mere £2,000, but everything is relative. We didn’t really go without though, and living just a short drive to the coast, meant trips to the seaside were plentiful. Also, as dad’s position within the Royal Mail advanced, he was able to install central heating, erect a garage and buy a car – a converted Austin A35 van.

Despite there being three years difference in our ages, my sister and I attended the same primary school, starting off at the newly built infants’ school, before transferring at the age of seven, to the junior school, about half a mile away. At the age of 11, I secured a place at the nearby Ashford Boys Grammar School, where I remained for the next seven years.

 

When I was 14 and my sister 11, the family moved again, this time swapping our three-bed semi, for a detached bungalow, with a large rear garden, in the nearby village of Brook. The latter is a small linear settlement which lies at the foot of the North Downs, close to the much larger village of Wye. It’s main claim to fame is its largely intact Norman church, complete with some original medieval wall-paintings. The village also possessed a rather good pub, the Honest Miller, closed, and boarded up, at the time of writing, although I hear there are plans afoot to restore it to its former glory.

Leaving Brook for another day, it was the our old house at Willesborough, the schools I attended and the town in general, that prompted the return visit to Ashford, 48 years after flying the nest to attend university and make a life for myself. Ashford is a bit of a pain to get to by road, and with the Brexit-related, traffic issues, affecting the M20 motorway, best avoided at the moment. Instead South East Trains will transport you in speed and comfort, to Ashford, following the most direct route possible, from Tonbridge, along what is claimed to be the longest straight stretch of track in the UK.

So, with a journey time of just 40 minutes, letting the train take the strain, was a "no-brainer," particularly to someone with an “Old Git’s” Railcard. I met Matthew outside the station, as I’d had some financial business to attend to in Tonbridge, first thing. There is a half-hourly service to Ashford, and the 10.52 train that we boarded, allowed sufficient time to look around, before we even thought about pubs, beer, and something to eat.

The station calls itself Ashford International, even though very few Eurostar trains stop there anymore. Having cross-channel passenger trains calling there, was always something of a white elephant, and whilst I have made three return Eurostar journeys from Ashford, the opening of another international station at Ebbsfleet, rendered Ashford more or less redundant.  Ebbsfleet itself was another white elephant and, with its so-called “Thames Gateway” connection, something of a vanity project as well.

Somewhat ironically, Ashford station underwent at least two re-builds, prior to the arrival of Eurostar, and I can remember from childhood, the old wooden station buildings, painted in their old Southern Railway colours of cream and green, being pulled down in favour of something more functional and “modern.” We walked up into the town centre, via Station Road, now a busy dual-carriageway, almost devoid of buildings. The shops at the top of the road, along with Tiffany’s café – the scene of many mis-spent teenage afternoons, have all vanished, along with the Duke of Marlborough pub, with its attractive corner turret and clock.

We crossed over and walked up through the town’s War Memorial Gardens, and then through the Vicarage Lane car park, at the back of the Odeon. The latter was another place where I spent much of my youth, and whilst the Odeon is still standing, it has been closed for years and under threat of redevelopment. With its almost intact, art-deco interior, there is a long-running campaign to save it but given the track record of Ashford Borough Council (ABC), I don’t see much chance of its success.

And so, following the alleyway at the side of the cinema, we arrived in Ashford High Street, a wide, attractive, and once bustling thoroughfare, befitting of a busy and successful, market town. Now it is just another pedestrianised precinct, with a few sad-looking shops, and equally sad-looking inhabitants.

A quick word then about ABC, a body that  surpassed even the Luftwaffe in its appetite for the mass-destruction of any buildings of character, but with a peculiar desire for the elimination of the majority of Ashford’s stock of once thriving public houses. The local authority worshiped the motor car and it worshiped modernism, as not content with the bypass taking the A20 around the town, the council decided that Ashford needed a ring road as well. Then, on top of the ring road, the High Street shops needed a service road behind them, so that deliveries wouldn’t conflict with their plans for pedestrianisation.

The ring road involved the widening of existing roads and enhancing the junctions, and as pubs are often sited on street corners, Ashford’s stock of licensed premises took a severe hit. A substantial number of the surviving pubs disappeared following the construction of a modern shopping centre – what our American friends would call a Mall. This involved the demolition of a swathe of Victorian properties, including shops and public houses, the centre of town. To say that the County Square shopping mall tore the heart of Ashford, would be an understatement, but the council hadn’t finished yet.

Mining consortium Charter Consolidated were allowed to construct a massive 9-storey office block in the centre of Ashford. What made things worse was the building was “Y” shaped, so there was no getting away from this ghastly monstrosity, as it as visible from all directions. Even worse was the destruction of one of Ashford’s best surviving pubs, to make way for a service road for the building. So, not only was the multi-room, Lord Roberts one of the town’s best and most characterful public houses, it was also my favourite place for enjoying a beer – a view shared by many of my friends.

Fortunately, one of the only parts of Ashford to escape the wreckers’ bulldozers, were the houses surrounding the churchyard of St Mary’s Parish Church. This oasis of tranquility and antiquity is Ashford’s showcase in the heritage stakes, with almost a dozen listed building, including one housing the town museum.  This tiny area illustrates what might have been, or what could have been, if a more sympathetic and sensitive council had been in charge during the 60’s and 70’s.

Time was getting on and Matthew and I were getting thirsty and hungry.  My plan was to take a bus, alight outside my old school, and then walk along to have a look at what was the family’s first house. We jumped on service bus C, which runs at regular intervals, from the town centre, out to the area’s main hospital – the William Harvey. After getting off, we passed the Fox, the pub that my grandfather liked to visit, when him and my nan came to stay. Apart from a paint job, and the acquisition of the prefix “New,” it didn’t look much different. My old school, on the other hand, had been renamed, after its founder, and had also increased in size.

We continued towards our goal, but what seemed like a lengthy walk at the age of eleven, turned out to be nothing more than a stroll, and it wasn’t long before we reached the estate where the house is located. The property didn’t look a lot different, as apart from a set of replacement UPVC windows, and a new garage, not much had changed.

This is the bit at the beginning of the article which advises, not to go back, although if I’m honest, apart from satisfying my curiosity, I didn’t feel much in the way of emotion. It was good to see that from the outside, the house had been well cared for, but houses were well-built, back in the 1950’s so there wasn’t much that could have gone wrong. 

I wasn’t temped to knock on the door, explain who I was and request a look around, as that would have been far too embarrassing for all concerned. Matthew would never have forgiven me either, so we continued on our way, climbing up the aptly named Windmill Close, towards the local landmark that is Willesborough Mill. The path I had planned to take though, was blocked off, so we headed in the opposite direction to Hythe Road.

Stephen Nunney / Willesborough Windmill / CC BY-SA 2.0

There wasn’t long to go now, before we reached the pub that I’d earmarked for our lunchtime stop, and in my hurry to get there, I forgot to double back for a proper look at the windmill. That will have to wait for another time, but the fully restored smock mill, constructed in 1869 is well worth a look. I often walked past it, as a young boy, on my way home from school.

School was Willesborough County Primary School, and its mainly Victorian stone buildings are still standing at the top of Silver Hill. The school itself, has moved to a new site complete, with all modern facilities, and the original buildings converted to domestic use. We carried on by them, passing under the M20 motorway which has absorbed the former bypass.

Our lunchtime stop was just a few hundred yards away now, but I’m afraid you will have to wait for the next post to find out what it was called, and what it was like.

 

"Howdy partner!"

I’m not sure that northern, or indeed midland-based readers of this blog, will be aware of  Smith & Western, a company, which is often confused with American armaments manufacturer, Smith & Wesson. The former is a small chain of just seven restaurants, specialising in American-style food, located exclusively, in a small area of the southeast – Surrey, West Sussex and Kent. All Smith & Western outlets have a wild-west theme, with bare floorboards, imitation gas-light illuminations and in the case of the local outlet, a mock-up of an old Pony Express mailroom.

A trifle Kitsch, perhaps, but the company has been trading since 1995, and is well-known in this small corner of the southeast. The Tunbridge Wells outlet is housed in the town’s former West Station, which was one of two railway stations that once served the town. Constructed by the London, Brighton & South Coast Railway, the station opened in 1866, and was much larger that the rival Tunbridge Wells Central.

The latter was opened in 1868, by the South Eastern Railway, and today acts as the town’s main, and indeed, only railway station. Tunbridge Wells West, on the other hand, suffered death by a thousand cuts, as over the years. Some of these cuts were a result of the infamous Beeching Report, whilst  others were "economies"  made by a cash-strapped British Rail,  but lines were closed, and services to places such as East Grinstead, Lewes, Eastbourne and indeed, London were withdrawn. The station remained in use until July 1985, primarily because of a single-track link between the two Tunbridge Wells stations, via Grove Tunnel.

 The closure was a short-sighted decision taken by the notoriously anti-rail Thatcher government, that quite possibly was influenced by the large amount of railway land available at the West Station. The derelict goods and marshalling yard was eventually acquired by Sainsbury’s who constructed a large supermarket and car park on the site.

The attractive old station building, with its imposing, three-storey clock tower, was converted into a Beefeater restaurant, before eventually passing into the hands of Smith & Western. Until the middle of last week, I had never set foot inside the place despite visits to the adjacent Sainsbury superstore and also several spells of working at the nearby Spa Valley Railway Beer Festival.

The reason for the visit was a birthday celebration for a member of Mrs PBT’s extended family. It was her niece’s youngest daughter’s 18^th birthday, so a dozen or so of us pitched up, on a rather chilly night, to enjoy a family get together, plus some Tex-Mex-style cooking. We arrived early, due to Eileen getting the time right, so we were invited to sit and have a drink in the bar, whilst waiting of the others to arrive.

The bar is sited in a raised area, away from the restaurant sections, and the Bailey family were its only customers. If you want to sit at the bar, you literally have to get your leg over, and sit astride one of several, rather wide, leather saddles, mounted on posts. Guess which big kid felt compelled to sit on one?

There was no cask available, although I think that back in its days as a Beefeater, the West Station did stock a solitary, token cask ale. Instead, I spotted amongst the keg “levers,” Atlantic Pale Ale, from Sharps. I went for a pint, which lasted through into the meal, but have to report that it tasted slightly stale, proving that even keg beers can “go off” over time. 

When the rest of the party arrived, we were seated in the old “jail” section of pub, that is to say we were seated behind bars! The bar staff were dresses as cowboys, with Stetsons, scarfs etc., but there were no cowgirls to be seen, and as the evening wore on, it became obvious that the restaurant was very understaffed.

This meant the service was very slow, and most of us ended up ordering starters alongside the main courses. The food itself was okay, but wasn’t that special, but the occasion was more probably important and young Holli managed to celebrate her 18^th birthday in style. It was largely a female gathering and Matthew, and I made up two of the three blokes present that night. It was good though, to get together with family members after the various lock downs and periods of isolation.

So, all in all, an interesting experience, despite the rather kitsch, set up, and given the style and associated history of the Old West Station, worth a visit. One final point worth noting is the small hotel operation situated on the first floor of the building. Here guests have the choice of nine well-appointed, and reasonably priced rooms, although I believe a wild-west theme pervades there as well. Yeehaw!!

 Final point, the Smith & Western pictured in the first photo, is the company's outlet on the top of Box Hill, in Surrey. Emerging through the trees, whilst walking a short section of the North Downs Way, on New Year's Eve, an American-themed diner was the last place I expected to see!

 

A coffee shop, a beer shop, two pubs, three pints and five buses - Part Two

You left me back in Tunbridge Wells, having just alighted from the 256 bus back from Hook Green. It was just after 2.15pm and I was under strict instructions from Mrs PBT’s not to be back too early and interrupt her afternoon’s TV viewing. That was fine by me, and I needed no more in the way of encouragement to find another pub.

First, I needed to get shot of some excess beer, as despite making use of the Elephant Head’s facilities just before leaving, I arrived back in town in need of another pee. Something to do with my age, possibly? It was only a short hop to the Royal Victoria Place, Tunbridge Wells’ main shopping centre, where not only could find relief, but I could also grab a coffee.

On the way, I passed the Cotswold Outdoors Store where, last April, I had purchased my new hiking boots. I noticed the store had ceased trading, which tied in with what some of the old girls on the bus had been saying, on the outward journey. It always pays to keep one’s eyes and ears open, as you never know what snippet of useful information you might pick up!

Cotswold being closed was rather sad really, as I’d made a point of choosing and purchasing my boots in their store, especially as they offered a fitting service. This is important when choosing footwear that will cushion your foot when crossing rough terrain, keep your feet dry and support your ankle, as you want all these features, combined with comfort as well. If you are prepared to splash out a couple of hundred pounds, to obtain this, then you really should not only try before you buy but get some expert advice and help with the fitting as well.

Moving swiftly on, the Royal Victoria Place has had something of a makeover and was looking quite smart. Unfortunately, looking your best still doesn’t make up for the lack of shops, and the centre has never really got over the loss of BHS. Top Shop was also empty, not that I was ever a fan of their over-priced and ultra, slim fit clothes. Perhaps if they’d stocked clothes for more normal sized people, they might still be trading, but as I’m not a fashionista, I don’t really know.

Coffee proved hard to come by too, as the food hall, right on the lowest floor, hasn’t opened post-pandemic, and in addition, the company that owns the Central Market, in Ely Court, has gone into administration.  Undeterred, I left the RVP at the Camden Road exit, and more or less straight away, spied a coffee shop. The Australian owned and run Black Dog proved just the ticket, particularly as I much prefer independent cafés to those operated by the large chains.

The place was pretty crowded, so after requesting a flat-white to takeaway, I sat outside on one of the benches, soaking up the sun whilst watching the world go by. Whilst enjoying my tasty and freshly brewed coffee, I glanced up and noticed, through the glare of the sunshine, Fuggles recently opened Bottle Shop. This was my next planned port of call, and I was pleasantly surprised to find it at the top end of Camden Road, rather than where I’d expected it to be – at other end.

So, pleased to have saved myself an unnecessary walk, I popped inside. As expected, I found a well-stocked shop with an excellent selection of beers, including some to take away on draft.

The latter are dispensed into returnable PET bottles, either one or two litres, but it was bottled beer I was after and some German ones at that! I treated myself to five different bottles, which was as much as I could fit into my rucksack.

My selection included the rare smoked Bock bier from Schlenkerla in Bamberg. This 8.0% Rauchbier is brewed from malt that has been kilned over oak logs, rather than the usual beech ones. The oak is said to impart a unique flavour to the malt. I tried the beer once, on draft and in Bamberg itself, but that was over a decade ago.   Also on the list was the more usual Schlenkerla Märzen, a winter bier from Höfbräu of Munich, a pilsner from Tegernsee – the brewery by the lake, and Rothaus Pils – a beer that is highly recommended by legendary landlord and now, occasional blogger, Jeff Bell aka “Stonch.”

After a brief chat with the young gentleman in charge of the Bottle Shop and complementing him on the selection and presentation of the beers, I headed along to my final port of call. This was the Royal Oak, an attractive looking town pub, with a history and heritage longer than is initially apparent. Just over five minutes’ walk from the Calverley Road shops, and around 10 minutes’ walk from the main railway station, the Oak offers a carefully chosen selection of mainly locally sourced beers, alongside a number of craft beers and ciders. Good, solid pub food is also available Wednesdays to Sundays.

The pub’s current licensee is a former chairman of West Kent CAMRA, and since taking over the ownership and running of the Royal Oak in 2016, he has carried out a number of improvements, and turned it into a successful and thriving community local. To my shame, I hadn’t been to the Royal Oak for quite a few years; an omission that predates the start of the pandemic, so my visit was long overdue.

I arrived at the Oak, just after 3pm. There were a couple of builder types standing at the bar, towards the rear of the pub, who were later joined by another tradesman accompanied by an enormous dog. Four cask ales were on offer, including XPA from Five Points Brewing and Golden Rule from Tonbridge Brewery. My eyes were drawn though to one of my favourite dark ales- Harvey’s XXXX Old Ale.

Having missed its presence at the Elephants Head, I was especially glad to see it on sale at the Royal Oak. I ordered myself a pint, and retreated to a corner opposite the bar, to enjoy the Old, and observe the goings on in the rest of the pub. One observation that never ceases to amaze, and also disappoint me, is the lager drinkers who choose a well-known international brand, over a quality brew with a real pedigree. In this case, it was the tradesmen knocking back pints of San Miguel in preference to the excellent Hofmeister – now a proper German Helles, brewed in the heart of Bavaria.

The power of mass-advertising, I suppose, but also the age-old fear of trying something different and unfamiliar. It also seemed sad that I was the only person drinking the cask, but it was early days as the pub hadn’t been open that long. Tempted as I was to double the Oak’s cask sales that afternoon, I decided it was time to make tracks, and take the bus home. Thanks to my Arriva app, I discovered there was a No. 7 bus back to Tonbridge, departing at 16.30.

I drank up and made my way along to Grosvenor Road, under the impression I had managed to avoid the plague carriers school kids that Mrs PBT’s had told me to be wary of. Unfortunately, the school day must have been lengthened, to allow the precious darlings scholars, the chance to catch up with their studies, following the various lock-downs. This meant the bus was rather crowded, something not helped by it being a single deck vehicle, rather than a double-decker.

I wasn’t overly concerned as the window were open, and most passengers were masked, and if anything, it reminded me of pre-pandemic days. I didn’t tell Mrs PBT’s when I arrived home, as she worries about these things, and more importantly, I didn’t want her to curtail these trips out by bus that I have been making recently.

As for the title of these two posts, the day involved me visiting one coffee shop and one beer shop. I spent time in two pubs and drank a total of three pints of beer. Finally, I used five different buses to get from my home to Hook Green and back again, stopping off at Tunbridge Wells in between. There are plenty more interesting pubs to visit, by bus, which means lots more adventures to describe.

A coffee shop, a beer shop, two pubs, three pints and five buses - Part One

Fridays carefully scheduled trip out to the Kent-Sussex border, went according to plan, on a mid-January day that was blessed with to wall-to-wall sunshine. The plan had been to spend some time as the rarely visited Elephant’s Head, in the tiny hamlet of Hook Green.

This lovely old country pub that dates from the 15^th Century, is difficult to reach without a car, but after driving there a couple of months ago, I came up with a plan to get there using public transport. Everything hinged around the 256 bus, which operates a limited service between Tunbridge Wells and Wadhurst. Research indicated that getting to Hook Green by bus was quite feasible, but was it possible to visit any other pubs along the route?

As it happened, the answer was yes, so I looked at perhaps first spending some time at the Old Vine, in Cousley Wood; an attractive but rather upmarket pub close to Bewl Water, between the villages of Lamberhurst and Wadhurst. There were various options, one of which was to take the 256 bus from Tunbridge Wells to Cousley Wood, spend 75 minutes at the Old Vine, before catching the next bus to Hook Green.

This would have worked but, as it entailed spending three and a half hours at the Elephant’s Head, I decided that would be rather too long to spend on my own in the pub. It would have been fine with a friend for company, or as part of a group, but was too long a period with no one to talk to, apart from perhaps the bar staff.

Another possibility was to take the next 256 service to Wadhurst, and then walk the mile and a half down the hill, to the Wadhurst station, and the train back to Tonbridge. This would only have knocked 30 minutes off the time in the Elephant’s Head, so I reluctantly ditched that particular plan, until I can persuade a group of friends to join me on a visit to the two pubs.

My outward journey to Hook Green, involved three buses – two to get to Tunbridge Wells, and then the aforementioned No. 256. To get all geeky for a moment, the first two buses were operated by Arriva, who are the major service provider in mid and west Kent. The bus out, into the sticks, was provided by Autocar, an independent operator.

I boarded the bus at the War Memorial in Tunbridge Wells, allowing a rather boisterous group of old girls to get on first. They were obviously regulars on this service, as was the driver, whom they seemed to know by name. The bus also picked up some more shoppers, from outside the town’s main Sainsbury’s, on the site of the old West Station. We then headed out towards Frant and Bells Yew Green, where the majority of this lively group got off.

A lengthy stretch of largely straight road then followed. Its official name is Bayham Road, but it is known locally as the "Bayham Straight." Back in the early 90’s, when I worked in Lamberhurst at Crown Chemicals, it was a favourite stretch of road with some of the boy racers, who worked in the production department. Thankfully I never accepted a lift from any of those petrol heads, although to be fair, I don’t recall any of them being involved in an accident, despite their “need for speed!”

The majority of the Bayham Straight is through woodland, and on the return journey I noticed through the trees, a large group of deer, grazing in a clearing. Their presence was another reminder of the folly of speeding along rural roads.

As the bus emerged from the trees, I could see the Elephants Head, straight ahead, and just to the right of the road. It was time to push the bell and get the driver to stop. There is an official stop, on both sides of the road, (Clay Hill Road), a hundred yards or so from the pub, so after thanking the driver and stepping off the bus, I crossed the road and made my way towards it. The pub didn’t open until midday, so with 20 minutes to kill, I went for short walk along the nearby Free Heath Road. This was part of the route some friends and I had walked along, from Wadhurst station, on a previous visit to the Elephants Head, eleven years previously.

Making my back to the pub, I heard the sound of the door being unlocked, and despite me not liking to be the first person through the door after opening, I stepped inside. After the bright sunlight outside, it seemed quite dingy as I entered the bar, although my eyes quickly adjusted to the dimly lit surroundings. I was the first customer, but despite my initial hesitance was greeted with a friendly welcome by the young girl behind the bar.

Although Harvey’s Best and Old Ale had been the beers on my previous visit, at the beginning of December, the latter was not on tap on this occasion, but fortunately Sussex Best was available. I ordered myself a pint, had a brief chat with the barmaid, which was mainly along the lines that I wasn’t planning to dine at the pub that lunchtime.

I grabbed my pint and walked over to the “snug” area at the far right of the pub from where, partially hidden behind the fireplace and chimney stack, I could witness the various comings and goings. Not long after, the barmaid came over and started setting one of the tables up for dining. I asked whether the area I was sat in was reserved, but only one of the tables had been booked. She told me that particular snug area was popular with diners, so I said that regardless of bookings, I would move.

My reason for moving was simple; it was a little chilly in the snug, whereas nearer to the bar, the landlord had got the fire going, and it was blazing away nicely in the unusual, raised grate. There’s something quite hypnotic in staring at an open fire – we’ve got one at home, in the form of a log burner, although Mrs PBT’s seems reluctant to light it – something to do with “hot flushes!”

Another pint was called for – Sussex Best again, and meanwhile the number of customers in the pub, had started to increase. First there was the two “ladies that lunch,” followed by two separate couples. This did lead to a couple more pints of Best being pulled, although with a shortage of serious beer drinkers, I can see why the second Harvey’s cask offering had been dropped.

Sitting on my own in that small middle section, close to the fire and the bar counter, I could see clear evidence that this part of the Elephant’s Head, was probably the least altered. I shan’t repeat what I wrote about the pub’s history, in the previous article, and based on the memory of that first visit, 40 years ago, it’s difficult to remember the layout of the interior, back when it belonged to the Bayham Estate. The floor though, is one or worn bricks, unlike the newer-looking timber floor in the main part of the pub. Likewise, the planked, construction of the bar counter appears far more original than the main brick-built one to the right.

Leaving these thoughts aside, it was time to finish my pint, get my coat on, and head back out to the bus stop. I allowed plenty of time just in case the bus was running ahead of time, but as it happened it was more or less on schedule – much to my relief. Apart from me, there was only one other passenger on board the bus, but that didn’t distract from the journey back to Tunbridge Wells.

I alighted at the top of the town. It was 2.10pm and there was another pub to visit, along with a planned call in at Fuggles new bottle shop. First there was the more pressing requirement for a pee, plus a cup of coffee, so I will detail the rest of the afternoon in the next post.

 

Dry January risks drying up the pub trade altogether

I said in an earlier post that I wasn’t going to write about Dry January, and I’m going to stick with that, but only so far. This is because that whilst I’m not going to tackle the topic head-on – having done so several times in the past, I am going to write about the disastrous effects that well-meaning, but mis-guided gestures such as giving up the booze for the first month of the year, have on the licensed trade.

I was prompted to write this article following a post by avid Good Beer Guide pub ticker, Retired Martin who, last week, found himself the sole customer, in not just one, but two Berkshire pubs. Whilst Martin undoubtedly visits a lot more pubs than I do, his findings make for depressing reading, especially as they come hot on the heels of a depressed festive season.

We all know that the nation’s pubs and bars were hit by a wave of cancellations and “no shows” in the run-up to Christmas, a situation helped in no small manner by a whispering campaign, deliberately designed to deter drinkers and diners from going out and mixing with other people. The country’s Chief Medical Officer was one person behind this, but as he who looks like the sort of person who’s never had a day of fun in his entire life, this isn’t perhaps surprising.

With Christmas behind us, Dry January is hitting pubs and clubs hard, so much so that some members of the licensed trade are suggesting that Alcohol Concern, the charity behind this abstinence campaign, should find a better way to raise money without hitting local businesses. But with reports suggesting that over five million people in the UK will be going without a drink during January, this virtuous, “look at me” stance is having a disastrous effects on an already struggling hospitality sector.

It’s worth pointing out, that January is the worst month possible for people to be abstaining, especially as far as the licensed trade is concerned. I know from the personal experience of running an off-licence that, whilst Christmas is undoubtedly good for trade, you experience the complete opposite come the new year. After the over-indulgence and massive over-spend of the festive season, trade in January falls off a cliff. This plays serious havoc with your cash flow, as the Christmas bills all start to come in.

It is no exaggeration to say then, that January is often the month which breaks a publican’s business. This one month can undermine all the hard work of the year before and, the ones before that as well. This particular New Year is starting off from a position that is even lower than most, with many pubs, and even breweries, struggling to cope with such a massive dip in trade.

So, if you really care about pubs, January is definitely NOT the month to be going dry!

The Swan delivers on all fronts, including the best Christmas Ale of the season!

After that unsuccessful visit to Swan on the Green at West Peckham, back in October – the one where I nearly got roped in as an extra, on a TV series, I thought I’d try for better luck second time around. So, after boarding the No. 7 bus, from Tonbridge, I alighted at the nearby village of Mereworth, in order to walk to the Swan.

The temperatures were about 10 degrees colder than my previous visit, the leaves were now all missing from the trees, and there were clumps of mistletoe hanging high up in the branches of one in particular. Apart from that, little seemed to have changed, as I made my way towards West Peckham.  Entering the village, I passed the Old Post Office that, on my previous visit, was being used as filming location for the Larkin’s TV series. With the church on my right, and the village green straight ahead, I rounded the corner.

I made a beeline for the Swan, although for one heart-stopping moment I thought it was shut. Fortunately, I could see lights inside, so I was very relieved when I turned handle and pushed door open. There was a small number of people inside, and in between looking around and taking in the scene, I approached the bar.

I was greeted by a bank of hand pulls showing the range of the pub’s home-brewed beers. I opted for the weakest to start with – Fuggles Pale, 3.6% ABV. I had a brief chat with the barman about trade and the effect of the filming that had closed the pub on my last visit. He said that trade was quite buoyant, and the series had provided a welcome boost.

I walked over to the far right of pub, and sat myself down at a vacant table, near to the roaring log fire, but not too close to it. Not long after, a couple of fellas came in. They looked a similar age to me, and from their conversation with the people behind the bar, they were obviously regulars. They ordered a pint each of the Swan’s Christmas Ale; a beer I had already clocked at 6.8% ABV.

I was surprised to see how dark it was – similar in colour to Harvey’s Old, but obviously quite a bit stronger. Watching the pair getting stuck into their pints with relish, persuaded me give it a try once I had finished my pale ale. I picked up a copy of the local CAMRA branch magazine, from the stack, next to the fireplace. It was Draught Copy, written and published by Maidstone & Mid-Kent CAMRA. I was pleased to see it was still going strong, as, 35 years ago, I was the editor of this illustrious publication, although it was just a folded, four-page news-sheet back then.

With the prospect of Christmas Ale occupying my thoughts, I decided it would be wise to grab something to eat first. I didn’t want anything too heavy, so I opted for soup of the day, parsnip as it turned out and served with some thick crusty bread and butter. In the meantime, several more people arrived, including a couple with their dog. They asked if they could sit at the same table as me, which was fine, as it was large enough table and with plenty of room.

The dog made itself at home, on the floor beneath, but not before as its owners pointed out, doing a quick recce for crumbs, or other pieces of dropped food. There wasn’t any, but I exchanged pleasantries with the couple as they made themselves comfortable in front of the fire. They were heading out on circular walk, along part of Greensand Ridge that runs nearby, but had called in at the Swan for quick a drink first.

By this time, I was tucking into my soup, which was tasty and nice and warming. I ordered a pint of Christmas Ale, before finishing lunch, and quickly got into that as well. The beer was excellent, being rich, dark, and warming.  I can safely say that hand on heart it was by far the best Christmas ale I have had over the entire festive season.

Others in the pub obviously thought the same, as one of the two blokes opposite, went for a second, whilst one of the other recent arrivals also ordered a pint. With a potency of 6.8%, the Swan’s Christmas Ale is obviously a beer to be treated with respect, despite its apparent popularity. But if, like me, you’ve arrived on foot and don’t need to drive, later in the day, then you can sink a couple with impunity. I imagine this applies to many who live in West Peckham, as they are in effect, a captive audience.

The pub is easy to walk to, and as the village is on road to nowhere, there is not much traffic about, making walking relatively safe. This was evident when I left the Swan, to walk the mile and a half back to Mereworth, and the bus home. I reflected on leaving about how good it was to see a thriving village local, and one that is not wholly dependent on the food trade.

It’s also worth noting that the Swan has been brewing its own beers for over 20 years now, so they are well-established and obviously popular with the locals. They also continue to attract visiting cask aficionadas like me, along with CAMRA members from both West Kent and Maidstone branches.

I reached the bus stop, opposite Mereworth school, in time to catch the 15.08 service back to Tonbridge. After calling in at the building society, I walked along to Matthew’s shop. He was knocking off at 4pm, so I waited for him to finish, and we walked home together. Looking at my Smart Watch later, I had clocked up just under 14,000 steps, which wasn’t bad for a day’s walk.

Looking back through the archives, I visited the Swan, back in 2018 – almost three year’s exactly to the day. Clicking on the link here, will allow you to read about that visit, along with a detailed history of the pub and its highly successful, on-site brewery.