and there they burst his bones,
The miller swore to murther him,
betwixt a paire of stones.
Then they tooke him up againe
and serv’d him worse then that;
For with hot scalding liquor store,
they washt him in a Fat.
But not content with this, God-wot,
they did him mickle harme,
With threatening words they promisèd,
to beat him into barme.
And lying in this danger deep,
for feare that he should quarrell,
They tooke him straight out of the fat
and tunn’d him in a barrell.
And then they set a tap to him,
even thus his death begun,
They drew out every dram of blood,
whilst any drop would run. {300}
Some brought jacks, upon their backes,
some brought bill and bow,
And every man his weapon had
Barly-corne to overthrow.
When Sir John Good-ale heard of this,
he came with mickle might,
And there he tooke their tongues away,
their legs, or else their sight.
And thus Sir John in each respect,
so paid them all their hire,
That some lay sleeping by the way,
some tumbling in the mire.
Some lay groning by the wals,
some in the streets downe right,
The best of them did scarcely know
what they had done ore-night.
All you good wives that brew good Ale,
God turne from you all teene,
But if you put too much water in
the devill put out your eyne!
“Printed for John Wright and are to be sold at his Shop in Guilt Spurre
Street at the sign of the Bible.”
Another version commences:—
There were two brothers liv’d under yon hill,
As it might be you and I;
And one of them did solemnly swear
That Sir John Barley-corn should die.
Burns’ ballad commences:—
There went three Kings into the East,
Three Kings both great and high,
And they have sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die, {301}
and ends—
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand,
And may his great posterity
Ne’er fail in old Scotland.
Burns, no doubt, founded his ballad on the West Country _Sir John
Barleycorn_, which, according to Robert Bell, in his annotated edition
of ancient ballads, can set up a better claim to antiquity than any
copy in the _Roxburghe Collection_. It commences thus:—
There came three men out of the West
Their victory to try;
And they have taken solemn oath,
Poor Barleycorn should die.
This, by the way, reads like the origin of a teetotal movement.
Printed on the same sheet as the _Sir John Barley-corne_ of the
_Roxburghe Collection_ is another old ballad of probably the same
date, the author of which is unknown. It has no illustration, and is
entitled:—
A new Ballad for you to looke on,
How mault doth deale with everyone.
* * * * *
To the tune of _Triumph and Joy_.
* * * * *
Mas Mault he is a genleman,
And hath beene since the world began,
I never knew yet any man,
That could match with Master Mault, Sir,
I never knew any match Mault but once,
The Miller with his grinding stones,
He laid them so close that he crusht his bones;
You never knew the like, Sir.
Mault, Mault, thou art a flowre;
Thou art beloved in every bowre,
Thou canst not be missing one halfe howre;
You never saw the like, Sir.
For laying of his stones so close
Mault gave the Miller a copper nose,
Saying, Thou and I will never be foes,
But unto thee I sticke, Sir. {302}
Mault gave the miller such a blow,
That from his horse he fell full low;
He taught him his master Mault for to know;
You never saw the like, Sir,
Our hostesse maid she was to blame,
She stole Master Mault away from her dame,
And in her belly she hid the same,
You never saw the like, Sir.
So when the Mault did worke in her head,
Twice a day she would be sped,
At night she could not goe to bed,
Nor scarce stand on her feet, Sir.
Then came in the Master Smith,
And said that Mault he was a thief;
But Mault gave him such a dash in the teeth,
You never saw the like, Sir.
For when his iron was hot and red,
He had such an ach all in his head,
The Smith was faine to get him to bed,
For then he was very Sicke, Sir.
The carpender came a peece to square,
He bad Mault come out if he dare,
He would empty his belly and beat his sides bare,
That he knew not where to sit, Sir.
To fire he went, with an arme full of chips,
Mault hit him right betweene his lips,
And made him lame in both his hips;
You never saw the like, Sir.
The shooe-maker sitting upon his seat,
With Master Mault he began to fret,
He said he would the Knave so beat,
You never saw the like, Sir.
The writer, in a number of verses, then shows how “Mas Mault” deals
with the shoemaker, the weaver, the tailor, the tinker, and the sailor,
including the chapman, a person of interest to us as the retailer of
such ballads as these.
Then came the Chapman travelling by,
And said, ‘my Masters I will be w’ ye, {303}
Indeed, Master Mault, my mouth is dry,
I will gnaw you with my teeth, Sir.
The chapman he laid on apace,
Till store of blood came in his face,
But Mault brought him in such a case,
You never saw the like, Sir.
Several other persons are then dealt with, and the ballad ends with the
lines:—
Thus of my song I will make an end
And pray my hostesse to be my friend,
To give me some drink now my money is spend,
Then Mault and I am quite, Sir.
The tune to which this ballad is to be sung is probably the same as the
old air _Greene Sleeves_.
A song near akin to the foregoing, also showing the effects of barley
wine, is _The Little Barley Corn_. It is evidently of the time of
Charles I., from the allusions it contains to the King’s great Porter,
and to Banks, whose performing horse is mentioned.
THE LITTLE BARLEY-CORN.
* * * * *
Whose properties and vertues here
Shall plainly to the world appeare;
To make you merry all the yeere.
To the tune of _Stingo_.
[Illustration]
{304}
Come, and doe not musing stand,
if thou the truth discerne;
But take a full cup in thy hand
and thus begin to learne,
Not of the earth nor of the ayre,
at evening or at morne,—
But joviall boys your Christmas keep
_with the Little Barley-corn_.
It is the cunningst alchymist
that e’re was in the land;
’Twill change your mettle when it list,
in turning of a hand.
Your blushing gold to silver wan,
your silver into brasse,—
’Twill turn a taylor to a man,
_and a man into an asse_.
’Twill make a poore man rich to hang
a sign before his doore;
And those that doe the pitcher bang,
though rich, ’twill make them poor,
’Twill make the silliest poorest snake
the King’s great Porter scorne;
’Twill make the stoutest lubber weak,
_this little Barley-Corn_.
It hath more shifts than Lambe ere had,
or _Hocus-pocus_ too;
It will good fellowes shew more sport
then _Bankes_ his horse could doe;
’Twill play you faire above the boord,
unlesse you take good heed,
And fell you, though you were a Lord,
_and justify the deed_.
It lends more yeeres unto old age,
than ere was lent by nature;
It makes the poet’s fancy rage,
more than Castalian water. {305}
’Twill make a huntsman chase a fox,
and never winde his horne;
’Twill cheer a tinker in the stockes,
_this little barley-corn_.
It is the only Will o’ th’ Wisp
which leades men from the way;
’Twill make the tongue-ti’d lawyer lisp,
and nought but (hic up) say.
’Twill make the Steward droope and stoop,
his bils he then will scorne,
And at each post cast his reckoning up,
_this little barley-corn_.
’Twill make a man grow jealous soone,
whose pretty wife goes trim,
And raile at the deceiving moone
for making hornes at him:
’Twill make the maidens trimly dance,
and take it in no scorne,
And helpe them to a friend by chance,
_this little barley-corn_.
It is the neatest serving-man,
to entertaine a friend;
It will doe more than money can
all jarring suits to end:
There’s life in it, and it is here,
’tis here within this cup;
Then take your liquor, doe not spare,
_but cleare carouse it up_.
To this ballad there is a second part to much the same effect. We give
the illustration and a few verses. Both parts are in the _Roxburghe
Collection_.
The Second Part of the Little Barley-corne
That cheereth the heart both evening and morne.
_To the same tune._
{306}
[Illustration]
If sicknesse come, this physick take,
it from your heart will set it;
If feare incroach, take more of it,
your head will soone forget it;
Apollo, and the Muses nine,
doe take it in no scorne;
There’s no such stuffe to passe the time
_as the little Barley-corne_.
’Twill make a weeping widdow laugh
and soone incline to pleasure;
’Twill make an old man leave his staffe
and dance a youthful measure:
And though your clothes be nere so bad
all ragged rent and torne,
Against the cold you may be clad
_with the little Barley-corne_.
* * * * *
Thus the Barley-Corne hath power
even for to change our nature,
And make a shrew, within an houre,
prove a kind-hearted creature:
And therefore here, I say againe,
let no man tak’t in scorne,
That I the vertues doe proclaime
_of the little Barley-corne_.”
Printed at London for E. B.
The following song in praise of ale is taken from _London
Chanticleers_, a rude sketch of a play printed in 1659, but evidently
much older. The {307} reference to being “without hops” in the verse
vii. is noticeable. It will be remembered that the ale which our
forefathers drank was made without hops, which “pernicious weeds” were
only used in the “Dutchman’s strong beere.”
I.
Submit, Bunch of Grapes,
To the strong Barley ear;
The weak wine no longer
The laurel shall wear.
II.
Sack, and all drinks else,
Desist from the strife:
Ale’s the only Aqua Vitæ,
And liquor of life.
III.
Then come my boon fellows,
Let’s drink it around;
It keeps us from grave,
Though it lays us on ground.
IIII.
Ale’s a Physician,
No Mountebank Bragger:
Can cure the chill Ague,
Though it be with the Stagger.
V.
Ale’s a strong Wrestler,
Flings all it hath met;
And makes the ground slippery,
Though it be not wet.
VI.
Ale is both Ceres
And good Neptune too;
Ale’s froth was the sea,
From which Venus grew.
VII.
Ale is immortal:
And be there no stops
In bonny lad’s quaffing,
Can live without hops.
{308}
VIII.
Then come my boon fellows,
Let’s drink it around:
It keeps us from grave,
Though it lays us on ground.
The ballad entitled the _Merry Hoastess_ is probably of an earlier date
than 1664. It bears the initials T. R., and was, perhaps, composed by
Thomas Randal. The tune to which it was sung is a capital one, and is
to be found in Mr. William Chappell’s _Popular Music_. This ballad is
in the first volume of the _Roxburghe Collection_.
THE MERRY HOASTESS
or
A pretty new Ditty, compos’d by an Hoastess that lives in the City,
To wrong such an Hoastess it were a great Pitty,
By reason she caused this pretty new Ditty.
To the tune of _Buffcoat has no fellow_.
[Illustration]
{309}
Come all that loves good company,
and hearken to my ditty,
’Tis of a lovely Hoastess fine,
that lives in London City;
Which sells good ale, nappy and stale,
and alwayes thus sings she,
My ale was tunn’d, when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
Her ale is lively, strong and stout,
if you please but to taste;
It is well brew’d you need not fear,
but I pray you make no waste:
It is lovely brown, the best in town,
and alwayes thus sings she,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
The gayest lady with her fan,
doth love such nappy ale,
Both city maids and country girls
that carries the milking pail:
Will take a touch and not think much
to sing so merrily,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
Both lord and esquire hath a desire
unto it night and day,
For a quart or two be it old or new,
and for it they will pay,
With pipe in hand, they may her command
to sing most merrily,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
You’r welcome all brave gentlemen,
if you please to come in,
To take a cup I do intend,
and a health for to begin:
To all the merry joval blades,
that will sing for company,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee. {310}
Here’s a health to all brave Englishmen,
that loves this cup of ale;
Let every man fill up his can,
and see that none do fail;
’Tis very good to nourish the blood,
and make you sing with me,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
SECOND PART.
[Illustration]
The bonny Scot will lay a plot
to get a handsome tutch
Of this my ale, so good and stale,
so will the cunning Dutch:
They will take a part with all their heart,
to sing this tune with me,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
It will make the Irish cry A-hone!
if they but take their fill,
And put them all quite out of tune
let them use their chiefest skill. {311}
So strong and stout it will hold out
in any company,
For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
The Welchman on St. David’s day
will cry, Cots plutter a nail,
Hur will hur ferry quite away,
from off that nappy ale;
It makes hur foes with hur red nose,
hur seldom can agree,
But my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
The Spaniard stout will have a bout,
’cause he hath store of gold,
Till at the last, he is laid fast,
my ale doth him so hold:
His ponyard strong is laid along,
yet he is good company,
For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
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.
There is Smug the honest Blacksmith,
he seldom can pass be,
Because a spark lies in his throat
which makes him very dry:
But my old ale tells him his tale,
so finely we agree,
For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
The brewer, baker and butcher,
as well as all the rest, {312}
Both night and day will watch where they
may find ale of the best:
And the gentle craft will come full oft,
to drink a cup with me,
For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
So to conclude good fellows all,
I bid you all adieu,
If that you love a cup of ale,
take rather old than new,
For if you come where I do dwell,
and chance to drink with me,
My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
and a little above my knee.
The following poem in praise of Yorkshire Ale was written in the
seventeenth century. The author is given on the title page as “G. M.
Gent.” The little volume, somewhat rare nowadays, was printed at York
in 1697, by F. White, for Francis Hildyard, at the sign of the Bible in
Stone Gate.
THE PRAISE OF YORKSHIRE ALE
Wherein is enumerated several sorts of Drink, and a Description of
the Humors of most sorts of Drunkards. To Which is added, a Yorkshire
Dialogue, in its pure natural Dialect, as it is now commonly spoken in
the North parts of Yorkshire.
Bacchus having called a Parliament of late,
For to consult about some things of state,
Nearly concerning the honour of his Court
To the Sun, behind th’ Exchange, they did resort:
Where being met, and many things that time
Concerning the Adulterating Wine,
And other liquors; selling of Ale in Muggs,
Silver Tankards, Black-Pots, and little Jugs:
Stronge Beer in Rabits, and cheating penny cans,
Three pipes for two pence and such like Trepans:
Vintners’ small bottles, silver-mouthed black Jacks, {313}
* * * * *
And many other things were there debated,
And Bills passed upon the cases stated;
And all things ready for Adjournment, then
Stood up one of the Northern countrymen,
A boon good fellow, and lover of strong Ale,
Whose tongue well steep’d in Sack begun this Tale.
“My bully Rocks, I’ve been experienced long
In most of liquors, which are counted strong;
Of Claret, White-wine and Canary Sack,
Renish and Malago, I’ve had no lack,
Sider, Perry, Metheglin, and Sherbet,
Coffee and Mead, with Punch and Chocolet:
Rum and Tea, Azora wine, Mederry,
Vin-de-Paree, Brag, wine with Rosemary:
Stepony, Usquebath, besides all these,
Aqua Cœlestis Cinnamon, Heart’s ease;
Brave Rosa Solis, and other Liquors fine,
Rasberry Wine, Pur-royal, and Shampine,
Malmsey and Viper-wine, all these I pass;
Frontineack; with excellent Ipocras:
* * * * *
“Tent, Muskatine, Brandy and Alicant
Of all these liquors I’ve had no scant,
And several others; but none do I find,
Like humming Northern Ale to pleas my mind,
It’s pleasant to the taste, strong and mellow,
He that affects it not, is no boon fellow.
* * * * *
“It warms in winter, in summer opes the pores,
’Twill make a Sovereign Salve ’gainst cuts and sores;
It ripens wit, exhillerates the mind,
Makes friends of foes, and foes of friends full kind;
It’s physical for old men, warms their blood,
Its spirits makes the Coward’s courage good:
The tatter’d Beggar being warmed with Ale,
Nor rain, hail, frost, nor snow can him assail,
He’s a good man with him can then compare,
It makes a Prentise great as the Lord Mayor;
The Labouring man, that toiles all day full sore,
A pot of ale at night, doth him restore, {314}
And makes him all his toil and paines forget,
And for another day’s work, hee’s then fit.
* * * * *
“Oh the rare virtues of this Barly Broth;
To rich and poor it’s Meat Drink and Cloth.”
The Court here stopt him, and the Prince did say,
“Where can we find this Nectar, I thee pray,”
The boon good fellow answered, “I can tell,
North Allerton in Yorkshire doth excell
All England, nay all Europe for strong Ale,
If thither we adjourn we shall not fail
To taste such humming stuff, as, I dare say,
Your Highness never tasted to this day.”
Bacchus’ Court then adjourns to North Allerton, and imbibes the noble
ale kept at Madame Bradley’s, with this result:—
For arguments some were and learned discourses,
Som talk’d of greyhounds, som of running horses,
Som talk’d of hounds, and some of Cock o’ th game,
Som nought but hawks, and setting dogs did name,
Som talk’d of Battels, Sieges and great wars,
And what great Wounds and cutts they had and scars,
* * * * *
Some there were all for drinking healths about,
Others did rub the table with their Snout
* * * * *
Some broke the pipes, and round about them threw,
Some smoak’d tobacco till their nose was blew.
Some called for victuals others for a crust,
Some op’d their Buttons and were like to bust,
Som challeng’d all the people that were there
And some with strange invented oaths did sweer,
* * * * *
Some fill’d the room with noise yet could not speak,
One word of English, Latine, French and Greek
* * * * *
Some burnt their Hats, others the Windowes broke,
Some cry’d more liquor we are like to choke,
* * * * * {315}
Lame gouty men did dance about so sprightly,
A boy of fifteen scarce could skip so lightly,
Old crampy Capts. that scarce a sword could draw,
Swore now they’d keep the King of France in awe,
And new commissions get to raise more men,
For now they swore they were grown young again;
Off went their Perriwigs, Coats and Rapers,
Out went the candles, Noses for Tapers
Serv’d to give light, while they did daunce around,
Drinking full healthes with caps upon the ground:
* * * * *
This moved Bacchus presently to call
For a great jug which held about five quarts,
And filling to the Brim; come here my hearts
Said he, wee’l drink about this merry health,
To th’ honour of the Town, their state, their wealth,
* * * * *
And for the sake of this good nappy ale,
Of my great favour it shall never fail,
Bacchus and his party having once tasted the ale, drink all the casks
out—
then out they pull’d the Taps
And stuck the Spiddocks finely in their hats,
The Court then adjourns to Easingwold—
With Nanny Driffield there to drink a glass
For Bacchus having heard of her strong ale,
He swore by Jupiter, he would not fail
To have a merry bout if he did find
Her nappy ale to please his princely Mind;
Bacchus is so delighted with the ale that he grants her letters patent.
Bacchus Prince of good fellows; To all to whom
These our brave letters Pattents shall now come,
Whereas wee’ve been informed now of late,
That Nanny Driffield our great court and state
For many years last past has much advanced
By her strong humming ale. . . .
* * * * * {316}
This land-lady unto the noble state,
And honour of a countess we create;
And by our merry fuddling subjects, she
Countess of Stingo henceforth call’d shall be.
Some townsmen then come in, and a contest is arranged between the
ale-drinkers and the wine-drinkers, in which the latter are of course
worsted.
1
Colonus and Bacchus did meet
Each one to commend his own liquor;
The Juice of the Grape was sweet;
But Barly Oyle ran down the quicker;
Colonus did challenge the Gods,
To fight in defence of his Barley,
But Bacchus perceiving the odds,
Desir’d a friendly parley.
2
They drunk full Bumpers about,
And Bacchus an health did begin,
The Bacchanalians gave a great shout,
The Colonians then thronged fast in:
They drunk double Tankards around,
Till the Grape Boyes begun for to glore,
The Rusticks neer flinch’d their ground,
Till Bacchus fell down to the Floor.
3
Colonus did heartily laugh,
And about the God they did daunce,
Full pots about they did quaff:
Whilest Bacchus lay still in a Trance;
The grape boyes were beat out of play,
And at length poor Bacchus did rise;
To Colonus he yielded the day,
So the Rusticks obtainèd the Prize.
Bacchus, on coming to, adjourns his court to York, where they again
taste—
Both from North Allerton and Easingwold,
From Sutton, Thirke, likewise from Rascal Town,
. . . Ale also that’s called Knocker-down—
* * * * * {317}
They tasted all; And swore they were full glad,
Such Stingoe, Nappy, pure ale they had found,
Let’s loose no time said they but drink around.
The Yorkshire Ale, however, proves too strong for Bacchus and his
Court, and a final adjournment South is made, though—
Bacchus swore to come he would not fail
To glut himself with Yorkshire nappy ale.
It is so pleasant, mellow too and fine,
That Bacchus swore hee’d never more drink wine.
Those who wish to peruse the “Yorkshire Dialogue in its pure natural
Dialect” are referred to the British Museum.
In the _Roxburghe Collection_ are nineteen ballads by Lawrence Price,
a celebrated writer of the time of Charles I. He wrote chap-books,
riddles, and political squibs in rhyme. The following rollicking
drinking song is from his pen. Only one copy of it is known to be in
existence.
GOOD ALE FOR MY MONEY.
The Good-fellowes resolution of strong Ale,
That cures his nose from looking pale.
To the tune of _The Countrey Lasse_.
[Illustration]
{318}
Be merry my friends, and list a while
unto a merry jest,
It may from you produce a smile
when you hear it exprest,
Of a younge man lately married,
which was a boone good fellow,
This song in ’s head he alwaies carried,
when drinke had made him mellow,
I cannot go home, nor I will not go home
its long of the oyle of Barly;
Ile tarry all night for my delight,
and go home in the morning early.
No tapster stout, or Vintner fine
quoth he shall euer get
One groat out of this purse of mine
to pay his master’s debt:
Why should I deal with sharking Rookes,
that seeke poore gulls to cozen,
To giue twelue pence for a quart of wine,
of ale ’twill buy a dozen.
’Twill make me sing, I cannot, &c.
The old renowned Ipocrist
and Raspie doth excell,
But neuer any wine could yet
my honour please to swell,
The Rhenish wine or Muskadine,
sweet Malmsie is too fulsome
No giue me a cup of Barlie broth,
for that is very wholesome,
’Twill make me sing, I cannot, &c.
Hot waters ar to me as death,
and soone the head oreturneth,
And Nectar hath so strong a breath
Canary when it burneth,
It cures no paine but breaks the braine,
and raps out oaths and curses,
And makes men part with heauiy heart,
but light it makes their purses,
I cannot go home, &c. {319}
Some say Metheglin beares the name,
with Perry and sweet Sider,
’Twill bring the body out of frame,
and reach the belly wider
Which to preuent I am content
with ale that’s good and nappie,
And when thereof I haue enough
I thinke myself most happy.
I cannot go home, &c.
All sorts of men when they do meet
both trade and occupation,
With curtesie each other greet,
and kinde humiliation;
A good coale fire is their desire,
whereby to sit and parly
Theyle drink their ale and tell a tale,
and go home in the morning early.
I cannot go home, &c.
Your domineering swaggering blades,
and caualiers that flashes,
That throw the Jugs against the walls
and break in peeces glasses
When Bacchus round cannot be found
they will in merriment
Drinke ale and beere and cast of care
and sing with one consent
I cannot goe home, &c.
The title-page of the following poem tells its history:—
THE HIGH AND MIGHTIE COMMENDATION OF THE
VERTUE OF A POT OF GOOD ALE.
* * * * *
Full of wit without offence, of mirth without
obscenities, of pleasure without scurrelitie
and of good content without distaste
* * * * * {320}
Whereunto is added the valiant battell fought
betweene the Norfolk Cock and
the Wisbich Cock.
* * * * *
[Illustration
Written by Thomas Randall.
London:
Printed for F. Cowles; T. Bates; and J. Wright.
MDCXLII
]
THE HIGH AND MIGHTIE COMMENDATION OF THE VERTUE OF A POT OF GOOD ALE.
Not drunk nor sober, (but neighbour to both,)
I met with a friend in Alesberry vale;
He saw by my face, that I was in the case,
To speak no great harm of a Pot of Good Ale.
And as we did meet, and friendly did greet,
He put me in mind of the name of the Dale,
That for _Alesberries_ sake, some paines I would take,
And not burie the praise of a Pot of Good Ale.
The more to procure me, then did he adjure me,
(If the _ale_ I drank last, were nappie and stale,)
To doe it its right, and stir up my spright,
And fall to commend a Pot of Good Ale. {321}
Quoth I, to commend it, I dare not begin,
Lest therein my cunning might happen to faile,
For many there be that count it a sin,
But once to look towards a Pot of Good Ale.
Yet I care not a pin, for I see no such sin,
Nor any else that my courage may quaile,
For this I do find, being taken in kind,
Much vertue there is in a Pot of Good Ale.
When heavinesse the mind doth oppresse,
And sorrow and griefe the heart doth assaile,
No remedy quicker but take up your liquour,
And wash away care with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Priest and the Clark, whose sights are dark,
And the print of the letter doth seeme too small,
They will con every letter, and read service better,
If they glaze but their eyes with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Poet divine, that cannot reach wine,
Because that his money doth oftentimes faile,
Will hit on the veine, and reach the high straine,
If he be but inspired with a Pot of Good Ale.
All writers of Ballads, for such whose mishap
From Newgate up Holbourne to Tyburne doe saile,
Shall have sudden expression of all their confession,
If the Muse be but dew’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Prisoner that is enclos’d in the grate,
Will shake off remembrance of bondage and jaile,
Of hunger or cold, or fetters or fate,
If he pickle himself with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Salamander Blacksmith that lives by the fire,
While his Bellowes are puffing a blustring gale,
Will shake off his full Kan, and sweare each true Vulcan,
Will Hazzard his witts for a Pot of Good Ale. {322}
The woer that feareth his suit to begin,
And blushes, and simpers, and often looks pale,
Thogh he miss in his speech and his heart were at his breech,
If he liquors his tongue: with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Widdow, that buried her husband of late,
Will soon have forgotten to weep and to waile;
And think every day twaine, till she marry againe,
If she read the contents of a Pot of Good Ale.
The Plowman and Carter that toyles all the day,
And tires himself quite at the Plough-taile,
Will speak no lesse things, than of Queens and Kings,
If he do but make bold with a Pot of Good Ale.
And indeed it will make a man suddenly wise,
Ere while was scarce able to tell a right tale,
It will open his Jaw, he will tell you the Law,
And straight be a Bencher with a Pot of Good Ale.
I doe further alledge, it is fortitudes edge,
For a very Coward that shrinks like a Snaile,
Will sweare and will swagger, and out goes his Dagger,
If he be but well arm’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
The naked man taketh no care for a coat,
Nor on the cold weather will once turne his taile,
All the way as he goes, cut the wind with his nose,
If he be but well lin’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
The hungrie man seldome can mind his meat,
(Though his Stomach could brook a Ten Penny Nail,)
He quite forgets hunger, thinks of it no longer,
If his guts be but sows’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Reaper, the Mower, the Thresher, the Sower,
The one with his Sithe, and the other with his flaille,
Pull ’em out by the pole, on the perill of my sole,
They will hold up their caps at a Pot of Good Ale. {323}
The Beggar, whose portion is alwayes his Prayer,
Not having a tatter, to hang at his taille,
Is as rich in his rags, as a Churle with his bags,
If he be but entic’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
It puts his povertie out of his mind,
Forgetting his browne bread, his wallet, his maile,
He walks in the house like a six footed Lowse,
If he be but well drench’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
The Souldier, the Saylor, the true man, the Taylor,
The Lawyer that sels words by weight and by tale,
Take them all as they are, for the War or the Bar,
They all will approve of a Pot of Good Ale.
The Church and Religion to love it hath cause,
(Or else our Fore-fathers, their wisdomes did faile,)
For at every mile, close at the Church stile,
An house is ordain’d for a Pot of Good Ale.
And Physick will flavour _Ale_ (as it is bound)
And stand against Beere both tooth and naile,
They send up and downe, all over the towne,
To get for their Patients a Pot of Good Ale.
Your Ale-berries, Cawdles, and Possets each one,
And sullabubs made at the milking pale,
Although they be many, Beere comes not in any,
But all are compos’d with a Pot of Good Ale.
And in very deed, the Hop’s but a weed,
Brought o’re ’gainst law, and here set to sale;
He that first brought the Hop, had reward with a rope,
And found that his Beere was bitter than ale.
The antient tales that my Grannam hath told,
Of the mirth she had in Parlour and Hall,
How in Christmas time, they would dance, sing, and rime,
As if they were mad, with a Pot of Good Ale. {324}
Beere is a stranger, a Dutch Upstart come,
Whose credit with us, sometimes is but small;
But in the records of the Empire of Rome,
The old Catholic drink is a Pot of Good Ale.
To the praise of Gambinius, the old British King,
Who devised for his nation (by the Welshmen’s tale),
Seventeene hundred years before Christ did spring,
The happie invention of a Pot of Good Ale.
But he was a Pagan, and Ale then was rife,
But after Christ came, and bade us, _All haile,
Saint Tavie was neffer trink peere in her life,
Put awle Callywhiblin_, and excellent Ale.
All religions and nations, their humours and fashions
Rich or poore, knave or whoore, dwarfish or tall
Sheep or shrew, Ile avow, well I know will all bow,
If they be but wel steep’d, with a Pot of Good Ale.
O Ale, _ab alendo_, thou liquor of life,
I wish that my mouth were as big as a Whale,
But then ’twere to little, to reach thy least title,
That belongs to the Praise of a Pot of Good Ale.
Thus many a vertue to you I have showed,
And not any vice in all this long tale,
But after the Pot, there commeth a shot,
And that is the Blot of a Pot of Good Ale.
Well, said my friend, the blot I will beare,
You have done very well, it is time to strike saile,
We’ll have six Pots more, though we dye on the score,
To make all _this good_ of a Pot of Good Ale.
We may be pardoned for omitting “the valiant battell fought between the
Norfolk Cock and the Wisbich Cock.”
Returning again to the _Roxburghe Collection_. _A Health to all Good
Fellowes_ is a very quaint old drinking song, having beneath its title
a wood-cut no less quaint than the letterpress. It was printed about
the commencement of the seventeenth century, for Henry Gossen. The
author is unknown; possibly he was Martin Parker or Lawrence Price.
{325} No copy beyond that in the _Roxburghe Collection_ is known to be
in existence. The tune is a good one.
A HEALTH TO ALL GOOD-FELLOWES:
or,
The good Companions Arithmeticke.
To the tune of _To drive cold Winter away_.
[Illustration]
Be merry my hearts, and call for your quarts,
and let no liquor go lacking,
We have gold in store, we purpose to roar
until we set care a packing.
Then Hostis make haste, and let no time waste,
let every man have his due,
To save shooes and trouble, bring in the pots double
for he that made one, made two.[63]
* * * * *
Then while we are here, wee’le drinke Ale and Beer,
and freely our money wee’le spend,
Let no man take care for paying his share,
if need be Ile pay for my friend,
Then Hostesse make haste, and let no time waste;
you’re welcome all kind Gentlemen; {326}
Never feare to carowse, while there is beere in the house,
for he that made nine made ten.
* * * * *
Now I thinke it is fit, and most requisit,
to drinke a health to our wives,
The which being done, wee’le pay and be gone,
strong drinke all our wits now deprives:
Then Hostesse lets know, the summe that we owe,
twelve pence there is for certaine,
Then fill t’other pot, and here’s money for’t,
for he that made twelve made thirteen.”
The poet was probably at a loss for a word to rhyme with fourteen, or
the ballad would have been longer.
[63] The “he that made” is probably the brewer. The numbers increase
by ones in the last line of each verse, the last verse reaching
thirteen.
Another song of much the same character is _Monday’s Work_, the work
being no work at all, but a day spent at the alehouse. The only known
copy of this ballad is in the _Roxburghe Collection_. The author is
unknown.
MONDAYS WORK
or
The Two honest neighbours both birds of a feather
Who are at the Alehouse both merry together.
To the tune of _I owe my Hostesse Money_.
[Illustration]
{327}
Good morow neighbour Gamble
Come let you and I goe ramble,
Last night I was shot,
Through the braines with a pot
and now my stomach doth wamble;
Your Possets and your Caudles,
Are fit for babies in Cradles;
A piece of salt Hogge,
And a haire of the old Dogge
is good to cure our drunken Noddles.
Come hither mine host, come hither,
Here’s two birds of a feather,
Come hither my host
With a pot and a tost,
and let us be merry together.
I rose in the morning early,
To take this juice of barly,
But if my wife Jone,
Knew where I were gone,
shee’d call me to a Parley.
My bones I do not fauour,
But honestly doe labour:
But when I am out
I must make a mad bout
come here’s halfe a pot to thee neighbour.
Come hither, &c.
Gramarcy, neighbour Jinkin,
I see thou louest no shrinking,
And I for my part
From thee will not start,
come fill us a little more drinke in.
I’th weeke we aske but one day,
And that’s next after Sunday
Our custome wee’le hold
Although our Wiues scold
the Maultman comes a Monday.
Come hither, &c.
Come let us haue our Liquor about us
Mine host does not misdoubt us, {328}
Yet if we should call,
And pay none at all,
you were better be without us:
But we are no such fellowes,
Though some in clothes excell us
And yet haue no coyne
For Liquor to joyne
yet we haue both whites and yellowes.
Come hither, &c.
* * * * *
There is a second part to this song, which ends with the words:—
Now lest our wiues should find us
’Tis fit we should look behind us
Let’s see what is done
Then pay and begone,
as honesty hath assigned us.
’Tis strong ale I conceiue it
’Tis good in time to leaue it
Or else it will make
Our foreheads to ake,
’tis vanity to outbraue it.
Come hither, &c.
Coming now to works of a later date, the following comicality seems
worthy of reproduction. It is hardly necessary to point out that the
verses are a smart hit upon female ale-bibbers. They are attributed
to Samuel Bishop, M.A., rector of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook (1783). “A
worthy man and generally beloved,” says Dr. Hughson, LL.D., in his
_London_.
QUOD PETIS HIC EST.
No plate had John and Joan to hoard,
Plain folks in humble plight;
One only tankard crown’d the board,
And that was filled each night.
Along whose inner bottom sketched
In pride of chubby grace,
Some rude engravers hand had etch’d
A babys angels face,
John swallowed first a moderate sup;
But Joan was not like John; {329}
For when her lips once touched the cup,
She swill’d till all was gone.
John often urged her to drink fair,
But she ne’er changed a jot;
She loved to see that angel there,
And therefore drain’d the pot.
When John found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he play’d;
And where the angel stood so plain,
He got a devil pourtrayed.
John saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,
Yet Joan as stoutly quaffed;
And ever when she seized her ale
She cleared it at a draught.
John star’d with wonder petrify’d,
His hairs rose on his pate;
“And Why dose guzzle now?” he cryd,
“At this enormous rate?”
“Oh, John,” says she, “am I to blame,
I can’t in conscience stop;
For sure ’twould be a burning shame
To leave the devil a drop.”
A collection of ale ballads and songs would hardly be complete without
at least one on the “guid yill of Scotland.” Burns’ works are so well
known that we fall back upon a capital Scotch song written at the
close of the last century, and bearing the title _A Coggie O’ Yill_.
The author was Andrew Sheriffs of Shirrefs, at one time Editor of the
_Aberdeen Chronicle_. He also wrote a Scotch pastoral entitled _Jamie
and Bess_, which was published in 1787, and a second time in 1790.
Burns, in his Third _Northern Tour_, speaks of Sheriffs, who was a
bookbinder by trade, as “a little decrepit body with some abilities.”
The words of the song were set to music by a celebrated violin player,
named Robert Macintosh.
A COGGIE O’ YILL.
A Coggie o’ Yill,
And a pickle aitmeal,
And a dainty wee drappie o’ whiskey,
Was our forefathers dose,
For to sweel down their brose
And keep them aye cheery and friskey— {330}
Then hey for the wiskey, and hey for the meal,
And hey for the Cogie, and hey for the yill,
Gin ye steer a’ thegither they’ll do unco weel,
To keep a chiel cherry and brisk aye.
When I see our Scots lads,
Wi’ their kilts and cockauds,
That sae often ha’e loundered our foes, man:
I think to mysel’,
On the meal and the yill,
And the fruits o’ our Scottish Kail brose, man.
Then hey, &c., &c.
* * * * *
Then our brave Highland blades,
Wi’ their claymore and plaids,
In the field drive like sheep a’ our foes, man:
Their courage and pow’r—
Spring from this to be sure,
They’re the noble effects o’ the brose, man.
Then hey, &c., &c.
But your spyndle-shank’d sparks
Wha sae ill fill their sarks,
Your pale-visaged milksops and beaux, man:
I think when I see them,
’Twere kindness to gie them—
A cogie o’ yill or o’ brose, man.
Then hey, &c., &c.
What John Bull despises,
Our better sense prizes,
He denies eatin’ blanter ava, man;
But by eatin o’ blanter,
His mare’s grown, I’ll warrant her,
The manliest brute o’ the twa, man.
Then hey, &c., &c.
It would not be difficult to fill a volume of considerable size with
songs and ballads having ale or beer for their subject, but the
foregoing, together with many others to be found in these pages, are
among the best of their kind, and will doubtless give a fair idea of
the poetry of malt liquor.
{331}
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII.
“Blessing of your heart, you brew good Ale.”
_Two Gentlemen of Verona._ Act iii., Sc. 1.
“The bigger the brewing the better the browst.”
_Old Yorkshire Proverb._
_BREWING IN THE PRESENT DAY. — ANECDOTAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL ACCOUNT OF
SOME REPRESENTATIVE LONDON, DUBLIN, BURTON, AND COUNTRY BREWING FIRMS.
— EDINBURGH ALES._
Passing on to modern times and bidding adieu to the old brewers,
brewsters, ale-wives, and tapsters, it behoves us to devote ourselves
to giving some account of the brewing of the present day, thereby
bringing our history up to date. With this intent, we cannot do better
than commence with a few figures, startling enough, no doubt, to others
than the _cognoscenti_, as to the magnitude of what are commonly called
the Liquor Trades.
From a report drawn up by Professor Leoni Levi in 1878, at the request
of the late Mr. M. T. Bass, M.P., and from recent Parliamentary
returns, it appears that the total amount of capital invested in the
liquor trades of the United Kingdom amounts to about one hundred and
seventeen million pounds sterling. This sum is equal to more than half
the total value of our exports, and is more than double the annual
receipts of all the railways. About one-third of the whole National
Revenue is drawn from this source.
Making due allowance for families, the persons employed directly
in {332} the various trades connected with the production and
distribution of alcoholic drinks are not fewer in number than one and a
half million.
From these startling facts, it follows that teetotallers, before they
can accomplish the total abolition of spirituous liquors, must arrange
for either emigrating or giving employment to over a million persons,
and must be prepared to pay one-third more taxes than they do at
present.
It may be well, before proceeding further, to give a short and very
simple account of brewing as it is now carried on in nearly every
brewhouse in the country, for without a few general ideas on the
subject many of our readers would no doubt be a little puzzled by the
references to mashing tuns, vats, union rooms and such like, which
occur in this chapter.
In brewing there are three principal operations: 1.—Mixing the malt
with hot water; 2.—Adding hops to the infusion obtained and boiling
them together; and 3.—Fermenting the liquid by putting yeast in it.
The malt when brought to the brewery is first screened to remove dirt,
dust and foreign particles; nails and other odds and ends of metal
being caught on a bar magnet over which the malt passes. It is then
crushed between rollers and, by an ingenious mechanical contrivance,
is carried to large bins or hoppers situated above the mash tuns, the
huge tubs in which the malt and hot (not boiling) water are mixed. This
process is called mashing, and was formerly done by merely stirring
water and malt together with a long oar or pole, a practice of course
still followed by home brewers.
See, the welcome Brewhouse rise,
See, the priest his duty plies!
And, with apron duly bound,
_Stirs the liqour round and round_.
O’er the bubbling cauldron play
Mirth and merriment so gay;
Melancholy hides her head,
The frowns of Envy, all are fled;
Youthful Wit and Attic Salt
Infuse their savour in the Malt.
Mashing is now carried on in various ways, machinery entirely taking
the place of manual labour. Sometimes the water—always spoken of as
“liquor” in a brewery—rises in the tun, and the malt comes in from
{333} above, but in many breweries the malt and water run in together,
a machine mixing them before they enter. When the malt-tea has stood
long enough—huge revolving rakes mixing the mash meanwhile—the amber
infusion (technically “wort”) is drawn off and more water added, until
all the goodness has been extracted from the malt, the empty husks or
“grains” only being left. With grains pigs and cows are often fed, and
not brewers’ horses, as is popularly imagined.
“Mashing” over, the next process is to give the malt-tea its bitter
flavour, and this is done by boiling it in a huge copper with a
quantity of hops. When sufficiently boiled, the hops and wort are run
off from the copper into huge square vessels (technically “hop-backs”)
with perforated bottoms, which act as strainers or colanders, the
liquid passing through the holes, leaving the hops behind, which are
subsequently pressed to get all the liquid out of them. The brewer
has now a quantity of unfermented hot beer, which he must first cool
by passing it among pipes containing icy cold water. Refrigerators
and ice-making machines are, it need hardly be said, of the greatest
assistance to the modern brewer, who without them could only brew in
the cold months. Some firms have spent as much as £8,000 on their
ice-making machines. The beer, which at present is a teetotal drink
devoid of alcohol, having been cooled, is turned into large tubs or
square boxes, and yeast is added to it. Fermentation now sets in, and
by various ingenious contrivances the froth as it rises to the top is
skimmed off or carried away. During this process the beer is kept at a
low temperature by means of cold water-pipes which are taken through
the fermenting tuns. When the fermentation has almost ceased, the beer
is put into smaller vessels,[64] where a little fermentation still goes
on, and the froth either works over the side or is skimmed off or, as
in the “union” system at Burton, works up through pipes. Fermentation
being now practically at an end, the beer goes into huge vats, from
which it is drawn into casks as required. This last operation is termed
“racking.” Even then the bung-holes are left open for a day or two to
allow a little froth to work out.
[64] There are several varieties of these vessels: Pontoons, unions,
&c., the most approved being shallow trays. On these the yeast rises
very quickly. The process is termed “cleansing.”
The foregoing process seems, and is, of a simple character, but to
{334} obtain the very best results great skill is necessary. The
colour of the malt, the temperature of the water in the mash tun,
the temperature during fermentation, the proper proportion of the
materials, and many other matters are of the greatest importance. Some
brewers, and notably Messrs. Guinness & Sons, keep their beer in vats
for a considerable length of time before racking it into the casks, but
the practice is gradually dying out, and huge vats such as that built
some years ago by Messrs. Meux & Co. are now but little used.
The racking room of a large brewery is a wonderful sight. All round the
sides are huge vats—twenty or thirty, perhaps—in each of which fifteen
to twenty people could dine comfortably. These giant tubs tower above
thousands of barrels which line the floor, and which look like pigmies
by comparison.
One of the most interesting portions of a modern brewery is the
cooperage. Coopers are highly-skilled workmen, and it is more or less
of a marvel to see how without any measurement they plane down planks
into staves for casks, and fit them together so closely that the
{335} cask is perfectly sound and incapable of leaking. The length
of the staves is measured, for the rest the Cooper trusts to his eye.
Coopering is a most ancient trade, and appears from the illustration by
Jost Ammon, in Schopper’s rare book, Πανοπλια, to be carried on in much
the same way now as it was in Germany in the year 1568.
[Illustration: Der Bender.
A Sixteenth-century Cooperage.]
Before giving any account of the firm known as Allsopp & Sons,[65] it
is only fitting to devote a few lines to the Pale Ale Metropolis.
[65] The following Sketches of certain of our great brewing firms
are in alphabetical order. The task of placing the firms according
to their importance or size was of a character too invidious to be
attempted.
The history of Burton has been so exhaustively treated by Mr. Molyneux
that it is not an easy matter to add anything fresh on the subject.
In the monastic establishments which were inaugurated at a very early
date in the neighbourhood of the town, enormous quantities of ale were
brewed. There is no record, however, of any public breweries at that
date (1295), though there is little doubt that the trade of malting
was largely carried on. By the sixteenth century a small local trade
in brewing had been established. In a series of letters written by
Walsingham, in 1584, to Sir Ralph Sadler, governor of Tutbury Castle,
to the inquiry, “What place neere Tutbury beere may be provided for her
Majestie’s use?” is the answer that “beere” may be had “at Burton three
myles off.” Information of the progress of the Babbington conspiracy
is said to have been conveyed to Mary Queen of Scots, while in Tutbury
Castle, by a Burton brewer; and a load of beer on its way from Burton
to Fotheringay was intercepted, and among the casks were found
correspondence throwing fatal light on the plot.
In 1630 the fame of the Burton ale had spread to London, and that
excellent liquor was sold at “The Peacock” in Gray’s Inn Lane. In the
_Spectator_ of May 20th, 1712, is recorded how the writer and Sir Roger
de Coverley visit Vauxhall, where, after inspecting the garden, they
concluded their walk “with a glass of Burton ale and a slice of hung
beef.”
The history of Burton as a great brewing centre cannot be traced back
much beyond 1708, at least so far as export is concerned. When, as
the result of an Act passed in 1698, water communication was opened
up between Burton and the Baltic ports, the brewers were not slow to
take advantage of their opportunities, and in 1748 a considerable
export trade had been established, the Russians being by far the best
customers. {336} Both Peter the Great and the Empress Catherine were
extremely fond of Burton ale. The Empress, indeed, is said to have
loved it not wisely but too well. In 1791 there were nine brewers
in the town, their names being Bass, Clay, Evans, Leeson, Musgrave,
Sherratt, Wilson (two) and Worthington. Previous to the year 1822
Burton ale was better known on the Continent than in England, but about
that time the brewers turned their attention to increasing their home
trade, and met with marked success. In 1851 the breweries had increased
to sixteen, giving employment to 867 men and 61 boys.
The special recommendation of the spring water at Burton consists in
the fact that whatever saccharine may be put into it, appears to remain
there for any length of time without being chemically injured by those
mineral combinations which are generally present in spring water.
Burton of the present day is a city of breweries. Tall chimneys tower
on all sides, the smell of new beer pervades the air, great red brick
buildings block the way in every direction; engines glide noiselessly
about dragging trucks loaded with casks; burly brewers’ men meet you
at every corner; it is, in fact, the very home of John Barleycorn. The
Breweries of Burton in this present year of grace are thirty in number,
and give employment to about eight thousand men and boys.
In a view of Burton-on-Trent, engraved in 1720, is a small brewery,
which was then the property of one Benjamin Wilson, the founder of the
great firm of S. Allsopp and Sons. Though not the creator of the Burton
Beer trade, he was the first to carry on an extensive business as a
common brewer, and was, it is believed, the originator of the extensive
export trade which Burton carried on during the eighteenth century.
Letters of his are still extant, from which it may be gathered that he
had established a flourishing trade in Burton ales so early as 1748.
His account books show that in 1770 the business done with Russia was
an extensive one, and partly carried on by barter.
In 1774, in a letter to Mr. Charles Best, Mr. Wilson writes: “We have
already two large Brewhouses Employ’d, and are about to use a third,
the whole of which will take all the money I can raise with convenience
to myself, beyond which I do not choose to go.” In a letter dated
Oct. 23, 1775, from Messrs. B. Wilson & Co. to Messrs. J. D. Newman &
Co., St. Petersburg, occur the following interesting passages:—“To
people who have the Credit of their own Manufacture and y inseparable
Interest of their Friends at Heart, we cannot but feel an accumulated
Satisfaction at every additional instance of our Ale proving fine and
distinguishing itself, wch, in Justice to its Character, we have y^e
{337} happiness to say our Friends have universally confirmed. To y^e
several Queries of y^r Letter, we beg leave to acquaint you that tho’
many Merchants from St. Petersburg are supplied with Burton Ale from
our House, yet there are many we are not intimately connected with,
their orders being transmitted through y^e Houses of Hull and London
. . . . . The Price of Ale last year at Burton from y^e extravagant
Price of Grain sold for 17^d per Gallon.”
In the order book for 1770 are many entries which appear curious enough
to modern readers. Some of the customers order their casks to be cased,
_i.e._, enclosed in a larger cask—a process necessary to prevent the
“Gainsboro’ Captains,” as the bargees were called, from “sucking the
monkey.” One customer writes: “Send me 24-gallon casks strong ale and
let y^e casks be iron-hooped at the head.” Another wants “two 14-gallon
casks of strong ale by _sea_” to London, and another “a hogshead by
_land_” also to London, the carriage of which must have been very
extensive.
There may possibly be persons still living who recollect an old fellow
named Dyche, who was full of information regarding the early history
of the Burton Ale trade. He remembered John Wilson well, and described
him as a kind, hearty, portly, well-favoured old gentleman, somewhat
peppery withal, but never angry without a cause. Dyche’s father worked
for Mr. Wilson during forty years as a sawyer, his business being to
cut up into staves for the coopers, the timber brought from the Baltic
in exchange for ale. At fourteen years of age the younger Dyche was
apprenticed to the cooper at the brewery. The commonest ale was then,
according to Dyche, as strong as the strongest ale now brewed.
Dyche used to tell how old Benjamin Wilson had two sons, and a daughter
renowned far and wide for her beauty. This Miss Wilson became the wife
of Mr. James Allsopp, and her son Samuel was father of the Mr. Henry
Allsopp, now Lord Hindlip of Hindlip, who for many years was head of
the firm.
Benjamin Wilson the younger, having no children, took his nephew Samuel
into the business, much against the wish of Mr. James Allsopp, who had
intended his son for the church. John Walker Wilson, another son of old
Benjamin, also joined the firm, but soon left it and started a brewery
(now Worthington’s) on his own account. On the death of Benjamin Wilson
the younger, who never married, the business came altogether into the
hands of his nephew, Mr. Samuel Allsopp, and was carried on under the
style of “Wilson & Allsopp” until 1822, when the name was changed to
“Samuel Allsopp & Son.” {338}
The Allsopps come of an ancient family. One Hugh de Allsopp (or
Elleshope) went with Richard I. to the Holy Land, and was knighted for
good service during the siege of Acre. He married a niece of Sir Ralph
de Farington, who presented Sir Hugh with certain lands in Derbyshire,
which, for seventeen generations, the Allsopps-of-the-Dale enjoyed as
their patrimony. Anthony Allsopp, who married a daughter of Sir John
Gell of Hopton, sold the family seat in 1691 to Sir Philip Gell, his
brother-in-law. Mr. James Allsopp, whom we have mentioned as being the
first of the name who joined the firm, was a grandson of Anthony. He
married a member of the old Staffordshire family of Fowlers.
Several ancient deeds, some of the early part of the thirteenth
century, in the possession of Lord Hindlip, contain conveyances of
land to and from various members of the Alsop family, the chief names
mentioned being Henry de Alsop, Ranulf de Alsop, and Thomas de Alsop.
In Pepys’ _Diary_ mention is made of a Mr. Alsop, brewer to Charles II.
Whether any connection existed between him and the Allsopp family is
not known.
Returning now to the history of the firm—in 1822 high import duties
were imposed by the Russian Government upon English ales, and this
fact led for a time to the almost total suspension of the trade which
Messrs. Allsopp & Son had for so long carried on with Russia. The
results were not, however, altogether disastrous, for the Burton firm
now saw the necessity of pushing their home trade, and the ales which
had hitherto been better known in St. Petersburg than in London came
into considerable demand in the southern portions of this country.
An eye-witness of a banquet given by Peter the Great has left the
following description:—“As soon as you sit down you are expected to
drink a cup of brandy, after which they ply you with great glasses of
adulterated Tokay and other vitiated wines, and between whiles with a
bumper of the strongest English beer.” Burton ales then were of a very
different character to the excellent bitter of to-day; Dyche spoke as
to their strength, and they were so rich and luscious that if a little
was spilled on a table the glass would stick to it.
At this time a brewer named Hodgson had the whole of the Indian
export trade, but Messrs. Allsopp & Son, at the suggestion of a Mr.
Majoribanks, brewed and exported ale similar to Hodgson’s. Their
venture met with marked success, and for many years the firm held the
{339} chief place among the exporters of Indian Pale Ale. The first
Burton specimen of that beverage, many thousand hogsheads of which are
now brewed annually, was compounded by Job Goodhead, Mr. Allsopp’s
veteran maltster, in a _tea-pot_.
Space forbids a long account of Mr. S. Allsopp’s life. To his
endeavours was chiefly due the bringing of the Derby and Birmingham
railway system close to Burton. In both public and private life Mr.
Allsopp was charitable to a fault, and greatly beloved. He died in
1838, and was succeeded by his two sons, Charles James and Henry. The
latter, so long the head of the firm, is too well known to need mention
here. He it was who took a leading part in refuting certain mischievous
charges, which were to the effect that the Burton brewers used noxious
materials in the manufacture of their bitter beer. He represented
Worcestershire from 1874 to 1880, and in 1880 was created a Baronet. In
the early part of 1886 he had the honour of being raised to the peerage
under the title of Lord Hindlip of Hindlip and Alsop-en-le-Dale, having
retired from the firm for some years in favour of his three sons, the
Hon. Charles, George and Percy Allsopp.
A word now as to the breweries, which rank among the best and most
perfect of their kind. They are three in number, and are connected
together, and with the makings, cooperages, &c., by about ten miles of
railway.
The New Brewery is an immense structure, no single building being in
existence which has a greater brewing capacity. The union room is of
very fine proportions, being 375 feet in length and 105 in breadth. It
contains 1,424 unions, which can cleanse 230,688 gallons at one time.
The union rooms, taken altogether, contain about 4,500 unions, each
with a capacity of 695 gallons.
Next to the New Brewery comes the Old Brewery, and lastly the Model
Brewery, which seems a mere toy compared with the others. It is used
chiefly for experiments, and for occasional brews of stout and porter.
The firm also possesses extensive maltings, and, it is almost needless
to say, large cooperages, stables, &c.
A feature in the conduct of Messrs. Allsopp & Sons’ business is the
consideration shown to the employés, who, without counting clerks and
the office staff, number 1,600. For their benefit the firm maintains a
cricket ground, bowling green, a sick and funeral club, and a library
managed by a scripture reader, who also visits the men and their
families. Here and there about the breweries and maltings may be seen
tottering old men, who seem out of place among so much life and {340}
bustle. These are the pensioners, who work as much or as little as
they like. We believe that Messrs. Allsopp and Sons rank third among
the brewing firms of the United Kingdom, and the extent of their
business may be inferred from the simple fact that they have an annual
expenditure of £1,400 to £1,500 in postage stamps alone. In the busy
periods of the year upwards of 20,000 casks pass weekly through their
racking rooms. It would be presumption to attempt to criticise the malt
liquor produced by this firm or, indeed, that of any of our leading
brewers.
Early in the eighteenth century, as early indeed as the year 1710, if
the Commercial List is correct, a building called the Anchor Brewery
existed on the Surrey side of the Thames, in Southwark, owned by a Mr.
Halsey, whose beer is mentioned in State papers of Queen Anne’s reign
as being exported to Flanders for the use of the army. This gentleman
having amassed a large fortune, and married his daughter to Lord
Cobham, severed his connection with trade, and sold the business to Mr.
Thrale, the member for the Borough of Southwark, and Sheriff for the
County of Surrey. Mr. Thrale died in 1781, and was succeeded by his
son, whose wife Hester was the intimate friend of the great Dr. Johnson.
Even at that time a great business was done by the firm, about 30,000
barrels of beer being produced annually. According to the _Annual
Register_ for 1759, Thrale’s was the fourth largest London brewery,
Calvert’s, Whitbread’s and Truman’s coming before it. It is said that
Thrale lost £130,000 by unfortunate speculations, but so profitable
was the brewery that at the end of nine years he had saved a sum which
enabled him to pay all the debts contracted by reason of his losses.
Dr. Johnson’s friendship with the Thrales commenced in 1765, and
continued until the brewer’s death. The Doctor lived sometimes in a
house near the brewery, and sometimes in the villa at Streatham. Up to
1832, when the brewery was destroyed by fire, a room near the entrance
gate used to be shown, which was said to have been the Doctor’s study.
In Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_ are numerous letters and reports of
conversations relating more or less to the Brewery. One of the last
letters written by the Doctor was to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and contained
proposals for the establishment of a convivial club, as _The_ Club
was getting overweighted with Bishops. The Doctor scoffed at the idea
that persons, however learned, could meet habitually merely for the
purpose of discussing philosophy or the sciences without material
refreshment, and he gravely warned Mrs. Thrale that if she forbade
{341} card-tables in her drawing room, she must at least give her
guests plenty of sweatmeats, else nobody would come to see her. But
the Doctor, and not the bonbons or card-tables, must have been the
loadstone which filled Mrs. Thrale’s reception rooms. At Thrale’s death
Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Thrale, and three gentlemen, named Cator, Smith
and Crutchley, found themselves appointed Executors, and determined
to carry on the business; but Dr. Johnson, who by nature could not
help taking the lead in whatever he was concerned, was not born to
be a brewer, and the undertaking was not a success. Mrs. Thrale, in
_Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson_, has left a very lively account of these
amateur brewers’ proceedings. In June, 1781, when the Executors had
made the resolve to sell the business, she wrote: “Dear Dr. Johnson was
somewhat unwilling—but not much at last—to give up a trade by which
in some years £15,000 or £16,000 had undoubtedly been got, but by
which in some years its possessor had suffered agonies of terror and
tottered twice upon the verge of bankruptcy . . . adieu to brewing and
borough wintering; adieu to trade and tradesmen’s frigid approbation.
May virtue and wisdom sanctify our contract, and make buyer and seller
happy in the bargain!”
When the brewery was offered for sale, Dr. Johnson appeared bustling
about with his ink-horn and pen in his buttonhole, like any excise
man. On being asked what he really considered to be the value of the
property, he spoke the celebrated words: “We are not here to sell a
parcel of boilers and vats, but the potentiality of growing rich beyond
the dream of avarice.” The brewery was finally sold by private contract
for £135,000 to Messrs. Robert Barclay and John Perkins, who were
associated in the transaction with Mr. David Barclay, junr., and Mr.
Sylvanus Bevan, of the banking firm of Barclay, Bevan & Co. Mr. Robert
Barclay was succeeded by his son Charles, who represented Southwark in
Parliament, and his sons and grandsons. In 1827, the last year of the
old Beer-tax, Barclays’ headed the list of London firms, having brewed
341,331 barrels of beer.
The present brewery and its belongings adjoin Bankside, extend from
the land arches of Southwark Bridge nearly half the distance to London
Bridge, and cover about twelve acres. Within the brewery is said to be
the site of the old Globe Theatre. In an account of the neighbourhood,
dated 1795, it is stated that “the passage which led to the Globe
Tavern, of which the playhouse formed a part, was till within these few
years known by the name of Globe Alley, and upon its site now stands a
large storehouse for porter.” {342}
In the Globe Theatre, which was built by Henslowe and his son-in-law
Alleyn, the founder of Dulwich College, Shakspere produced and acted
in several of his plays. It is curious that with Barclay and Perkins’
brewery should be associated the names of our greatest poet and perhaps
our most brilliant conversationalist—Dr. Johnson—who did so much to
revive the popularity of his predecessor.
A rather amusing anecdote used to be told of Madame Malibran, who, like
many singers, knew the beneficial effects of stout on the voice, and
whose favourite evening’s repast after the Opera consisted of oysters
and bottled stout. Once hearing the name of the Honourable Craven
Berkeley announced in company, she tripped up to him, and, with great
animation, said, “Ah, Mr. Barclay and Perkins, I do owe you so much!”
This reminds us of another anecdote, told of Madame Pasta. When in
England she was asked by a literary lady of high distinction whether
she drank as much stout as usual. “No, mia cara,” was the reply “prendo
half and half adessa.”
Messrs. Barclay, Perkins and Co.’s brewery ranks among the sights of
London, and is visited by thousands of foreigners during the year.
The present brewhouse is nearly as large as Westminster Hall, and
each of the three malt bins could, if required, contain an ordinary
three-storied house. The vats number a hundred and fifty, with
capacities varying from one hundred to three thousand five hundred
barrels; the largest of these weigh when full no less than 500 tons.
The full capacity of the mash tuns is 690 quarters. The water used in
brewing is drawn from an artesian well 623 feet deep, and the firm give
employment to over six hundred men.
Among the collection of Hearne’s Letters, in the Bodleian Library, is
one from Saml. Catherall, dated “Luscom, near Bath, Nov. 2, 1729.” It
contains a few semi-humorous verses on the death of two mutual friends,
named Whiteside and Craster, and ends thus:—
“Ev’en you alas! with grief o’ercome, shall lend
Some tears, and lose y^e stoick in y^e Friend:
So stern Achilles wept—But you, and I
Observant of Decorum, will not cry
Like children (for we all were born to Die);
Basse’s Immortal Ale shall make us gay,
He Holds out longest y^t dilutes his clay.
“Your faithful Friend,
“SAM CATHERALL.
“To Mr. Thomas Hearne
“At Edmund Hall, in Oxford.
“By the cross post.”
{343}
Though there are records extant of persons bearing the name of Bass
who did various notable things, such as undertaking a pilgrimage to
Canterbury in 1506 (not forgetting a certain Mrs. Laura Bassi, who was
promoted to the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at Bologna, in Italy
“having first passed a strict examination and answered all points with
surprising capacity and learning), this is nevertheless the first
mention of Basse’s ale. Who was this Basse”? Frankly, we cannot say,
but from the date of the letter it is certain that he was not the
founder of the present firm.
The year 1877 was the centenary of that great commercial enterprise
now known as Bass, Ratcliff & Gretton, Limited. It was when George the
Third was King, and Pitt, the youngest Prime Minister this country has
ever known, was in power, that Mr. William Bass, the proprietor of a
considerable carrying business, commenced to brew ale at Burton. His
brewhouse was situated in the High Street, and the building on that
site, still in the hands of the firm, is always spoken of as the “Old
Brewery.” The land occupied was about equal in extent to a moderately
large garden, and the power in the brewery was probably altogether
manual, for Watt had not at that time fully developed the greatest
invention the world has ever known. Bass and Co.’s Brewery and its
belongings now cover forty-five acres of freehold and over a hundred of
leasehold land, on which are thirty-two steam engines of altogether 610
horse power!
Mr. William Bass, finding that his new undertaking was proving a
success, sold his carrying business to the well-known house of Pickford
& Co. The brewery did not, however, begin to take any important place
in the trade until the beginning of the present century, some few years
after Mr. Michael Thomas Bass, grandson of the founder, had been taken
into the business, which then soon began to increase with marvellous
rapidity, owing, there can be no doubt, to the fact that Mr. Michael
Bass’s principal aim was to brew the very best beer that could possibly
be brewed. In 1834 Mr. Ratcliff was taken into partnership, and a few
years later Mr. Gretton joined the firm. In 1853 was built the middle
brewery, between Guild Street and Station Street. In 1864 a third
brewhouse was opened in Station Street, only thirty-six weeks after the
foundations were commenced. Both the Middle Brewery and the New Brewery
have been greatly enlarged within the last few years, and the Old
Brewery has been entirely rebuilt. In 1884 Mr. M. T. Bass died, and was
probably more deeply lamented than any other inhabitant of Burton since
that place became a town. In 1880 the {344} business was turned into a
private Limited Company, of which the eldest son of Mr. M. T. Bass is
the chairman.[66]
[66] Created (1886) Baron Burton of Rangemore and of
Burton-on-Trent, in the county of Stafford.
Before attempting to give any idea of the enormous business transacted
by Messrs. Bass & Co., a few words respecting the man by whose strict
integrity, business qualifications, and persistent and successful
efforts to produce the best possible article, and none other, the
name of Bass has been rendered a familiar word throughout the whole
civilised world. He was born in 1799, and entered the business
immediately after leaving school. The trade then done was so limited
that he had for a time to act as a traveller; but year by year
the demand for Bass’s Ale became greater and greater, and for a
considerable period before his death Mr. Bass was at the head of the
greatest pale ale brewery in the world. He was a genial, kindly man,
and had a genuine pride in the success of his great undertaking. Those
who had the pleasure of being his guests will no doubt remember his
translation of two lines from _Martial_, Book vi. Epigram 69:—
Non Miror quod potat aquam tua Bassa, Catulle!
Miror quod _Bassi filia_ potat aquam.
“I am not the least surprised, O Catullus, that your nymph Bassa drinks
water; what I _am_ surprised at is that Bass’s daughter drinks water.”
The epigram has also been rendered into English verse:—
Not strange, my friend, I’m thinking,
Thy Bassa water drinking,
Most strange that Bass’s daughter
Should think of drinking water.
Mr. M. T. Bass represented Derby in Parliament for thirty-five years,
being eight times elected in succession, only resigning in 1883, having
lived to be the oldest member in the House. He gave Derby a Free
Library, a Museum, an Art Gallery, a Public Bath, and a Recreation
Ground, at a cost of £50,000. Railway Companies’ servants have
reason to be grateful to him, for through his endeavours their hours
of labour, though still in some case left far too long, have on many
lines been considerably shortened. For some years many of them worked
sixteen, eighteen, and even twenty hours out of the twenty-four.
He also strenuously exerted himself to obtain the abolition of
imprisonment for debt. His benefactions to Burton are too numerous
to mention. The chief of them were the gifts of St. Paul’s and St.
Margaret’s {345} Churches, with a Parsonage House, Schools, and an
endowment of £500 a year, and a Workman’s Club and Institute at
a total cost of over £100,000. Mr. Bass was repeatedly offered a
Peerage, and as often refused it. We cannot better conclude this short
and very inadequate description than by quoting the words used by Sir
William Harcourt when opening St. Paul’s Institute at Burton-on-Trent:
“We are met here to-day to commemorate the munificent benefaction of
Mr. Bass. He is a man advanced in years, in honour, and in wealth,
which is the fruit of a life of intelligent industry. He was a Liberal
in his youth; he is a Liberal in his age. Years and wealth have not
brought to him selfish timidity. In his grey hairs he cherishes the
generous sentiments which inspired his earlier days. He has received
freely, and freely has he bestowed.”
The liberality of the firm was not confined to Mr. Michael Bass. The
Messrs. Gretton have erected and endowed a Church in the suburbs of
Burton at a cost of nearly £20,000, and Public Baths and Wash-houses,
costing nearly £10,000, have been presented to the town by Messrs.
Ratcliff.
The firm of Bass & Co. alone contribute to the National Revenue
upwards of £780 per day, and its breweries at Burton-upon-Trent
are the largest of their kind in the world, the business premises
extending, as we have said, over 145 acres of land. Locomotives have to
a large extent superseded brewers’ drays at Burton, and this firm has
connection with the outer railway systems by twelve miles of rails on
the premises, and use as many as 60,000 railway trucks in the course of
six months. The casks required to carry on the business number 600,000,
of which 46,901 are butts, and 159,608 are hogsheads. Some ingenious
calculations have been made with regard to these casks. Piled one above
another they would make 3,300 pillars, each reaching to the top of
St. Paul’s. The great Egyptian Pyramid is 763 ft. square at the base;
the butts, standing on end and placed bulge to bulge, would furnish
bases for _five_ such pyramids, and the other casks would be more than
sufficient for the superstructure 460 ft. high.
Though labour-saving machinery is used as much as possible, Bass & Co.
employ at Burton alone 2,250 men and boys. In 1821 only 867 men and
61 boys were engaged in all the Burton breweries. In the course of a
season the firm now sends out over 800,000 barrels, and manufacture
raw material weighing 85,000 tons. In the year ending June 30th, 1883,
250,000 quarters of malt were used and 31,000 cwt. of hops. The amount
of business now done by the firm in one year cannot be less than
£2,400,000, figures which will give some idea of the capital employed.
{346}
A detailed description of the three brewhouses would fill the whole of
the space devoted to this chapter; suffice it, therefore, to say that
the racking rooms on the ground floor of the new brewery cover more
than one and a half acre, the tunning rooms of the same area contain
2,548 tunning casks of 160 gallons each; and the copper house contains
three water coppers that will boil 12,000 gallons each; and eleven wort
coppers that will each boil 2,200 gallons of wort.
On the cooperage great demands are made, for about 40,000 casks, which
are made in part by machinery, are annually exported. The firm has
thirty-two maltings at Burton, and others elsewhere, which, during the
malting season, make 7,600 qrs. per week.
The annual issue of Bass and Co.’s labels amounts to over one hundred
millions. Some idea of this quantity may be gathered from the fact that
if they were put end to end in one long line they would reach to New
York and back again, a distance of five thousand miles.
Both the late Mr. Bass’s sons are members of the firm. The eldest,
Lord Burton of Rangemore, late member for the Burton division of
Staffordshire, represented Stafford from 1865 to 1868, and East
Staffordshire from 1868 to 1886. Mr. Hamar Bass, the second son,
represented Tamworth for some years, and in the general elections of
1885–6 was returned for West Staffordshire.
Between the firms of Bass and Allsopp there is a friendly rivalry as to
which shall brew the best ale. A few years since Sir M. Arthur Bass and
Mr. Charles Allsopp while fishing on Loch Quvich, in Inverness-shire,
were nearly drowned. Sir Arthur had hooked a large fish, and Mr.
Allsopp, eager to see it, stepped on one side of the boat, which at
once capsized. The anglers and their attendants clung to the bottom
of the boat, and were ultimately thrown on an island in an exhausted
condition! The following paragraph shortly afterwards appeared in the
_World_:—“The exciting accident which nearly proved the death of the
rival brewers of Burton-on-Trent, at once so touching in its record
of disinterested friendship, and so highly satisfactory in its sequel
to the world at large, has suddenly inundated me with facetious rhyme
and caustic epigram. This is how one of my correspondents treats the
subject:—
Let friends who go fishing for salmon or wrasse,
Take a hint from the story of Allsop and Bass;
When you hook a fine fish, of your brother keep clear,
Or your salmon, when caught, may _embitter your beer_ (bier).
{347}
One of the most ancient and important brewing centres in the kingdom
is the city of Dublin. With one exception, all its breweries are
exclusively devoted to the manufacture of stout, that sturdy beverage
the fame of which has gone forth into all lands; and just as Burton
has acquired the right to be termed the Pale Ale Metropolis, so does
Ireland’s chief town contend with London for the honour of being called
the Capital of Black Beer.
It is remarkable that so early as the commencement of the seventeenth
century, Dublin was already a notable brewing centre, producing a
description of brown ale. Barnaby Ryche, writing about that time, gives
a quaint account of the manners and customs of the people, and calls
attention to the great number of alehouses in Dublin during the reign
of James I.
“I am now,” he says, “to speake of a certaine kind of commodity, that
outstretcheth all that I have hitherto spoken of, and that is the
selling of ale in Dublin, a quotidian commodity that hath vent in every
house in the towne, every day in the weeke, at every houre in the day,
and in every minute in the houre: There is no merchandise so vendible,
it is the very marrow of the commonwealth in Dublin: the whole profit
of the towne stands upon ale-houses, and selling of ale, but yet the
cittizens, a little to dignifie the title, as they use to call every
pedlar a merchant, so they use to call every ale-house a taverne,
whereof there are such plentie, that there are streates of tavernes.
“. . . . This free mart of ale selling in Dublyne is prohibited to
none, but that it is lawfull for every woman (be she better or be she
worse) either to brewe or else to sell ale.”
About the time of the Restoration there were ninety-one public
brewhouses in Dublin, and in the early part of the eighteenth century
the trade, though on the decrease, was evidently thriving, the
brewhouses being seventy in number. It seems, however, that, as the
century wore on, the trade died away, for in 1773 there were only
thirty-five Breweries surviving. The decay of so important an industry
was chiefly due to three causes: In the first place, the Irish brewers
were saddled with a heavy tax, and, secondly, English Porter was taking
the place of old Irish brown ale in the popular fancy. An old song on
the Tavern of the Cross Keys, in Dublin, composed about the middle of
the century, opens with the lines—
When London Porter was not known in town
And Irish ale or beer went glibly down.
{348}
It does not seem that the Dublin brewers, who were frequently
petitioning Parliament for assistance, faced the difficulty by brewing
Porter themselves until the year 1778. The third adverse influence
was the taste for ardent spirits, especially rum and brandy, which
had sprung up; and the Irish records of the day are full of allusions
to the injury which this was working, not only to the trade of the
Brewers, but to the morals and health of the people.
A remarkable letter is still preserved, written by Henry Grattan on
this subject at the close of the century. It appears to be addressed
to the Brewers of Dublin, probably in answer to one of their numerous
petitions for protection. It is as follows:—
“Gentlemen,
“The Health of Ireland and the prosperity of her breweries I consider
as intimately connected. I have looked to your trade as to a source
of life and a necessary means of subsistence. I have considered it as
the natural nurse of the people and entitled to every encouragement,
favour, and exemption. It is at your source the Parliament will find
in its own country the means of Health with all her flourishing
consequences, and the cure of intoxication with all her misery.
“My wishes are with you always. My exertions, such as they are, you may
ever command.
“I have the honour to be your sincere and your humble servant,
“HENRY GRATTAN.”
At present (1886) there are only seven firms of any note in Dublin;
and of those existing a hundred years ago but two survive—Messrs.
Sweetman’s and the well-known house of Messrs. Guinness, which has long
been at the head of the trade in Ireland. To some English readers it
may come as a revelation that at the present time this Irish firm is
the greatest producer of malt liquors in the whole world.
Some account of the rise and progress of so vast a business cannot but
be of interest to the student of industrial enterprise, but in the
compass of the present work it will of course only be possible to give
the merest outline of its growth.
Arthur Guinness, the great-grandfather of Sir Edward Guinness, the
present owner, purchased the original premises from a Mr. Ransford
in the year 1759. The business appears to have been of very modest
dimensions, for the plant, as acquired by Arthur Guinness, included
only one mash tun and one seventy-barrel copper. The brewery had, even
at that time, been worked for a considerable period, certainly from the
earliest years of the eighteenth century, and probably before that.
{349}
The property, about one acre in extent, thus acquired in 1759, forms
the nucleus of the present gigantic establishment. The principal
brewhouse stands to-day precisely on the site once occupied by
Ransford’s mash tun and copper; but since the commencement of the
nineteenth century many additional properties have from time to
time been acquired, until at present the total area occupied by the
brewhouses and their belongings amounts to between forty and fifty
statute acres.
For many years the dimensions of the business were but moderate.
Wakefield, writing in 1809, states that Guinness was then only the
second brewer in Ireland, Beamish and Crawford of Cork, who brewed
upwards of 100,000 barrels a year, standing first.
Without attempting to account for or to describe the advance, since
Wakefield’s day, of the great Dublin firm (made a limited liability
company in October, 1886), we may briefly notice one or two points of
special interest connected with the manufacture.
The materials used are absolutely confined to malt, pale and roasted,
and hops. Of the latter a preference has always been shown for those of
Kent, no other English varieties being used. But of late years American
Hops have been largely consumed as well. The water for brewing is drawn
from the City Watercourses, and not from the Liffey, as some people
unacquainted with Dublin have supposed.
It would be impossible here to describe in detail the process or
the plant of the St. James’ Gate Brewery, and owing to the position
held by the firm it seems almost unnecessary to say that every
modern improvement of the Engineer and the Scientist, whether for
facilitating the operations of Brewing or for ensuring the safety
and welfare of those employed, has been carefully investigated and
judiciously applied. The minute attention which is paid to every detail
of the process, from the manufacture and selection of the malt, to
the treatment and storage of the beer in every stage, is matched by
the liberal provision made for the men engaged in the work and their
families.
To the visitor nothing is more astonishing than the size and number
of the vats. Some of these huge erections of Oak and Iron contain no
less than 90,000 gallons apiece; and to a lengthened storage in these
is due in great measure the peculiar character of the Stout devoted to
the foreign export trade. The tendency in most modern breweries has
been to dispense with lengthened storage in vat. Not so here, and the
erection of vats of great capacity has kept pace with the extension of
the export trade.
Another remarkable feature is the large provision of ice machines,
{350} or rather of engines for the cooling, by the evaporation of
ether and ammonia, of fluid brine, which circulates by a complicated
system of copper pipes through every part of the vast storehouses,
and ensures a winter temperature on the hottest summer day. It is the
extent to which this system is applied that is so striking in this
establishment, where all is on so vast a scale that the ordinary units
of measurement seem inadequate to convey a notion of the truth. The
same may be said of the multitude of mains by which the finished beer
is conveyed from the storage vats, a distance of half a mile beneath
one of the principal streets of the city, to the lower portion of the
works where the beer is “racked” into cask.
It is related that the Empress of Brazil, who a few years since visited
the Brewery, went away under the impression—a not unnatural one—what
beer was laid on like gas and water to all the houses in Dublin.
A small railway of 22-inch gauge, and which is altogether about two
miles in length, penetrates every part of the Brewery. The rolling
stock includes six locomotives and upwards of one hundred and sixty
trucks and bogies.
The descent from the Brewery to the lower level of the river side has
been engineered with remarkable skill. In order to avoid crossing the
street which bisects the works a spiral tunnel has been constructed,
by means of which the line descends thirty feet in three circuits, the
diameter of which is only forty yards, while the gradient is 1 in 39.
Much of the internal traffic of the Brewery is thus carried on with
ease and rapidity by means of this unique underground railway.
So far as is possible in a Brewery which has been added to from time to
time, advantage has been taken of the physical features of the locality
in the general arrangement of the plant. Thus the finished beer runs by
gravitation from the Brewery to the Racking Stores, which are situated
upon the Quays. Full advantage has been taken of this excellent
position, and the firm possesses a fleet of steamers and barges which
convey the filled casks to the docks, a distance of a mile and a half.
The Export trade is entirely carried on by river, while a branch line
from the Great Southern and Western Railway terminus bears away many a
train-load of porter every day, to be distributed over the whole length
and breadth of Ireland.
We have already borne witness to the increasing popularity of porte
in Ireland, and feel sure that no better thing could happen to the
“distressful country” than that the drinking of whisky and the bad
substitutes that are sold under that name should be brought within
{351} reasonable limits, and that malt liquor should become the daily
drink of every Irish farmer, who from that source will find, to again
quote Grattan’s words, “the means of Health with all her flourishing
consequences, and the cure of intoxication with all her misery.”
Romford, in Essex, is known to the few as the birthplace of Sir Anthony
Cooke and Francis Quarles, the poet; but to the many it is the source
whence come certain excellent and deservedly popular ales. Through the
town wanders a little stream now called the Rom, but described in old
country Maps as the Bourne Brooke, and which in the fifteenth century
was called the Mercke-dyche.[67] Towards the close of the eighteenth
century there stood by the bridge which carries the High Street over
this rivulet, a small Inn called the Star. The innkeeper, according
to the fashion of the times, brewed his own beer, and at the rear of
his hostel was a small brewhouse. His mash tub was no doubt of modest
dimensions, and his “liquor” was possibly drawn from the Mercke-dyche,
for in that day pure water could be got from most streams and rivers.
Now, sad to say, an unpolluted stream is almost unknown, and nine wells
supply the water which, with a due admixture of malt and hops, forms
that admirable compound known as Romford Ale.
[67] It is curious that the river now takes its name from the
town, and not _vice versa_, as is generally the case. “Romford” is
mentioned in the Red Book of the Exchequer in 1166, when the stream
was called the Mercke-dyche. Some antiquarians derive the word from
Roman-ford, but it probably simply means broad-ford, the first
syllable being the Saxon word for broad and akin to roomy.
In the year 1799 two important events happened in the town. That which
probably created the most profound sensation among the inhabitants
was the death of a most eccentric person, James Wilson, the corpulent
butcher of Romford. This worthy was in the habit of going to church
on Sunday sometime before the hour of service, and loudly singing
psalms by himself, until the minister came to the desk. On the last
fast-day before his death he remained in church between morning and
evening services, repeating the Lord’s Prayer and singing psalms in
each of the pews, only leaving the church when there remained no pew
in which he had not performed his devotions. Another peculiarity was
the peripatetic manner in which he sometimes took his meals. Armed
with a shoulder of mutton in one hand, some salt in the bend of his
arm, a small loaf, and a large knife, he would wander up and down the
street until all was consumed. He was, moreover, an {352} excellent
penman, as the vestry books to this day witness, and his meat bills
were well worthy of framing. One line would be in German text, another
in Roman characters; no two meats being written in the same coloured
ink. The death of such a man naturally attracted more attention than
the second event alluded to, a small commercial transaction, which we
venture to think was of more importance to the community at large than
the decease of the butcher. This was the purchase of the Star Inn and
Brewery by Mr. Ind, who, in conjunction with a Mr. Grosvenor, carried
on the business of a brewer. Seventeen years later the partnership was
dissolved, Mr. John Smith took the place of Mr. Grosvenor, and until
1845 the firm traded as Ind and Smith. In that year Mr. Smith sold
his share in the Brewery, and Mr. O. E. Coope and his brother, George
Coope, joined the firm, which then, for the first time, adopted its
present title of Ind, Coope & Co.
A few years back the following epigram appeared in one of the London
comic papers in connection with the name of the firm and _Drink_, the
English version of the play _L’Assomoir_:—
The drunkards in the play of _Drink_
All reeling in a group, O,
Close on intoxication’s brink,
Swill stronger stuff than soup, O,
What is their liquor do you think?—
It should be Ind and Coope, O (Coupeau).
Mr. Ind, the founder of the Romford Brewery, died in 1848, his place
being taken by his son, the present Mr. Ind. Mr. E. V. Ind, another
son of the founder, was also made a partner, as was Mr. Charles Peter
Matthews, to whose skill as a brewer Romford Ales owe much of their
reputation. In 1858, Mr. Thomas Helme (who has recently assumed the
name of Mashiter) joined the firm, which consisted in 1886 of Messrs.
O. E. Coope; Edward Ind; C. P. Matthews (the general managing partner);
T. Mashiter; together with their four sons, and Major F. J. N. Ind, son
of the late Mr. E. V. Ind.
In 1853 Messrs. Ind, Coope & Co. purchased a brewery at Burton, which,
having been enlarged from time to time, now rivals in size the old
brewhouse at Romford. It is under the direction of Mr. E. J. Bird, the
Burton managing partner.
The mash tuns, vats, coppers, &c., of the Romford brewery differ
but little from those used by other firms of the first rank. In the
brewhouse are thirty-two malt bins, the eight largest of which hold
900 quarters, and are each about as large as a small dwelling-house.
{353} Altogether 10,000 quarters of malt can be stored. Extensive hop
rooms, one of which is 110 feet long by 80 feet wide, afford storage
for 5,000 pockets of hops. There are six coppers, the largest of which
holds 32,400 gallons. In the fermenting room are twenty-four squares
with capacities ranging up to 500 barrels. The stores are in seventeen
buildings connected by tramways, and the tram lines on which the casks
are rolled are about eight miles in length. About 600,000 full casks of
various sizes are sent out from the store every year. In the stores are
twenty-three huge vats used for storing old ale.
The cooperage is one of the largest departments in the brewery, giving
employment to thirty-two coopers and fifty-six assistants. In the
stables are some forty or fifty horses, and the more thoroughly to
dispel the popular delusion that brewers’ horses are fed on grains, it
may be worth while stating that these have each an allowance of 42 lbs.
per day of oats, beans, clover, meadow-hay, oat-straw and bran, all
either cut or bruised and mixed together.
On the brewery are kept three fire-engines (a steamer and two manuals)
and a well organised fire-brigade of ten men, which is ever ready to
render its services at fires in the neighbourhood. A laudable feature
in connection with the brewery is a Friendly Society, to which all
the employés belong, and which ensures their receiving, among other
benefits, a substantial allowance during sickness.
At Romford the firm give employment to three hundred men and boys,
exclusive of officials, collectors, &c., and are large employers of
labour at their London stores (where eighty horses are in use); at
their Burton brewery, and at their twenty-five country depôts. The
firm is a great supporter of the Volunteer movement. For many years
Mr. Coope was Major of the Essex Volunteers, and one company of the
battalion to which he was attached is entirely made up of brewery
employés, “doughty sons of malt and hops.”
Messrs. Ind, Coope & Co. stick to the old-fashioned materials for their
beer, and the large extent of what may be termed their private family
trade is an indication not to be lightly disregarded that we English
still adhere to our ancient friendship for Sir John Barleycorn.
One other Burton Brewery yet remains to be mentioned, that of Messrs.
Thomas Salt & Company, at the head of which firm is Mr. Henry Wardle,
the present (1886) member for South Derbyshire, the other partners
being Messrs. Edward Dawson Salt, William Cecil Salt, and Henry George
Tomlinson.
To trace the origin of the firm, it is necessary to go back as far as
{354} the year 1774, when Messrs. Salt & Co.’s maltings were worked
in conjunction with the brewery of Messrs. Clay & Sons. It was about
this time that the great-grandfather of two present members of the
firm added a brewery to the malting business, and thus, in the list
of brewers, then few in number, given in the records of the town for
1789, we find the name of Thomas Salt. In 1822 the only Burton Brewers
mentioned in Pigott’s _Commercial Directory_ were S. Allsopp & Co.;
Bass and Ratcliffe; Thomas Salt & Co.; John Sherrard; and William
Worthington.
When in 1823 the Burton brewers determined to brew an ale which could
compete with Hodgson’s then well-known India pale ale, Salt & Co.
were among the first to bring the idea to a practical issue. There
must indeed have been no lack of energy on the part of the firm, for
in 1884 they came off with flying colours at the International Health
Exhibition, gaining a gold medal for the excellence of their ale.
Salt & Co.’s brewery is bounded on the front by the High Street, while
at the back flows the silvery Trent, the waters of which are not used
in brewing, as many people suppose. Even in Burton, famous as it is
for its waters, every well sunk does not produce the right sort of
“liquor,” and Messrs. Salt & Co., after many fruitless borings on their
own premises, were obliged to sink an artesian well a quarter of a mile
distant before they could obtain the water most suitable for their
purpose.
The firm have several maltings in Burton, the most important of which
is that situated on the Wallsitch. It consists of three huge blocks of
buildings, each of which is seventy yards long, thirty wide, and four
storeys high. As a malting has not yet been described in this book,
some account of the interior of John Barleycorn’s Crematory, taking
that last erected by Messrs. Salt & Co. as a sample, may be read with
interest.
On the ground floor is the cistern, into which the barley, after being
cleansed (technically “screened”), is placed for the purpose of being
steeped. At the end of about fifty hours the clear water is drained
off, and the soaked barley is thrown into the couch frame, where
it remains about twenty-five hours. The grain has now commenced to
germinate. The next process is to distribute it over various floors (by
means of baskets lowered and raised by steam windlasses), where it is
spread on clean red tiles, in layers varying from two to four inches
in thickness, according to the temperature of the weather. For four
or five days the barley is left to grow. At the end of that time its
vitality begins to flag {355} for lack of moisture, and more water is
added, the skill of the maltster being taxed to the utmost in assigning
such a proportion of water as will develop the grain into perfect malt.
At the end of about ten days germination is complete. A great and
wonderful transformation has now taken place, the hard stubborn corn
having been reduced to tender friable malt. The next process is to dry
the malt, and for this purpose it is placed in a kiln and subjected
to a high temperature until the vital principle of germination is
extinguished, and the desired colour has been acquired. Any dry
rootlets which adhere to the grain are then separated by trampling,
a second screening takes place, and the malt is measured into sacks,
every precaution being taken to prevent exposure to the atmosphere,
until it is finally placed in the big bins above the mash tub.
In the process of malting the most ingenious apparatus used is the
screen, which may be described as a _multum in parvo_ piece of
mechanism. Of these machines there are three, each being worked by an
endless leathern rope, and by an ingenious system of graduated riddles,
performing four distinct operations. In one compartment the dust is
blown away by revolving fans, in another the broken half-corns are
removed; the third action clears all stones, rubbish, &c., away, and
finally the thin inferior corns are separated.
To avoid repetition, we are obliged to omit a description of the
brewery, those of the first class at Burton being very similar to one
another. In order to give some idea of the extent of Messrs. Salt
and Co.’s operations, it may be mentioned that in the new house are
five mash tubs, each with a capacity of fifty-five qrs. of malt. The
cooperage belonging to this firm is noteworthy, the casks being made
by elaborate machinery worked by steam, a system followed in very few
English breweries, but which is not uncommon in America.
In the archives of the firm of Truman, Hanbury, Buxton & Co., is a
document bearing the date 1719, which purports to be “An Inventory of
the Goods, Chattels, and Credits of Joseph Truman, which since his
death have come into the hands, possession and knowledge of Benjamin
Truman, Daniel Cooper, and the Executors named in the will of Joseph
Truman.” No earlier written record of the firm is in existence, but
there is a tradition that at some remote period of history there
existed one John Oliver Truman, who carried on the business in Brick
Lane, and to this day all casks leaving the brewery are branded I.O.T.
Even in 1741 the business transacted was considerable. There were then
four partners—Benjamin Truman, John Denne, Francis Cooper and the {356}
executors of Alud Denne. Among the customers were two hundred and
ninety-six publicans, one of whom was John Denne, who retailed the beer
made by this firm.
To the Benjamin Truman above-mentioned must be given the credit of
having made the brewery one of the most important in London. In 1737,
when the Duchess of Brunswick (grand-daughter of George II.) was born,
the Prince of Wales ordered bonfires to be made before Carlton House,
and four barrels of beer to be given to the populace. But the brewer to
the royal household provided beer of the smallest, and the mob threw
it in each other’s faces and into the fire. The Prince good-naturedly
ordered a second bonfire the succeeding night, and Benjamin Truman
supplied the beer. He had the wisdom to send a sturdy brew, the best
his cellars could produce, and the people were greatly pleased. With
such a shrewd trader at its head, it is not surprising that by 1760
Truman’s had taken its place as third among the great London Breweries.
Calvert and Seward came first with 74,704 barrels, Whitbread’s next
with 60,508 barrels, Truman’s following with 60,140 barrels.
Benjamin Truman was knighted by George III., and portraits of him
and his daughter, by Gainsborough, still hang in the drawing room
of the house in Brick Lane. In the same room is a portrait of Mr.
Sampson Hanbury (the first of the name who joined the firm), a famous
sportsman, who for thirty-five years was Master of the Puckeridge
Hounds. He entered the firm in 1780, and was subsequently joined by his
brother. Sampson Hanbury’s sister, Anna, married Thomas Fowell Buxton,
of Earle’s Colne. This gentleman was High Sheriff of his county, and
served the office with special credit. He died in 1792, leaving a
widow, three sons, and two daughters. The eldest son, Thomas Fowell
Buxton, was only six years old at his father’s death. This little
fellow was destined to be, perhaps, the most distinguished partner in
the firm. He was educated at Greenwich, and Trinity College, Dublin,
at which latter place he carried off the highest honours, and when
only twenty-one years of age received an influential requisition to
represent the University in Parliament. This honour he declined. He
had originally been intended for the Bar, but in 1808, when on a visit
to the brewery, his uncles, Osgood and Sampson Hanbury, being struck
with his undoubted abilities, offered him a situation in the business,
and in 1811 made him a partner. The other members of the firm at that
time were Mr. Sampson Hanbury, Mr. John Truman Villebois, and Mr. Henry
Villebois. {357}