That Bass Pale Ale Label - Why It Wasn't the First Trade Mark Registered in the UK

There is an enduring story that Bass’s Red Triangle was the first registered trade mark in the United Kingdom in 1876 – and with 2026 being the 150th anniversary of this claim there have been quite a few mentions, reports and comments published recently. We’ve all read the following in one form or another in many a publication in print and online.

‘The earliest known trademark is said to be the Bass Ale triangle.’

‘[Bass’s] red triangle became the UK's first registered trade mark.’

‘Bass's application for its Pale Ale Label back in 1876 was the first ever UK trade mark registration.’

The latter of those is more correct, as it was the whole label that was registered and not just the triangle, but in actuality this wasn’t even the first registered trade mark. Nor was it likely to have been the first whole beer label that was a registered trade marked once we delve into a little copyright history sprinkled with a little pedantry.

Trade marks were around for a long time before the 19th century in one form or another but from a legislative and product labelling point of view the focus here is on that century and especially the legislation than cover the UK, and Ireland, at that time. Some of the laws and wording from that era are quite tricky to understand in their entirety but it can still be looked at with a layperson’s eye and some understanding can be garnered from it – hopefully correctly – in order to delve into the more basic history of trade marks in that century. Here's a short summation of what can be gleaned from a moderate amount of research on the subject.

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The first relevant piece of 19th century legislation for this topic was the Copyright Act of 1842 (5 & 6 Vict. C. 45). This dealt mostly with published works such as books, plays and other printed material. It wasn’t the first ever copyright act but it appears to be the first where copies of published works had to be submitted to certain libraries and where an entry in the registry of copyrights at Stationer’ Hall in London could be used to help your claim in the case of a copyright infringement – something that was looked after by The Stationer’s Company who operated from said premises, in one form or another, since the 16th century. Redress for infringements were enforced via the Court of Chancery by the holder.

But it appears that it wasn’t just published works that could be registered, it was also trade marks and labels from this date.¹

Here’s a nice example for such a registered trade mark from 1847 for Daintree & Co.²

And another from 1874 but crucially stating that the shown label for Bishop’s Citrate of Magnesia was registered in Stationer’s Hall in 1860 – not just the trade mark itself.³

Curiously, even as late as 1891 Garvey’s in Waterford were advertising that their Guinness Porter label was entered in the Book of Registry of Copyright in Stationer’s Hall, and they quote that much earlier 1842 act as can be seen here.⁴ This is a very late use for registration in this way, as be seen later, but it proves that beer labels could be registered under this early act although sadly there is no proof that Garvey's registered it earlier than 1891. It is also of note that the words 'trade mark' are not actually mentioned here, so this is certainly in a greyer area and probably explains the late use.

There are many more examples so even under this act there was an ability to register trade marks and labels for many products and consumables under a copyright act.

The next piece of legislation is The Merchandise Marks Act 1862 (25 & 26 Vict. C.88) which spelled out further the implications of the fraudulent marking of merchandise and the penalties imposed on those who would try to pass of one product as another, including fines, seizures and convictions. It would also seem that with both of these acts the need for registration was not entirely specified – or possibly not even required – but never the less ‘registered designs’ were mentioned which seems to lead to more and more businesses, including breweries, registering theirs as a way of proving ownership. This was still dealt with under a general copyright law more so than any specific trade mark law – but trade marks were certainly still being registered in the 1860s and 1870s. (The almost endless, and relatively fascinating, debates regarding this act were printed in many newspapers at this time, many quoting the continental legislations that were already in place before this act. They are certainly worth a read and were printed in parliamentary reports and covered very well by newspapers of the time.)

It would appear that the first of what we now recognise as the older buff Guinness labels with black writing and a red code was registered in 1862⁵ and mention of that can be seen in advertisements around that date which mention 'registered label on each bottle.'

We can see another drink label being mentioned as registered here in this advertisement for Hennessy's Brandy from 1868. It says, 'Copyright of our lable[sic], with the battle axe (our trade mark) is registered at Stationer's Hall, London.' We can see here the word being used is 'copyright' more so than the phrase 'trade marked' due to it still being done so under copyright law but it has been registered, as has their trade marked image.⁶ (It seems from newspaper reports that it was extremely common to send inferior brandy in Hennessy branded casks to 'the colonies' at this time!)

For another example, here’s a label facsimile from 1872 for Bottled Cooper, a blended beer ‘brand’ with Irish origins at the Beamish & Crawford brewery in Cork. The words 'Registered Trade Mark' can be seen on the tower in the centre of the label.⁷ Beamish & Crawford were using this castle trade mark from at least 1862 – although earlier labels omit the word 'registered' – and sadly it is unclear as to whether the whole label was registered or just the logo. It does seem likely at least that the whole label was entered at Stationer's Hall but no proof of that can be found in common sources, but we can be relatively confident that the logo at the very least was registered.

Finally came the Trade Marks Registration Act of 1875 which now dealt specifically with trade marks, and where as previous registration had been made under copyright law and lumped in with other copyright material. Now trade mark records were held together, and separate from the other copyright material. A Trade Mark Registry Office was opened in Quality Court, 47 Chancery Lane on the 1st of January 1876 with a Mr. H. R. Lack from the Board of Trade the first registrar, and this we can assume is when and where that famous Bass label is the first one registered.

For the record, Guinness registered their label under this act in the same year, but on the 1st of April!

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So, as pedantic as it might sound, it is not correct to say that the Bass Pale Ale label was the first trade marked beer label registered, or even the first label registered, and certainly not the first trade mark. It is more correct to state it was the first trade marked label to be registered under the new Trade Marks Register Act of 1875. (Incidentally, Bass had a trade mark from c. 1848 according to a newspaper report in The Sheffield Independent when the 1862 act was being debated and those from the brewery were being queried and interviewed. In that piece they were specifically called as witnesses as to how prevalent the fraudulent labelling of their product was in the UK, and beyond.)

Further consolidation and amendments were added towards the end of the century and into the next, and although the 1875 act was certainly the most far reaching and important piece of legislation it was by no means the first of the 19th century, nor was it impossible to register a label or trade mark for a product prior to this act as we can see.

Sadly, much of the earlier trade mark records were destroyed¹ and this might include those of Stationer's Hall too? Information appear to be scarce, so it might be impossible to find out what was the first 'trade marked' consumable product in the UK under the copyright acts, let alone which beer label was first registered under that early legislation. A search of the records available online do flag some brewery trade marks in the years just prior to 1876 but no labels sadly. And of course, the Bass label may have been the first registered under these earlier acts too, but I can find no proof or mention of that.

This is a very simplified look at what is in fact a complex and nuanced subject, and admittedly, in the grand scheme of things this sort of detail probably doesn't matter. But it is still important to clarify certain aspects of beer history and bust as many myths as possible, even if this one isn't entirely incorrect – it's just misquoted. And although it is very true that there was no bespoke 'Trade Mark Register' in the UK prior to 1875 there was the ability to register a trade mark by other means as we can see, specifically copyright law, and these trademarks and labels were registered in Stationer Hall.

A tedious, pedantic point perhaps, but hopefully justified?

Liam K

(The image at the top of the post is just a nice label from an advertisement for the Hibernian Mineral Water Company from The Dublin Advertising Gazette 28th August 1869 showing their registered trade mark, and predating 1876 as another nice example. Plus it's Irish.)

¹ National Archives Website

² Webster's Royal red book or Court and fashionable register published in 1847

³ Year Book of Pharmacy published in 1847

⁴ The Waterford Standard 27th January 1892 

⁵ A Bottle of Guinness Please – David Hughes 2006

⁶ The London and China Express 24th April 1868

^{7 The Islington Times 17th January 1872}

^{See also the range of trademarked labels here from 1866}

(More on that bottled Cooper here.)

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. Newspaper research was thanks to The British Newspaper Archive, who have kindly let me share the above images. Other sources are as stated. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

A Shot of Beer History #10: Some Late 19th Century Dublin & Cork Stout Labels

In March of 1896 the following commentary appeared in the wonderfully titled Dublin newspaper The Illustrograph:

THE STOUT LABEL QUESTION

   DURING the past few months the magnificent Dublin firm of stout brewers are considered to have tarnished their reputation in Ireland by enacting a business rule to the effect that any licensed liquor trader may use the official Guinness's Extra Stout label supplied by the Company conditionally that such trader will enter into agreement with the Company not to sell the bottling stout of any Dublin or other brewer. This is the sum total of the agreement. The trader may sell porter of any other brewer as drawn from the cask and supplied by the glass or the tankard, but no bottled stout, except that bearing the label of Messrs, Guinness will be allowed to be vended under this arbitrary agreement.
   Now there exists in Dublin, as is the case in Burton-on-Trent, though not to the same extent, several other large brewers besides the largest and most popular one, but the great English brewery town of Burton, which is as equally noted for its Ales as Dublin is for its Stout, enjoys the distinction over Dublin of having the ale brews of its hundred and one other breweries (other than the great leviathan) extensively and fairly patronised by the English people, more so than the other Dublin brewers are patronised by the Irish people.
   This was not always so, for rather more than a quarter of a century ago honours, so to speak, were more evenly divided, nor were Messrs. Guinness the chief or largest stout brewers.
   Neither is the reason for the present unique (not to say monopolising) position of the great James's Gate Brewery due to superior quality of its manufacture, because the brews of several rival breweries in the Irish capital are considered by experts to be equally as good. On another page of this issue of the ILLUSTROGRAPH will be found the extra or double stout labels as issued by the five other Dublin brewers (Jameson, Pim and Co., Watkins and Co., Mountjoy Brewery Co., Ltd., Phoenix Brewery Co., and D’Arcy and Son) and one Cork brewer (Messrs. Jas. J. Murphy and Co., Limited) outside the Guinness pale, and also an edict issued to the public at large bearing on the monopoly and injustice likely to accrue if it should happen that Messrs. Guinness and Co.'s new Irish plan of campaign be universally adopted.
   To this manifesto and the facsimile of labels (except in colour), we direct the attention of our readers, whom we would advise, without any animus against but with a keen appreciation of the great House of Guinness, to try the extra stout bottlings of these six other brewers. This may be easily effected by those in authority over households ordering direct of the respective breweries or their agents, whose names will be supplied on application to the brewers mentioned. A comparison can then be made, and the writer for one has no fear of the result.
   "Live and let live" and "Free Trade" are prevailing mottos at this the latter portion of the nineteenth century, and most certainly an exclusive policy like that of Messrs. Guinness and Co. would have been more befittingly bestowed, according to history and tradition, at the commencement rather than the close of enlightened nineteenth century.

This appears to be a damning (if clunkily written*) indictment of a new policy by the Guinness brewery to force those who choose to use the Guinness label to only bottle their stout porter and no other. These days this might be dismissed by many with a shrug and a comment about Guinness just being Guinness but it appears that at the time the other breweries in the city were rather incensed by this behaviour to the point where they issued what could be seen as a full page proclamation under the title 'Protest of the Dublin brewing Trade Against the New Guinness Label' where they called out Guinness on what the claimed to be its attempt to establish a monopoly under the guise of wishing to stop adulteration, plus the mislabelling of others' product as their own. This was a new direction for the brewery to take in Ireland, but it had been previously done across the sea in Britain so it wasn't a new direction for Guinness to take.

The other Dublin brewers were not protesting against the use of a label by Guinness in itself, and the company had used labels prior to this period anyway, but rather the conditions mentioned above where those who were supplied with Guinness stout and labels could stock and sell no other bottled stout. The protest and commentary was carried in many newspapers and other sources at the time and it certainly sounds as if this was a turning point in the somewhat convivial if wary relations between Guinness and the other Dublin breweries - although within a little over half a century it wouldn't matter, as Guinness would be the last brewery left standing - literally.

That whole controversy is a subject for a bigger write-up but of interest to Irish brewing history are the copies of the labels used by those other breweries for their stout porter, plus the stray Cork one, which have been enhanced as much as possible and shown here. These appear to have been copies made by the newspaper of the actual labels in some cases given the quality and use of writing on a few but nevertheless some are labels which may not have seen the light of day in well over a hundred years. We have seen a couple of them on here before, notably the Watkins and D'Arcy ones, but here they all now are for posterity - or as much as that can be so in pixels and clouds.

Darcy's Dublin Extra Stout label showing their anchor trademark

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Jameson's XXX Stout stamped with the word 'Invalid's' showing their trademark of a three-masted ship at sail and a write-up of its seemingly excellent attributes by Charles Cameron

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Phoenix Porter Brewery Dublin Stout showing their phoenix trademark

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Mountjoy Brewery's Dublin Stout with the words Extra Double and their three castles trademark

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Watkins's Extra Stout Dublin showing the shamrock trademark of the brewery

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J.J. Murphy & Co. Cork XX Stout with their trademark of a ship at full sail between two towers

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These beers may be long gone but at least some part of them remains, plus there are a few homebrewers who attempt to replicate them - if on modern brew systems. Below is one last image from the same source showing a bottle with the Phoenix label above but overprinted with the word 'Extra' - the bottle might be of interest to any family-brewer-based television series producers who wish to set their show in or around that era!

Liam K

*I know, I know - Pot and kettle indeed!

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. Newspaper research was thanks to The British Newspaper Archive, who have kindly let me share the above images from The Illustrograph (Dublin) from the 1st of March 1869. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

Some Found Pub Prose: A Great and Generous Creature

'True, there be many Old Ales (so-called) that be but of this year’s brewing, and deserve but the name of Mild. Yet that Ale which is Old indeed demandeth one hour for the enjoyment of a pint, and even so a pleasant indolence lingereth, deterrent from bodily and spiritual exercise alike.'

There's something about the time spent drinking beer in pubs that brings out the best in good writers. George Orwell's wishlist in his 'The Moon Under Water' from 1946 is possibly the most famous - and there have been other pieces of writing previous to that work and many since. And it's an ongoing writing theme of course, with new 'odes' to pubs and the beer they serve appearing in social media, books, and other published pieces on a monthly basis, if not more frequently. But there is something quite nostalgic, whimsical and utopian about those older pub-related pieces from the more distant past. They can evoke in some of us more emotions and yearnings than the writing of today, or even from the memories our own early drinking exploits regardless of that era. That wistfulness probably stems from something imagined trumping something experienced in one part of our brain and the idea that the past was somehow better than the present. It wasn't of course, on most counts at least, but that doesn't stop our heads from creating a sentimental picture of some idyllic pub based on the descriptions of a long-dead writer, and from tasting the beer they drank - in our heads at least.

And I'm as guilty as anyone of this sort of foolishness.

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While trawling through newspaper mentions for old pubs for yet another historical project, I came across a smattering of repeats in numerous papers in 1908 of a piece of pubcentric prose under the title, 'The Delights of an Old Alehouse.' It really gripped me as I read it and brought out some of the emotions mentioned above, but it wasn't in any way familiar to me which seemed odd, as it was extremely well written and clearly done by someone with a lot of talent. Luckily, at the end of the piece the author - Charles Hugh Davies - was credited as well as the source of the original publication, which was The Pall Mall Magazine. Some sleuthing and searching finally led me to the piece, which is actually just a small part of an article titled 'An Essaie in Prayse of Beer' which is a much broader love letter to beer, and especially old ale, as was hinted at in the excerpt I had read. I can't find it in any other source (apologies if it has been covered by others and I've just missed it.)

For me, the whole essay is a pure joy, both in style and content. The part I quoted at the very start was particularly resonant, as I have a particular interest in Old Ales - and Milds for that matter - and it also takes me exactly an hour to drink a pint in a pub, which has always seemed the right amount of time to spend on a pleasant beer by my estimation, so it was good to have my opinion reinforced by another drinker, even at the remove of over a century. Although, I'm not sure many present-day publicans would agree with Charles and my drinking pace in their pubs!

That original passage that I found in the newspapers and caught my attention I've transcribed here, and it includes some small details that were left out when published in those papers. Again the first line here sang strongly at me, as late afternoon is my favourite time to visit a pub and drink a beer or two.

Yet, to my mind, pleasantest of all is that great draught of Old Ale which may be drunk ’twixt half after three and five of a winter’s afternoon. Let a man go forth on foot with his dog and a stout stick, and let him walk some five brisk miles along a frosty road. Up hill and down he goes, 'twixt leafless hedgerows; his stick rings on the hard ground, his dog runs busily before. Now, it may be, he follows a lonely field path, and now tramps gaily down a village street. At last, as dusk falls, he sees a pleasant inn before him, back from the road a little way, with a great pole and signboard before - the Checquers[sic], or the Three Gold Cups. Firelight shines warm from the windows, and in he goes to a fair kitchen, where a leaping log-fire dances up the great chimney. Round the walls run benches, and at the fireside is a high-backed settle. Before the blaze hang spit and jack, and on the mantel stand brass candlesticks in a winking row. The rafters are black with smoke, and on the wall hangs a copper warming-pan. Down he sits in the settle, and his dog comes to him and lays his muzzle on his knee. Then, "A pint of Old, please. and a penn’orth of biscuits for the dog." The dog knows what is coming, and stands in the firelight watching the stout dame as she goes to draw the ale. His master draws from his pocket a blackened briar, with a well-knawed[sic] mouthpiece, and a black pouch. Slowly he fills his pipe and waits till the dame comes back with beer and biscuits. He lifts the willow-pattern mug - the best for warm and genial Old - and takes a draught, raising the pot, it may be, for a silent toast. Then he puts down his ale on the deal table at his elbow, breaks a biscuit, and throws a piece to the dog, who catches it before it touches the floor. Then, and then only, he lights his pipe, and so sits smoking, throwing biscuit to the dog; and taking slow draughts of the divine thing.

Perhaps the dame comes and sits at the other side of the chimney, or a labourer comes in from the fields. Then there is beer for the labourer, half of Old and half of Bitter, and talk of ratting and high politics. Then the biscuits are done, and the dog lies down before the blaze on the sanded floor. Half the ale is drunk, and the pipe is at its best. The Votary looks into his mug before he drinks, and admires the deep, rich hue. garnets and ebony in a crucible. He falls under the spell, he is a philosopher at the centre of ideas, the Idea of the Good. His thoughts glide down the emanating rays, and he sees clearly how good things are tobacco and fire and life. . . . His pipe is finished, but there’s more beer in the pot, and he lights up again. The dog is growling in his sleep, and the old labourer is looking into the fire with a wise air, though he is really thinking about turnips. Three-quarters of an hour are gone, and it is quite dark outside. The dame lights the lamp, and the man rouses himself with a jerk, drinks off his ale, looks into the fire, then up and out he goes into the frosty evening. If he were a fool he would stay and try to prolong the pleasure with another pint. But he is not a fool - no Beer-Lover is - and he knows - is it by experience? - that the best is done. So he whistles to his dog, and out they go into the starlight with a "good night" from the man and a volley of barks from the dog. Old Ale, Old Ale, thou are a great and generous creature!

I found this wonderfully descriptive and well written and to my mind it deserves to be well known, perhaps just as well as Orwell's piece even if it is somewhat different in style and content. It certainly puts a longing on me to visit such a place, and although I'm very glad we now have smoke-free pubs even the pipe mentions here sound pleasant and acceptable - as are dogs of course.

You might look at the nice illustration above by Herbert Cole that accompanied the essay in The Pall Mall magazine and think that it doesn't really match that piece of prose, and you would be right, as there is another pub related part contained in the full article that matches the image. It shows another side of pub life and interaction but is equally well written and descriptive.

But now he has had enough of solitude, so by eight he and his dog are tramping down the road to the village, moon overhead and snow under foot. Half a mile in ten minutes and they come to the Running Horses. A cheery hum streams out with the light from the uncurtained window, and grows suddenly louder as he pushes open the door, Then to the right, and he is standing in a haze of blue smoke before a glorious fire of peat and logs. All the places near the blaze are taken, but a young labourer gets up to make room for the gentleman. A fool would decline the offer; the Beer-Lover is not a fool, and he sits down in the empty place. They would none of them think the better of him if he did not, and half a pint will more than repay young Thomas. Conversation drops for a minute while two or three elders make polite remarks and the gentleman’s dog makes the acquaintance of that surly looking sheep-dog who has come out from under the settle. The sheep-dog’s owner speaks to him with no uncertain voice, and the dogs agree to tolerate each other, one at either end of the hearth. 'Then it is a pint of - the Votary hesitates, Mild or Old? Well, perhaps Old is a little drowsy for company; better make it Mild. The landlord, fat and rosy, makes it Mild. And half of Burton for young Thomas. So the beer comes—in pewters this time, the briar is lit, and the Votary leans back and looks around him. On the settle sit the landlord and two elders, and there are two more in Windsor chairs before the fire. He himself has a chair at the corner, with the mantel on his right. His dog is at his feet. This is the inner circle. Outside this are four or five others, younger men, two of them playing dominoes, while the landlord’s pretty daughter looks on and advises about the moves. Conversation resumes its course among the elders; one of the younger men sometimes makes a remark, but not often. They are talking about the old squire, the present Llanharan’s father. The landlord and another stand up for him, the others are recalling his iniquities. It all happened thirty years ago, so that they can talk scandal without slander. The stranger joins in now and then - not often, as most of the talk is in Welsh. He pulls at his mild ale and smokes. He has reached his third pint, and begins

"To look into the pewter pot,

And see the world as the world's not."

In the translucent red glory silence melts, and he talks more freely. Yes, his grandfather was old Dafi Llanfihangel, of the next parish. Oh yes, his father was the one that went to England to make his fortune. Did he make it? Well, no. Here comes a protesting chorus from the elders, and they are soon all deep in affairs of the ’50. Yes, yes, his father often talked of Wil Gat. Not dead yet? Well, Well! . . . What, ten o’clock already, all but five minutes? Well, it’s jolly to talk to people who know Wil Gat. "Good-night !" and "Good-night, sir!" from the elders. Then back through the snow, the dog snuffing the keen air, and barking furiously at every sound. And so to bed.

-o-

Charles Hugh Davies was born in 1887, so he wrote those words when he was just 21 years of age, but to my mind it reads as something written by someone much, much older, He was the eldest son of Thomas Davidson Davies and Elinor Lucy Thomas who lived in Bristol. His father was a maths professor whose family originally came from Wales which will explain the content of his second pub visit in his piece. Charles studied Classics in Magdalen College in Oxford, writing the above while still attending there. He worked in Burma (Myanmar) with the Indian Civil Service after leaving college, and joined the war after returning to England in 1915.

He was killed in action on the 17th of January 1916 when a piece of bomb shrapnel pierced the tent where he was sleeping and struck him on the head. He was just 28 years old.

Although he appears not to have done much writing after college I can't help but think that if he had survived the war he might have returned to writing, something he clearly had a talent for, and a piece like this would now be better known as some of his 'early work.' I have chosen just two sections from his essay on beer to highlight here, as both are pub-based and evocative, but the full piece of writing is linked below and deserves a full read to pull those visits into the broader context of his essay to beer - and there is quite a lot to take in.

If you want to read more about Charles and his life - and you should - there is more on Magdalen College's Slow Dusk website where I got the information for the short biography above. I also chose to show you all a photo of Charles from the same source; in memory of him and his rediscovered work.

So here he is, with his beautiful biscuit-loving dog ...

Charles Hugh Davies, BA and Madoc

(Photo courtesy of Magdalen College, Oxford via the Slow Dusk website)

Liam

The full text of Charles' article can be found on the Internet Archive website here.

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its source, and a link back to this post. Research was via The Internet Archive, The British Newspaper Archive, and the Slow Dusk website linked - all online. The illustration is from The Pall Mall Magazine on the Internet Archive site and the photo of Charles Hugh Davies is from the Magdalen College archives and not my own. It is used here for educational, non-profit reasons, and in memory of him. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

Good Green Beer - 'London's Greatest Beverage'

Down with the Emerald Ale!

Here's to good old beer, Mop it down ! 

You can have it thick or clear, Black or brown!

Though it's still as good in pubs,

It's as green in West End clubs

As the greenest debs, and subs,

Up in town!

When you're feeling 'ale and 'earty

For a drink,

From the swagger bottle-party

You should shrink;

Or you'll find 'em handing you

Beer that's bottle-green in hue -

And I wonder when the brew

Will be pink?

All the honest souls who've hankered

For a Bass

Freshly foaming inn tankard

Or a glass, Say the name of those is mud

Who would have them chew the cud

Of an alcoholic flood

Green as grass!

MERRY ANDREW

The Daily Mirror, 6th December 1930

Green beer has - rightly or wrongly - had some bad press over recent years. This is mostly due the Yankish habit of dressing, dyeing or painting anything in plain sight a lurid shade of green for St. Patrick’s Day. Beer could hardly escape, and over recent decades, mostly thanks to social media, we have been inundated with pints of green beer every March, much to the consternation of many folks on this side of the big pond. But in these intolerant times perhaps we shouldn’t judge these dyers and drinkers too harshly, as we espouse the mantra of ‘Drink what you like.’ Indeed the beverage has history too, with some claiming it dates right back to the early 20th century, so a hundred years of tradition must count for something, surely?

But perhaps its heyday as a trendy and elegant beverage - however fleeting - was in the very first year or two of the 1930s, when green beer became a mini-sensation, and not in America, or Ireland for that matter, but in the fashionable bars of London. And we can neatly trace its rise and fall by the newspapers of the era ...

-o-

One of the earliest mentions of this new beverage is The Yorkshire Post & Leeds Intelligencer in late October 1930, and a column by a 'J. N. H. M.' who had the following to say about the beverage:

As to the green beer, I have heard many descriptions of its peculiar and individual flavour, but to me it tasted just like any other sort of beer in spite of its lurid emerald colour. Brewed in Scotland, it is at present the monopoly of the proprietors a restaurant in Bury Street, who "invented" it.

Hardly a glowing or detailed review but it shows that it had certainly been around for a short while at this point, and a week or so later this new concoction appeared in the society pages of the London Weekly Dispatch when the author Arnold Bennett was seen ‘drinking the newest drink of all in a Bury Street restaurant - green beer.’ The author, one John Grosvenor, goes on to state that the beverage ‘looks like particularly clear crème de menthe, and tastes like - beer, good beer.’

Again we have the mention of a certain restaurant in Bury Street, London, and the same venue gets mentioned again in The Yorkshire Post & Leeds Intelligencer in mid November where yet another social column tells us of the ‘chic West End restaurant’ where ‘the younger set’ had ‘seized on this attraction to illustrate love of novelty and independence.’ We also glean that it is served in round shaped goblets that when filled ‘resemble emeralds of a size to make even a maharajah gasp.’

Given these descriptions it appears to have been a strong and clear green shade, and not just slightly tinged green, and certainly not murky or hazy.

Around this time we read about it being served at the parties and balls of the great and the good at their mansions and castles, a sure sign it has become the In Thing to serve for Christmas 1930, and indeed by February 1931 The Talk of the Town column in The Daily Mail can state categorically that ‘green beer parties are the latest vogue of London’s smart set’ and go on to say that ‘in comparison, the cocktail party is now old-fashioned.’ It also states that no artificial colouring is added to the beverage and that it is a type of lager. The author ends the piece by telling us that ‘in society circles, I am told, women drink pints of it at a sitting.’

That same month we discover a little more about the beer’s origins when The Lincolnshire Echo publishes the following:

The new green beer that an enterprising Scottish firm is brewing seems to have won palates in Mayfair. Men regularly order it the more expensive supper restaurants and women too frequently drink it from cut crystal mugs, in which it looks highly attractive. On board the ‘‘Oropesa” was a stock. It was taken on board specially for the Prince of Wales. It said that the inventor of this beer is Sir Michael Malcolm, tenth baronet, Lord Digby s brother-in-law. He was severely wounded in the war and was subsequently A.D.C. to the G.O.C. Scottish Command in Edinburgh. He left the Service to go into the brewing trade, and this is the result! The distributing agents for Lincoln and district are Norton Turton, Ltd, 6 Guildhall-street, Lincoln.

So, Scottish brewed, and a change in drinking vessel to cut crystal mugs, the appearance of which would possibly have put the aforementioned maharajah's eye out!

But perhaps the best write-up on the whole trend appears in an Irish newspaper - The Roscommon Herald - in March 1931 and is worth quoting here in its entirety.

According to an American, Green Beer is London's greatest beverage. It tastes like beer but looks like creme de menthe. Although green, it is not insipid in taste. Rather in everything but appearance, it is the same in composition as a light lager beer. When habitues of a certain cocktail bar in Bury Street are feeling blue, or a little off colour, green beer is consumed to restore the rosy outlook on life they desire. It costs the same as ordinary beer, and has the same percentage of alcohol in it. This intriguing new drink is brewed in Scotland, being the first green thing ever to come from that country. It is manufactured in the same way as any other form of bottled beer, except for a secret process which prevents it from losing the verdant hue of the hops from which it - evolves. Just as an experiment, the proprietor of, the Bury Street rendezvous for smart Mayfair ordered six dozen bottles of green beer. They had disappeared by closing time. This new drink is especially popular with women. They like brown and golden autumnal tints for dresses and hats, but for drinks they ask for something more springlike. Scotland has again satisfied their capricious wishes.

"Green beer has come to stay," said the cocktail bar proprietor.

Publicans who manage the ordinary type of "thirst. emporium," to borrow a phrase of Sparrow Robertson's, however, scorn such revolution in colour of their most popular form of lubrication.

When interviewed on green beer, Patrick Michael Sweeny, better known to his friends as “Ginger," who manages a well-known Strand pub, declared in paradoxical Hibernian that there was no such thing as green beer, and he would not order any as an experiment from the brewers. He declared that the green beer development was a plot of the Scots, to obtain more money to promote Caledonian Home Rule, now that Ireland was free.

It is believed in London that soon beer will take on every hue of the rainbow. There are pink elephants and purple alligators seen every day in London and its environs. Why not blue beer with luncheon every Monday just to counteract the depressing surroundings of the office?

Notwithstanding the comment regarding the beer retaining the colour of the hops, this might be the finest summation of the beer trend ever written, even working a comment about Scottish Home Rule into the piece, however tongue in cheek.

By April it was such a success that it was available from most grocers in London according to the London Woman’s Letter printed in the Portsmouth Evening News. (A label was registered the previous month and can be seen here.) The author also pointed out that this success was an interesting social phenomenon, as ‘women who will refuse ordinary beer almost with scorn, will drink beer if it is green in colour, with the greatest relish.’  She goes on to say that at a recent party she attended there was 'an excellent lager and not a single lady would accept a glass but when the maids came around with green beer on trays three out of four women took a glass.’

Advertisements start to appear in newspapers in May of 1931 and through the summer some eye-catching ones were printed such as this one in The Tatler in July - where we see it being promoted to women drinkers - 'pleasing their palates with its subtle tang' - and we have a brewer mentioned, John Jeffery & Co. in Edinburgh. And the Michael Malcolm mentioned previously was indeed part of the management of this brewery.

Another shows and elegant and typical 1930s illustration, and again it is clearly being marketed to society women, with even a mention of it being sweeter than other beers.

And the theme continues as we can see, and perhaps it was one of the first beers ever promoted specifically toward women? But at least it wasn't pink ...

But, trends being trends of course it didn’t last, and by the following year it at abated to the point of scant mentions in newspapers and no more advertisements, pointing towards its demise as a beverage for the movers and shakers of the day to be seen imbibing. Even the author J B Priestley weighed in during a rant in The Yorkshire Evening Post in September 1932 about originality not necessarily always being a great thing in literature, and commenting on those who see anything new and unusual as being good by saying that they ‘want something new and odd to read, just as they frequently want something new and odd to eat and drink. They have the same attitude towards books that the people, who, last year, began drinking “green beer,” must have towards beverages.’ In this, Priestley was succinctly summing up the era in general, so it is hardly surprising that its popularity disappeared, replaced by the next Big Thing in drink. Plus ça change ...

By the mid 1930s it is mostly spoken about in the past test, and in slightly nostalgic tones, and so it appears that this iteration of green beer was consigned to the ever-growing beer history scrapheap.

But, a couple of questions remain unanswered…

Firstly, what was the name of the bar or restaurant where it first appeared in London, as alluded to in some of the mentions above? The most likely place was Quaglino’s which was at 16 Bury Street and certainly catered to the type of clientele who would be looking for trendy and interesting drinks, and was the haunt of both high society and celebrities - but this is of course just an assumption. 

Secondly, what was added to the beer to make it green? Probably, as today it was a blue dye, which, combined with the yellowish colour of the lager to give it a green hue. Coal tar was often used to create various coloured dyes, and some were used in foodstuffs and drink, but with the comments, if true, of it being a natural product, it was more likely to have been a vegetable dye, of which there were a few, and it would be just speculation at this point in time to suggest any particular one.

-o-

We will leave the last word to the writer of a column in The Bradford Observer in April 1944, titled ‘Palate and Palette’

The link between colours and comestibles is mysterious but undeniable. I know many a corrupt eye and palate which prefer salmon from the tin to salmon from the Tay because its pink is richer and more aggressively Turneresque. I seem to remember there was once a green beer on the market. One doesn't hear of it now, which is not in the least surprising. Green beer is as repugnant to any normally constituted taste as blue tea or purple lemonade.

Liam K

(As well as the links above, it has also been mentioned here previously by others.)

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. Newspaper research was thanks to The British Newspaper Archive, who have kindly let me share the above images. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

100 Years of Irish Brewing in 50 Objects: #23 – Guinness 'Belgian' Tumbler (c. 1950)

I felt the most extraordinary desire for a glass of Guinness, which I knew could be obtained without difficulty. Upon expressing my wish to the doctor, he told me I might take a small glass. It was not long before I sent for the Guinness and I shall never forget how much I enjoyed it. I thought I had never tasted anything so delightful. I am confident that it contributed more than anything else to the renewal of my strength - from the Diary of a Cavalry Officer, June 1815, after being severely wounded at the Battle of Waterloo.

Ethel M. Richardson, "LONG FORGOTTEN DAYS." (1928) via The Sketch Guinness advertisement 1938

Although this object itself has but a loose link to Irish brewing history it is still an important link, as it could and should be seen as a tangible part of the porter export trade from this country, and particularly from its biggest brewery – that of the Guinness enterprise in Dublin. There is a long history of exporting porter from Ireland which has been recorded elsewhere with varying degrees of detail but the above glass connects into the Guinness export trade to Europe and, in particular, to Belgium. An export trade that to a modern eye would seem to be the equivalent of sending coal to Newcastle, given that Belgium is now synonymous with good and plentiful beer to most of those with an interest in the subject.

But, as we can see from the above - granted anecdotal - quotation, Belgium is a country that has been experiencing Guinness’s porters for quite a few years, albeit in that case by military contract via England it would appear.

-o-

This glass is a wonderful piece of workmanship that no photo will do justice to. It is made from quality glass that approaches lead crystal in colour, quality and sound, and appears to be mould-blown or similarly formed before the eight facets were cut and polished by hand to form an octagonal-shaped lower section around an extra thick base, with the bottom of the glass also polished to an incredible smoothness. As to the more boring details, the tumbler is approximately 15cm high by 8.5cm wide at its mouth, it weighs 400grms and holds 400ml of liquid, an important volume, as will transpire later. It hearkens back to similar conical tumblers of the late Victorian and early 20th century. These heavy-based, fluted pint glasses were relatively common on these islands before the popularity of undecorated, plain or ‘straight’ (‘Shaker,’ as they would be termed in America) glasses, which themselves gave way to other styles later on. There is also a nod perhaps to the continental ribbed or fluted tumblers used these days (and most likely in the past) by some Belgian brewers. The gold lettering around the harp symbol seems to date them to the mid-20th century, and the same logo was used on goblets produced to mark Guinness’s bicentenary year in 1959. The Guinness archive site dates this design to exactly 1955, but calls it a 'pint' glass so both statements may be averages. Another, probably slightly later version with a buff coloured logo was also produced, which was presumably a little more print-durable during washing, and the glass itself appears in at least one advertisement, on a showcard from 1950 for the Italian market* and also in this advertisement. That version is also shown in a press advertisement in French from the 1970s. (There is mention in the Guinness Archive site of the introduction of new Guinness glasses in 1949 'bearing our harp and the word ''Guinness'' in buff outlined in black' with a strong connection to the continent, which could mean this buff version is earlier.)

A later version of this tumbler was also made to the same size and weight but with inferior glass and the facets are moulded instead of being cut. Its bottom is slightly concave and very obviously moulded too. It has the stencilled Guinness typeface introduced in 1968 so dates from after that period.

Curiously, a slightly less tapered version of the glass with a shallower base and without the logo is illustrated in a showcard in English dated to c1912**, which might be an indication of the inspiration for the design, or adoption of an already known design for the continental market. There is no indication of the country of origin for these glasses but Belgium, France or any of the surrounding countries would be a relatively safe bet, unless they were commissioned from a Czech supplier, as they are certainly of that quality and heft. (Belgium was certainly making imperial pint tumblers with groves around the bottom for the English and Irish markets late in the first half of the 20th century, but they were somewhat cruder and wholly moulded.)

That capacity mentioned above of 400ml could be an important indicator of the true purpose of the glass, as this volume is a perfect fit for a 330ml bottle of Guinness including room for a head right up to the rim without overflowing, which is helped by the conical shape. The name and product that comes to mind in the 1950s with regard to Guinness on the continent, and Belgium in particular is John Martin in Antwerp, and bottles of Guinness Foreign Export Stout.

With the help of David Hughes excellent book ‘A Bottle of Guinness Please’ the following early history of the company can be cobbled together from various mentions and references within its pages.

John Martin wasn’t the first or only importer of Guinness into Belgium, there were others before him and operating alongside him in the country when he was appointed an agent in 1912 for Antwerp, and he started bottling that same year – although some draught stout was also being sold during this period. At this point Guinness’s Extra Stout (ES) and Extra Foreign Stout (AKA Foreign Extra Stout, or FES) were being imported into the country. This changed to Export Extra Stout (GXS) around the time Martin commenced bottling (although there is a contradictory mention of him bottling ES in 1913, and these names and abbreviations are a minefield to traverse.) and Guinness began to see an improvement in sales. This was also helped by a marketing budget that included newspaper advertisements as well as showcards, metal signage and postcards. Sales were showing some growth up to the start of World War I when exports stopped. Supply recommenced in 1920 and by 1923 the main beer being sold by Martin was ES with just some FES, the beer being bottled in reputed pint (379ml[?] approximately) bottles at this point. This was the year that they merged with the Schweppes company with Martin remaining on as the managing director. Sales were generally poor at this point and suffered from rivals Bass’s stout being stronger and pasteurised, so therefore more stable and consistent, unlike Guinness’s stouts. In 1930 Martins started pasteurising ES onsite in Brussels, where they had moved their headquarters to in 1927. After World War II sales slowly increased and Martins remain connected with Guinness right up to this day.**

The history of what we know now as Special Export Stout in Belgium is a trickier thing to pin down (and we are indebted to David Hughes again for the following information) but Martins were bottling a stronger version of ES called ES77 (1.054 gravity which possibly equated to an abv of 5.5% at most?) for the Belgian market, which was a new stout developed for the Armed Forces in 1945 exclusively in Europe, whereas other countries received a slightly weaker version. (This may therefore be the origins of what would be eventually become Guinness Special Export Stout?) Production of stronger export stouts in general had stopped in 1917 and only commenced again in 1945. By 1949 it was reported to be (1.058) and was reported to be a stronger version of Extra Stout which was sweeter with a lower hop rate than FES – this is still true today. It would appear at least that during the following years it gain some extra strength to end up at is current 8% abv. This would make sense as it was a stronger beer prior to the wars so it possibly bounced back, and helpfully, Ron Pattinson shows that an export stout brewed by Guinness was 6.6% abv in 1948, 7.8%in 1963, and 7.3% in 1966. The variance is mostly due to the attenuation of the brewing more so than the gravity of the beer but it still shows and general increase over time.

For comparison, the much-told story about how it came about varies a little depending on the teller but the Guinness website gives the most common story:

So, how did this continental brew come to life? Well, John Martin was an English brewer living in Belgium who shared Arthur’s thirst for exploration and adventure. In 1944, he ventured through the doors of St. James’s Gate with a request to create a truly Irish stout with a fiercer punch and sweeter aftertaste, to suit the palate of his Belgium friends.

The Guinness brewers, never ones to turn down a challenge, of course obliged and that’s what he got. An adventurer’s black gold.

So next time you indulge, close your eyes, and think of… Belgium.

A visit to many other internet sources and the odd book all tell a similar tale, although factual, first-hand content is unavailable in any commonly available, public sources. So what we are left with is the snippets regarding the beer as published by David Hughes plus a little bit of marketing-driven history and a fair degree of conjecture. The actual history of the beer itself is probably a combination of facts and story, complicated by the various Guinness brews and how they changed over the years.

Branded continental glassware for Guinness isn’t new, and even Martins themselves had commissioned embossed glasses for the Belgian trade in 1910, and other bottlers were producing etched glasses with ‘Guinness XX’ on them not long afterwards*** – and there may be earlier examples. And it is highly possible and probable that Jon Martin commissioned these glasses for his export stout from the very late 1940s onwards, although they were also probably used for draught product on occasion. The same glass shape but with the more modern Guinness typeface is shown on a beermat which was dated as being from 1976, so perhaps these glasses lasted up until the 1980s and beyond? Either way they should be an incredibly desirable product for the Guinness glass collector, although they seem to be relatively rare on these islands at least. But perhaps, like the early Guinness tankards that were used here in the sixties and seventies, they have become prized possessions on the continent, and sit in collections throughout Belgium, and beyond. They are indisputably the finest pieces of glassware ever produced for the brand, even more attractive than those aforementioned tankards.

And perhaps somewhere in Belgium, in an old and half-hidden pub in some quiet and peaceful town, when you order a bottle of Dublin brewed John Martin’s Special Export Stout, and as you are sitting facing a charming square, the kindly old bar owner will reach over your shoulder and place that beer on the marble-topped table, followed by an old beermat on which is placed one of these gorgeous glasses.

Wouldn’t that be a treat?

Liam K

(EDITED: 17th and 18th of May 2026)

*The Book of Guinness Advertising page 175 - Jim Davies1998

** ‘A Bottle of Guinness Please’ - David Hughes 2006

*** The Guinness Online Archive

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. Much of the research was thanks to David Hughes' book, and the glasses and beermat image is from the author's own collection. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

A Shot of Beer History #7 - How Old Are Beer Kegs?

We've all seen them, those rows and stacks of beer kegs that line the street outside our public houses - battered, bashed and tarnished. Most people don't give them much thought, apart from having to dance and dodge around these obstacles as they run errands or go about their daily business.

But have you ever wondered how old beer kegs are? Not barrels or casks, actual beer kegs, or at least something that sounds like them. Well it seems that something akin to a modern, metal beer keg has been around since at least 1840 if we go by this description in an engineering journal from that year ...

Ale and Porter Preserved. - In order to save ale and porter in good condition for a considerable length of time it is, for the most part, kept corked down in bottles; and though this method answers exceedingly well, yet it is subject to this inconvenience, that it causes, where a small quantity, as one draught, for instance, is only required, all the rest of the ale or porter in the bottle to go to waste, which must prove both expensive and inconvenient. It is pressure that is the main cause of keeping ale, &c., so well in bottles, and an apparatus is in use by which liquids may be constantly under pressure in casks as well as in corked bottles. The vessel is made in the form of a cask of strong tin, strongly braced by iron hoops, which stands on its end. At the upper end is a cock, soldered to a tube, which is immersed to within an inch of the bottom of the cask. At the same end is a condensing syringe, by means of which air can be forced into the cask; and whenever this is effected it is obvious that the liquor will have a tendency to escape through the tube and out at the cock with a force proportionate to the degree the air is compressed by the action of the syringe. If the cock be then turned the liquor will rush out with violence, foaming, at the same time a great quantity of froth, or what is usually termed a cauliflower head. Every time the ale is drawn from the cask, the air it contains is not exposed to the atmosphere, whilst the liquor is kept under pressure, and no vent peg is necessary. It is said all the advantages of bottling are obtained by the above process, without one half of the waste and inconvenience attending on the former system.

That certainly sounds like a prototype modern beer keg. A pressurised, metal beer container where the liquid is forced from a tap at its top, using apparatus that sounds somewhat familiar to any in the pub trade, albeit without the external tubing and using just manually applied pressurised air instead of forced pure carbon dioxide.

So it seems that those beer kegs we are familiar with are heading for being two centuries old?

Although anything resembling modern keg ale was still a quite a few years away!

Liam K

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. The above information was sourced via Google Books - Mechanics' Magazine and Journal of Engineering, Agricultural Machinery, Manufactures, and Shipbuilding, Volume 32 Knight and Lacey - 1840.. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

A Shot of Beer History #5 - Tankard Theft

In May 1913 the following report appeared in a Dublin newspaper as a warning to the city's publicans:

It is now some time ago since the licensed trade suffered great loss by the disappearance of pewter tankards, and now the tankard thieves have again made their appearance. They re-started on the North side of the city on Wednesday, and confined their unwelcome attentions to Upper Dorset street. The modus operandi is as follows:- Generally a man and a woman enter the "snug." the man calls for a tankard of porter, and the woman a bottle of stout. They occupy the "snug" for some time, and then leave, the woman having hid away the empty tankard, and leaving a pint tumbler in its place, the assistant in his rush forgetting, when he sees the two glasses, that he supplied a tankard.

The tankards are melted down along with the tops of soda water syphons and made into counterfeit coin, which is generally freely circulated after a tankard raid. the coins are very neatly turned out, and have a very good ring, but the bright colour will be detected if closely examined.

As alluded to in the report, this was a relatively common practice but it is interesting to see the 'modus operandi' here in print. So, it appears that the theft of drinkware from pubs isn't a new phenomena - not that we really thought it was - although the reasons for said theft appears to have changed through the years to one of collecting.  Although there is no mention of where the ladies mentioned in the report hid their soon-to-be-swapped tumblers and stolen tankards, it is possible they were tucked neatly into the folds of a dress but it is probably more likely a bag of some description was used. Anecdotally, that practice still exists, with glassware generally disappearing into a handbag these days - often at the gentleman's prompting - but without the switcheroo. (That's not to say that women don't steal glassware for their own use of course!)

It's 'nice' to see that there is equality and partnership when it comes to this exercise, although it must also be said that then - as like now - the gentleman can have plausible deniability as to the theft, as the stolen item is in the possession of the lady, and therefore perhaps the alliance is not quite what it seems ..?!

Liam K

PS. Don't steal stuff from pubs!

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. Newspaper research was thanks to The British Newspaper Archive, who have kindly let me share the above image from The Freeman's Journal of the 16th May 1913. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!

A Shot of Beer History #4: On Beer Festivals - Irish Provincial Narrowness vs. English Degrading Eccentricities

On Wednesday 21st of May 1873 the following editorial appeared in the Irish newspaper, The Freeman's Journal:

The wit and ingenuity of the world would seem to be on the side of frivolity and wickedness. The efforts made to entice men and women to the profane, the foolish, the enervating, and the contemptible, are far greater and more intense than the efforts to regenerate, to restrain, to correct. The follies of our day are characteristics almost superior to the genuine achievements which we can really boast. Fashion in itself is a sufficient indictment against us. The attractions of life are usually foolish in act or seeming, and sometimes they are wicked and pernicious. Any bad play put upon our stage is certain to attract attention and to gain applause. Any novel contemptibility is hailed as a stroke of genius; and the man who invents such a monstrosity as a barmaid show, a baby show, or a beer show, is instantly elevated to the rank of a benefactor. The lower senses are invariably appealed to in these clever designs; and we are sorry to see that success is often achieved by the assistance of those whose duties should preserve them from such a foul abuse of power. The latest sensation is, as we have hinted, a beer show. Babies, barmaids, pugs, and monkeys having had their year, the folly of the age finds relaxation in beer. It is needless to say that the scheme is due to the brain which originated these splendid absurdities; and it is also needless to say that the brains of those who assist at the show will be none the better for the exercise. In Woolwich Gardens [London] there are just now some five and thirty specimens of the national beverage. The visitor pays for a tasting order, and having made up his mind, or as much of that guide as remains after the discharge of a solemn duty, he votes for a particular beer. If we remember that even half a glass of beer all round will give the taster a gallon of intoxicating liquor, we can estimate his judgment, his sagacity, and his condition. To the ordinary mind there is a leering impudence in this scheme which is at once disheartening and irritating. The audacity which enables a man to submit to this sort of pastime to a civilised people is very suggestive of the spirit of the age. But the truth of the case is humiliating, indeed. These things succeed. Thousands of young men will visit the gardens and taste the beer and record their votes, and the proprietor, who is rapidly gaining a reputation for unequalled cleverness, will probably make more money in a month than a man of genius and industry can in a year. In a community like ours, where religion and morality have a real influence, a beer show is happily an impossibility. The idleness of wealth is one of the curses of England, for idleness is ever wicked or inane. In Ireland what is sometimes called our provincial narrowness saves us from many of the degrading eccentricities of our rich neighbours, and preserves for us that stern regard for decency which is one of our it most praiseworthy qualities.

There are lots of quotable terms in this diatribe on beer festivals and their visitors, I think my favourite is 'leering impudence?'

Regardless, enjoy your next splendid absurdity - wherever, however and whatever that may be ...

Liam K

Please note, all written content and the research involved in publishing it here is my own unless otherwise stated and cannot be reproduced elsewhere without permission, full credit to its sources, and a link back to this post. Newspaper research was thanks to The British Newspaper Archive, who have kindly let me share the above image. DO NOT STEAL THIS CONTENT!