Pub Friday – Robertsbridge & Salehurst Pt. 1

Welcome to the long overdue next installment of Pub Friday where, with Mrs PBT’s blessing I head off into the countryside of Kent, East Sussex and occasionally posh Surrey as well, in search of a few pubs gems to satisfy my need for “proper” pubs or, better still find somewhere new that I haven’t visited before. Pub Friday also includes re-visiting the odd few pubs I remember from my mis-spent youth, that I haven’t visited in decades, and are still trading, as sadly many of them have fallen by the wayside.

Friday was actually a return visit to the pleasant, and quite large, Sussex village of Robertsbridge, that also included a detour along a quiet rural lane, to a classic rural pub that I visited, for the first and only time, back in 2017. Does this fall into the definition of what Americans would call a “side-trip?” Rather than making use of my usual free, old-git’s bus pass, this time I took the train. Reasons, a relatively fast, direct and frequent rail service from Tonbridge, and I still obtained discounted travel using my “Senior Railcard.”

As I mentioned a short while ago, this was a return visit, and whilst there had been a small number of changes, both village and hamlet were as they were eight years ago. My departure from Tonbridge was an hour later than intended, thanks to me not setting the alarm clock, although if I’d surfaced just 20 minutes earlier, I would have caught the 10:31 train, rather than the 11:31. The earlier service would have brought me to Robertsbridge just after 11am, which would have allowed ample time for a mooch around the village, before making the 30 minute or so walk out to Salehurst. Never mind, I overslept, and I don’t do rushing at my age. The annoying thing is there is a semi-fast train that runs on the hour, but unfortunately, Robertsbridge isn’t one of the stops on that service.

The rail journey, through the Weald, is always a pleasant one, and at this time of year, doubly so. As we passed through the various stations on the route, I reflected on some of the pubs we have lost, over the past decades. The Rock Robin, just outside Wadhurst station, now replaced by a soulless block of apartments, and the Etchingham Arms, just a short hop from Etchingham station. The former pub is still visible from the train, but it must be 20 years or so, since it last welcomed customers.

Robertsbridge too, hasn’t been without its share of closure, and I’m sad to report that the status of the Seven Stars remains the same. This fine old 14^th Century inn was closed, when I first visited the village back in 2016. The pub is owned by Harvey’s, who were reported at the time as having difficulty in finding suitable tenants for the pub. Some have argued that this may be due to the high rent which the brewery were reportedly asking. The Seven Stars is not the first pub Harvey’s have had difficulties with in recent years as the Two Brewers at Hadlow, saw a succession of tenants come and go, and is now listed as long-term closed. This state of affairs isn’t really befitting of a fine old independent family brewery like Harvey’s.

Back to the positives, and the good news is that work on the new Robertsbridge terminus, for the Kent & East Sussex heritage railway, is progressing at speed with the building that will serve the recently installed new platforms, now looking like a station. Robertsbridge to Bodiam Reconnection Project. If and when this stretch of line is re-laid, and the restoration project completed, it will be possible to travel by a heritage train from Robertsbridge via Bodiam to the eastern end of the line at Tenterden. Much work remains before this “missing link” can be fully restored, but sidings and new track has been laid, adjacent to the main-line station, to allow locomotives and rolling stock to transfer onto the heritage railway from the London - Hastings line.

So, with my train arriving at 12:05, I decided to grab a pint first, and push back the walk until later on. I also decided that the Ostrich, which is just across from the station, should wait until last. This meant that a beer at the George would be in order. Until the coming of the railway, the George was the village’s main coaching inn, and today this imposing red tiled fronted building is probably Robertsbridge’s premier pub. It dates from the 18^th century and, as might be expected, has plenty of low beams. There are views from the bar, back down the High Street with the distinctive War Memorial clock tower, erected in 1926, featuring prominently just across the green. 

The bar area occupies the far right of the building, and this is where most of the drinkers were gathered, in front of the large, inglenook fireplace. They seemed disappointed that the fire was unlit and were not impressed by the landlady’s excuse that the pub had run out of logs. She reminded the crowd that temperatures had hit the high teens the week before, but they remained unimpressed. I wasn’t impressed either by the way the locals were blocking access to the bar, and although I was probably the only stranger in the pub, I thought it bad manners on their part.

To be fair, the landlady acknowledged my presence more or less straight away and pulled me through an exemplary pint of Harvey’s Best, but the atmosphere at the George was decidedly cliquey. With the Cheltenham Festival in full swing, racing seemed the main topic of conversation, but as someone with absolutely no interest in the “sport of kings” it wasn’t long before I beat a hasty retreat. I imagine that things are different in the evenings, as the main part of the pub is given over to diners. That said, there was only one couple eating, and they too, seemed to be locals. As an aside, the photo of the fireplace dates back to an earlier visit.

It was time to go, so I headed off through the village in a northerly direction, following the road as it curved downhill. Looking at the numerous attractive old buildings lining this narrow street, it’s hard to imagine now the traffic chaos that must have ensued before the construction of the bypass, when the busy A21 trunk road ran straight through the heart of Robertsbridge. As my route led out of the village, I noticed to the right, the recently laid track that currently terminates at Northbridge Street, but in the other direction runs back to the K&ESR’s new Robertsbridge Junction station, mentioned earlier.

After safely crossing the busy A21 at a set of traffic lights, I headed off in an easterly direction, along a quiet rural lane, towards the tiny village of Salehurst. The imposing church tower of St Mary the Virgin acted as my guide.  It was a pleasant walk, and with the sun starting to break through the clouds, I could feel the warmth of the sun chasing away the mid-March chill. There is gentle ascent into the village, and there, on the right is the quaintly named Salehurst Halt. This unassuming brick-built, part tile-hung Victorian building, takes it name from when there really was a nearby “halt”, back in the days when the original Kent and East Sussex Railway ran along the valley of the river Rother, from Robertsbridge, towards the border with Kent.

I’m going to draw a stop to the post here, and continue next time, as there’s still plenty to report on what was really an excellent day out in rural Sussex.

The Rose's revival, continues apace

I first became acquainted with Hadlow in 1979 when I ended up working in nearby Tonbridge. I was living in Maidstone at the time and my journey to and from work took me along the A26, and through the village. I remember counting four pubs as I passed through the settlement and being interested in licensed premises and brewing took the opportunity, over the space of a couple of years, of trying them all. Five years later, in 1984, I moved to Tonbridge, saving a commute of around 30 minutes each way.

Fast forward 46 years and there is now just one pub remaining in Hadlow, plus one to the south of the village. That pub is the Rose Revived, and it is situated just off the A26, in Ashes Lane, roughly half a mile before you come to Hadlow Further Education College. The pub’s name came about back in the 1970's, when a previous landlord bought what had been a rather run-down Charrington’s pub called the Rose & Crown.  After spending a lot of time, money and effort, he restored this lovely old inn, to something approaching its former glory – hence the Rose “Revived.”

Another story claims the name change may have come about because there was another pub, in the centre of Hadlow, also called the Rose & Crown. Whatever the case, the Rose Revived is a lovely old, building which is around 400 years old, and for as long as I have known it, the pub has always sold a very acceptable pint of Harvey’s.  In recent years the pub has been considerably enlarged and now incorporates a large reception-cum- dining room along with a conservatory, at the rear of the building.

It had been several years since I last set foot in the Rose Revived, but last Sunday the opportunity arose to call in for a drink. This came about after visiting the nearby, BP filling station, at Three Elm Lane. What’s the attraction of a petrol station, I hear you ask? Well, it’s one of the few garages locally with an airline, and about the only one that still accepts coins. Motoring organisations claim that tyre pressures should be checked weekly, but mine are lucky if they’re checked quarterly, although I do tend to check them, if I’ve got a lengthy journey coming up.

I suppose Southampton is a longish journey, and we’ll be heading down that way in just over a fortnight – more about that, another time. So, a quick air injection into the two front tyres, (the rear ones were ok), and then off to the Rose Revived. Matthew was with me, and needed little persuasion to stop for a pint, even though it was Pravha that he was drinking. I forsook my normal Harvey’s Best in favour of a most enjoyable pint of Fox from Exmoor Ales – a brewery we rarely see now, in this part of the country. There was a time when beers such as Exmoor Gold, Stag or Beast were quite common in the south east, but for some reason, this is no longer the case.

Being a Sunday, we expected the pub to be crowded, and with the Rose Revived a popular local dining spot, it was no surprise to discover car parking spaces were at a premium. We managed to squeeze in at one of the two over-spill parks, and prior to walking along to the pub, stopped for a look at the now sadly closed, Hadlow College Farm Shop. Visits to the shop had provided a welcome break during the monotony of the Covid lockdown, and as it was one of the few places with a regular and reliable supply of flour, during the early stages of the pandemic, we made quite a few visits there.

The shop alas, is no more, after becoming a victim of the financial crisis suffered by the group that was running Hadlow College. This came about when the college expanded from its traditional Hadlow base to take over the running of both West Kent College in Tonbridge and Ashford College. All were plunged into crisis in 2019 , when debts in Hadlow College had reached £40 million, while at WKAC (the corporation managing West Kent and Ashford colleges) they were in excess of £100 million! The Department for Education was forced to step in, resulting with the stricken colleges being taken over by other established, educational groups.

Returning to the pub, it was  relatively quiet inside, despite the number of vehicles in the car park, as the majority of customers were sitting outside in the extensive garden, enjoying the unseasonably good early spring weather – it didn’t last more than a few days, of course! Matthew and I found a convenient corner, at the far right of the main room, and in sight of the bar. There were lots of family groups in the pub, which was unsurprising given that it was Sunday lunchtime, and whilst there was the occasional little person buzzing about the place, they were, on the whole, well behaved. I wasn’t entirely sure though, about the two young children (boy and a girl), sat on stools at the end of the bar. Even with their father standing behind them, it did look a little odd. They looked like they were enjoying their bowls of ice cream, whilst dad finished off his pint.

Apart from that, it was a typical, family oriented, Sunday lunchtime. I took a stroll through the dining area-cum-conservatory, on my way back from the Gents, even though it wasn’t the most direct route. I do like to be nosey, and the various joints of roast meats, being kept warm on a large hot plate, behind the serving area, looked particularly appetising. The carvery at the Rose Revived, has a good reputation locally, and the Bailey family can speak from experience here, even though that was several years ago (the last time I visited the pub).

To sum up, it was good to see a country pub thriving, and it was also nice to enjoy a pint of West Country beer, from a brewery that we seldom see in Kent, these days. For people like me, who prefer someone else to drive them to the pub, the Rose Revived is easily reached by bus, with a half-hourly service (No. 7 Arriva), stopping right opposite the entrance to Ashes Lane.

 

St Albans - historic city and CAMRA's spiritual home

Last Wednesday I took the day off from work to accompany son Matthew on a trip to a town that neither of us had visited before. I perhaps ought to say city, rather than town, because the Hertfordshire settlement of St Albans is a city, on account of its 11^th century cathedral. I’m not entirely sure what prompted Matthew’s suggestion of visiting St Albans, but I have an inkling it was a desire to visit one to the other branches of the chain of hardware stores he works for.  It is a surprisingly short journey by train from Tonbridge, which for Matthew and I involved a virtually seamless transfer at London Bridge, from Southeastern trains onto a Bedford bound Thameslink service.

Despite ample legroom, Thameslink trains have hard and uncomfortable seats. The cleanliness was also way below par, particularly in the toilet area where the floors need attention. Shockingly, some delightful individual had left a soiled pair of Calvin Klein underpants on the toilet floor, expecting the cleaning staff to handle with them. Sorry about that, but standards in certain areas of our society have seriously declined! Apart from that, the journey through Hertfordshire countryside, which wasn’t looking its best in late February, proceeded swiftly. We arrived at our destination, shortly after midday and began our exploration of the former Roman town.

St Albans was initially known as Verlamion, a settlement of the Catuvellauni tribe in southeastern Britain. Around AD 50, it became the Roman settlement of Verulamium, which subsequently developed into the third largest town in Roman Britain. After the Romans' departure, the settlement transitioned into the Anglo-Saxon town of Verlamacaestir, eventually becoming known as St Albans, reflecting its connection with Saint Alban. The St Albans Cathedral, established in 1077, is located on the site where Saint Alban, one of Britain's earliest Christian martyrs, was buried.

Much of the cathedral is constructed out of bricks, many of which were sourced from the ruined city of Verulamium. Unfortunately, the interior of the cathedral was inaccessible due to a graduation ceremony taking place there. More about that later, but as you didn't come here to read about ancient cathedrals, let’s talk about pubs instead. I had prepared a shortlist of five pubs for us to visit, but in the end, we only visited only three of them. Despite this, the ones that we visited were all of high quality and certainly matched our expectations. We noted that the distance from the station to the city centre was longer than anticipated, and certain areas of the city were noticeably hilly. Nevertheless, our overall impression was that of a vibrant and prosperous town in Hertfordshire.

Before stopping for a beer, we spent a bit of time exploring some of the local shops and visited the St Albans branch of Matthew's employer, as he was interested in seeing it. There was also an opportunity to grab a flat white from the local Greggs, since I didn’t get a coffee at London Bridge station.  Then, it really was time for a beer, and where better than the Lower Red Lion, a Grade II-listed pub located in a conservation area, just a stone’s throw from the city centre, and in one of St Albans most picturesque streets. Passing the cathedral area on our left, we headed downhill, and soon came to the Lower Red Lion, in the quaintly named, Fishpool Street.

It looked like my sort of pub, and what’s more it has two bars. We entered the bar on the left to begin with, but the friendly barmaid advised that the other bar would be warmer, as the fire had been lit. Following this advice, we stepped into the right-hand bar, which not only seemed larger than the other, also had a group of 20 to 30-somethings, enjoying a spot of lunch. 

Something to eat, seemed like a good idea to us too, so after ordering a beer for me (Side Pocket of a Toad), from Tring Brewery, plus a pint of international lager for master Matthew. The strangely named Tring beer, which I have previously seen on sale in several pub, was considerably better than its name, but better still was the haddock, chips and mushy peas. Priced at £15, it was good value for the area, and good eating as well.

The party of diners departed shortly before us, and upon settling our bill, I asked the barmaid for directions to the Olde Fighting Cocks, our next destination. She informed me that the pub was nearby, although we would need to retrace our steps towards the cathedral. I expressed an interest in viewing the interior but was advised that this would not be possible due to a graduation ceremony for students at the University of Hertfordshire. This explained the numerous individuals we had observed wearing academic gowns and mortar boards, accompanied by what appeared to be proud parents and other family members.

The cathedral grounds were still open, allowing access to the area surrounding the church. Heading downhill towards the River Ver, there is a parkland area where the Olde Fighting Cocks pub is located. The pub claims to be the oldest in England, dating back to the 9th Century, although several other establishments also make this claim. The building, which is octagonal in shape, was originally a medieval pigeon house and was rebuilt after flooding in 1599, likely caused by the nearby River Ver. Over the years, the pub’s charm has been maintained and enhanced by its custodians, landlords, and customers.

Putting aside claims of antiquity for a moment, the Fighting Cocks comes through as a thoroughly decent pub that is definitely worthy of a visit. It still retains many original features such as low ceilings, exposed beams, various nooks and crannies plus a bread oven next to one of the fireplaces. There is a large garden to the rear with an enclosed garden area for children. There is also some seating to the front of the pub by the river. Internally the pub was ticking over nicely, with a healthy mix of both diners and drinkers. An interesting range of beers was available, to tempt the latter group with brews from Adnams, Mighty Oak, and local outfit, the 3 Brewers to tempt drinkers. I opted for the Old Man & the Sea, a 4.1% dry stout from Mighty Oak Brewery, which was perhaps a little ambitious after the heavy lunch I’d recently enjoyed.

It was time to move on, and after walking past the south side of the cathedral, we arrived back in the city centre. We opted for the Boot Inn, anther Grade II-listed, pub dating back to 1422, with low ceilings, an open fire, although disappointingly the former dividing walls have been removed. With the historic Clock Tower just outside the front door, and the Abbey and Verulamium Park, close by, the Boot seems an obvious choice for visitors to St Albans.

It certainly seemed popular when we called in, with a lively and quite mixed crowd of punters. All were enjoying that late afternoon, early evening beer vibe that, whilst hard to describe, is something most seasoned pub goers will instantly recognise. Amongst others, there were beers from Tring, Titanic (Plum Porter, no less), plus Brew York on sale. I chose Duality, a twin-hopped pale ale from the latter outfit, a beer that was full of citrus favours, from the Mosaic and Citra hops used.

With hindsight, we perhaps should have selected a fourth pub to finish up in, and if we had, that pub ought to have been the Farrier’s Arms. The latter is a classic back-street local, that was tied to McMullen's of Hertford for many years, before becoming a free house in 2013. 

A plaque on the wall outside marks the first meeting of the Hertfordshire branch of CAMRA, and according to legend, the Farrier’s is the only pub in the city never to have forsaken cask ale. A missed opportunity perhaps, but the pub was located in the opposite direction to the station. It would have made sense to have called in at the Farrier’s on our way to the Boot, but as I said above, hindsight is a wonderful thing. That aside, Matthew and I both enjoyed our visit to St Albans, although whether we’ll return, remains to be seen.

An early spring walk to the Plough, at Powder Mills

We've had a few bright and sunny days recently, a welcome change from the wind, rain, and grey skies. With Mrs. PBT's busy with VAT returns, Friday seemed perfect to go outside in search of a country pub. After finishing my chores, I put on my hiking boots for the first time in months and headed down into Tonbridge. I was making for the Plough, at Leigh, a classic country inn that dates back to the 16^th century. It’s a pub I have known well over the years, and one that is quite easy to reach on foot, from my house in Tonbridge.  

The route goes across the sports ground, under the railway, over a footbridge, and then through to an area known as the Powder Mills. This settlement is close to the neighbouring village of Leigh and was once home to a number of gunpowder mills. The nearby streams provided power for the water mills, used to grind the charcoal, sulphur and saltpetre components that when mixed and finely ground together, make up gunpowder. The isolated position of this enterprise ensured that should the worst happen collateral damage to nearby houses and farm buildings would be minimal.

Pharmaceutical giant, GSK (Glaxo-Smith-Kline) once operated a research plant near Powder Mills, but it has since closed, leaving no trace. Despite this, the area is still known as Powder Mills. The closure of local industries, including multinationals, is unfortunately quite common, especially given the shenanigans of big business, and the increasing value of land, especially here in the south east. It will come as no surprise then to learn that the former GSK site is now occupied by housing. This does have the benefit of an improved footpath, leading to the lane where the Plough is situated, but is of little comfort to former GSK employees. I have known several of these over the years, and a recently appointed new member of our management team, worked at the site.  

I had been planning to walk to the Plough for some time and had considered doing it earlier in the year, but the short daylight hours deterred me. Walking back in the dark wouldn't have been wise. Now, with sunset around 6pm, there was plenty of time for a walk in the sunshine. Most of the path is tarmac or compressed rock chippings, except for one particularly muddy section that ruined the appearance of my nice clean boots. It was an enjoyable walk that was mostly flat, except for a slight hill near the Powder Mills. It was just before there that I noticed some sheep, but no lambs yet. However, with many ewes looking quite “bulky”, I’m sure that lambing must be imminent.

It was a lovely day for a walk, with just the bird song and the occasional buzz of aircraft, way over head, to disturb the rural tranquillity. Actually, the birds chirping away added to the occasion and the unmistakable sound of a woodpecker at work, was a sure sign that spring is on its way. Another sign was the patch of snowdrops, as I approached the pub. Even better were the daffodils blooming under the sign near the car park entrance. Upon arriving at the pub's main entrance, I did a quick look around before heading to the bar. Nothing seemed to have changed from previous visits, which is always a good sign.

There were two cask ales available, one each from Tonbridge Brewery (Old Chestnut) and Pig & Porter (Got The Face On). Pig & Porter seem to offer a different beer every week, but according to Untappd, I had drank this one before. It might be heresy for me to say so, but Tonbridge beers often feel a bit dull to me, although there are one or two exceptions. I ordered a pint of Pig & Porter, and the barman suggested I sit at the large, empty table, constructed from ancient, polished wooden planks, since they weren't expecting any large parties that day. I inquired if there were any weddings planned, as the Plough often hosts receptions in the adjacent barn. He said not this week, but it wouldn’t be long before the wedding “season” kicks off in earnest.  The beer was a bit too citrusy for my taste but after my walk, was still pleasantly refreshing.

The pub itself has been extended gradually, over the centuries, but in a timeless and seamless manner, meaning the sprawling interior is divided into several interconnected areas, that integrate well with one another. The main bar is dominated by a doubled-sided open fire, situated close to the doorway that leads down to the garden, and also the Great Barn. As might be expected in a pub of such antiquity, there are plenty of ancient, low, sturdy beams, blackened by centuries of age. The clientele that day seemed mainly elderly diners, although there were a few locals and their dogs who had popped in for a quick one. The stone-flagged floors mean that muddy paws, as well as mud-encrusted hiking boots are not a problem.

I didn’t fancy another pint, as neither of the two beers impressed me, so I set off on the walk back to Tonbridge, with the intention of diverting onto the path leading to Haysden Country Park. From there I could cut through the late 19^th and early 20^th Century housing developments that have grown up on either side of the railway. It had been some time since I’d last walked that way, but I followed my nose and eventually ended up at the Nelson Arms, where I knew I’d find a beer more to my taste.

I arrived at the pub just after 3.30pm, in the midst of that afternoon lull that many pubs seem to experience. There were nine cask beers on offer, plus a similar number of craft keg ales. I fancied something low in strength, but high in flavour, and Kernel Mild fitted the bill nicely, coming in at 3.4%. I hadn’t been in the Nelson long, when Jon, from Hadlow came in. I hadn’t seen him for a long time, so he came over and joined me for a chat. Coincidentally, Jon used to work at the GSK Powder Mills site but now works for a company that manufactures gas detection equipment.

Even more of a coincidence was the fact I was looking for a specialist company in relation to our pressurised gas systems at work. It was talking shop on a grand scale, but Jon promised to forward some details over to me, providing proof, if it was needed, that it’s who you now, rather than not what you know, that can make all the difference in life. We both left it at just the one pint each. Jon was keen to get over to Fuggles, as they were still running their “Dark Life” event, although this February promotion was now starting to run down. The idea behind Dark Life was a month-long celebration of dark and delicious beers. Whilst I was tempted, I knew that I t wouldn’t just stay for one so, as the News of the World used to say, I made my excuses and left.