THE home-brewing exploits of two sporty chums went with a real bang . . . quite literally!

For it was a pioneering venture as far as bath-tub booze was was concerned, with none of the benefits of today's sophisticated brewing equipment, designed to keep fizzing alcoholic strength within bounds.

Former West Park rugby player Vin Mooney, now living in Shrewsbury, was reminded of those explosive times after spotting a recent mention of Kevin Heneghan, a frequent and valued contributor to this ancient page.

"Kevin was a good friend of my elder brother, Ray Mooney, who sadly died 10 years ago. Ray and his wife, Cathleen, nee Rafferty, lived above the family shop and bakery in Liverpool Road (Bonney's the bakers and confectioners).

"It was around the early 'fifties," Vin guesses, "when Kevin and Ray decided to go into the brewing business. They had yeast, malt and sugar available in the bakehouse and discovered that brewing hops could be purchased at Boots, the chemists. So they sent Kevin's missus, Dolly, hot-foot to get some."

Ray's pet goldfish was removed from its old square glass tank so that a heady concoction could be produced within it.

After weeks of boiling, bubbling, fermenting, filtering, straining, hoping and praying, the stuff was decanted into pop bottles and Vin was presented with a sample. "I reckon I was the guinea pig!" he says, "I recall placing it under the car seat . . . and the next day it exploded."

Adds Vin: "I don't think for one moment that their activities caused any great consternation in the boardrooms of Greenall Whitley or Walkers. But they must surely be regarded as serious pioneers of home brewing."

I passed on Vin's reminiscences and good wishes to Kevin, a retired St Helens teacher and long-memoried local history enthusiast, giving him the right to reply. He chuckled at the thoughts of those carefree, mind-bending early days.

"The bottle that exploded in Vin's car was not ale but our celebrated barley wine. You know the kind of thing, not a drop sold 'till it's six weeks old.

"We'd put about two dozen bottles on the staircase above Ray and Cathleen's bedroom at the bakery. They began exploding during the night, so by morning Cathleen was incandescent. She hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep through waiting for the next one to go off!"

The two amateur brewers later sampled a bottle of the stuff in Kevin's sitting-room. "But it tasted like the bottom of a baby's pram," he recalls, "and I threw half a glass on to the fire. Flames and ashes shot across the room. The alcohol content must have been off the clock!"

But the two bravehearts refused to surrender. "I promptly re-filled my glass," says Kevin. "Home-made barley wine, like whisky, is an acquired taste."

However, their efforts at bulk home-brewing had one obstacle. In those days, there were severe limits on how much ale you could brew at home. One Friday, when Dolly went to Boots for the usual supply of hops, the assistant, having clocked the large amounts previously bought, refused to serve her.

Kevin clearly remembers his angered response to that news. "Well, I hope the b***** place falls down!"

Two days later, the whole frontage fell out of the building, bringing with it much town-centre drama. Says Kevin: "I hadn't meant to be taken quite so literally."

SPLENDID little tale which will appeal to all who have endured calamitous experiences in trying to brew our own cut-price booze.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.