The founder of the firm of Whitbread & Co. was the son of a yeoman who lived on a small estate at Cardington, in Bedfordshire. On his father’s death he improved the property by building, and from one propitious circumstance to another gradually amassed an immense fortune. It was in the year 1742 that Mr. Whitbread commenced business as a brewer, at the Brew House, Old Street, St. Luke’s, the premises now occupied by the firm of More & Co. In 1750 he removed to Chiswell Street, where for fifty years previously had been a brewery. Here the business was developed with great vigour, and from the returns made necessary in 1760 by the imposition of a Beer-tax, we learn that in that year Whitbread’s brewed no less than 63,408 barrels of beer, only one other London firm—Calvert & Seward—brewing a greater quantity. In 1785 steam power was introduced into the brewery. In connection with this event are two very celebrated names, for the Sun and Planet engine, still in use, was manufactured by the firm of which Watt was a partner; and John Rennie adapted the other machinery to the new motive power. About the same period six huge underground cisterns were made, after designs by Smeaton, varying in capacity from 700 to 3,600 barrels each. Two years later Mr. Whitbread had the honour of a visit from King George and Queen Charlotte, the particulars {360} of which are recorded in a humorous poem of considerable length, by Peter Pindar (Dr. Walcot), a few verses from which will suffice to give some idea of what took place on that auspicious occasion. A more prosaic, and no doubt more credible, account will be found in the Daily Chronicle of that period.
Full of the art of brewing beer, The monarch heard of Whitbread’s fame; Quoth he unto the queen, “My dear, my dear, Whitbread hath got a marvellous great name; Charly, we must, must, must see Whitbread brew— Rich as us, Charly, richer than a Jew; Shame, shame, we have not yet his brewhouse seen!” Thus sweetly said the king unto the queen. Red-hot with novelty’s delightful rage, To Mister Whitbread forth he sent a page, To say that Majesty proposed to view, With thirst of knowledge deep inflam’d, His vats, and tubs, and hops, and hogsheads fam’d, And learn the noble secret how to brew.
The preparations at the brewery are then described, followed by the arrival of King, Queen, Princesses and Courtiers. The conversation of the King, who “asked a thousand questions with a laugh, before poor Whitbread comprehended half,” was, according to the poet, as “five hundred parrots, gabbling just like Jews.”
Thus was the brewhouse fill’d with gabbling noise, Whilst drayman, and the brewer’s boys, Devour’d the questions that the King did ask: In diff’rent parties were they staring seen, Wond’ring to think they saw a King and Queen! Behind a tub were some, and some behind a cask.
Some draymen forc’d themselves (a pretty luncheon) Into the mouth of many a gaping puncheon; And through the bunghole wink’d with curious eye, To view and be assur’d what sort of things Were princesses, and queens, and kings; For whose most lofty stations thousands sigh! And, lo! of all the gaping clan, Few were the mouths that had not got a man!
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George III. was no doubt of opinion that a thing worth doing was worth doing well, and no detail of the manufacture of beer seemed too insignificant to interest him. “Thus microscopic geniuses explore,” says Peter Pindar.
And now his curious majesty did stoop To count the nails on ev’ry hoop; And, lo! no single thing came in his way, That, full of deep research, he did not say, “What’s this? he, he? What’s that? What’s this? What’s that?” So quick the words too when he deign’d to speak, As if each syllable would break its neck.