Old Family Brewers of Britain. Part Two of an Occasional Series - King & Barnes of Horsham

Welcome to Part Two of this occasional series, looking back at some of the old established family brewers of Britain, from a period in time some 15-20 years ago. This time we are looking at King & Barnes Ltd, who brewed in the West Sussex town of Horsham. I say "brewed" because unlike Robinson's, whom I wrote about in the first of these articles, King & Barnes ceased brewing back in 2000, following a take-over by Hall & Woodhouse of Blandford St Mary's, Dorset. Their 56 pubs were absorbed into the Badger estate, and whilst some still sell Dorset-brewed "King & Barnes" beers, they are not the same. Anyway, read on and see if this piece brings back a few memories of a company which once brewed one of the finest "ordinary bitters" in England.

The first time I ever tried King & Barnes Bitter I thought that it was one of the finest beers I had ever tasted. Sadly, I rarely bother drinking it, these days, as it has become just another run of the mill, ordinary bitter which, quite frankly, I find very disappointing. This is a great shame, especially when I think back to the lengths I had to go to in order to track down a pint of King & Barnes during the late 1970's.

I was living in South West London at the time, and being a country boy at heart, I often had a longing to escape from the confines of the big city. To travel out into the fresh air and open spaces of the surrounding countryside was what I desired. I achieved this aspiration by purchasing a second hand racing bike. It cost me the princely sum of £29. The bike fulfilled another aspiration, that of becoming fitter, and what better way than to cycle out into the Surrey countryside, in order to visit an unspoilt country pub.

Virtually every Sunday, from early Spring through to late Autumn, weather permitting, I would jump on my bike and head due south. Invariably I would be aiming for a country pub, carefully picked from the Good Beer Guide, where I could enjoy a Sunday lunchtime drink before cycling home. As I became fitter, the length of my cycle journeys increased as well. I had always wanted to try King & Barnes, as I knew that their  beers had an excellent reputation. A glance through my beer guide showed me that there was a King & Barnes house in Reigate a town which, although a fair distance, was just about within my reach.

One particular Sunday, with the promise of fine weather, I decided to go for broke and cycle to Reigate. I chose my route with care trying, as I always did, to avoid main roads wherever possible. However, for the first part of my journey, busy main thoroughfares were unavoidable. Before too long though, I was riding through the Surrey "Stock-Broker Belt" and into the open countryside.

Those who are familiar with the geography of this part of the country will know that the North Downs form a natural barrier to the south of the capital; a barrier which has to be traversed. Travelling due south there is a relatively shallow, but rather long climb up before one reaches a steeply sloping escarpment. This then drops away, quite dramatically, to some relatively flat ground in between the next ridge of hills. What this means for the cyclist, is a long, but reasonably gentle ride up on the outward journey, culminating in a short, but exhilarating ride down. Whilst on the return journey there is a steep, but short climb up, followed by a nice long, free-wheel all the way home - just the thing after a long cycle ride out!

I was aiming for a pub called the Nutley Hall; an unspoilt 19th Century town boozer, hidden away in the backstreets of Reigate. I managed to find it without too much trouble and, after chaining my bike to some nearby railings, I stepped inside eager to quench my thirst after my long ride. I ordered a pint of bitter and raised it to my lips with eager anticipation. I was not to be disappointed.

The beer was very pale in colour, not quite the pale-straw colour of Boddingtons or Theakstons, but not far from it. It possessed a wonderful hop aroma, which led into a superb, flowery hoppiness. This set off the maltiness of the beer in a way that can only be described as perfect; so perfect in fact that, as I mentioned at the beginning of this article, it ranked as one of the best beers I had ever tasted. The beer was almost too good to tip straight down my throat and, thirsty as I was, I found myself savouring every last drop of it. I still managed to put away a further two pints of it, before time was called, after which I mounted my bike and reluctantly headed for home, vowing to return.

I made at least two further visits to  Nutley Hall, taking a friend with me on one of those occasions. Each time the beer was superb. I even tried the King & Barnes Mild by way of a change. However, having got this far, I decided to cast my net even further afield. The reasons for this decision were twofold, and included a desire to prove to myself that I could cycle even further for a lunchtime drink. My main reason though was having enjoyed King & Barnes Fine Horsham Ales in an unspoilt town boozer, I wanted to enjoy them in an unspoilt country inn.

The Plough at Blackbrook fitted the bill, and on a scorching July day, after a long ride and a few wrong turns, I arrived hot and sticky at the Plough. I found the ale here to be every bit as good as that at Nutley Hall, but this time I had the added bonus of the pleasant rural surroundings.

So far as I recall, this was to be my one and only visit to Blackbrook, for not long afterwards I moved to Maidstone, where I had bought my first house. There were no King & Barnes pubs in the Maidstone area, or indeed Kent as a whole,  and it was to be some time before I had the chance to sample the company's products again.

My chance came in the summer of 1980, on a visit organised by the Maidstone & Mid-Kent branch of CAMRA, to the brewery itself. I had recently been co-opted onto the branch committee and had been given the job of organising the trip. I booked the coach, and on the appointed day our party journeyed to Horsham. Our trip round the brewery was scheduled for 1pm, which meant that we had a couple of hours to sample King & Barnes in their home town. Despite visiting a number of King & Barnes pubs, I must confess to a feeling of disappointment over the beer I sampled that day. It seemed somewhat lacking in character, certainly compared to the beer I had enjoyed a couple of years previously. It was also considerably darker in colour.

The reasons for the changes were not immediately apparent to me but, with the benefit of hindsight, I now know that they were directly related to the opening of a brand new brew-house in 1980. The latter was built alongside the original, 120 year old one, and had three times its capacity. The idea was that the old brew-house would produce the smaller volume beers, such as Sussex Mild and Old Ale, whilst the new one would brew Sussex Bitter, plus the recently launched Draught Festive - a premium strength bitter derived from the bottled beer of the same name. It was around this time that the company adopted both a different style for its beers, and a new corporate identity for its pubs. Instead of being known as King & Barnes Horsham Ales, they set their sights further afield, adopting the name King & Barnes Sussex Ales. Similarly, the bitter, which had formerly been known as P.A., was renamed Sussex Bitter.

The tour was interesting enough, although having already drank a skin-full of ale beforehand; my memory of it is rather vague. Not long afterwards, I remember reading in "What's Brewing", a letter penned by, amongst others, Frank Baillie. The letter was a complaint concerning the deterioration of King & Barnes's Bitter, with the comment that it lacked the delightful flowery hop aroma it once had. The writers also believed that the beer had become bland and lacking in character. Although I had a considerable amount of respect for Frank Baillie, I considered this judgement to be somewhat harsh. Again with the benefit of hindsight, I now know that these opinions were correct. King & Barnes Bitter had gone from being one of the finest beers in the country, to being a very plain and very ordinary bitter.

In 1984 I moved to Tonbridge, a move which gave me more of a chance to renew my acquaintance with King & Barnes. By this time their beers were quite widely available in the West Kent area, and the company had also just acquired its first tied house in Kent, the Hop Bine at Petteridge. I drank King & Barnes wherever I could, but must admit the Sussex Bitter invariably left me disappointed. Things eventually got to the stage that I started to avoid Sussex Bitter. When measured against the other “Sussex Bitter” i.e.. the better known, and more widely distributed beer from Harvey's of Lewes, there was just no comparison and, given the choice, I would always plump for the latter.

In 1987, as secretary of the Tonbridge & Tunbridge Wells Branch of CAMRA, I organised another visit to the brewery. This time we travelled by train, and also had the tour mid-morning, i.e.. prior to embarking on a crawl of the pubs of Horsham. Sampling the beers in the brewery hospitality room, and then being led on the conducted tour round the plant, finally brought home to me just how much the bitter had deteriorated in character. I firmly believe that the brewery altered the recipe of this beer some time between 1978 and 1980. Whether this was a result of the opening of the new brew-house, or whether it was just coincidental, I don't know. What I do know is that I no longer go out of my way to drink Sussex Bitter any more.

As I said at the beginning of this article this is a great shame, but at least King & Barnes still have some fine beers in their portfolio. Draught Festive is a very good drink indeed, whilst their seasonal Old Ale is rightly described by CAMRA's Good Beer Guide as a classic. I have yet to try all of the new range of seasonal beers, introduced by the company, but feel that I will not be disappointed when I do. Certainly, those I have sampled to date have all been good. Now if only King and Barnes would revert to brewing Sussex Bitter like it used to be then everything would be just fine!

 

Footnote:

My desire for the old  P.A. recipe to be revived was never fulfilled, because in September 1999 Shepherd Neame of Faversham made a surprise bid for King & Barnes. This was countered in April 2000, by a rival bid from Dorset brewers, Hall & Woodhouse. The bid was accepted by the shareholders, and within weeks brewing had ceased. The brewery buildings were sold off and demolished for housing, and the pubs are now managed by Hall and Woodhouse, who also acquired the rights to the King & Barnes brand names

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The exact reasons behind the takeover are not clear, but the value of the brewery site, right in the centre of Horsham, may have been enough to persuade the majority of the shareholders to cash in their chips. Family member, Bill King wanted to continue brewing, but his 30% share was not enough to stop the others from selling up.

In May 2001 Bill King formed a small brewery in Horsham - WJ King & Co. Around the same time, King & Barnes ex-head brewer Andy Hepworth also started his own brewery in the town - Hepworth & Co.  The company specialises in contract brewing and also bottles for other brewers, but still produces some cask beer for sale locally. A couple of years later, Hepworth’s and King’s were joined by Welton’s; a company which produces a wide variety of different cask ales.

Fourteen years later, and Hall & Woodhouse are still churning out beers badged as King & Barnes. If anything, the Sussex is even worse than it was in the latter days of brewing in Horsham, and anyway, how can you have a Sussex Bitter which is brewed in Dorset?

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Relieving the Pressure?

As I sit here writing this post  I pause to reflect that, even as my fingers press down on the keys, the great and the good of CAMRA, (well Tandleman for a start), will be debating many weighty matters at this weekend's National AGM and Member’s Weekend at Scarborough.

I mention Tandleman because he is proposing what will almost certainly be the most controversial motion of the weekend. The motion basically expresses concern about the increasing tendency for some cask ales to be brewed in order for them to be served hazy or cloudy. It mentions the potential for both confusion at the point of sale and the undermining of customer confidence in real ale, and goes on to instruct the National Executive to examine the matter and report back to next year’s Conference with its findings. 

Controversial enough you might think? But nowhere near as controversial as the issue which refuses to go away, and yet is not up for debate at Scarborough. I’m talking here about but the real elephant in the room; the one divisive issue which CAMRA chooses to ignore and refuses to discuss. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about Cask Breathers!

Cask breathers or aspirators are a mechanism for keeping oxygen away from beer in the cask, thereby extending, or prolonging its shelf-life. They work by keeping the gas in the cask at atmospheric pressure by either admitting applied gas to replace beer drawn off, or venting any excess gas generated by the beer itself. The carbonation level of the beer is thus kept constant, and because of this mode of operation, they are some times referred to as “demand valves”.

 The effect of the breather on the taste of the beer is a matter of hot debate, and remains controversial. In controlled tests, most drinkers have been unable to distinguish between naturally conditioned and cask breather beers, but unfortunately some CAMRA members have developed a pathological hatred of these devices which borders on insanity.

In order to understand why this should be it is necessary to look back to the early days of the Campaign for Real Ale and to examine exactly what the fledgling organisation was up against. The years preceding CAMRA’s formation had seen a massive consolidation within the brewing industry, leading to the creation of six large brewing groups, achieved through a series of consolidations and mergers. Around three-quarters of the nation’s pubs were owned or controlled by these mega-breweries, each of whom was pursuing policies of rationalisation within their tied estates. Locally brewed, traditional cask-conditioned beers were being phased out in favour of heavily promoted, national “keg” brands, which were easier for publicans to handle but which like any mass-marketed product, had a tendency towards blandness.

“Keg” or “brewery-conditioned” beer was to begin with, little more than bottled beer in a much larger container. What made it the object of so much derision not only from early CAMRA members, but also from many seasoned drinkers, was its bland taste and overly gassy nature. The brewers’ quest for nationally available brands meant that many of the characteristics which distinguished beers from one region of the country to another, were removed. The overtly hoppy beers preferred by one area or the full-bodied and malty beers enjoyed by another were homogenised to create beers which the brewers hoped would appeal to people in all parts of the country; for such is the nature of a “national brand”. 

So far, so good, but in order to promote their national brands to a still wider audience, the large brewers had to try and sell them to people who didn’t actually like beer; well certainly not beer which tasted of malt with a good smack of hops! The result, even blander and sweeter brews, derided by some as “lemonade beers”. The most infamous example of this was Watney’s Red, a sweetened and dumbed down version of the company’s original keg beer, Red Barrel. Launched in a blaze of publicity during the early 1970’s, under the theme of the “Red Revolution”, with posters depicting look-alike iconic communist leaders, such as Khrushchev, Mao and Castro, the beer was a spectacular flop, but the company persisted with its promotion and with the phasing out of popular local brands such as Bullards, Tamplins, Ushers and Wilson’s.

As if the sweet, insipid taste and the use of inferior ingredients wasn’t enough, the beers underwent filtration, to remove residual yeast, and then pasteurisation to kill off any remaining yeast and to stabilise them. They then needed a method of dispense in order to transfer them from the keg to the customer’s glass. Carbon dioxide (CO₂) pressure was the answer, and it was quite a logical one given that it is the gas naturally produced during fermentation, and the gas which gives the beer its sparkle or condition, and also imparts that pleasant mouth feel and refreshing characteristic to the beer. This, of course, is the system used in the vast majority of countries where beer is sold on draught.

The only trouble was that the pressure of CO₂ required to force the beer from the container to the glass was such that it made the beer overly fizzy, and also led to a tendency for the beer to fob, or foam during dispense. I remember this well, being in a queue of thirsty drinkers at the bar and watching the bar staff pouring pint after pint of mainly foam, whilst waiting for the stuff to settle down. The brewers countered this by installing chillers in the lines, which worked because, as we all remember from school science lessons, gasses are more soluble in liquids at low temperatures, than they are at higher ones. The trouble here is that whilst lager-style beers are meant to be served chilled, top-fermented ales are not. However, as some critics pointed out, chilling helped disguise the poor taste of many of these heavily promote keg brands, so for some it was a blessing in disguise.

CO₂  rather than filtration or pasteurisation, became the bête noir, so far as CAMRA was concerned, and certainly in the early days of the campaign the organisation seemed more interested in dispense methods than anything else. Again it is easy to understand why, because although at this time there was still a lot of cask-conditioned beer around, much of it was served by "top-pressure" dispense. This system involved connecting a cylinder of carbon dioxide to the spile hole of the cask so that when the tap was pulled on the bar top fount dispenser, pressure of CO₂ was applied to the "top” of the beer, thereby forcing beer put of the cask, along the pipeline and into the customer's glass.

The brewers argued that it allowed the beer kept to be kept for much longer, as it prevented it coming into contact with oxygen in the air. It also gave an extra "sparkle" and bite to the beer, owing to the increased amount of dissolved CO_2. Critics countered this by complaining that the system ruined perfectly good cask beer, and gave it the characteristics of keg i.e. brewery-conditioned beer. CAMRA's choice of words at the time was that it made the ale "sickly and sweet", although quite how it achieved the latter is beyond me. (Dissolving CO₂ in water, and beer is approximately 95% water, produces carbonic acid, which is definitely NOT sweet!)

However, as someone who commenced beer drinking during the early 1970's, when this system was quite commonplace, there is no doubt that excess gas certainly did spoil cask beer. I may not have realised it at the time, as to begin with I probably drank far more "top-pressure" dispensed beer than that dispensed by more traditional methods. This was not through choice, but down to the simple fact that most of the pubs I drank in used CO₂ dispense. Most were either tied to Courage or Whitbread; both of whom had something of a duopoly in the East Kent town where I grew up. Pubs belonging to local brewer, Shepherd Neame, were more likely to have retained traditional hand pumps as a means of dispense, but at the time myself and my friends tended to avoid Shep's pubs, preferring instead something more modern i.e. tarted up!, and furthermore none of us were keen on Shep’s beers (probably because they had a lot more character back then than the more bland offerings from Messrs Courage and Whitbread.)

Enter the cask breather. It has been argued that if these devices had been around at the time when CAMRA was formed, there would have been no need for the campaign. From an emotional point of view it is perhaps easier to understand the vehemence and distrust with which these devices are viewed by the more rabid members of the campaign. However, from a scientific and totally logical point of view there is no need at all for the cask breather to be treated with such contempt.

Let’s look at the facts: if the beer is already conditioned then the CO₂ is simply stopping the air getting to the beer. That air contains oxygen and bacteria which will damage the beer, but the applied CO₂ prevents this from happening. The applied CO₂ is not going to be detrimental to the beer as it won't get into it. Beer gives up CO₂ to atmospheric pressure, so the only thing that will happen to beer kept in casks fitted with cask breathers is it will loose condition, slowly, until equilibrium is achieved. Basically there is no way that CO₂ at atmospheric pressure will somehow damage the beer. The only real argument against cask breathers is that they are the thin end of the wedge. Even this though is a spurious one, as why would landlords want to change from a system which works, and which has no deleterious affect on the beer at all, to a fully-fledged "top-pressure" system which DOES alter the beer and which comes with  substantial inherent extra costs?
CAMRA's argument against cask breathers is therefore one which is based purely on emotion, and past history, rather than scientific fact. It is of no help to struggling pubs and hard-pressed landlords, and by its extreme fundamentalist nature merely succeeds in making the campaign a laughing stock within the pub and beer industry.

The late Richard Boston, who was an early flag waver for real ale, and a pioneering campaigning writer for better quality beer, became disillusioned with CAMRA quite quickly, and stated in his excellent book “Beer & Skittles”, published 1976, “At times it has seemed that CAMRA’s sole interest was in the means of dispense. It has been said that some of their members would drink castor oil if it came from a hand pump, and would reject nectar if it had no more than looked at carbon dioxide.”

I know several rabid hard-line fanatics who fit into this category, arguing vehemently against cask breathers, particularly at branch Good Beer Guide selection meetings. It is impossible to discuss the issue with them scientifically or logically. These are the people who are convinced they can spot a pub using cask breathers just by looking at the beer in the glass! They are the same self-serving people who think it is their right to insist the landlord shows them his cellar, just in case the prohibited devices might be lurking somewhere in a dark corner. I am normally a peace-loving person, but they are the sort of anally retentive people who make me want to tear up my CAMRA membership card in disgust and throw something at them!

To sum up; don’t expect to see a change in CAMRA policy any time soon. To put the record straight, it is worth noting that CAMRA’s Technical Committee, which advises on various aspects of brewing and cellarmanship, actually approved the use of cask breathers. My memory isn’t quite what it was, but I believe this recommendation was made about 20 years ago, so we are not talking recent history here.

Despite this approval which, incidentally was based on scientific fact and not doctrinal clap-trap, successive AGM’s have voted to reject cask breathers purely on the same emotional, illogical reasons we have already covered. I won’t go into how these AGM decisions come about, as the subject of democracy within CAMRA, and the way AGM’s are handled is a whole separate subject. However, as the dinosaurs and anoraks within the campaign get older, and slowly shuffle off this mortal coil, there is always hope that common sense will prevail. Hope that is, as long as it is not too late, because developments within the brewing and pub industries, such as the increasing popularity of “key-kegs” and tank beer, may eventually make the whole business of cask-conditioning and hand pump dispense, a real thing of the past!

 Footnote:

Looking back at the first Good Beer Guide, published in 1974, it's interesting to note that it lists beers from the now defunct Hull Brewery, even though all that company's beers were filtered and served from cellar tanks - albeit by hand or electric pumps!
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Old Family Brewers of Britain. Part One of an Occasional Series - Robinson's of Stockport

What seems like several years ago, but is actually much longer than that, I wrote a series of articles about various UK breweries and my relationship with them. This relationship varied; some were either amongst my favourite breweries, or brewed one of my favourite beers. Others were companies I was familiar with, for the simple reason that at some stage I lived within their trading ares, and thus drank a lot of their beers. The list also included breweries which I had a love-hate relationship with. (Sheps fall into this category, but it's still very much hate at the moment!).

I had largely forgotten about these articles until the other day, when I came across them whilst transferring files across from my previous computer to one I have just acquired from a work colleague. As I seem to be bereft of ideas for blogging at the moment, and suffering from a bout of "writer's block", I thought I would inflict some of these articles on readers of this blog. So, in no particular order, here is the first of them, and it's about North-West brewers, Robinson's.

Until the autumn of 1973, when I went to live in the Greater Manchester area, I had never heard of the Stockport brewers Frederic Robinson and Sons. Back in the early 1970’s CAMRA was in its infancy and whilst I had a burgeoning interest in trying different beers there were no guides as such to point the discerning drinker in the right direction.

I had ended up in Greater Manchester following the offer of a place at Salford University. This was not my first choice as a seat of learning, but having failed to obtain the necessary grades at "A" level I had to take what was offered by the universities "clearing system". By the time my place had been secured it was late September and I discovered that student accommodation was in very short supply; so much so that some students were having to bed down on the floor of the university gymnasium.

The problem of a place to stay was solved by my mother's sister, who lived in a small town called Romiley, situated in the foothills of the Pennines, a few miles outside Stockport. My aunt had a spare room in her house, so it seemed the ideal solution for me to put up there for a while, whilst looking for alternative accommodation.

Although I was a bit homesick at first, I soon settled in, and found my aunt and uncle's house to be both comfortable and well appointed. I used my motorbike to travel the dozen or so miles into university each day then, after it broke down, I switched to journeying by train. Most of my fellow students lived much closer to the university, and although I enjoyed quite an active social life during the week, I found myself at a loose end at weekends. This was because a significant number of my fellow students came from places within easy travelling distance of Manchester, and many of them preferred to return home for the weekend rather than stay put at university.

Rather than spend my evenings sat in front of the television, or shut in my room reading, I decided to explore some of the local hostelries. This was no easy task for a somewhat shy and introverted 18 year old, but I nevertheless forced myself to go out. I knew that if I turned left out of my aunt's house and then carried on down the hill towards the station and the centre of Romiley, I would come to a John Smith's pub called the Duke of York. I had been in there on my first night at my aunt’s and found it pleasant enough, but I wanted to see what lay in the other direction. At the end of my aunt's road, sited on a junction, was a pub whose name now unfortunately escapes me. It belonged to a brewery that was totally unknown to me - Frederic Robinson & Son Ltd.

I chose the saloon bar, in the belief that the natives would be friendlier than in the public (or vault as they prefer to call it in Manchester). It was comfortable without being overtly plush. Adorning the bar were a number of metered electric dispensers, with Best Bitter and Best Mild as the beers on offer. Opting for the former once I had drunk my way through the thick creamy head so beloved by Northern drinkers, I found it quite aggressively hopped, and not at all unpleasant.

These days when visiting a strange pub I would have no trouble in striking up a conversation. Back then though I was a lot more self-conscious, but I nevertheless stood my ground at the bar and stayed for a couple of pints. I also purchased some bottles of brown ale to take home with me, so as to have something to drink the following evening. I made a few other visits to the pub over the course of that first term getting quite to like the Robinson's Best and taking note of the fact there were several other pubs belonging to the brewery in the town.

By the following term I had found myself lodgings close to the town of Eccles. The lodgings were only a short bus ride away from the university, and whilst they were somewhat spartan, and the food dull, lacking in nutrition and extremely un-imaginative, the lad I shared a room with liked a pint. Howard shared my love of a pint, and coming from the Lake District was a Hartley's devotee. We soon discovered that the nearest pub to our lodgings was a large, modern Robinson’s pub called the White Horse. We ended up going out most evenings as there was precious little in the way of entertainment at the digs. Although we often ventured a bit further a field into Eccles itself, we still spent many an evening in the White Horse enjoying the Robinson’s beer.

At the end of the academic year I became actively involved in researching and compiling a guide to local pubs. The guide was to form part of the Student’s Union Handbook for the forthcoming academic year. One of the pubs we visited was the unspoilt Star Inn, situated in a quiet and almost forgotten backwater of Salford. The following year I managed to secured accommodation in one of the university halls of residence (with a room of my own as well!), and the Star became one of my regular haunts. The fact that the Star was home to a thriving Folk Club added to the pub's attraction, as did the Robinsons' beers.

The Star was one of only 20 or so outlets selling Robinson's Ordinary Bitter. This was out of a tied estate that approached 400 pubs. Even rarer, was the fact that the beer was dispensed by hand pump, rather than the much more common electric pumps. The Star also occasionally had Old Tom barley wine on draught; the legendary strong ale, with an alcohol content of 8.5%. At the time it was the strongest beer I had tasted, but it was certainly a drink for helping to keep out the cold on a frosty winter's night. So far as I know, Old Tom was originally a winter drink, but it is now brewed all year round, and is made available to those pubs who wish to take it.

My close friend and drinking buddy, Nick normally accompanied me to the Star. He lived in a rented house, close to the halls of residence, which he shared with a group of fellow students,. Halfway through the autumn term Nick and his housemates decided to throw a party, and wishing to offer something different from the usual Party Seven fizz thought that a cask of Robinson's would be a good idea for the party. The order was duly placed with the brewery, and a couple of days prior to the party we persuaded the girlfriend of one of the housemates to drive us there in her Land Rover in order to collect the cask.

Having located the brewery, and paid for our purchase, we carefully transported one firkin of Robinson's Best Bitter back to Salford and set it up on the kitchen table, venting and pegging it as instructed. This was my first experience of looking after cask-conditioned beer, something I have become quite adept at over the years. The party was a great success, due in no small measure to the excellence of the beer.

During my four years in Manchester I enjoyed Robinson’s ales on numerous occasions and ironically, for my last six months in the region, I ended up moving back to Romiley. This time though I was not staying at my aunt's; instead a girlfriend and I had rented a small flat above the local butcher’s shop. Unlike my previous stay in the town, I managed to explore most of the local pubs. The Railway was one fairly frequent haunt, but it was another Robinson’s pub that ended up becoming our local. The pub was called the Friendship Inn and we became regulars there, playing the locals at both darts and cribbage. It was therefore with some sadness that we had to say goodbye when the time came to move back down south.

It was to be some time before I next had the chance to enjoy a pint of Robinson's again, although occasional business trips to Manchester did provide a few opportunities. I also drank the beer on visits to the Derbyshire Peak District during the early 1980’s; the Manner's Arms in Bakewell serving a particularly fine pint. When I first tried a pint of Best Bitter in the Manners, the beer appeared much paler in colour than I remembered, but this was probably just my memory playing tricks on me.

In 1997 I tasted Robinson's Dark Mild for the first time. This particular brew is a very rare find indeed, normally being available in only a handful of pubs. I had been thwarted, by the weather, in a previous attempt to track it down, so after spotting it on sale at the Great British Beer Festival, I just had to have a pint.

My first attempt at sampling this beer, had taken place some nineteen years previous, in 1978, when I was still living in Romiley. My girlfriend had already moved back to London, in order to start a new job, and had moved back in with her parents until she managed to find a flat for us both to live in. I was at a loose end, and knowing this, my friend Nick suggested that a trip out to Derbyshire, with the express purpose of trying a pint of Robinson’s Dark Mild would be a good idea. He had recently passed his motorbike test and offered to drive me out to the Old Pack Horse in the small Derbyshire town of Chapel-en-le Frith, which was listed in the Good Beer Guide as stocking the beer. Unfortunately the day chosen for our trip was a bitterly cold Saturday in the middle of February. Heavy snow had fallen the previous week, and although there was little sign of it when we set out from Romiley, by the time we got into the foothills of the Pennines we became aware that much of the snow was still lying in the surrounding fields.

As we climbed higher into the hills, the roads became more and more treacherous, until eventually we reached a spot where the wind had blown a substantial drift off the fields, right across the road. To have continued any further, on two wheeled transport, would have been foolhardy in the extreme, so we had no choice but to turn round and head for the warmth of home.

Shortly after that expedition I too departed from Greater Manchester, so it was especially satisfying to complete my sampling of  Robinson's then range of cask ales by enjoying, at long last, their excellent Dark Mild.

So there you have it, a traditional brewery with an excellent range of traditional beers. The only blot on Robinson's copy book is their take over, and eventual closure of Hartley's Brewery during the 1980's. What my former room-mate, Howard made of that heaven only knows, but then again nobody is perfect all of the time!

Having said that, Robinson's must definitely be one of those beers that doesn’t travel well. When my wife and I had our real ale off-licence during the first half of this decade,  we featured Robinson’s Best (now re-badged as "Unicorn").as a guest ale on several occasions. I must say that both my customers and I found it rather bland and somewhat disappointing. It might possibly be one of those beers that benefits being served through a sparkler, with a tight, creamy northern-style head. Alternatively like a host of other once distinctive and well-regarded beers, it may have deliberately have been “dumbed down” and made blander in order to appeal to a wider audience. I don't think this is the case, but until I re-visit the North-West I really won’t know for certain.

Footnote:

2013 saw Robinson's celebrating their 175th birthday and they used the occasion to enlarge and re-build their Victorian Brewery, turning it into a state-of-the-art modern Brew- House. They also re-vamped their beer range, re-naming some of the beers and dispensing with others, and launched the hugely successful Trooper, a 4.8% golden ale created with heavy-metal rock group, Iron Maiden. The latest innovations have been the opening of a new Visitor and Training Centre in the heart of Stockport, plus the introduction of a brand new line-up of seasonal ales, giving drinkers in the North West, a well as further afield, the chance to sample something that little bit different.

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Seeing the Light?

Last week I noticed that Marstons Old Empire IPA was on special offer at Waitrose, in a three bottles for £5 deal. I've always been a fan of this 5.7% beer which claims to be faithful recreation of a 19th Century India Pale Ale, with its full-bodied, juicy malt base and its rich fruity hop character, as even if its authenticity might be called in question by some, it's still a damn fine beer.

One thing though always niggled me, and that was the beer was packaged in a clear glass bottle. The beer might look good in clear glass, and it's perhaps understandable that the marketing people might want to show it off, but as most people associated with the brewing industry know, clear glass allows the un-impeded passage of UV, and other wavelengths of radiation, which can have a disastrous effect on the beer. Beer exposed to ultraviolet and visible light is known as "Lightstruck", or "Skunked". Without going too much into the chemistry of the process, the light reacts with, and breaks down isohumulones, a molecule which is derived from hops that contributes to the bitterness of the beer. The resulting compound formed is very similar chemically, and in odour, to the musk-like mercaptans that are a skunk's natural defences; hence the term "skunked".

On this occasion I was pleased to see the beer packaged in a traditional brown bottle. The thought that Marston's may have had a change of heart crossed my mind, but the change of packaging was sufficient to persuade me to buy three bottles at this bargain price. I didn't think any more about this until I cracked a bottle open yesterday evening. The beer tasted good, but when I looked on the back  label I noticed a statement which read "MARSTON'S MARK OF QUALITY. All Marston's beers are bottled in Amber glass to avoid unnecessary deterioration sometimes experienced with clear bottles, ensuring the highest possible quality at all times."

Well they never used to be "bottled in Amber glass", but whilst this sounds like a taciturn acceptance of past mistakes, the change has to be applauded! If major brewers, such as Marston's have come out against clear glass, then there is hope at last that others will follow suit. The main culprits still using clear glass are Greene King, Shepherd Neame and of course Scottish & Newcastle, for their famous Brown Ale. Whether they too will change remains to be seen, but let's hope they see sense. the scientific evidence against clear glass is overwhelming. History too is in favour of brown glass, as it is not for nothing that over the last few hundred years beer has been packaged in dark brown bottles.

As a scientist I was so pleased with this about turn which, for a change, was a triumph of substance over style, that I felt obliged to write this blog post about it. Hopefully other writers and beer enthusiasts will spread the good news and encourage those remaining recalcitrants, who are still using clear glass, to do the same.

Pub of the Year and a Ramble

Yesterday being Good Friday was the date for Maidstone & Mid Kent CAMRA’s annual ramble, which this year took place in our local West Kent area. What’s more the walk was to the worthy winner of our branch Pub of the Year 2014, the Windmill at Sevenoaks Weald. For some of us, including myself, this meant two trips to this excellent example of a traditional village pub.

Last Sunday a number of us made the trip over to Weald by bus, in order to present landlord Matthew with his well deserved certificate; whilst today around 20 of us made the journey by foot. We set off from Penshurst station just after 10.30am, and after a very pleasant walk through the Kent countryside, which was at its spring finest, arrived at the Windmill shortly after opening time.

 

As on my earlier visit, there was a good selection of beers on, but I had no hesitation in opting for the Ranmore Ale from Surrey Hills; an excellent and well-hopped pale ale. Despite the sunny skies, most of us opted to sit inside the pub, especially as the majority of us had ordered lunch. I went for the Goan spicy seafood curry, which had just the right degree of heat, and was a good accompaniment to the beer.

I also tried a pint of former Champion Beer of Britain, Triple fff Pride of Alton which, although good, could not compete with the Ranmore Ale. One member of our party even decided to give a few of the Windmill’s bottled Belgian beers a go, including a bottle of Kwak, complete with its wooden retort stand for the glass! Shortly before leaving, I opted for a half of Goachers Imperial Stout, fetched from the cellar for me by Matthew. It was perhaps fitting to see this beer coming on sale, as amongst our walking party were none other than Phil Goacher and his wife Debbie, proprietors of Kent’s second oldest brewery after Shep’s.

We left the Windmill shortly after 3pm, walking back to Penshurst station by a different and shorter route. Although I am familiar with many of the by-roads and lanes of this area, much of the surrounding countryside was new to me, and it was not until we approached the tiny hamlet of Charcott from the rear that I knew where we were.

Charcott is close to my place of work at Chiddingstone Causeway, and most lunchtimes I walk up towards this small settlement, before veering off across the old Penshurt airfield – the route which leads back towards Penshurst station. We just had time to call in for a swift one at the Little Brown Jug, opposite the station, before catching the train back to Tonbridge. The walk was around 8 miles in total, and unlike the previous year, when temperatures were close to freezing, this year they were in the mid to high teens. It was therefore much more enjoyable, especially as it afforded the opportunity of seeing the Kent countryside at its best. Our thanks, as always to Dick and Pam Wilkinson for organising what must now be getting on for the 40^th such annual event!

So what exactly made the Windmill at Weald our branch Pub of the Year? Well, back in 2013 the pub won the award for “most improved pub” in the West Kent CAMRA area, and deservedly so, for the previous year, licensees Matthew and Emma had taken over what was a very run down and failing Greene King pub, and turned it into both a destination pub and somewhere the village could be proud of.

No strangers to the pub trade, the couple had previously run the Stile Bridge, a well-known and highly successful free house, close to the village of Marden. The Windmill caught their eye as they had been looking for somewhere a bit closer to their children’s schools, so when Greene King put the pub on the market, it seemed the ideal opportunity.

A lot of hard work followed before the pub was in a state where it could re-open for business. The interior was completely stripped out, and then re-fitted and decorated in a style which was sympathetic to the Victorian building. The walls are adorned with old brewery advertising plaques, many of them extolling the virtues of Belgian beers. The traditional feel is enhanced by dividing up the interior with various high-backed wooden settles and benches. A couple of fireplaces provide warmth during the winter months. The transformation was completed by painting the exterior in a two tone cream and dark-green colour scheme. The result is a cosy and comfortable pub which is a delight to visit, with much to offer the toper and gourmet alike.

On the drink front the Windmill has six hand pulls dispensing a range of well-chosen beers from independent brewers, sourced mainly, but not exclusively, from Kent or neighbouring Sussex. Local ciders and perries are also available, alongside a range of bottled Belgian beers. Even the lager drinker is catered for by offering them something rather better than the usual bog-standard pub fodder of Carling, Fosters or Stella. Instead the Windmill sells Cristal, a 4.8% pale lager from Belgium’s Alken-Maes Brewery.

The latter is served in its own attractive branded glass, and like a growing number of pubs these days, the Windmill has other branded glasses, including ones from Harvey’s, Longman and Sambrooks. On the glasses front, Matthew was so pleased at learning of the Windmill’s Pub of the Year achievement that he ordered a quantity of special “Windmill-branded” glasses, which proudly advertise the award, and what’s more the glasses are CAMRA-approved, oversize ones, so definitely no short measures here!

Last, but by no means least is the food. I have eaten at the Windmill on a number of occasions; most recently on Friday, and each time have thoroughly enjoyed the comestibles. Fish dishes features prominently on the menu, and the baked hake or the spicy Goan seafood curry are especially good. We held our CAMRA Christmas meal at the pub, an the attendance ran into double figures.

All in all then, a well-deserved winner of West Kent CAMRA Pub of the Year. Do call in if you are in the area; I promise you won’t be disappointed!

Sunday Lunchtime

Walking down last Sunday to catch my bus to Sevenoaks Weald for the Pub of the Year presentation to the Windmill (more about this later), I passed a couple of local pubs, both of which seemed decidedly empty. Although it was only 10-15 minutes after midday, it set me thinking back to the time when pubs would have been packed on a Sunday lunchtime. This of course was before the advent of all-day opening, when Sunday hours were the most restricted time of all trading hours. Typically pubs were only allowed to open on Sunday between the hours of midday and 2pm, and then from 7pm to 10.30pm. If you were dying of thirst on a Sunday afternoon then it was tough luck!

These restrictive opening times did mean though that Sunday lunchtime was by far and away the busiest session of a pub’s trading week, and was the one session most regular pub goers would do their utmost not to miss. I was off to join my friends in such a session, but I knew full well there was no rush, as the pub would be open right through from midday until closing, probably at around 11pm.

These extended opening hours do of course mean that the trade is spread out over a much longer period of time, rather than concentrated over the space of just a couple of hours Whilst today’s opening times are much more civilised, I still couldn’t help feeling that something has been lost from pub-going, and feeling a touch of nostalgia for the old days.

There was a time when I rarely missed a Sunday lunchtime session at my local pub, even during the mid 1980’s when i was much less of a regular pub-goer than I used to be. In those days one was practically guaranteed to bump into at least one person you knew, and often several people. In fact there were probably many people like me who, like me, weren’t regular attendees during the week. Pubs would have nibbles, in the form of lumps of cheese, nuts and sometimes crisps, laid out in dishes on the bar. Many, including my former local, would hold a meat raffle, or other fund-raising activity.

We had a dog back then, so the latter part of Sunday morning was spent taking her for a long walk, the end of which coincided nicely with pub opening. After her lengthy walk, our dear old collie-greyhound cross would be quite content to lie on the floor, under one of the tables or benches, whilst I enjoyed a well-earned pint or three! Like I hinted at earlier, there was invariably a good mixed crowd of regulars in, so depending on mood, occasion or who was present, I either stood at the bar, or joined people I knew at one of the tables. We would get stuck into the beer, swap a few tales and generally put the world to right; in short it was a way to escape the hustle and bustle and the general grind of daily life, and relax and unwind in the company of like-minded people.

The pub I use to drink in was in south Tonbridge, and was called Uncle Tom’s Cabin; a daft name for a pub, I know, but it had been bought by a bloke called Tom, and he obviously thought it sounded appropriate. The pub was in a row of terraced cottages and had been converted by joining two of the cottages together. The pub is still trading, although it is now known as the New Drum.  When originally opened, it was called the Victoria Tavern, but for most of the 20th Century was known as the Drum; hence the current name when one of Tom’s successors decided on a better and more appropriate moniker.

"The Cabin", as the pub was universally known back in the mid to late 80’s,  was a free house, although Tom’s immediate successor made the dubious decision of going cap in hand for a loan-tie to the former South Wales Clubs’ Brewery (latterly known as Crown). Based in Pontyclun in Glamorgan, the South Wales beers were not well received by the locals, including me. Living in Kent we expect hops in our beer, and what’s more plenty of them!  Fortunately, the arrangement didn’t last too long, because Greene King, then not very well represented in Kent, stepped in with a better offer, and IPA and Abbot became the pub staples. At least these Suffolk beers had some hops in them!

There was a good crowd who used to meet in the Cabin on Sunday lunchtimes, and the sessions used to get quite lengthy. This was because the pub held regular “lock-ins”.  Not only did these extended sessions take place most evenings, but they were a staple part of Sunday lunchtimes. Come about half-two, the landlady would ask for the door to be put on the latch, and then carry on serving. It was quite a regular occurrence for me, plus the dog, to stagger out at around 4pm and make my way home, where a nice roast dinner would be waiting.

This comfortable and cosseted existence came to an abrupt end in 1991, with the birth of our son.  I was now needed to assist at home and help out with jobs around the house, and with the various tasks associated with bringing up a new baby. Also, with my wife no longer working, money was much tighter than it had been, and lengthy sessions  down the pub were no longer as affordable, or indeed acceptable as they once were.

It wasn't just me that changed though; the pub changed hands, changed its name and morphed into something resembling a "Sports' Bar", with a TV screen in every corner and seemingly endless and inescapable football. The trade itself changed out of recognition as well. Although pub opening hours had been liberalised in 1988, with the  introduction of all-day drinking on  weekdays, it  wasn't until 1995 that all-day  drinking on Sundays became law. At a stroke, the uniqueness of the Sunday lunchtime session vanished. With pubs open all afternoon, and through into the evening, there was now no need to rush down to the local at midday, and cram as much into the two hour session as possible. Now you could turn up midway through the afternoon, or indeed later, if you fancied a drink. This was great if you had things to do at home, or you were on holiday, or were a foreign tourist used to having a drink whenever you fancied one, but the very freedom to drink when you wanted a drink, rather than having to stick to limited "permitted hours" meant you were far less likely to bump into your mates, or other pub regulars,  as you were before.

I am not saying that liberalisation of the UK's outdated licensing laws was a bad thing. Our restricted pub opening hours were the relic of a bygone age and had no place in a modern and free society. Reform was long over-due, and on the whole has had a civilising effect on the nation's pubs. However, something has definitely disappeared, and whether it is the camaraderie which went with being a pub regular, or the anticipation which went with waiting outside the pub for it to open, it is hard to say.

It is however, worth noting that back in the early 1970's, when reform of Britain's licensing laws were first being looked at, rumblings of disquiet were being heard. Many in the trade were concerned that the essential character of the country's pubs would be changed by the removal of the compulsory afternoon break. The humorist Basil Boothroyd, wrote at the time "You may be able to get a drink whenever you fancy one in those stained old crummy round-the-clock Continental  bistros; only here in the land of the un-free, can we savour the spring-like sensation , twice a day, of life beginning anew!"

The Gravity of Dispense

On our recent visit to Norfolk, I noticed that both the pubs we visited  employed a practice which to me seems highly laudable and a good way forward, especially for outlets where the trade is variable or intermittent. Both pubs (Darby’s plus the Mermaid), had between four and six cask beers on sale; their presence being advertised by the hand pumps, and associated clips on the bar. Upon ordering a pint, the bar staff grabbed a glass and then headed for a back room where the beers were stillaged, and drew off the beer by gravity. The same arrangement was followed in both pubs.  Judging by the excellent condition of the beer, especially in respect of temperature, I would say that the rooms in both pubs were temperature controlled.


This struck me as an excellent arrangement, for a number of reasons. These include no beer lines or pumps to clean, no wastage of beer left lying in the lines, and none of that “first pint out the lines” syndrome, which can afflict the unwary pub goer who has the misfortune of entering just after opening time and is treated to a glass full of beer which has been lying  in the lines since the last session, either because the staff are too lazy to pull some through before opening, or because the landlord is too tight and doesn’t want to waste any beer.

There are a number of pubs in my part of Kent that follow this practice, although none of them actually have hand pumps on the bar. All but one, keep their beer in a temperature controlled room behind the bar, and two of them have an ingenious set up whereby the casks are fitted with extra long taps which protrude through the wall (in both cases via false barrel fronts). This leads to speedier service, as the bar staff don’t have to keep disappearing into the back room in order to dispense the customer’s pint.


This sort of gravity service can have its limits though, particularly when the beers are racked straight behind the bar. My recent visit to the Bree Louise revealed the shortcomings with this arrangement; warm, flat beer, totally devoid of condition. Back in my youth, I remember casks of seasonal beers, such as old ale or Christmas specials, occasionally kept in a cradle on the bar itself. Back then smoking was universal in pubs so, as you can imagine, the smoky atmosphere plus the smell of food did little to improve the flavour of condition of the beer!

These limitations aside, properly kept gravity-dispensed beer should mean a  perfectly conditioned pintcan be served at the correct temperature, without wastage and all the bother of cleaning the dispense equipment. There are few who could argue against this, apart from perhaps our friends in the north, who seem to like an inch or two of thick, creamy foam on top of their pint; and a drink with all the life (and flavour) knocked out of the body of the beer and into the head!

I know some people actually like beer with all the stuffing knocked out, and a layer of cream topping that you have to drink through before you even get to the liquid below, so if you're a northerner who happens to find find yourself in a pub offering gravity dispense, look out for a "cask pump". Although rarely seen these days, these hand pumps in miniature allow beer to be dispensed direct from a cask with the added "benefit" of serving it with a good 'head'.  I saw these strange, but ingenious devices in use just once, at the Covent Garden Beer Exhibition, back in 1975, when they were used to dispense Sam Smith’s  beers direct from the cask.

I could only find two photographs of such devices on Google Images, and both are copyright protected. I will in the course of time, request permission from their respective owners to show the photos, but in the meantime you'll just have to be patient. I do recall another way to achieve a northern style head using gravity dispense, and that is to draw some of the beer off  first into jugs, and then pour it from a height of around 10"-12" into the customer's glass. Back in the 1970's, this used to be the practice at the Ram's Head (Owd Tupps) at Denshaw; a 450 year old inn, high on the moors above Oldham and Rochdale. The Younger's XXPS Scotch Bitter kept by the pub, tasted particularly fine when served in this fashion - a case of the best of both worlds.

I haven't been to the pub in over 30 years, but I understand  it uses conventional hand pumps now. More's the pity, as another hangover from a bygone age has been sacrificed on the altar of standardisation. Perhaps the north-south divide is having an effect with gravity dispense all but vanished north of the Midlands, but becoming increasingly popular here in the South East and East Anglia. But then we always were more discerning in this part of the country!

The two photos depicting beer being dispensed by gravity, from wooden casks, were taken in Germany, where this method of serving beer is relatively common. There is no problem with not getting a head on your drink, as the beer is so well conditioned it forms a dense head naturally when poured. Gravity dispense is also by far and away the most popular means of serving beer at CAMRA beer festivals.

450 years old it sits at 1212ft above sea level and enjoys panoramic views of the Saddleworth moors towards Rochdale, Oldham - See more at: http://www.ramsheaddenshaw.co.uk/about-us/#sthash.6PkbkXr7.dpuf

450 years old it sits at 1212ft above sea level and enjoys panoramic views of the Saddleworth moors towards Rochdale, Oldham - See more at: http://www.ramsheaddenshaw.co.uk/about-us/#sthash.6PkbkXr7.dpuf

450 years old it sits at 1212ft above sea level and enjoys panoramic views of the Saddleworth moors towards Rochdale, Oldham - See more at: http://www.ramsheaddenshaw.co.uk/about-us/#sthash.6PkbkXr7.dpuf