The story of hops and Guinness in East Sussex
Although we now think of hops, beer and (to some extent) Kent as synonymous, that wasn’t always the case. There was a time, not so long ago, when Sussex hop growing was booming and the fields of East Sussex were covered in tall poles and hop bines, rather than neat little rows of wine vines! But how did it all begin, what has Guinness got to do with it, and why did it end?
Beer wasn’t always made with hops. In Anglo-Saxon England, ale referred to a malt brew made with grains like barley, wheat, oats and rye, along with bittering herbs like bog myrtle, nettles, and sage. But not hops. Beer, which used hops, came from Germany and Flanders in the late fifteenth century. Although hops may have already been grown in England, it was then that English brewers began importing dried Flemish hops, at first, for their preservative powers. After all, that bitter taste took some getting used to.
However, by the 17th century, beer had replaced ale as England’s national drink, and the 1710 Hop Duty Act banned all other bittering agents, confirming hops as essential to English brewing. By 1722, London brewers had created porter, a blend of three beers, designed for speed and consistency, and demand for hops soared. By the nineteenth century, hop growing had entered its golden age.
Cue Sussex and the rise and fall of the hop crop
At its peak in the mid-1800s, hop farming spread through Kent, Sussex and other counties. In a good year, an acre of hops could out-earn fifty acres of arable land, but as a crop, it could be unreliable, risky and was labour-intensive.
By the early 1900s, the hop acreage had already fallen sharply. The Hops Marketing Board, created in 1932 to stabilise prices and quotas, briefly restored confidence, but European regulations ended that in 1982. Meanwhile, the rise of lager (which needed fewer hops), changing production methods and unfounded rumours that British hops were inferior hastened decline. Today, large-scale hop growing has largely vanished from most counties, surviving mainly in the West Midlands and the South East. Yet Sussex, and particularly the Weald, once stood at its heart.
Why the Weald was perfect for hops
The Wealden soils of East Sussex were well-suited to the growth of hops. The mild, sheltered climate and gentle rainfall encouraged steady growth, while the rolling wooded landscape provided natural windbreaks for the tall, delicate bines and plenty of wood for the poles. Proximity to London helped too. From Rye and Bodiam across to Robertsbridge, the Weald became a patchwork of hop gardens. Oast houses, with their distinctive cowls dotted the horizon, drying the hops that would fill barrels bound for London and beyond.
The Guinness years
While Kent traditionally dominated the trade, East Sussex owes much of its hop-growing fame to Guinness. The Dublin-based brewer, founded by Arthur Guinness in 1759 at St James’s Gate in Dublin, expanded into hop farming in Sussex in the early 20th century. In 1905, Guinness bought land at Bodiam and later extended their farms across the Rother Valley between Robertsbridge and Northiam. At their peak, their Sussex farms covered about 700 acres, with neighbouring holdings in Kent adding hundreds more. Up to the 1950s, thousands of seasonal pickers would travel down each year from London, many on special trains to Bodiam Station.
The farms were said to be models of modernity: oil-fired, fan-assisted kilns, on-site hospitals and nursing huts, provision stores and even field-side shops. In good years, the Bodiam estate alone could produce enough hops to flavour millions of pints. Guinness continued operating in Sussex until the 1970s, when changing economics and industrial brewing practices led to the sale of the farms. Their long presence, however, left a deep imprint on the local landscape and memory.
Hop picking holiday or hopping hard work?
From the 17th century onwards, but particularly from the mid-19th century, in late August and September, the hop gardens of East Sussex filled with families from London’s East End and from nearby towns like Hastings to gather the harvest. The “hopping holiday” promised fresh air and a break from the city, although few people could describe it as a holiday. By all accounts, it was very hard work.
Men, women and children cut the bines, stripped leaves and picked the fragrant hop flowers by hand. Pay was piece-work, which meant you received a token or a notch on a tally stick for every full basket. Many farms issued their own hop tokens, later exchanged for money or used in local shops. Early conditions were rough: families slept in barns or makeshift huts with few washing facilities. In 1866, the Society for Employment and Improved Lodgings for Hop Pickers led to the creation of “hopper huts”, and by 1870, special trains carried pickers to Kent and Sussex each season. By the 1950s, machines had taken over and the annual migration of thousands came to an end.
The hop and Guinness legacy
There are still people you meet who remember hop picking or who have a parent or grandparent who remembers the hop picking “holidays,” some with a fondness for those halcyon days. But beyond that, you could be forgiven for thinking the county’s hop legacy is no more. Today, in fields that once swayed to the rhythm of tall poles and singing hop pickers, you’ll see neat rows of vines and hear the snip and plop of the grape pickers cutting fruit and dropping it into baskets. So, although everything has changed, in some ways, little has.
And look a little closer. Converted oast houses still dot the countryside of East Sussex, summer hedgerows often yield up a wild hop or two, and old industrial Guinness buildings still stand firm, although now repurposed like that at the Bodiam Business Park. A few small producers, such as Tibbs Farm in Udimore, continue the tradition on a boutique scale, offering tours of hop gardens. There are also still places, like just outside Robertsbridge, where we may stumble across a field or two of hops. Local brewers, like Hepworths, still use Bodiam hops in their beers. And for visitors arriving by the Kent & East Sussex Railway, they can visit the small exhibition at the Bodiam station, complete with a hopper hut. Rye Castle Museum holds hop tokens, tally sticks and photographs of local pickers.
Guinness Sussex footprints
The Guinness footprint hasn’t been entirely wiped out either in Sussex. Bailiffscourt at Climping in West Sussex was home to Walter Edward Guinness, 1st Baron Moyne, and descendant of the brewing dynasty, and his wife Evelyn. Built between 1927 and 1933, the house was a re-imagined Medieval manor created from salvaged stone and timber, and became a gathering place for Britain’s social elite. These days, it’s a luxury hotel and part of the Historic Sussex Hotel group.
Denton House (South Heighton), built in 1938 for the Guinness Trust, served as a holiday home for working-class London families before later becoming a WRVS club for the elderly. Sadly, it was demolished in the 1990s, but there are some who remember it still.
And it all poses an interesting question. Agricultural trends are transient. Hops came and went, to be followed by vines. The Sussex wine is interesting and dynamic at the moment; it probably hasn’t quite reached its zenith. But what will come next and how will it shape our Sussex landscape and culture?
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