Mild, the beer that dared not say its name

By Phil Mellows

When George Orwell was working at the BBC, during the Second World War, he was known for insisting that those who accompanied him on frequent trips to the pub drank the dark beer. This would have been the mild ale, which Orwell associated with the working classes, who the Old Etonian socialist liked to rub shoulders with.

By the 1960s, those workers were favouring bitter (with lager to come), and mild was perceived as a style that would slowly die with the decline of British industry. It had a bad image – at a time when image was becoming important. I remember my dad, who was brought up in a pub, telling me that the slops from the drip trays were tipped into the mild where, thanks to its opacity, no one would notice.

It clung on grimly in certain parts of the country, notably the North West and the West Midlands, but even brewers that continued to sell a lot quietly removed the word ‘mild’ from the label, preferring the vaguely mysterious ‘dark’.

The Campaign for Real Ale, fearing for the style’s future in the late 1970s, designated May as ‘Mild Month’, and it stuck. It’s a relatively low-key promotion, perhaps appropriate to a low-key beer, but at least it means I’m writing about it.

And I’m pleased to say there are signs the pride is creeping back into mild. Brewers are happy to use the word again, and in recent years the craft community has rediscovered and, to an extent, reimagined mild ale.

At the forefront of this has been Boxcar Brewery. Its 3.6% Dark Mild has become quite celebrated, and it’s also come out with a 6.3% Double Dark Mild to generate fresh interest.

Unfortunately, Boxcar has been forced to leave its premises in London, and, with no home, it’s resorted to the brewing equivalent of sofa-surfing, continuing to make mild at friendly breweries. For the future of the style, as much as the brewer, let’s hope Boxcar can secure its future soon.

There isn’t much to suggest craft brewing as a whole has enthusiastically seized the opportunity to celebrate mild in May. Though Manchester’s Track Brewing has introduced a 5.3% dark mild called Vertigo, and in the past few weeks I’ve tasted a splendid cask dark mild from Burning Sky that’s a more conventional 3.2% abv.

If you’re hunting for mild, you’re probably going to have to look to traditional brewers. Theakston’s claims “the only truly national, permanently available, mild brand”, while Banks’s Mild is still popular on draught around the West Midlands – I’d recommend the Royal Oak close to the brewery in Wolverhampton (now part of the global giant Carlsberg Marston’s).

And if you’re venturing that way it would be wrong not to drop into a Bathams pub, where the mild takes pride of place on the pumps.

Mild has also survived in certain pockets of the South East, where Harvey’s of Lewes has never stopped brewing its quaffable 3% Dark Mild (it’s my go-to lower-alcohol beer).

Finally, a word for McMullen’s AK. When I started enjoying AK in the previous century, foolishly tipping it to be the next big national ale brand, it was one of those milds that dare not speak its name. To confuse matters further, it is a rare pale mild, not dark at all, but still light and malty in character, and eminently gulpable.

According to McMullen’s, it’s the biggest selling mild in its home county, Hertfordshire, which may not be saying much, I suppose, but you take what you can get. And they’re calling it mild again. Hurrah!

Photo: Detail from "The Bull and Bladder in winter" by daniel.d.slee