We hear of people drowning themselves in drink, and we rightfully expect that it’s a figure of speech, an allusion to tragic immoderation. Never would we expect to find lives swept away in a torrent of beer rushing through the streets.
That’s precisely what happened on this day in 1814, though, when a massive vat of porter burst at Henry Meux & Company’s Horseshoe Brewery at Tottenham Court Road in London. First one 22 foot high brewing tank – which at the time held in excess of 3,500 barrels of beer – burst, then others ruptured from the force of that first explosion. In all, some 8,500 barrels of beer tore through the walls of the brewery and spilled into the streets and surrounding buildings.
The October 19 London Times described the episode as “one of the most melancholy accidents we ever remember.”
The fluid, in its course, swept every thing before it. Two houses in New-street, adjoining the brewhouse, were totally demolished. The inhabitants, who were of the poorer class, were all at home. In the first floor of one of them, a mother and daughter were at tea; the mother was killed on the spot; the daughter was swept away by the current through a partition, and dashed to pieces…
…The bursting of the brew-house walls, and the fall of heavy timber, materially contributed to aggravate the mischief, by forcing the roofs and walls of the adjoining houses. The crowd collected from the time of the accident to a late hour was immense. It presented many distressing scenes of children and others inquiring for and lamenting their parents, relatives, and friends.
A coroner’s inquest (as noted by the Times on October 20, 1814) listed eight deaths from the incident, all women and children. Popular legend suggests that the London Beer Flood claimed a ninth life – by way of alcohol poisoning. Indeed, the BBC’s encyclopedia project h2g2 purports that throngs of people in the tenement neighborhood pounced on this occasion for free refreshment:
Fearful that all the beer should go to waste though, hundreds of people ran outside carrying pots, pans, and kettles to scoop it up - while some simply stooped low and lapped at the liquid washing through the streets. However, the tide was too strong for many, and as injured people began arriving at the nearby Middlesex Hospital there was almost a riot as other patients demanded to know why they weren't being supplied with beer too - they could smell it on the flood survivors, and were insistent that they were missing out on a party! Calm was quickly restored at the hospital, but out in the streets was a different matter.
Whether this much was true or not, popular misinformation about the disaster abounds. There are frequent references in London Beer Flood lore to a 1785 Times mention of construction of a large cask being built by Meux (“the size of which exceeds all credibility, being designed to hold 20,000 barrels of porter”), as well as a dinner for 200 held in the enormous vat before its inauguration as a brewing vessel.
Interesting nuggets of trivia, for sure, but ones which have little relevance to the brewery at Tottenham Court Road. Rather, they refer to Meux, Reid and Company’s Griffin Brewery (not to be confused with Fuller’s better-known Griffin Brewery), located at a site that would have been far more fitting for a flood of beer: Liquorpond Street.
Volume 2 of the 1911 A History of the County of Middlesex – in turn, citing 18th Century British historian and naturalist Thomas Pennant – sheds considerable light on the matter:
The locality is one of much interest; close by are Gray's Inn Road and Hatton Garden, and in Brooke Street, near the brewery, the poet Chatterton brought his life to its sad end. The buildings, which covered upwards of 4 acres, extended from the north end of Gray's Inn Lane, across Leather Lane, to Hatton Garden. The business was established some time in the 17th century, and was always noted for its black beer or porter. In 1809 the firm dissolved partnership, Mr. Meux acquiring a business for himself in Tottenham Court Road, and Mr. A. Reid retaining possession of the old brewhouse in Liquorpond Street. Various distinguished persons from time to time visited the brewery, among them the Emperor Napoleon III, who showed his appreciation of the firm's famous stout by emptying a tankard.
Pennant gives statistics of the barrels of strong beer brewed by the chief porter brewers of London in 1786-7, in which Richard Meux, who then owned the Griffin Brewery, figures ninth on the list with an output of 49,651 barrels. The same writer, speaking of this brewhouse as it existed in his day, says:
The sight of a great London brewhouse exhibits a magnificence unspeakable. The vessels evince the extent of the trade. Mr. Meux of Liquorpond Street, Gray's Inn Lane, can show twenty-four tuns, containing in all 35,000 barrels. In the present year he has built a vessel 60 feet in diameter, 176 feet in circumference, and 23 feet in height. It cost £5,000 in building, and contains from ten to twelve thousand barrels of beer, valued at about £20,000. A dinner was given to 200 people at the bottom, and 200 more joined the company to drink success to the vat.
Another vat of even greater dimensions was, about the time that Pennant wrote, constructed by this firm in their no. 3 store. This was called the 'X.Y.Z.,' and exceeded in size all similar vessels constructed before or since; its capacity was for 20,000 barrels of porter, and it cost £10,000. At that time the London porter brewers strove in rivalry for the possession of the largest vat.
Different company, different location (albeit one with a quite suggestive name), and two different vats, all frequently included in tales of the London Beer Flood. Don’t believe the lies – but do believe, as we recall this terrible waste of beer and far more terrible waste of innocent lives, that it is a fine day to enjoy the relative safety of a mere pint.
The original Horseshoe Brewery is no longer with us, torn down in 1922 and replaced in 1928 by the Dominion Theatre. Meux & Co. survived the flood, thanks in part to their success in convincing Parliament to return the already-paid excise duties on the lost porter. They did not, however, survive the ongoing trend towards ever more mergers, acquisitions, and consolidation. According to the British National Archives, after obtaining Thorne Bros. in 1914, Meux & Co. relocated in 1921 to the Nine Elms Brewery – renaming it the Horseshoe Brewery. As the result of a long series of subsequent moves, the closest thing we have today – on the business family tree, that is – to Meux’s once renowned porters is Tetley’s English Ale. This sleek flaxen brew is a far cry from the porters of any generation, though.
Instead on this fine day for a beer, seek out Meantime’s London Porter and sip it to these words of Peter Pindar (aka John Wolcot) from “The lamentations of the porter-vat, which exploded of the drug-gripes, October 17, 1814”:
Here—as ’tis said—in days of yore,
(Such days, alas! will come no more),
Resided Sir John Barleycorn,
An ancient Briton, nobly born,
With Mrs. Hop—a well-met pair,
For he was rich, and she was fair.
Yet they—like other married Folke,
When their past vows they can’t revoke—
Were opposite in disposition,
And quarrell’d without intermission;
For He alone produc’d the Sweets,
Which She, with Bitters only, meets!
Howe’er by dint of perseverance,
By gentle conjugal endearance,
The Sweets predominating most,
In strength excelling, rul’d the roast;
Whilst she, obedient, did her duty—
That greatest ornament of beauty.
Her Bitters, thus by him controll’d,
Their wholesome properties unfold,
And give to him superior pow’rs—
Superior charms for social hours;
As Beauty, with persuasive tongue,
Tempers the mind, by passion wrung.
At length, from this domestic Pair,
Was born a well-known Son and Heir;
Whose deeds o’er half the world are fam’d,
By Britons, Master Porter, nam’d.
