Some lives resist the endings modernity lays out for them. They do not scale or pivot or brand. They endure like iron in old foundations – weathered, immovable, necessary. John Hatch is one of those lives. For nearly 40 years, dressed in a lab coat bleached by work and time, he has preserved something that most assumed would disappear. Britain’s oldest brewing site is still brewing, because Hatch did not leave when everyone else did.

The history of brewing on the banks of the Wandle begins in 1533, the year Henry VIII severed ties with Rome. As the monarch refashioned England’s spiritual landscape, ale was being brewed here, at what was then the Ram Inn. ‘He got rid of Catherine… very naughty man,’ Hatch says of the monarch. ‘We got chucked out of the Catholic Church, had to reinvent ourselves as the Church of England and fight each other ever since.’ 

Inns in those days weren’t pubs but horse-changing stations – stables and sustenance for people and their mounts. Beer was safer than water. Even babies were fed small ale, just alcoholic enough to be clean.

In 1831, the Young family bought the Ram Brewery (and took the animal as the company’s symbol). A century and a half later, John Hatch joined Young’s as a microbiologist. He became brewhouse manager, absorbing not just the process but the tradition. On his birthday in 2006, he learned the brewery would close. ‘It ruined my career. Ruined my birthday. I was absolutely fuming.’ The shareholders had voted to sell. The brewery was “worth more closed”.

The next day, Hatch went to Wandsworth Town Hall. ‘This isn’t just about beer,’ he told councillors. ‘This is history, tourism, dignity and work.’ They could not halt the sale but made a promise: any future developer must restore brewing on site.

That evening, Hatch returned to the brewhouse. It had fallen silent, equipment destined to be stripped, staff gone. There, beside the mash tun, he made a vow to his mentor John Young. ‘While there’s breath in my body, I will keep brewing on this site.’

He stayed. Appointed site manager by the new owners, the property developer Minerva, Hatch turned the old tack room – once home to the brewery’s famed draught horses – into a makeshift brewhouse. ‘I had to be inventive,’ he says. A bottle tipper became a mash tun; a tea urn, the brew kettle; a sterilising bath, the fermenter. He brewed twice weekly, using a hose to siphon, towels for insulation and guesswork for cooling. There were no thermostats, no chillers, no automation. ‘I brewed whatever I liked. It was wonderful.’

Then the 2008 crash hit. Minerva stalled. The council’s planning permission was withdrawn. Development halted. Hatch was told to cut costs or lose the site. So, he picked up the phone. He knew someone at the BBC. Soon, directors came calling – scouting for textured locations with atmosphere and grit.

They would ask for spiral staircases; he would show them four but somehow, they weren’t quite right. ‘I’d say, “As you’ve come all this way, have a beer.” And they’d say, “There’s still beer on site?” I’d pour a pint. And suddenly, the first staircase might be perfect after all.’

Over the next eight years, 146 productions filmed on site: Luther, Silent Witness, MasterChef et al. Crews returned again and again, ‘Six, seven, eight times – just to get their own beer,’ he says. Hatch brewed bespoke beers for them, including a “1980s Ale” for the Ashes to Ashes crew, an “Autopsy Ale” and, temptingly, a strawberry stout. There were comedy nights too, unrecorded, private and just lucrative enough to fund malt, hops, and detergent through donations.

Hatch’s output – three quarters of a barrel per week – was symbolic rather than commercial. But the logbook shows continuity. The final Young’s brew is recorded beside Hatch’s first. ‘Which demonstrated a continuing tradition.’

Eventually, planning permission returned. So did the sale. Minerva was acquired by Delancey, who sold the site to Greenland UK. Hatch learned of it through a Google alert. When the new owners arrived, they asked, ‘Who’s the bloke in the white coat?’ Hatch explained the brewing, the stewardship, the promise. ‘They weren’t impressed. They wanted someone more… established.’

Their choice, Duncan Sambrook, founder of a nearby brewery displaced by redevelopment, turned out to be a blessing. Sambrook and Hatch already knew each other. He did not replace Hatch; he brought him in, with some of his time given to leading tours of the brewery. ‘Duncan lives for beer and brewing,’ Hatch says. ‘I couldn’t be happier. It’s in really safe hands.’

Sambrook’s own beers celebrate the southwest London location – notably Wandle, the best bitter that pale-ale drinkers like. Hatch still brews separately – Quaffing Ale, Phoenix, Misfits Ale. And Valiant – an English IPA made for tours, briefly commercialised for the King’s coronation before a trademark claim ended its run. It may return under a new name.

He still uses the same improvised kit. The copper kettles, polished by careless hands with angle grinders, now stand like industrial sculpture at the end of his tours. The lab coat is still worn. The tie is still straight. He pours two half-pints per guest. He sloshes, he rinses, he explains how different tastes trigger discrete parts of the tongue: bitter, sweet, sour. ‘Swallow, don’t spit. Use your nose.’

And he tells the story – of beer, of barrels, of his stubborn refusal to stop. ‘I don’t do this for money,’ he says. ‘I do it because it matters.’

‘I’ve had hugs and kisses from men,’ Hatch once said, with a shrug and a smile. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’m just a stubborn old man who won’t bugger off.’

And that is precisely why he does deserve it. Because not all heroes wear capes – some wear lab coats.

You can join Hatch at the Sambrook’s Heritage Centre on the last Saturday or first Thursday of each month (from £25; private tours also available). Expect stories that meander like a good bitter, a few samples and pizza at the brewery tap.

Or become Brewer for the Day (£200 for two people; booking required). You’ll use Hatch’s system, brew your own beer, leave with a mini keg and a story that needs no embellishment.

sambrooksbrewery.co.uk