Sceptered Southborough

Just a short post here, but last Sunday, in our search for new places to enjoy a decent cooked breakfast, Matthew and I visited the Hand & Sceptre at Southborough. Standing on a ridge, overlooking the Common and the cricket ground, the Sceptre is a pub we have driven past many times when driving between Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells. But as far as pub visits are concerned, I can count on one hand the number of times I have set foot in the place.

One such occasion, was back in the early days of West Kent CAMRA, when a small group of us called in at the Hand & Sceptre, to check it out. I’ve a feeling that one or two of us walked over from Tonbridge – we were obviously much younger and fitter in those days, but even so, it’s not that far on foot (2.5 miles), and if you ignore the traffic, there is a pavement running the entire distance between the two towns. I say town, because despite coming under the governance of Tunbridge Wells, Southborough still has its own Town Council, a resource that Tonbridge could certainly do with.

Situated within the High Weald Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, Southborough offers plenty of scenic walks for all to enjoy. Southborough Common is an attractive and secluded area of 75 acres of woodland and greenery, where its possible to detach oneself from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. It’s also a place where it’s easy to get lost, as I have done on a number of occasions, although you will never really be that far from civilisation! Other walks in the area include the Tunbridge Wells Circular Walk, and Southborough Common provided the finish line for my recent completion of this varied, and attractive walk, back in August.

The Common also formed my starting point, for the TWCW, some 18 months previously. Cricket has been played on the common since the beginning of the 19^th century, and possibly from before that time. It is certainly one of the oldest cricket clubs locally. Standing on the far side of the common is the graceful steeple of St Peter’s church, whilst on the other side of the cricket pitch is the Hand & Sceptre pub, with the A26 road running in between. This vista of church, cricket pitch and pub, forms the quintessential English scene.

The Hand & Sceptre describes itself as a premium pub, bar, and restaurant, but it is also a small hotel, boasting 14 en-suite bedrooms. The building dates from 1728, although today with its modernised interior, it is hard to get a handle on the pub’s true age. The Hand & Sceptre is owned by pub group, Mitchell & Butlers, and ale wise stocks Fuller’s London Pride, plus the ubiquitous Doom Bar. It was a little too early for a drink, when we stopped by on Sunday morning, but it certainly seemed popular with people like us looking for a good start to the day. We sat in the bar, but there is also a restaurant area to the left of the bar counter, for those who prefer something a little more formal.

We inquired about breakfast, were given a menu each, asked to find a table and then return to place our order. We both went for a traditional full English, with a couple of variations apiece. Tea and coffee were available from a separate drinks station, on a help yourself basis. Priced at £10.50, the full English consisted of good quality ingredients – bacon, sausages and free-range eggs, all with plenty of taste. The photos give a hint of what was available. 

We sat at one of several high, “posing" tables rather than the arm chair option, purely because the latter seats were difficult to get up from – and I’m talking about Matthew here, as well as me. Our table looked out across the extensive outside terrace, which overlooks the common. This would be a good in summer to watch the cricket whilst enjoying a beer or two, but on a cold and windswept Sunday, in the wake of storm Darragh, the gentle knock of leather on willow seemed an eternity away.

So, will we return? The answer is a definite affirmative, given the location, setting, closeness to Bailey Towers and overall ambience. The other bonus was being able to turn up on spec, rather than having to book in advance (Ivy House, Chaser). It’s surprising sometimes when you find a place like the Hand Sceptre almost on your own doorstep, and whilst it might not be somewhere to spend an evening drinking cask ale, it certainly features high on the good breakfast list.

All change for the night-time economy?

Looking back, for a moment, at my recent posts about the Kent village of Lenham, and its two pubs, I mentioned the difficulties I experienced in trying to source a suitable venue, for a lunchtime meet-up, with my friend, John. The brief I set myself was to locate a pub, on or close to the A20 road, between Ashford and Maidstone. It is a highway that holds special memories for me as, until the opening of the M20 “missing link” between the two towns, it formed the principle route for motorists wishing to travel between Ashford and Kent’s county town.

It's a route I would have travelled along numerous times as a youngster, as my parents often visited Maidstone for shopping, or just a look around. As a family, we probably visited Canterbury more, but Maidstone is a town that sticks in my memory. I remember being there, on a bitterly cold, February day, and my parents being drawn to a television, in the window of a shop selling electrical appliances. Day time TV didn’t really exist, back in the mid-1960’s, but on that particular day the state funeral of Sir Winston Churchill took place, and the event was being televised. I expect, Richard Dimbleby was providing the commentary, but we couldn’t hear what was being said, and it was far too cold to be standing around, with noses pressed to the shop window.

Leaving such matters to one side, I carried out my research using a combination of What Pub, and a suitable map from Google. There were several places I was keen to try, and these included a number of pubs situated slightly further away from that A20 guideline.  Unfortunately, as I discovered many of these establishments have turned into upmarket gastropubs, with fancy, and overpriced dishes, dressed up to impress (visually), in order to demonstrate the prowess of a chef that no one has really heard of. The other problem, and one I considered rather more serious, was pubs not opening at lunchtime, even on a Friday; a day where you would think there would be sufficient trade. I was particularly disappointed to find that the Bowl Inn, at Hastingleigh – close to the village where I spent my teenage years, was indicating evening opening only.

The same situation applied to the Blacksmith’s Arms, at Wormshill, high up on the North Downs above Hollingbourne. The neighbouring Ringlestone Inn, whilst open all day, is now a gastropub, under the ownership of Shepherd Neame. This conversion is a real loss to those who love traditional pubs, as when I first moved to Maidstone, it was a simple country pub, albeit with a small restaurant attached. Gravity served, Fremlin’s beers (bitter and Tusker), were the principle attractions, along with the irreplaceable atmosphere that goes with a centuries old inn.

Obviously, times change, and I accept that pubs have to adapt to new situations in order to survive. It is also a given, that providing food is a prerequisite for a successful pub these days, particularly those in isolated rural areas, but why not offer, an alternative, less fussy, and less overblown menu for those who hanker after something simpler, and more down to earth? There are plenty of walkers in the area, and I know from personal experience that the North Downs Way passes through, or close to many of these settlements. 

Despite the doom and gloom, I shall end this section on an upbeat note by reporting that when re-examining this part of the county on What Pub, I was surprised, and also delighted, that only a handful of pubs, in this mid-Kent section of the county have actually closed. A fact that bears witness to the resilience of the licensed trade, despite the many threats it continues to face. Moving away now from the issue of pubs becoming increasingly upmarket, there is another underlining problem that if not addressed could severely curtail or even spell the end of the nighttime economy in its present form.  It was something that my friend John remarked on, during our recent meeting, although it is not a scenario, I have noticed myself - seeing as most of my pub visits are at lunchtime, rather than during the evening. We are talking here about pubs closing early in the evening, sometimes with very little warning. This is something that has become far more common since the pub trade opened back up, following the pandemic.

I can understand this, when a pub persistently suffers from lack of trade after say, 9pm, but when early closing happens as a matter of routine, then the thing becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. There can also be a knock-on effect associated with early closing, although it’s perhaps difficult to know whether there is a deeper underlying cause. The example that John used the other day, was the increasing difficulty of getting a taxi home, following a night out. This isn’t something I’ve noticed personally, as I’m an infrequent user of taxis anyway, and even when I have arrived back in Tonbridge on one of the last trains of the evening, there are normally several taxicabs waiting at the rank.

I also imagine that the absence of taxis is much more an issue in isolated rural areas, even when those communities are served by a regular and reliable train service. It also depends on whether there’s a genuine shortage of properly licensed taxi drivers in a given area. It might just be they aren’t turning up on the rank because they know there will be little or no demand for their services. A classic example of supply and demand. Independently of each other, both John and I placed the blame squarely on the shoulders of the pandemic, where COVID has continued to play a major role in determining people’s behaviour, and indeed altering it. This still seems the case almost two years after the pandemic was officially declared to be over. It’s understandable that after almost three years of changing, and at times conflicting restrictions, many didn’t know where they stood with regard to Coronavirus, so no wonder there was such an adverse effect on the licensed trade.

A woman whom Eileen and I met on a cruise last year, claimed that those three years were effectively stolen from us, without our consent, and they are three years of our lives that we shall never get back. She was right of course, although there was little, we could do about that at the time, and not much since. The upshot is that as well as turning many people into recluses, the pandemic has had a lasting, and in many cases, quite devastating effect on the licensed trade, and the entire hospitality sector as a whole.

Despite this gloomy picture, there does seem to be some signs of recovery in the nighttime economy, and long may this process continue. So, when it comes to your cherished local pub, café or indeed favourite restaurant, please remember the maxim of “Use it, or lose it!”

A communication issue as the party season kicks off

It’s just typical that when I’ve finally got something to write about, our internet connection goes down. I was sitting in Fuggles Beer Café, enjoying a pint of Bright from a brewery called Brass Castle, both of which I’ve never heard of, when I received a phone call from Mrs PBT’s. I thought it rather unusual, as she normally messages me when she’s after something, and unfortunately, I had difficulty hearing her, as the background music in the bar was unusually loud. All I could make out, was something about a box being delivered on Sunday.

I asked her to explain, after first answering her question, which was, “Where are you?” “Enjoying a pint in Fuggles”, was my response, but after repeating what she initially said, I realised our internet box – (router?) had failed, and a replacement unit, would be arriving on Sunday. Our home, internet connection had been slow all morning, and just before I left the house to do a spot of shopping, we turned the thing off, before re-starting it.

I thought nothing more of it, as I set off into the town centre, stopping on the way for a brief chat with a neighbour, and fellow beer enthusiast, before picking up what I wanted from Sainsbury’s. I then called in at Fuggles, and the scene that greeted me was what I was going to write about.  I’m talking here about "bar blockers", because as we head into the festive season, it’s that time of year where the amateur pub goers put in their appearance. And so, it was at Fuggles, a few drinks with the boss, perhaps? with the largely male, 30-something crowd milling around a central figure, listening, half-heartedly, but rather giving the game away.

I wouldn’t have minded, had they been just blocking the bar, but no, they had to lean on it, thereby obscuring my view of the pumps. They didn’t get the hint when I tried to squeeze in, and it took a rather gruff, “Excuse me” on my part, to allow me access to the bar, not just to see what the cask offerings were, but to place my order, and pay for it. I sensed the slight look of exasperation on the barman’s face as well, but being a true professional, he didn’t make it too obvious. Clutching my pint, I departed to a nearby table, which was where I received the call from my wife.

As I’m sure I’ve explained before, Eileen works from home sorting out VAT returns and other tax issues, primarily for jobbing builders, and as much of her dealings with HMRC are online, she was both frustrated and annoyed at losing our internet connection. Fortunately, BT’s response was both fast and positive, and it wasn’t that long before we both received a confirmatory text stating that a replacement device is working its way through their system, and we should receive tracking details, once it has been dispatched. In the general scheme of things, it’s a relatively minor nuisance, at least for me, as I can still sit in front of my PC, bashing out blog posts as Word documents, ready to be posted later. In the meantime, I’ve limited internet access via the data allowance on my mobile phone contract. It does demonstrate though, just how reliant we’ve become on connectivity to the world-wide-web.

Returning to the subject of “amateurs” crowding out the pubs, I attended a “firm’s do” of my own on Thursday evening. It wasn’t the full Monty, so to speak, but instead was a meal out with directors from our parent company, who are over from Japan, for a board meeting. Without wishing to sound elitist, the event was solely for managers, as our company Christmas party takes place next week. The venue for Thursday’s meal was the Grey Lady Restaurant, situated at the far end of the Pantiles, in Tunbridge Wells, but before making my way over from Tonbridge by train, I took the opportunity of diving into the Nelson Arms, for a spot of pre-loading, in the form of a couple of pints of proper beer.

The pub was quiet, when I stepped inside, with only a handful of customers. I recognised the two sitting on high chairs facing the bar, one of whom is a regular at the Nelson, whilst the other is a person I know from CAMRA. It wasn’t long before I fell into conversation with them – holidays, Christmas arrangements, that sort of thing, but the main attraction for me was the Harvey’s Old Ale, on sale at the bar. I hadn’t seen this excellent dark ale on sale, since the visit I made, back in October, to the Wheatsheaf at Jarvis Brook. It was on fine form on that occasion, and the same applied the other evening, but good though it was, I decided to switch to Gadd’s No. 3 for my second pint. I’ve always been a fan of this beer, but somehow it didn’t quite meet expectations that night.

Despite this, the atmosphere in the pub was perfect, coming as it did at that “in between” time separating the afternoon and evening sessions. With considerate and measured conversation, good beer and comfortable surroundings, I was very tempted to stay put for the rest of the evening, rather than rushing over to Tunbridge Wells. But duty called and I knew my presence would be missed, so somewhat reluctantly I said goodnight to the folk at the bar (the number had grown to three by then) and walked along to the station. The wind was getting up, which didn’t bode well given the impending approach of the latest named storm.

My intended train was running 15 minutes late, and whilst I would still arrive at the restaurant in plenty of time, I would have missed a soaking, had the17:59 been on time. The heavens opened the moment I headed down Tunbridge Wells High Street, although fortunately, by the time I reached the Pantiles there was the shelter of the overhead colonnade. I was joined by a colleague as I walked passed the various bars and restaurants that abound in this part of the town, and we both remarked on how festive everything looked.

This was my first time at the Grey Lady, although Mrs PBT’s has dined there before. The premises occupies the end unit in the row, and internally there is an upstairs dining area as well as a larger ground floor section. Our mixed, multi-national group sat downstairs and had most of the place to ourselves. Although the Grey Lady specialises in Mediterranean food, there was a Christmas option available, and the majority of us had pre-ordered items from that particular menu. 

My choice of lamb shank was perhaps a little on the heavy side, but the meat was well cooked and fell nicely off the bone. With hindsight, the pan-fried sea bass, that several members of our party went for, would have been a better option. Moving on to the final course, I was the only person that ordered Christmas Pudding, that most traditional of festive desserts, and it proved a wiser choice than the main course. It sparked a bit of debate between me and my two French colleagues, neither of whom have managed to get their heads around this peculiarly English dessert, despite both having lived in the UK for many years.

Italian lagers – Moretti and Peroni, plus Guinness were the draught beer options, the latter proving particularly popular with the Japanese contingent. I went with Moretti, although to be honest I found it rather sweet for my taste. I had a rather nice Cognac with my Christmas Pudding, which almost made up with the absence of Port on the drinks menu. All in all, it was a pleasant evening, and as no one had too much to drink or misbehaved, the dinner served its intended purpose of cementing good relations between us and our parent company. I was offered a lift back to Tonbridge, which saved me from another soaking, and I was back indoors by 10pm. Next week it’s the aforementioned company Christmas bash, which should be interesting.  I shall tell you all about it, providing our internet connection is restored – yes it has been!

One final point is the lack of photos in this post. Things seem to have changed since the last time we entertained visitors from Japan, and the shutter happy mindset, and predictable end of evening, slightly inebriated posing for the camera, seem to have vanished. Is it people acting in a more sensible manner or have they just become more sensible and much more self-aware. The answer isn’t really important, but apart from a quick photo of my main course, there’s nothing visual to demonstrate that we even had that inter-company, get-together.

 

Incommunicado

Our BT internet router gave up the ghost,  yesterday morning, and until Royal Mail delivers a replacement, I can only post using the data allowance on my mobile phone.

It's only when things like this happen that one realises just how much we all rely on the world wide web, and just how tedious it is typing out articles, using one finger and one character at a time!

Royal Mail have advised a delivery time of 3pm, on Monday afternoon,  despite originally promising tomorrow. 

Until Monday evening, then!

Two neighbouring, but contrasting pubs, at the heart of a Kent village

With the “slightly extended” pre-amble of the previous post out of the way, it’s time to cut to the chase, and report back on the main purpose of last Friday’s visit to the mid-Kent village of Lenham. I’d arranged a meet-up with my friend John, and between us we’d chosen the Red Lion, which is one of two pubs in the village. The pub is a grade II listed, heavily beamed inn, spread across a number of different levels, and like many buildings overlooking Lenham’s historic square the Red Lion is of considerable antiquity. It dates from the 15^th Century and like its near neighbour, the Dog & Bear was formerly used as a coaching inn.

We’ll be looking at the Dog & Bear later on, so let’s stick with the Red Lion for the time being, as that is where I spent the majority of my stay in Lenham.  As mentioned in the previous article, during my late teenage years, I wasn’t overly familiar with the Red Lion, primarily because the beer it stocked – or rather the method of dispense used, wasn’t CAMRA approved. It was only after I graduated from university, and returned to live in Kent, that I set foot inside the pub for the first time.

By that time (late 80’s), the Red Lion was selling hand-pulled Fremlin’s Bitter, so it was considered worthy of a visit. I still don’t recall that much about the pub, as it continued to remain firmly in the shadow of its neighbour, the Dog & Bear, so much so that when I stepped inside the right-hand bar of the Red Lion on Friday, I didn’t really know what to expect. My friend had found a place on the bench seating close to the window, and I recognised him straight away. He was nursing a pint of Harvey’s Best, and after we’d exchanged the usual pleasantries, I accompanied him to the bar, where he bought me a pint of the same.

There was a crowd of middle-aged men standing in front of the counter, and they were having a rather heated debate about the price of a packet of cigarettes.  The main protagonist was complaining, quite profusely, about the price he was charged for his fags, so much so that he told the shopkeeper that he didn’t’ want them. The debate continued, but fortunately the landlady had finished serving the whining tobacco addict and was free to pull my pint of Harvey’s.  My friend broached the subject of food, and was told menus, plus cutlery would be brought over to us shortly.

In the meantime, John and I had plenty to catch up on, including a health scare on his part, that fortunately now seems under control.  He also presented me with a pre-ordered copy of his latest book about Lympne Airfield, a once thriving military and then commercial airfield, close to where he lives. The airfield closed in the mid-1980’s but given its history and the part played in two world wars, plus subsequent events, continues to attract a lot of interest.

Back to the food, and given our ages, we were presented with the standard menu, plus one for senior citizens. The prices for the latter were significantly cheaper, but of course, portions were proportionally smaller as well. I was tempted by the latter but given the occasion plus my friend’s determination to go for the full monty, I did the same. When it arrived, John’s liver & bacon, with mash and peas looked the business, although you won’t be surprised to hear that I went for the steak & ale pie. It was quite substantial, and I was almost wishing I’d gone for the “seniors” option. I probably will next time, but as a dedicated pie-man I enjoyed getting stuck into what could only be described as a “thing of beauty.”

John departed just after 2:30pm, but I had around 50 minutes to wait for my Stagecoach bus back to Maidstone. A pint next door, at the Dog & Bear seemed a good idea, but not before a quick look around the rest of the Red Lion, on my way to the Gents. There were a couple of rooms on the other side of the serving area, as well as a separate seating area leading off from the front bar, but as the pub was still quite busy, there weren’t many opportunities for taking photos. The Red Lion certainly turned out to be a cracking pub, offering the perfect combination of good beer, well-presented and value for money food, plus a lively bunch of regulars.

Upon leaving the Red Lion, I headed along to the Dog & Bear, an imposing grade II listed former coaching inn built in 1602 facing the village square. Queen Anne apparently stayed here in 1704, and her coat of arms appears over the front door.  Like its near neighbour, the Dog & Bear has a wealth of exposed, oak beams, and its large, cosy and comfortable bar is heated by a welcoming log fire. For those contemplating a longer stay, there are 24 letting rooms available, including one with a four-poster bed, if that’s your sort of thing! The number of rooms available at the Dog & Bear, hints at the size of the pub, but after stepping inside I had difficulty reconciling the interior to that I remembered from its days as a two-bar establishment. I’ve a feeling that the saloon bar was situated in the left-hand part of the building whilst the public was on the right, although the exact configuration doesn’t really matter, 40 years on. What is important is the husband-and-wife team who ran the pub, and between them had many years’ experience of running a public house. The couple were perhaps getting on a bit, and their names were immortalised by the bars they were in charge of.

The Saloon bar was known as “Squirrel’s Bar” Squirrel being the nickname of the characterful landlord, with his trademark handlebar moustache and mutton-chop whiskers. He was a man of few words and was rather dour in character. I never learned his real name, but I later found out that he was a proper “boffin” who had worked on various radar installations during the Second World War. His wife Joyce ruled over the male dominated Public Bar, with a firm hand, and her no-nonsense approach kept a potentially unruly public bar crowd in good order.  She seemed a little scary, to a young lad like me, so I tended to give “Joyce’s Bar" a miss, but Joyce and Squirrel were the perfect couple to be running a lively village pub, such as the Dog & Bear. 

The pub was a favourite of the local CAMRA branch and was renowned for the quality of its beer. Although not revealing his name, "Squirrel" did divulge his secret of keeping and serving such an excellent pint of Shep's. This was to keep the casks in the cellar, for a minimum of two weeks, before tapping them. The result was an absolute explosion of hoppiness, combined with an extremely well-conditioned and matured pint. It certainly ranks as being amongst the finest beer I have ever tasted.

40 years on, and whilst much has obviously changed at the Dog & Bear, including the loss of the public bar, the pub still offers a warm welcome to locals and visitors alike. With a roaring log fire to take away the winter chill, and the interior looking appropriately festive, it seemed the perfect place to unwind, not that I needed to after a good catch-up with my friend, plus an equally good lunch. The beer offer was also appealing, with cask Bishop’s Finger putting in a rare, but very welcome appearance on the bar.

It was in good nick as well, and as I sat relaxing in a comfy armchair, in a tucked away corner of the bar, savouring my pint and soaking up the timeless atmosphere of this centuries old inn, it proved the perfect ending to a perfect lunch. I still had to get home, but the 10X bus to Maidstone turned up more or less on time, and by quickening me pace I was able to walk from the King Street bus stop, across the river to the west station. I even managed to catch the 17:00 train back to Tonbridge.