WHILE pootling through the Surrey countryside in the east of the county last Friday, I was delighted to see a teapot sign on the verge of the A25 at Godstone. It invited people to take refreshments at the little coffee rooms at Flower Farm farmshop.
Sadly, last time I called here, a year or so ago, it was closed for the day but I vowed to return when it was open.
That chance arose and I pulled up on the gravel forecourt of the farm shop near the corner of the main road and Flower Lane.
Happily, the soft September sun was shining and there was the welcome sight of the café doors wide open and a young man working at the servery.
I put my head around the door and checked if it was, indeed open.
"Yes, until five o'clock," said the personable, young chap at the counter, who had a slight Irish accent.
I enquired where he was from – and smiled when he replied: "Blindley Heath". It took me back as I was expecting to hear somewhere much further afield.
"But I lived in Ireland for a few years," he said. "My mother's Irish."
"Which county?" I asked with interest.
"Londonderry area," he said.
I explained that my ancestors on my father's side were from Country Antrim.
"Have you been there?" he asked.
I replied that I had, once, years ago, and was enchanted by the rugged beauty of the coastline.
I requested a lemon meringue pie and a mug of hot chocolate.
"No problems," said the young fellow.
"I'll bring them over to you."
I stepped into the tearoom which I last visited a few years ago on a cold, windy, spring day.
Nothing could have been more different on this occasion. The place was very warm with the sun streaming in through the windows. In fact it was so hot where I was sitting, I had to move into the shade.
The café has been created in a timber and brick cabin-type building.
Each table had a jug placed on it which bore pictures of cockerels.
In these jugs were placed bunches of synthetic sunflowers and narcissi. I liked the sunflowers, as it was most appropriate for the time of the year. Seeing daffodils was a little confusing, I must admit, but their gaiety helped to brighten the surroundings.
A door opened onto a fenced lawn where there were picnic tables at which visitors could sit with their coffees and teas and tuck into slices of delicious homemade cake.
A gentle stream of people arrived to do just that, savouring the beautiful Indian summer weather.
Elvis Presley's 1956 hit, Hound Dog, played on Radio Two in the background as I used a fork to cut up my lemon meringue pie. The hot beverage was brought to the table. I sipped the contents while my eyes wandered to a montage of black and white portrait photographs of the Beatles.
A poster of a Western film featuring Henry Fonda adorned another wall.
In the corner, a log-burning stove had been installed and beside it, was a basket of logs. I gleaned that the stove is lit on chilly days and the place "gets quite hot" in winter.
Folded copies of the Farmers Guardian were placed in a rack near where I was sitting and these could be perused by customers.
I slid one out and read the headlines.
"Badger culling to resume with painful lessons learned," said a headline. Also on the front page was a picture of a world-record-priced Limousin Glenrock Illusion heifer "which sold to Melanie Alford for 125,000gns."
I hadn't realised that cattle were still sold in guineas. A guinea, I recalled, was £1 and one shilling, or £1 and five pence in modern money.
There was a pointer to a feature inside: "Beef special: New breeds, plus lungworm advice".
A story on an inside page bemoaned the heavy rain in the north during August which had led to combine harvesters becoming stuck in deep mud in waterlogged fields, yet in some parts of the north-east, the harvest had been the earliest on record. Yet another story gave details of a hare-coarsing initiative.
Outside, the blue sky was criss-crossed by aircraft condensation trails which thinned and widened with the passing of time.
Young willow trees danced in the late summer breeze and the sunshades above the picnic tables flapped in the stronger gusts.
An announcement on the radio gave details of heavy traffic on the motorways and I felt glad that I was where I was – in the comfort of a Surrey tearoom.
I purchased a Bakewell tart to take away, and thanked the staff.
A while back, I gathered, the café tried out full English breakfasts but it was a bit of a palaver so now the emphasis is on light lunches and teas.
I bade farewell and vowed to return soon.
