David Bruce, the founder of the iconic Firkin pubs and author of his new book, The Firkin Saga, has had a career that reads like a wild adventure. From a self-professed academic failure to a brewing disruptor, he's navigated the tumultuous world of business with a unique blend of humour, instinct, and a stubborn refusal to listen to the "experts." His journey, spanning over five decades, is a testament to the idea that success isn't a straight line, but a winding, unpredictable road full of risks and unexpected turns. We sat down with David to discuss his remarkable story, the challenges he faced, and the enduring lessons he's learned along the way.
You've been involved in brewing and leisure since 1966. Can you share a bit about your early life and what first drew you to the brewing industry?
I was a complete failure at school. I failed maths O level five times and ended up with two O levels in geography, which was known at my school as the subject for the academically "thick." University was out of the question. At 18, I had no idea what to do, so I looked for a trade. I applied for two management trainee jobs and got offers from both Courage the brewers and an old petrol station company. I decided pumps and breweries must be a lot more fun than petrol stations and refineries.
My headmaster at the time used to say to underperforming students, "If you don't work hard, you'll end up like poor old David Bruce, working in a brewery," as if that were the worst fate imaginable. I love dining out on that story now because it proves you don't need a first-class degree to succeed. You can be a bit of a failure and still carve out a niche for yourself.
After working with Courage and Theakston Breweries for six years, what motivated you to take the bold step of opening your own brewpub, The Goose and Firkin, in 1979?
It all came down to nepotism. I was at Theakston's and we were doing so well with the rise of the Campaign for Real Ale. I asked the chairman if I could have shares in the company, and he said, "Absolutely no way. You're not called Theakston." He made it clear that only people with his last name would ever be directors or run the company.
I turned to him and said, "Well, stuff you. I'll go and start my own brewery." And that's what I did. I really hated the establishment; that's what made me an entrepreneur. It was being told that I couldn't have shares in a family brewery that was the rocket fuel I needed to start my own.
Your idea was pioneering; London hadn't seen a brewpub in a century. What challenges did you face breaking into such an established industry?
The challenges were horrendous. Everything was against me. The entire brewing industry was controlled by a handful of large brewers, and most pubs were "tied," meaning they were contractually obligated to sell only their beer. There were very few "free houses" where I could open a new business.
I was on the dole and looking for any opportunity. I stumbled across a derelict, boarded-up pub under a railway bridge in Elephant and Castle. The lead had been ripped off the roof, there was a dead cat and a dead rat inside, and it smelled awful. But I went down to the cellar, and it was a moment of divine inspiration. I saw that it was big enough to put in a small brewery. I went home and told my wife, Louise, "I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to get off the dole and we're going to start a brewery."
The challenges were just starting, though. Nobody had done this in over a hundred years, so there were no precedents. I rang Customs and Excise, the fire chief, and the Greater London Council, and they all had a sharp intake of breath. They didn't know what to do because it had never been done.
I created a business plan and gave it to a city analyst who worked in brewing. He wrote across the front, "This project has got absolutely no chance of succeeding. I suggest you abandon it immediately." Then I went to my bank, the "listening bank," and the bank manager said, "If it's that good an idea, why hasn't somebody else thought of it?" He refused to invest in my "harebrained scheme."
But I was determined. I found a bank manager at a different bank who said, "It's the best idea I've heard for years. Very risky, but yes, I will back you." He lent me £10,000, and I had to put our house up as security. The big brewers, who desperately wanted me to sell their lager, lent me the other £10,000 at 5% interest-a steal when the bank rate was 16%! On day one, we were 200% geared, but we owned 100% of the equity. That was the key.
The Firkin pubs became famous for their unique character and humour. How important was your brand personality, and how did you create such a distinctive style?
The brand's personality was born out of happenstance and a shoestring budget. We had no money and no strategy. The design was all about making the pub what we wanted it to be-a place with bare floorboards, church pews, mahogany, and brass. We bought it all in junk shops. Everything was done on a shoestring because we couldn't afford to do it any other way.
When we started expanding, the brand took on a life of its own through our humour and puns. We opened the Fox and Firkin and created the slogan, "For Fox's sake, buy me a firkin pint!" We had ridiculous car stickers that said, "Firkin Boozers do it falling over." It was a completely barking sense of humor, but people loved it. We were on an absolute roll, and the "Firkin Following" was phenomenal. The humor and the outrageous names-like Dog Bolter, Earth Stopper, and Knee Trembler-became part of the brand's charm and cemented our identity.
You expanded quickly, growing to 11 pubs before selling the chain in 1988. What did you learn about scaling a business and managing that rapid growth?
I learned the hard way. We only ever thought we were going to have one pub, but when it worked, everyone said we were just lucky and couldn't do it again. So, we opened another one in Lewisham. I went back to the nice bank manager, who backed me again, and we took on more debt at a great rate from the big brewers.
The key lesson was learning to delegate. I was a complete workaholic, brewing from 4 a.m. and running the pub until late at night. I was totally knackered. I started recruiting people who were better than me at the jobs I was doing. We found young, inexperienced people with passion and wanted to share in our culture. We were growing our own culture from within. My mantra became, "Employ people that are better than you."
The next lesson was to seize every opportunity. When a derelict pub with a structural crack in Notting Hill became available, I went for it. When Terry Jones from Monty Python left a note at the bar saying he wanted to redevelop a burnt-out railway station, I said yes. That became The Phoenix and Firkin. We took on projects that seemed impossible because they were opportunities to grow.
You've been involved in several ventures, including the Capital Pub Company and West Berkshire Brewery. How did your entrepreneurial philosophy evolve through these different projects?
My philosophy changed dramatically after I sold the Firkin pubs. The Firkin Saga was a rollercoaster, and I put everything on the line, including my home. The success was immense, but so was the risk.
Afterward, I started a charity, which was much like starting a business. It was a pioneering venture to build canal boats for disabled people. The same lessons applied: the Charity Commission said no, just like the bank and the analysts. I had to be determined and fight bureaucracy.
My later ventures were very different. I had a really disastrous deal with a joint venture with Brakes Brewery that failed dismally in 14 months, costing me about a third of a million quid down the drain. But my story isn't always good news; there's a lot of bad news as well, but it evens out in the end. It was then that I teamed up with a guy called Clive Watson, who was a chartered accountant and had been the finance director of Regent Inns. Clive and I decided to team up and start a new company called Capital Pub Company.
In these later projects, I learned that you can grow a business with other people's money and still have a tiny stake in a huge success. The old-school, swashbuckling buccaneer days were incredibly fun, but the later, more structured ventures were a different animal. They were about making money for our shareholders, and while they were successful, they weren't as much fun as those crazy early days.
What is the single most important piece of advice you would offer to an entrepreneur starting out today?
The most important piece of advice is to never listen to the experts. They are usually wrong. Follow your instincts and that gut feeling that you're doing the right thing. You have to be brave and have a blind determination to overcome every single obstacle.
Once you have your idea, be ambitious and explore every opportunity that comes your way. My success came from taking on failed pubs in "dodgy" areas that nobody else wanted. I was always prepared to go where angels feared to tread. Seize every opportunity, even if it forces you to change your plans.
What does the future hold for David Bruce?
At 77, I don't think I have the energy to start anything new. I'm three years off 80, and my wife, Louise, won't allow me to start another business! But I'm very happy to be an investor in other people's ventures. I've invested in a few exciting things, like Hawkridge Distillers, which makes award-winning gin, and Hattingley Valley, which makes English sparkling wine. I'm also an early investor in BrewDog.
The one active thing I have is my chain of farm shops, Cobbs Farm Shops. I'm the founding chairman, and we have a fantastic team that runs them. It's a serious business, doing about £10 million in sales a year. All the lessons I learned the hard way have gone into this company. It keeps my entrepreneurial spirit fizzing away quietly without me having to go out to work, which I probably shouldn't be doing at 77 anyway!
The Firkin Saga is out now. Get your copy today to discover how a self-confessed academic failure with a pathological hatred of the establishment built a groundbreaking business empire against all odds.
