Farewell to an inspiring brewer

My life improved dramatically, thanks to John Young. More than 30 years ago when I was

working on a newspaper in Hackney,

East London, a colleague said to me one evening: "Fancy a pint? There's a Young's pub round the corner."

As an East Ender, I was well acquainted with the various breweries in the area: Charrington, Manns, Truman and Watneys.

But Young's was a new name and I confused it at first with Younger's, a Scottish brewer with a handful of pubs in the capital.

After work I took a stroll round to the Rose & Crown to meet my workmate. Presented with a pint of Young's Bitter, I was bowled over by the sheer hoppy delights of the beer.

This was a time of profound change in the beer world - London was awash with garish posters for Watney's Red and, in common with many others, I was encouraged to visit a Watney's pub to sample a pint of the new, over-hyped brand.

I remember likening the experience to drinking a liquid Mars Bar.

Its extreme carbonation gave me a bad gut; I didn't return for second pint and for a while I went off the taste of beer completely.

But that pint of Young's Bitter - followed by a few more - set me back on the path of righteousness.

A decade later, when I went to work for Camra, the Campaign for Real Ale, one of my earliest brewery visits was - naturally - to Young's.

I marvelled at the burnished, traditional brewing vessels and felt enchanted by the

giant shire horses in their stables, the ram mascot with his special waistcoat designed for wear on important occasions, and the flocks of ducks and geese waddling and honking their way around the yard.

But most of all, I enjoyed the sample room, the area set aside for management and

visitors to taste the brewery's full range of beers from freshly-brewed casks.

I discovered that Young's was a place full

of laughter as well as passion for brewing.

And the volume of laughter increased by a decibel or two when chairman John Young arrived .

Behind his parade-ground bark - he had risen to the rank of lieutenant commander in the Fleet Air Arm during World War Two - was his sense of humour and razor-sharp intellect.

He asked my opinion because the quality and acceptability of his beer mattered a great deal to him. I remember head brewer Ken Don saying that if "Mr John" came into the sample room to find that the beer's quality wasn't up to scratch "he would kick my arse ragged".

Since John Young died on 17 September, much has been written about his pivotal role in the 1970s cask beer revival. Last week I was asked in a radio interview whether I agreed with the view that he had lived "in the age of Queen Victoria".

The jibe was absurd and I retorted with

feeling. John Young looked forward, not back. He wasn't loyal to cask ale out of sentiment - he believed that beer made with the finest natural ingredients would win through against national and international brands eventually.

Of course, he was proved right - a man of the future, not the past, his legacy will be that he chimed with the times.

John Young spoke for all those who believe in the importance of the quality of the food and drink we put in our mouths and

advocate that beer should be made from malted barley, hops, yeast and water, instead of being adulterated with rice, maize and hop oils and pumped with gas and chemicals to give it "shelf life".

It's easy to forget that in the early 1970s regional brewers were either going out of business or down the keg route. John Young helped to stop the rot and brewers

rediscovered their commitment to cask beer, realising they didn't have to ape the nationals to succeed and that local beers brewed for their communities still held powerful appeal.

Whatever the problems of modern brewing, John Young's legacy is a powerful one. And his

inspiring influence on a generation of brewers and drinkers drives today's remaining

regionals and micro-brewers.

So goodbye, Mr Chairman, and thanks for all the cheer.

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