Britain exported such a vast amount of gin last year that it was enough to rustle up a refreshing 1.6bn gin and tonics, making the UK the world’s greatest gin exporter once more. Mother’s ruin is now big business and in the past two years alone, 56 new distilleries have sprung up. With every passing month, gin-drinking seems to gather momentum – more and more beautiful bottles arrive on the supermarket shelves to tempt us. Now there is a government drive to further boost exports of the drink. Already popular across countries including Brazil, Spain, India and China, this would have been unthinkable a decade or two ago.

Gin's return a real tonic for UK bars, distillers and plant growers Read more

From the 1960s until relatively recently, gin-makers were forced to batten down the hatches in the face of dwindling interest. Distillers rarely dared to experiment, many brands lowered alcohol levels to cut costs and ailing family-owned businesses were bought by conglomerates. The arrival of vodka and New World wines in the 1960s, coupled with gin’s unfashionable establishment and colonial connotations, had left it high and dry.

Since its genesis over 300 years ago on the back streets of London, gin has struggled with its reputation. To begin with, it was a different kind of image problem: in Georgian society gin was considered rackety and sordid, not fusty and old-fashioned as it was in the swinging 60s.

It all started back in 1688 with William of Orange. When the Dutchman arrived he may have instigated a glorious revolution in government, but he created an inglorious revolution in drinking. He declared a free-for-all on distilling – for professionals and amateurs alike. This was taken up with alarming gusto, resulting in Britain’s first binge-drinking crisis.

Poor Londoners sought to imitate the Dutch spirit Genever, an imported, fashionable drink among the elite, and ended up creating their own bastardised version – gin. It became readily available, any time of the day or night, from street hawkers, shops, taverns, market stalls – or from your own hearth if you had basic distillation equipment. Immortalised by Hogarth in his 1751 etching Gin Lane, his evocative depiction of gin-fuelled degradation and squalor would prove almost unshakable.

Once the gin craze was finally wrestled under control in the 1750s, gin began to improve in quality and standing as professional distilleries opened in London and other harbour cities. The next PR setback would be the Regency gin palaces, where Britain’s poorest could hock back neat gin for less than it cost to drink beer. These new drinking spots fascinated a young Charles Dickens, who went to investigate their attraction. He explained to his educated readers how these elaborate, glass-fronted, gas-lit buildings were “perfectly dazzling when contrasted with the darkness and dirt” of the street, thereby luring in many locals. Eventually – like the Georgian gin shops before them – gin palaces were legislated out of existence.

As the British empire expanded, quinine became invaluable as an anti-malarial. Unfortunately it was extremely bitter and the daily dose of unpalatable powder was dreaded. To turn this chore into a treat, expats began to stir it in with sugar, water and gin, resulting in a proto-G&T. This was soon accompanied by other “medicinal” drinks such as the gimlet, to avoid scurvy on ship, and pink gin, which was said to help seasickness. These colonials brought their concoctions back to the UK and popularised them. By 1849 gin was respectable enough to be included in the Fortnum and Mason catalogue for the first time.

When William of Orange arrived he created an inglorious revolution in drinking

Thanks to the development of cocktails and long drinks, the spirit’s reputation improved again. Victorian favourites included combinations such as the summer gin punch at the Garrick club, which Dickens loved, consisting of lemon peel and juice, maraschino, gin and soda water, or the gin flip – a mix of egg white, sugar, nutmeg, warm beer and gin, made to froth up by twizzling a hot iron through it.

In the interwar period, gin would reach the height of sophistication when it was sloshed about with flair by debutantes and bright young things. Stuffy Edwardian dinner parties were replaced by the informal cocktail party and bartenders became revered for their skill. This resulted in The Savoy Cocktail Book, which shared recipes from the hotel’s American bar with an eager public in 1930 – and has never been out of print since. Gin brands benefited hugely from aristocratic endorsements; in particular the young Queen Mother, who would make the Windsors a family of gin drinkers.

Gin has existed for centuries of British history and seems to retain a little something from all of them. It has not entirely shaken off its earliest, seedy connotations – but then that’s part of its charm.