Thwaites . . . and the Blackburn Brickwall!

Born within staggering distance of Daniel Thwaites Blackburn Brewery, my Great, Great Grandfather may not have moved in the same circles as this enduring dynasty, we after all come from less industrious stock, but would have been aware of the importance of the Penny Street establishment to the town, for the Woollen Mills where he was destined to spend his childhood, could not have functioned without the prospect of their toiling workers being able to whet their thirst, at the end of a long hard day at the loom.

Blackburn is of course no longer the powerhouse it once was, and I’m sure John Bamford would be unable to recognise the streets were he was born, (James Street’s exotic buildings being more akin to those of Mauritius, were he’d later serve with the British Army in the 1860‘s), and now the news that the Brewery is to relocate from the town centre, brings to a close another chapter on our fast disappearing heritage and culture - its not only in my native North East!

Now, I’ve been a fan of Thwaites bottle conditioned Old Dan (Morrison’s, 29/08/11 - 330ml, £1.65) for a long while; a delicious mellow beer, with soft malty palate, beautiful chestnut hue and a long, smooth finish, which at 7.4% ABV is more suited to quite contemplation than a ‘session’ brew, but despite my tenuous links to its home, the chance to sample the Breweries more everyday offerings have been few and far between. Enter Thwaites Wainwright (Walkers - my local Newsagent of some 40 years standing, 30/08/11 - 500ml, £1.89) which in its bottled form is currently a ‘International Brewing Awards’ Gold Medal Winner in its class, and has always received better than average reviews from those with discerning palates.

In researching my ‘Family Tree‘ I have from time to time, metaphorically speaking come across many a brick-wall, the point where despite your best endeavours and taking all the available evidence into consideration, you can’t quite see beyond that barrier. My Blackburn roots are a prime example; John’s parents Joseph Bamford and Ann Chambers just don’t seem to exist before or after his birth. And, sadly so it is with Wainwright, yes the traditional bottle is bedecked with details of its prestigious award, the beer pours an ’exquisitely lovely’ golden hue, with lively but fast disappearing head, hints of citrus hops on the nose . . . and the palate, well it left me wanting more - something’s there but sadly I just couldn’t find it!    

The Mill Inn . . . and what might have been!

So it’s Bank Holiday Monday and the prospect of tasting a range of fine English Wines in the heart of the beautiful Northumberland countryside beckoned. However, although the day dawned bright, after what seems now to be the August norm of overnight showers, it was frankly quite chilly and more like an October morning. What to do . . . wrap up and brave it out or, wimp out and see what’s on offer at the local supermarket - oh, and throw in a touch of nostalgia for good measure?

Two bottles of Springbank’s excellent Roaring Meg (Morrison’s, 29/08/11 - 500ml, £1.75 or 4 for £5.50!) later; pouring golden yellow with a soft melting head, sweet citrus notes and a full rounded palate, leading to a long, dry finish - I guess that tells you which option I plumped for. And the nostalgia . . . well, 'The Mill Inn’ was another Newcastle’ West End ’boozer’ with a reputation, which despite it’s past misdemeanours is sad to see boarded up, especially as it remains for the moment one of our few heritage buildings, (built prior to the urbanisation of 1870’s), and a beacon to the ever-changing cultural landscape of this part of the world.

A quick ’Google’ search offered the following: ‘The Mill Inn‘, 413 Westgate Road, built on the line of the Roman Wall, founding home of the Northern Rugby Club in 1875, once a Cameron’s House but lately part of the Empire Inns group, scene of potential Money Laundering, a 5* rating for Hygiene from Newcastle City Council . . . what, and sadly the ground floor ’severely damaged’ by fire in July 2010. And from its heyday, the offer of £200.00 to anyone who could call in for a pint unannounced of a Friday night and live to tell the tale!

Fancy a rescue job . . . have a few pounds to spare? Maybe throw in a Micro-Brewery for good measure, and buck the trend of Kebab Shops, Continental Foods et al - Rod Coran’s your man!

Curry v Beer - Round Two

Finding myself unexpectedly in Robinson’s country with a free Friday on my hands, the thought of how to fill my time, like the fabled Crusoe himself, turned to making the most of what was to hand, well . . . after making a further detour south that was, and if you’re going to land on someone unannounced, what better gift than a Curry and a Beer? Add to which, the opportunity to further my quest, was not to be missed!

The ‘Bengal Spice’ on Long Eaton’s Market Place, is like many a Curry House up and down the land, maybe not the sort of place you’d immediately walk in off the street, yes it’s had a make-over in the last few years, but still doesn’t quite shout its appeal. However, once through the door and seated and you’ve experienced the food you’ll keep going back - their Curries are consistently good. And so it was with my takeaway, a Naga Lamb and Garlic Rice, with a few Chapattis served up for good measure, but what about the beer? Well if we’re talking big flavours, it had to be a BrewDog, and for maximum attack, not one but two, both their Punk and Hardcore IPA’s (Sainsbury 26/08/11 - 330ml, £1.49/£2.05).

BrewDog, like their name and marketing are somewhat unconventional, I personally don’t buy into it - see www.BrewDog.com/EquityforPunks (no pun intended), however these are ‘uncompromising, bold and irreverent’ beers, packed with flavour and that I do like. Punk: straw gold, citrus notes, big finish, Hardcore: amber, brooding, complex - a match for the curry? Well, on this occasion events overtook themselves; a first class feast and two outstanding beers, each savoured for what they were, my host being likewise impressed. Trying to package as a whole proved impossible, a night of quiet contemplation therefore ensued, and it was roundly agreed that we really must do it all again sometime. The quest continues!

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Missed opportunities? The Harrington Arms Beer Festival this Bank Holiday weekend at Sawley and a sign on the A52 for Real Ales at Mr Grundy’s, neither of which I had time to investigate. 

Curry v Beer - Round One

‘There is no sincerer love, than the love of good food ‘ . . . now, I’m not sure who first coined the phrase, but it features on the cover of my local Indian Takeaway Menu, and like a lot of Brit’s a Curry is now one of our favourite dishes. However, finding either a Wine or Beer which offers the perfect accompaniment can be a dilemma, compounded by a culture which in the main shuns alcohol, but for commercial reasons has embraced the soulless, global fizzy Lager phenomena, with likes of their Kingfisher and Cobra brands - I’m yet to catch up with a Mongoose!

When dinning out I usually stick with Mineral Water, the thought of pumping myself full of CO², like some over-inflated balloon has never appealed. Likewise, subjecting my palate to the rigours of a ’Blossom Falls’ or ’Echo Hill’, those supermarket standards served at inflated prices, leaves me truly uninspired. That said, when I occasionally come across a Chenin Blanc, be it a French original from the Loire, or its more luscious cousins from South Africa, they seem to have enough edge not to be too swamped by the complexities of the Curry experience.

My own preference is for a simple Lamb dish, in so much that it has not been subjected to the rigors of the Tandoor, the blend of spices and herbs infused into a rich sauce, with just sufficient residual heat to temper my progress, allowing me to savour the dish and appreciate its myriad of flavours - see www.thebindi.com and their Nawabi Lamb as a prime example.

Having given the subject a lot of thought, I think possibly the best match to this type of dish could be an IPA, the fabled India Pale Ale, traditionally the most flavoursome of beers, heavily hopped to withstand the rigours of the arduous sea voyage, allowing their complexity to develop and mature in transit - well if it was good enough in the Days of the Raj, surely it should be worth a try, but not in one sitting, no . . . I see this as an ongoing experiment!

Nawabi Lamb v Thornbridge Jaipur* (Waitrose, 22/08/11 - £2.25, 500ml)

Well first off the name’s spot-on and even the label background has a hint of the finest flocked wallpaper, befitting of many of the nation’s more traditional Curry Houses. Surprisingly, it pours a rich golden hue, (I’m more used to those displaying a burnt amber edge, but it is non the worse for it and pleasing nevertheless), with finely bubbled head and hints of wine on the nose, the palate soft and smooth, builds to a rich hoppiness with complex, lingering bitter finish - great on its own, but sadly the curry won through on this occasion, Jaipur just managing a whisper above the Nawabi’s building crescendo of flavours.

So, an inconclusive but promising start, leaving much open to debate, however I’m sure that we will find a beer in all sincerity to match our love of good food . . . and in particular a Curry!  

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* Available on draught at the forthcoming CAMRA Durham Beer Festival, 1-3 September 2011, and for me one of my anticipated highlights.

As Plain as the Nose on Your Face?

Births, Deaths and Marriages; I’ve often wondered why the later came after death in this coupling, but that’s probably another story. Either way, each usually involves the gathering of the Clans, and more than likely, the partaking of alcoholic refreshment. The tale today hinges on a Funeral, and was brought together by the sight of another sadly abandoned Pub, and the chance purchase of a Bottle of Beer, but don’t they all in my world!

Like may Pubs in the North East, The Benwell Hotel was a ’boozer’, and mainly the haunt of the working man, (if the two words could ever be honestly strung together in relation to the cliental), although I do remember the ’odd’ lady, perched on a stool in the tiny recess just inside the main entrance, which on a Summer’s Evening would be thrown open, revealing a hazy world of stale tobacco and beer sodden lives - not a place any eight-year old would wish to contemplate.

Anyway, on with the story . . . as the unsuspecting mourners filed back to the Pub, the trap had been set and two young lads hid out of sight awaiting their first victim. My Grandfather, not being a Benwell’ regular headed to the side entrance and the ‘Select Bar’, and what a selection he was about to encounter. Placing his hand on the ’sneck’ (latch to those south o’ the border) a soft, warm substance of Canine extraction oozed through his fingers. Yelling at the lads who’d now broke cover, they came sheepishly to his call, heads bowed and expecting the worst. Their punishment; two crisp 10/- notes, for with a wry smile memories of his youth flooded back, and the knowledge that retribution had taken some 60 years to be metered out!

And the beer . . . well, it could be none other than Jennings Sneck Lifter - a nicely balanced, luscious dark, heady brew, with long, complex finish (Waitrose, 22/08/11 - £2.07, 500ml), the bottle label confirming that the northern dialect word ‘sneck’ means latch and that a ‘sneck lifter’ was a man’s last sixpence, which enabled him to lift the latch of the pub, hoping to find friends who would treat him to one or two more! Now, if that’s not as plain as the nose on your face, I don’t know what is!

English Wines

‘English wines, vinified from grapes grown in our southern counties, should not be confused with the ‘sherry’ like British Wine, mass produced from imported foreign musts. Although borrowing traditions from many of our vinous neighbours, the resultant wines are quintessentially English, being a true expression of our soils and climate.’ A few sentences I wrote some 18 years ago, when launching my first Wine Venture - a time when the thought of selling English Wine, to even the knowledgeable few, was an up-hill struggle.

Casting my eye over the ‘What’s on’ page in my Local Weekly Paper, I noticed an advertisement for an English Wine (& Cider) Festival, to be held on August Bank Holiday Monday . . . wow, after all this time English Wine’s gone mainstream, or was it just another enterprising way to promote an up and coming Eatery, (that being my own entry into the Trade), time to investigate in due course, but in the meantime a look back at a few of my own selections from 1993*, and how their producers have faired in the intervening years.

Regatta 1991

The Thames Valley Vineyard, Twyford, Berkshire

A blend of Ortega and Schonburger, off described as a ‘Lightweight New Zealand’ . . . think zesty Sauvignon Blanc, but more refined and none the worse for it!

Now marketed under the Stanlake Park name, this Estate planted by Jon Leighton in the late 1970’s, is still in production producing both their own wines, (will try and track down the current 2008 Regatta and attempt a comparison), and those of other producers.

Fume 1992

Wickham Vineyard, Wickham, Hampshire

Crisp, gooseberry fruit flavours, with a rich rounded palate and slightly oaked finish, this Bacchus/Reichensteiner combo is a current House of Commons favourite.

Wickham’ has gone from strength to strength; more than doubling its production, its well equipped winery, with temperature-controlled stainless steel tanks and French oak barrels, is one of the best in the country - a Special Release Fume 2010 still features on their lists.

Westholme Late Harvest 1992

Pilton Manor, Pilton, Somerset

Jim Dowling’s estate was in the vanguard of the English Wine revival; this rich, prune and sweet-apricot flavoured Dessert Wine is a true ’classic’, with subtle Noble’ pungent overlay.

Gone but not forgotten. A real surprise to find that this estate no longer exists; the family having in part handed it over to a Community Orchard Product - maybe we’ll see its Cider in the future reach the same heights!

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*As featured in Grapevine: Kathryn McWhirter on English Wine, The Independent, 20/02/1994

The Perfect Sunday!

Thankfully, the tradition of the North East ‘Lost Weekend’ is in the main a thing of the past. Before the relaxation of the Licensing Laws, many a family endured a routine revolving around Pub Opening Hours. No more so than on a Sunday, when ’chucking-out’ was at 3 o‘clock, before a brief respite of a late Sunday Lunch and a snooze, (it was also said that many a ‘bairn’ was conceived in those intervening hours), before a restart at 7pm.

Now, although I enjoy a drop of beer or a relaxing glass of wine like the best of them, the thought of a boozing merry-go-round certainly makes my head spin - anyway, same time, same place has never appealed. However this Sunday did start with a Dog, no not the Newcastle Brown Ale variety, but a Jack Russell Terrier and a favour for a friend.

Northumberland is blessed with some of the finest beaches in the world; ribbons of clean golden sand, which on the main you‘ll find pretty much isolated - probably something to do with the less than tropical climate, yet they offer the perfect repose to any Saturday night excess. So, what better way to ‘blow away those cobwebs’, than just me, my four-legged fury friend and a good brisk walk.

Feeling suitably invigorated, thoughts now turned to a spot of breakfast - Full English and a Pot of Tea for me, and water and a chewy treat for my companion. The later, easily sourced from the car, whereas I’d spied ‘The Country Barn’, a Farm Shop with Restaurant in the nearby Widdrington Village. I don’t think either of us were disappointed, certainly my choice of 5 items for £6.25, which included Tea or Coffee, was well up to the mark, my friend drifting-off into contented slumber while I dined.

Ahead lay a leisurely drive back into town, the ‘Coastal Route’ being highly recommended, but before departing a browse in the well-stocked Farm Shop was a must - like a ‘Harrods of the North’, with only the finest local produce on offer. Cheese from Coquetdale, Seahouses baked Bread, some nicely-matured Lamb Chops, and Alnwick IPA (based on an original 1800’s ‘Alnwick Brewery’ recipe, but now hand-crafted in Harrogate by ‘Daleside‘), was my basket of choice. What a treat lay in store!

Now, if it had been a Grand Prix weekend, a lazy afternoon in front of the ‘box’ may have ensued, but bitten by the walking bug, (and one or two other little blighters - must take the ‘Jungle Juice’ next time), my new best friend still chomping at the bit, we set out again in the direction of Newburn, this time on foot to follow the route of the old Wylam Railway, and as time elapsed, a much anticipated rendezvous with a well rounded and fruity blonde!

The ’Big Lamp Brewery’ is Tyneside’s oldest ’Micro’, having been founded in 1982 on the edge of the City, before moving to its current location at Newburn in the late ‘90‘s, taking over an old Grade II listed Pumping Station, to which they have added the ‘The Keelman’, their own Public House, with 8 Fine Traditional Ales on offer, Prince Bishop being my aforementioned reward for my endeavours - maybe ‘Hadrian & Border’s’ Tyneside Blond would have been a more aptly named metaphor, but I did manage to catch-up with her at the ‘Boathouse’ on my return.

Sharing our supper of Lamb Chops and Cheese, no I didn’t fancy your ‘meaty chunks’ either, I slowly sipped on my Alnwick IPA, (see www.alnwickbeerfestival.co.uk for September‘s Food and Wine Festival), reflecting on ‘The Perfect Sunday’, my thoughts drifting to those Lost Weekend’s of yore . . . no this would be one to remember. Thanks Paddy, we must do it again sometime!

A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing?

I first encountered the Wolf, metaphorically speaking, when I acquired an old Scrap Album at Auction, the yellowed cutting from the ‘Hexham Courant’ of January 1905 and accompanying Postcard, being passed on to a local collector for posterity. Of course, I had previously visited his home; ‘The Crown at Catton‘, but that was before his/its resurrection. Confused?

Wolf - Beer with a Bite! is the ‘Allendale Brewery’ full-bodied strong ale, weighing in at a hefty 5.5% ABV, recalling the legend of the famous 'Wolf of Allendale', who in late 1904 terrorised and killed some 40 sheep, before meeting his end, being mown down by the Carlisle train at Wetheral.

Thankfully, having drunk the brew, originally on draught, not long after the Pub re-opened in 2009 - it was only a ‘half’ as I had to drive later that afternoon, and now in bottled form, (The Country Barn Farm Shop, 21/08/11 - £2.99, 500ml), I have lived to tell the tale. Again, I can’t say better than quoting from the bottle, ’a blood red beer with hints of berry fruits and a soft finish’. A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing? . . . well, I’m sure that if you indulged in more than one, it would creep up on you!

Fish & Chips - on the Hop!

There is probably no finer British culinary tradition then Fish & Chips, not lovingly home-cooked but eaten as a convenient, readily available takeaway food. Of course, times change and there are now numerous ‘other’ alternatives, particularly as a late supper when heading home from a ‘Night at the Pub’ - if that institution still exits in the UK today? No not for me, something to soak up the excesses of one too many Beers, but a treat to savour over a ’proper’ pint . . . well, 500ml or multiples thereof! 

Like any recipe, to get the best results you need the finest ingredients and time to prepare; popping to the ’Chippy’ is the easy bit. As I’ve said previously, Worthington’s White Shield (Tesco, 20/08/11 - £2.09, 500ml) is my current favourite ’session beer’, a ‘defiant survivor of the IPA (India Pale Ale) tradition, when only the most flavoursome beers endured the arduous voyage’. And, it’s those characteristics which make it the perfect partner for that Fish & Chip supper - intensely bitter-hopped, with a well rounded palate, and a long lingering finish. Yet time is of the essence; time to let the beer clear, achieve a perfect serving temperature, (11-13°C, it does make a difference), and pour slowly with ‘a steady hand, leaving the precious last drops in the bottle’, to ensure ‘a sparkling clear glass’.

And for desert . . . another beer? Well they don’t come more flavoursome than American Double IPA (Tesco Finest, 20/08/11 - £1.99, 330ml) from Scotland’s ‘Brew Dog’ - ‘loaded with fresh whole flower hops . . . imparting an explosion of tropical fruit flavours and spiced orange peel’ - I couldn’t have put it better myself. The perfect ending to a Friday night in with ‘My Family’ . . . and ‘Miranda‘!   

Who Closed the Curtain?

When we look back at our wardrobe of old, although when current, a multi-coloured hooped tank top and beige flares may have been the bees-knees, now they are derided and thankfully consigned to the past. The same could also be applied to our tastes in food and wine. I'm sure we all remember, well those of a certain age anyway, the old Prawn Cocktail, Steak and Black Forest Gateaux meal, washed down with a Bottle of Liebfraumilch . . . alright, it must just be me. But at 17, although I may have lacked some taste judged by today‘s standards, I’d happily gain service in the local ‘Beefeater‘, even when accompanied by a female companion of obvious school-age, yet trying to cop for a sly pint with my baby-face was a no go. I guess being underage outweighed my obvious sophistication!

Living the suburban dream; an identikit house with 2.2 children and a loving wife, has never quite appealed, so having spent most of my early 20’s in a progression of ‘nine to five’ jobs, posing as ideal candidate material, I decided to bail-out and seek avenues anew. Where they’d lead, or even in which direction I wasn't certain, but I knew I needed to broaden my horizons - on which journey I stumbled across Red Wine and Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon in particular. Approachable on both price and palate, without the mystery associated with its French cousin Claret, they offered good honest, no nonsense drinking, with just a hint of what could be . . . for me a springboard to the wider World of Wine.

Be it by accident or design, whatever situation we find ourselves in, the opportunity to indulge in past pleasures, should never go unanswered. Hence, finding myself in the Wine Trade, and wanting to ‘clearly and concisely’ present my selections, ’while still conveying real enthusiasm’, (well that’s what the ’Good Wine Guide’ had to say about me in 1994), I took the then unusual step of listing by grape variety - my Premiers Cotes de Bordeaux was very much a Cabernet Sauvignon, as was my star find from Bulgaria’s Pazardjik region, or so I thought. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I ended up with a load of Mavrud, (the grape variety, although at the time I was convinced that it was a Bulgarian expletive), which bore no resemblance to the samples I‘d previously tasted, and those memories of earlier times.

As your waist expands and hair recedes the mirror, like your memory of the past plays tricks on your mind, despite the evidence clearly on show. A once promising affair revisited in middle-age, never quite reaching its previous heights. The Bulgarian Wines of my youth, couldn't quite deliver when called upon, and now appear to be a thing of the past, or at least in their original guise - who closed the curtain? But, I guess that’s for the telling and needs a better Pen (sic) or Teller than me. Is it ever possible to magic something up from the past?

A Legacy of Sturdy Red Crates

Having visited numerous auctions in the past, it always strikes me as sad when you come across an ambiguous mixed-lot, usually packed in an old box and relegated to the floor, unloved and forgotten, yet the contents tell the story of someone’s life; things they used on a daily basis, pictures and ornaments that once decorated their homes, nothing of great value, but now silent and hoping to find a buyer for a few pounds. Look around you now . . . one day that’s what will happen to your world. Like the great civilisations of the past, only memories remain.

As with most young men, (and no doubt women too, but not being one and having never quite achieved a real understanding of the female psyche, I’ll just have to assume), life is for living, the future is for the older generation, and there’s an air of invincibility, especially when you’ve a few beers on-board, and I guess I was no different. Not the rowdy larger-lout on the street corner, no my drink of choice was Newcastle Brown Ale - sipped with reverence from a constantly refreshed Schooner Glass, available in the North East’s finest hostelries, and offering a certain kudos, in so much that, unlike the guy on the park bench, I had a life!

It’s just gone 9 o’ clock, I’m due at work for 10am, (had lucked into a Chefs job in a Country House Hotel at this stage in my journey), had been drinking into to the early hours, and I could now hear the sound of bells. Had I inadvertently asked a young lady to marry me in my inebriated sate, or was it the witnesses to my ‘Brown Ale induced stupor who’d come to wake me from my slumbers - thankfully the latter, banging the Kitchen’s finest cooking utensils. As an older and wiser . . . ish individual I can see the folly of my actions, but to rise and carry on with one’s day, outwardly showing no signs of the previous evenings excesses, set a benchmark amongst my peers that few could, or in hindsight, would want to obtain.

Nothing stands still, life moves on. Circumstances change, new responsibilities arrive and so the cycle continues. For me these adventures lay ahead. A journey through the World of Wine led me into business and travel, a brief sojourn to foreign parts, (well the South of England is a long way from Newcastle’), and then bump; Rome might not have been built in a day but when it fell, it came down with a bang! Once your world stops spinning, you look for somewhere to jump off, and what better landing than home. Back to where you have roots and you can begin to grow your life again, but would it have changed?

Certain things you can take as Red, sorry read . . . probably best not to bring politics into it at this stage. Some may say Tomato and I say Tomatoe etc., but Coals come from Newcastle’, and so did/should Newcastle Brown Ale. However, horror of horrors not long after my return, the news that my tipple of old and stuff of legends, was to leave its spiritual home and move south of the river. I’m sure Champagne couldn’t pop-its-cork in the same circumstances, that would be in-Seine . . . sorry, couldn’t resist. Yet, worse was to come, no not my jokes, but the decision in 2010 to close the Federation Brewery and move production to Yorkshire. To paraphrase a certain Meerkat . . . Yorkshire! Over 80 years of tradition and innumerable memories; those lost days from work, family arguments and fallings-out, general mayhem etc. - not everyone could be as refined in the aftermath of its consumption.

In contemplation, I remembered a long forgotten bottle of ‘Dog’, (colloquial slang for the aforementioned brew, this example being a special presentation from the mid-1990’s - no I wasn't the Mayor), sadly its contents, although intact were beyond contemplation, could I bring myself to cross the line and renew an old friendship? Well at currently £1.50 a pop (Asda, 15/08/11 - £1.50, 550ml) I’m game if you are. And, after all these years . . . yes, very nice, but not quite a ‘proper’ living-beer, unlike my current favourite Worthington’s White Shield, proof that the Corporate’s can, with some willing produce a genuine ’local’ product. Yet, its legacy remains, at least were there’s a disregard for the Health and Safety Brigade. No North East Tradesmen or Corner Shop worth their salt doesn't have one of those Sturdy Red Crates, from the days of its reusable bottles, and if that doesn't leave you with a leg to stand on . . . well!

A Memory of Summers Past

The linear speedometer of a 1970’s Vauxhall Viva, an abandoned Railway Station, and a Treasure Chest with Multi-levered Lock, all memories conjured-up by the purchase (Dobbies, 13/08/11 - £2.20, 33cl) of  a bottle of Traquair House Ale, which hales from Innerleithen in the Scottish Borders, and that before partaking of its proclaimed 7.2% ABV contents!

For many Tyneside families the hard times of the early 1930’s meant making the most of one’s lot, (by legend viewed through the Amber-hue of Newcastle Brown Ale - but that‘s another story), or looking to greener pastures. Hence as a child, I followed in the footsteps of my Granddad’s sisters, albeit only for weekends and holidays, to what for me was the far-removed world of Innerleithen, a now former Mill Town, set amongst the rolling hills of the River Tweed valley.

Packed into Vera, (didn’t all cars have names?), we’d set out on the 80 mile, three hour adventure, with innumerable refreshment stops en-route, my breathing in tune with the display from her dashboard. Leaving the sprawl of Newcastle’ behind, we’d soon head into the Northumberland of my ancestors, it’s vast open landscape dotted with bastions of stone, although in reality I probably thought of it more as fields, sheep and scattered houses. But, that’s 40 years for you and the passing of much water . . . under the bridge. 

Descending the heights of the Carter Bar, we’d entered Scotland; not only did the sign say so, but as confirmation a lone Piper heralded our arrival - I’ve never quite been able to get my head around a man in a skirt, especially with the wind howling around those parts, but each to their own and no pun intended on both counts. Not long now, soon we’d enter that mystical place of the mixed metaphor, were Heavy was Bitter and you could buy a pint for less than price on the pump, in Shillings anyway - so I was told.

Left to my own devices, unable to access this Drybrough, although you could get a mean glass of ‘Vimto’ on the High Street, I ventured up hill to look down from Lee Pen, followed the Tweed to Walkerburn, the route of the North British Railway being my guide, where if I remember rightly, the former Stations 1958 paint job didn't look all too shabby. Discovered Cola with a ’K’ and drank from St Ronan’s Well, without twisting my face. Happy days, yes the sun did shine back then, and  I was free to discover a wealth of history which in time brought me to the Bear Gates, locked since the time of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and Scotland’s ’Oldest inhabited House’, Traquair.

What about the beer, well we’ll get there in due course. My abiding memory of that first visit was the aforementioned Treasure Chest, and despite subsequent visit’s the famous ’Potent Liquor brewed by the Laird’, (I’ll tell you at a later date about Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon, a find on my return via Newcastleton in the mid-eighties), remained hidden behind the doors of the ’Ancient Brew House’, a treasure awaiting discovery?

Yes . . . very much so, pouring a rich Amber Red, with Light Creamy Head, its soft malty notes leading to a balanced, rounded palate, with a lingering, warming finish. Truly a beer to savour, and the perfect accompaniment to Bacon and Eggs - it was nearer lunchtime, honest. Spring Water, Barley Malt, Hops and Yeast, brought together in harmony, its glow affording the chance to bask in reflective glory of Summers past.