March Musings.

Last month, I mentioned that there was a very special reason why taking on The Candlelight felt particularly poignant for Ben and me. It feels only right to share that with you now.

I grew up in Bishopswood, and The Candlelight was just always there. Part of the backdrop to childhood really. I can still picture myself standing by the pond in the garden, plopping stones into the water and pretending I wasn’t trying to spot the fish darting about underneath. We’d end up there most weekends after being dragged (and I do mean dragged) around the Blackdowns on our “character-building” seven-mile pub cycle ride. By the time we arrived, red-faced and starving, I’d be treated to a packet of scampi fries and an apple juice, and honestly, I don’t think anything has ever tasted better.

The Candlelight wasn’t just a pub you drove to; it was part of the rhythm of village life. It’s the kind of place that holds memories quietly in its walls. Birthdays. Sundays. Chance encounters. Familiar faces.

And 11 years ago, Ben and I met working there.

Long before there were conversations about “groups” or “concepts” or Redefined Hospitality, there were just two people behind a bar, learning what good service looked like and, without knowing it, starting something much bigger than either of us imagined.

Later this year, we’ll be getting married. Which makes the whole thing feel beautifully circular. Life has a funny way of bringing you back to the places that shape you. I’m often asked why I chose hospitality. It’s not the simplest path, the hours are long, the pace can be relentless, and weekends aren’t always your own, yet I’ve never felt pulled towards anything else. For me, it’s about people at their most real; the nervous first meetings, the long-overdue catch-ups, the families who just need a night off, the regular who comes in for a pint but stays for connection. We’re there for the milestones and the ordinary Wednesdays alike, and I love the rhythm of it all, the hum of a full room, the quiet anticipation before doors open, fires lit and candles glowing.

But above everything, my favourite moments, and the most important ones, are the welcome at the beginning and the goodbye at the end. Not the scripted kind. Not the over-polished version. I mean the genuine, eye-contact, “I’m really glad you’re here” kind of welcome. The kind where someone feels seen within seconds of walking through the door. A strong welcome sets the tone. It tells someone they can relax. It says, you’re in good hands now.

But something I think about just as much, maybe even more, is the goodbye. Because the goodbye is what lingers. It’s the last impression. The final exchange. It’s the moment that decides whether someone leaves simply fed… or feeling better than when they arrived.

A warm goodbye says, we noticed you.
It says, we valued having you here.
It says, we’d genuinely love to see you again.

In our pubs, I always remind the team: never let someone slip out unnoticed. A thank you at the door. A “drive safely.” A “see you soon.” It matters more than we realise. Hospitality isn’t just about the time people spend inside your four walls. It’s about how they carry that feeling home with them.

Thank you, as ever, for your continued support. 

We look forward to welcoming and bidding farewell to you, very soon. 

Maddie x