Nine hundred years on Moor Park Lane.
Monks, a retired diplomat, a satirist and a heart in a silver box. The fields at Kilnside have seen a lot. We’re just the latest people lucky enough to farm them.
The land remembers.
Walk down Moor Park Lane towards the river and you’re following a path people have used for the best part of a millennium. The farm sits between the North Downs Way and the River Wey, a short walk from the ruins of Waverley Abbey.
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1128
The monks arrive
Cistercian monks found Waverley Abbey beside the Wey, the first house of their order in England. Kilnside was part of the abbey’s estate, and the monks farmed, fished and kept orchards across this valley for four hundred years.
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1536
The abbey falls
Henry VIII dissolves the monasteries and Waverley is one of the first to go. The stone is carted off to build houses nearby; the ruins that are left still stand across the river.
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1680s
Sir William Temple’s Moor Park
The diplomat Sir William Temple retires here, renames the estate Moor Park after the Hertfordshire house he loved, and lays out a famous garden. His young secretary, Jonathan Swift, writes A Tale of a Tub at Moor Park and meets Esther Johnson, the “Stella” of his letters.
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1699
A heart in the garden
Temple dies at Moor Park. At his request, his heart is buried in a silver casket beneath the sundial in his garden. As far as anyone knows, it’s still there.

We didn’t invent cider at Kilnside. We just picked it back up where the monks left off.
A family farm, small on purpose.
We keep a flock of sheep and a small herd of Dexters, a small, hardy breed that does well on grass alone. We keep bees. And every autumn the whole family disappears into the orchard.
Everything we sell, we’ve raised, grown, kept or pressed ourselves. We don’t sell online: the meat changes day to day, the cider runs out, and we’d rather you came and said hello.

One press, a lot of apples, and a very long weekend.
Our first pressings were on a cast-iron basket press that must be older than any of us. Apples went in the top, the ratchet came down, and the juice ran into a bucket. It did two autumns before we outgrew it.
Now there’s a proper cidery, a hydraulic press and room for up to 7,500 litres. The method hasn’t really changed. It’s still slow, still cold, and still bottled by hand. How we make it
From a trestle table to a cider bar.
In 2023 we took a table, two check cloths and whatever we had bottled that week to local markets. We’ve grown a bit since.



Every label is drawn by hand.
Our ciders are named for the places around us, and the pictures on the labels are drawn by people we love.
Abbot’s Secret carries a drawing of Waverley Abbey by Christopher’s godfather. It’s a nod to the monks who were pressing apples in this valley centuries before us, and who, we like to think, kept one or two things to themselves.
All Wey’s and Deacon’s Desire were drawn by Christopher’s father. All Wey’s is the river, which is always there at the bottom of the farm. Deacon’s Desire, the mellow one, we like to imagine the churchmen kept for Sundays.
Come and see it for yourself.
We’re open Monday to Saturday, nine to five. The North Downs Way runs right past the gate if you’d rather arrive on foot.