The Bass, Ratcliff & Gretton Brewery at Burton upon Trent was so extensive that it had its own railway system.
What happened to Burton's unique townscape? Jonathan Meades blames one of his uncles, who was its town clerk:
Under his stewardship Burton destroyed itself. The mega-brewers, whom Uncle Hank sucked up to and who plied him with cases of limited-edition beers each Christmas, were men whose all too English mores he admired. They were given carte blance to demolish the great brick warehouses that defined Burton, the brewery of the Empire. The oast houses, the maltings, the cooperages they all went.
They were expendable (and Victorian). Cities are temporary things. Only the country, the specially sanctioned parts of the country, are eternal.
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