Summary (by AI): I felt disappointed and deflated after my unsuccessful search for a pint of Yella Belly in Lincolnshire, though I enjoyed researching the local history and theories behind the nickname.
Blog: I’d read about Yella Belly—the ale—well before I headed out to Lincolnshire. I figured getting a pint or a bottle would be an easy win. I knew where the brewery was, and I knew the ale had been brewed for—well, I thought centuries, but it turns out it’s only been since the late 1800s.
It’s a quintessentially traditional Lincolnshire ale, named after the local nickname for the people who live there. I’ll get into the "Yella Belly" history in a minute, but bugger me, I could not find a single pint.
I visited the brewery on a rainy Wednesday in the middle of February. It probably would have been a lovely visit in the summer, but the visitor centre was shut up tight. I can understand that for February, but the damn store was closed as well, meaning I couldn't even nip in to buy a few bottles.
I’d anticipated I might need a pub as a backup, so I had already earmarked the Woolpack just up the road—the flagship pub for the Bateman Brewery. I left the brewery slightly deflated and drove over, only to be doubly disappointed. It didn't feel much like a flagship; they only had one Bateman’s tap on, the XB. It's a nice enough pint, but when I asked the lady behind the bar if they had any Yella Belly, she just looked at me as if I was talking gibberish.
I decided to hunt around the local shops, but it made me realize that traditional off-licenses have largely vanished. Every shop—from the massive hypermarkets to the Nisas, One Stops, and even the Polish or Asian supermarkets—sells the exact same range of predictable beers. You’ve got your standard lagers and, on the ale front, Ghost Ship or Landlord. Don’t get me wrong, I love a pint of Landlord, but I really struggled to find anything celebrating the local brewing heritage.
So, I left Lincolnshire without actually having a pint of Yella Belly.
That said, I’m marking the mission as "complete." I did the legwork: I went to the brewery, I researched the history, I hunted, and I tried. I even had a pint of their XB for my troubles.
The research into the name "Yella Belly" is actually quite interesting. It turns out there are multiple theories as to why Lincolnshire folk are called that.
One version involves the eels. Lincolnshire was famous for them before the Fens were drained and the land was still wet and tidal. Eels were a massive part of the local trade, and they supposedly developed yellow bellies at certain times of the year.
Another theory suggests that farmers and factory workers used to take opium to ward off malaria, which was common in the marshes back then, giving them a yellow tint.
The one that feels the most likely to me—though I have no real proof—is military. The Lincolnshire regiment, in all its pomp and ceremony, used to wear a uniform that included bright yellow waistcoats.
Then there’s the mustard theory. They grow a lot of it in the county, and the seed would rub off on people's clothes. Or, as the tail goes, the men working the fields would get incredibly bronzed on their arms and shoulders, but when they took their waistcoats off, they’d be left with a big, blubbery, fat yella belly. I know exactly what they mean by that !
Finally, there's the coaching theory. Because Lincolnshire was so notoriously wet and muddy, the carriages would get incredibly dirty. They supposedly countered this by painting the undercarriages bright yellow. I’ve read that a few times, though I don’t quite see how painting something yellow makes it look less muddy. But I’ve read it in several places and I’ve asked AI, so it must be true, mustn’t it?
When I’m back up that way, I’ll try again to find a proper pint of Yella Belly. And when I do, I’ll update this post.
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