Barrow Hill in a nutshell; a beer festival held in a working locomotive shed. Sounds like madness? Well, there’s a fair few reasons why it works so well:

Only a queue or two – Well, the forty-minute queue for the free bus wasn’t too bad- it was a sunny day after all – although the bus-bores in front of me and the train-bores behind me left me wish I’d brought my mp3 player with me. What I now don’t know about exhaust parameters and the finer points of timetabling of 1970s West Midlands routes isn’t worth remembering. But at the fest, the queues for tokens were short and bar service was swift. Yes, even when it was Dom from Marble who was serving.

A really good foreign bottle bar – With the notable exception of GBBF, foreign bottles beers are often treated with disinterest or disdain at many British festivals. Here, the list was small but perfectly formed, with delights such as Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA for a hopshock, the De Molen-Mikkeller collaboration ‘Mikkel & Menno’ for a peachy perfume fix and Emelisse Stout for a roast explosion.

Liver and onions - Yes, there was real ale sausage. Yes, there was hog roast. But there’s something special about a cob stuffed full of just-cooked-enough liver and slippery fried onion. The sort of nom that ought to be available at more fests.

Local beer for local people – Plenty of beer from around the country was on offer, but with over two dozen breweries in the county they were right to showcase some of Derbyshire’s finest. Old favourites such as Thornbridge Jaipur vied for attention alongside new brews from the likes of Barlow, with all of the Derbyshire Brewers Collective represented. And there were some real gems; imagine a beer as complex as Mikkeller Jackie Brown but with less alcohol, so it’s more quaffable. That’s Ashover Mrs Brown, that it.

Smoke, steam and diesel – of course, the combination of heritage buses, working locomotives and real ale can bring out the worst kind of corduroy-clad saddo. But there’s something other-worldy about sitting on a wall in the blistering sun as two locos hiss and cough and chuff and splutter past you. And to sit in the compartment of a corridor coach, drinking beer with strangers as the train is pushed/pulled to the end of a non-descript cutting and back again, is surely one of the most esoteric pleasures at a British beer festival.

A brewer or two. Or three. Or more – It’s not unusual to find a brewer or two at a beer festival; professional networking, quality assurance and all that… So it’s always a pleasure to meet up with a few, chew the fat, put the world to rights and have semi-cogent conversations about flocculation. Perhaps. Janine, Matt, Kelly, Dom, here’s to you; it’s always a pleasure to share a beer with guys and gals who are passionate about what they brew.

Eclecticism – Sandal wearers who didn’t all have beards. Transport ‘enthusiasts’ and stag parties. Brass bands, R&B, impromptu a capella. Small brewers (Leila Cottage), large brewers (Fullers). Few festivals have this broad attraction. Barrow Hill had it in spades.

Ice cream on a bus – simple as that. An ice cream van is parked next to the bus stop. Result; me and Matt Clarke from Thornbridge, the last ones on, end up standing up, eating ice cream, not falling over, not depositing our cornets into the driver’s lap. The perfect end to a beery, sunny day.


If you were there, you don’t need me to tell you how good Barrow Hill Rail Ale festival is. If you weren’t there, why not? You’ve just missed one of the best events on Britain’s ale calendar. Just don’t miss out in May 2011! >

The first fest of 2009 offered old favourites, new breweries, too much Paradox and a Man With Several Plans. The panto is still in full swing so Derby's topers all squeezed into the Darwin Suite for three days of fun. Unless you were that poor sod of a photographer who didn't seem to entice anyone into having their portrait taken. Is that beer cloudy? Oh no it isn't! Oh yes it is! And repeat until the bar staff call security....


Thursday night

A simple plan; get train to Derby, eat chips, join queue, rent glass, drink beer, drink beer, repeat until bored / nine o'clock / I fall over. But, as the famous quote goes; "The best laid plans of mice and men / Are shafted to boggery by National Rail's winter timetable changes". My train now ran twenty minutes later than planned, so instead I caught the Spondon Flyer into town, having first stopped off at a nearby chippy. The delightful assistant, whose name may or may not have been Samantha,was more than happy to serve me. Indeed, she smiled broadly whilst taking my sausage out of her hotbox.

The fest is held in a compact and bijou venue, the Darwin Suite of the Assembly Rooms. With limited seating in the suite and the festival's official reception taking up the 'quiet' room, I grabbed a beer and pitched up by the catering area within earshot of hot food slopping and a daft old racist ticker.

Eventually, the smell of the ticker and the sound of the food drove me back to the bar. Approaching the doors, I was greeted with a hefty cheer of "1-2-3-4!". No, not a particularly thirsty toper ordering multiple drinks. This was Verbal Warning, a punk covers band who (refreshingly for a band of their era) didn't need flashcards to help count that far. Though it was a tad depressing to find that the audience of similarly aged gents were mostly sitting down... tapping their toes.

Several beers later I was contemplating escape when I bumped into came Comrade Brian and Cycling John. Making the most of their late passes, they'd just been to see the film Che at Quad and had popped over for a drink. They forced me to stop for a few more beers (honest) so we put the world to rights by the continental bar in an ever-busier foyer.

And those beers:

The Good: Dunham Massey Chocolate Cherry Mild and the ever-sublime
Thornbridge Saint Petersburg.

The Not Bad: Dunham Massey Winter Warmer and Derventio Barbarian

The Mistaken: possibly Wirksworth Sunbeam as it certainly wasn't St Austell Tribute Extra (ruddy lovely it was, mind)

The Indifferent: Wild Walker Old Big 'ead and Great Escape (plain stuff
from a new Derby brewery; let's give them time to find their feet).


Friday night

An even-simpler plan tonight; drink Brewdog Paradox, watch Blurb. First part of the plan was executed commendably - half-pints of Smokehead were downed with metronomic regularity throughout the evening. But Blurb.... they were supposed to be on first but instead there was a shouty bloke standing in front of some bored-looking musicians. That'll be Kaiser Thiefs, then. Now, if you're going to ape Ricky Wilson it would be ideal to look like him..... STRIKE ONE! OK, at least act like him.... STRIKE TWO! But it's a tribute band so he'll probably sound like him... STRIKE THREE! YOUROUTTAHERE! Well, I was. And so were a few others. Particularly when he forgot the words.

Tonight, this place was HEAVING. The bar was four-deep, the foyer packed, even the 'quiet' room was busy (albeit those present looked like they were auditioning to fill a chair in an old people's home). Old friends were literally bumped into (Oliver with his mate Matt), Ol being naffed off that all the Jaipur had gone - it flies off bars whenever it's on, even before Thornbridge's profile-raising spot on BBC's Drink to Britain programme. Oliver reminded me to mention that I walked (i.e. fell) into a six-foot tall freestanding CAMRA poster and went for a spectacular pratfall. Cheers, Ol, I'd almost forgotten that ;-)

With my beer goggles now calibrated firmly into their 'only have eyes for Smokehead' mode, the Brewdog was starting to seep into my soul. This Paradox lived up to its name abundantly. There's plenty enough of a phenolic fright but the flavour retains Riptide's smooth vanilla and chocolate notes.

Into the sweaty maelstrom of the foyer arrived my oppo, Scott, and his wife Mary along with their friends Vicky and Matthew. Mary handed me a copy of Norfolk Nips, a CAMRA magazine. I told her that I'd always wanted to get my hands on her Nips. I'm not sure if she heard me as I didn't get the belt round the chops that such a gag usually elicits.

... meanwhile, Blurb had apparently taken to the stage. I was considering insertion into the sardine-like throng of the Darwin Suite when Oliver told me it was the same band as before... they'd just changed into tracksuits. What a swizz. Back to the Paradox and the banter, then. What that banter was, I have no precise idea, but the last hours were highlighted by the others taking some sterling photos through the bottom of a beer glass and me being unable to operate Scott's sliding telephone. I mean a telephone that slides open to reveal a keypad. Not a telephone that slides down stair banisters. Honest, Scott. (btw - did you see the photos I took on it???)

With drinks drained and late buses to catch, I weaved my way home. And went to the fridge and opened a bottle of Punk IPA. Like you do at midnight, having drank stupendous amounts of 10% stout for six hours.

Sleep fell like a sumo wrestler through a balsawood dojo.

Saturday lunchtime

The simplest plan of all today; me and the missus drink whatever the hell we want to. Accompanied by whomsoever washed up by our table in the 'quiet' room. That's 'quiet' as in no music; you still get the over-loud ticker, the grumpy non-drinking spouse and the hyperactive child who's in need of colliding with a sharp table edge in order to calm them down.

Long-time fellow festival mucker DJ Monarch aka Neil hauled himself over from deepest darkest Cheshire to share a few beers. As a five-a-side football player, striking a glut of goals recently had gone to his head - literally, as he was now sporting the rather fetching Wayne Rooney Shawn Spud hairdo. Ideal for a freezing January, Neil ;-)

He was accompanied by a couple of friends he'd met at the Great American Beer Festival last year. Who are Argentinian football league supporters. Living in Derby. Who also support Nottingham Forest. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up even if I'd been drinking.

Rebecca tucked into a Fentimans Dandelion & Burdock early doors before enjoying some lovely local cider (Three Cats Sweet) and a fair few glasses of Dunkertons Medium perry. And she picked some random numbers for me to order beer b, which resulted in some interesting revisitations for me like John Thompson XXX bitter and the Cascade-whiff of Purity Pure UBU.

The other beers this session of real note included:

Ashover All Saints - almost-wit with just enough orange peel shavings to
lift it on the palate.

Arbor Oyster Stout - really, really smooth stout that actually had the oyster smack that many beers of this style lack

Leadmill Louisiana - proper ashen porter with a hint of smoke

Funfair Blueberry Stout - well, it's got a vineous, hedgerow edge to it; not massively blueberry but still topper toper tasty

Brunswick Regimental IPA - first tried in October 2008 at the Brunnie's
fest, this has matured enough for the hops to infuse and produce a cleaner, even drop.

Falstaff Tennent - I'm not a fan of the constant tinkering of recipes at Falstaff but if it leads to beers like this, tinker on! Bags of fresh hops on the nose, lush citrics climbing through the malt, the kind of beer that Falstaff ought to brew every year when they get the new crop US hops in.

Another great Derby Winter fest. The season has now begun, though I won't be going to as many CAMRA festivals as usual this year (no, honest, I know I've been saying that for years but this year I mean it. Probably). I'll be visiting a few favourite fests in the evenings and weekends but I'm on the lookout for a fest further away that I usually venture - let's say two hours away by train from Derby. So, if anyone could recommend a Home Counties / West Yorkshire fest of fun, let me know.

More photos on Flickr



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It's a hard knock life, this reluctant scooping. Forsaking the scoopfest that is Reading beer festival was an easy decison; as fun as it is, the lure of a decent pub fest just a few fields away from home was enough for me.

And not just any old pub - the Royal Oak at Ockbrook is a gem of a place, a proper pub and one that will certainly feature in my Pubs To Love column at some stage soon. This was a fest with a difference for the Oak. Their usual offering is an autumnal affair, based on the brewers found in a single county. This was a special occasion, though, as landlady Olive Wilson was celebrating her 55th year in charge - that's right, fifty-five years as licencee. Her son-in-law, 'Smiling' Steve Hornbuckle does the hard work behind the bar and in the cellar nowadays and he sourced a range of beers from breweries based less than fifty-five miles away that are not normally featured at the pub.























With about a dozen beers on stillage and another three on handpump in the bar, I decided frequent visits should be the order of the day - er, of the weekend - to maximise my chances of being reaquainted with some great beers as well as reluctantly scoopiing a few new 'uns.
Cycling John and I trolled over to the Oak on the opening night (well, my wife Rebecca drove us over). Ensconced by the stillage, we set about the beers in no apparent order apart from ensuring we hit the Brampton beers first. I'd not had these too often until this year; John knows the Chesterfield area well and the brewer had become one of his firm favourite.

Brampton Golden Bud was top notch, as were Ashover Poet's Tipple and Holland Delph (good to see some great light beers coming from Kimberley). Whim Flower Power and Black Christmas were dangerously drinkable. And tonight I had several glasses of what was to become my beer of the fest; Wirksworth Cruckbeam, a superbly balanced bitter with a depth of flavour and finish that was missing from their earlier ventures.

With a fair few more people present, Steve gave us all a hearty welcome and introduced East Midlands CAMRA Regional Director Julian Tubbs who said a few words honouring Olive's work and the value of community pubs. More of the same beers as before were then imbibed, by which time Brampton Mild had come on. At which point, any vestige of scooping hope was lost; this mild is excellent and I was happy to keep supping it until my better half arrived to give us a lift home.

Back to the Oak on Saturday lunch, this time in a taxi so that Rebecca could avail herself of cider. Yes, we do cider in Derbyshire too - in this case, from only a few miles up the road at Morley. Three Cats is seen flying the flag for Derbyshire cider at a fair few festivals nowadays, an Eastern counties style cider made from cookers and eaters donated by locals.

Some of the usual suspects joined us today - John meeting Brian on the bus (yes; Brian on a bus). They both then spent a fair bit of time playing with their phones - Brian had given John one of his wife's old models and they were soon into full techno-mode.

Later in the afternoon, Rebecca's work colleague Susannah turned up with her beau in tow, Graeme. And he we all are (apart from John behind the lens) in smiling, drinking pose.
With most of the beers still on from Friday, I was happy to drink my way through more Brampton, Whim and Holland before being enticed into the bar for more than several pints of Thornbridge Jaywick on handpump. So, there was the rest of the afternoon gone - this is such an easy drinking, deliciously golden ale. And I've rarely been more grateful for a taxi ride home afterwards...

On Sunday I picked up one of my bikes from John and we didn't need much persuading to amble over to the Oak. The stillage was decidedly thin now, with emergency beers from Grafton and Derby Brewing Comapny called into action. Our saviour was Amber Ales Stout on in the bar, amazingly refreshing after the short but sweaty bike ride.

Certainly a fest of fun and one that's already given me an appetite for their main festival in October.

You can read more about Olive's story by following these links:

http://www.youandyesterday.co.uk/articles/The_Royal_Oak:_Pulling_pints_for_half_a_century

http://www.bbc.co.uk/derby/content/articles/2008/04/30/olive_wilson_royaloak_feature.shtml

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