PUB NAMES, SOMERSET AND CHEESE…read more
The names of public houses in the UK can often be as baffling to the foreign visitor as they are to the locals. 'The Pig and Whistle', is said to be variously from, 'peg' (a set of pins fixed at intervals in a drinking vessel), 'piggin' (a wooden drinking vessel or ladle), although most seem to have missed the rather more obvious 'pig' (an earthenware pot or pitcher). The 'whistle' element is harder to pin down. 'Wassail' has been suggested. This is the salutation used in toasting a person's health the reply being 'drink-hail'. Wassail is also the name of the spiced ale that was drunk on Twelfth-night and Shakespeare referred to this in Macbeth, 1605.
The Case is Altered (near where I grew up) is said to be a corruption of Casa Alta, meaning high house, and brought back by returning soldiers from the Napoleonic Wars in Spain. It's often a question of guesswork/fable.
Indeed, the temptation to baffle future generations by setting up an establishment named e.g. The Hobbit and Harridan is of course omnipresent!
More conventional epithets such as The Lord Nelson or Duke of Wellington do not necessarily signify that the aforementioned were either regular topers there, nor that they managed the establishment at some stage, but are generally a mark of respect for 'services rendered'.
The suffix 'Arms', however, usually honours a local landowner, as is indeed the case with Somerset's Waldegrave Arms in Chewton Mendip.
The Waldegrave family descends from Sir Richard Waldegrave, Speaker of the House of Commons from 1381 to 1382. His descendant, fervent Catholic Sir Edward Waldegrave (c. 1517- 1 September 1561), of Borley, Essex, and West Haddon, Northamptonshire was imprisoned in the Tower of London in 1551 by King Edward VI, for refusing to carry out the Privy Council's ban on Mary having mass said in her house of Copt Hall, near Epping, Essex. He was released a year later and on Mary's accession in 1553, he was knighted, admitted to the Privy Council, granted the manors of Navestock, Essex and Chewton in Somerset, also becoming 'Master of the Great Wardrobe', a task that sounds impressive. Unfortunately, Good Queen Bess was unamused by his recusancy and committed him to the Tower again, where he died in 1561.
So where were we? Oh, yespubs. During journeys to my ancestral lands in the West Country, (aka my mother's backyard) we often stop off for refreshment and such was the case a few years back when we were passing through this charming village of Chewton with its Mendip stone cottages and discovered the Waldegrave Arms. I can heartily recommend this pleasant and friendly pub, which also offers accommodation. There is a clean and cosy 50-seat dining area and a public bar, as well as a garden and a good range of real ales is complemented by local cider. In that corner of the country, a 'Ploughman's Lunch' is usually a sound recommendation because of the proximity to Cheddar, although the quality of these can vary to a startling extent. Although the menu at the Waldegrave stretches well beyond a simple Ploughman's Lunch (see also website), we decided to see what this place had to offer in the cheese department and enjoyed what I believe to be the best mature Cheddar I have ever tasted. How can I put it? Essentially, unmistakably and utterly English, the nose was well-aged cricket boots, the bouquet West Country sileage and milk, the taste full and sweet without being too 'tart' and the finish was like listening to Elgar. The size of the portions was very generous and the price reasonable.
(http://photobucket.com)
Upon enquiry about local sources for this 'chunk of caseic paradise', we were directed to the local farm shop on the Waldegrave estate round the corner, where we made a not insubstantial purchase. (Indeed, this Cheddar cheese has enjoyed acclaim beyond my humble palate ( see 'BEST CHEDDAR CHEESE' here http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/cheese-competition-winners-1441747.html ) Our most recent visit with a friend from Italy impressed her to the extent that we now have to regularly ferry supplies to Turin. For some reason, she managed to overlook the cheese in her photograph above (or had she already eaten it?) For that she cannot be blamed. Treat yourself when next cruising along the A39!
