The Kingston SPBW trip to Marston's Brewery
People living near the Willoughby Arms must have thought that the licensing laws had changed drastically on the morning when we all piled in ready for the trip to Marston's Brewery. Packed and prepared for the trip to the Midlands with the odd sandwich and small libation, into the minibus we clambered with some trepidation. This was going to be a long trip in a vehicle only marginally larger than a Party Seven. Nonetheless, we stepped boldly where no bold man has boldly gone before, boldly, and it wasn't too long before it was leg-stretching time at a service station where we found ourselves adrift in a ocean of Brummie accents.
Back in the bus we set the controls for the heart of Burton on Trent. For some unknown reason a car full of young Asians decided to taunt and diss us on the road, flapping open the doors of their mini and jeering as they passed. Anyone tell me what that was supposed to mean? Anyhoo, suddenly the scent of Marmite was in our nostrils and the huge chimbley of the brewery hove into view. Before too long we were strolling around the vast premises of Marston, Thompson and Evershed plc., gazing through the windows at the giant racks of barrels in the Burtonisation plant. First off we were led into a small bar whereupon we were given free pints of Pedigree (O be still my fluttering heart) and a whopping great buffet lunch. Well, that was a bloody good start in any bugger's language and the cheeseboard was magnificent.
After that lot we were ready for a couple of hours kip, but we were formed into four groups named Water, Hops, Barley and Yeast (correct me if I'm wrong) and were shown around the various stages of brewing. We were taken through all the general information concerning the ingredients and raw materials, the most important and ultimately indispensable one being the local water; its sulphurous quality is a defining feature in Marston's beer's overall flavour. Pedigree is a remarkably complex beer and we were taught how to fully appreciate the many inherent tastes that are lurking in its dark brown depths. Next time you have a pint of it, swoosh it around your tongue to the various flavour reception areas. You'll find that you've got much more than any old beer in front of you. There can surely be no doubting that Marston's use the finest ingredients possible when brewing their beer, but a slightly awkward moment arose when one of our number asked about the Midlands practice of serving the stuff through what's known as a 'sparkler'; this being a fitting right on the end of the tap which when the beer initially comes through it, gives the creamy head so beloved in the Black Country and further North. Surely this is just adding air at the point of dispense isn't it? Doesn't that errÂ… bugger the flavour up a bit? But needs must when the punter calls the shots, I suppose. It has to be said that the beer does taste better when it hasn't been mucked about with in this fashion, but that could be just us Southerners being picky. Suffice it to say it's bloody good ale anyway and let that be an end to it.
We were shown how to pull the perfect Burton pint and shall we say, it's going to take quite a bit of practice before we can do it as they do up there. Hey, we had a bash at it though. In the cooperage we were shown the swiftly disappearing art of barrel-making and it must be said that it's a hell of a feat holding all those wooden staves together without the lot toppling noisily over like some huge game of Jenga. Not easy.
Finally we were taken into the Burtonisation plant to the sound of solemn religious music (Gregorian chant, possibly) which echoed around the huge premises of the Cathedral of Brewing. Here were the racks of barrels all working away, pipes foaming and bubbling sending the beer slowly gurgling into huge vats. In the midst of all this appeared THE BISHOP! On a walkway opposite us an episcopal eminence welcomed us all into this shrine to the brewer's art and took us through a eulogy to the glories of Marston's beer. All right, it's a fair cop. It was actually the soon-to-retire financial manager, but he had us going for a second or two. At this Pythonesque end to a wonderful trip we all burst into applause in appreciation. Caught us lovely, that did.
Think that's all? Heaven forfend. Back we marched into the hospitality suite for a good drop more before stop tap. Then it was Dave (I hope I've got his name right) from the Wolverhampton and Dudley brewing concern that suggested that we follow him to his local. Well, it wasn't that bloody local, I'll tell thee. A proper circuitous trip led us to a real down-to-Earth Black Country boozer called the Miner's Arms. Realising I wasn't going to get back to the Willoughby for my darts match I set one up with some of the brewery staff. Astonishing to say, I came out of this all with head held high. My feet, however were held higher. May God bless and keep the many good folk of Marston's brewery and long may they produce their delicious beer. Finally we arrived back at the Willoughby about Midnight and most folk made their way to the toilet. Me, I had another pint on the sly. Thanks to Rick at the Willoughby and everyone up at Burton who made us feel so welcome and gave us such a great time. How much are houses up there?
