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Chillenden : Nov 4th 2009
A great ride and a gruff greeting at the Griffin……….
It's a glorious crisp November morning as John pulls into Ruth and Robert's drive. Robert has to work, the rest of the group are dispersed in France, Scotland and in the blue skies above, so its just Ruth and John (lucky chap) heading off down the old road to Eastry as the traffic hurtles past on the adjacent 'by-pass'.
Eastry was built on the Roman road from Richborough to Dover. Many Saxon graves have been discovered here; indeed we are told by a passing villager about the recent case of a conservatory foundation being dug to reveal the grave of a Saxon warrior in full battle dress complete with sword and shield. The discovery was a mixed blessing because the old boy, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Bruce Forsyth, was none too pleased to be dug up, and comes back every so often to perform a Saxon war dance on the lawn.
The name Eastry means 'eastern province'. When the Anglo-Saxons colonised Kent they divided the Kingdom into seven administrative districts, of which Eastry was one; it covered a vast area from Dover to Sandwich. Interestingly both the modern Dover District Council and the parliamentary constituency cover almost exactly the same area as the old province of Eastry.
Ruth had a friend who once told her that there was a house near the Church in Eastry which was reputed to be the oldest house in Kent, and thanks to our wise village friend, we find it - Eastry Court. The façade was unfortunately given a Georgian 'makeover', but the rear is clearly authentic. Nearby is the site of a Saxon royal palace, which was later used as a Court, along the lines of the Stannary courts in the westcountry.
Local justice for the people, by the people and of the people, and no doubt all the better for it!
During its time as a Saxon palace, it is said that King Egbert (664 - 673), had his two nephews Ethelred and Ethelbright murdered here so they couldn't interfere with his possession of the Crown. To atone for his guilt, he gave their sister - Ethel (well it's likely isn't it?) - some land in Thanet on which she built Minster Abbey. Nonetheless, the hapless nephews continued to haunt the site of their murder, until the locals eventually destroyed the building to get some peace.
Captain James Harvey (one of Nelson's men) is buried in the Churchyard, and his monument contains a marble medallion of the three French warships which surrendered to him.
By the way, Nelson actually said "Kiss me Harvey!" - but that's another story.
On our way out of Eastry we notice that the Bull Inn does a two course Wednesday roast for £5.50. John is tempted but Ruth is having none of it as we have only done 4 miles and its only 11.30. Along pretty sunlit lanes with hardly any cars we merrily pedal; a muddy lane has to be negotiated with care, the main railway line needs to be crossed (luckily John thinks he hears a hooter; three seconds later the express races past).
We come to a delightful village called Worth, where Ruth used to work - at The Blue Pigeons pub, which she is amazed to see in the midst of yet another refurbishment.
The new landlord in baseball cap pauses to chat and share his plans for the establishment.
He won't be offering 'Pensioners Specials' because he finds the phrase insulting, but the good news is that he will be definitely be offering "2 Meals for £10" deals to everyone! Judith please note. Re-opening is scheduled for two weeks time. Ruth will keep an eye on progress for us.
(NB This part of the blog may be out of sequence, but who cares)
We approach Sandwich via the nature reserve and hurriedly cycle past the gate man in case he wants a toll; no worries, just a friendly wave. Ruth has planned the route brilliantly and only occasionally has to consult the well thumbed map, which is the case in Sandwich town. We've done nine miles now, but Ruth says lunch will be in Chillenden and not before. Ah well, it's a lovely day, who needs food!
More miles are ridden up hill and down dale (oh dear, sorry about that awful phrase) and a large windmill appears on the horizon, which Ruth thinks is our landmark for shangrila - the Griffin's Head at Chillenden. Thankfully it is; her navigation is faultless and we reach the pub with 16 miles on the clock.
The bar is populated with what Norman would call local coffin dodgers. Retired chaps in smart casual attire quaffing glasses of Chilean Merlot. The landlord glances unsmilingly in our direction as if we are not quite the thing.
As Victor Meldrew behind the bar reluctantly approaches, we ask for a J-2-0 (a fruit drink, your honour) and a pint of Spitfire.
Victor clearly does not approve of soft drinks and grunts that these are 'licenced premises don't y' know'. The coffin dodgers chuckle. A more diplomatic young barman appears and confirms that although J20 is unavailable, there is cranberry juice. We settle for that. Meldrew mutters that he can't understand why he needs to stock non-alcoholic drinks anyway. More sniggers from the C D's.
I later confide in the barman when he brings our very good food, that it was a pity about the grumpy greeting because we were part of a group blogging our experiences of Kent pubs, and Old Meldrew couldn't expect much of star rating. "Sorry about that," he said "he's just back from holiday in Bordeaux". "Oh, now I understand" I heard myself say, and ventured to wonder what he was like before he went.
After an excellent lunch of lamb, chicken, fresh vegetables, raspberry and almond tart, bread and butter pudding, two cranberry juices, a pint of Spitfire, and two glasses of Sauv B with the pud, we are delighted to see that we have not been charged for ANY of the drinks. For some reason, John is able to glide effortlessly up the hill as we leave the Griffin's Head!
Through Elvington and Eythorne (pronounced 'A'thorne), past the picturesque old station and up the hill to Ruth's for tea, where we are greeted by Darcy and Ginger. Twenty miles ridden.
Thanks to Ruth for a lovely ride and a delicious venue for lunch, and to Robert for entrusting his charming wife to an old reprobate for the day!
PS Meldrew does not allow children in the bar either.
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