During the early 1960s, I was living and working in London as well as playing Rugby Union for the famous London Irish Rugby Club. One evening, a representative from a major brewing company knocked on my door, inquiring about my level of beer consumption as well as choice of brand.
On learning my preferences towards beer, I was asked if I would be interested in taking part in a beer sampling study.
WOULD I WHAT?!?
I was informed that each week a representative from the brewing establishment would deliver twelve large bottles of different beer for myself and selected others to sample. The bottles came unmarked except that each had been inscribed with a letter ranging from A to L.
The task was simple. Drink the stuff and on the accompanying sheet mark the beers for levels of taste, clarity, colour and aroma, as well as the all-important alcoholic content.
Every Saturday the ‘free liquid amber’ was duly delivered to my abode and subsequently stored for later consumption. Of course, rugby was the usual agenda of the day (as was partaking in a beverage or two), and the after-match functions were always quite boisterous. As anybody from the era and area (Sunbury on Thames) would know, some of the times had in Fitzy’s bar (The Nissan Hut) were quite an event.
The Rugby Club had built a new stand and bar; however, the concrete monstrosity lacked the atmosphere and heart of a good old London bar. The cold and impersonal stand and bar lay dormant as the parties raged on at Fitzy’s till the wee hours.
Few of the boys owned cars (let alone were able to drive them) so we all had to bum a lift back to North London. The chosen few were invited back to my place for a glass or two of the free stuff, and after all the singing (which invariably included a few Welsh hymns) and dancing (especially after a match against the London Welsh) a drink or two were needed to quench the thirst.
In the words of the great Mr Bazza McKenzie we were all ‘as dry as a pommie’s towel’. And thus the sampling began. As you can imagine, six large Irish lads sampling and studying the finer points of this peculiar drop was a sight to behold (especially at two o’clock in the morning).
Needless to say, I had to spend the rest of the week filling out the form that had accompanied the brew. Hours and hours were spent calculating the high and low points of the flavour, fizz and nose of the last week’s batch.
This frightful experience continued for twelve straight weeks. Handing back the empties, picking up the new and swapping over the information sheets was thirsty work, so as every Saturday rolled by, so did the chosen ones, to participate in tasting the new week’s batch.
As word spread of our existence, the offers for lifts back up to NW2 (North London) became as common as the brew we had to pay for. However, as I was true to my friends, it was still the usual bunch who had the arduous job of polishing off twelve of the best each Saturday night (or perhaps Sunday morning).
It became obvious that our hard work had not gone unnoticed as the unnamed company came to the party, offering me another twelve weeks of their lager, which today has become one of the most popular lagers on the market.
Unfortunately — or fortunately — the rugby season had by this time passed so I was forced to drink the gold on my own. However, each time I decide that I might have a drop of the great stuff, it brings back some of the greatest memories of my time back in the Old Dart.