From wartime Sherry to Aldi’s finest Prosecco, we’ve come a long way, babycham.

Introduction: What’s in Your Christmas Glass Says More Than You Think

Ah, Christmas. A time of joy, overcooked sprouts, and panic-buying wine like we’re preparing for the apocalypse. But have you ever stopped to wonder why we drink what we drink at Christmas?

From dusty bottles of Port in chilly drawing rooms to chilled glasses of English fizz in open-plan kitchens, the wines of the British Christmas table have mirrored the story of Britain itself — Empire, war, aspiration, feminism, marketing… and just a little bit of hangover.

So let’s take a walk through the last hundred years of festive sipping. History class is now in session, and yes, you may bring a glass.

1920s–30s: Fortification Nation

Christmas in the interwar years? Cold, coal-heated, and soaked in Sherry. Fortified wines were the drinks of choice, partly because they warmed you up (central heating was just a twinkle in a plumber’s eye), and partly because they didn’t spoil between sips.

Sherry was basically the prosecco of the 1920s — the go-to social drink, served before meals and fuel for the ever-popular “Sherry party.” Port was the after-dinner tipple, passed (always to the left, darling) by the men while the women were exiled to the drawing room. Classy stuff.

Meanwhile, the Empire Marketing Board was busy turning booze into patriotism. “Empire Wines” from Australia and South Africa were promoted as the morally correct choice — never mind that they tasted like boiled raisins with attitude.

1940s: Ration Books and Government Sherry

Christmas during World War II was less “Joyeux Noël” and more “Make do and cry.” Imported wine was hard to come by, with France occupied and German U-boats doing their best to sink any festive cheer.

Enter: “Government Sherry.” Cheap, anonymous fortified wine that merchants sold through gritted teeth. If your Gran ever served Sherry that tasted like regret, this was probably it.

Citrus fruit was so rare that mulled wine turned into hot cider with a hint of desperation. The only thing being passed to the left was powdered egg.

1950s–60s: Glam, Gumption, and the Supermarket Revolution

Post-war Britain was ready to party. Enter Babycham — fizzy, sweet, and unapologetically targeted at women. Advertised with the iconic “I’d love a Babycham” slogan, it turned the pub into a palatable place for a “lady.”

Meanwhile, culinary rebel Elizabeth David was whispering dangerous ideas like “wine with food” and “Christmas lunch doesn’t need to be a roast.” Cue the dinner party boom and supermarket wine aisles.

Sainsbury’s dipped its toe in the vino game, selling own-label French wines next to the bread rolls. Revolutionary.

1970s–80s: Sweet Tooth and Branding Overload

This was the era when Britain collectively said, “We don’t know what we’re drinking, but by God, it better be sweet.” Blue Nun, Mateus Rosé, Black Tower — if it had sugar and a fun-shaped bottle, it was in the trolley.

Mateus bottles doubled as candle holders, and Snowballs (Advocaat and lemonade, aka alcoholic custard) flowed freely. Le Piat d’Or promised us that “The French adore it.” They didn’t, but we did.

Supermarkets waged price wars on wine, and the Tesco Clubcard began tracking our deepest, darkest Chablis cravings.

1990s–2000s: New World Order and Bridget Jones’s Chardonnay

Suddenly, wine came with grape names. Sauvignon Blanc. Chardonnay. Shiraz. Brits fell in love with big, fruity flavours and labels they could actually pronounce.

Jacob’s Creek and co. brought consistency. If you liked it in 1996, you’d love it in 1997. It was a wine comfort blanket — which probably explains the rise of the “Chardonnay Girl” (cheers, Bridget).

By the 2000s, Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand ruled the starter course. If you didn’t have a bottle in the fridge by December 1st, were you even middle class?

2010s: Prosecco-palooza and Market Mulled Mayhem

Prosecco conquered the nation like Caesar in a Christmas jumper. By 2014, it had overtaken Champagne in sales, ushering in the age of the “everyday luxury.”

Meanwhile, Christmas markets became ground zero for seasonal sipping. Mulled wine went mass market, served by the gallon in novelty mugs while shoppers paid £9.50 for a sausage.

2020s: Local, Low, and a Little Bit Cloudy

Welcome to the eco-conscious, low-alcohol, Instagram-friendly wine era. English Sparkling Wine is the new crown jewel, with Kent and Sussex giving Champagne a run for its bubbles.

Natural wines — cloudy, funky, and occasionally smelling like a barnyard rave — are in vogue with the wine hipsters. If it’s unfiltered, fermented in clay, and looks like pond water, it’s probably being served with your nut roast.

And the non-drinkers? They’re no longer stuck with orange juice. The “No & Low” trend means booze-free wines and botanical alternatives now sit proudly next to their alcoholic cousins — proving that you can still be festive without forgetting your nan’s name by pudding.

Final Sip

From the imperial fortifieds of yesteryear to today’s homegrown fizz and zero-alc spritzes, the British Christmas wine story is one of constant reinvention.

So whatever you’re pouring this year — whether it’s vintage Port, supermarket Prosecco, or a trendy Pet-Nat that smells a bit like cider — raise a glass to 100 years of festive evolution.

And remember: you are now part of the tradition.