Martyn Cornell - a few thoughts, and some recollections

This post was always going to be a hard one to write, and even now three weeks after the event I'm still not certain where or how to begin regarding what I'm writing. However, once I reveal the individual’s name, then I’m sure many other people will feel the same way. I'm talking, of course, about Martyn Cornell who passed away suddenly, and quite unexpectedly at the beginning of the month, and just in case you are unaware of Martyn’s achievements, he was almost certainly, one of the most knowledgeable and most successful beer historians, of his generation.

He was highly sought after as a lecturer about beer, its history and development, an at the time of his passing, he was preparing to travel to Iceland to visit a number of breweries there. Four years ago, he moved to the Norfolk town of Cromer, home of the Poppyland micro-brewery, and operated by his brother Dave and Dave's wife Mandy. His final, and much anticipated book, "Porter and Stout: A Complete History," which explodes some of the myths surrounding that great Victorian beer, Porter, will be published this month and is expected to be well-received.

Now unlike those writers, who have posted their own tributes to Martyn, I didn't know him particularly well, in fact I only met him on a handful of occasions. Primarily these were events organised by the British Guild of Beer Writers. In June 2016, the Guild’s Annual General Meeting was held at the historic George Inn, situated just off Borough High Street, and close to London Bridge. According to the article I posted at the time, Martyn was present that evening, although I never managed to speak to him.

That opportunity occurred several years’ later at one of the Awards Dinners that the Guild organised in London, during the run-up to Christmas. 2021’s event was held in the sumptuous surroundings of Institution of Mechanical Engineers, close to Westminster, and I remember both Martyn and I being seated at the same table, alongside Gillian Hough who, at the time, was one of CAMRA’s national directors. 

Apart from me spilling out my reasons for leaving the Campaign, to Gillian, I can’t remember what else cropped up in the conversation, but five years’ earlier, Martyn and I were both delegates at the 2016 European Beer Writer’s Conference, held in Amsterdam. Although we didn’t know it at the time, that year’s event, proved to be the last, because Zephyr Adventures, the US-based organiser of these events, decided to call it a day. Whether Zephyr just got cold feet, or whether they found the logistics of organising such an event in a different continent, too difficult or too taxing, remains unknown, but for budding beer writers like me, these conferences were excellent. During the mid-teens of this century (2014 – 2016), I attended conferences in Dublin, Brussels, and finally Amsterdam, and it was at that particular event that I first saw Martyn in action. He was one of two speakers who addressed the conference’s opening session, along with Tim Webb, another writer from what I call the “old school” of beer writers.

Tim’s conference address, stuck in my mind more than Martyn’s, but that’s not to detract from a person who was quietly spoken, and extremely knowledgeable, without any no hint of wishing to show off to the audience. Although Martyn could be a stern critic of other writers, he was always pleasant company when meeting for a beer.  Prior to the conference, along with a dozen or so other beer writers, the pair of us were guests of Visit Brabant, the tourist agency which looks after this province of the Netherlands. The agency had certainly pulled out all the stops to make us feel welcome, and to show off this attractive and inviting area of the country. The excursion included an overnight stop in the historic city of ‘s-Hertogenbosch; normally abbreviated to Den Bosch.

Earlier that morning, our group was transported by coach, to the Abbey of Koningshoeven at Berkel-Enschot; home to the Dutch Trappist Brewery of La Trappe. Koningshoeven is one of just two Trappist breweries based in the Netherlands, out of the 11 currently in existence world-wide. The abbey is home to a community of 16 Benedictine monks, and as well as brewing beer it also produces cheese. Brewing began at Koningshoeven back in 1884, as a means of financing the monastery, and whilst the monks originally produced the beer themselves, it eventually became necessary to obtain outside commercial assistance.

After a tour of the brewery, we adjourned to the shady beer garden, next to the visitor centre, for a lunch of local ham, cheese, salad, and bread rolls. More beer followed in the form of a 7.5% Isid’or beer for me, whilst others went for either the 4.7% Puur (a pilsner-style beer), or the Witte Trappist 5.5%, wheat beer. The garden was crowded with visitors, most of whom appeared to have arrived by bike. Afterwards it was our turn to cycle, although those who preferred not to, were transported to the next destination by coach. Ten years ago, I was still a regular cyclist, so I was definitely up for a bike ride, even though our route along the bank of a canal, was a lot longer than expected.

Later that afternoon, after visiting a couple more breweries, our coach transported us back to Den Bosch, where we enjoyed a boat ride along the network of canals which ring the city. After checking into our hotel, we had an evening meal, plus several more beers the Café Bar le Duc, a brewpub and beer-café, situated right in the historic centre of the city. I’ve looked back at the photos of that day, and picked out both Martyn Cornell and Bryan Betts, another much missed beer writer, who was also taken from us, far too soon, (Bryan, sadly passed away in February, last year).

Midway through the conference, we given a tour of the legendary Jopen Brewery in Haarlem - a city that lies to the west of Amsterdam. The brewery visit was followed by an excellent, beer-related dinner, held in the almost ecclesiastical setting of Jopen’s original brewery, situated in a converted church. At the end of the conference, there were several, optional, beer-related activities, and the one I chose was a trip out to the renowned Brouwerij De Molen, housed in a converted windmill, in the small town of Bodegraven.

Martyn was present on that trip, which involved taking a train from Amstel station, and then making an hour’s rail journey, south-west from the Dutch capital to Bodegraven. It poured hard with rain, for much of the day, and we arrived at De Molen, looking like a group of drowned rats. Regrettably, much of the narrative surrounding not just this brewery visit, but the conference in general was lost when my old laptop decided to die on me, but I do remember we were well looked at renowned Brouwerij De Molen. Although the brewing originally took place in the old windmill, the majority of the company’s production is now concentrated place inside a couple of modern, industrial units, just a couple of blocks away. We were shown this during the tour, along with brewery’s impressive setup for producing different, barrel aged beers. 

By the time we arrived back in Amsterdam, the sun was shining, and we enjoyed a pleasant walk stroll to the hotel, along the banks of the Amstel river. I took a few photos which demonstrate that with Amsterdam being built on water, you can't go more than a few 100 yards without stumbling across a canal.

 I learned the sad news of Martyn’s passing, the day after I returned from holiday and thinking about both the writer and the man, is what prompted me to pen this tribute. Martyn was only three years older than me, which makes this loss particularly poignant, even though we are all unaware of how much time we have left on this earth. I am confident that Martyn's work will continue to inspire, both through his published writings and his blog. Apart from offering my heartfelt condolences to Martyn's family and friends, there is not much more I can say. His passing, far too soon, leaves a significant void, and his extensive knowledge, factual insights, pleasant nature, and friendly demeanour will be greatly missed.

 

An expensive make-over for the Vauxhall Inn, Tonbridge

There are two pubs within easy walking distance of Bailey Towers, and by this, I mean a 10-minute stroll. Both pubs are quite ancient in appearance and form, as evidenced by the attractive, period buildings, they are housed in. Both date back several centuries, and interestingly the first of these establishments only became a pub shortly after World War II. That particular pub is the Cardinal’s Error, and I shall deal with it in a subsequent article, but for now I want to talk about the second of the two pubs, which is the Vauxhall, a former coaching inn, situated on the edge of Tonbridge and close to the main A21 Hastings – London highway.

When I first moved to Tonbridge the Vauxhall was a fairly basic and perhaps a trifle run down boozer, but it had character and a welcoming open fire in the winter. Like many local pubs at the time, it was owned by Whitbread, and back in the mid 80’s was the perfect place to take the family dog to, after she’d had been exercised around the nearby fields. Several years later, Whitbread sold the Vauxhall off to a small, and recently established pub company, who had a handful of pubs scattered across West Kent. The pub was extended to the rear and also joined to a former stable block, that was originally a “stand alone” building.

This effectively trebled the Vauxhall in size, with the original part of the pub forming an extended bar, whilst the rear extension, plus the old stable block acting as the main dining areas. The real open fires were replaced by fake, gas-fuelled "log-effect" fires and the place re-opened as a "Chimneys" restaurant.  Dogs of course were no longer welcome, so I too decided that my custom was not wanted either and took myself elsewhere. In 2012 the Vauxhall returned to the Whitbread fold and became a Chef and Brewer pub. It was a pleasant enough place to go for a quiet drink, even though prices were on the dear side, and as far as dogs were concerned, we had lost our hound 10 years or so previously.

Since then, I’ve had a pretty much indifferent association with the pub, as had my wife primarily, because the Vauxhall was chosen by her group of friends as a convenient meeting place. I’m right in saying, that pretty much every time she’s come back disappointed. She’s also convinced that the pub is haunted, because things are continually going wrong there. Somewhere along the line, the pub passed into the ownership of Greene King, leaving Whitbread to concentrate on running the Premier Inn, situated at the rear of the pub. If you can put up with the traffic noise, the Premier makes a good base for those visiting the area and wishing to explore it further.

Apart from last weekend (see below), my last time of dining at the Vauxhall was in July 2023. Matthew and I ate there at a time when Mrs PBT’s was feeling poorly. I won’t go into too much detail about that, but you can read more about it here, should you wish. That evening, whilst there was a reasonable number of customers in the pub, it wasn't exactly heaving. Also, as most of the diners were already there when we arrived, Matthew and I ended up being the last to leave. The quality of the food was good, and I enjoyed a chicken and ham hock pie, served up with mash, vegetables, and gravy. Matthew went for his usual choice of a burger.

Moving swiftly on, last Sunday, Matthew took me to the Vauxhall for a Father's Day. It was the first weekend that the Vauxhall had been open since closing last month for a major renovation ahead of the summer season. If the reports are true, Greene King spent a six-figure sum, on a facelift designed to achieve a new look inside, with new furnishings to modernise it while honouring its “rich heritage”. This was a bold, and possibly a brave move too, given it was Father’s Day, although I’m guessing that Mothering Sunday, is THE special occasion when families enjoy taking their mother out for lunch, to show appreciation and express gratitude for their mothers.

It was a bold decision by the Vauxhall management to reopen during over such a significant weekend, although I’m not certain that it was the right, or indeed the wise one. Our mid-afternoon arrival was probably after the peak lunchtime period, but the staff were obviously still adjusting to the changes, brought as a result of the makeover. Space management seemed to be a challenge, and whilst Matthew and I were waiting to be served, I overheard a staff member expressing concern about running out of glasses. In actuality, it seemed the problem was not a lack of glasses, but rather that no one had collected the empty ones and loaded them into the dishwasher. A more obvious issue seemed to be lack of space behind the bar counter, as the expensive upgrade hadn’t addressed what must have been an issue prior to the makeover.

I was left thinking what had the money been spent on, as apart from the chintzy-looking furniture, not much seemed to have changed. Being a warm day, many customers were sat outside, so the pair of us had little difficulty in finding a seat. The beers on sale were the obvious duo of IPA and Abbot, plus a new one for me in the form of a golden ale brewed specially for Chef & Brewer, called, rather unimaginatively Golden Nectar. This 3.4% abv offering was pleasant enough, although it’s no Taylor's Landlord, or Fuller's London Pride, but it was in good condition. I can’t say how much it was, as the round was Matthew’s “treat”.

In summary, I am unlikely to be returning, and whilst she wasn’t present, I doubt that Mrs PBT’s will either, given her previous experiences of the place. As for the bad vibes surrounding the place, the pub, rumoured to be haunted by the ghost of a young girl who was brutally murdered nearby in 1901. You can read the full story here, should you wish.

Three of the best - Newhaven, Stornoway and Cobh

There were three, standout destinations on our recent cruise around the British Isles. Two of them I've already written about, albeit quite briefly in the case of the second, but they all stand out well. Those destinations were Newhaven, Stornoway and Cobh. The first two ports of call were in Scotland, whilst the third was in the Republic of Ireland, and it was the latter, and final destination that, for me, was the outstanding of the three. So, let’s take a brief look back at the two Scottish settlements, before taking a more detailed examination of Cobh, a town remembered for all the wrong reasons. This is due to it being the final port of call for the Titanic before setting off on its ill-fated voyage across the Atlantic, and that collision with the iceberg.

First up is Newhaven, a district of Edinburgh which borders the much better-known port of Leith. The only downside of our visit to the town, was having to be transferred across from Queen Anne’s anchorage in the Firth of Forth, by “tender,” which in this instance was the ship’s fleet of lifeboats. The journey across was fine, but what wasn’t so good was the lengthy wait in order to board one of the tenders. After a pleasant, and calm trip across to the pint-sized harbour, I stepped ashore and set off to explore Newhaven. The town has an attractive sea front, overlooking the Firth of Forth in a delightful setting, and if that wasn’t enough has a number of excellent pubs.

Next up is Stornoway, capital of the Hebridean island of Lewis and Harris and by far the largest town in the Outer Hebrides. Our ship docked mid-afternoon, but Mrs PBT’s and I left our trip into the town until the following morning.  Our berth for the duration of our stay was Stornoway’s new, deep-water cruise terminal, a construction so recent that the surrounding rocks still bear scars from having been blasted from the surrounding hillside. The Scottish Government has invested wisely in this new terminal, in the belief that it will allow cruise ships to visit this outlying Hebridean settlement, and I’m sure their speculation will pay off.

A free bus shuttle, running every 20 minutes, transported visitors into the heart of Stornoway or, if you were feeling adventurous, there was an off-road footpath, with a walking time of 50-60 minutes into town. Stornoway was a pleasant, and quite substantial, self-contained community, with many of the retail outlets that grace towns in other parts of the UK. Mrs PBT’s was happy with the presence of a Boots, plus a Peacocks, and I confess to making a purchase at the latter establishment as well. We partook of some liquid refreshment at the Star Inn, a cracking little pub looking out across the harbour. No cask, of course, but only to be expected in this part of the world, with the Guinness proving a worthwhile substitute.

We then come to Cobh, which was the real highlight of the Around the British Isles cruise. From 1849 until 1920, Cobh was known as Queenstown, but following the creation of the Irish Free State, the newly independent nation, quite understandably, wanted to drop all references to the British crown, and the royal connections were dropped. 

The town reverted to its original name, and today this town of 14,000 inhabitants, acts as the port for the nearby city of Cork. With its island setting, overlooking a large natural harbour, Cobh’s deep-water facilities mean ships can dock right in the heart of the town.  One such ship, of course, was the aforementioned Titanic, a vessel that is remembered for all the wrong reasons, but for those interested in tragic events from more than a century ago, the Titanic Experience Cobh is a themed attraction, housed in the former ticket office of the White Star Line.

Our day in Cobh was characterised by perfect weather conditions, with spells of bright, warm and welcoming summer sunshine. All this contributed to a holiday-like atmosphere, with flags flying in the breeze, and a band of local guardsmen entertaining the crowds from the bandstand, sited along the promenade.  The town’s setting was gorgeous, with some fine properties set up on the hillside overlooking the expanse of water contained by the arms of the surrounding hills. 

For those feeling slightly more adventurous, there is a regular train service into Cork, which departs from Cobh station, sited just a few 100 yards away from stepping off of the ship. With a journey time of just 20 minutes, it would have been worth making the journey into the Republic’s second largest city. However, with plenty to occupy visitors in Cobh itself, and a holiday atmosphere about the place, Mrs PBT's and I were quite content to remain where we were.

It was time for a beer, and time too for experiencing some true Irish hospitality. There were several pubs, stretched out along the road that runs along the seafront, but most were bursting at the seams, as they attempted to cater for the dozens of thirsty visitors who, like us, had come straight off the cruise ship. 

Fortunately, we found a seat at the Mauretania, a traditional and quite basic pub of the sort that was once quite, common in Britain, but which now is increasingly rare. It was a proper Irish boozer, with a warm welcome, plus a good selection of beers, including some excellent Murphy's.

Back in the late 1980’s, a pint of Cork-based, Murphy’s Irish stout, was a common sight in UK pubs, alongside stout from rival brewery Beamish & Crawford, who are also from Cork. It’s a long time since I last had a pint of Murphy’s, as whilst the beer is still available in canned form in Britain, I can’t recall seeing it on draught for many a long year. It was really good though, dark, smooth, creamy and delicious, and to my mind far superior to the much vaunted, and much more widely available Guinness. Apart from packets of Tayto crisps, there was no food, but the nice atmosphere more than made up for it. The only downside, according to Mrs PBT’s, was the steep, and narrow staircase up to the equally cramped “Ladies.”  I had to laugh, although Eileen didn't find it quite so amusing!  After leaving the Mauretania, we took a stroll back to where our ship was moored, but before going back onboard, had a look around the Titanic Visitor Experience.  

Cobh was definitely one of the highlights of the cruise, if not the main one, and as the last port of call, before heading for home, we went up onto Queen Anne’s top deck, where we soaked up the nautical setting, as the ship slipped its anchor, and majestically sailed out of Cork Harbour. We passed the former fortress, and prison of Spike Island, before heading back out into the Irish Sea, and a journey, through the most tranquil of seas, back to Southampton.