SO long after first it was promised that they may be about to call last orders, it’s time to raise a grateful glass to the 150th anniversary of Camerons Brewery and to the diamond jubilee of Strongarm, its serial sanity saver.

After many hiccups, as bibulously might be supposed, the Hartlepool business burgeons – now the north’s biggest brewery. Cask and craft beer sales are up 40 per cent year-on-year, they do contract work for three of world brewing’s big five, have invested £1.5m in a new bottling line and plan major expansion of both the brewery and the pub estate.

“Vertical integration”, a term to which Camerons are much given, appears to be the watchword.

Strongarm flexes, too. For 50 years it has been these columns’ muse, their very strength in times of trouble, the catalyst that turns clay into gold.

Many a lunchtime, corner-cossetted in the Brit, an arid and artless jumble of words has been distilled, purple polished and purified. Sometimes it’s even seemed that way the next morning.

Neither Strongarm nor any such sootherer will be everyone’s cup of tea, but you know what Winston Churchill said about alcohol, don’t you?

If not, it’s at the top of the column.

JOHN William Cameron had been an apprentice brewer and maltster with the Bank Brewery in Barnard Castle, and had spent five years in the local rifle corps, before moving to Hartlepool in 1865.

The Lion Brewery in Stranton, then a small and self-contained community, had been built in 1852 by William and Jane Waldon, he formerly a farmer in Gainford and she from Westerton, near Bishop Auckland.

William died in 1854, the business continued by Jane and later by their son, William junior. John Cameron, at first employed as a clerk, bought the lease when the young Waldon died in 1872. It embraced 16 inns and beer houses, including the Travellers Rest at Cauld Knuckles.

Starter for one pint: where and why was Cauld Knuckles?

Significantly having built the business, J W Cameron bought it for £34,442 6s in 1893 but died three years later at his home in Marske, near Redcar.

In 1871 he had joined the 4th Durham Volunteers Artillery as a sub-lieutenant and by 1885 was a lieutenant colonel – the crops said to be one of the country’s finest.

He also became one of the new borough of West Hartlepool’s foremost and most philanthropic citizens, Colonel and Mrs Cameron in such demand that the brewery’s sesquicentennial history supposes them “the Kate and Wills of their day.”

Overwhelmingly elected, he became West Hartlepool’s third mayor despite opposition from what the book supposes “Temperance Societies and others interested in sobriety.” His portrait hangs in the brewery visitor centre.

Those interested in sobriety may also wish to ponder where, if at all, the apostrophe should be in Camerons. For me it’s a two-pint problem.

OTHER family members followed, the brewery owning 400 pubs by 1899. In the twentieth century there were spirits, soft drinks and wine stores, too.

Then in 1955 came Strongarm, promoted as “the strongest ale available on Teesside at 1/7d a pint” and developed by Arthur Donaldson, the head brewer.

Column reader Cliff Tunstall supposes, and the brewery confirms, that the name owes much to Donaldson’s friend Norman Armstrong, who ran a corn and grain company nearby and was asked both to test the new ale and to think of a name for it. Armstrong begat Strongarm.

In the 1990s it was branded Ruby Red, tagged “the world’s most beautiful beer” and, using female models, heavily advertised on television. That the beer looked rather bonnier than some of the models is neither here or there.

Though now slightly more than 1/7 a pint, Strongarm sales soar. “Recent growth has improved both consistency and quality,” says Chris Soley, the general manager. Power to its elbow.

BY 1960, Camerons had 750 pubs including 78 bought from the West Auckland Brewery. Chris Soley admits to rough rides thereafter, especially in the 1980s, and that the brewery was several times close to the brink. It was bought in 1975 by Ellerman Lines and sold eight years later to the Barclay brothers. Brent Walker took over four years after that, but collapsed in 1991 with £1.2bn debts.

Wolverhampton and Dudley Breweries bought Camerons and 51 pubs the following year, for £18.7m but in 2002 it was in turn bought by Darlington born David Soley – Chris’s dad – who’d worked in the offshore industry and in engineering and earlier taken over the former Nimmo’s brewery at Castle Eden.

It could have turned sour. “”I saw a business with history, heritage, tradition and many other qualities but what we really bought was a dilapidated old brewery that was falling apart,” he says in the smashing history compiled by Marie-Louise McKay, the visitor centre manager.

David remains chairman. Chris, formerly something powerful in the quarrying industry, is also a director. Both look to the future with glasses very much more than half full and with gratitude to the loyalty and skills of the workforce.

“There’s a big responsibility to keep the legacy of 150 years,” says Chris. In a cosseted corner of the Brit, there’ll be someone drinking to their prosperity.

How tickled…

LEST it proved to be no laughing matter, it may be recalled that the column’s advice had been sought by John Maughan in Wolsingham on how to survive Ken Dodd at Darlington Civic Theatre last Friday.

Though now 87, Doddy does go on a bit (and then a bit more.)

John was prepared. First his wife made liver and bacon for tea and then baked corned beef pasties to help see him and his mate Kevan through the long night.

The Scouse comedian clearly appreciated their dilemma from the moment he came on stage at 7 30pm. “Now you know what it’s like to be in a hostage situation,” he said.

With a half hour break, the late, late show ended at 12 34am. Though there was an accompanying organist and drummer, a magician and a female singer who reminded John of a Hinge and Bracket love child, chiefly it was Dodd’s law.

“The years have started to take their toll, of course, but his enthusiasm certainly hasn’t dwindled,” says John. “His singing was top notch and he reeled off jokes and stories all night. A brilliant entertainer.”

His favourite was about the fat woman. “You could tickle her all night and not go back to the same place twice.”

On the way out he himself bought tickling sticks for the grandbairns, two for £7. For once, John wasn’t especially amused. “I’m wondering if the great man has another tax bill coming up,” he said.