Green-hopped beers appear to have lost their sparkle

As forecast in the previous post, I managed a visit to the Festival of Green Hop Beers, hosted by the excellent Dovecote Inn at Capel. My visit was almost a last-minute decision, following on, as it did, from a number of “errands” in Tonbridge (mainly banking and other boring stuff), that took up a large chunk of the morning. I got lucky when a No. 219 bus came along, and after a semi-sprint, I was able to jump on board, and head for home.

Mrs PBT’s was keen that I had a spot of light lunch before heading back out again, but even so I was an hour later than the rest of the CAMRA crew, when it cam to heading over to Five Oak Green, and the walk to Capel. If you were following the previous post, you will probably be thinking, what happened to that trip to Dunelm you were talking about, the other day – the one you agreed to undertake, with Mrs PBT’s? Well, at the risk of entering into the “smug zone” buying a new window blind, to replace the rather sad, fading and partially collapsed current one, wasn’t quite as simple as just rocking up at Dunelm, and loading a new one into the back of the car.

Unbeknown to my dear lady wife, I’d already carried out a spot of online research, only to be told, “Leave this to me.” She didn’t quite go as far to describe the task as a “pink job” primarily because she knew I would be the person up a ladder, fitting it, but the following day I found her scrolling through the same Blinds2go, and other similar websites that I’d looked at the night before. So, a suitable blind has been sorted and purchased from Blinds2go, or similar, but I did have to supply the measurements. No trip to Dunelm, necessary then – the nearest outlet is on a retail park on the edge of Maidstone. Paul was therefore free to go and sample a few Green Hop Ales with his buddies from the local CAMRA branch.

The 205 Autocar bus, which runs hourly between Tonbridge and Paddock Wood, was to be my means of conveyance, but as often happens with buses, it was running late. I was on the verge of giving up, when the bus eventually appeared, and sitting there towards the rear of the vehicle, was another member heading towards Five Oak Green. Tony’s connecting bus, over from Tunbridge Wells, had been badly delayed by roadworks – our crumbling infrastructure really is a reflection on the lack of investment by successive governments, regardless of political persuasion, over many years, and we are now paying the price!

Lecture over, the 15-minute journey saw the pair of us leaving the bus at the strangely named Sychem Lane, for the 20-minute walk along the lanes to Capel. Tony rushed on ahead, anxious to reach the Dovecote in advance of the 2pm cutoff for lunchtime food orders. He’d missed out last year, (I didn’t!), so was determined not to let the same thing happen. I said I would see him at the pub, and followed along behind, at a more leisurely pace. I timed the walk as this was information I needed to know for the return journey. 

Fortunately, the rain held off, and I arrived at the Dovecote at 13:50, in time for lunch, had I been eating. Tony was
already there, of course, as were the half dozen or so, other CAMRA members. The pub wasn’t as crowded as it was the previous year, but there were still quite a few customers getting tucked into the hearty looking food – including friend Tony. The Dovecote was featuring 12 Green Hop Ales in total, although only half that number were available that Friday, which was the first day of the weekend-long festival.

After a brief introductory chat with the CAMRA crew, I ordered myself a beer. Tasting notes were available for those that wanted them, but I let myself be guided by instinct. I also decided to stick to pints which, whilst a smart move, did mean care was needed when making a selection. Capel Pale from Tonbridge Brewery was my first pint and, as it turned out, was also the best and most tasty beer of the day.  Brewed using freshly harvested Pilgrim hops, from a grower in Capel, this was a truly local Green Hop beer. 

Second in the running was Harlequin, from Three Acre Brewery. This 5.0% abv, English IPA is brewed using freshly picked Harlequin hops and was billed as the Dovecote landlord’s personal favourite. It wasn’t bad, but nowhere near as good as the Tonbridge beer. The same has to be said of my final beer of the day- Southdown Harvest from Harvey’s. The latter is one of the Lewes brewery’s regular seasonal beers, and although it had an addition of freshly picked hops, it wasn’t brewed exclusively with green hops. An enjoyable beer, nevertheless, and a good one to finish on.

Three pints was sufficient for that particular afternoon session, and to a man we all departed the pub in sufficient time to allow for the walk back to the stop at Sychem Lane, for the last bus of the day, back to Tonbridge. I enjoyed the session, and it was good to catch up with friends and acquaintances who I hadn’t seen in a long time. The Dovecote too was good, even though it wasn’t as busy as I expected. The same too, could be said of the previous Friday’s pub, the Wheatsheaf at Jarvis Brook, but not being a regular enough drinker on the last day of the working week, I’m probably not the best person to be making these judgments.

What I will say is, that apart from the standout Green Hop beer from Tonbridge, there wasn’t anything that out of the ordinary to convince me I was actually drinking a green hop ale. As I wrote in the previous post, the novelty surrounding Green Hop beers has definitely dropped off, certainly when compared to what was the case when they first burst on the scene, a dozen or so years ago. Full marks though to the Dovecote for hosting this relaxed, and relatively low-key event, and for keeping the Green Hop concept alive in the minds of local drinkers.

It was all happening last weekend

There was a lot happening last weekend, and my little jaunt out to the Wheatsheaf at Jarvis Brook was only a small part of it. I mentioned quite early on in the previous post, that I was looking for a pub selling Harvey’s Old Ale, the dark and delicious seasonal offering from the Lewes based, and staunchly independent brewery. I reflected briefly on the two tied Harvey’s pubs nearest to me (Brecknock and Elephant’s Head), but the pub I really had in mind was the Queen’s Head at Icklesham.

Set high on a ridge, with extensive views over the Brede Valley, just under half way between Rye and Hastings, and dating back to the early part of the 17^th century, the Queen’s Head is a Good Beer Guide perennial. It has featured in the CAMRA guide for 30 consecutive years, an achievement in itself, but more so when those three decades have been spent under the same landlord. I knew that the pub would almost certainly include Harvey’s Old amongst its range of three regular beers, no just because of listings on What Pub, but also from a visit I made several years ago, with the family.

That was back in February 2019, and I wrote about our experience of the pub, here. Getting to Icklesham by public transport would involve a fair degree of planning, and the evening before probably wasn’t the best time to be doing this. Despite this I discovered a bus service operated by Stagecoach, running from Rye, which would take me to within a few 100 yards of the Queen’s Head. The only trouble is Rye can a bit of a pain to get to by train, and a Rail Replacement Bus Service would be covering part of the route, due to planned engineering works.

Taking account of these obstacles, a quick re-think was necessary and, as described in the previous article, I visited the excellent Wheatsheaf instead. Whilst waiting for the bus over to Crowborough, I bumped into an old friend I know from Maidstone CAMRA. Like me he was in Tunbridge Wells waiting for a bus connection in order to undertake a spot of pub exploration of his own. He asked if I was going to the Spa Valley Railway Beer Festival that was taking place that weekend? I said I wasn't, and neither was he, primarily on account of the lack of seating in the train shed at Tunbridge Wells West, where the event takes place.

I knew what he meant, and anyway the weather was far too nice to be cooped up inside a grotty old Victorian train shed smelling of diesel and hot sweaty bodies. Looking back, I haven’t attended this festival since 2018, as the event has become too much a victim of its own success. Working behind the bar became increasingly manic, and at times almost impossible with thirsty punters pressing against the bar, several deep, and all waiting to be served. This is a great shame for those of us who like to engage with customers, and chat about the various beers on offer, but obviously impossible when the place is stacked to the rafters. You would get awkward individuals wanting a beer from the other end of the bar, which meant barging past your fellow bar staff, whilst trying to remember where you’ve got to return to. Even worse were those indecisive customers asking for “tasters.” After they’d had three or four, you just knew they’re taking the piss!

This constant pressure, with no proper rosters, or adequate breaks for staff, meant little or no respite for those working behind the bar. The fact that festival workers are all volunteers, shouldn't mean staff can be taken advantage of. Despite my own misgivings, and those of my friend from Maidstone, I understand the recent festival was a runaway success, with organisers having to order in extra beer, after almost running out on Saturday night.  

We parted company at the bus stop, as my friend was heading for Groombridge, where the Crown would no doubt provide a decent pint of Harvey's along with the peace and tranquillity one might expect from a traditional old inn. He hinted that he would then continue along the route of the No. 291 bus towards East Grinstead. I hopped on the No. 29 bus, and headed for the upper deck, nearly falling down the stairs as the driver pulled away sharply. Fortunately, I hung on, found a seat and sat down to enjoy the ride. The bus route took us past the Old West Station which, is adjacent to the town's main Sainsbury's supermarket. From the top deck, I could see people heading towards the beer festival, including a couple of people I knew, who also happen to belong to Maidstone CAMRA.

I was glad I was going somewhere different, somewhere more pleasant and quieter as well, but there was one aspect of the Spa Valley Railway Festival that, under different circumstances I might have enjoyed.  I’m taking here about Green Hop Beers – remember them? Well after all the publicity surrounding them when they first burst on the scene, a dozen or so years ago, beers brewed with freshly picked hops seem to have dropped off the radar in recent years. Quite possibly the novelty surrounding them has dropped off, and what at one time was a big deal – something new and exciting, seems to have lost it sparkle.

The biggest pointer that interest in this sector is starting to diminish, is there has been no all-encompassing Kent Green Hop Festival this year. Sure, there have been plenty of more localised events celebrating beers brewed with freshly-harvested hops, but with no county-wide focus the whole Green Hop thing has lost its focus. But not at the Spa Valley Beer Festival, because with almost 40 GHA’s available, the event almost certainly featured one of the largest gatherings of these special beers.

This might have been a reason for me to visit the festival, if the many factors I listed earlier had been addressed, but the upshot is fresh-hop beers are now starting to make an appearance on the bar of quite a few Kentish pubs. This more localised approach is one I am definitely in favour of, and allied to this is the mini festival of Green Hop Beers taking place at the Dovecote Inn, Capel, this coming weekend. With 12 GHA’s on sale over the Friday-Sunday timescale of the festival, this event is far more manageable, especially as it is not swamped by having too much choice.

I enjoyed the event last year, and the local CAMRA Branch have organised a visit to the Dovecote this Friday. The only trouble is I’m a week out with my timings, as I more or less promised to take Mrs PBT’s over to Dunelm to look at a long overdue replacement blind for the kitchen window, so how am I going to get around this one?

 

The White Hart, Jarvis Brook - a hidden gem on the edge of Crowborough

It’s 19^th October, just past the middle of the month, and soon it will be all downhill towards December and the onset of winter.  Fortunately, two or three of days of unseasonably warm weather, fuelled by some most welcome sunshine, has helped lift spirits and allowed me to get some outdoor, domestic chores completed, as well as including a visit to the local tip (waste recycling centre?). This left Friday (yesterday), free for a long overdue “Pub Friday”, and what's more it came with Mrs PBT's blessing. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve that, but never look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say.

The question was which pub to visit, a dilemma I ended up mulling over for quite some time. What I really wanted to do was to enjoy a couple of pints Harvey's Old Ale, the dark and delicious seasonal offering from the brewery that is launched with a flurry of publicity at the start of October, and which continues on sale throughout the winter, and sometimes, well into early spring (March.) As its name suggests, it’s definitely a beer for the cooler months of the year, and it also happens to be one of my all-time favourite brews. The thought that the beer had already been sale for a couple of weeks, was sufficient to spur me into action, so I set about finding somewhere guaranteed to have it on sale.

I added a caveat to this quest, in so much that ideally, I wanted to enjoy my first pint of this year’s Old, at a pub I’d either never been to before or, failing that, one I frequent very rarely. A Harvey’s tied house would be my best bet, and the easiest thing would have been to hop on the train towards Hastings, and alight at Frant – one stop down the line from Tunbridge Wells, and close to the village of Bells Yew Green where it would almost certainly be on sale at the delightful Brecknock Arms, just five minutes’ walk from Frant station. Slightly further afield, and involving a rather infrequent bus service, I could have visited the Elephant’s Head, an historic, part stone-built, half-timbered old Wealden building, where roaring log fires add to the sense of cosiness and comfort.

The problem with that was, Friday was set to be another unseasonally warm, mid-October day, more suited to sitting out in the garden, than huddled around a blazing wood fire. It was then that the idea of visiting the Wheatsheaf at Jarvis Brook came into my head. The Wheatsheaf is a Harvey’s pub, which meant it was far more likely to have the Old Ale on sale. It was also a pub that I’d never been to before, so that was two boxes ticked, for starters, but what about the pub itself?

I'd obviously heard of the Wheatsheaf and the things I’d heard about it were good, but for some strange reason I had visions of a pub, situated in a suburban area and surrounded by the dull trappings that do with suburbia. Boy was I in for a shock, but it was a good shock, as I shall recount later. The first thing was to work out how to get there, sensibly and relatively quickly, using public transport. Bus was the logical choice, with the No. 29, Brighton & Hove operating a half hourly service between Brighton and Tunbridge Wells via Crowborough.

Crowborough is a large and sprawling East Sussex town, with a population of roughly 21,000 souls. It lies within the High Weald Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty at the edge of Ashdown Forest. During the late 19th century, Crowborough was promoted as a health resort based on its high elevation, the rolling hills and surrounding forest. Some estate agents even called it "Scotland in Sussex". The surrounding topography wasn’t exactly conducive to the rail travel, but despite this potential barrier the railways reached the town in 1868, leading to significant growth for Crowborough.

The railway station is located to the southeast of the town centre at Jarvis Brook. It is a thirty-minute walk, or a fifteen-minute bus ride straight down Crowborough Hill to reach the station, which is on the Oxted- Uckfield line, operated by Southern  and providing a direct link with London Bridge, East Croydon, Edenbridge Town and Uckfield. The journey time to London Bridge is approximately one hour. The line itself has seen some much-needed investment in recent years, after being allowed to wither under the ownership of British Rail, but the severance of the onward southbound connection between Uckfield and Lewes, led to this former mainline, becoming something of a backwater.

The truncation of the line at Uckfield, was the result of a road “improvement” scheme in the late 1960’s, combined with a reluctance on the part of BR, and the government of the time, to provide funding for a diversionary route. As a nation, we’re rather good at "short termism", and bad at planning for the future. Once Upon a time I could have caught a direct train from my home in Tonbridge down to Brighton, via Uckfield and Lewes, and this would have been the ideal way to journey to Jarvis Brook. The loss of the Uckfield-Lewes connection was further compounded in 1985, by the closure of the line from Tunbridge Wells West to Eridge, via Groombridge. 

Both closures mean there is now no direct link between Tonbridge and Crowborough. Instead, one has to take a train on the Tonbridge-Redhill line, alight at Edenbridge top station, and then take a 25-minute walk to Edenbridge Town, which is on the line down from Oxted to Uckfield. I made use of this route for my journey home, but as far as my outward travel was concerned it was a nice day, my bus pass, entitles me to free travel, and the route taken by the No. 29 bus passes through some attractive rural scenery.

I left the bus at Crowborough Cross and began the long descent from the town centre, down to Jarvis Brook. The walk was literally downhill all the way and seemed to go on forever. Here and there I caught glimpses of the surrounding hills, but most of the walk was through a pleasant mixed selection of late Victorian and early 20^th century suburbia. The map on my phone indicated a right turn into Tollwood Road, and straight away there was a sudden change from urban suburbia to a narrow country lane that skirted an area of woodland know as Crowborough Country Park.

This provided the ideal opportunity of emptying my bladder, something I would have done upon leaving the bus, if there had been the appropriate facilities! Fortunately, I wasn’t disturbed by itinerant joggers or local dog walkers and continued on my way feeling a lot more comfortable. It wasn't long before the road finally flattened out, and just around a bend on the left-hand side, and peeping through the trees, I could see the Wheatsheaf an attractive looking white painted weather boarded pub said to date back to the 1700s. For a moment my heart fluttered because I wasn't sure it was open, or not, even though I had checked the pub’s hours of trading, prior to setting out.

I gingerly turned the handle of the front door, and stepped inside, finding myself in a lovely old, wood-panelled room with a step up to the right, where the bar area was situated. Brimming with anticipation I thankfully spotted the welcome sight of a pump clip indicating that Harvey’s Old was indeed on sale. I of course ordered myself a pint and am pleased to report that it was in fine form and brought back pleasant memories of past autumns and winters. The quality indicated by the first couple of mouthfuls, made the possibility of a second pint, almost inevitable, but in the meantime, I had a look around the pub. There were two other rooms, both furnished with open fireplaces, but on a day like last Friday there was no need for them to be lit.

The Wheatsheaf wasn’t exactly full to overflowing but there were several couples, of various ages, enjoying a drink and a bite to eat. Disappointingly, very few of them seemed to be drinking the cask, an observation that was reinforced when I ventured outside. There a noisy group of builders-types were winding down for the week over a few drinks. To a man they all seemed to be necking back pints of lager – Moretti if the font on the bar was anything to go by

Looking to have something more solid, to go with my beer I asked the barmaid about snacks. It was the usual range of crisps and nuts, or something more substantial from the kitchen, but if I wanted something in between, I could always have a bowl of chips. Sold to the man on the right! and furthermore, at the barmaid's suggestion, they were served to me outside, in the pleasant garden at the rear of the pub. That way I was able to enjoy what would probably be the last day of  warm, autumn sunshine. When my chips arrived, I sprinkled then liberally with salt, and tucked in. They proved the perfect accompaniment to the beer.

I'd written down the train times prior to leaving home, and although Google Maps was indicating just a nine-minute walk to the station, I confirmed the route with the girl behind the bar. This was via a track at the rear of the pub, which opened up into an industrial estate. Soon after, I arrived at Crowborough station, with plenty of time to spare. I had to buy two tickets for the return journey, primarily because National Rail can’t comprehend there are two stations at Edenbridge, separated by a 25-minute walk. My journey from Crowborough, represented the first time that I’d travelled northwards, on that stretch of line, but it was a pleasant journey across the Sussex-Kent border, taking me through station such as Eridge, Ashurst, and Hever, before arriving at Edenbridge Town.

There was sufficient time to walk up to the top station where; after buying my second ticket, I boarded the train back to Tonbridge.  It had been a most pleasant day out, and furthermore I’d found a marvellous little pub. How I could have spent the best part of 40 years living within easy travelling distance of the Wheatsheaf, and not visited the place, is beyond, but that’s what happens when you allow preconceptions and prejudices to cloud your judgment. The rather boring, suburban pub that was fixed in my mind, tunes out toe be nothing of the sort, and instead I found one of the best rural alehouse I have enjoyed in a long time.

A few thoughts from yesteryear - or how my love affair with beer began

In his autobiography, “A Sort of Life,” the author, Graham Greene, wrote about his first taste of beer. He described how, after initially hating the taste, and having to force it down to prove his manhood, he later found the memory of the taste coming back to haunt his thirst during a long walk in the country. Greene went on to describe how he and his companion stopped for a drink plus some bread and cheese at a country inn, where he “Drank bitter for the second time and enjoyed the taste with a pleasure that has never failed me since.”

A similar sort of experience was described by the journalist and pioneering beer writer, Richard Boston in his informative and highly entertaining book “Beer and Skittles.” My love affair with beer began in the early 1970’s, but I cannot claim that my first experience of drinking it was as memorable, or indeed as special, as those described by Messrs Greene and Boston. It took place at a “Country Fayre”, held in the small town of Wye, a few miles from my home village of Brook. I was member of the local scout troop at the time, and our contribution to the Fayre was to run the coconut shy. The main highlight of the event though was to be a re-enactment of a civil war “skirmish” by members of the “Sealed Knot Society”. 

Watching this colourfully dressed bunch of cavaliers and general bon-viveurs, wandering around the Fayre, prior to the enactment, with a string of pretty girls in tow and clutching their foaming tankards of ale, persuaded myself and a couple of my fellow scouts that a drink would be a good idea. So, forgetting all about what Baden Powell might have said, we nipped into the beer tent where I was treated to a light ale by the two patrol leaders. They were both a couple of years older than me and were no strangers to beer. Like Graham Greene, I wasn’t over keen on the taste, but drank it down, nevertheless.

By the time I reached the VIth form at school, I was a regular visitor at several local pubs. I slowly graduated from bottled beer to draught. In Whitbread pubs I tended to drink brown and mild, whilst in Courage houses, I drank Tavern Keg initially, before switching to PBA – a light mild which has long since been discontinued. As I became more mature, I developed a liking for bitter itself. I slowly became aware of the difference between cask-conditioned “real ale” and brewery-conditioned keg beer but, more importantly, I developed a burgeoning interest in the different breweries who were still in operation during the early 1970’s, sparking off a life-long interest in beer and brewing.

One of the pleasures of drinking during this time was being able to tell whereabouts one was in the country, by the local beer on offer. There was a patchwork of independent breweries the length and breadth of the country, ranging from regional giants such as Marston’s and Greene King to small concerns such as Batham’s and Harvey’s. Each had its own territory, its own distinctive beers and, quite often, its own style of pub. This made travelling a fulfilling and pleasant experience, and also made the destination much more rewarding and enjoyable. There was a sense of anticipation which went with visiting certain towns, or areas, in the knowledge that the beers you were going to drink weren’t available anywhere else. As a beer lover, you also knew which parts of the kingdom would offer the best choice, or the most distinctive beers, and which areas to avoid.

For example the Greater Manchester conurbation could boast one of the best selections of beer anywhere in the country, as there were around half a dozen independent brewers operating in the region, alongside a couple of national breweries which also turned out a decent drop of beer. Contrast this with the county of Norfolk, where a series of takeovers and mergers had left most of the county’s pubs in the grip of one large brewer: the infamous Watney Mann. Watney’s, had abandoned cask beer altogether and, as Richard Boston so eloquently put it, “had placed all their kegs in one basket.” If you didn’t like cold, weak, fizzy, and characterless beer and lived in Norfolk, you were out of luck!

Obviously, things have changed over the past half century, and good beer is not only far more widely available, but comes in a myriad of different types, styles, and strengths. Beer Agencies – companies that distributed a variety of different beers, from all over the country, coupled with the parallel rise of the “beer exhibition” pubs, which served these beers meant that in many cases punters could drink beers from the length and breadth of the British Isles, just by working their way along the bar!

Whilst many drinkers welcomed this vastly increased choice, for drinkers like myself it took much of the fun and excitement out of travelling around the country. Gone were the joys of a visit to Dorset, where the delights of Eldridge Pope, Hall & Woodhouse and Palmers awaited the thirsty drinker, or pitching up in rural Lincolnshire to enjoy a few pints of Bateman’s. A weekend in Oxford meant being able to sup the much-missed Morrells beers, whilst a little further back along the Thames Valley, saw one in Henley-on-Thames, where the incomparable Brakspear’s Ales were available, in some of the most unspoilt and picturesque pubs imaginable.

I have fond memories of a camping and cycling holiday in the Cotswolds, based just outside Stow-in-the- Wold; the intention being to visit and drink in as many Donnington pubs as possible. Also memorable were the forays made, by bicycle, from south London where I was living at the time, into Surrey where there was a handful of pubs belonging to Horsham brewers, King & Barnes. Their Horsham PA, pale in colour, low in strength, but packed full of flavour and crowned with a flowery hoppiness, remains as one of my all-time favourite beers, even though sadly, it is no longer available. It certainly made the effort of all that pedal-pushing worthwhile. Further afield, a trip into the area of East Sussex, centred on Lewes, meant the chance of enjoying the delectable and, in my view the still unbeatable, Harvey’s Prize Sussex Ales.

Adnam’s and Greene King beers are now nationally available, and the same has happened to other well-regarded brewers, such as Timothy Taylor’s and Shepherd Neame, to name just a couple. Slowly, but surely, the uniqueness that characterised the British beer scene has been eroded, and whilst there has been an unprecedented rise in the numbers of new brewers entering the market, producing some outstanding beers (as well as rather too many mediocre ones), the decline in the numbers of independent family brewers, coupled with the rise of voracious pub owning companies has made pub-going a real lottery for many drinkers.

Whilst the potential choice of beers available to today’s drinker would seem unimaginable to one from 40 years ago, much of this choice is random in its distribution and often haphazard in nature. By way of contrast, I look back to the years of mid 1970’s, with a real fondness. Today too much choice really does mean less, and I feel we have definitely lost something which is both unique and rather precious.

 

Ticking a few more Donnington pubs, plus others, by bike - Pt. 2

Continuing the narrative surrounding a cycling holiday in the Cotswolds, 40 years ago, you left the previous Mrs PBT’s and I sheltering in our tent, away from the cold north wind. We were waiting for the pubs to reopen because, unlike in these more enlightened times, licensed premises were forced, by law, to close each afternoon, for a two-and-a-half-hour period. This bizarre practice was a hangover from the Defence of the Realm Act (DoRA), drawn up at the height of the First World War, to maintain the supply of munitions, by preventing workers spending all day in the pub. Nearly 70 years later, this restrictive piece of wartime legislation (in slightly amended form), was still on the statute book, before finally being repealed, piecemeal, in 1988.

That evening, it was back to visiting Donnington pubs but, in view of the weather we took the car, and drove to the picturesque village of Broadwell, and the charming, but rather compact Fox Inn. The Fox won my accolade as the best Donnington pub of the trip, thus far, and the chicken casserole we enjoyed that evening still remains in my memory as amongst the best I’ve enjoyed in decades of pub going. Later that evening we moved on to the Golden Ball at Lower Swell, another fine old, stone-built Cotswold inn. We sat in the bar writing out postcards – back in the day when people still did such things, whilst enjoying the XXX Mild.  

The following morning, we decided to move on. It had rained heavily during the night and wasn't all that better come day break. We packed up the car and headed towards the village of Broadway, where a campsite had been recommended by some friends, back in Maidstone. The road took us down the edge of the steep Cotswold escarpment, into the village itself, rewarding us with one of the most spectacular views imaginable, furthermore, despite Broadway appearing to be awash with tourists it looked absolutely charming.

What we saw was sufficient to dispel any doubts we might have had about the village being a bit of a tourist trap - a view that had initially made us reluctant to base ourselves there. The campsite too turned out to be every bit as good as our friends had suggested, and after roughing it at the previous site, the hot showers, shaving points and well-stocked camp shop were most welcome! What's more the sun was shining again by the time we had finished pitching the tent!

That lunchtime we part cycled, and part pushed our bikes to the top of the Cotswold escarpment. Our destination was the Snowshill Arms, situated in the hamlet of the same name. This was the fifth Donnington pub on our list, and very nice it was too. From the Snowshill Arms, we cycled along the edge of the Cotswold escarpment to Broadway Tower, a 19th century folly. Inside the tower was an exhibition dedicated to the work of William Morris, whilst from the top there was a spectacular view right across the Vale of Evesham. Cycling back down the steep Fish Hill was exhilarating, if a little hair-raising, and that evening there were two more Donnington pubs to visit. The first was the Mount Inn, at Stanton, from where some further spectacular views were obtained, but as the pub could best be described as “upmarket”, with food prices to match, we decided to move on to the nearby New Inn, at Willersey. This was much more to our liking, but unfortunately for one reason or another, turned out to be the last Donnington house we visited on that particular holiday.

The following day we decided to cast the net further afield and ended up cycling to the picturesque town of Tewksbury. It was a pleasant enough town, and after enjoying some excellent Wadworth Devizes Bitter, along with fish and chips, in the ancient and unspoilt Berkeley Arms, a look round the town’s ancient abbey church was in order. Before leaving Tewksbury, we stopped off at the Britannia, a fairly basic local on the outskirts of the town. The Davenports Bitter there was superb, in fact it was so good that I had to have another pint just to make certain!

The ride back was via Bredon Hill, a well-known local landmark. It was quite hard going, but a most enjoyable ride, nevertheless.  I can still recall the ride, skirting the famous hill, and passing through the village of Bredon. Later that year I read a book, that I picked up in a charity shop, written by Fred Archer, a local lad who had lived and worked in Bredon, between the wars. "The Distant Scene" provided a fascinating look back at rural life during the 1920’s & 30’s, with Bredon and the surrounding area, featured prominently in the book. It was especially interesting reading about an area we had recently visited, described through the eyes of someone who had been born and bred there.

Roger Davies / The Snowshill Arms

That night, a car ride was in order, following the day's exertions. My diary recalls that we visited the Butchers Arms at Mickleton, a sprawling village to the north of Chipping Camden. The diary also records that it was there that I enjoyed Flowers Bitter and Original for the first time. These two beers, which became very common in the south-east, were only available at the time from the former West Country Brewery in Cheltenham (long closed by our old friends, Whitbread!)

The next day was Thursday and was to be the last spent in the Cotswolds. We had arranged to visit some friends in Lincoln for the weekend, so would be spending the following day travelling. To make the most of our final day, we arose early and cycled into Evesham for a brief look round, and also to visit the bank. From Evesham, we cycled on to the tiny village of Bretforton, where there was a particularly special pub that I wanted to visit. The pub in question was the world famous Fleece Inn, a totally unspoilt classic pub that had been in the same family for over 400 years. When the last incumbent landlady died, she bequeathed the pub to the National Trust. They in turn had asked CAMRA's pub-owning off-shoot, CAMRA Real Ale Investments, to run the place on their behalf.

The Fleece was everything that I expected, and a lot more besides. To say that it was unspoilt would be an understatement, although to say it was caught in a time warp would be nearer the truth. The sense of continuity that only comes when items such as furniture, crockery etc. have been handed down from generation to generation gave it an air that was truly historic, as opposed to the fake sense of history so beloved by modern day pub designers. The Fleece remains in the hands of the National Trust (no doubt with NT prices!) and retains its “highly recommended” status from CAMRA.

My notes that day, record the following beers sampled: Marstons Capital - a light mild that was discontinued some years afterwards; Highgate Mild, plus Hook Norton Bitter. A Stilton Ploughman’s helped to soak up the beer, before cycling on to the small, picturesque town of Chipping Campden, high up in the Cotswold Hills. The route back was via Snowshill, which afforded one last look at the view from the edge of the Cotswold escarpment, before departing the following day.

That evening, by way of a change, we visited the Plough at Elmley Castle. The original plan had been to have a drink in the Queen Elizabeth, in the village of the same name, but found, much to our disappointment, that it was shut. The Plough was a cider house that brewed its own cider, and the locals were not very appreciative to strangers, and the welcome we received both from them, and from the landlady, was far from friendly. We were even charged a deposit on the glasses! Needless to say, we didn't stay long, taking our halves of very pale coloured cider outside to drink. It wasn't a terribly good end to the holiday in the Cotswolds but then you can't win them all!

Looking back, our plan of cycling round all the Donnington pubs was rather ambitious, and in the end, we only managed to visit 8 out of 17. This total was crammed into just five and a half days, and combined with the terrain, plus the restriction of afternoon closing, it wasn't bad going either. It would have been far more sensible to allow a fortnight for such a feat, but there were other holidays to be had, and other places to visit.  

Footnote: as with the previous post, the same restrictions apply, with “free to use” images from the net, along with a few found on brewery websites – surely the breweries concerned won’t mind a bit of free publicity. Again, if the owner of any of the images reproduced on this post, has any objections to their use, please get in touch and I will take them down, straight away.