'Twas the night before Christmas,when all through Southwold, the lighthouse was shining out in the cold. The mash tun was polished, the casks stacked with care, in hopes that a pint of Adnams would soon be there.
The brewers were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of hop bines danced in their heads. The copper stills gleamed in the moon’s gentle light, as Southwold prepared for a festive delight.
When out in the yard there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the pub to see what was the matter. Through barrels and malt sacks, I ran like the breeze, past the Ghost Ship itself whispering out on the seas.
The moon on the water and waves under the pier, gave a mystical shimmer to the coast we hold dear. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a hop-covered sleigh and eight tiny rein-beer.
With a brewer’s strong build and beard snowy and thick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick. Or perhaps it’s Saint Adnams, the bringer of cheer, with his barrels of pale ale and holiday beer.
More rapid than dray horse his team speedily came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name: “On Broadside! On Ghost Ship! On Mosaic and Dry Hopped! On Yuletide! On Blackshore! On Southwold Bitter and Wild Hop! To the top of the brewery, to the top of the malt store, now dash away, dash away, there’s ales to explore!”
As strong sea breezes swirled around beach hut and dune, the rein-beer flew past the rising full moon. And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and dancing of each tiny hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney Saint Adnams came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red and covered in hops and his shoes clinked on the floor like old bottle tops. A sack full of drinks he had flung on his back, and he looked like a distiller opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry! His cheeks were all rosy from drinking the sherry. He spoke not a word but went straight to his tasks, filling up tankards, pint glasses and flasks.
He topped up the stockings with bottles and cans, then toasted the town with lift of his hands. And laying his finger aside of his nose, then giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh with a satisfied cheer and shouted towards the Sole Bay a blessing of joy and great beer. But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good pint!”
Tally Ho ho ho.