Remember, Remember: 1945 Bordeaux

BY NEAL MARTIN | MAY 08, 2020

Today is the 75th anniversary of V-E Day. Plans for mass celebrations have been cancelled as the world faces its biggest challenge since World War II, denying us the opportunity to publicly honor and thank the veterans who fought for our freedom. None of this diminishes the importance of the day. This article was written to coincide with V-E Day and the momentous year of 1945. It is more than a list of wines and scores. It endeavors to present an objective analysis of the vintage and its wines, explaining why it turned out more successful than others. Most importantly, it provides historical context, not only as a region under the control of the occupying German army, but also from the viewpoint of individual châteaux.

No Bordeaux vintage has more réclame than 1945; fate had already scripted that Bordeaux would celebrate the end of hostilities with a stellar vintage after a series of dreary wartime growing seasons that reflected the tumult of the time. And no wine is as emblematic of that momentous year as Château Mouton-Rothschild and the indefatigable spirit of proprietor Baron Philippe de Rothschild. Its justified acclaim virtually defines the reputation of the haloed vintage, to the point where it lies beyond criticism. While it is true that the growing season allowed many properties to produce outstanding wines that stood the test of time, there are two caveats.

Firstly, nearly all Bordeaux estates suffered acute lack of investment not only during the war but also in the preceding decade. The Great Depression eviscerated markets, and the miserable run of vintages during the 1930s compounded winemakers’ woes. At the time war was declared on the eve of the 1939 harvest, many estates’ modus operandi was little changed since the late 1870s. The lead-up to the war was a period of stagnant investment, when there was no concept of yield control, only rudimentary means of regulating fermentation temperatures, no idea of malolactic fermentation, and continued reliance on outside entities to mature and bottle the wine. Also bear in mind that the region had suffered widespread outbreaks of oïdium and phylloxera, the latter necessitating piecemeal replanting that lasted until the late 1930s.

War deprived châteaux of manpower and of skilled artisanship traditionally passed from father to son; consequently, much of the day-to-day work was valiantly continued by women and children. Even glass for bottles was difficult to procure, hence the blue or sometimes brown tints. During the occupation, château buildings were used to billet German troops, and out of spite or plain ennui, many an irreplaceable cellar was ransacked, save for those hastily bricked up and hidden. Fortunately, no château was totally destroyed. The Weinführers, Boemers and Segnitz, who administered the occupied regions of Bordeaux and Burgundy, respectively, knew full well that high command intended to celebrate victory with fine wine, and they were expected to safeguard the most prized vineyards and cellars. The historic estates, part the fabric of French culture, were merely Hitler’s bounty. In fact, Boemers had a long career as a wine merchant and before the war had built friendships with proprietors who now faced a quandary: whether to treat him as friend or foe. As one owner said, it depended on whether he was in uniform. Despite the high command’s willingness to safeguard the productivity of the region and the punishment of German soldiers unable to maintain discipline, Bordeaux still staggered out of the war in fairly ruinous condition. When Ronald Barton returned to Langoa Barton in summer 1945, he found the entire vineyard covered in weeds. Clive Coates MW calculated that of the 60 top Médoc estates, a quarter were only nominally in existence by the end of the 1940s and hung on to survival by a thread (I refer readers to my profile on Château d’Issan).

Secondly, it must be remembered that the postwar years were ones of economic hardship and austerity. Initially, despite the 1945s being born tannic and unapproachable, a great number of bottles were consumed too young simply because there was no other decent vintage available. However, in general, up until the late 1950s, continued rationing and economic malaise meant that demand was feeble and practically every Bordeaux château struggled to make a profit. According to May-Eliane de Lencquesaing, erstwhile proprietor of Pichon-Lalande, their 1945 was put on the market at the same price as inferior wartime vintages – 80,000 francs per cask for the aforementioned Pauillac. For many years, these now coveted wines were almost impossible to sell and languished in merchants’ warehouses.

The bottles lined up after a memorable evening.

The Growing Season

Allied forces liberated Bordeaux on August 28, 1944, so the 1945 vintage was the first since 1939 made without the presence of occupying German troops. Given how fêted the 1945 vintage has become, you might assume that the growing season was benevolent, a shoo-in for winemakers basking in newfound freedom. On the contrary, some of the greatest vintages were born out of troubled and challenging growing seasons, and 1945 is no different. The year commenced with heavy snow and temperatures plummeting to –10°C, followed by a prolonged dry spell until March and a blisteringly hot April that accelerated the vines’ growth cycle. On May 1, widespread frost decimated vineyards, the region as a whole suffering 60% vine damage from frost and localized hailstorms. June was warm and showery, then July saw a heat wave and temperature spikes to 36°C. August was slightly cooler and intermittent showers helped ripen remaining bunches to perfect maturity by the beginning of harvest on September 10. The result was a crop of just 1.48 million hectoliters – the smallest since 1915.

Winemakers tended to practice longer-than-usual skin maceration, hence the wines’ deep colors and richness. Predating stainless steel vats and temperature control, all these wines were fermented in large old wooden vats or cement, with blocks of ice dunked inside if the must needed cooling. One curious aspect often overlooked is that because of the shortage, or in some cases the absence, of treatments in the vineyard and sulfur in the winery, many 1945s were quasi-natural wines. Of course, this lack of protection led to spoilage and oxidation, but clearly the results in the bottle suggest that in many cases, a lack of SO2 did no harm at all. As was common at the time, depending on the château, a percentage of the production was bottled by merchants, though interestingly, Edmund Penning-Roswell averred that many were bottled too late.

The French merchant Lawton was convinced that a legendary vintage had been made from the start. “According to information that is coming to us,” he wrote, “an 1870, an 1881 or a 1906 is being made. They will be good to drink in 50 years.” The 1945s were deeply colored though hard and unyielding in their youth due to the tannins. In fact, Penning-Roswell described 1945 as a “controversial vintage” and speculated whether the wines had sufficient fruit to last long-term and whether they risked drying out. Had he been at the dinner in Hong Kong this evening, I have no doubt these bottles would have allayed those fears.