Nobody lives forever. Did you know that? Remembering my mate Peter.
- Harry Ballmann
- Oct 16
- 6 min read
If we are lucky, we encounter a handful of people in this short life who affirm our individual journeys are on our own intended trajectory; people whose views, humour and opinions resonate strongly. Crucially, these people inspire us whilst simultaneously holding us to account. They improve who we are. Whether professionally or personally, we often meet them at precisely the right point in time. For me, Peter Hall was one of these people. It just so happens he made groundbreaking English sparkling wine, too.
I was first introduced to Peter by Ed Dallimore, author of The Vineyards of Britain. Ed warned me not to expect much back following the introduction, since, Ed very much emphasised the well known fact that Peter wasn’t fond of new visitors. Peter frequently told me the scale of the inundation he faced on a daily basis from private clients, trade pros and enthusiasts, asking this, that and the other, with the same underlying message - we just want a piece of the action. Breaky Bottom is much more than that. A mere 9 minutes following Ed’s email introduction, I received a phone call - “Ciao, it’s Peter here, from Breaky Bottom. Is this Harry? Do you fancy a cup of tea?”. The first time I met Peter it felt like an interview, he was sussing me out. I had sweaty palms, but tensions eased very quickly and frankly, the rest is history. He was a true, and dear friend.
It’s taken me an equal amount of time and thought to convey a sense of this special ecosystem hidden just outside of Lewes using words alone. I will confess, these words will not do justice to the gravitas of what a visit to Peter’s meant, but one can all but try. To travel to Peter’s was a pilgrimage, of sorts. A two mile track with so many potholes you fear you will never make it. A winding road through the South Downs, it’s as picturesque as it is terrifying, but you know that vinous heaven and a wonderful afternoon of storytelling awaited. An almost sombre sign at the ‘summit’ of the hill simply reads:
I then descend, dodging potholes all the while, until the most serene enclave of vines comes into view. It’s only a tiny amount larger than La Tache, the monopole of Domaine de la Romanée Conti, as Peter gleefully tells me. There is only the sound of bird song, and a feint breeze passing through the rows of vines. I’m greeted warmly, beckoned into an armchair, and then we talk…
Music is the first topic, something close to both of us, now I understand. Both jazz fanatics, we bounce our favourite tracks off each other, until Peter stops, and shows me a photo of Louis Armstrong, whom he wrote to after a visit to hospital where Peter was extremely ill, only vaguely remembering Louis’ iconic and distinctive voice through his sleep. Peter was proud to tell me, just before he died that his wines were devoured at the wedding of Mick Jagger’s daughter, too.
“Told you I was fucking rock 'n' roll mate, though I do prefer jazz, you know”.
We quickly move onto the state of the world, and it’s a little pessimistic, though, wine is involved, and brings us swiftly back around. Peter was immensely proud of his values, and equally true to them, to an extent which is incomparable to many people currently walking this earth. It’s something I deeply admired about him. His care for humanity and justice was profound, and true. Throughout our conversations, he was always swift to point out where things ought to be altered in favour of equality, and humanity. Peter tapped his badge of the Ukrainian flag repeatedly, as this was a cause he also held dear. On reflection, a conversation with Peter was always deeply inspiring, serving as a reminder to continually be true to one’s self. But, more than that - never falter from your ideals, and always aspire to help one another. Not to be too whimsical, but I have always felt within business, we gravitate (probably subconsciously) to those whose values and core beliefs we value strongly, and actually, those we enjoy being around too. Sometimes, these goalposts change, and that’s okay, so long as you remain true to yourself, I feel.
After we taste, we walk a little, past a sign in the courtyard which reads Beware the Bull, but, Peter was quick to quip, “beware the bullshit mate, that’s what that means and don’t stand for any of it, alright?”. Every aspect of Peter’s life was one of authenticity, with a touch of the eccentric and dramatic, but surely, that adds to the charm? Peter was certainly quick to snuff out the bullshit, both within the wine industry and the wider world, too.
Peter was tremendously specific about who he allowed to represent and become custodians of the “best bottom” in the world (his words, not mine). There are many bottoms, but only one Breaky Bottom. Indeed, there are many wines, but, again, there is only one Breaky Bottom. I am very grateful to be one of the select few to represent these phenomenal wines. Serious, contemplative and considered. I was poignantly reminded of wine’s ability to capture time within a bottle, and release it upon the popping of the cork, especially upon the death of a fine winemaker, and gentleman. As I sip a 2010 Cuvée Koizumi Yakumo Seyval Blanc (a cuvée named after Peter’s great great Irish uncle, Lafcadio Hearn - a phenomenal story teller, by all accounts) I cannot help but feel that the wine is a maverick. A self assured wine, with great patience.
"You know me, I’m a risk taker", Peter tells me proudly. Full ripeness is what counts in the UK, since we have acidity in abundance. The ripeness and extended hang time adds the phenolics required for truly exceptional wine, it provides character and typicité. Few in the UK set out to achieve such things, I feel, and wine for wine’s sake takes over. There are too many vanity projects within wine. Fine by me, if they are being true to themselves, I will never buy these wines, or represent them. The wines throughout Cépage possess the utmost integrity, and this is spearheaded by Breaky Bottom. Cépage is, in one wine, a cuvée from Breaky.
To plant in 1974 was a colossal risk, almost unthinkable, as was planting Seyval Blanc, a variety Peter, myself and a handful of other people within the UK trade are and were hugely optimistic about, especially in it’s ageing potential. I suppose smoking thirty plus a day and spraying the vineyard’s chemicals without a mask or a tractor cab was just as much as a risk as planting in his serene Sussex enclave in the 70s. A stubborn bastard, was Peter, who lived without compromise. He wouldn’t mind me saying that. But, underlining, was a person of integrity, a trait seemingly lost upon us in this current iteration of the world. It must be mentioned, a wonderful sense of humour, too. As I was leaving Breaky during my last visit, Peter told me to give Oz Clarke a “kick up the arse” the next time I saw him. At the London Wine Fair, I did just that, and Peter was highly amused when I told him! Peter had previously gifted me a copy of Oz’s English wine book, since I didn’t have a copy and there was no room on his shelf for the second edition! Quirks like these, and sipping the beautifully saline Cuvée Koizumi Yakumo remind me not to be pessimistic. Things do always get better, especially a 2010 Seyval. My gosh, it must have been difficult in it’s youth. Patience is a virtue. The wine leaves me with greater perspective.
I spoke to Peter a week or so before he died. Even in what I think he knew were his last few moments on Earth, his attitude did not falter, his approach to life and his vines remained true to himself. As with any moment chatting to Peter, be it in his arm chair or on the phone, I always left feeling a sense of serenity, a calmness always passed over me. Even the final sentence he spoke to me in September had the same affect.
“Just one last thing, and then I’ll fuck off. Nobody lives forever, did you know that? Ciao for now, mate.”
