There’s a genuine mystery in Burton… how is Stapenhill Institute Club still flying under the radar?
Tucked away on Main Street for well over a century, this striking 1888 building is a product of Burton’s brewing golden age, yet somehow, plenty of locals still walk past without ever stepping inside.
“I don’t know,” admits Club President John Berrisford. “We’ve been here for over 100 years, but even now people say they don’t know anything about us.”
That might be about to change.
Behind the intercom-controlled entrance lies something quite different to what you might expect. Yes, it’s a members’ club, but not the closed-off kind. In fact, they want new faces. The idea is simple: get people through the door once, and they’ll want to come back again… properly.
And it’s easy to see why.
Inside, there’s a proper sense of club life; function room, snooker table, and a warm, lived-in atmosphere that regulars clearly take pride in. No pretence, just a place that feels instantly familiar.
But let’s be honest, the real draw is something else.
“Without a doubt, it’s our award-winning beers,” says John. “Bass is our best seller, crisp, clear, and it leaves you wanting more.”
It’s not just talk. The cellar is treated with near-obsessive care, with lines cleaned meticulously. Add in lagers, ciders and a solid pint of Guinness, and you’ve got a lineup that quietly punches above its weight.
There’s even a welcome for four-legged visitors, with complimentary treats waiting at the bar.
So why join the Burton Ale Trail?
“We wanted people to come and see why we love it here,” John explains. “Once they do, we think they’ll understand.”
Honestly, this feels less like a stop on the trail and more like a discovery waiting to happen.
The Coppersmiths Inn is a reimagining of The Weighbridge Inn, which quietly closed its doors back in January, but you’d barely recognise it now. Under new management and with a thoughtful renovation, the space has been opened up, trading old familiarity for a brighter, more inviting feel.
Step inside and, if landlord Chilo is to be believed, you’ll find exactly what a good pub should offer: “a welcoming, friendly and relaxed atmosphere.”
Behind the bar, there’s plenty to keep both traditionalists and the more adventurous drinkers happy: four ever-changing cask ales, alongside craft beers, keg lagers and stout, plus wines and ciders for good measure.
And it wouldn’t be a proper Burton stop without something to nibble on. Expect proper pub fare done right, locally made pork pies, sausage rolls and generously filled cobs, the kind that demand a pint alongside them.
There’s also a practical upgrade that won’t go unnoticed during the Burton Ale Trail: longer opening hours. When the town fills with beer lovers, that extra time at the bar could prove invaluable.
Chilo is in no doubt about the importance of the event: “The BAT is an innovative event which is good for the pubs and the town. It helps promote Burton and its drinking establishments, giving customers a wide range of ales to sample. It has put Burton upon Trent back on the map as the beer town capital it was always known for.”
And with that renewed sense of purpose, The Coppersmiths Inn isn’t just back, it’s ready to be part of Burton’s story all over again.
Burton Ale Trail veterans might remember The Alfred from its brief appearance on the third trail back in September 2022, a fleeting cameo before the lights went out and the doors closed. The timing raised eyebrows, though I’m assured the two events weren’t linked. Either way, it felt like a pub with more to give.
Fast forward, and The Alfred is not just back, it’s reborn.
Reopened last September as an independent freehouse, it has returned with a renewed sense of purpose and a clear identity. Its reappearance on the Burton Ale Trail feels less like a comeback and more like unfinished business finally being settled.
“The Alfred is an independent free house that’s quickly become known as one of the town’s liveliest venues for live music and entertainment,” says Gareth Massey, a familiar face to many from his time at The Olde Royal Oak. “Since reopening we’ve focused on creating a proper pub atmosphere, good beer, great music, and a place where people actually want to stay awhile, not just pass through.”
And it shows. This isn’t a pub trying to find its feet, it’s one that’s found its rhythm.
“We’re dog friendly, family friendly, and with a large beer garden and car park, we’re set up for everything from a relaxed afternoon pint to a full-on night out. Whether it’s a gig, the match, or just catching up with mates, we want to be that go-to stop.”
Behind the bar, tradition meets expectation. A strong rotation of real ales sits comfortably alongside popular lagers and ciders, a nod to Burton’s brewing heritage without being stuck in the past.
And during the Ale Trail? Expect it to turn up the volume.
“The Alfred has built a reputation for live entertainment, so visitors can expect a lively stop, music, atmosphere, and a pint worth stopping for. We want people to remember us as one of the places where the night really came alive.”
For Gareth, being part of the trail isn’t just about footfall, it’s about belonging.
“As an independent free house, we’re passionate about pubs, beer, and bringing people together. The Burton Ale Trail celebrates exactly that. It’s about showing people what great pubs can be and making sure The Alfred is right at the heart of it.”
A proper hidden gem in every sense, I must have driven past it hundreds of times without the faintest idea it was there. Tucked away almost opposite the Waterloo Inn on Ashby Road, the Burton Tennis & Squash Club reveals itself only to those curious enough to look twice and it’s all the better for it.
Established over a century ago, this family-friendly racquet sports club quietly blends sporting heritage with something Burton does best: excellent beer.
“Over the past 35 years we’ve built a reputation for keeping and serving great cask ales,” says BTASC’s Dave Hughes. “That’s been recognised with CAMRA awards, which we’re incredibly proud of. Bass is our best-seller, with carefully chosen guest ales alongside and for BAT, we’ll be pouring Tower Brewery’s Ale to the King.”
Step inside and you’ll find a bright, welcoming clubhouse where the atmosphere is as easy-going as the pint is good, a place where tennis whites and pint glasses sit comfortably side by side. There’s a solid range of lagers and cider too, but it’s the cask that takes centre stage.
And if the sun decides to play its part? Even better. The club’s sun deck overlooks the courts, making it a perfect spot to settle in with a pint as the light lingers into the evening.
“We’re delighted to be part of the BAT,” Dave adds. “It’s growing year on year, celebrating cask beer and the long-standing pubs and clubs that make Burton special. We’re proud to be part of that journey.”
Pair it with a BAT visit to the Waterloo Inn and discover a spot that’s been hiding in plain sight all along, a little off the beaten track, but absolutely worth finding.
The first new addition to the Burton Ale Trail for 2026 makes a bold statement. Perched on Ashby Road, The Waterloo Inn stands as part of this year’s expansion across the River Trent and it’s a pub determined not just to join the Trail, but to make its mark on it.
I caught up with landlord Luke Woodward over a pint to hear what it’s all about.
“Dating back to the days of cobbled streets and horses tied up outside, our pub has always been a place full of character, charm, and great local cask ale,” Luke says. “That tradition hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still here in every pint we pour and every welcome through the door.”
Step in from the decking and you’re met with a pub that knows exactly what it wants to be. Soft, ambient lighting hums in the background, conversation flows easily, and there’s a space for whatever kind of drinker you are, whether that’s tucked away in a cosy snug, unwinding in the lounge, or soaking up the energy at the bar.
Luke’s enthusiasm for putting The Waterloo Inn firmly on the map is unmistakable and the Burton Ale Trail offers the perfect stage.
“Join us as we bring the trail to life,” he says. “We’re talking a buzzing atmosphere, live music throughout Saturday, and a lineup of top-quality food vans to keep you going. Behind the bar, it’s all about great beer—local favourites alongside well-loved classics, all kept exactly as they should be.”
There’s a sense that this isn’t just another stop, it’s an occasion.
So whether you’re making the climb up Ashby Road as a destination in itself, kicking off your Trail in style, or finishing on a high, The Waterloo Inn feels perfectly placed.
“For us, it’s about more than just pouring pints,” Luke adds. “It’s about sharing what we love. The Burton Ale Trail has always been about championing local, and that’s something we’re proud to stand behind. The care, attention, and pride we put into every pint—that’s what we’re excited for people to experience.”
The Trail is evolving and The Waterloo Inn is ready to turn it up a notch.
Walking over the threshold of The Coopers Tavern in Burton upon Trent is, in many ways, like stepping back in time. With no televisions, no jukebox, and very little to distract from conversation and good beer, it remains a proper Victorian pub with a deep, almost stubborn connection to Burton’s brewing past.
Cheryl Gibson behind the bar (Credit: Colston Crawford)
And talking of time, new landlady Cheryl Gibson, who took over after the much-loved Mandy Addis left last year, is planning something rather special to celebrate National Bass Day on Saturday 4th April: she’s going to bury it. Not the pub, but a piece of its history.
The idea came after a busy weekend when Cheryl found herself staring at the old innkeeper’s board on the wall and wondering what the pub would have been like in those days. “I was looking at the names and thinking how incredible it would be if we could actually see what the Coopers was like back then. I mentioned it to the team, we started throwing ideas around, and that’s how the time capsule was born.”
The capsule itself measures 13.5 by 4 inches and will be placed inside a larger sealed metal box for protection before being buried on the property at 7pm on National Bass Day.
Here’s where the pub, and Burton, come in. Lovers of The Coopers Tavern and Bass are invited to donate items to go inside: photos, written memories, beer mats, newspapers, letters, and even video messages for the future. As a thank you, every donation will be rewarded with a half of ale, it doesn’t have to be Bass but it would feel a bit wrong if it wasn’t. The first 50 people through the door will receive a limited commemorative beer mat, which is almost certainly destined to become a collector’s item, so please form an orderly queue.
Limited edition beer mat
The capsule will then lie undisturbed for twenty years until 2046.
“I hope when it’s opened it gives people a real sense of what The Coopers meant to Burton,” Cheryl says. “The connection to Bass, the community spirit, the stories, the people, why this pub has always been such a special place.”
Although Cheryl already knew The Coopers Tavern was unique long before she took over, having spent many nights out in Burton, she didn’t initially realise just how deep the pub’s historical connection to Bass really was. Since taking the pub on, she’s made it something of a personal mission to act as custodian of its history as well as its beer.
“Most of my career was in events, but during the pandemic I ended up learning how to build websites and even completed a university course in machine learning and AI,” she explains. “I’ve always loved marketing and data and I enjoyed that work, but deep down I missed people, the atmosphere, the energy, the buzz of live events. When the Coopers was looking for a temporary manager, I applied, and the rest is history.”
On National Bass Day, Cheryl is hoping people will come down not just for a pint, but to help make a little bit of history too. There will be a photobooth, the sealing ceremony and group toast will be filmed, and then the capsule will be buried on site, not to be seen again for twenty years.
So if you’ve got a memory, a story, a photograph, or just want to raise a glass to the people who’ll be drinking in The Coopers in 2046, get yourself down there on April 4th and be part of the future history of one of Burton’s most remarkable pubs.
The legend that is The Coopers Tavern (Credit: Colston Crawford)
Following the announcement that they would be shutting for a period of refurbishment at the turn of the year, the sudden closure of the Weighbridge Inn in mid-January still came as a surprise to many regulars.
The award-winning pub had been part of the Muirhouse stable since 2019, run by Mandy and Richard Muir, and its walls proudly told the story of that success. Framed awards celebrated their much-loved beers Tick Tock Boom and Magnum Mild, while a string of honours from the Burton & South Derbyshire CAMRA Pub of the Year competition marked it out as one of the town’s standout locals: third place in 2022, runner-up in both 2023 and 2024, and third again in 2025.
So when the doors closed unexpectedly, it felt like the end of a chapter.
But as it turns out, it was only the interval.
In early March came the news that the pub would be reopening, a new name, new management and a new start.
“My name’s Phil Chilton, most people call me Chillo, and my other half is Laura Illsley,” he says, introducing himself. Though in truth, many Burton drinkers will already know him.
Chillo has spent most of his working life in the pub trade. He first stepped behind a bar in the late 1980s before taking on his first pub, the Berkeley Arms in Waterloo Street, in 1993. He ran it until 1996, and over the years that followed he became a familiar face in pubs across the town.
In 2011 he took on the Royal Oak in Horninglow, running it for five years before moving on to the Oak & Ivy.
“I had seven mostly enjoyable years there,” he says. “But after COVID things changed. Carlsberg got involved and it wasn’t the same, in the end I decided it was time to call it a day.”
For a while, the pub game seemed to be behind him, until an unexpected opportunity reminded him how much he missed it.
“Last September we were asked if we’d look after the Navigation in Horninglow for a couple of weeks until the new landlady could take over,” he explains. “We really enjoyed it and realised how much we’d missed being behind the bar.”
And there was one pub in particular that had always caught their eye.
“We used to drink in the Weighbridge and always liked its quirkiness and relaxed atmosphere,” he says. “We’d even said before that if it ever became available, we’d love to have a go at it.”
When the pub closed earlier this year, Chillo picked up the phone and contacted the previous owners. Conversations followed, plans were made and before long a new future for the building was taking shape.
When the doors reopen, the pub will also have a new name: The Coppersmiths Inn.
The name is a personal tribute to Laura’s father, Tom Flanagan, who worked in the Ind Coope engineering department as a coppersmith from the 1970s until his retirement in 1997, a small but fitting nod to Burton’s proud brewing heritage.
Opening up the place
The name isn’t the only change. The couple have already been busy giving the place a refresh, the interior now sports a new blue colour scheme and one of the most noticeable alterations is to the wall that previously split the bar into two.
“We’ve put a window through it which really opens the space up, we’d have loved to take the whole wall down, but it’s load-bearing, the landlord wouldn’t allow that!” laughs Chillo.
Behind the bar, meanwhile, the focus will firmly be on good beer.
When The Coppersmiths Inn opens, four cask ales will be on offer: a traditional bitter, a modern Citra-forward ale, a stout and an IPA.
Chillo is a passionate supporter of real ale and is particularly excited to be running a free-of-tie pub.
“As we build the trade we’d like to expand the choice of both cask and keg,” he says. “And we’ll always listen to customers about what they’d like to see on as guest beers.”
He’s also well aware that he’s stepping into a pub with a strong reputation.
“The Weighbridge had built a great following,” he says. “We respect that and want to make it our own at the same time. The aim now is to make The Coppersmiths Inn a success on its own merit.”
And for Burton drinkers, it means the lights are coming back on behind another bar, proof that in a brewing town, good pubs rarely stay closed for long.
On New Year’s Day 1876, a lone and anonymous brewery employee secures the first registered trademarks in Britain; Bass, Ratcliff & Gretton’s three iconic beer labels, after a night spent waiting in the cold.
My name, should you trouble yourself to ask, is of no importance whatsoever, and will never be engraved upon marble, entered into ledgers of fame, nor toasted by future generations. Some may reasonably question whether I ever drew breath at all, and they would not be wrong to do so, for there exists not a single scrap of proof that I ever lived. I am, in all likelihood, no more than a tale contrived by another anonymous brewery employee, set down some eighty years after the event, and fashioned solely to lend a little romance to the prosaic business of opening an envelope and attending to the business of forms and papers on a Saturday morning in a London office. How the brewery actually achieved its quiet coup in securing the first of the British trademarks has slipped from memory entirely, and with it, if indeed I ever was there, I also have been lost to history.
Yet my occupation on this particular morning is of no small significance, and so I find myself seated in service of Messers Bass, Ratcliff & Gretton, upon the cold, unyielding stone steps of the Trademark Office in London, at half-past eight on New Year’s Day, in the year 1876.
The sun has, by all accounts, risen; but if it has done so, it has exercised a remarkable discretion in keeping itself well hidden behind the stern façades of the surrounding buildings, as though it too objects to gentlemen spending the night outdoors. The cold is sharp and penetrating. According to The Times, a newspaper that began last evening as a source of enlightenment and has since been reduced, by necessity rather than disrespect, to a makeshift cushion, the temperature fell during the night to forty-one degrees Fahrenheit. I am grateful for my overcoat, which has laboured manfully in my defence, and count myself fortunate that the weather remained fair; had rain been forecast, my employers would surely have excused my vigil, such is their concern for both their interests and the wellbeing of those who serve them.
These employers are not men of modest ambition, but brewers of such renown that their ales are spoken of in distant ports and foreign tongues, and consumed in places where English weather, and English patience, are but dimly understood.
Only the bitter comfort of stone steps for a seat …
If you should care to picture me, you may do so without fear of excess. Imagine a figure not out of place in a respectable engraving: noble grey beard, a top hat worn with quiet confidence, a smart suit brushed and pressed, and a walking cane carried not from necessity but from obedience to fashion, which governs a gentleman’s appearance with the same unyielding authority that Parliament applies to the nation. I am, in short, a proper Victorian gentleman, though one chilled to the marrow after a night spent communing with stone steps better suited to statues than men.
I was instructed, in terms both clear and firm, to ensure that I stood first in the queue when the doors opened this morning. I therefore arrived after supper yesterday evening and was relieved to find myself alone. Indeed, I remained so throughout the night, save for the occasional passer-by. London is accustomed to the sight of men sleeping in doorways, but my tidy appearance, being neither dishevelled nor reduced to rags, provoked a number of curious glances, as though my presence posed a small but nagging riddle, which most preferred not to solve before hurrying on about their business.
I hold fast to my briefcase, and do so with good reason, for within it resides a fortune. Not my own, alas, but my employers’. Inside lies an envelope containing a quantity of papers and most precious the three example labels pertaining to my employers’ beers, small in number and size yes, yet they are worth more than gold: the first bears a Red Triangle, proclaiming Bass & Co’s Pale Ale; the second a Red Diamond used for Strong Ales, and the third a Brown Diamond, reserved for Extra Stout.
This was no ordinary New Year’s Day: the Trade Marks Registration Act 1875 coming into force this very morning, and I was here to register the first three under its authority. The labels being objects of envy throughout the brewing world. It is said, with some justice, that a determined man may find Bass beer on the far side of the globe, provided he has the patience to look and the wisdom to recognise it.
Such fame, of course, invites mischief. There have been many scoundrels, fellows of slippery conscience and inventive dishonesty, who have attempted to pass off their own inferior products as ours, either by refilling Bass bottles or worse by producing labels altered only enough to deceive the unwary. I have seen, with my own eyes, bottles adorned with a red bell instead of the triangle, and beer brazenly sold under the name “Baass & Co.” The legal registration of these marks will at last allow Bass, Ratcliff & Gretton to pursue these rogues through the courts fortified by the full, solemn weight of the law, newly awakened to its duty and finally to protect what they have so diligently built.
The Red Triangle has been in use at Bass for as long as I can remember, and longer still, for it was known to my grandfather, who himself entered the company’s employ as a young man. In his time, as in mine, that modest three-cornered figure carried with it a reputation that travelled far beyond its hometown of Burton upon Trent.
The Pale Ale label itself was devised in the year 1855 by George Curzon, a Burtonian born and bred, a man of steady hand and sharper mind. It was he who drew the ornamental border of Stafford Knots, not for aesthetics alone, but as a deliberate snare for the dishonest, a pattern intended to perplex the forger and expose the imitator who lacked either patience or skill.
Fatigue soon claims me …
The law, it is true, has offered some measure of protection to such marks since the Merchandise Marks Act 1862 came into force; yet that safeguard was but a thin coat against a hard winter. It warned, but did not defend; it discouraged, but did not prevent. Until this very day, a man might still steal a reputation with little more than impunity. Now, at last, the law has sharpened its pen, and honest marks may stand on firmer ground.
At the stroke of midnight the church bells rang out across London, pealing bravely to welcome the year of our Lord 1876; yet for me there was no warmth of celebration, no clasped hands nor strains of Auld Lang Syne, only the bitter comfort of stone steps for a seat, and the stiff chilled vigil of duty to welcome the new year in service. As the night wore on and the cold grew bolder, I found myself repeatedly wishing that the Red Diamond had been attached to a bottle rather hidden in the briefcase, for Bass No.1, our strongest ale, was devised expressly to fortify a man against just such conditions. That it should be denied me at the very moment of greatest need struck me as an irony worthy of remark, if not redress.
But to return to the present, I am warmed by the arrival of a gentleman bearing a formidable collection of keys. He bids me good morning, cheerfully, as men tend to do when they have slept indoors, and unlocks the door of the Trademark Office. Taking pity on the shivering gent he meets, I am ushered inside and offered a seat in a small waiting area. The comfort of the chair is a blessing of the first order; the absence of a hot drink, a disappointment I endure in silence.
Fatigue soon claims me. I cannot have slept more than an hour all night, and even that was achieved in brief, untrustworthy snatches. I am awakened by a polite cough from the clerk. To my horror, I find that I am no longer alone. Three other gentlemen now sit waiting, each also clutching briefcases with an air of guarded importance. They regard me in silence, their faces politely inquisitive, as though each were silently calculating the hour at which I must have taken my place in order to secure my position at the head of the line.
The clerk’s pen scratches industriously across the paper …
“The representative of Messrs Bass, Ratcliff and Gretton?” the clerk inquires.
I nod slowly, for sleep still clings to me, heavy and unwilling to be dismissed, I rise from the comfort of the chair and clutching my briefcase as though it might otherwise take flight, I proceed down a narrow corridor into a modest office, where the purpose of my vigil is at last to be fulfilled.
“How many marks?” the clerk asks.
“Three,” I reply, and nearly offer him the wrong one first, such is my weariness. But I recover. First the Bass & Co. Pale Ale label with the Red Triangle. Ten minutes pass. Then the Red Diamond. Then the Brown.
The clerk’s pen scratches industriously across the paper as he completes the necessary forms, each stroke sounding to my tired ears like the ticking of a clock marking an historic event. Payment is then accepted, with due propriety and without remark, and so the business, long awaited and faithfully endured, is concluded in a seemingly in a trice, standing in contrast to all that had gone before.
I shake his hand, bid him a Happy New Year, and take my leave, returning to my lodgings. Back to warmth. To bed. And perhaps, just perhaps, to a bottle of Bass, finally put to its proper use.
History books and old maps are invaluable things, when you need to get the facts straight before doing something permanent like naming a street Red Hand Close in reference to the Red Hand trademark of brewer Burton Samuel Allsopp & Sons Ltd.
Red Hand Close but not close enough!
“Red Hand Close, as part of Trent & Dove’s Tyldesley Court development, was included among a list of proposed street names in keeping with the town’s focus on brewing and submitted to East Staffordshire Borough Council for overall approval in 2023,” said a spokesperson for Trent & Dove. “We want the name to reflect and celebrate Burton’s rich brewing heritage in a wider context, rather than focusing solely on Tyldesley Court itself. In addition, Allsopp’s Old Brewery was historically located to the south of the Tyldesley Court site, further reinforcing the relevance of this heritage-led approach to naming.”
Tyldesley Court itself is named after Sir Thomas Tyldesley, a Civil War general who crossed Burton Bridge in 1643. Today it comprises of 72 high-quality apartments for the over-55s, alongside nine general-needs flats and ten three-bed family homes, all providing much-needed affordable housing.
Tyldesley Court front along High Street
But a little historical context is essential. In the 19th century, the High Street area was the very heart of Burton’s brewing industry. Worthington’s, Bass, Allsopp’s, Salt’s and the Burton Brewery Company all had premises fronting the High Street and backing onto the Trent. Just around the corner, at the foot of Trent Bridge, stood Nunneley’s.
As the 20th century wore on, consolidation and modernisation took their toll. By the 1950s and 60s, Allsopp’s Old Brewery, Salt’s, the Burton Brewery Company and Nunneley’s had fallen into decline and were demolished. Salt’s, Burton Brewery Co. and Nunneley’s were replaced by Bargates, a bold 1960s shopping development that rapidly became a white elephant and was eventually demolished itself. The site then languished as little more than a car park until Trent & Dove acquired the land. The rest, as they say, is history.
Trent & Dove are correct in saying that Tyldesley Court lies near to Allsopp’s former site but what they fail to mention is that the land itself once belonged to not one, but three unrelated breweries. Why Allsopp’s Red Hand, when their brewery lay on the other side of Meadow Road, where Carling House now stands empty? Why not Red Cross Close, after Thomas Salt’s red Maltese Cross trademark? Your guess is as good as mine. I have nothing against Trent & Dove and the excellent work they do, thankfully their houses are better than their historical research.
Tyldesley Court to the left, Allsopp’s to the right
And this isn’t the first time Burton’s brewing heritage has been treated carelessly. Before COVID, Marston’s marketing department launched the Horninglow Street series of beers to celebrate their roots, even numbering the first release No.1 Horninglow Street. Had anyone consulted a map, they might have noticed that this was an actual building and nowhere near the original brewery on Horninglow Road North. By the second release, the “street” had quietly vanished from the name.
The bottom line is simple: it is either right or it is wrong and Red Hand Close is wrong. Like No.1 Horninglow Street, it needs changing.
By all means celebrate Burton’s brewing heritage but please, get it right. And the less said about the Malt Shovel (or rather, spade) outside Primark, the better.
Salt’s Light Dinner Ale label with the red Maltese cross trademark
Take a bottle of beer on holiday and capture the moment. Easy, right?
Well, not when the bottle in question is 150 years old, covered in dust, and carrying the ghost of a failed polar expedition.
This isn’t just any bottle. It is Allsopp’s Arctic Ale, brewed in 1874 for Sir George Nares’ 1875 ill-fated attempt to reach the North Pole via Smith Sound on Greenland’s west coast. The men never made it, much like the bottle as this particular survivor surfaced in 2013, empty, forgotten in the cellar of Allsopp’s New Brewery in Burton.
The plan: take it north of the Arctic Circle and capture a suitably dramatic photograph; snow, cold, and if luck permits, the Northern Lights. The owner, Gary, had only one request: “I want it back with the dust intact.” Spoiler alert: he’ll be disappointed.
I’ve coined a new phrase for the occasion: you can’t take a 150-year-old bottle into Arctic Norway without disturbing the dust. Admittedly less catchy than the omelette one.
We arrive in Tromsø in late December 2024. Snow is falling, wind is howling, and the temperature hovers around eight below. Tromsø, the so-called “Arctic Capital,” sits like a jewel in the dark, polar night.
Fjellheisen cable car
The idea is to ride the Fjellheisen cable car up to Storsteinen, a mountain ledge 421 metres above sea level, to capture a panorama of Tromsø glittering below. But the weather has other ideas. The cable car closes, too windy. Hiking through snowdrifts just isn’t an option.
The next day we try again. Ninety minutes in the queue, snow piling on our coats, and just as we reach the door, closed! The winds are back. So we try for shots at the mountain’s base: the bottle perched in untouched Nordic snow, Tromsø lights flickering behind. Atmospheric, yes, but not quite the grand vision.
The bottle now travels by sea, wrapped in bubble-wrapped like Fabergé Egg on MS Polarlys, part of the Hurtigruten fleet. We are ferried north through icy fjords. After a hearty dinner of Finnbiff stew (I have two portions because I can), we head outside as the ship docks at Skjervøy, a settlement clinging to bare rock, its name literally meaning “rocky island.” Docking is swift and precise: rope thrown, caught, secured, bays opened, passengers out, bays shut, rope cast off and dragged through the Kvænangen fjord. Fifteen minutes flat. Military in its efficiency.
The Northern Lights are a no-show, hidden behind stubborn cloud. I give up and retire to the cabin in search of sleep which proves as elusive as the lights. Our cabin sits above the engine, which roars into life at every port, shaking the walls until dawn. The Arctic doesn’t let travellers rest easily.
Netty and Holly in search of the perfect shot
By late morning we reach Honningsvåg, latitude 70°58′43″ N just shy of Nordkapp, Europe’s northern tip. With only 2,600 residents, it still qualifies as a “city” in Norway. It huddles against a mountain, defended from avalanches by snow fences. The sun hasn’t risen here since late November and won’t return for weeks. The long Polar Night absolute.
Yet the city glows. Fishing boats fill the harbour, lights shimmer across snowdrifts, and the air feels both remote and alive. Here the bottle finally finds its moment. Netty, the photographer, lies flat in the snow while Holly assists, and the camera captures it: Allsopp’s Arctic Ale, dust and all, against the endless Arctic dark.
Honningsvåg, latitude 70°58′43″ N, just shy of Nordkapp
The 1875 expedition may have reached 83°20′26″ N, but this is where the bottle’s journey ends. For a moment, it feels right to bury it here in the frozen ground, a symbolic homecoming. But the snow is two feet deep, the earth solid, and, minor detail, I don’t have a shovel. Besides, Gary would probably kill me.
And so, the dust-covered relic returns with us, a little more travelled, a little less dusty, and with a story far richer than the one it carried in the brewery cellar.
