More a series of smallholdings than a town, it’s the opposite of an English village in one key way: whereas the English in their small towns live cheek-by-jowl, two-up, two-down, so you can hear the neighbours cough, Bathurst folk live on 1,000-square-metre-plus spreads covered with fruit trees. The early settlers must have relished the space.

At the heart of the village lies the Pig and Whistle Inn, home to the oldest continually licensed pub in South Africa, though only given this name during World War II.

‘The Pig’. Lots of little piggies. And a cattle (whiskey) bar.

The town is so colonial in origin that it was named after the British secretary of state for the colonies at the time of its settlement, Lord Henry Bathurst, a man considered dull and a conservative among conservatives. Having said that, in later years he was respected for his anti-slavery stance. Wikipedia notes that in this regard he “seems to have been animated by a humane spirit … recognised in the naming of the town of Bathurst, Eastern Cape”.

Bathurst, then, is far from politically correct in the current South African scheme of things, yet it seems blithely unaware of the greater world that the people come from and go back to after leaving this little settler anachronism behind them.

Bathurst is surrounded by farmland, yet it’s barflies that prop up the bar, day and night. Remembering when, maybe. Or not remembering. That could be the point. Under new ownership, a sign that adorned a small bit of wall for years has been removed, as if they’d like to change the pub’s image. It used to aver that Bathurst was “a drinking village with a farming problem”. Maybe that’s what happens to old settlers when all is said and done. Prop up bars and try not to remember when.

We’d last stayed at the Pig, as people call it, three years earlier. Shown upstairs, then, we trod on threadbare carpeting to our room, which boasted a handsome dado rail offset by peeling paint. There was a saddening mood of genteel decay about it, like a stately home whose modern owners couldn’t afford the upkeep.

Not so now. Checking in again at the weekend, happy to put up with the odd peel of old paint if need be, we found the place regenerated. Fresh carpeting everywhere, a pleasing shade of mid-blue below the dado rails, a warm, biscuity hue above. A swish of deep red curtain on a window at the end of the passage, a stack of old suitcases nearby. There’s attention to detail here that was not there before.

Like that other beloved old place, Matjiesfontein village, we wouldn’t want the Pig and Whistle to become overly “done”. These places deserve the eccentricity that comes with their antiquity. God forbid that the pub should be renamed Settlers On Trappes (the long, winding road that runs the length of the village) or some other atrocity. So far, there’s just the right amount of refreshing upstairs without anything being spoilt.

The pub serves a great breakfast and some of the best burgers I’ve eaten. There’s an intriguing whiskey bar to one end, with single malts aplenty. It’s named the Frontier Bonsmara Bar, this being cattle country. The village has several shows a year, with beef playing a major role in them. The inn has loads of events, including Christmas in July.

The restaurant, to the left off the hotel foyer, is filled with lovely antique furniture and is potentially a fabulous place to be for a leisurely dinner at night, but the potential is ruined by there being no thought at all about mood and atmosphere. You sit under bright lights, the tables are not set, there’s no effort at all to create any atmosphere and this is such a wasted opportunity. The table was even grubby and uncleaned in places. I’m hoping that the new owners have it in mind to see to this aspect of their business. It really wouldn’t take much of an effort at all. Candles, soft lights and I’d give the walls a coat of a warm, inviting red or stylish yellow. Old wood looks great against those colours.

The food was competent, which is not to say presented with style or served with aplomb. The fare is of the pub variety and there’s nothing wrong with that, but the gastro pub trend that’s now been going for at least two decades does offer some pointers as to how these things can be done without not bothering about presentation at all.

My rump steak, for instance, was tender enough but smothered in what seemed to be your ubiquitous “steakhouse sauce”, which I cannot abide. But, my fault, I didn’t ask in advance. The beer-battered hake was crisp and succulent and the chips were chips (as with my rump). The starters had been nondescript, so enough said of those.

But, given how old English the village is, and the venue, they could go all out to celebrate that Britishness. Where’s the Beef and Ale pie, the best bangers they can find, to serve with mash? The Brexit Burger, maybe, the burger that sets itself apart from all the rest? The Eton Mess and bread and butter pudding for dessert? Mind you, they did have chicken tikka masala, which in fairness is very much a British high street dish.

Can’t wait, however, to go back to Bathurst soon so we can dine at the town’s newest restaurant, The Village Bistro, which is adjacent to the fascinating Relix & Thingz shop, part of Settlers on the Village Green.

The Village Bistro. Funky as hell.

We weren’t able to have dinner, though, because it was a Saturday, when they open only by day, but they do open Friday nights, so that’s the plan. What a splendidly eccentric place the Village Bistro is. We’d had breakfast so I ordered a blended juice – this is really not my thing, normally, but it was truly delicious. It looked glorious.

They’ve put so much thought into the place, even offering a “Good Conscience Coffee Bar” where you help yourself and put whatever you think it’s worth into the turquoise box. There’s free WiFi, which every thinking restaurateur should by now be offering without any complicated sign-ups and awkward accesses. Just have the damned thing available and write the code on the wall.

This is a town that does not shy away from its settler heritage, which is only fair, given that it’s all it’s got, really. It could even be argued that the village could consider marketing itself as the relic that it is: virtually a museum town. Open a museum of all things settler, unsettling as the subject may be for many people. History is there to teach us lessons, after all.

There is an agricultural museum, the Toposcope and the Old Powder Magazine and you can also, of course, visit The Big Pineapple. Really. If you’ve had a few whiskeys at the Frontier Bonsmara Bar before seeing the giant pineapple just outside town, don’t worry. It really is there. DM