Feeling fuggled in Fuggles

Following on from my long overdue return to the Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath, the second pub I visited recently, was a complete contrast. Fuggles Beer Café in Tonbridge is slap-bang in the town centre and is not a pub in the true sense of the word. Instead, it is much more a continental-style beer café, just as its name suggests, but is none the worse for that.

I like Fuggles and I like its ambience. I also much prefer the Tonbridge outlet to its Tunbridge Wells namesake despite the latter being the original Fuggles and acting as the model for branch for both of these beer emporiums.

It’s got a lot to do with the right and airy feel given by the large plain windows at the front of the Tonbridge building, together with its high ceiling. With the bar towards the rear, and set to one side, it is better laid out than its older sibling, but then I’m sure it’s a case of practice makes perfect.

I had only made one visit since Fuggles re-opened, and that was before the full lifting of restrictions on July 19^th. It was table service only, at the time, but that didn’t matter, as to me this enhanced the continental appeal of the place. Even after Covid restrictions were relaxed, the staff carried on wearing masks and apart from the ordering of drinks, customers are discouraged from standing at the bar with their drinks.

Again, I don’t view this as a problem, as Fuggles never was a “stand-up-to-drink” type of establishment. So, on a wet and windy Saturday afternoon, having finished a number of household chores and some personal “office-type” stuff, I headed off down into Tonbridge and made my way to Fuggles to enjoy a few of the beers they had on offer.

I had another reason for going there and that was the £15 voucher I received for being a loyal FUGSCLUB Member – the bottled beer subscription service that sees 12 different beers (dark ones in my case), delivered to one’s door, each month. The voucher covers June, July, and August, but with the first two months already passed, I thought it high time that I used it, and treated myself to a few well-deserved beers.

I was rather disappointed to discover then that the voucher has to be used over a single session, as there is no facility to carry over any unused credit to another time. So not wishing to sit there and down three pints on my own, I paid by card with the intention of saving the voucher for another day. 

If young master Matthew plays his card right, him and I can enjoy a lad’s session on some of the contemporary lagers that grace the bar, beers like, Utopian British Lager and Lost & Grounded Keller Pils. I also noticed an interesting strong 7% lager, another offering from Utopian called Utopian Rainbock.

This time around I stuck with cask, starting of with a pint of Southern Cross from Kent Brewery. This pale coloured, light and fruity ale, is brewed using Australian hops (Southern Cross?), and very tasty it was too!

There was a good mixed crowd in that afternoon, all drawn by the impressive beer selection and the ambience that goes with it. In the main, they were ordinary folk, and not the “craft hipster” brigade alleged by some outside observers, who never actually set foot in the place!

I was debating what to have next, when the decision was forced on me by the appearance of one of the bar staff. She asked me if I was having another beer? I opted for a further beer from the cask range, this time going for a dark one, in the form of Devil’s Dyke Porter, a full-bodied 5.0% porter from Downlands Brewery.  

Upon her return with my beer, she offered me a Fuggles Loyalty Card, complete with two stamps, which was a nice touch. I seem to have quite a collection of these things in my wallet, but they’re always worth hanging on to, especially as they eventually lead to a free pint!

It was whilst getting stuck into this second pint that the thought hit me that I should have had a shorter measure. Fuggles offer ⅔rd pint measures, and that perhaps would have been more suitable. Matthew had offered me a lift home once he’d finished work. I just had to walk along to his shop, at the other end of the High Street and wait for him to finish cashing up.

By the time I’d finished my pint, it was a bit of a rush, which is why the slightly smaller measure might have been better. True to form, and as impatient as ever, he phoned me before I’d even crossed the bridge, to ask me where I was. The strange thing is I felt more than a little tipsy, proving I am no longer used to mid-afternoon drinking.

Small matter, I’d spent an enjoyable hour and a half renewing my acquaintance with one of Tonbridge’s premier beer outlets, and on a wet Saturday afternoon, there was precious little else to be doing instead.

A welcome return to the Rock

After bemoaning the lack of any pub visits in my last post, I finally managed to squeeze in a couple during the past three days. Before describing them, I’m pleased to report that both visits restored my faith in public houses and demonstrated their resilience in being able to bounce back, after an unprecedented 14-month period, where trade was either severely restricted at best, or not allowed at all.

The latter state was actually the norm for much of the pandemic, so it is doubly encouraging to find pubs once again trading strongly. So, starting with the first pub, which is an absolute cracker, and one that has long been a favourite of mine; even if it is one that I only visit infrequently.

The Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath is an old drover’s inn, which has retained many original features. It is close to 500 years old and is so named because it is close to one of several rocky outcrops, which are a feature of this remote corner of Kent. Chiddingstone Hoath is a small, isolated settlement, consisting of a few houses, plus the pub, huddled together on a high sandstone plateau, to the south of the River Eden, in an area known as the High Weald.

The Rock is centuries old, and this is reflected in both the exterior and interior of the building. It has been lovingly cared for over the years, and the recent alterations have only enhanced this. I have known the pub for 30 years plus, and despite its remote location have tried to visit it whenever possible.

Three decades ago, it belonged to Whitbread, but when that company ceased brewing, and started selling off its pubs, the Rock became a free house. For a number of years afterwards, it was leased to local brewery Larkin's, who brew just down the road, on the edge of Chiddingstone village, but it has since reverted to being a free house once again, and a popular and flourishing one at that.

I mentioned that I have tried to visit the Rock as often as possible, especially as it is only a short drive from Chiddingstone Causeway; the village where I work, but looking back at my records, my last visit was in February 2018.  The pandemic meant that no visits were possible until quite recently, and I was prompted to rectify the situation when I received news of a prolonged road closure.

Starting this coming Tuesday, the busy B2027 Tonbridge-Edenbridge Road, that runs past my workplace, will be closed for a period of at least 10 weeks, to allow the replacement of a major water main. Fortunately, the block on traffic movement is just to the west of the factory, so my journey to work will be unaffected, but colleagues travelling from the opposite direction will have a lengthy diversion to contend with, that will add at least 20 minutes to their drive in to work.

The closure also rules out any chance of a lunchtime visit, so with this in mind it made sense to pay the Rock a visit, whilst it was still possible. Consequently, last Thursday evening, I left the office just after 5pm, jumped in the car, and drove up to the Rock. My route took me down and across the River Eden - little more than a large stream really, and then up past Larkin's Brewery. The road then begins to climb more steeply, through woodland and then up towards the High Weald.

Unfortunately, like most of the past couple of weeks, the rain began just as I was walking up to the car, and by the time I arrived at the Rock, it was falling steadily at an intensity that precluded taking all but the most basic of photos of the exterior. The same applied to the interior too, as with just myself, the barmaid, plus a single customer and his dog, I felt rather self-conscious about snapping away with my phone. For this reason, the majority of the photos, used to illustrate this post, were taken on previous visits.

The door was open when I arrived, and the aforementioned dog rushed out to greet me. I recognised its owner, who was sitting at the bar, as a local character that I have seen quite a few times, in the Greyhound at Charcott. After a quick “Good evening,” the barmaid asked me what drink I would like. I noticed that alongside local favourite Larkin’s Traditional, beer from Dark Star and Long Man breweries, were also available.

I naturally opted for the Larkin’s, and not only was it in excellent condition, it was also keenly priced at just £3.40 a pint. According to the chap sat at the bar, who was drinking Guinness btw, that is at least a pound cheaper than most other local outlets. He consequently warned me off several of them, although I won’t repeat them here. The barmaid too was friendly and chatty, expressing her excitement, and sharing some of her concerns, about going back to university, at the end of next month, for the start of her second year.

For me it was just good being able to stand at the bar, chatting, without being instructed to check in and sit down, and without the need for screens, masks, and hand sanitiser. In short, it was just like old times and almost as though the pandemic had never happened. 

The character at the bar, brought us back to earth by reminding us that it might not quite be over yet, but I think that, whilst this is something most of us are aware of, we all want to savour moments such as these, when Covid seems an inconvenient and unpleasant memory.

To end, here are a few general observations about the character of the Rock, and its customers. The pub’s bare brick floor, its large wood-burning stove and the unusual “Ringing the Bull” game, are part and parcel of what gives this pub its unique character. Being a rural pub, the Rock obviously attracts country folk, but they are proper work-a-day country people, rather than the "green Wellington brigade." The floor of worn bricks means that muddy boots, and equally muddy dogs are welcome.

This mix of proper country folk, along with perhaps some of the more moneyed folk, who live locally and enjoy letting their hair down, contributes much to the appeal of this “proper country pub,” and long may this continue.

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A few thoughts for August

It’s been another strange and almost surreal week, which started with four wet days in a row. These included, on Sunday, some of the heaviest rain I have seen in a long time, but when Tuesday dawned bright and fresh, it seemed a sign that perhaps the worst of the inclement weather was over.

Alas, it was not to be, but Tuesday was one of those days that starts out with a slight chill in the air, but then gradually gets warmer, as the morning wears on. It was a day that, when I ventured outside briefly, I knew was going to be a perfect English summer’s day – dry and sunny, warm without being too cold.

In short it was the perfect day for sitting out in a pub garden, whilst enjoying a pint or two. The only trouble was I was at work, and whilst my company is quite relaxed about staff who fancy the odd lunchtime drink, it is rare that anyone takes advantage of this.

Standing out from the crowd was not a problem, as far as I was concerned; after all, who would know. It was more a question that I would know, and having nearly dozed off mid-morning, in front of my computer, even one pint of beer was likely to induce a repeat performance. 

This would not normally be too much of a problem, because should I start feeling my eyelids slipping, I can always sneak away, down into the factory, or head for the laboratory, to check on how the testing is going.

I couldn’t do that on Tuesday, as I was training a new member of the management team, and as falling asleep on the job, would not have been a good idea, I shelved the idea of a pub visit. Instead, I headed out for my usual, lunchtime walk.

Walking has been a welcome part of my lunchtime routine, ever since I started in my current role, 16 years ago. It is particularly important at the moment, as both Mrs PBT’s and I are on a health kick.  There is no escaping the fact that we are both overweight, and by a considerable degree, so we are aiming to shed some of these pounds.

We aren’t following any strange fad diets, or crash-dieting, and we also aren’t engaging in any extreme exercise regimes. Instead, we are cutting out obvious items like cakes, biscuits, sweets, and puddings, and so far, it does seem seems to be working. We have both lost 3 kilos, not quite half a stone, but a definite step in the right direction. Having come this far, we will continue with the reduced calorie diet, and I will keep up the lunchtime walking.

Walking means clocking up the step count; a topic I wrote about back in February last year. As highlighted then, I don’t quite hit the magic 10,000 steps, but as this is an arbitrary figure, I am happy with the 7,500 – 8,000 steps I achieve most weekdays. Several fitness experts, claim this is the optimum level for peak fitness, so I could quite possibly, be doing something right.

Since the clocks went forward at the
end of March, I have spent most evenings in the garden - weather permitting. In mid-late June I was quite often outside until 10pm, which left precious little time for blogging, or indeed pub visits. Now, as we head into August, dusk is becoming progressively earlier, and by 9pm it is too dark to do much outdoors.

It is this time, out in the garden, that is responsible for pushing my step count up towards the 8,000 mark, so as the evenings become darker, this level could fall. I will miss the light evenings, especially as the nights really start drawing in. I have found it very therapeutic, just being out in the fresh air, as the light slowly fades You might see more blog posts, though!

Returning to pub visits for a while, it does sometimes seem as if things are
conspiring to keep me away from public houses, which is a real shame, particularly following on from their return to normal trading on July 19^th – Johnson's so-called “Freedom Day.” However, if I’m honest it’s more down to me and the fact I had virtually dropped the habit of evening pub visits, long before the pandemic came on the scene and turned everyone’s world upside down. So how do I go about reversing this trend? And apart from a healthy bank balance, what have I gained from these evenings spent outside?

Well, in no particular order, I have completely removed an unsightly leylandii hedge. I fixed trellis to the top of new fencing panels, installed last year, and followed this up by creating a border with a mixture of climbing plants and various perennials. This provides a vivid backdrop of colour, in contrast to bareness of new fence.

I have replaced badly the discoloured and brittle Perspex windows of the summerhouse, with new, cut-to-size, non-yellowing, acrylic panels, plus sorting out and tiding it up, making two runs to the household tip. The summerhouse is now a pleasant place to sit it.

I also transferred a large stack of newly cut logs –a mixture of apple and leylandii branches, into my weather-proof wood store, and have added to it, by continuing to saw up a large stockpile of accumulated branches and other lengths. These were cut during routine spring pruning operations.

In short, I have created an attractive, appealing, and pleasant outdoor space that even Mrs PBT’s is pleased to sit out in. She now refers to it as “her garden,” even though it was me who carried out all the work!

The photos that illustrate this post, highlight the progress achieved, since the beginning of spring, and provide evidence of what I have been up to. I can’t answer the question, are they a satisfactory substitute for going to the pub, as that is a whole different subject, but what I will say is that these activities do fit in with my current work-life balance.

I also think that they mirror the activities of many friends and acquaintances, many of whom, like me, don’t seem to have readjusted to the newfound freedoms that go with the removal of lock-down restrictions. I base this on the activity, or rather the lack of activity, shown on the Beer & Socials WhatsApp group I belong to, but I do feel confident this will gradually change.

On a personal note, I will run out of major outdoor projects, and this, coupled with my switch to part-time working at the end of next month, will allow me more time to get back out there and enjoy myself. This means joining friends for a regular drink, going out for walks – knee problem permitting, and getting back out there and exploring some of our finest towns and cities.

 

 

 

 

 

Strange times, that could become even stranger

It’s the end of what has been a rather strange week, and  the end of a strange month as well, but when I say “strange,” I don’t mean that in a bad sort of way. Late yesterday afternoon, I received confirmation that my late father’s estate has finally been settled. All that remains now is for the solicitor to deduct his expenses, reimburse me for the costs that I have incurred along the way, and then distribute the financial assets equally, between me and my two sisters.

It’s been a long and drawn-out process, taking the best part of the past seven months. I realise that many estates take far longer to settle, but the time taken to wind-up of dad’s estate is long enough for me. It’s involved numerous emails, letter writing, phone calls and form filling, all of which have eaten into my spare time; time that I’d rather have spent out and about, sampling new beers and visiting pubs, old and new, but hey-ho!

Another piece of the jigsaw that represents the next chapter of my life, has also fallen into place, following confirmation of my new, part-time role within the company, my duties, responsibilities and, most important of all, my renumeration. The switch to part-time working won’t take place until the end of September, but in the meantime, I can gradually pass over many of my current responsibilities to my successor, and to our new Quality & Regulatory Affairs Manager.

Mrs PBT’s will also be winding down around the same time. She qualifies for her bus-pass and state pension in September, and whilst we’ll be able to wind down together, Eileen will continue the book-keeping and VAT Return work she does from home, for an array of different tradespeople.

So, with all these positive things going on in my life, why do I still feel a little apprehensive over what lies ahead, particularly in the immediate future? The short answer is, I don’t really know, but the longer answer concerns what many of us feel regarding what happens next with the pandemic? More importantly how will this continue to impact on our lives in the months to come?

I will leave these very real concerns for another time, but one thing witnessed today is something that is tangible, is happening now and is also largely self-inflicted. Mrs PBT’s and I did a physical shop today, as opposed to the “click & collect” order I picked up last week. Walking around the aisles of the large Sainsbury’s superstore, just to the north of Sevenoaks, we couldn’t fail to notice the large gaps on many of the shelves. Worse than that, there were some sections where the gaps were far more pronounced, bordering on an almost complete lack of certain commodities.

We’d been noticing shortages on the shelves for some time, but this morning’s shopping trip was a real eye-opener. I took a few photos to illustrate the extent of the missing stock. Particularly badly affected was the cleaning aisle, the tea and coffee section, cereals, the freezer section – where the majority of the cabinets were empty, plus, closer to the heart of this blog, the beer section.

The shortages in this area weren’t just confined to big, multinational lager brands “lout” for want of a better word, but there were substantial gaps in the ale section as well. Staff had used the old storekeeper’s trick of “facing up,” where stock is spread out thinly, in rows that are just one or two items deep.

At first glance, things don’t appear quite so bad, but look behind the façade and the true situation emerges, and that is the nation is facing a food shortage. I would say that the shortages have crept up beyond nuisance level and are currently hovering on irritating. How much longer will it be before they become substantial, severe, or even critical? 

The full-scale panic buying which characterised the first national lock-down, was largely centered on a small number of commodities, such as pasta, flour, tin tomatoes and, of course, toilet rolls. The latter is a perennial "panic buy" and is  somewhat ironic, given that Covid largely affects the respiratory, rather than the digestive system, but a sudden fall of snow often has the same effect.

This time around the shortages seem far more widespread, affecting a far greater range of commodities. Seeing the shelves in this condition, reminds me of my first visit to Prague, back in 1984. Czechoslovakia, as it then was, was ruled by a hard-line Marxist government whose inefficient, communist, “command economy” clearly wasn’t working.

With supermarket shelves, devoid of even the most basic commodities, it wasn’t delivering either, and the same applied to most of the other Eastern-bloc countries “liberated" by the Soviet Red Army towards the end of WWII, and then saddled, at Moscow’s behest, with communist administrations. The second half of the 1980’s, saw the collapse of the majority of these despotic regimes, their demise driven in part by people who’d had enough of food and commodity shortages and of authoritarian rule, but is there a parallel here with what is happening in Britain today?

According to the government and their supporters in the MSM, the problems affecting the UK’s supply chains, aren’t just confined to the food sector, but are spread across a wide variety of other sectors, including construction and manufacturing, are down to a nationwide shortage of HGV delivery drivers.

Johnson and his media backers are blaming this shortage on the pandemic, and in particular the so-called “pingdemic.”  This is where drivers and other “key” workers are being forced to self-isolate after being contacted (pinged), by the NHS Trace & Track App, and whilst this story might have rather more than a grain of truth in it, there is another underlying reason that the government and their friends in the right-wing press would rather not mention.

They think if they don’t say anything about it, the problem will go away, but the folly of their chosen “Hard Brexit” policy, is one of the prime reasons for the shortage of HGV drivers.  Last year, that vile little “poison dwarf” who calls herself Home Secretary, bragged about ending “free movement,” and went out of her way to make citizens from other European countries feel unwelcome in the UK, even though they might have lived here for decades.

Net result, an estimated 25,000 EU truckers have returned to their countries of origin, because of the xenophobia and outright hostility created by ministers such as Patel (nothing pretty about her smirking face), and right-wing, Brexit-backing papers, such as the Mail, Telegraph and Express.

The ludicrous decision to leave the Single Market (a British creation, btw) and the Customs Union, is another own-goal, by Johnson and his thuggish “chief negotiator” David Frost – a man my father would have described as “oafish,” and that's being polite! This was never part of the referendum question, and by doing so, the government have subjected the British people, and the businesses that serve and provide for them,  to extensive and additional Red Tape. This is rather ironic, given their pre-referendum boast of having a bonfire of “EU Red Tape.”

This brings me back to the shortages on our supermarket shelves, a situation that is unlikely to improve under a regime that is led by warped ideology, rather than plain economic facts. With food shortages a major factor in the collapse of those despotic, former Eastern Bloc regimes, Frost, Johnson, and his cabinet of sycophantic cronies had better watch out. "A city is only three meals away from anarchy, and nine meals away from revolution" – a quote sometimes apportioned to Lenin, although several others have also laid claim to it.

Disruption and civil strife are not situations any of us would wish to experience, or even contemplate but when, for purely ideological reasons, a government tears up trading arrangements that not only worked, but served the country well for decades, it really is asking for trouble. 

Personal statement. I make no apologies for veering into politics here, especially as I doubt whether even the most ardent Brexit supporters voted to make themselves, and the rest of us, poorer. The actions of both the May and Johnson administrations, have blown away Britain's reputation for level-headiness and fair play and have made this country one to be laughed at, or even pitied.  

The clumsy actions of "Lord" Frost, a man who wants to tear up the agreement he negotiated and signed in good-faith, now threaten to turn the United Kingdom into a "pariah state,"  willing to break international law, shows how low we have stooped over the past five years.

Star shines out brightly

Over the course of almost five decades of pub going, it’s sometimes hard to remember whether or not you have been in a particular pub. Furthermore, if a previous visit occurred several decades ago, then it’s nigh on impossible to remember, especially if the pub in question wasn’t that memorable in the first place.

Whilst that final point does not apply to the Star at Matfield, was still racking my brains to try and recall
whether or not I’d set foot in the place. I must have driven past the pub dozens of times, these passed 30 years, and walked by quite a few times as well, but until Saturday’s visit settled the matter, I could not say for certain, one way or the other.

Matfield is a small and rather attractive village, approximately five miles southeast of Tunbridge Wells, and two miles south of Paddock Wood. The village grew up around its extensive green, which I’ve just learned is the largest in Kent. Today it still acts as the centre and focal point of this picturesque Wealden village.

There is a large pond, at the northern end of the green, and is overlooked by the grade I listed, Matfield House. 

The latter is an attractive Queen Anne style house, built in 1728 for a local yeoman farmer. The adjoining stable block is also grade II listed and is topped by an impressive looking clock turret.

The Star is situated on the northern edge of the green and is now the only pub that looks over it.  Until a few years ago, the Wheelwrights Arms performed the same role, from the opposite end, but in 2017, called “Last Orders” for the final time, and the property is now a private house. Local villagers launched a campaign to keep it open, but this was ultimately unsuccessful.

It is also worth mentioning Matfield’s
other pub – The Poet, which lies a bit further down the road towards Paddock Wood, opposite the turning to Brenchley. The Poet is perhaps more of a restaurant, than a pub, but it was once a traditional village local, known as Standing’s Cross.

As Matthew and I drove through the village, following our visit to the Star, we noticed somewhat ironically, that the Poet’s former name has been adopted by a new housing development. I suppose "Standing’s Cross" makes a change from the rustically inspired, but totally predictable titles, such as lark rise, orchard close etc., that developers normally come up with.

Now for the pub itself. The Star is a solid-looking, brick-built pub, creeper-hung, particularly at one corner, and with a portico entrance. When we arrived, there were a few sitting outside at tables, lined up in front of the building. There is a patio area to left, and a children’s play area to right, just in front of the car park.

A notice next to the entrance, advised that ordering at the bar was possible, providing masks were worn. Alternatively, patrons could sit outside, for table service, if they preferred to remain unmasked. Given the current high infection rates for Covid-19 this, in my view, was a sensible policy. In addition, there was to be no standing at bar, but the Star didn’t really seem the type of pub that encouraged barflies, anyway.

Matthew and I donned our masks, primarily to have a look inside, but also to see what beers were on. Upon entering, I realised that I had been in Star before, although probably only once, and quite a few years ago. I noted there are seating areas either side of bar, plus a dining room-restaurant, leading off to rear.

I was too busy chatting to the barmaid and paying for our drinks – Harvey’s Sussex Best for me, plus a pint of Amstel for Matthew, to take a photo of the bar itself, but a beer from Tonbridge Brewery, was the other cask offering. There were no customers inside though, as all were outdoors, taking advantage of improvement in weather.

We went back out and joined them, sitting at one of the tables in front of the pub. My pint of Harvey’s was well-conditioned, cool, and refreshing. I expect Matthew thought the same about his pint of Amstel! There were a few comings and goings, and the food we witnessed being brought out, looked very appetizing. The staff too were pleasant and attentive, making us feel really glad that we called in.

So why did we call in? and why
choose the Star? The answer is we had made a further trip to the Waste Transfer Station (WTS) and fancied a pint on the way home. I was going to suggest the Dovecote, at Capel, but according to WhatPub, it closes between 3pm and 6pm, even on Saturdays, so a bit of quick thinking led to the choice of the Star.

After our visit, we took a wander over to the village green, where a game of cricket was in full swing. There were also groups of children and their parents, attempting to catch tiddlers, from the pond with fishing nets. Along with the attractive houses, fronting onto the green, these scenes formed the perfect picture of an English summer’s day; a day made all the more perfect by a well-kept pint of traditional cask beer at an equally traditional village pub.

Seeking out the positives

Last Thursday’s part aborted walk wasn’t quite the disaster it could have been, as looking back there were plenty of pluses to counter the minus caused by a dodgy knee. Incidentally, I still haven’t got to the bottom of that, and whilst the longest walk I’ve done since then, is a 500-yard amble to post a letter, I’ve been on my feet for much of the past four days, doing all sorts of jobs in the garden.

The most annoying part of Thursday’s escapade is the need to go back at some stage and knock off the remaining two and a half miles. I haven’t yet worked out how to get to Knockholt Pound, using public transport, although there’s probably a bus, but in the meantime here’s an insight into the walk itself, along with the odd statistic which might just surprise you.

Using my Smartwatch, I clocked the walk at just over eight miles, but that’s just the time spent on the trail. It’s a mile from my house to the station, followed by me having to change stations at Edenbridge, and with a further mile between Edenbridge top station on the Tonbridge-Redhill line, and Edenbridge Town, on the Uckfield line, that’s two miles walked before I’d even set foot on the North Downs Way.

So, when I stepped onto the platform at Edenbridge Town, my Smart Watch was indicating that I’d already notched up over 6,000 steps. That was since getting out of bed that morning, but it’s still around the three-mile mark. On top of this it was another mile from Oxted station to the point at which I’d be joining the NDW – except it wasn’t.

Instead, I’d thought ahead and pre-booked a taxi to pick me up from the station, and drive me to the aforementioned spot, at the top of Chalkpit Lane. The way I looked at it, was this was an extra mile in my tank, for walking the trail, and however attractive the walk up through Oxted might have been (nothing out of the ordinary, as it happened), I wanted to save my legs, and my reserves of energy, for the main event, so to speak.

A few words about the train ride from Edenbridge Town to Oxted which, coincidentally was my first rail journey north, from the former, along what is known as the Uckfield line. The line is so named because it terminates at Uckfield, but it was once an important through route which ran from London to Brighton, via Lewes.

The reason the line now ends at Uckfield, is that the route it followed into Lewes stood in the way of a planned relief road for the county town, and rather than fight this decision, British Rail rather meekly gave in to East Sussex County Council and closed the line, to enable the road scheme to go ahead.

This closure took place in 1969 and, contrary to popular belief, was not the result of Dr Beeching’s infamous axe, but rather a short-sighted decision taken by two public bodies, who should have known better. For many years, the Uckfield line was a something of a “Cinderella route," starved of investment, and operated by antiquated rolling stock – the notorious diesel “thumpers.”

Two sections of the line south of Hever, were reduced to single track, as a means of cutting costs, but this exercise didn’t end well, as on 15^th October 1994, two trains collided head-on, in heavy fog, just south of Cowden station, resulting in the deaths of both drivers, one of the guards and two passengers.

Since that tragic accident, enhance warning systems and other safety features have been installed, and there has also been investment in new rolling stock. The platforms at most stations along the line have extended to accommodate 10 car trains, and it was one of these sleek and modern, Turbostar diesel trains that I boarded that morning, at Edenbridge Town station. The train was quite full and was almost certainly the busiest service I have travelled on since before the pandemic.

I don’t intend to provide a blow-by-blow account of my walk, but it is worth noting it was the perfect English summer’s day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. I had to foresight to bring a hat with me, along with plenty of Factor 20 sunscreen, as I set off on my walk with hardly a care in the world. As I climbed gradually upward, I had a uninterrupted view of the nose to tail traffic, crawling along towards Gatwick, on the M25, far below me, as I continued in the opposite direction, as master of my own destiny.

It was a long and stiff climb after that, up along Pitchfork Lane, but fortunately most of this stony track was through woodland which shaded me from the heat and the glare of the sun. The summit here, at Botley Hill, is the highest point on the whole of the NDW, reaching a height of 853 feet (260 metres).

Slightly further on, I halted for a brief rest, plus a bite to eat, at a viewing point, just below Clarks Lane Farm. The view southward was far reaching and quite spectacular, with the hills of the Greensand Ridge in the mid-foreground and the darker-looking summit of Ashdown Forest, on the horizon. With the sun shining, the scene spread out before me was a perfect patchwork of fields and patches of woodland.

A short way on, the long shallow descent off from the ridge began, as I followed the shady, tree-lined road, known as Chestnut Avenue. With an exclusive looking golf course on the left-hand side, and some very exclusive and expensive looking properties on the right, this area of leafy Surrey had a real 1930’s feel to it. 

One house in particular, really caught my eye.  On the white painted end wall, are silhouettes of Ratty and Mole from the "Wind in the Willows." The house is appropriately known as “Mole End.”  I wish I’d taken a photo of it at the time, but fortunately I found the photo opposite, taken by Sean Davis, and available for public sharing, under a Creative Commons Licence.  

 As I wrote in the previous piece, the busy A233 road, at the end of the track, not only marked the approximate halfway point, but would also have been a suitable place to cut the walk short.

This brings me to the end of the walk, and salvation in the form of a welcoming pint of Harvey’s and the prospect of a taxi ride to the nearest station.  Despite following the map as assiduously as I could, I became disoriented in the large area of woodland to the rear of Chevening House. I eventually emerged on the road running between the settlements of Knockholt and Knockholt Pound; the latter being the home of the Three Horseshoes pub.

I was gagging for a drink, and also in dire need of a place to sit down, so I headed straight round to the spacious and well-laid out garden at the rear of the pub. Before finding a table, I poked my head through the rear entrance and enquired about checking in. I was told I could sit at any table and a member of staff would come and take my contact details, along with my drink order. I also asked about booking a taxi, but that’s covered in the previous article.

With a choice on the cask front between Fuller’s London Pride and Harvey’s Sussex Best, I opted for the latter and mighty fine it was too. I suppose the trials and tribulations of the last four miles, made the beer taste even better, but I acknowledge the fact it was a mighty fine pint.There weren’t many people in the garden, nor indeed in the pub, but from what I observed on arrival, and also from a comment made by the landlord, a funeral wake had been taking place there, earlier that afternoon.

I will need, at some stage, to make a return visit to the Three Horseshoes, as there are still the final two and a half miles of that particular section of the NDW, to complete. I’m not yet certain when this will be, as the knee problem I experienced a week ago has reoccurred from time to time. 

The more athletic of my work colleagues have suggested the issue could be tendonitis, and the best course of action, apart from resting my knee, would be to strap it up with an appropriate support brace. Choosing the correct type, will take a little research, both online and off, but if it allows me to pick up the trail, sooner rather than later, it will be well worth it.