The wine most associated with ceremonious ritual in its serving is port, particularly vintage port, Although many other countries consume greater quantities of port than Britain does, the way it is severed has something British about it. On the whole, the British customs surrounding port have not been exported, (like Harrods bags and marmalade), since few foreigners are aware of the niceties involved, or are fortunate enough to have a trained British butler!

Most of the rituals associated with the serving of port probably originated in Oporto in Portugal, the home of this splendid wine. Traditionally, the British port shippers meet at the headquarters of the British Association, otherwise known as the Factory House, to discuss business and more importantly, have lunch and hold rather lavish diner parties. For instance, the famous Wednesday luncheons at the Factory House for members and their guests. Alas for the ladies, these are for men only, simply because those present were wont to over-imbibe: something that was totally acceptable in the company of other man but definitely not done in the presence of the fairer sex. It is even said that the servants were specially instructed to loosen the neck cloths of any gentlemen who rolled under the table, to reduce the chances of their choking! The Factory House was not the only place where gentlemen got drunk at the dinner table. In England, even up until the mid 20th century, the ladies would withdraw to leave the gentlemen to discuss business, racing and politics – subjects not considered proper to indeed of interest to the womenfolk. However, the real reason the ladies left the room, particularly in the 17th and 18th centuries, was to allow the man to get on with the serious business of drinking. In households where such was the custom, behaviour was pretty debauched. Chamber pots were even brought into the dining room, to save the drinkers the bother of leaving the room to relieve themselves – if they were in a fit state to do so!

Happily, such behaviour is on longer prevalent, but the more pleasant, but the more pleasant post-prandial traditions remain. Ben Howkins, in his book Rich Rare and Red, describes the scene at the Wednesday luncheons at the Factory House as follows: “The remarkable thing about the dining room is that there are actually two rooms, both of identical size and each capable of setting forty-six persons, Two sets of folding doors lead from one room to the other, In the first room, where the Wednesday luncheons are held, members and their guests sit at a long mahogany table, with graceful chandeliers (now electrically powered) overhead. The second dining room is where every-one moves to enjoy the vintage post; by tradition, just before this exodus takes place, you are served with a glass – only one – of delicious very old tawny port, always decanted, which is irreverently referred to as the “mouthwash”. The next moment everyone rises, napkins clutched in their hands, and all move through the doors to sit down in the adjoining room in exactly the same order as before, but here candles provide the only light, flickering on the lavish bowls of fruit and walnuts and reflected in the laden decanters. Now the vintage port can be enjoyed to the full without any aroma of food hanging in the air”. (it does seem odd that the latter was considered to spoil the palette, whereas the smoking of cigars did not!)

For serving port, the decanters were put on the table only after the Cloth had been removed (table mats are a very recent innovation to formal meals in Britain). The removal of the cloth was itself a ceremony, even an art: once easily. Over turned or fragile, objects had been removed, the cloth was literally jerked from under anything remaining on the table. This, as you can imagine, must have required remarkable dexterity on part o t servant in question, if half the silver were not to end up on the floor; especially since most dining tables were very large, accommodating twenty or more. The port decanter - usually standing in a coaster, was then, and still is, set in front of the host. He picks it up and the ritual begins. He fills his own glass then passes-the decanter to his left so that it can proceed clockwise around the table, each person helping himself before passing it on, to his neighbour. The host is allowed a "backhander", that is, he fills the glass of whomever is on his right, otherwise that person would have to wait quite a while for the decanter to complete its circuit of the table. These days, if the ladies do not retire from the table at the end of a meal, it has become the practice that the host or any of his male guests may pour the port for any lady sitting on his left, before filling his own glass, and passing the decanter in the usual way.

Sending the port the wrong way has been the subject of many cartoons and jokes and, in the days when people cared deeply about conventions, it was a shocking gaffe. Nobody has the answer to precisely why the port goes round clockwise rather than the other way. Many theories have been 'Put forward, involving the course of the Earth around the Sun, the bad luck and the black magic associated with, going widdershins the very primitive belief in the right hand being for important good actions and the left for less worthy ones (just as in certain countries only the right hand is used for eating). The most plausible reason, however, must be the simple fact that, except for the left-handed, it is easier to pass a decanter from ones own place to the left. Try it and see - if pass the decanter to right you will find it an inconvenient, clumsy movement, likely to knock over your own glasses. Moreover, whoever is on your right would have to reach across himself to take hold of it. The long necks of most decanters facilitate easy passing and the ridges or cutting on the neck of a traditional port decanter provide a good grip by which the decanter can be held or lifted.

When I was a boy at school, it was considered a breach of courtesy to ask for anything to be passed to one at the dining table (your neighbour was expected to keep an eye open for anything you required). For the grownups at dinner, the same was true of asking for the port to be passed. Obviously if the decanter was "stopped", then a polite but coded message had to be used to signal the need for the decanter to be moved along. "Do you know Dr. Wright of Norwich?" or, "'The Bishop of Norwich" or a reference to some other invented character might then be heard. Since there had actually been a Dr Wright of Norwich, who in the middle of the 19th century had earned the reputation for being a "bottle stopper", people would ask for the port by invoking his name. The total irrelevance of such a query combined with a meaningful look from the thirsty enquirer would usually jolt the offender into realising that he had impeded the progress of the decanter.

In the last century various gimmicks were invented to speed the progress of decanters around the table, not only for port, but also madeira and even old claret. As a child I remember a railway track which ran round the dining table of a country parson (who was a great enthusiast of both railways and port).

The cruets and decanters were pulled around the table by a solid silver electrically driven railway engine. This was operated by the Rev. host from a control by his side, so he could make sure that none of his guests went without. Needless to say, being children, we never had the decanters stopped in front of us! However, quite apart from the expense of such an installation, a miniature railway is not really a practical solution to the 'bottle stopper' in most households. Eventually, in the middle of the last century, the glass makers of Stourbridge came up with a simple but ingenious ? answer: a decanter with a rounded base which cannot be set down on the table at all unless it is put in its specially designed coaster which sits in front of the host. He passes the decanter but keeps the coaster by him, so that no-one but he can put the decanter down. As a result the circulation is brisk and, even at a large party, the penultimate guest does not to have to wait long to charge his glass. Thus was born the Hogget decanter.

It is not known where the word originates, although it is easy to suggest that it derives from the inadvertent 'hogging' of the ordinary decanter. The glass blower of Stourbridge have always been wont to devise their own names for the various shapes and / blanks they blow: the word 'Hogget” is probably one such invention.

Few antique Hogget decanters have survived and those, that do, have solid silver coasters in which to rest. The "Hoggets” we make today have the original shape, with the long neck for easy passing, but the coasters are turned out of solid mahogany. All are fitted with a brass or silver band which is easily engraved, thereby making them ideal presentation pieces, gifts or prices. Two sizes are available: the standard bottle size (75cl) and the magnificent Magnum (i.51).

Unlike the tradition elsewhere in Europe, it is common practice in Britain to serve 'cheese at the end of the meal, after the dessert. Since port is an excellent accompaniment to cheese, especially Stilton, it is inevitable that the two would be served together, for which tradition we can thank the Edwardians.