A communication issue as the party season kicks off

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Incommunicado

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

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

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

Until Monday evening, then!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Lenham, a village in mid-Kent

It's not often you come across a village with two pubs, both virtually next door to each other and both thriving, but I encountered such a phenomenon on a visit to Lenham - a village situated roughly halfway between Maidstone and Ashford. My visit last Friday, was the first time in nearly 40 years that I have set foot in the village, although I passed quite close by, in late 2020. That was when I was walking a section of the North Downs Way, the long-distance footpath that follows the line of the North Downs. On that particular section, the path runs just below the escarpment of these chalk hills, just a few miles to the north of Lenham village.

The reason me visiting Lenham was to meet up with an old friend I knew when we both lived in Maidstone. That period in our lives was nearly 40 years ago, and whilst we kept in touch, met up for the old drink and even enjoyed a joint holiday to Bamberg, Germany with a group drawn largely from the ranks of Maidstone CAMRA, those times were before the pandemic – a moment that is much more defining for many, than people now realise. 

Like me, John no longer lives in the county town, having moved to the East Kent village of Lympne. The latter is quite close to Hythe, and lies at the foot of the North Downs, that range of chalk hills which traverse the county, as anyone who has walked the NDW long-distance pathway will know. Looking at the map, I must have walked quite close to my friend’s house, back in July 2019, when I completed the Wye to Arpinge section of the trail. With John living in East Kent and me residing in the west of the county, we decided to meet-up roughly halfway.

Finding a suitable pub, that opened at lunchtime, and served decent, good value food, rather than fancy, over-priced gourmet stuff, proved a lot harder than I thought it would be. The task was made more difficult by many rural pubs not bothering to open at all at lunchtime, even on a Friday. This is a topic worthy of blog post of its own, but fortunately the Red Lion at Lenham ticked all the right boxes. It also turned to be a pub John was not only familiar with, but had used himself, on past occasions, for similar meetups with people he knew from Maidstone.

I was able to journey to the Red Lion by public transport with a choice of bus or train for the first section (Tonbridge to Maidstone), followed by bus for the latter stretch to Lenham. I decided that the train would be more reliable than the bus, for the journey over to Maidstone and it also gave me time for a quick wander around the county town. After going through something of a rough patch, post-Covid, Maidstone definitely seemed on it uppers. As well as several new bars that have appeared, including a Bavarian Bierkeller, plus a contemporary bar-cum restaurant called the Herbalist (part of the Elite Pubs group), there are plenty of interesting shops, which makes welcome change to the tattooists, nail-bars, vape shops and Turkish barbers, that now dominate many town centres.

The one thing the town is lacking though are public toilets. I gave up trying to find the ones located in The Mall shopping centre, and in the end, somewhat cheekily nipped into the Society Rooms, one of two JDW outlets in the county town. (I pulled the same stunt on the return journey, calling in at the Muggleton Inn, on my way back to Maidstone West station). The former Spoons was convenient, if you’ll excuse the pun, as the starting point for the 10X Stagecoach service to Ashford, via Lenham.  

Suitably relieved I boarded the single-deck bus, and enjoyed a nostalgic journey out of Maidstone, and along the A20, a road I knew well, back in my youth. The M20 motorway now carries much of the east-west traffic, but it was pure nostalgia seeing familiar sights, including a number of pubs I knew from my youth, flash by the window. The bus arrived in the village 30 minutes or so before I was due to meet my friend, so I nipped into one of the cafes that I’d noticed in Lenham’s spacious village square, for a welcome cup of coffee before heading over to the Red Lion, where I found my friend already waiting.

It’s worth mentioning that Lenham and I have some history, that dates back to the summer of my first year at university. I was back home in Kent scratching around for a holiday job, when my former school-friend Roy, noticed an advert in the local newspaper, looking for cleaners at a nearby hospital. The hospital turned out to be the former Lenham sanatorium, a building dating from the 1930s, and constructed high up on the North Downs. Such establishments, with their bright and airy, south-facing rooms, offering wide vistas across the surrounding countryside, were used for the care of tuberculosis (TB) patients. In Lenham’s case the views were across the Weald of Kent. This was how TB patients were looked after during the first half of the 20^th Century, because whilst there was no cure for TB, the care that people with tuberculosis received at these sanatoriums, helped ease their symptoms and prolong their lives.  

The discovery and development of antibiotics during the late 1930’s and early 1940’s, changed all that, and today tuberculosis is no longer a disease to be feared. Alternative uses were found for sanatoriums, including that of isolation hospitals, where patients with highly contagious ailments were confined, whilst undergoing treatment. I was incarcerated in such a place as a child aged six years, after developing meningitis, but my stay was at Ashford Isolation Hospital, rather than Lenham.

I don’t remember that much about it, apart from patients being place in individual rooms, rather than wards. The rooms were separated by large glass partitions, so that you could see through into several adjoining rooms. There was a young lad, of a similar age, in the far room, so he and I communicated by sign language, and trying to make each other laugh. Long story short, and to my parents’ immense relief I made a full recovery, and it was a relief to me too, as I later discovered there was concern that I might not have been able to walk again.

I don’t know what happened to the isolation hospital at Ashford, except that it is no longer there, but at the time of my summer holiday cleaning job, Lenham Hospital had morphed into a residential home for people with learning difficulties, or possibly with more severe mental disabilities. Sadly, Lenham was sometimes used as a place for severely disabled children that parents found too difficult to handle. The cleaning job wasn't particularly hard and the company that employed Roy and I, picked us up in Ashford each morning, and then drove us over in a mini bus, to Lenham. They then returned us to Ashford at the completion of our shift. Sometimes we were able to escape, as it were, to the village because the hospital operated its own minibus transfer down into Lenham, mainly for the benefit of full-time staff, or people who perhaps needed to get to the bank or post office or, as my friend and I did on occasion, visit the pub.

There were two pubs in the village back then, and I’m pleased to report that the Red Lion, plus the Dog & Bear are both still trading. As mentioned, it was at the former inn that I met my friend last Friday, but back in the mid 1970’s, the Red Lion belonged to Whitbread Fremlin’s and at the time only sold pressurised Whitbread Trophy beer. The Dog & Bear, on the other hand, was owned by Shepherd Neame, which meant it sold hand-pulled, cask-conditioned bitter and mild, produced at the Shep’s brewery in Faversham. 

Roy and I had recently become interested in so-called “real ale” and as a result had both joined CAMRA. We naturally gravitated towards the Dog & Bear where the legendary landlord, known as “Squirrel”, sold one of the best pints of Shepherd Neame bitter imaginable. The beer wasn’t known as "Master Brew" back then, even though Shep’s referred to themselves as “Master Brewers.”

I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave things there, for the moment, as I’ve obviously waffled on, far too long. I thought it important though to describe the relatively short period of my life where I became quite well acquainted with Lenham village and its two pubs. Next time you can read how these two village inns have not only managed to survive into the 21^st Century, but how they are both thriving in their own individual ways. Until next time, then.

 

Green Jack tap takeover at the Nelson Arms

The Suffolk coastal town of Lowestoft has the distinction of being the most easterly settlement in the British Isles, and thus the first place in the UK to see the sunrise. Nearby Ness Point is the actual most easterly point in Britain, and there is a marker here, overlooking the shoreline, which celebrates this unique fact. Once famed for its fishing industry, Lowestoft still boasts a thriving fish market, which sits alongside fish processing facilities servicing a fleet of inshore and deep-sea fishing vessels.

I know I have been to the town, but only for s brief visit, as a child. I remember a sandy beach, with lines of groins leading down to the water’s edge. Such structures are a common feature on beaches further south and would have been familiar to children like my sister and I, who spent many a happy day playing and exploring the sandy south Kent beaches of Dymchurch, St Mary’s Bay and Littlestone. Under the watchful eye of my father, we did the same at Lowestoft, and I’m fairly certain that we visited Ness Point. Landmarks such as this appealed to dad, and he wouldn’t have been one to miss sharing this feature with his family.

Six decades on, I’ve a yearning to return to Lowestoft, although I’d prefer to make the visit when the weather has improved, and the days become longer. It won’t be fishing though, or sandy beaches that will draw me back, instead it will beer that will prompt my return, and it won’t be just any beer either. Some, but not all beer connoisseurs will know that Lowestoft is home to the legendary Green Jack Brewery, producers of some of the finest and most characterful beers in the country.

Green Jack was founded in 1993 by Tim Dunford and from humble beginnings, has grown into one of the most renowned breweries in East Anglia. It is now a multi-award-winning brewery specialising in cask beer.  In 2009 the company built a new 38-barrel brew house, located in an old smokehouse in the heart of historic Lowestoft. This enabled Green Jack to produce significantly improved volumes of its award-winning cask ales.

Green Jack specialises in brewing beers with its own contemporary take on traditional English beer styles. As well as a permanent range of core beers, a number of seasonal and one-off beers are also available at different times of the year. The company delivers directly into Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex, but until very recently, not into Kent. Here’s where I’m going to let you into a little secret, because for the last few years, Green Jack beers have put in occasional appearances at the Nelson Arms, in Tonbridge.

They have featured on the bar, thanks to the efforts of Nelson landlord, Matthew Rudd, who drove up to Lowestoft, in a hired van, to collect a selection of Green Jack casks, from the brewery. I seem to recall that Matt and his wife enjoyed a few days in that part of the country, after all, why, wouldn’t you? Judging by the number so times Green Jack beers have featured at the Nelson, the couple must have made a few such trips over the past few years. This year, the pub went one better by having a selection of a dozen or more beers delivered directly to the pub. Matt told me that it was a pallet load of Green Jack beers that was delivered to the pub. The delivery included 11 cask ales in total, plus a couple of keg beers, and in a “Tap Takeover” this impressive range of beers was presented to eager local drinkers, from 21-24 November.

I managed to get along to the Nelson last Sunday, with son Matthew acting as my chauffeur. We’d popped over to Tunbridge Wells first, but then, after a spot of shopping – new pair of trousers for me, Matthew confirmed that he’d join me for a beer or two, at the Nelson. That suited me fine, as I’d planned to head along there anyway, so his offer of a lift, saved my legs. We’d picked a good time to visit, as most of the Sunday roast dinner crowd had finished their “blow-out” and were getting ready to leave. We found a small, high table, close to the window, and within sight of the bar, and with an array of Green Jack hand-pumps opposite us, the only difficulty was in knowing which one to choose.

So, it was in or a penny, in for a pound, as I dived straight in on the high octane, Mahseer IPA. This is a strong (5.8% abv) India Pale Ale, high in strength, bitterness and overall hoppiness, and a beer that slipped down a treat. For the record, a Mahseer is a large edible, freshwater fish of belonging to the carp family, and native to northern India and the Himalayan region. Next up was Gone Fishing, a lightly hopped, Extra Special Bitter, packed full of malt, and characterised by a fruity finish. With an abv of 5.5%, it is deceptively drinkable for a beer of this strength and is brewed with a blend of three roasted malts.

My final beer was the cream of the crop, and a real classic. It is also one of Green Jack’s most renowned beers – certainly as far as the Nelson Arms is concerned. Baltic Trader is an extra strong Export Stout. Brewed to a strength of 10.5% abv, from a grist that includes three different roasted malts, with an addition of molasses, to produce a beer packed full of fruity flavours with hints of vanilla and roasted coffee. As the brewery says, it’s like a rich plum pudding in a glass!

I wisely restricted myself to a half of this legendary beer, especially after the previous two brews. There was a pleasant atmosphere in the Nelson, that afternoon which reminded me of how pubs used to be on a Sunday. I haven’t been down to the Nelson since the weekend, but according to the pub’s website, there are still seven Green Jack beers on tap, so if you’re passing through Tonbridge, over the next few days, it would be well worth your while calling in.

As for that trip to Lowestoft, I’m afraid that will have to wait until the next time Mrs PBT’s and I are in East Anglia, as the town isn’t really doable by rail, in a day. With no direct trains from London, it is necessary to travel from Norwich, from where it is six stops via Oulton Broad. This makes driving the preferred option, combined with say a long weekend in the border region between Norfolk and Suffolk.

 

Rotherfield, at last

On Friday, I finally crossed Rotherfield off from my list of pub places to visit. This followed one reconnaissance visit, whilst on the return journey of a bus trip to neighbouring Mayfield, and then a failed attempt, two weeks later as part of a CAMRA bus outing. The latter was the result of the dreaded, “essential” roadworks – notice how such disruptive activities are always “essential” but as I wrote in a blog post at the time, “the driver advised that due to road works, narrow country lanes, and a not quite so narrow bus, the 51 would not be calling at Rotherfield until the works were finished.”

So, with Mrs PBT’s up to her arms, in a pile of VAT returns for her clients in the construction industry, I was free to go off exploring, despite volunteering to make a start on the next kitchen-refurb project. My bus journey from Tunbridge Wells, still wasn’t all plain sailing, as services were running late due to, you guessed it, yet more roadworks. This time it was the Pantiles area of the town where the first holdup occurred, followed by yet more holes in the road and more temporary traffic lights causing mayhem on both sides of Frant – a two-pub village on the A267. Consequently, I arrived in Rotherfield some 25 minutes later than I should have done.

No matter, I was finally in the village, and there were two pubs waiting for me to walk through their doors and sample their wares. Before describing the pubs, here’s some background information about the village. Rotherfield was originally a Saxon settlement in an area generally covered with oak forest. It stands on high ground, surrounded by areas of cleared woodland, and the hill on which the village stands is the source of the River Rother, which drains much of East Sussex. The river bubbles up from a spring, before commencing a 30-mile journey along the Kent-Sussex border to the sea at Rye Harbour.

Rotherfield is one of the largest parishes in East Sussex and encompasses the neighbouring villages of Mark Cross and Eridge. In modern times it has been eclipsed in size and importance by the neighbouring settlement of Crowborough, leaving Rotherfield as something of a backwater. Today the village has a population of 1,222 persons and is generally considered a nice location to live. From personal observation, Rotherfield seems much more workaday than nearby Mayfield, which I visited back in August. The latter seems to be a place where plenty of money abounds, giving it a more upmarket feel. I also wrote, following my late summer visit, that the Mayfield had a slight “alternative” feel to it.

None of this was evident on a cold, but bright November day, as I walked up the hill from the bus stop, into the centre of Rotherfield, to the T-junction at the top of the hill separates the village's two remaining pubs. These are the slightly upmarket Kings Arms to the left, and the more down to earth, Catts Inn to the right. I opted for the latter hostelry to begin with, in the knowledge that this “wet-led” pub, would provide that welcoming, first pint. I could then gravitate to the Kings Arms for a second pint, plus a bite to eat.

The Catts Inn is a community village local, with a quiet bar at the front, for conversation and general socialising, plus a separate games and TV room at the rear. It was bought by a family-owned, independent pub company in 2019 from Enterprise Inns, and being free from the constraints of this large pub chain, is now free to stock a range of beers to suit. Having said that, Harvey’s Best was the only cask option available at the time of my visit, although it was in excellent form. The building is said to date from 1741, and its bare wooden floors, plus plain unadorned walls, mark it out as a pub of character. As mentioned above, food is no longer available at the Catts Inn, but customers are encouraged to order in take away food when plates, cutlery, etc will be provided.

There was just one other customer sitting at the bar, when I entered the bar, but after I’d ordered my pint, of Sussex Best, and inquired about bus times with Lee the barman– see photo at top, I was drawn into conversation with the pair, who wanted to know (in a friendly sort of way), what had brought me to Rotherfield, and the Catts Inn. I explained that I was semi-retired and enjoyed the occasional bus trip out to hard to get to pubs. Satisfied that my intentions were honest and that I wasn’t there to steal their wives and daughters, the conversation opened up. The chap sitting at the bar had lived in the village all his life, and had attended the nearby, prestigious Matfield College, as a daybed. His father had been the village butcher, and whilst there are still a number of shops in Rotherfield, including the village stores, with its post office, plus the inevitable antiques shop, commercial activity has declined, as in so many rural settlements.

I mentioned that I was after something to eat, so was advised to head over to the Kings Arms, before the pub stopped taking food orders at 2pm. It seemed that a healthy relationship exists between the two pubs, which is good.  There used to be a third pub in Rotherfield, called the George, but this 700-year-old pub closed its doors for the last time in 1998, and is now a private residence. Also closed, but not in the village itself, is the quirky sounding, Bicycle Arms, at Argos Hill, a mile or so to the south of Rotherfield.  Fortunately, the Kings Arms is still trading, and it was literally a short hop across the road to this 17^th Century former coaching inn, but before departing the Catts, my new-found friend at the bar, insisted on taking a photo of me, on my own phone. It’s reproduced at the top of this post.

After pushing open the heavy wooden entrance door to the Kings Arms, I encountered a heavy curtain, suspended from a circular rail. Obviously designed to keep out the cold, the curtain reminded me of pubs in the Czech Republic and Bavaria, where freezing-cold winters are the norm, and such protections against icy draughts are essential. The pub’s heavily beamed ceilings, walls of exposed brick, and open hearth, complete with a blazing log fire, were just what I expected. The beer offering was also welcoming with Dark Star Hophead, and Long Man Long Blonde complementing the ubiquitous Harvey’s Best. I went for the Long Blonde, which was pale, cool and refreshing, although perhaps not the ideal beer for a cold winter’s day.

Conscious that the kitchen might soon be closing I ordered myself a BLT baguette. It arrived with the seemingly obligatory chips, but with nice fresh, crusty bread, bacon that was well-smoked and equally crisp, it was a welcome, but not too filling spot of lunch. The young couple behind the bar were professional and engaging, and their efforts were seemingly appreciated by the handful of diners in the pub. There is a larger room, behind the serving area, but I didn’t explore further, as I was keeping an eye on the time. The No. 51 bus operates an hourly service, and I didn’t want to miss the next departure to Tunbridge Wells. Fortunately, the Stagecoach website gives real time departure information, so I was able to finish my food and drink and walk down to the bus stop in sufficient time for the 14:40 departure. 

My route to the bus stop took me through the extensive terrace and garden area at the rear of the Kings Arms. With its views over the High Weald, it’s the perfect spot for al-fresco dining during the summer months, and there’s even an outside kitchen, bar and toilets - points worth remembering for future visits. So, that’s another High Weald village and it pubs ticked off, although I'd like a return visit to explore Rotherfield a bit more thoroughly. But where to next?