Cold rain and sleet was falling from a cheerless leaden sky last Wednesday as the wintry weather made an attempt to return to Surrey. Streams of muddy water trickled down the sides of roads riddled with potholes following all the snow and ice in recent weeks.

As I motored along the A25 from Reigate to Dorking, I was taken by surprise for the fields near Betchworth had turned white once again and the sleet had turned to wet snow.

I was heading for Coldharbour in the hope of having a lunchtime bite and a short stroll towards Leith Hill tower but my plans did not quite work as I had expected.

Climbing up the main road to Westcott, I entered a white winter wonderland.

Near the Wotton Hatch, a good inch of snow was lying and thick flakes were swirling down from an overcast sky. Gazing out over the farmland, the scene was that of Surrey in the bleak mid-winter.

I took the lanes towards Abinger Common and climbed up through the whitened forests and glades to Leith Hill, where driving was only possible if extreme care was exercised. The snow lay thick on the road in places as I gingerly followed tyre marks towards Coldharbour church.

Illuminated headlamps from oncoming 4x4s were not a welcome sight as I was forced to squeeze into the snow-laden hedgerows to let them pass.

Eventually, with a sigh of relief I reached The Plough public house and was glad to find it lit up and open.

Nearly losing my footing on the slippery Coldharbour Lane, I hauled myself in through the front door and was relieved to see a log fire burning in the grate.

The thought of a snack and a coffee immediately went out of my mind as I noticed a group of laughing men polishing off a roast dinner. If they could indulge, so could I on such a snowy day.

Happily, the Irish landlady, Anna, confirmed that the kitchen was still open and that my request for a roast beef dinner would be granted. I ordered a coffee which was speedily delivered to my table by the window.

Every so often, the landlady rearranged the burning logs in the fireplace.

She peered out at the snow, now falling thickly and steadily and commented: "This is not good for business. Hopefully it won't last too long."

She got chatting with me as the kitchen staff prepared my meal.

I learned that her husband's nephew, Daniel, had suffered a terrible accident on New Year's Day in South America, where he had been voluntarily caring for destitute street children.

The 32-year-old's insurance only covered him for medical attention in South America and that £90,000 was need to fly him home to England.

She said that the pub was involved with fundraising efforts and one, the other night, had raised more than £3,000.

At the function, she had got up to sing Danny Boy and another tune. The actress and wildlife campaigner Virginia McKenna, a local resident, was one of the first through the door and offered a brooch for auction.

The roast was brought to the table and I savoured every mouthful.

There was much banter going on in the background between a young woman and a son of the landlady. I gathered that the mischievous girl had put something in his coffee to get her own back for an earlier prank.

The landlady turned to me and confessed she was tired. Her husband had injured his back while traipsing uphill with some heavy shopping before Christmas. She had worked every single day since early December.

"After the do the other night, I didn't get to bed until gone four o'clock in the morning and I was up again at 9.30."

I tucked into the crispy roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, glancing up at the blackboard which announced that on Friday evenings, Scrabble competitions would be held at the pub, which dates back to 1643.

Teams could turn up and enter for £2 each person – the winners taking all in the pot.

Outside, the weather was truly closing in and the snow continued unabated. I was a little concerned about the state of the roads. Would I be stranded at the pub all night?

The landlady showed me a calendar she had just received. It showed views of Ballindine in County Mayo, Ireland, where she hailed from. Her grandfather was one of 12 children and her forefathers lived in the Station House by the platform.

The station was originally opened by the Waterford, Limerick and Western Railway in 1894 on the route between Limerick and Claremorris. The station was closed completely in 1963 but under government plans, it will be re-opened in 2014.

She showed me a black and white picture of characters standing at the station in bygone times.

"I believe they are my aunts. They all had blonde hair," she said, scrutinising the calendar.

I ordered a portion of chocolate brandy cake and ice cream and my eyes wandered to the snow-capped red telephone box opposite. It now stands as a museum piece, with no phone inside.

Warmed and nourished, I wrapped up against the cold, settled the bill (£18.70) and carefully headed down the icy roads to Dorking, braking as a deer suddenly ran out in front of the car.

Mark Davison