Patriotic, traditional, as old-fashioned as it’s possible to be, and the place we were told to head to if we wanted proper pub grub in Folkestone.
The British Lion’s pride at being the town’s oldest pub is clear from the start as it’s writ large on a chalkboard right next to the front door of this 15th-century inn.
I’d already looked in the window of Kipps’ Alehouse, but this is closed on a Thursday lunchtime, so we’d wandered further up Bayle Street to The Guildhall. However, this is strictly a wet-led freehouse and Mrs SD had her heart set on a bite to eat, so, purely on the advice of the barmaid, we walked on until we reached this most quintessential-looking English pub.
Ducking through the low-level front door, we were warmly welcomed and chose a table in the bar, not far from the open fire and found a bench seat awash with Christmas cushions.
From the three ales on draught, I made the correct choice with a pint of Courage Directors and she selected her usual Sav Blanc. It was full-bodied and fruity.
For lunch, I stuck with the winter warmer theme and went for a turkey, smoked bacon and mushroom soup. She opted for a jacket potato with beans and cheese and, while neither of these choices might sound like full-on meals, when they arrived, we were glad we hadn’t ordered more.
The landlady, like everything else about this pub, clearly takes no nonsense and new trainee barman Alfie was certainly being put through his paces.
My homemade soup was quite simply superb, served at the perfect temperature and bursting with flavour. It arrived with a selection of white and brown bread. The chef Nick popped down from the upstairs kitchen briefly and I would have complimented him personally but he only stayed long enough to put another log on the fire before he was gone again.
People certainly know their jobs here and don’t mess about for long.
There’s a stack of lions, a mountain of true British memorabilia and plenty of traditional ornaments about the place, but there’s no room for frills or frippery, it just wouldn’t look right. And, on that theme, you can forget darts, pool, fruit machines, a jukebox and TV screens.
In fact, up until I got my second drink in, a Young’s Special (another good pint but not in the Directors’ league), it had been totally silent apart from the gentle babble from the locals and the considerably more forceful tones of their landlady. These tones briefly reached a new high when she trapped her finger in the door of the dumbwaiter, though Alfie benefitted briefly as it wasn’t wagged in his direction for a little while.
When Siri was commanded to provide background music, it was strictly 1970s Christmas classics and that festive German outfit Boney M was swiftly followed by Cliff bleating on about Mistletoe and Wine.
The furniture is, as you’d expect, very brown and sits on a very pub-like carpet, there’s beer mats aplenty, beer towels on the bar and the food orders are handwritten on carbon paper before being pinned up behind the bar – no-one would have it any other way, including she who must be obeyed behind the bar.
The clientele is generally of a certain age and it’s not often we’re the youngest ones in these days but the locals, who favour stools at the bar, were friendly and chatty.
It’s definitely not the weather for it at the moment but there are two small, separate, walled garden areas, one to the left and one to the right, which can be reached through the French doors on the raised area at the back of the bar.
This area towards the rear of the pub is also where you’ll find the facilities. The gents are in what is quite possibly the most unusually-shaped room for a toilet. Like everywhere else, they are wonderfully old-fashioned and stuck in time, though no-one could accuse them of not being well cared for.
Back in the bar, the landlady was recounting a story about forgetting to put the bins out. However, the story was cut short as the kitchen summoned her and she brought out three fish and chip dinners – which I must admit looked and smelt great.
With the dinners she also delivered all the usual accoutrements you would expect, napkins, cutlery and a half pint pot packed with an array of sauce sachets. However, this pot had one addition I’ve never witnessed previously, a pair of scissors for cutting the packets open.
It was time for us to leave but as we were departing, trainee barman Alfie asked one more question as he didn’t know what PC stood for on one of the orders taken by the landlady.
When I quipped the one thing it definitely doesn’t stand for here is ‘politically correct,’ our hostess was in full agreement, saying there’s far too much of that in the world today. I can confirm it is, in fact, short for prawn cocktail here – of course it is.
BRITISH LION, 8-10 THE BAYLE, FOLKESTONE CT20 1SQ
Décor: Reassuringly ‘olde worlde’ with furniture and fittings that wouldn’t look out of place at you nan’s house. It looks as it should ie. As if it has evolved over the years. ***
Drink: The Courage Directors came recommended and I found it creamy, very tasty and fulsome, just right for a blustery, winter day. The Sauvignon Blanc certainly passed muster. ***
Food: Without doubt homemade, the soup was divine and the cherry pie with custard was a great pub pud. The jacket spud came piping hot and there was so much I had to help Mrs SD with it. ****
Price: It was £13 for a large Sav Blanc and a pint of bitter. The jacket potato (with cheese and beans) was £9.50 and my soup was £7. The cherry pie and custard was £7 and I noted a mulled wine and mince pie was £5. ***
Staff: Alfie was new and learning on the job but was keen and cheery; he was also taking the initiative wherever he was allowed. Our landlady was an upbeat force of nature around whom the rest of the pub revolves. ****
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