The Bat And Ball Country Pub And Haywards Restaurant

The first time I stumbled into The Bat And Ball, I was lost. Properly lost, the kind where your phone’s battery is a dead pixel and the GPS has given up on humanity. I was cycling through the Sussex countryside, legs screaming, and I saw this old flint-and-brick pub glowing like a mirage. I walked in, still panting, and the landlord just slid a pint of Harvey’s across the bar without me even asking. He just said, “You look like you need this.” And you know what? He was absolutely right.

That moment—that unexpected rescue—is exactly what this place is built on. The Bat And Ball Country Pub And Haywards Restaurant isn’t just a pit stop; it’s a destination that feels like coming home, even if you’ve never been there before. It’s perched in the tiny village of West Hoathly, surrounded by those rolling, sheep-dotted hills that scream “quintessential England.” And let me be honest: I wasn’t expecting much from a pub that shares its name with a cricket term.

But that first sip of bitter was like a revelation. And then the food menu appeared, and I realized this was no ordinary pub grub. They have Haywards Restaurant attached—a separate, more polished dining room—but even the bar menu is dangerously good. I ordered the steak and ale pie, and the pastry was so flaky I’m pretty sure it committed a crime against crumbling. It came with these chips that were crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, like they’d been baptised in duck fat. (Side note: if a chip isn’t slightly greasy, is it even worth eating?)

Now, I’m not a food critic, but I know good honest cooking when I taste it. The head chef, Ben, really knows his way around a seasonal ingredient. He sources local game from the nearby Ashdown Forest—think venison, pheasant, rabbit—and he treats it with respect. I once had a roasted partridge there that was so tender I nearly wrote a thank-you note to the bird. The gravy was dark, almost intimidating, and it had this deep, mushroom-y flavour that made me close my eyes and forget the conversation at the table. Rude, I know, but some things demand silence.

Inside the Pub vs. Inside the Restaurant

Here’s the thing: you have a choice when you walk in. You can plonk yourself in the bar area, which is all low beams, crackling fireplaces, and worn-out floorboards that creak like a friendly ghost. Or you can step into Haywards Restaurant, which is more chic—white linen, modern art on the walls, and a wine list that uses words like “bouquet” without irony. I love both, but for different moods. If I’m wearing muddy boots and just want a half-pint and a cheese board? Bar, obviously. If it’s a date night or my birthday, I’m going straight for Haywards.

Bat & Ball Country Pub and Haywards Restaurant in Newpound Common | Pub

But here’s a little secret: the restaurant isn’t stuffy. I once saw a farmer in a flat cap sitting at a table next to a couple in suits, and nobody blinked. The service is warm without being intrusive, which is a rare skill. They refill your water without hovering, and they know when to recommend the local lamb versus the fish. That lamb, by the way, is from a farm literally three miles down the road. You can taste the grass in it—assuming grass tastes magical.

The Garden and the Ghosts

If the weather’s decent—and let’s face it, in Britain that’s a gamble—go sit in the beer garden. It’s a huge, sloping lawn with picnic tables and a view that stretches forever. I’ve spent entire afternoons there, nursing a pint of cider, watching kids chase dogs and couples argue about who forgot the sunscreen. It’s the kind of place where time gets slippery. You check your watch, and suddenly it’s three hours later and you’ve somehow eaten two desserts. (No regrets on that sticky toffee pudding, by the way. It was like a hug made of sugar.)

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Rumour has it the pub is haunted. Staff talk about a friendly Victorian ghost in the dining room who rearranges the cutlery. I haven’t seen him, but I did once find my napkin folded into a perfect crown while I was in the loo. I’m not saying it was paranormal—but I’m not saying it wasn’t. Either way, it adds to the charm. You feel like you’re part of a story that’s been running for centuries.

Why You Should Go

Look, there are a million country pubs in England, and most of them serve frozen chips and microwave curries. The Bat And Ball is not that pub. The quality of their seasonal menu, the care they take with their cask ales, and the fact that the log fire is always lit in winter—it all adds up to something special. It’s not cheap-cheap, but it’s fair for what you get. A main course in Haywards will set you back about £22, and honestly, for food that good, I’d pay double. (Well, maybe not double—but definitely £25. Let’s not get carried away.)

So if you’re ever driving through the Sussex Weald, looking for a place that feels real, make a detour. Walk in, order the game terrine or the roast beef, and ask for a table near the fireplace. And if you see a pale man in a waistcoat staring at your bread basket? Just smile and hand him a napkin. He’s been waiting for you.