The two-pub trick

 Times of Tunbridge Wells

Nostalgia and the two-pub trick

By Kent Barker

This is a tale of two pubs in my village, one of which has certainly been through the best of times as well as the worst.

Right through my late teens and into my thirties, the King William IV was the only one to go to.

It had low beams, two bars, a pair of Inglenook fireplaces and the best chilli con carne this side of Mexico. It was run by a famously cantankerous and slightly Sloaney couple, Nigel and Hilly Douglas, who had previously managed a bistro-cum-wine bar somewhere off the Kings Road and seemed rather to resent having to slum it in the country.

            On Friday nights everyone, but everyone, would be there and, for a decade or more, it hosted the unmissable social gathering of the week. I’d leave work in London and drive furiously to try to arrive before the 9.00pm cut off for food.  It was a toss up whether to stop and phone if delayed—there were no mobiles then of course. But it made little difference. Hilly would be just as short with you, muttering about how unreasonable it was to expect her to keep the kitchen open. This was despite the fact that I was among her best customers and this happened every week.

            Nevertheless, as landlords, they had the magic touch and their era at the William is still talked about with nostalgia whenever two or three of our generation gather over a pint.

            Eventually, though, the Douglases gave up village life and retreated to Tunbridge Wells to run a wine bar. The William was never the same again. It’s true a couple of landlords did their best to keep the tradition going, but it started to fade and we began, rather guiltily at first, to pop into the ‘other pub’ instead.

            This coincided with a new couple arriving and transforming the Bull. For years it had been the dustier, fustier poor relation. Now there were music nights, a darts team, a Sunday carvery and excellent pub food with a range of real ales that won it CAMRA area Pub of the Year twice in succession.

            As the Bull’s fortunes rose, the William’s declined until, finally, the brewery put it up for sale. And then an extraordinary thing happened.  Mark and Lucy from the Bull bought the William.

On the one hand this seemed like a cunning plan to neutralise the competition, but since the ‘Willie’ was providing only the most negligible of opposition, rather an expensive one.

            More money was ploughed in to transform it into a rather upmarket restaurant—all linen tablecloths, tall wine glasses and silver cutlery for five courses. Controversially, they changed the name. Down came the sign of the Hanoverian sailor king, and up went a portrait of a famous 18^th century courtesan, Kitty Fisher. As I remarked at the time, this seemed a slightly risky strategy. Ms Fisher had the moral rectitude of a tomcat (if that’s not a slightly strained metaphor) and was mistress to the sixth earl of Coventry, occasionally coming to blows with Lady Coventry in the street. Casanova eschewed her charms even though, as he remarked, one could have her for ten guineas.

Even the nursery rhyme for which she is remembered “Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it” is open to lewd interpretation over the double meaning of ‘pocket’ in the 1700s.

            But this was not the only risk faced by Lucy (no, the other Lucy, our landlady at the Bull). Far from neutralising the opposition, opening a rival inn in the village just created competition for their own successful pub. Yes, one was catering for up-market diners, the other more for drinkers with a penchant for good pub grub, but competition it was nonetheless.

And, sadly, so it proved. After a matter of a few months the Kitty closed.  Mark and Lucy are fairly phlegmatic about it saying they’ll chalk it up to experience, but they do admit to having taken a bit of a bath.

            So here’s the dilemma. They are now considering applying for change of use from business to residential.  Which in general is something our Parish Council opposes. We’ve lost a lot of commercial premises over the years and each one saps a bit more life from the community.    

            Many towns and villagers are now getting their pubs listed as Assets of Community Value.  An ACV doesn’t prevent change of use, but does enable local people to get involved if it were intended to be sold. Our village is in the process of opening a community shop. Might we, in the future, consider running a community pub? Or should we just accept that the William’s glory days are long gone and embrace the march of progress?