Timber Batts - revisited

It's difficult to describe exactly how I felt walking into the Timber Batts at Bodsham the other Sunday. As I mentioned in the previous post, that was literally my first visit to the pub in 50 years, and I have to admit it felt more than a little strange. As Matthew and I set foot in the entrance lobby, we got our first taste of the quirky, and very off beat decor of the pub.

I can't say that after half a century the memories came flooding back because they didn't. The strange thing is that what I recall of my last visit to the Timber Batts was the bright and airy feel to the pub. This time around, things could not have been more different. The interior was dimly lit and the red painted walls, together with the heavily beamed ceiling were in complete contrast to the impressions I had carried in my head over the past 50 years.

This wasn't to say that I didn't like what I found, if anything the dimly lit interior had a cosy and comforting feel to it, something that was enhanced by the log fire blazing away to the left of the bar. We were greeted by the two women behind the bar, and after a quick scan what was available beer-wise, I opted for a beer from Hop Fuzz Brewery. Matthew asked what lagers were on sale, and his face lit up when told Paulaner from Munich was one of several options on sale.

We were asked if we would be eating, but we declined because, as I said to the lady who served us there would be a large roast dinner waiting for us when we arrived home. I inquired what snack options were available, but these were confined to a couple of obscure flavoured crisps, plus or peanuts. We opted for the latter, and after paying for our drinks I Informed the couple, that this was my first visit to the Timber Batts in 50 years. I explained the circumstances behind that claim, and in return I learned more about the recent history of the pub, including the origin of its unusual name – see below. Trade apparently had been good and had recovered nicely since the end of the pandemic.

Given the pub's isolated position, with very few chimney-pots in the immediate vicinity, motor borne transport is more or less essential to reach the pub. However, one hardy cyclist put in an appearance whilst we were there, but that was only to collect the donation's box for the recent British Legion Poppy Appeal. With the winding narrow roads and steep hills, the surrounding countryside isn't exactly best suited for cycling. It might not be that good for walking either, although looking at the map, it isn’t too far from the Bowl Inn, at the village of Hastingleigh.

Before sitting down, we had a wander around the pub looking first at the games room, and then what appeared to be a dining area to the left. There was another, smaller dining area to the right of the main bar. The games room had a pinball machine, along with a bar billiards table and like the other rooms in the pub, had the same red painted walls, in other words a “symphony in red.” The pub seemed completely different to the picture I had in my mind, which is perhaps not surprising after such a lengthy period, and the memory starts playing strange tricks.

The other thing that was particularly striking apart from the décor, was the pub’s quirky interior, that bordered on the eccentric. Those with an interest in taxidermy will not go away disappointed, as there are a number of stuffed animals, along with skulls belonging to various animals, on display. These objects would certainly appeal to fans of Angel Strawbridge, from the Channel 4 series, Escape to the Chateau. Mrs PBT’s is one such fan, and would certainly have appreciated this off-beat, and slightly bizarre collection of critters. I have told her that if we ever find ourselves over that way again, we will make a point of calling in.

There was only one other customer in the pub when we arrived, but after sitting down at a large wooden table opposite the bar, a party of three arrived, and made themselves comfortable in the smaller dining section. They'd obviously pre-booked a table, and whilst not eating ourselves, the menu certainly looked interesting. We stuck with our beer and peanuts, and my Hop Fuzz Fallout, served in a Beavertown glass, was excellent. There were no complaints either from Matthew, regarding his Paulaner – a beer which seems to have increased its availability in the past few years.

Before leaving, I asked the couple behind the bar whether the Honest Miller pub in Brook had re opened yet. I was aware that this former Whitbread pub, with its gravity-served cask ale, had ceased trading, several years ago, and was reported as boarded up, awaiting a buyer. I have a personal and emotional interest in this fine old village local, as even before I was legally old enough to drink, I spent many a happy evening there, during my late teens.

One of the ladies thought that the pub had reopened, but we found out for ourselves, on the drive home, that sadly the Honest Miller remains shut. I hadn’t intended to drive back through Brook, but when we reached Wye, we were forced to take a diversion due to roadworks. I later discovered work to replace the manual level crossing gates, next to Wye station with fully automatic barriers, was the reason for the diversion. I’m sure one of my old school friends, whose father was the station master at Wye, will be thinking of his dad, who was out there in all weathers, opening and shutting those heavy gates, and wondering why this work hadn’t been carried out decades ago.

After passing the Honest Miller, we drove past my parents’ old bungalow which, from the brief glimpse we had of it, has been extended, with rooms and windows fitted into the former loft space. We also passed the village church, which remains virtually unaltered since Norman times. We were soon back on the M20 motorway, but with just two lanes open on either carriageway, and a 50-mph limit in force the entire stretch between Ashford and Maidstone, progress was slow.

The lane closures were the latest shenanigans caused by operation “Brock,” the direct result of erecting trade barriers between the UK and the world’s largest free-trade area, due to the Tories’ insistence on a damaging, ultra-hard Brexit. This is the direct result of “taking back control,” the slogan parroted endlessly by the Leave Campaign and their mainstream backers in the right-wing media,

This reminder of the folly of “cakeism” didn’t detract from what had been a very successful day out, with another missing section of the North Downs Way, ticked off the list, and a pub that I thought was long gone, revisited. The remaining “missing link” is at Knockholt, which is much closer to home, but when planning that small section of the NDW, I shall make every effort to include a pub or two, along the way. 

Footnote: For many years, the pub was a simple country alehouse, known as the Prince of Wales. The change of name came about during the 1960's, when the PoW was "modernised," and came about due to the proximity of a saw-mill, where timber was sawn up into battens or "batts."

 

 

Not quite déjà vu, but it was 50 years later

It felt a little strange pitching up outside the Timber Batts pub in the isolated downland settlement of Bodsham. As we parked the car outside, I didn't exactly have a sense of déjà vu, in fact I don't think I actually recognised the place, but then looking back it was around 50 years that I'd last set foot in the pub. That would have been when I was still living at home with my parents, in the relatively nearby village of Brook. I would have been a VI form student at the time, but I do distinctly remember visiting the Timber Batts; I mean with a distinctive name like that, it wasn't exactly the sort of place one would forget.

I didn't have my own car back then, and despite having a rather under-powered Honda 90 scooter, I had no real means of visiting such an isolated public house. I'm pretty certain that the last of what was only a handful of visits, was made when my sister’s friend’s boyfriend drove a group of us to the pub. The Timber Batts had become something of an in place amongst the crowd I hung around with in those days and it was quite easy to see why, given its tucked away location and its quirky,and rather unusual name.

Fast forward half a century and more or less out of the blue I spotted an opportunity off revisiting this haunt from my youth, and this came about when I was looking for a suitable place to call in at, after completing another of the rapidly diminishing incomplete sections of the North Downs Way. Naturally I consulted the What-pub app, as my original intention had been to stop at the Bowl Inn at Hastingleigh. This is another pub situated high up on the downs, amongst the maze of small backroads that criss-cross this part of east Kent. But whilst looking further photo What-pub entries, I noticed the name Timber Batts staring at me from the screen.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing, as whilst I was sure that the pub had closed its doors a long time ago, What-pub was telling me otherwise.  I discovered that the Timber Batts had been closed for some time, although it had reopened, as a pub in 2016. This followed a spell as a restaurant, but six years ago, a knight, or rather a lady in shining armour, rescued this ancient country inn, and once more it is welcoming casual drinkers, as well as those in search of something more solid.

I had persuaded son Matthew to accompany me on this outing, in fact we even took his car, as he wanted to gain some more experience of motorway driving. The area of the North Downs we were heading to, was a point high on  the hills directly overlooking the Channel Tunnel terminal. I had originally walked this section back in the summer of 2019, after setting off from Wye station. My aim was to walk to the tiny settlement of Arpinge, a distance of approximately 14 miles. This was the location of the nearest available bed and breakfast establishment on this stretch of the trail, but realistically speaking, it was a couple of miles too far - as I discovered to my cost!

Two or three miles before the end of the journey, the route led me up one of the steepest climbs on that particular section, and to say I was running out of steam, was an understatement. After turning right at the top, and heading towards the sea, the map showed the path skirting the top of the escarpment. It was a further couple of miles to my overnight stop and I was left wondering whether I would make it or not. An alternative route, by road, presented itself. It looked almost the same distance, but I knew that walking along the road would be far easier on my legs than walking over rough ground.

The road it was then, and I eventually arrived at Pigeonwood House B&B two hours later than the time originally notified to the landlady. I think she had almost given up on me, but after removing my boots and checking in, she showed to my room. The first thing I needed was a shower, followed by a good night's sleep. I didn't bother with an evening meal, despite the landlady offering to drive me to the nearest pub, the strangely named Cat & Custard Pot at Paddlesworth. I declined her kind offer, took a shower, made myself a cup of tea, and then slithered into bed. I slept like the proverbial log and woke relatively refreshed the following morning.

The landlady seemed pleasantly surprised to see me, as I'm sure she half expected that I wouldn’t make it through the night. I confounded her by eating a hearty full English breakfast, preceded by cereal, and finished off with several slices of toast and marmalade. I settled my account and set off on the next stage of my journey - a slightly shorter, but still quite challenging walk that would take me to Dover. I was quite annoyed with myself for having missed that section of the official trail, despite the best of intentions, and so three and a half years later, I returned to complete this stretch of the North Downs Way.

There is a handy small car park overlooking the flat-lands below, situated directly above a chalk carving of the Kentish White Horse. You can't actually see this from the top, but what you can see is the bustling terminus of the Channel Tunnel, where cars and lorries are loaded onto transporters to take them through the tunnel. After parking the car, we set off and with the aid of a map, plus a conveniently situated signpost we found the official trail. We followed it round as it skirted the top of the escarpment, passing a couple of WWII pill boxes on the way. It was nice and flat, so perhaps I could have completed it after all, back in 2019.

We could see right out to sea from the edge of the field, and despite the slightly hazy conditions I was surprised to see the land mass of northern France silhouetted on the far horizon. So, for the second time of hiking along this particular stretch of the North Downs, I was annoyed with myself for having left my binoculars at home, although in mitigation, it had been quite foggy when we left Tonbridge.

When we reached the part of the pathway
I had diverted from, we decided to walk along the road, primarily because it was less muddy. On the way back to the car-park, we passed the start of the driveway, leading to Pigeonwood House. Back at the car, we swapped our muddy walking shoes, for the clean ones we’d brought with us, and then set off to find the tiny hamlet of Bodsham, and the Timber Batts public house. Read how we fared in the next installment.