Rye re-visited part 2.

The rain had cleared by the time I left the Ypres Castle, and I retraced my footsteps back to the churchyard. I walk the opposite way around this time and then continued across to where the road narrows before turning a corner, by Lamb House. Turning the corner took me into Mermaid Street which is where I was aiming for, because a third of the way down this steep, and quite narrow, cobbled street is the historic and rather picturesque Mermaid Inn. I stopped for a while on the narrow pavement opposite to take a few, obligatory photos on this lovely old hostelry, which has to be one of Rye’s most best-known attractions.

The Mermaid hasn’t changed much since Mrs PBT’s and I stayed here nearly 40 years ago, but why would an establishment with the words “Re-built 1420,” painted on its outside wall, wish to bow to modernity? I wasn't the only one taking photos, as there seemed the usual crop of Far Easterntourists snapping away, alongside visitors from nearer to home. It was time to step inside, so I used the entrance steps situated below the archway, that leads to the garden and car park at the rear. I acknowledged the receptionist, as I walked past her desk, and then did a sharp left along a corridor, towards the comfortable and cosy bar at the rear of the inn.

The bar was busy, and whilst not packed, there were no free tables for me to sit at. Small matter, I made my way to the bar and noticed three cask ales on sale - Harvey’s Best, St Austell Tribute, and a mysterious beer badged as “Mermaid Ale.” I opted for this 3.7% premium bitter (according to the pump-clip), and after inquiring to its origin, the friendly barmaid informed me it was brewed by Young's. I only went for a half, as with nowhere to sit, and very little space at the bar, I felt rather in the way.

The bar staff were happy to chat, in between pouring drinks, so I mentioned my stay in 1985. They suggested going along to reception and inquiring about prices and room availability if I fancied booking a return stay. I took this advice as soon as I’d finished my drink, and retraced my steps along the corridor, in order to speak to the receptionist. She went through what was available, but advised that due to the Mermaid’spopularity,  I would need to book about four months in advance. She also went through the types of room that the inn offered, so that when I got home, I could surprise Mrs PBT’s with the prospect of a luxury weekend in Rye.

I thanked her for her time and patience and in possession of this extra information left the pub. I made my way to the bottom of Mermaid Street and followed the road round until I found myself back in Cinque Ports Street – the road where I’d started out on earlier. it was time now to discover the delights of the Waterworks, so I hurried along until I reached Rye’s first, and so far, only micro-pub. In a previous article – “Change of Plan,” I explained the story behind the pub and its quirky name, so I won’t repeat myself here, but as I was to find out, the Waterworks is a thriving drinking establishment that is popular, not just with locals, but also visitors to Rye. It was no surprise then, as I stepped inside, to find the place rather full.

In common with most micro-pubs, the Waterworks has just a single room, with the bar counter adjacent to the door. The beers, and ciders, are kept in a temperature-controlled room, behind the bar, and dispensed by gravity, direct from the cask. The majority of them are locally sourced, which makes sense. The ceiling is festooned with hops, and pump-clips, whilst the walls are hung with various paintings and prints. Given the preponderance of antique shops in Rye, it’s no surprise there are large amounts of bric-a-brac,scattered about the place. There are just six tables of various shapes and sizes, for drinkers to sit at, and the pub has a laudable policy of encouraging customers to move along and make room for other drinkers. A notice reminds patrons that micro-pubs are for sharing, and suggests that visitors should find a seat, sit down, and say hello to the people next to them.

This policy is fine with me, so after ordering my beers (I bought two to save coming back up to the bar again), I did exactly what was requested of me, and found a seat on the end of a table. I had a light and a dark beer. The pale beer was a 4.9% Imperial Session IPA, from Only With Love, a micro-brewery based in Uckfield. It was a well-balanced and most enjoyable beer, but the same could not be said about the second beer, Black Udder, from Hop Fuzz Brewery of Hythe. The latter was supposed to have been a milk stout but to me it was more like a dry Irish stout. There was certainly very little in the way of residual sweetness – a characteristic you would normally expect from a milk stout. The beer was still perfectly drinkable but wasn't quite what I expected.

If the Waterworks seemed crowded when I arrived, it began to fill up even more over the course of my stay, but people in the main were sensible and following the guidance described above, all those who wanted to sit down, managed to get a seat. As in many pubs there was a hard core of regulars sat at the bar, but the staff were aware of this and managed to serve people approaching the bar, without any hassle. I was hungry by this time and knew from the pub’s website that homemade pork pies and Scotch eggs were on sale behind the bar. I was therefore looking forward to trying one of these, so when I noticed the big chalk cross, scrawled diagonally across the blackboard, my heart sank. I inquired about the pies but was told they wouldn't be available until January, as they are sourced from a nearby bakery, which was closed during the Christmas-New Year break. 

I had to make do with crisps, and to my delight, they were Pipers, a brand that has been my favourite for a long time now. However, despite munching my way through two bag of ready salted crisps, I was still hungry peckish. I’d planned to catch the 15: 48 train back to Ashford and knowing there was a chip shop fairly close to the station I drank, said farewell to the Waterworks, and set off in search of the chippy. Looking at the map in hindsight, Marino’s Fish Bar would have been the best bet. It was certainly nearer, and I recall Retired Martin and I enjoying some good chips from there. Instead, I headed for the station, which then meant cutting back into the bottom of the town, past the Pipemakers Arms, and then to the Kettle o’ Fish.

The latter is another Rye fish and chip shop that the family and I have used in the past. It overlooks the River Brede at the area known as Strand Quay. There was a small queue inside, but I didn’t have long to wait for my freshly fried portion of chips. I left them in their wrapper and headed back to the station, waiting until I was on the London bound platform before devouring them with relish. Smothered with salt and vinegar, they were especially good and just what I needed following a day spent walking around Rye and taking refreshment in several of its hostelries. I’d finished eating by the time the train pulled in, and after boarding, settled down in my seat to enjoy the return journey to Ashford, as the sun set slowly across the flatlands of Romney Marsh.