It Works Wonders! — The Legacy of Double Diamond Burton Pale Ale
The clock has just struck 3pm on the happiest day of your life.
Everyone keeps telling you how beautiful you look in your dress, how wonderful the ceremony was, how happy you and Brian are going to be. And they’re right. You do feel beautiful, the wedding did go without a hitch, you cannot wait to spend the rest of your life with the man of your dreams.
“Hey, come on Brian, stand up,” your Father gestures to the man of the moment, breaking you out of your reverie.
Cheers sound out in encouragement as Brian stands up from his seat next to yours. He looks anxious, his hands twitch and he swallows several times whilst your sister hushes her children into silence.
“Go on,” you whisper, smiling up at him in encouragement.
He coughs nervously, looks around the room and then his eyes widen in panic.
“I’m only here for the beer!” he exclaims.
Your Mother bursts into tears, Cousin Michael cheers in response and your Father holds his pint up to the light and shrugs.
“Well,” he says, winking at Brian. “It is Double Diamond.”
And just like that, the entire room breaks into song.
“Double Diamond works wonders, works wonders, works wonders! Double Diamond works wonders, so drink one today!”
***
Do you think that Benjamin Wilson knew the legacy he was about to initiate when he bought the Blue Stoops—an inn and brewery situated on the High Street of Burton upon Trent—from his brother in law in January 1742 for the princely sum of £164?
Over the next two and a half centuries—from 1742 right up until Bass purchased Ind Coope’s site in December 1997—the transformation of the Blue Stoops from a small Burton brewery into the global giant that was the Ind Coope & Samuel Allsopp breweries was nothing short of spectacular.
For whilst the Blue Stoop brewery slowly grew under the guidance of the Wilson family until their sale to their nephew Samuel Allsopp saw the beginning of Samuel Allsopp & Sons, it would take another century—until 1856 to be precise—for Ind Coope & Co to begin the process of expanding their Romford based brewery across to the waters of Burton.
The result would inevitably become the formation, expansion and eventual amalgamation of the Samuel Allsopp and Ind Coope breweries. An epic in itself, but an epic worth acknowledging, however briefly, for without the merger of one into the another and the creation of Ind Coope and Allsopp Ltd in 1934 there would be no Double Diamond.
And a world without Double Diamond is not a world that I want to concern myself with… not today anyway.
Ilustrations by David Bailey
Double Diamond Burton Pale Ale—for those who have not had the pleasure of an introduction—is an English pale ale that was first brewed by Samuel Allsopp & Sons in 1876. However, it wasn’t until Allsopp’s merger with Ind Coope—and the resources they acquired in the process—that Double Diamond would really come into its own.
The name Double Diamond is said to originate from the two interlocking diamond shaped symbols that would have been used to mark cask barrels at the time. And throughout the 1950s all the way through to the 1970s, Double Diamond was one of the best selling beers in the UK.
“The rise and fall of [Double Diamond’s] popularity would track the fortunes of the company,” wrote Ian Webster in his book Ind Coope & Samuel Allsopp Breweries: The History of The Hand. “Double Diamond was the leading light, the headline act, the A-list star. It isn’t an overstatement to say that the history of Double Diamond was also the history of the company.”
Quite the responsibility to lay on a single beer, is it not?
***
The obvious flaw in my plan to investigate the aesthetics of Double Diamond is that I reached legal drinking age in the UK after Double Diamond ceased to be produced. Not one to let a little thing like “time” and “lived experience” stop me, I tracked down some people who had existed at the same time as Double Diamond so I could get an idea of what the infamous drink tasted like. This is what they told me:
“Vile, chemical muck brewed by accountants.” — Neil
“The ad was much better than the beer. Fizzy, gassy stuff with very little taste or flavour and best avoided.” — Phil
“It was crap. Fizzy, fizzy as hell. Disgusting, brown fizziness.” — Alex
“Would only drink it if I was desperate and nothing else was available.” — Eddie
“It was shit. Tasteless, watery and fizzy.” — Ally
It would seem that I didn’t miss out after all.
““I have a kind of fake nostalgia for DD. It’s something I don’t remember but it feels familiar and instantly retro and attractive.””
“The roots of the brand Double Diamond can be traced to Ind Coope & Co.’s Burton upon Trent brewery in the 1870's, when bottles were filled directly from the barrel and left unpasteurised,” Ian Webster tells me when I ask him about the humble origins of Double Diamond.
“Between the wars there was a gradual shift in the appeal of beer, it was no longer exclusively the drink of the working class. Following the 1934 merger of Ind Coope and Samuel Allsopp their rudimentary bottling facilities were no longer able to keep up with demand, so plans were drawn up for ‘Britain’s Greatest Bottling Stores’, a state-of-the-art facility that would enable them to exploit the growing market with Double Diamond, John Bull, Milk Stout and No. 1 Arctic Ale.”
“The bottling stores opened in Burton upon Trent in 1947 and over the next decade through clever marketing Double Diamond became their flagship brand, by 1958 it was the best selling bottled beer in the country.”
So how on earth did a drink that tasted so bad sell so well? If Double Diamond was so unpleasantly fizzy to drink then why, as soon as I mention the name, do so many people immediately respond with “works wonders!”? How do you market a product like Double Diamond?
First editions of Double Diamond advertising can be traced back to the year 1937 and in the beginning, advertising was kept simple enough. It wasn’t until the 1950s that smart choices and artistic collaborations resulted in imagery that is still being displayed in pubs today.
Peter Probyn was an illustrator and cartoonist whose work was described as “gently humoured”. It was Probyn who created the infamous character of the Double Diamond Little Man, a chicly dressed character adorned with a toothbrush moustache, bow tie, pinstriped trousers and never to be seen without his pocket watch, briefcase and cane. The Little Hat Man—as he came to be known—went on quite the adventure with Double Diamond.
From heroically apprehending a bank robber, to winning the heart of a mermaid by fishing a Double Diamond out of the sea during an angling competition, to defying the laws of physics using only an umbrella as a parachute there was simply no scenario in which The Little Hat Man—with the help of Double Diamond, of course—would not succeed. The message was clear; Double Diamond doesn’t just make everything better, it makes you better.
It’s this early iteration of advertising that would mark the beginning of decades worth of imagery and messages that equated drinking Double Diamond with success. The Little Hat Man is dressed deliberately, to indicate a cultural authority, a refined wisdom, an aspirational elegance that you too could achieve with the help of a Double Diamond.
The Little Hat Man—who became so iconic he was made into little ceramic figurines that are currently littering ebay—would be the face of Double Diamond until 1962. The triumphs of our bowler hat adorned gentleman would pave the way for a new marketing era for Double Diamond, now to be known as “the beer the men drink”.
The change of campaign also marked a shift in brand advertising. Posters, newspapers and billboards were no longer the best medium for advertisement—the television commercial had been born.
In what can only be described as a budget James Bond sequence, a television advert for Double Diamond shows two men bravely steering their speed boat through tumultuous waters to reach the safety of the pub and their well earned pint of Double Diamond. In a 30 second advertorial the phrase “Double Diamond! The beer the men drink!” is used four times and I have flashbacks to the “not for girls!” Yorkie chocolate bar adverts of my childhood.
Beer marketing has little to gain from portraying beer as most people already consume them, in the comfort and familiarity of the pub with people they love. Instead, as Double Diamond exhibits here, there is far more to be gained by exploiting the public’s hunger for hedonistic adventure. These two men are not valorous and glamorous because of their nautical adventures, but because of the pint of Double Diamond that has motivated and navigated them through their journey. These men are made brilliant by Double Diamond, can’t you see? Perhaps it could have the same transformative effect on you, too?
The campaign lasted a few years before being replaced by a slightly subtler—but misogynistic nevertheless—campaign: “I’m only here for the beer! It’s Double Diamond!” A slogan credited to one Ros Levenstein.
““These men are made brilliant by Double Diamond, can’t you see? Perhaps it could have the same transformative effect on you, too?””
In the early 1970s cartoonist David Langdon, under the commission of advertising agency Young and Rubicam, created a series of illustrations to accompany the campaign.
In a “gotta catch ‘em all!” type operation, Langon created a numbered series of illustrations that show men in various scenarios they wouldn’t normally find themselves in, once again driven by the presence of Double Diamond.
Here are a few of my favourites:
#1 “I keep telling you Miss Learmont!” a man cries out in a dimly lit room as a woman pounces on him. “I’m only here for the beer. It’s Double Diamond.”
#5 A man returns from his trip walking around the globe and runs right past the party the women in his life have thrown him into the pub next door. “He’s only here for the beer. It’s Double Diamond.”
#11 “No thanks,” says a man to the waiter in the fancy restaurant presenting him with a wine list. “I’m only here for the beer. It’s Double Diamond.”
#13 A woman dangles a bottle of beer above her husband's head with a fishing rod whilst he washes the dishes. “He’s only here for the beer. It’s Double Diamond.”
#24 A lone man sits on the panel for the Women’s Liberation Movement. But don’t panic, everyone, he’s not getting any progressive, feminist ideas, “He’s only here for the beer. It’s Double Diamond.”
I could happily go on.
These illustrations featured in newspaper advertorials, posters in pubs and, rather ingeniously, on the back of beer mats, numbered in a way that encouraged drinkers to collect the entire body of Langdon’s creations.
Double Diamond was still the beer the men drink, so much so they’d be willing to risk otherwise unimaginable scenarios just to reach a closer proximity to their favourite pint. Double Diamond was no longer the beer for men, but the beer that motivated men, the beer that drove men through the trials of their day.
Langdon’s comics portrayed man after man transformed by Double Diamond, from making them more sexually attractive, to providing them with the confidence to do exactly what they wanted, there was lots to be envied here. And it’s this state of envy, funnelled through conventional archetypes of the patriarchy, that work to stimulate the public's imagination, proposing that Double Diamond has everything you need to become sexier, richer and more powerful yourselves. With Double Diamond you too will become envied as you have envied yourself.
And for us women? Well, it sucks to suck, I guess.
But it’s a slightly earlier iteration of Double Diamond branding, the pop art red and orange text and abbreviated slogans that really catches my eye.
In 1963 advertising agency Hobson Bates secured the Double Diamond account from the London Press Exchange. Hobson Bates were responsible for the speed boat driven masculinity of The Beer That Men Drink advert, but they were also the brains behind a completely new face lift for the Double Diamond brand.
The elevated elegance of our hat wearing gentleman is now long gone. Instead a bright orange D overlaps the siren red of another. Thick, bold lettering declares that despite the new look, Double Diamond (still) Works Wonders. A bright yellow background highlights the message, a density of visual imagery no working eye could miss.
The red and orange hued DD emblazon pump handles, ash trays, bar mats. They blaze across domino sets and beer mugs, snooker balls and propelling pencils. Yellow, red and orange pulse through plastic DD light displays, signs that swing over doors, lettering that borders the back bars of pubs. Beer mat after beer mat proudly declare the following messages:
Q 4 A DD
DD 4 2
PTO 4 DD
B4 U Q 4 A Q Q 4 A DD
IOU A DD
“The text speech campaign was innovative and clever, and it worked (wonders) as it successfully convinced people to drink a beer that commanded a higher price despite being of inferior quality,” Ian says when we speak about this era of Double Diamond branding.
And it's a success that still has an effect on people to this day.
“Sadly I don’t know what it tastes like as [Double Diamond] is before my time, but I was instantly drawn to the graphics associated with the beer and the logo itself much like I suppose the customers were,” says fashion designer Adam Jones, whose work involves finding items of vintage beer memorabilia, such as Double Diamond bar towels, and bringing them back to life as contemporary garments. “I guess the colours red and yellow, much like McDonald’s, are a great contrast and just really drew my eye.”
““Double Diamond and other similar beers tasted awful as a result of the manner in which they were produced.””
“I have a kind of fake nostalgia for DD. [It’s] something I don’t remember but it feels familiar and instantly retro and attractive,” he adds.
And familiarity is exactly the word that advertising agency Hobson Bates were banking on.
***
Here is how I imagine that Hobson Bates rebranding pitch to have gone:
A line of men in smart suits slowly shuffle into a board room and slot themselves in around the sharp edges of an oblong table.
In front of them stands another man in a grey suit, his hair slicked back, the peek of his pocket square matching the decision of his tie.
The man in the grey suit stands in front of a series of giant-sized beer mats that lean against easels, each displaying abbreviated text speak. The words Double Diamond are nowhere to be seen, just the layered red and orange DD over and over again.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the grey suit says. “But it is a testament to the work that you have done and the product you have created that you cannot see its full name in front of you.”
“Decades of hard work and creativity have gotten you to this point, where your brand has become so familiar you can let the imagination of your consumers do the marketing for you. By entering that space, the mind of every pub goer across the country, our advertisements can run all day.”
“Let them acknowledge the familiarity they now have with Double Diamond, let an understanding between themselves and the best known beer in the UK bloom. They know what they want and they know what you mean, it’s DD, it works wonders.”
The men around the table glance at each other, eyes catch, heads nod and hands come together in a round of applause. A couple even get to their feet, in a standing ovation. The man in the grey suit takes a bow, pours himself a Scotch and lights up a cigarette in celebration.
A new era of Double Diamond is born.
***
So there we have it. A beer so ingeniously advertised that by the end it didn’t even have to use its full name. The Madonna of the beer world, if you will.
Its success is summed up well in a conversation I had with writer, journalist and campaigner, Roger Protz.
“The rise of Double Diamond and other keg beers of that period is inextricably linked to the arrival of commercial TV in the 1950s. For the first time there was a rival to the BBC, and ITV had advertisements with memorable films and jingles,” Roger says.
“The beer's name was shortened to just DD and people wore DD lapel badges. The jingle went: ‘A Double Diamond works wonders, works wonders, works wonders, a Double Diamond works wonders so have one today.’ You would hear people singing and whistling it everywhere.”
But with every rise, must come a fall.
DD IS K9 P, screams the badge adorned by CAMRA members in their early meetings. The marketing success and the instant recognition of the DD red and orange text branding was being used as a weapon against them.
“When keg beer started to emerge in the early 1960s, the monicker Double Diamond was selected by Allied Breweries Ltd. (of which Ind Coope & Allsopp Ltd. were now a part of) but the bottle and keg versions were related in name only,” Ian tells me. “Bottled Double Diamond had an original gravity of 1052 and was full of flavour and character, the keg version (designated Draught Double Diamond) was a fizzy, bland beer of around 1037.”
Enraged by the rise of over carbonated beers and the poor conditions the cask beers of the time were kept in, CAMRA—The Campaign for Real Ale—channelled their dismay at the rise of Draught Double Diamond into their campaign. This was so successful that Ind Coope brought out a completely new product in response: Draught Burton Ale.
“The popularity of Double Diamond and other keg beers was brief. Double Diamonds's sales slumped by 60% between 1972 and 1978,” Roger says. “Double Diamond and other similar beers tasted awful as a result of the manner in which they were produced. They were filtered and pasteurised in the brewery and then served by heavy gas pressure in pubs.”
Double Diamond’s days were well and truly numbered.
But the legacy of DD still shines on.
When I call my parents to ask them about the beer I can’t finish my question because they start singing down the phone to me: Double Diamond works wonders, works wonders works wonders! Double Diamond works wonders, so drink one today! A photo is sent to me of the back bar at the Coach & Horses in Soho where the words Double Diamond are still embellished in red. In Adam Jones’s collection of nostalgia fuelled clothing, the yellow and red of DD shines bright amongst the greens and the browns of other beer brands at the time.
“I guess enough time has passed now for them to feel vintage. Compared to the modern advertising of today, these old graphics used in pubs are simple, timeless and fun, there was a humour to them,” Adam says.
The key to marketing a successful brand is not just in the here and the now, but in the power to evoke nostalgia decades down the line. Nostalgia is crucial in every marketing campaign because a product has to sell a perfected future version of yourself to a lesser past self. It is only the good and the great of advertising that can create a legacy so strong that the nostalgia survives decades after the product has moved on. Those who remember have firm memories to return to and for those that do not, there elicits a tenderness for an experience unknown.
And Double Diamond, it seems, still works wonders on that front to this very day.
