with Mark Davison
The Compasses, A25 Station Road, Gomshall
A S I motored through the charming villages of Westcott, Wotton and Abinger Hammer on a day of clear blue skies, a strong April sunshine bathed the Surrey countryside.
Fields of dazzlingly yellow rape carpeted the large fields at Wotton beneath the Surrey hills at Ranmore.
Someone had mentioned to me a few days ago that the Compasses Inn on the A25 at Gomshall served afternoon teas and that I should give it a try. "Good idea", I thought.
I passed the former Abinger Arms public house at Abinger Hammer and saw that it was now a cookery school. I recalled having Sunday lunch at the pub, in a back room, with my parents some 15 years ago and also recalled visiting on a couple of occasions back then with a pal and both times having a very reasonably priced roast turkey dinner. I remembered the landlady being very accommodating.
"What can I get you boys?" she would say.
I was pleased to see the Abinger Hammer tearoom alongside the village shop being well patronised on my latest visit and reminisced about the former tearoom under the famous clock.
Moments later I was in Gomshall and pulled up in a parking area next to the public house.
The weather was so glorious, a good number of visitors were sitting at picnic tables in the garden and young children were paddling in the Tillingbourne Stream. This little river flows between the garden and the road and under the neighbouring Gomshall Mill.
I strolled into the bar area. There were very few people around. They were all outside. I passed a board advertising the fact that the pub now serves full English breakfasts every day – from 8am Monday to Friday, and from 9am on Saturdays and Sundays.
I had heard there was a café in the pub which served tea, coffee and cakes. At first I couldn't find it but strolling to the restaurant area at the far end, I realised that there were, indeed, display stands on the counter containing some mouth-watering sponges.
Suddenly, a voice called out in the quietness of this room.
"You all right there?"
I looked up and saw it was, presumably, the landlady or the manageress.
I asked her if this was the café and she said it was. I also enquired if I would be able to eat in the garden as it seemed criminal to stay indoors when it was so nice out.
"Of course you can, darling," she said warmly.
She seemed to be an outgoing, cheerful character.
"What would you like?"
"What cakes do you have?" I enquired.
She listed several types including lemon drizzle, chocolate brownies, rock cakes and barmbrack. I had heard of the latter but had quite forgotten what it was.
"It's a cake-like bread soaked in tea and fruit," I think she said.
I readily agreed to some of that – it comes with butter – and I also requested a slice of lemon drizzle. I also ordered a cup of hot chocolate.
"I'll bring it to you in the garden," she said.
I wandered outside and took a seat on a picnic table and soaked up the sunshine.
The youngsters were having a whale of a time, paddling in the water, in their bare feet.
A small dog began yapping close by.
"Stop it! You're winding him up," said a lady to another family member who was teasing the pet.
A young man on the same table, wearing a tee-shirt and shorts, remarked: "I'm going to try out that new steak house in Woking."
One of the boys splashing around the stream called out to Mum: "I've got a prawn on my hand!"
Mother answered: "Eat it! I dare you to eat it!"
The birds were singing cheerily in the trees, the daffodils – now a little past their best – were swaying gently in the warm breeze.
One of the boys in the stream picked up a rock from beneath the water and took it away – no doubt to drop it with some force into the water to maximise the splash.
"Leave that stone alone," called out one of the parents. "That's where the crayfish go under. Put it back, Alex. Do you hear me?"
The landlady arrived with the cakes which were served on old-style floral farmhouse tea plates.
Ah! This was heaven, I thought as I gazed up at the fresh leaves of the trees.
"Alex! Come on we're going. Alex! Come on! We're going."
A relative provided a bath towel so the boy could dry his legs and feet.
After the tea I took the empties inside to the bar and I thanked the friendly landlady, saying I would be back one day to repeat the experience.
"You're most welcome," she said.
As I pottered around the garden, another young boy was playing on the inflatable castle.
"Charlie! Come on, Charlie, we're going." The tot smiled contentedly as he peered through a window at his parents. He didn't want to go home. Neither did I.
