Obituary: Rob Jones of Dark Star Brewing Co., Sussex
Last week, I heard the sad news that my friend and mentor Rob Jones had passed away. You might be thinking, “Who the hell is Rob Jones?” But even if you haven’t heard his name, you’ll probably be familiar with his impact. Modern British brewing owes him a lot.
Rob grew up in South London. A talented homebrewer, he co-founded the Beer Shop and Pitfield Brewery in Hoxton, East London in the 1980s—before either beer or Hoxton were trendy—with school friend Martin Kemp (not the bloke out of Spandau Ballet). The shop sold beer and brewing supplies, and also housed the small brewery in its cellar.
The brewery’s flagship beer, Dark Star, won CAMRA’s Champion Beer of Britain in both 1987 and again in 1988. For the time, this was unusual in itself: a strong, dark beer made by a tiny brewery in the basement of a shop, winning twice running. Also unusual was the fact that the beer was named after a Grateful Dead song, and that its artwork was all space-agey. It was a difficult sell to traditional publicans.
When Martin and Rob parted company, Martin kept the shop and Rob took the Dark Star name with him when he relocated to the South Coast. Delivering beer to the Evening Star pub in Brighton one day, Rob got chatting with the then-owners, Peter Skinner and Peter Halliday, who said they wanted to start a microbrewery.
Photos of Rob have been kindly supplied by his daughter, Eve
Space was tight but Rob, ever inventive, designed a Russian-doll-like modular system to squeeze into the old bottle store. The mash tun was suspended from a winch over the copper, which it was lowered into for insulation; in turn, the hot liquor tank contained the copper. Each brew was only three hectolitres, and was primarily served at the pub. In 1994, brewing commenced, including Skinners Ales and additionally some beers under Rob’s own brand: The Dark Star Brewing Co.
I moved to Brighton in 1995 and soon gravitated to the Star, which, even back then, was known for its wonderful range of beers. I’d graduated from art school and was cruising along, putting bands on and cooking in a vegetarian pub. I got talking to Rob one day and he asked to try some of my homebrew, which was a brave move!
A few days later I was stunned when he offered me a job. “Are you serious—you want to pay me to make beer?!” I remember asking. Rob was getting busier and busier doing consultancy for other small breweries, as well as building out breweries for other aspiring brewers, and needed help. He had a lot of knowledge, and people were forever asking for his guidance. This was back when the internet was all but nonexistent, and any good books about brewing were thin on the ground, to say the least.
““My fondest times spent with Rob, will always be just sitting at the bar together, chatting and laughing over an after-work beer.””
This makes it all the more remarkable that we—Rob leading, me learning—started to brew things that were pretty outside the box. We brewed single-hop pale ales, full-strength IPAs, a delicately spiced wheat beer, and a nitro stout—all for the pub, and the customers loved them. Then one day, in 1996 or ’97, the Peters returned from the U.S. with some Cascade hops, and that changed things for us forever. The only other breweries in the U.K. at the time making these hop-forward beers were Rooster’s in Yorkshire and Oakham in Cambridgeshire. We were all geographically isolated from each other but arrived at the same beery destination, purely by chance.
In 2001, Dark Star was restructured and I was gobsmacked when Rob gave me the opportunity to buy shares in the company, alongside Peter Halliday and Paul Reed. We had all come to the conclusion that our beer was pretty bloody good, and it was time to build a proper brewery—25 hectolitres this time. Rob had all the contacts, Peter had the money, Paul had the business acumen and, thanks to Rob, I was becoming a confident brewer.
The next few years flew by, and I know that we all treasured those times. The brewery was going from strength to strength: Hophead, American Pale Ale, and the esoteric Espresso Stout were winning awards all over the place, and we couldn’t keep up. In 2010, Dark Star relocated again, this time installing a 75-hectolitre brewery.
I was, and still am, so proud of what we achieved, but after more than a decade, I was getting itchy feet and knew there was more I wanted to do within beer. In 2013, I left and started Burning Sky. I guess Rob felt the same, too: Six months later he cashed in his shares and took on ownership of The Duke of Wellington pub in Shoreham-by-Sea. Here, he and his partner Jess saw the true value of the pub, and its place in and for the local community.
Since September 2013, the Duke has excelled. It’s a lovely pub: inclusive, community-focused, with great beer and great music. In short, it’s everything Rob loved, and remains a testament to him. The pub is now set to become a co-operative, which Rob told me about the last time I saw him.
It’s been tough processing his loss, and my best wishes are with his family, whom he loved dearly. As I sit here thinking about the man who gave me a job—and, in turn, my career—I remember all the times we spent together, and how much we did. My fondest memories of Rob, however, will always be just sitting at the bar together, chatting and laughing over an after-work beer.
So, who the hell was Rob Jones? A bit of a legend, in all honesty.
Robert Anthony Jones, brewer, born 6th November 1956; died 3rd June 2026.
