John Bickerdyke

“ Not only has the practice of domestic brewing much declined, but from the same causes there has been of late years an extraordinary and lamentable decrease in the numbers of small country brewers.
Although the name of home-brew carries with it many old associations and sentiments which we abandon with regret—memories of bright March beer and mellow old October, of snug ingle-nooks and raftered ceilings, and of kind, if homely, welcome—we cannot but admit, as on a hot day we drain our tankard of Burton bitter, or of world-famed London stout, that life has still its compensations. ”

“ Those who are about to perform the last offices for the dying year are here assembled, and a great brown bowl of foaming ale passes from hand to hand. The old church clock, not bating one jot of his accustomed space from stroke to stroke, for all the impatience of listeners in many a house and cottage near, but deliberately, and with a solemnity befitting the occasion, tolls out the hour of midnight. ”

“ This we may see from a verse of the old ballad, Nottingham Ale:―
Ye doctors, who more execution have done With bolus and potion, and powder and pill, Than hangman with halter, and soldier with gun, Or miser with famine, or lawyer with quill, To dispatch us the quicker, you forbid us malt liquor, Till our bodies grow thin, and our faces look pale; Observe them who pleases, what cures all diseases, Is a comforting dose of good Nottingham Ale. ”

“ And when ’tis night, and we have done, our master is more free, And stores us well with good strong beer, and pipes and tobaccee So we do sit and drink, we smoke, and sing and roar, Till we become more merry far than e’er we were before, When all our work is done, and all our sheep are shorn, Then home to our Captain, to drink the Ale that’s strong. ”

“ Signboards at the present day may be said to inspire their historian with something of a melancholy feeling. A history of them is a history of a bygone art, which has long passed its zenith, which has served its purpose, and which is destined to decay more and more before the advance of modern education. Truly the glory of signboards is departed! Though one sees here and there a barber’s pole, a golden fleece, and a few other signs of divers trades, innkeepers and alehouse-keepers are the only persons who as a class keep to their old distinctive marks. ”

“ The hopfield and the nutwood are often scenes of much jolly old English humour and enjoyment. In Kent and Sussex the whole country is odorous with the aroma of hop, as it is breathed from the drying kilns and huge wagons filled with towering loads of hops, thronging the road to London. But not only is the atmosphere perfumed with hops, but the very atmosphere of the drawing-room and dining-room too. ”

“ We have heard brewers, who thought themselves no fools, assert that the hops alone give the ale its flavour; and that the difference between pale and high dried malt is only in colour. They might as well have argued that the lemon gives all the flavour to punch! We, Christopher North, aver, that upon the degree of dryness which has been given to the malt, the distinguishing flavour of malt liquor mainly depends. The bitter principle of the hop is only the ground or substratum upon which the skilful brewer builds his peculiar flavour of beer. ”

“ There’s never a tradesman in England, that can my ale deny, The weaver, taylor and glover delights it for to buy, Small money they do take away, if that they drink with me, For my ale was tunn’d when I was young, and a little above my knee. ”

“ Which brings us good cheer; Mince pies and plum-pudding— Strong Ale and strong Beer; But as for curmudgeons Who will not be free, I wish they may die On a two-legged tree.
And so the cycle of the waning year is nearly completed. Midst sounds of revelry and mirth the old year is dying, and dying hard, and New Year’s Eve comes round again. The principal customs of New Year’s Eve have been already described, being inextricably blended with those appropriate to New Year’s Day. ”

“ Labour and art upheld by thee, Successfully advance, We quaff thy balmy juice with glee; And water leave to France.
Genius of Health! thy grateful taste Rivals the cup of Jove, And warms each English generous breast With liberty and love.
Look now at the noisome slum where the demon Gin reigns tri­um­phant. Squalor, poverty, hun­ger, wretch­ed­ness and sin are depicted on all sides. Here flourish the pawn­broker and the keeper of the gin-palace—but the picture is too speaking a one to need comment.
GIN.
Gin! ”

“ Of true British growth is the Nectar we boast, The homely companion of plain boiled and roast, most truly wrote an Oxford poet, whose name has not been handed down to posterity.
Almost every inhabitant of this country has tasted beer of some kind or another, but on the subject of brewing the great majority have ideas both vague and curious. About one person out of ten imagines that pale ale consists solely of hops and water; indeed, more credit is given by most persons to the hop than to the malt. ”

“ He that will not merry, merry be With a company of jolly boys, May he be plagued with a scolding wife To confound him with her noise. Let him, &c.
He that will not merry, merry be, With his sweetheart by his side, Let him be laid in the cold church-yard With a head-stone for his bride. Let him, &c.
Cobblers have already been mentioned as devotees of strong malt drinks, and many a cozier’s catch celebrates this propensity. Here is one:―
Come, sit we here by the fire-side, And roundly drink we here, Till that we see our cheeks ale-dyed, And noses tanned with beer. ”

“ There is old Scotch or old Burton for the lover of strong beer, porter for the labouring classes, stout for the weakly, and last, but far from least, that splendid liquid, pale ale, which, when bottled, vies with champagne in its excellence and delicacy of flavour, and beats it altogether out of the field when we take into consideration its sustaining and restorative powers. ”

“ In the history of the old London taverns may be seen the habits, the customs, and the amusements of by-gone generations of Londoners. Innumerable pictures of society, and modes of life and thought, might be gathered from among the records of these houses of entertainment. For centuries before these days of telegraphs and newspapers, it was to the tavern that men resorted to hear the latest news, to exchange ideas and to refresh their minds, as well as bodies, after the labours of the day. It was here the traveller told his tale of marvels, of “contrees and the yles that ben beyond Cathay” ”

“ He who drinks small beer, goes to bed sober, Falls as the leaves do fall, that fall in October; He who drinks strong ale, goes to bed mellow, Lives as he ought to live, and dies a jolly fellow. Such was the love of strong ale in the sixteenth century that a term was actually invented to describe madness produced by excessive ale-drinking. ”

“ It is the most dead, uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set it a-running for twelve days for everyone that calls for it. ”

“ But if the pickers are light-hearted and merry on the way to the fields, with empty pockets, what are they on their return, after work is over and wages paid? Everything is then the height of merriment, and of such an uproarious kind as the people of the East End delight in. Young men and girls, invigorated by their sojourn in the bracing country air, alike garland themselves with hops, and decorate themselves with gay ribbons. ”

“ Ne’er tell me of liquors from Spain or from France, They may get in your heels and inspire you to dance, But the Ale of Old Burton if mellow and right Will get in your head and inspire you to fight.
Your Claret and Rhenish and fine Calcavella Were never yet able to make a good fellow, But of stout Burton Ale, if you drink but enough, ’Twill make you all jolly and hearty and tough. ”

“ Sack, makes men from words Fall to drawing of swords, And quarrelling endeth their quaffing; Whilst dagger ale Barrels Beare off many quarrels And often turn chiding to laughing.
Sack’s drink for our masters, All may be Ale-tasters, Good things the more common the better, Sack’s but single broth, Ale’s meat, drinke, and cloathe, Say they that know never a letter. ”

“ Bold Bacchus they tell us, the prince of good fellows, Was his natural son, but attend to my tale, For they that thus chatter mistake quite the matter, He sprang from a barrel of Nottingham Ale, Nottingham Ale, boys; Nottingham Ale; no liquor on earth is like Nottingham Ale. ”

“ To give evidence on behalf of Sir John Barleycorn gives me pleasure, since I have an opportunity of doing justice to so honourable a person. Through him the administration receives large supplies; he likewise greatly supports the labourer, and enlivens his conversation. What pleasure could there be at a sheep-clipping without his company, or what joy at a feast without his assistance? I know him to be an honest man, and he never abused any man if they abused not him. If you put him to death all England is undone, for there is not another in the land can do as he can do, and hath done ”

“ Here is nothing drunk but ale, and every gentleman hath his separate Mug, which he chalks on the table where he sits as it is brought in; and everyone retires when he pleases as from a Coffee House. The Room is always so diverted with songs, and drinking from one table to another to one another’s healths, that there is no room for Politicks, or anything that can sow’r conversation. ”

“ Drink boyes drinke And never thinke Of crustie old tyme, his scythe and his glasse, He cannot, nor dare not, this waye passe.
Drinke and be wise Till red Phœbus arise And banish colde care from the good waning year: The Old year he shall dye, mid plenty of cheere.
My boyes, come passe Your empty glasse, And fill them with Ale, as the world is of strife And toaste to the widow, the maide and the wife.
Come drink success You cannot do less, To the new coming yere, may it be loaded with funne And ne’er bring us worse than the old one has done. ”

“ In come the jolly mowers, To mow the meadows down; With budget and with bottle Of ale both stout and brown. All labouring men of courage bold Come here their strength to try; They sweat and blow, and cut and mow, For the grass cuts very dry. ”

“ Old ballad makers have certainly sung in its praise, but it is a subject which few prose writers have touched upon, except in the most superficial manner. Modern song writers rarely take ale as their theme. The reason is not far to seek. The ale of other days—not the single beer rightly stigmatised as “whip-belly vengeance,” nor even the doble beer, but the doble-doble beer brewed against law, and beloved by the ale-knights of old—was of such mightiness that whoso drank of it, more often than not dashed off a verse or two in its praise. ”

“ But Ceres, rural Goddess, at the best Meanly supports her vot’ry, enough for her If ill-persuading hunger she repell, And keep the soul from fainting: to enlarge, To glad the heart, to sublimate the mind And wing the flagging spirits to the sky, Require the united influence and aid Of Bacchus, God of Hops, with Ceres joined, ’Tis he shall generate the buxom beer. ”

“ It is certain they will be broken. Every one knows that stealing is wrong; disgrace follows conviction. But every one knows that drinking a glass of beer is not wrong; no discredit attaches to it. It is done, and when done against the law you have the usual mischiefs of law-breaking, smuggling, informations, oaths, perjury, shuffling, and lies. Besides, as a matter of fact, it fails. Nothing can show this more strongly than the failure in Wales of the Sunday Closing Act.” Lord Bramwell in the end comes to the conclusion that drunkenness cannot be prevented by legislation. ”

“ Whilst Noble Native Ale and Beere’s hard fate Are like old Almanacks, quite out of date.
Thus men consume their credits and their wealths, And swallow Sicknesses in drinking healths, Untill the Fury of the spritefull Grape Mountes to the braine, and makes a man an Ape.
Another poet wrote in much the same strain:―
Thy wanton grapes we do detest: Here’s richer juice from Barley press’d. Oh let them come and taste this beer And water henceforth they’ll forswear. ”

“ He that begins the health first uncovering his head, he takes a full cup in his hand, and setting his countenance with a grave aspect, he craves for audience; silence being once obtained, he begins to breathe out the name, peradventure, of some honourable personage, whose health, is drunk to, and he that pledges must likewise off with his cap, kiss his fingers, and bow himself in sign of a reverent acceptance. ”

“ For in King Harry’s time, When I made this rime Of Elynor Rumming, With her good ale tunning, Our pots were full quarted, We were not thus thwarted With froth canne and neck pot And such nimble quick shot, That a dowzen will score For twelve pints and no more. ”

“ Among modern writers Christopher North has left perhaps the best description of what a modern private brewhouse should be. “We dare say,” he says, “that many personages who never in the whole course of their polished existences dreamed or thought of dreaming of brewing anything (except mischief) , will shrug their shoulders at the idea of being introduced like his Majesty George the Third, at Whitbread’s, into an odorous brewhouse, redolent of wash, wort, grains, hops, yeast, and carbonic acid gas; peeping into pumps—tumbling into vats. ”

“ Lord Bramwell, in a pamphlet called Drink, has written to very much the same effect. He also calls in question the right of society to interfere with individual liberty to the extent proposed by the teetotallers. Is it reasonable, he asks, that because some people drink to excess, alcoholic liquors are to be denied to millions to whom it is a daily pleasure and enjoyment with no attendant harm? If a man is drunk in public, punish him; but it does seem hard that the sober man should be punished—for withholding a pleasure and inflicting a pain are equally punishment. ”

“ The primroses are basking in the morning rays; the dewdrops are sparkling the last upon the leaves; the unseen violets are breathing forth sweets; the blackbird trills his mellow notes in the thicket; the wren twitters in the hedge; and the redbreast hops round the door. We enter. All is right. We try our heat. ‘Donald, a leetle more cold. That will do. {62} In with the malt. Every grain, you hound.’ ‘Ech! Donald’s no the man to pench the maut.’ ‘Now stir, for life;’ and the active stirrer turns over and over the fragrant grain in the smoking liquid. ”

“ Life was never worth a louse To the man who ne’er was mellow.
How it sparkles! here it goes! Ale can make a blockhead shine; Toper, torchlike may thy nose Light thy face up, just like mine.
See old Sol, I like his notion, With his whiskers all so red; Sipping, drinking from the ocean, Boozing till he goes to bed. ”

“ A laughable custom prevalent at Sussex harvest-homes, was the following: Each person at the table—perhaps twenty or thirty men—had to drink, without spilling, a glass of ale placed on the top of a tall hat; when he had finished, he must toss the glass up in the air and catch it in the hat as it fell. Sometimes a man would fail four or five times, and at length get too drunk even to try. Meantime the company kept up the refrain:―
I’ve been to London, I’ve been to Dover, I’ve been a rambling, boys, all the world over, Over, over, over and over, Drink up the liquor and turn the bowl over. ”