The Sutlers Supreme

Operation Hurricane and the Legend of the Atomic Beer

It Started with a Stack of Press Cuttings

Whilst researching the NAAFI Goes Nuclear article, I did my usual sweep of the British press from that period. As expected, not much turned up — Operation Hurricane was cloaked in secrecy, and coverage was sparse. But among the few results, a dozen or so clippings caught my eye. Each declared the same thing, in almost identical wording: beer.

Interesting, I thought at the time — but not especially relevant to the article’s context. So I dismissed them. And yet, after the piece was published, the story behind those cuttings kept bugging me. Something didn’t sit right. So I decided to take a closer look. 

When Beer Became News

Daily Express 13 Nov 1952

On the morning of 13 November 1952, British newspapers carried extraordinary headlines:

“Beer Survived Atom Blast — Fit to Drink”
“Canned Beer Came Through A-Test”
“Beer Beat the Bomb, and Sailors Drank It”
“Beer Comes Off Best in Atom Test”
“NAAFI Canteen Vaporised”
“Beer Not Affected by Atom Blast”
“It’s Atomic”

“Beer Survived Atom Blast — Fit to Drink”

From Aberdeen to Plymouth, the story appeared almost word for word across the national and provincial press. According to the reports, the Monte Bello atomic explosion had “vaporised one NAAFI canteen, destroyed another, but left intact 18,000 cans of beer.” Half of the articles quoted the line “NAAFI stated last night,” lending the tale an air of officialdom rather than rumour. It was the perfect Cold War curiosity — a symbol of everyday service life rendered indestructible by the atom.

What struck me most, reading through the clippings, was the repetition. Half of them quoted the same line — “NAAFI stated last night” — as if lifted straight from a press release. That alone raised questions. Why issue a statement six weeks after the test? And why 

now?

Halifax Evening Courier 18th December 1952

The articles mention 18,000 cans of beer, packed into 1,500 cases — twelve cans per case, if anyone’s counting. They refer to a prefabricated canteen used by servicemen and scientists working on the island. That detail aligns with a later interview in the Halifax Daily Courier, dated 18 December, in which NAAFI manager Gilbert E. Vine described the canteen setup: heat, flies, and a five-foot iguana named Charlie Boy who kept the rats at bay. Supplies were limited, he said, but cold beer was a necessity, stored in a large electric refrigerator.

His remarks confirmed what the press had only hinted at — that a NAAFI facility did exist ashore during Operation Hurricane, and it almost certainly stocked beer. Whether that beer survived the blast — or merely survived into folklore — is another matter entirely.

Some questions I won’t be able to answer. But based on the geography and logistics of the Monte Bello setup, it’s possible to make an educated guess about where those cans were stored — and why they might have been left behind.

A More Plausible  Explanation

The uniformity of the newspaper reports points to one thing: this was never an eyewitness account, but an official NAAFI press release — most likely issued via the Public Relations Office in London. It was the kind of light-hearted story designed to offset the grim implications of Britain’s entry into the atomic age. Yet behind the humour, there may lie a small kernel of truth.

The Operation Hurricane documentary film held by the UK National Archives (ADM 280/966) provides some compelling visual evidence. Between 17:09 and 17:49 minutes, servicemen can be seen stacking tea chests, sacks of vegetables, wooden crates marked “Ceylon,” and tinned meat — foodstuffs placed ashore to assess the effects of radioactive contamination. Although no beer appears on screen, the presence of sealed consumables suggests that canned goods were indeed part of the experiment.

It is entirely plausible that NAAFI-supplied beer — being both canned and non-essential — was included among the stores, or at least considered for inclusion.

Operation Hurricane film (UK National Archives, frame 17:09–17:49). 

Servicemen prepare crates of fruit, vegetables, tea chests, and tinned meat for post-detonation contamination testing. 

© Crown Copyright. Source: The National Archives (UK), ADM 280/966, Open Government Licence v3.0.

Another Layer of Plausibility

Another layer of plausibility lies in timing. The final order to detonate the bomb aboard HMS Plym was issued at short notice, once meteorological conditions aligned. Engineers, Marines, Royal Navy crews, and scientists had to evacuate quickly, leaving behind anything non-essential.

In such circumstances, NAAFI canteen stock — beer, soft drinks, cigarettes, and tinned foods — would have been the lowest priority. And from my own long-ago experience, 1,500 crates of beer would likely have represented the largest volume of NAAFI stores on the island. If anything was going to be left behind, it was probably the beer.

If, as records suggest, the Hurricane shore party operated from Hermite Island, their camp and stores would have been centred around a landing site and logistics compound known as H2. When the order to withdraw came, much of the equipment there would have been abandoned.

In the aftermath of the blast, when survey teams returned to test for contamination, they may have discovered intact stockpiles — some possibly tinned beer — still sealed and unspoiled. A curious but mundane logistical footnote that, through the alchemy of post-war journalism, became the legendary “Atomic Beer.”

Left Behind in the Rush — The Hermite Island Connection

To understand how NAAFI beer might have ended up within the blast zone, it’s worth looking first at the geography of the Monte Bello Islands.

Google Earth Map - Monte Bello Islands

This scattered coral archipelago off Australia’s north-west coast was the setting for Britain’s first atomic test in October 1952. The control and observation base was established on Hermite Island, while the target ship, HMS Plym, was anchored about a mile to the east off Trimouille Island.

British construction teams — Royal Engineers, Royal Marines, and Royal Navy personnel — created a network of sites identified by code: H1 and H2 on Hermite; T2 and T3 on Trimouille.
According to official accounts, H1 served as the main headquarters and control area on Hermite’s south-east corner, while H2 — situated between Brandy Bay and Buttercup Island — functioned as the beachhead and stores compound. Supplies, including rations and canteen goods, were unloaded at H2 and transported by road up to H1. On Trimouille, T2 was a tented camp for scientists, and T3 a supply compound.

When the final order came to evacuate ahead of the detonation, time was short. Priority went to instruments, samples, and essential equipment, while foodstuffs and canteen stores were left behind at H2. If NAAFI stock — beer, tea, and tinned food — was among them, its position near Trimouille would explain the limited damage and later reports of intact cans found after the blast.

The greatest destruction and contamination occurred on Trimouille and the islands immediately to the north. H1, designated a safe area, remained manned throughout the explosion and suffered little harm. Given that the canteen was likely centred on H1, and that H2 lay just to the north, it seems plausible that supplies in both areas escaped the worst of the blast and radiation — whereas anything left on Trimouille would have been heavily damaged and badly contaminated.

Interpretation

It is entirely plausible that the Monte Bello NAAFI staff left a cache of tinned beer at H2 in the final scramble to evacuate.

When survey teams returned to collect samples and test contamination levels, those unopened cans — perhaps dusty, dented, but still sealed — would have stood out as symbols of resilience.

In an age hungry for good news amid nuclear uncertainty, it took only a line from a NAAFI press officer to turn that mundane discovery into a legend. Seen in this context, the “atomic beer” story becomes less an example of miraculous survival than of logistical accident.

Beer, Fallout, and Folklore

The legend of the atomic beer sits at the crossroads of fact and folklore — part NAAFI logistics report, part public-relations whimsy. The press, eager for human stories amid the jargon of megatons and fallout, seized on a single, harmless line from an official statement and turned it into a national talking point.

For a Britain still emerging from rationing and austerity, the notion that even a NAAFI beer could survive an atomic blast carried a curiously comforting symbolism.

What truly emerged from Monte Bello was not a scientific marvel, but a story — one that distilled the essence of post-war Britain: cheerful stoicism, a dash of absurdity, and pride in the institutions that had sustained the Services through war and peace alike. If any cans of NAAFI beer really did endure the shockwave, they did so as witnesses to the moment Britain joined the nuclear age — and to the enduring optimism of the men who built that world, pint by pint.

And yet, what I still cannot take seriously — even now — is the claim that the surviving beer was sold. That detail, if true, belongs to a realm beyond logistics and folklore: the surreal theatre of Cold War commerce.

Postnote: Two years after the blast, the story of “atomic beer” was still making headlines.
In December 1954, a Birmingham newspaper reported on an exhibition of historic tinned foods — everything from Crimean War rations to an 1824 can of veal — and among them, pride of place was given to two NAAFI beer cans. Slightly dented but otherwise intact, they had been recovered from the Monte Bello Islands after Britain’s first atomic test.

Birmingham Daily Gazette 10th December 1954

For a brief moment, “atomic beer” joined the curiosities of empire and war on display in Wigmore Street, London — proof that even in the nuclear age, the British love of a good brew endured.

Two years on, the atomic beer was still news.

Editor’s Footnote: The claim that surviving cans of NAAFI beer were later sold remains unverified. This part of the story may yet hold surprises, and further investigation is welcome.

If you have any information, recollections, or sources — especially from service personnel or press archives — I’d love to hear from you.