England.
Love of the English for Beer—A National Drink—Private Brewing—A French View of English Society—Sir John Barleycorn—The “Black Jack” and “Leather Bottel”—“Toby Philpot”—Burton-on-Trent—Bottled Beer—Brewers—The Village Ale-house—Various Beers.
“Back and syde goo bare, goo bare,
Both hande and foote goo colde;
But, Bellie, God send the good ale inowghe
Whether hyt be newe or old.”
“Brynge us home good ale, syr, brynge us home good ale,
And for our der lady’s love, brynge us som good ale.
Brynge us home no beff, syr, for that is full of bonys,
But brynge us home goode ale y-nough, for that my love alone ys;
Brynge us home no wetyn brede, for yᵗ be ful of branne,
Nothyr of no ry brede, for yᵗ is of yᵉ same;
Brynge us home no porke, syr, for yᵗ is verie fatt,
Nothyr no barly brede, for neythir love I that;
Brynge us home no muton, for that is tough and lene,
Neyther no trypys, for thei be seldyn clene;
Brynge us home no veel, syr, that do I not desyr,
But brynge us home good ale y-nough to drynke by yᵉ fyer;
Brynge us home no syder, nor no palde[111] wyne,
For, and yᵘ do, thow shalt have Criste’s curse and mine.”
The foregoing verses epitomise the praise of good beer. The first is from one of the earliest known drinking songs in the English language—the last is an old Wassail song—the Wassail bowl, which was of hot spiced ale, with roasted apples bobbing therein,—a kindly way of welcome on New Year’s Eve, of Saxon derivation as its name “Wes-hal,” be of health, or your health, testifies.
That the Anglo-Saxon took kindly to his beer, we have already seen; and that that feeling exists at the present day is undoubted, for what says the refrain of a comparatively modern drinking song?
“I loves a drop of good beer—I does—
I’se partickler fond of my beer—I is—
And ⸺ their eyes,
If ever they tries
To rob a poor man of his beer.”
Its popularity has never waned—and it has reached to such a height that the brewing trade seems to be instituted for the propagation of Peers of the realm—a fact which Dr. Johnson even could not have foreseen, although, at the sale of Thrale’s brewery, he did say that they had not met together to sell boilers and vats, but “the potentiality of growing rich beyond the dream of avarice.”
It was the national drink—for tea and coffee were not introduced into England until the middle of the seventeenth century—and it is only of very modern times that the “free breakfast table” fad of statesmanship has made those beverages so popular, by bringing them within the means of the very poorest. Beer was, perforce, drank morning, noon and night by those, and they were the vast majority, who could not afford wine—and, as a rule, after the Norman Conquest, when the Anglo-Saxons copied the soberer customs of their conquerors, the English were not drunkards as a nation; in fact, although almost all their jests hinge on drinking, there is in most of them an underlying moral, which in print are as telling as in this illustration, which, in deference to nasty Mrs. Grundy, has been slightly toned down. Here is very cleverly satirised for reprobation the phases of men under the influence of drink. How it transforms them into beasts, some like lions, others like asses and calves, sensual as hogs, greedy as goats, stupid as gulls.
Every man brewed his own beer up to the seventeenth century, when we find Pepys speaking of Cobb’s strong ales at Margate; and in the reign of Queen Elizabeth the public brewing had begun at Burton, for an inquiry was made by Walsingham to Sir Ralph Sadler, the governor of Tutbury Castle, as to “What place neere Tutbury, beere may be provided for her Majesty’s use?” and the answer was that it might be obtained at Burton, three miles off. Good Queen Bess would, indeed, have fared badly without her beer, for her breakfast beverages were always beer and wine.
Yet every one was fairly sober. They were weaned on alcoholic liquors, and, consequently, enjoyed them as foods, as they undoubtedly are, if properly used. It is very well to “see our sen as others see us,” but it is almost impossible to agree with Estienne Perlin, who published his Description des Royaulmes d’Angleterre et d’Escosse, at Paris in 1558, in which he says that the English “sont fort grands yvrongnes.” His description is, we feel, as untrustworthy as his English. “Car si un Anglois vous veult traicter, vous dira en son langage, vis dring a quarta rim vim gasquim, vim hespaignol, vim malvoysi, c’est a dire veulx tu venir boire une quarte de vin du gascoigne, une autre d’espaigne, & une autre de malvoisie, en beuvant & en mengeant vous diront plus de cent fois drind iou, c’est a dire je m’en vois boyre a toy, & vous leur responderes en leur langage iplaigiu, qui est a dire, je vous plege. Si vous les remarcies vous leurs dires en leurs langages, god tanque artelay, c’est a dire, je vous remercie de bon cœur. Eulx estans yvres, vous jureront le sang et le mort que vous beures tout ce que vous tenes dedans vostre tace, & vous diront ainsi, bigod sol drind iou agoud oin.” It is much to be feared that the worthy Frenchman, if his description is to be at all relied on, mixed with rather a fast lot.
Ale was looked upon as a kindly creature, and our ancestors of the seventeenth century had several ballads in praise of the “little Barleycorn” and the indictment, as well as the “Bloody Murther,” of Sir John Barleycorn. From this latter the peasant poet, Burns, plagiarised right royally. There was also a very curious Chap book published in the early part of the eighteenth century, entitled,
“The whole Trial and Indictment of Sir JOHN BARLEY-CORN—Kⁿᵗ.
A Person of Noble Birth and Extraction, and well known by Rich and Poor throughout the Kingdom of Great Britain: Being accused of several Misdemeanours, by him committed against His Majesty’s Liege People; by killing some, wounding others, and bringing Thousands to Beggary, and ruins many a poor Family.
Here you have the Substance of the Evidence given in against him on his Trial, with the Names of the Judges, Jury, and Witnesses. Also the Comical Defence Sir John makes for himself, and the Character given him by some of his Neighbours, namely, Hewson the Cobbler, an honest friend of Sir John’s, who is entomb’d as a Memorandum, at the Two Brewers in East Smithfield.
Taken in Short Hand by Thomas Tosspott, Foreman of the Jury.”
One of the witnesses, hight Mistress Full-Pot, the hostess, called in his defence, thus winds up her evidence,—
“Nay, I beseech you, give me leave to speak to you; if you put him to Death, all England is undone, for there is not such another in the Land that can do as he can do, and hath done; for he can make a Cripple to go, he can make a Coward to fight with a valiant Soldier, nay, he can make a good Soldier feel neither Hunger or Cold. Besides, for Valour in himself, there are few that can encounter with him, for he can pull down the strongest Man in the World, and lay him fast asleep.”
Of course, the jury found a verdict of Not Guilty.
Beer has a large literature of its own, principally metrical, but this has pretty well been collected in two books—The Curiosities of Ale and Beer, by John Bickerdyke; and In Praise of Ale, by W. T. Marchant—either of which would be a valuable addition to any one’s library. Yet in neither of them is met with Ned Ward’s “Dialogue between Claret and Darby Ale,” published 1691, in which each of the drinks speak for themselves; and, of course, the arguments of ale are all potent over his antagonist. Space will only allow of a very short extract.
“Darby.—I’m glad to know you, High and Mighty Sir;
Think you your pompous empty Name could stir
My Choler? No, your Title makes me fear
As much as if you’d been Six Shilling Beer.
Claret.—Thou Son of Earth, thou dull insipid thing,
To level me, who am of Liquors King,
With lean Small Beer, but that thou art not worth
My Anger, else I’de frown thee into Earth.
Darby.—I neither fear your Frown, nor court your Smile;
But, if I’m not mistaken all this while,
By other names than Claret you are known—
Claret.—You do not hear me, Sir, the Fact disown,
Some call me Barcelona, some Navar,
Some Syracuse, but at the Vintner’s Bar
My name’s Red Port. But call me what they will,
Claret I am, and will be Claret still,” etc., etc.
Not content with praising the liquor ale, our ancestors fell to eulogising the vessels used for its consumption, and the “Black Jack” and “Leather Bottel” both came in for their meed of praise. Sketches of a fine example of each are here given, taken from the national collection in the British Museum.
The Black Jack is a jug or pitcher, made of leather, which was sometimes ornamented with a silver rim and a silver plate with the owner’s name or coat of arms engraved thereon. Here is a short lyric, “In praise of the Black Jack.”[112]
“Be your liquor small, or as thick as mudd,
The cheating bottle cryes, good, good, good,
Whereat the master begins to storme,
Cause he said more than he could performe.
And I wish that his heires may never want Sack,
That first devis’d the bonny black Jack.
No Tankerd, Flaggon, Bottle nor Jugg
Are half so good, or so well can hold Tugg,
For when they are broke, or full of cracks,
Then they must fly to the brave black Jacks.
And I wish, etc.
When the Bottle and Jack stands together, O fie on’t,
The Bottle looks just like a dwarfe to a Gyant;
Then had we not reason Jacks to chuse
For this’l make Boots, when the Bottle mends shoes.
And I wish, etc.
And as for the bottle you never can fill it
Without a Tunnell, but you must spill it,
’Tis as hard to get in, as it is to get out,
’Tis not so with a Jack, for it runs like a Spout
And I wish, etc.
And when we have drank out all our store,
The Jack goes for Barme to brew us some more;
And when our Stomacks with hunger have bled,
Then it marches for more to make us some bread.
And I wish, etc.
I now will cease to speak of the Jack,
But hope his assistance I never shall lack,
And I hope that now every honest man,
Instead of Jack will y’clip him John.
And I wish, etc.”
But the composer of “A Song in praise of the Leather Bottel” could rise to the magnitude of his subject in a far superior manner than the preceding poet, the refrain of his song being of a higher type.
“And I wish in Heaven his Soul may dwell,
That first devised the Leather Bottel.”
The uses of the Bottel were so manifest, and its material so superior to any other, that it occupied a higher position. It was better than wood, for it would not run, and was unbreakable. When a man and his wife fell out, as will occasionally happen even in the best matrimonial existence, the bottel could be thrown at each other, without great injury either to human, or the bottel. It held no temptation to steal, as if it were of silver; nor could it be broken, as if it were of glass—because, as the song justly says,—
“Then what do you say to these Glasses fine?
Yes, they shall have no Praise of mine;
For when a Company there are sat,
For to be merry, as we are met;
Then, if you chance to touch the Brim,
Down falls your Liquor, and all therein;
If your Table Cloath be never so fine,
There lies your Beer, your Ale or Wine;
It may be for a small Abuse,
A young Man may his Service lose;
But had it been in a Leather Bottel,
And the Stopple in, then all had been well.”
The rhymester recapitulates the gratitude of all classes for this extremely handy and unbreakable convenience, and winds up thus, somewhat sadly—
“Then when the Bottel doth grow old,
And will good Liquor no longer hold,
Out of its side you may take a Clout,
Will mend your Shooes when they’r worn out;
Else take it, and hang it upon a Pin,
It will serve to put many Trifles in,
As Hinges, Awls, and Candle-ends,
For young Beginners must have such things.
Then I wish, etc.”
The next most popular English drinking vessel was the greybeard, or as it was sometimes, but seldom, called the Bellarmine, from the Cardinal of that name so famous for his controversial works. These jugs were imported largely from the Low Countries, where the Cardinal’s name was a reproach. These greybeards are of very common occurrence, being frequently found in excavating on the sites of old houses.
Two centuries after the greybeard, came the brown Staffordshire Toby Philpot, an enormously stout old gentleman, whose arms and hands encircle his enormous paunch, and his three-cornered hat forms a most convenient lip, whence the ale can be poured. It owes its origin to a once very popular drinking song, entitled “The Brown Jug,” which is an imitation from the Latin of Hieronymus Amaltheus, by Francis Fawkes, M.A., published in 1761, which is the date of the accompanying illustration.
“Dear Tom, this brown jug, which now foams with mild ale,
Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the Vale,
Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e’er cracked a bottle, or fathom’d a bowl;
In bousing about, ’twas his pride to excel,
And amongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.
It chanced as in dog-days he sat at his ease,
In his flower-woven arbour, as gay as you please,
With his friend and a pipe, puffing sorrow away,
And with honest Old Stingo sat soaking his clay,
His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut,
And he died full big as a Dorchester Butt.
His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had dissolved it again,
A potter found out, in its covert so snug,
And with part of Fat Toby he form’d this brown jug;
Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale—
So here’s to my lovely sweet Nan of the Vale.”
Burton-on-Trent may be termed the Metropolis of English Beer, and there, veritably, “Beer is King.” This pre-eminence is attributed to the quality of the water, which seems peculiarly fitted for brewing purposes, and the fact that the large brewers there located use none but the finest malt and hops procurable. There is an old saying, that wherever an Englishman has trodden, and where has he not? there may be found an empty beer bottle. And, truly, he does carry the taste for his natural beverage wherever he goes, and the export trade is enormous, every ship wanting freight, filling up with bottled beer, as a safe thing. Fuller, in his Worthies of England (ed. 1662, p. 115), gives his account of the origin of bottled beer. Speaking of Alexander Nowell, who was made Dean of St. Paul’s as soon as Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, he mentions his fondness for fishing, and says, “Without offence it may be remembred, that leaving a Bottle of Ale (when fishing) in the Grasse; he found it some dayes after, no Bottle, but a Gun, such the sound at the opening therof. And this is believed (Casualty is Mother of more Inventions than Industry) the original of bottled-ale in England.”
The London brewer had to be content, before Sir Hugh Myddleton brought the New River to the Metropolis, with the water obtained from the Thames, for Artesian wells were not, and other well water must, from the crowded state of the City, have been highly charged with organic matter. But their trade was so important that they were incorporated into a Gild, and the Brewers’ Company is now in existence, having their Hall in Addle Street, Wood Street. The City still maintains the importance of beer as a beverage by keeping an Ale Conner, whose duty is to taste ales, and see that the price charged is not excessive. Their oath of office may be found in the Liber Albus, published at the instance of the Government.
VILLAGE INN.
VILLAGE INN.
The names of our great English brewers are too well known among the English people to need recapitulation—and space is too scarce to describe their premises. The London draymen have always been noted as a race of tall stalwart men, and brewers generally have taken a pride in getting the largest and strongest horses for their work. These two draymen are of the time of George I., and the weight they are carrying contrasts favourably with the satire of a huge dray horse dragging a four and a half gallon cask. On one notable occasion brewers’ draymen have gone beyond their last. When General Haynau visited Barclay’s Brewery, they rose in indignation against him and chased him from the place, because it was alleged that the General had caused a lady to be flogged!
The Village Ale-house is, or was, the village club, and certainly is a welcome place of rest for the wayfarer. They are always clean, and frequently quaint, although now-a-days it would be hard to find, as Rowlandson did, a turnspit dog on duty.
The names of ales are legion; but some are worthy of a passing notice on account of their strength, such as some of the College Ales, those brewed at the birth of an heir—to be drank at his coming of age, Ten Guinea Ale, etc., and there are any quantity of pseudo beers—i.e. those not made from malt and hops, China Ale, Radish Ale, ale made from beet or mangel wurzel, and heather beer, which latter is of so great antiquity that its method of manufacture is said to have been lost with the extirpation of the Picts, although some say it was brewed by the Danes. It is probable that the flowers and tops of the heath were used as a substitute for hops, as, previous to the introduction of the latter plant, broom, wormwood and other bitter herbs were used.
J. A.
After Rowlandson.
France: Cerevisia; Double Bière; Adulteration. Germany: Mum; Beer Factories; Faust. India: Pachwai, Piworree. Japan: Saki; Kæmpfer. Russia: Kvas; Vodki; Pivo. Sweden: Spruce. Tartary: Baksoum.