Historic Beer Birthday: William Penn

October 14, 2024 By Jay Brooks

Today is the birthday of William Penn (October 14, 1644-July 30, 1718). He “was the son of Sir William Penn, and was an English real estate entrepreneur, philosopher, early Quaker, and founder of the Province of Pennsylvania, the English North American colony and the future Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He was an early advocate of democracy and religious freedom, notable for his good relations and successful treaties with the Lenape Native Americans. Under his direction, the city of Philadelphia was planned and developed.

In 1681, King Charles II handed over a large piece of his American land holdings to Penn to appease the debts the king owed to Penn’s father. This land included present-day Pennsylvania and Delaware. Penn immediately set sail and took his first step on American soil in New Castle in 1682 after his trans-Atlantic journey. On this occasion, the colonists pledged allegiance to Penn as their new proprietor, and the first general assembly was held in the colony. Afterwards, Penn journeyed up the Delaware River and founded Philadelphia. However, Penn’s Quaker government was not viewed favourably by the Dutch, Swedish, and English settlers in what is now Delaware. They had no “historical” allegiance to Pennsylvania, so they almost immediately began petitioning for their own assembly. In 1704 they achieved their goal when the three southernmost counties of Pennsylvania were permitted to split off and become the new semi-autonomous colony of Lower Delaware. As the most prominent, prosperous and influential “city” in the new colony, New Castle became the capital.

As one of the earlier supporters of colonial unification, Penn wrote and urged for a union of all the English colonies in what was to become the United States of America. The democratic principles that he set forth in the Pennsylvania Frame of Government served as an inspiration for the United States Constitution. As a pacifist Quaker, Penn considered the problems of war and peace deeply. He developed a forward-looking project for a United States of Europe through the creation of a European Assembly made of deputies that could discuss and adjudicate controversies peacefully. He is therefore considered the very first thinker to suggest the creation of a European Parliament.

A man of extreme religious convictions, Penn wrote numerous works in which he exhorted believers to adhere to the spirit of Primitive Christianity. He was imprisoned several times in the Tower of London due to his faith, and his book No Cross, No Crown (1669), which he wrote while in prison, has become a Christian classic.”

Of course, that’s his mainstream history, he also made contributions to America’s nascent brewing history. For example, here’s an account, “William Penn And Beermaking in Colonial Pennsylvania,” excerpted from Stanley Baron’s “Brewed in America,” published in 1962:

Pennsylvania and New Jersey were latecomers among the American colonies. True enough, there had been in their development a Swedish period and a Dutch period, but the real establishment of the two colonies had to wait for the time of the English “proprietors.” It was in 1680 that William Penn received his famous grant of land from Charles II, as payment of a debt owed to Penn’s father, the celebrated admiral. By this means Penn became sole proprietor of a colony which he foresaw as a place of refuge for his fellow Quakers — the nonconformist sect whose faith earned them nothing but contempt and persecution in England (as well as in most of the established American colonies). Before he set out in 1682 he sent ahead a government plan of his own devising, and also a number of representatives to map out a city to be called Philadelphia. Penn’s concept of government was extraordinarily liberal, in many respects tantamount to a genuinely democratic scheme; moreover, he guaranteed complete freedom of worship, and delegated much more administrative authority than any other of the colonial governors saw fit to allow.
Penn understood the wisdom of securing friendly relations with the Indians from the start. In 1683, he established a “Great Treaty” with them. In exchange for property rights which they were willing to grant him, he made a practice of giving them a variety of goods — in at least one instance, a barrel of beer.
Shortly after Penn’s arrival, an Assembly was held in Chester, the former Swedish settlement of Upland. At this meeting his Frame of Government was adopted; and there were also laid down certain laws regulating the licensing of taverns, taxing of beer, sale of alcoholic beverages to Indians, etc. Such laws were sooner or later passed in every one of the American colonies and differ only in the merest details.
Penn himself was enough of a beer-drinker to have a brewhouse constructed at the estate he built in Pennsbury, Bucks County, twenty miles upriver from Philadelphia. At a cost of about £7000 and over a period of many years, the manor-house was erected under Penn’s supervision, although he was most of that time back in England. He made a start on the project soon after his arrival in 1682, but he had to return to England in 1684. He commissioned his trusted friend James Harrison as “Steward of the Household at Pennsbury,” and from that date until his return, he wrote frequent letters, filled with details about the house’s specifications, the gardens, the servants, slaves, etc. “I would have a Kitchen,” he wrote from London after he returned there in 1684, “two larders, a wash house & room to iron in, a brew house & in it an oven for bakeing.” During the following two years he felt the need to repeat these instructions, which in time were fulfilled.
Penn was not able to see the results at Pennsbury until 1699. At that time, as things turned out, he remained only a year; thus he spent in all only three years in America. Nonetheless, he made good use of Pennsbury while he was there; “Indians almost every morning were waiting in the hall, seated on their haunches.” Penn also entertained in that house the governors of Maryland and Virginia, as well as what are usually referred to as “visiting dignitaries.” None of Penn’s descendants cared for the house as the proprietor himself had, and it was permitted by sheer neglect to go to ruin. It was finally torn down at the time of the Revolution, but somehow the brewhouse structure managed to survive until 1864. It is described as being 20 by 35 feet, “with solid brick chimney and foundations, 10-inch sills and posts, and weatherboarded with dressed cedar.”
That there was beer in the earliest stages of Philadelphia’s settlement is attested to by the immigrant Thomas Paschall in 1683: “Here is very good Rye . . . also Barly of 2 sorts, as Winter and Summer, . . . also Oats, and 3 sorts of Indian Corne, (two of which sorts they can Malt and make good beer as Barley).”
In a 1685 account of progress in his colony, Penn wrote:
“Our DRINK has been Beer and Punch, made of Rum and Water: Our Beer was mostly made of Molasses, which well boyld, with Sassafras or Pine infused into it, makes very tolerable drink; but now they make Mault, and Mault Drink begins to be common, especially at the Ordinaries and the Houses of the more substantial People. In our great Town there is an able Man, that has set up a large Brew House, in order to furnish the People with good Drink, both there and up and down the River.”
Farther along in the same document, he identified this “able man” as William Frampton, and to demonstrate the first Philadelphia brewer’s prosperity, he added that Frampton had recently built “a good Brick house, by his Brew House and Bake House, and let the other for an Ordinary.” Frampton — Quaker, merchant, provincial councillor and landowner — originally emigrated to New York and did not arrive in Philadelphia until 1683. If he was as prosperous as Penn makes out, he did not enjoy this state for long: he died in 1686.
In those early days of Philadelphia, many inhabitants are said to have owned their own malt-houses in order to make strong beer at home, and Gabriel Thomas stated in his account of the town (as of 1696) that there were three or four “spacious malt-houses, as many large brew-houses.” Thomas, a Welsh pioneer who lived in the colony for fifteen years, also described Philadelphia beer as “equal in strength to that in London,” selling for 15s. the barrel — cheaper than in England. In addition, he speaks of Philadelphia beer as having a “better Name, that is, is in more esteem than English Beer in Barbadoes and is sold for a higher Price there.” This would be an extremely early, if not the first, instance of American beer being exported outside of the mainland, though there is no indication of the regularity or volume of business thus entailed. In the course of the eighteenth century, Philadelphia beer began to make a resounding reputation for itself: the origins of that fame may lie right here, in this remark of Thomas’s comparing the beer favorably with the English product. On the other hand, Thomas’s unbridled enthusiasm must not be discounted — he may very well have been trying to paint the prettiest possible picture of conditions in America, and particularly Pennsylvania.
Another brewer of this earliest Philadelphia period was Joshua Carpenter, whose brother, Samuel, had come over from England several years before Penn’s arrival. Samuel Carpenter, a Quaker, was responsible for building Philadelphia’s first wharf, between Walnut Street and Dock Creek. Joshua, who had followed his brother to Philadelphia some years later and who was himself not a Quaker, did so well out of his brewing enterprise that he was rated as the second richest inhabitant of the town in 1693; his brother was first.
The brewery established by Anthony Morris in 1687, south of Walnut Street, on the riverbank side of Front, was a longer-lasting establishment. Morris (the second of his name) was another Quaker, provincial councillor and second mayor of Philadelphia. He had sailed for America in 1682, and settled first in Burlington, New Jersey. Three years later, however, he went to Philadelphia, and soon set up his brewery there. His son, Anthony, Jr., prepared himself for the business by becoming in 1696 an indentured apprentice to another brewer operating in Philadelphia at that time, Henry Babcock. It was stated in the indenture that he was to spend seven years learning “the art or trade of a Brewer.” He undertook to keep the brewing “secrets” of Babcock and his wife Mary, “& from their service he shall not absent himself, nor the art & mystery of brewing he shall not disclose or discover to any person or persons during ye sd term.” His father paid the Babcocks the sum of twenty pounds, and they undertook not only to teach him for seven years, but also to lodge and board him, and “mending of his linen & woolen cloaths.” They on their side promised not to put him to “slavish work,” such as grinding at the handmill and the like.
It must have been this younger Anthony Morris who signed his name, “Morris junr,” at the bottom of a receipt that read: “Reed of Hannah Ring Eighteen Shillings for barrel Ale delivered for funeral of her husband 7mo 4th 1731.”
The Morris brewery was conducted as a family business, handed down from generation to generation, until 1836, when ownership of the concern was taken over by outsiders. Through marriage with the Perot family of French Huguenot background, however, the Morrises have maintained an unbroken connection with the brewing industry. In 1823 Francis Perot married the daughter of Thomas Morris, in whose brewery he had spent six years as apprentice. With brothers, sons and then grandsons in charge, the Perot family have been malting in Philadelphia ever since.
Pennsylvania had made an encouraging, even a spectacular, beginning. It had grown like a balloon; within twenty years, by the end of the century, its main city had a population equal to that of New York (4000). And yet, after about twenty-five years, it began to bog down. Penn died in 1718, but a good many years before that he had relinquished personal control of the province, while remaining proprietor. Relations with the Indians deteriorated; boundary conflicts, like sores, kept irritating the relations between Pennsylvania and her neighbors; and the fine promise of commercial prosperity had been disappointed. The bold Philadelphia printer, Andrew Bradford, was hauled before the Council in 1721 for publishing a pamphlet called “Some Remedies proposed for the restoring of the Sunk Credit of the Province of Pennsylvania.” He was reprimanded for so-called libelous statements.
Yet at the same time, the Council, under Governor Sir William Keith, passed laws designed to improve just those conditions which it had called untrue in Bradford’s case. Among those was an act “for laying a Duty on Wine, Rum, Brandy and Spirits, Molassoes, Cyder, Hops and Flax, imported, landed or brought into this Province.” The self-evident purpose of an act like this was to give aid to home manufactures and, by placing a duty on imported hops, of course, the Council encouraged Pennsylvania farmers to cultivate them locally. Another reason for this act was undoubtedly the wish to cut down supplies of beverages with high alcoholic content, in favor of beer (which did not appear among the list of dutiable items) — but the barn door may have been closed too late, for by the eighteenth century rum was universally available in America, and increasingly popular. Acts of the same kind were passed at intervals by the Provincial Council — in 1738, 1744, etc. — but they appear to have been less than wholly effectual.

And this short history is from the online Museum of Beer and Brewing:

The William Penn Brewery — the staid Quaker build one of the earliest breweries in America near what is now Philadelphia. Part of his lands were colonized by immigrants from the German Palatinate who found Penn’s Product, prepared under the supervision of a Master Brewer from Europe, highly palatable. The first brewery in America was built in New Amsterdam (now New York) in the 17th century about 30 years before Penn’s.

17th-Century-William-Penn-Brewery
The illustration for William Penn’s Brewery from the Museum of Beer and Brewing.

And this is the labels from a beer created to honor William Penn by the now-defunct (I believe) William Penn Brewing Co., which appears to have been a contract beer.

Historic Beer Birthday: George Blackall Simonds

October 6, 2024 By Jay Brooks

simonds
Today is the birthday of George Blackall Simonds (October 6, 1843-December 16, 1919). He “was an English sculptor and director of H & G Simonds Brewery in Reading in the English county of Berkshire. George was the second son of George Simonds Senior of Reading, director of H & G Simonds, and Mary Anne, the daughter of William Boulger of Bradfield. His grandfather was Reading brewing and banking entrepreneur, William Blackall Simonds. He added Blackall to his name after the death of his brother, Blackall Simonds II, in 1905. He was brother-in-law of the portrait painter, John Collingham Moore, and cousin of the botanist, George Simonds Boulger. He served as the inaugural Master of the Art Workers’ Guild in 1884-85.

Here’s a biography of George Blackall Simonds, from Royal Berkshire History:

George Simonds was the second son and fourth child of George Simonds Senior of Reading in Berkshire, director of the H & G Simonds Brewery in the same town, by his wife, Mary Anne Boulger. His grandfather was the great brewing and banking magnate, William Blackall Simonds. George became an early student at St Andrew’s College (later Bradfield College) in 1852. In 1858, aged just 15, he went to study sculpture under Professor Johannes Schilling in Dresden, moving on to study under Louis Jehotte at The Academy of Brussels, before living and working for 12 years in Rome from 1864. He returned to London in 1875 and set up his studio at 152 Buckingham Palace Road, moving on to Priory Studios, 21 North Bank in St John’s Wood in 1888. In 1877, he married Gertrude Prescott, an American whom he had met in Rome. They had a son George Prescott Simonds in 1881, who was killed in France at the beginning of World War I. George Simonds last exhibited in 1903 and his artistic life ended on the death of his elder brother Blackall in 1905, who in his Will, stipulated that George, as his heir, should take the Blackall name. He then became a Director of the prosperous family brewery in Reading, serving as Chairman from 1910 until his death in 1929. During this period he lived at ‘Rushall Grange’ in Bradfield, and ‘Holly Copse’ in Goring, all close to his mother’s ancestral home, Bradfield House, where he finally settled.
George Simonds’ masterpiece ‘The Falconer’ has been made famous by the version which stands in Central Park in the city of New York. It depicts a young boy in 14th Century doublet, stepping forward and in the act of slipping a huge peregrine falcon. Simonds stays true to his idealist principles and continues the ‘Romantic’ theme of many of his works. The Central Park work (Opus 63) is mounted on a cylindrical granite pedestal perched on a natural outcrop of Manhatten Schist on 72nd Street, east of the Park’s West Drive. The statue itself, standing over 11 feet tall, was cast in a single piece using the ‘cire perdue’ or ‘lost-wax’ process by the master founder Professor Clement Papi (1802-1875) in Florence, Italy in 1870. While in Italy, Simonds learned much about the craft and traditions of lost-wax bronze casting. He later published an article on this subject in the journal ‘American Architect and Builder’ (Vol 19 15th May 1886, pp235-258), in which he argued for the use of lost-wax casting in Great Britain.
The original life sized bronze sculpture of the Falconer (Opus 51) was shown at the Vienna International Exhibition of 1873. From here it was sent on for exhibition in Trieste, Italy, where it was bought by ‘The Society of Arts’ and is now in the ‘Galleria d’arte Moderne del Civico Museo Revoltella’ a city museum. A marble version with the falcon in ‘Electro Silver’ [Opus 88] was shown at the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1875 and depicted in the Illustrated London News of July 24th. George Kemp (1826-1893), a wealthy merchant born in Ireland and who lived in New York City, admired the plaster form for the original sculpture so much whilst on a visit to Rome in 1870 that he commissioned a colossal bronze replica for Central Park without even waiting to see the finished work. It was dedicated in New York on May 31st 1875. Following international critical acclaim, three further small bronze versions were later completed. Robert Evans, a Beverly native who had admired the sculpture while convalescing in a hospital overlooking Central Park, commissioned a bronze replica for Lynch Park, Beverly, Massachusetts. A mould was taken from the original by local sculptor George Brewster. It was then cast by Gorham Foundry, Newburyport using the lost-wax process in about 1912.
The Central Park ‘Falconer’ has suffered extensive damage, both from weathering and vandals. In danger of toppling in 1937, it was shored up and repatinated. In 1941 it was repositioned. In 1957 a new bronze falcon was fashioned and reattached. Later vandals cut off both the hand and falcon, which compelled the Parks Department to remove the sculpture to storage for safekeeping. In 1982 a replacement was cast and the statue then reset on its pedestal. In 1995 the Central Park Conservancy again repatinated and coated the statue, which today stands as an embodiment of the Park’s rich 19th Century sculptural inheritance, as well as its abundant bird species that includes the peregrine falcon.
Simonds himself was an avid falconer. He became Founder President of the British Falconers’ Club in 1927 and was later depicted with a falcon in his official portrait as chairman of the family brewery, by Sir Oswald Birley RP (1880-1952). In 1884, with a group of young architects and artists inspired by John Ruskin (1819-1900) and William Morris (1834-1896) he founded and became the first Master of the Art Workers Guild in London. Their objective was to create a unified forum for architects, artists and craftsmen. Simonds said of the guild: “…it differs from all Art Societies in that it is not formed for the propagation of any one branch, or style, of art…. I find some things of the spirit of the Studio Life of Rome”.
Other monumental works by Simonds include the ‘Maiwand Lion’ sculpture he created in cast iron for the Forbury Gardens in Reading, England in 1886. It was commissioned by the Berkshire Memorial Fund with the Berkshire Regiment as a ‘Memorial to the 66th Regiment’, who had been almost wiped out in the Battle of Maiwand in the Afghan War of 1880. In 1887, Simonds sculpted a monumental marble statue of Queen Victoria for her Golden Jubilee, which stands outside Reading Town Hall, and in 1891 a bronze portrait of industrialist, philanthropist and biscuit king George Palmer for Broad Street, Reading, which was moved to the local Palmer Park in 1930. Simonds created over 200 works in an extraordinary diversity of media and techniques, mastering; marble, bronze, plaster, terracotta, cameo, silver, brass, wood and cast iron, a remarkable achievement.

GBS-1874-studio

George was a leading proponent of the renaissance ‘Lost Wax Process’ used in casting large Bronze works, publishing variously on the subject in the UK and the USA. George was associated with William Morris (1834-1896) and the critic John Ruskin (1819-1900) much involved in the new ‘Arts & Crafts movement’. He served as the inaugural Master of the Art Workers Guild in 1884. The Guild was formed by a group of young architects who, inspired by the ideals of Pugin, Ruskin and Morris, wished to create a forum where architects could meet artists and craftsmen; it was a response to a widely felt crisis in the Arts. His best known works are The Falconer (1873) in Central Park, New York City (US) and the Maiwand Lion (1886) in the Forbury Gardens, Reading in Berkshire (UK).

The Falconer, in Central Park, NYC.He was also a keen falconer.

And here’s more about his brewery.

simonds-brewery

“The Simonds brewery was founded in Broad Street in Reading by William Blackall Simonds in 1785 (although his father had a brewing arm of his malting business as early as 1760). The company moved to Bridge Street, where it remained until 1978. The site is now occupied by The Oracle shopping centre. Simonds became a very early limited company in 1885, taking the name of H & G Simonds from William’s two sons, Henry and George. The latter was the father of a later director, George Blackall Simonds, a sculptor.”

“The company amalgamated with Courage & Barclay in 1960 and dropped the Simonds name after ten years. Eventually the firm became part of Scottish & Newcastle who sold the brands to Wells & Young’s Brewery in 2007 and closed the Reading brewery three years later.”

Historic Beer Birthday: John Courage

October 1, 2024 By Jay Brooks

Today is the birthday of John Courage (October 1, 1761-October 1797). He founded the Courage Brewery in London in 1787, when he bought a brew house in Horselydown, Bermondsey, London.

This biography is from Courage & Co., a website dedicated to the Courage Brewery and the Courage family.

John Courage, the founder of Courage & Co., came to London in 1780 as a
younger son of a French Huguenot family who had been exiled and settled in Scotland a century before.
In a letter dated 7th February 1786, the Founder’s sister writes to him congratulating him on his marriage to Harriet Murdoch and that “the marriage is no surprise to us and be that she be a sober good woman and that we drank your health on your marriage night very hearty.”

The Anchor Brewhouse, the location of the original Courage Brewery.

By 1787 he had already been in business in London for eight years as an agent for the Glasgow shipping firm of Carron which traded from the Glasgow Wharf (the Carron and Continental Wharves) on the north side of the Thames, downstream from the Tower of London.
John Courage was the only surviving son of his late father, Alexander, when he left Aberdeen for London in about 1780 to become the Wapping agent for Carron Shipping, leaving behind in Aberdeen his mother Isabel and his unmarried sister Ann. John could see across the river to the foreshore of Southwark and decided to diversify his interests by going into the beer business. Thus it was that the name of Courage became associated with the brewing industry.
When John Courage, together with a number of friends, settled for the purchase of a brew house at Horselydown, on the south bank of the Thames, he was investing his acumen and money in a staple industry at an opportune time. He purchased the Anchor Brewery at Horselydown, Bermondsey, in 1787 from John and Hagger Ellis. An earlier owner of the Brewery was Vassal Webbing a Flemish émigré. What is interesting is that both Vassal Webbing and John were described in G.N. Hardinge’s book, Courages 1787-1932, as being Protestant émigrés. Frank Courage wrote to his daughter Milly in New Zealand in 1914, that he thought John (his Grandfather), could have come from Flanders, as brewing has always been more of an industry there than in France. The only known French Protestant Courages in the 1600s were Thomas and Nicholas Courage, and their names do not appear in Aberdeen, so the search has shifted to Flanders (Belgium), for our Protestant forebears.
On 17th December 1787, John Courage, aged 26, paid a cheque for £100 to the Morris Estate as part payment for the Private House and Old Brewhouse at Horselydown over the Thames and opposite Wapping. On Christmas Eve, John paid the balance on the purchase of £674 18s 9d. On 4th January 1788, he paid George Courage £26 6s for sundries and scroll book. On 15th January 1788 John purchased one silk waistcoat for 19 shillings 8d, and on 7th June paid John Ward £10 for a gelding. On 15th November 1788, the Founder’s sister Ann writes to her brother “this piece of news that our king is died” (Bonnie Prince Charlie in exile in Italy).
In March 1793, tragedy struck and John’s sister Ann died of a fever in Aberdeen and was buried beside her father in Old Machar; there is a long letter from the Founder’s mother, Isabel Courage, about this in the Courage Collection at the Greater London Record Office, EC1, together with the other original letters that survive from this period including the old brewery book.
In May 1793, Archibald Courage from Findhorn supplies his cousin “with 1000 American staves and 20 bundles hoops”. Courage Beer was being shipped all over the world, as its reputation grew. 2 hogsheads of Porter on 25th February 1793 were shipped back to Scotland to the Earl of Fife,
and throughout 1794 barrels of porter were dispatched to India, Dominica, Antigua, Amsterdam, Hambro, Gibraltar and Lisbon. Ann Murdoch, the Founder’s mother-in-law spent £6-10-6 on clothes for her grandson John in September 1796 and Mrs Courage’s house expenses for the month of October 1796 were £9-6-10d.
On 26th June 1788 a son, John, was born to John and his wife Harriet and on 8th June 1790 twins Ann and Elizabeth were born. On 23rd February 1795 another daughter, Harriet, was born.
John Courage died in October 1797 aged 36 and was buried at St John’s, Horselydown. His widow, Harriet died in May the following year aged 32, and was also buried at Horselydown. On Harriet’s death, the new John Courage was only 10, and John Donaldson, the managing clerk, took over the running of the Brewery, becoming a partner in the newly named firm of Courage and Donaldson, taking a third of the gross profits which was afterwards enlarged to half, as well as half of the capital.

This is a short history of the brewery from its Wikipedia page:

Courage & Co Ltd was started by John Courage at the Anchor Brewhouse in Horsleydown, Bermondsey in 1787. He was a Scottish shipping agent of French Huguenot descent. It became Courage & Donaldson in 1797. By 1888, it had been registered simply as Courage. In 1955, the company merged with Barclay, Perkins & Co Ltd (who were located at the nearby Anchor Brewery) to become Courage, Barclay & Co Ltd. Only five years later another merger with the Reading based Simonds Brewery led to the name changing to Courage, Barclay, Simonds & Co Ltd. In the late 1960s, the group had assets of approximately £100m, and operated five breweries in London, Reading, Bristol, Plymouth and Newark-on-Trent. It owned some 5,000 licensed premises spread over the whole of Southern England, a large part of South Wales and an extensive area of the East Midlands and South Yorkshire. It was employing some 15,000 people and producing something like 75 million imperial gallons (340,000,000 L) of beer annually. Its name was simplified to Courage Ltd in October 1970 and the company was taken over by the Imperial Tobacco Group Ltd two years later.
Its vast Worton Grange (later the Berkshire) brewery was opened on the Reading/Shinfield border in 1978. The Anchor Brewery closed in 1981 and all brewing was transferred to Reading. Imperial Tobacco was acquired by the Hanson Trust in 1986 and it sold off Courage to Elders IXL who were renamed the Foster’s Brewing Group in 1990. The following year the Courage section of Foster’s merged with the breweries of Grand Metropolitan. Its public houses were owned by a joint-company called Inntrepreneur Estates. Scottish & Newcastle purchased Courage from Foster’s in 1995, creating Scottish Courage as its brewing arm.

Historic Beer Birthday: Lord Chesterfield

September 22, 2024 By Jay Brooks

Today is the birthday of Lord Chesterfield, whose full name was Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield (September 22, 1694-March 24, 1773). He “was a British statesman, and a man of letters, and wit. He was born in London to Philip Stanhope, 3rd Earl of Chesterfield, and Lady Elizabeth Savile, and known as Lord Stanhope until the death of his father, in 1726. Educated at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, he subsequently embarked on the Grand Tour of the Continent, to complete his education as a nobleman, by exposure to the cultural legacies of Classical antiquity and the Renaissance, and to become acquainted with his aristocratic counterparts and the polite society of Continental Europe.

In the course of his post-graduate tour of Europe, the death of Queen Anne (r. 1702–1714) and the accession of King George I (r. 1714–1727) opened a political career for Stanhope, and he returned to England. In the British political spectrum he was a Whig and entered government service, as a courtier to the King, through the mentorship of his relative, James Stanhope, 1st Earl Stanhope, the King’s favourite minister, who procured his appointment as Lord of the Bedchamber to the Prince of Wales.

Today he’s arguably best known for two things. The first is the numerous letters written to his illegitimate son Phillip Stanhope. They consisted of 400 private correspondences written over thirty years, first published a year after Lord Chesterfield’s death as “Letters to His Son on the Art of Becoming a Man of the World and a Gentleman.” From that correspondence, many quotations have become well-known, such as “Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well,” “Never seem more learned than the people you are with. Wear your learning like a pocket watch and keep it hidden. Do not pull it out to count the hours, but give the time when you are asked,” “Take care of the minutes and the hours will take care of themselves,” and “Know the true value of time; snatch, seize, and enjoy every moment of it. No idleness, no delay, no procrastination; never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.” Then there’s “Young men are apt to think themselves wise enough, as drunken men are apt to think themselves sober enough” and “Choose your pleasures for yourself, and do not let them be imposed upon you. Follow nature and not fashion: weigh the present enjoyment of your pleasures against the necessary consequences of them, and then let your own common sense determine your choice.”

Portrait by Jonathan Richardson from 1728.Here’s the description from the Oxford edition of Chesterfield’s collected letters:

Not originally intended for publication, the celebrated and controversial correspondences between Lord Chesterfield and his son Philip, dating from 1737, were praised in their day as a complete manual of education, and despised by Samuel Johnson for teaching “the morals of a whore and the manners of a dancing-master.” Reflecting the political craft of a leading statesman and the urbane wit of a man who associated with Pope, Addison, and Swift, Lord Chesterfield’s Letters reveal the author’s political cynicism, his views on good breeding, and instruction to his son in etiquette and the worldly arts. The only annotated selection of this breadth available in paperback, these entertaining letters illuminate the fascinating aspects of eighteenth-century life and manners.

The second thing he’s known for today is Yuengling Brewery’s Lord Chesterfield Ale, which the brewery first brewed in 1829, the year they were founded as the Eagle Brewery.

The Lord Chesterfield Ale label in 1934. lord-chesterfield-3

Historic Beer Birthday: Thomas Greenall

September 21, 2024 By Jay Brooks

Today is the birthday of Thomas Greenall (September 21, 1733-January 18, 1805). He founded Greenall’s Brewery in 1762.

Here’s a history of the brewery, from Wikipedia:

Greenall’s Brewery was founded by Thomas Greenall in 1762. Initially based in St Helens, the company relocated to Warrington in 1787.
It bought the Groves & Whitnall Brewery in Salford in 1961, Shipstone’s Brewery in Nottingham in 1978 and Davenport’s Brewery in Birmingham in 1986. For much of the 20th century, the company traded as Greenall Whitley & Co Limited. The St Helens brewery was demolished in the 1970s to make way for a new shopping centre. The Warrington brewery on the edge of Stockton Heath was bought by Bruntwood, renamed Wilderspool Business Park and is now let to office occupiers.
The company ceased brewing in 1991 to concentrate on running pubs and hotels.
In 1999, the tenanted wing of the Greenall’s operation was sold to the Japanese bank, Nomura for £370 million and the main Greenall’s operation, involving 770 pubs and 69 budget lodges, was sold to Scottish and Newcastle for £1.1billion. Greenalls started to focus its resources on its De Vere and Village Leisure hotel branding at that time.
In February 2005, Greenalls sold The Belfry to The Quinn Group for £186 million.
The Greenall family connection remained as Lord Daresbury, the descendant of the original founder, remained the non-executive chairman. This tie was severed in 2006 when Daresbury stepped down from the post and much of the family’s interest was sold.

And this is from Funding Universe:

Patriarch Thomas Greenall learned the brewing trade from his wife’s family in the 1750s and founded his own brewery in northwestern England at St. Helens in 1762. Brewing was a highly competitive business, with rivals ranging from the lone homebrewer to inns and pubs that brewed their own ales to wholesale brew masters like Greenall. Though the founder dabbled in nail making, coal mining, and yarn spinning throughout the late 18th century, brewing remained the family’s core interest. By the turn of the century, Thomas had brought sons Edward, William, and Peter into the business. The Greenalls began to purchase their own pubs and inns as early as 1800, helping to accelerate a gradual elimination of their competition. In Britain, it was customary for bars owned by breweries to carry only the beers brewed by the parent company. For nearly two centuries, these “tied houses” were a profitable segment of Greenall’s business.
In 1788, Greenall formed a separate partnership with William Orrett and Thomas Lyon to purchase the Saracen’s Head Brewery in nearby Wilderspool. Business was so good that within just three years the three partners undertook a £4,400 expansion of the operation.
The family business interests endured a rapid succession of generations in the first two decades of the 19th century. In 1805, both Thomas Greenall and William Orrett died. By 1817, the passing of William and Peter Greenall left only Edward to operate the growing St. Helens brewery. Just a year later, Thomas Lyon died. His nephew and heir, also Thomas, was interested in the Wilderspool brewery only as an investment. In 1818, 60-year-old Edward assigned eldest son Thomas to manage the family’s half interest in Wilderspool and charged younger son Peter with management of the family brewery at St. Helens.
While Peter pursued politics, eventually winning election to Parliament, Thomas proved to be the brewer of his generation. By this time, the family businesses had grown to the point that the Greenalls served as chairmen, guiding the overall direction of the company but leaving daily management concerns to other top executives. Throughout this period, ownership of the pubs and inns through which Greenall’s porters, sparkling ales, and bitters were dispensed was a key to maintaining a strong competitive position.

And this is Greenall Whitley & Co’s., Wilderspool Brewery, in Warrington in 1887.

This account from The Groves & Whitnall’s Globe Works begins with Thomas:

Thomas Greenall became manager of his mother-in-law’s brewery in St Helens, Lancashire, in 1754, and went on to build his own in Hardshaw, St Helens, in 1762. In 1786 he bought the Saracen’s Head Brewery at Wilderspool, Warrington, in partnership with William Orrett and Thomas Lyon. In 1787, the partners acquired an interest in the brewery of Edward Greenall and Co in Cunliff Street, Liverpool, which ceased trading in 1814. In 1807, Orrett’s son sold his interest to Lyon and Greenall. On the death of Thomas Lyon, nephew of the original partner, in 1859, Greenall and Company was formed.

How Is Lager Beer Made?

June 21, 2019 By Jay Brooks

This is an interesting piece of history I stumbled upon regarding lager beer in England. In the 19th century, there was a weekly publication called “Replies,” subtitled “A Weekly Journal of Question and Answer.” I don’t know how long it was published, but the one I came across is for Saturday, June 21, 1879. It apparently cost twopence and new issues came out every Saturday. As far as I can tell, the majority of the publication consisted of people writing in with questions, and the editors answering them, although there were also sections of current events going on, specific columns, and, naturally, ads.

The question I came across, you’ve probably guessed, was “How Is Lager Beer Made?” The query was made by someone named Edith.

So there answer also referenced her initial query, which I managed to track down. That questions, the same question, with a less-satisfying answer (to the editors, at least) was given on May 24, 1879, roughly a month before the above answer.

Beer In Ads #2999: Birra Metzger Waving Waiter

May 20, 2019 By Jay Brooks

Monday’s ad is for Birra Metzger, from around 1930. From the late 1800s until the 1960s, poster art really came into its own, and in Europe a lot of really cool posters, many of them for breweries, were produced. This poster is for Birra Metzger, founded in Turin, Italy, in 1848. The brewery was bought in 1944, but closed in 1975. In the last few years, however, it’s been relaunched as Metzger 1848. It was created by British painter Daphne Mabel Maugham, who emigrated to Turin, Italy, in 1925.

Edward Lear’s Beer Nonsense

May 12, 2019 By Jay Brooks

Today is the birthday of English artist, illustrator, musician, author and poet Edward Lear (May 12, 1812–January 29, 1888). He is “known mostly for his literary nonsense in poetry and prose and especially his limericks, a form he popularised. His principal areas of work as an artist were threefold: as a draughtsman employed to illustrate birds and animals; making coloured drawings during his journeys, which he reworked later, sometimes as plates for his travel books; as a (minor) illustrator of Alfred, Lord Tennyson‘s poems. As an author, he is known principally for his popular nonsense collections of poems, songs, short stories, botanical drawings, recipes, and alphabets. He also composed and published twelve musical settings of Tennyson’s poetry.”

Given the time he lived, not to mention the place, you probably won’t be surprised to learn that beer and ale come up in his work from time to time. Here are a few examples of that from his nonsense books.

Lear-Old-man-owl — Here’s an original sketch of the same Old Man with an Owl panel.

Christopher Smart’s “The Hop-Garden”

April 11, 2019 By Jay Brooks

hop-leaf
Christopher Smart was an English poet (April 11, 1722–May 21, 1771). He “was a major contributor to two popular magazines and a friend to influential cultural icons like Samuel Johnson and Henry Fielding. Smart, a high church Anglican, was widely known throughout London.” He had some goofy nicknames, such as “Kit Smart”, “Kitty Smart”, and “Jack Smart.”

Here’s some basic info about him from Wikipedia:

Smart was infamous as the pseudonymous midwife “Mrs. Mary Midnight” and widespread accounts of his father-in-law, John Newbery, locking him away in a mental asylum for many years over Smart’s supposed religious “mania”. Even after Smart’s eventual release, a negative reputation continued to pursue him as he was known for incurring more debt than he could repay; this ultimately led to his confinement in debtors’ prison until his death.
Smart’s two most widely known works are A Song to David and Jubilate Agno, both at least partly written during his confinement in asylum. However, Jubilate Agno was not published until 1939 and A Song to David received mixed reviews until the 19th century. To his contemporaries, Smart was known mainly for his many contributions in the journals The Midwife and The Student, along with his famous Seaton Prize poems and his mock epic The Hilliad. Although he is primarily recognised as a religious poet, his poetry includes various other themes, such as his theories on nature and his promotion of English nationalism.

One of his longer poems was called “The Hop-Garden” and was first published in 1752. It was originally part of Poems on Several Occasions, an early collection of Smart’s poems. Here’s how Wikipedia describes it:

The poem is rooted the Virgilian georgic and Augustan literature; it is one of the first long poems published by Smart. The poem is literally about a hop garden, and, in the Virgilian tradition, attempts to instruct the audience in how to farm hops properly.
While the poem deals with natural and scientific principles, there is a strong autobiographical tendency. While the poem marks Smart’s classical and Latin influences, it also reveals Smart’s close association and influence with Miltonic poetic form, especially with the reliance on Miltonic blank verse.

The poem is divided into two books.

THE HOP-GARDEN.

A GEORGIC.

BOOK the FIRST.

THE land that answers best the farmer’s care,
And silvers to maturity the Hop:
When to inhume the plants; to turn the glebe;
And wed the tendrils to th’ aspiring poles:
Under what sign to pluck the crop, and how
To cure, and in capacious sacks infold,
I teach in verse Miltonian. Smile the muse,
And meditate an honour to that land
Where first I breath’d, and struggled into life
Impatient, Cantium, to be call’d thy son.
Oh! cou’d I emulate Dan Sydney’s muse,
Thy Sydney, Cantium—He from court retir’d
In Penshurst’s sweet elysium sung delight,
Sung transport to the soft-responding streams
Of Medway, and enliven’d all her groves:

While ever near him, goddess of the green,
Fair Pembroke [sister to Sir Philip Sydney] sat, and smil’d immense applause.
With vocal fascination charm’d the Hours
Unguarded left Heav’ns adamantine gate,
And to his lyre, swift as the winged sounds
That skim the air, danc’d unperceiv’d away.
Had I such pow’r, no peasants toil, no hops
Shou’d e’er debase my lay: far nobler themes,
The high atchievements of thy warrior kings
Shou’d raise my thoughts, and dignify my song.
But I, young rustic, dare not leave my cot,
For so enlarg’d a sphere—ah! muse beware,
Lest the loud larums of the braying trump,
Lest the deep drum shou’d drown thy tender reed,
And mar its puny joints: me, lowly swain,
Every unshaven arboret, me the lawns,
Me the voluminous Medway’s silver wave,
Content inglorious, and the hopland shades!
Yeomen, and countrymen attend my song:
Whether you shiver in the marshy Weald [commonly, but improperly call’d, the Wild],
Egregious shepherds of unnumber’d flocks,
Whose fleeces, poison’d into purple, deck

All Europe’s kings: or in fair Madum’s [Maidstone] vale
Imparadis’d, blest denizons, ye dwell;
Or Dorovernia’s [Canterbury] awful tow’rs ye love:
Or plough Tunbridgia’s salutiferous hills
Industrious, and with draughts chalybiate heal’d,
Confess divine Hygeia’s blissful seat;
The muse demands your presence, ere she tune
Her monitory voice; observe her well,
And catch the wholesome dictates as they fall.
‘Midst thy paternal acres, Farmer, say
Has gracious heav’n bestow’d one field, that basks
Its loamy bosom in the mid-day sun,
Emerging gently from the abject vale,
Nor yet obnoxious to the wind, secure
There shall thou plant thy hop. This soil, perhaps,
Thou’lt say, will fill my garners. Be it so.
But Ceres, rural goddess, at the best
Meanly supports her vot’ry’, enough for her,
If ill-persuading hunger she repell,
And keep the soul from fainting: to enlarge,
To glad the heart, to sublimate the mind,
And wing the flagging spirits to the sky,
Require th’ united influence and aid
Of Bacchus, God of hops, with Ceres join’d

‘Tis he shall gen’rate the buxom beer.
Then on one pedestal, and hand in hand,
Sculptur’d in Parian stone (so gratitude
Indites) let the divine co-part’ners rise.
Stands eastward in thy field a wood? ’tis well.
Esteem it as a bulwark of thy wealth,
And cherish all its branches; tho’ we’ll grant,
Its leaves umbrageous may intercept
The morning rays, and envy some small share
Of Sol’s beneficence to the infant germ.
Yet grutch not that: when whistling Eurus comes,
With all his worlds of insects in thy lands
To hyemate, and monarchize o’er all
Thy vegetable riches, then thy wood
Shall ope it’s arms expansive, and embrace
The storm reluctant, and divert its rage.
Armies of animalc’les urge their way
In vain: the ventilating trees oppose
Their airy march. They blacken distant plains.
This site for thy young nursery obtain’d,
Thou hast begun auspicious, if the soil
(As sung before) be loamy; this the hop
Loves above others, this is rich, is deep,
Is viscous, and tenacious of the pole.
Yet maugre all its native worth, it may
Be meliorated with warm compost. See!

Yon craggy mountain [Boxley-Hill, which extends through great part of Kent], whose fastidious head,
Divides the star-set hemisphere above,
And Cantium’s plains beneath; the Appennine
Of a free Italy, whose chalky sides
With verdant shrubs dissimilarly gay,
Still captivate the eye, while at his feet
The silver Medway glides, and in her breast
Views the reflected landskip, charm’d she views
And murmurs louder ectasy below.
Here let us rest awhile, pleas’d to behold
Th’ all-beautiful horizon’s wide expanse,
Far as the eagle’s ken. Here tow’ring spires
First catch the eye, and turn the thoughts to heav’n.
The lofty elms in humble majesty
Bend with the breeze to shade the solemn groves,
And spread an holy darkness; Ceres there
Shines in her golden vesture. Here the meads
Enrich’d by Flora’s daedal hand, with pride
Expose their spotted verdure. Nor are you
Pomona absent; you ‘midst th’ hoary leaves
Swell the vermilion cherry; and on you trees
Suspend the pippen’s palatable gold.
There old Sylvanus in that moss-grown grot
Dwells with his wood-nymphs: they with chaplets green
And russet mantles oft bedight, aloft

From yon bent oaks, in Medway’s bosom fair
Wonder at silver bleak, and prickly pearch,
That swiftly thro’ their floating forests glide.
Yet not even these—these ever-varied scenes
Of wealth and pleasure can engage my eyes
T’ o’erlook the lowly hawthorn, if from thence
The thrush, sweet warbler, chants th’ unstudied lays
Which Phoebus’ self vaulting from yonder cloud
Refulgent, with enliv’ning ray inspires.
But neither tow’ring spires, nor lofty elms,
Nor golden Ceres, nor the meadows green,
Nor orchats, nor the russet-mantled nymphs,
Which to the murmurs of the Medway dance,
Nor sweetly warbling thrush, with half those charms
Attract my eyes, as yonder hop-land close,
Joint-work of art and nature, which reminds
The muse, and to her theme the wand’rer calls.
Here then with pond’rous vehicles and teams
Thy rustics send, and from the caverns deep
Command them bring the chalk: thence to the kiln
Convey, and temper with Vulcanian fires.
Soon as ’tis form’d, thy lime with bounteous hand
O’er all thy lands disseminate; thy lands
Which first have felt the soft’ning spade, and drank
The strength’ning vapours from nutricious marl.

This done, select the choicest hop, t’ insert
Fresh in the opening glebe. Say then, my muse,
Its various kinds, and from th’ effete and vile,
The eligible separate with care.
The noblest species is by Kentish wights
The Master-hop yclep’d. Nature to him
Has giv’n a stouter stalk, patient of cold,
Or Phoebus ev’n in youth, his verdant blood
In brisk saltation circulates and flows
Indesinently vigorous: the next
Is arid, fetid, infecund, and gross
Significantly styl’d the Fryar: the last
Is call’d the Savage, who in ev’ry wood,
And ev’ry hedge unintroduc’d intrudes.
When such the merit of the candidates,
Easy is the election; but, my friend
Would’st thou ne’er fail, to Kent direct thy way,
Where no one shall be frustrated that seeks
Ought that is great or good. Hail, Cantium, hail!
Illustrious parent of the finest fruits,
Illustrious parent of the best of men!
For thee Antiquity’s thrice sacred springs

Placidly stagnant at their fountain head,
I rashly dare to trouble (if from thence,
If ought for thy util’ty I can drain)
And in thy towns adopt th’ Ascraean muse.
Hail heroes, hail invaluable gems,
Splendidly rough within your native mines,
To luxury unrefined, better far
To shake with unbought agues in your weald,
Than dwell a slave to passion and to wealth,
Politely paralytic in the town!
Fav’rites of heav’n! to whom the general doom
Is all remitted, who alone possess
Of Adam’s sons fair Eden—rest ye here,
Nor seek an earthly good above the hop;
A good! untasted by your ancient kings,
And almost to your very sires unknown.
In those blest days when great Eliza reign’d
O’er the adoring nation, when fair peace
Or spread an unstain’d olive round the land,
Or laurell’d war did teach our winged fleets
To lord it o’er the world, when our brave sires
Drank valour from uncauponated beer;
Then th’ hop (before an interdicted plant,
Shun’d like fell aconite) began to hang
Its folded floscles from the golden vine,
And bloom’d a shade to Cantium’s sunny shores

Delightsome, and in chearful goblets laught
Potent, what time Aquarius’ urn impends
To kill the dulsome day—potent to quench
The Syrian ardour, and autumnal ills
To heal with mild potations; sweeter far
Than those which erst the subtile Hengist mix’d
T’ inthral voluptuous Vortigern. He, with love
Emasculate and wine, the toils of war,
Neglected, and to dalliance vile and sloth
Emancipated, saw th’ incroaching Saxons
With unaffected eyes; his hand which ought
T’ have shook the spear of justice, soft and smooth,
Play’d ravishing divisions on the lyre:
This Hengist mark’d, and (for curs’d insolence
Soon fattens on impunity! and becomes
Briareus from a dwarf) fair Thanet gain’d.
Nor stopt he here; but to immense attempts
Ambition sky-aspiring led him on
Adventrous. He an only daughter rear’d,
Roxena, matchless maid! nor rear’d in vain.
Her eagle-ey’d callidity, grave deceit,
And fairy fiction rais’d above her sex,
And furnish’d her with thousand various wiles
Preposterous, more than female; wondrous fair

She was, and docile, which her pious nurse
Observ’d, and early in each female fraud
Her ‘gan initiate: well she knew to smile,
Whene’er vexation gall’d her; did she weep?
‘Twas not sincere, the fountains of her eyes
Play’d artificial streams, yet so well forc’d
They look’d like nature; for ev’n art to her
Was natural, and contrarieties
Seem’d in Roxena congruous and allied.
Such was she, when brisk Vortigern beheld,
Ill-fated prince! and lov’d her. She perceiv’d,
Soon she perceiv’d her conquest; soon she told,
With hasty joy transported, her old sire.
The Saxon inly smil’d, and to his isle
The willing prince invited, but first bad
The nymph prepare the potions; such as fire
The blood’s meand’ring rivulets, and depress
To love the soul. Lo! at the noon of night
Thrice Hecate invok’d the maid—and thrice
The goddess stoop’d assent; forth from a cloud
She stoop’d, and gave the philters pow’r to charm.
These in a splendid cup of burnish’d gold
The lovely sorceress mix’d, and to the prince
Health, peace, and joy propin’d, but to herself
Mutter’d dire exorcisms, and wish’d effect
To th’ love-creating draught: lowly she bow’d
Fawning insinuation bland, that might

Deceive Laertes’ son; her lucid orbs
Shed copiously the oblique rays; her face
Like modest Luna’s shone, but not so pale,
And with no borrow’d lustre; on her brow
Smil’d Fallacy, while summoning each grace,
Kneeling she gave the cup. The prince (for who!
Who cou’d have spurn’d a suppliant so divine?)
Drank eager, and in ecstasy devour’d
Th’ ambrosial perturbation; mad with love
He clasp’d her, and in Hymeneal bands
At once the nymph demanded and obtain’d.
Now Hengist, all his ample wish fulfill’d,
Exulted; and from Kent th’ uxorious prince
Exterminated, and usurp’d his seat.
Long did he reign; but all-devouring time
Has raz’d his palace walls—Perchance on them
Grows the green hop, and o’er his crumbled bust
In spiral twines ascends the scancile pole.—
But now to plant, to dig, to dung, to weed;
Tasks how indelicate? demand the muse.
Come, fair magician, sportive Fancy come,
With thy unbounded imagery; child of thought,
From thy aeriel citadel descend,
And (for thou canst) assist me. Bring with thee
Thy all-creative Talisman; with thee
The active spirits ideal, tow’ring flights,

That hover o’er the muse-resounding groves,
And all thy colourings, all thy shapes display.
Thou to be here, Experience, so shall I
My rules nor in low prose jejunely say,
Nor in smooth numbers musically err;
But vain is Fancy and Experience vain,
If thou, O Hesiod! Virgil of our land,
Or hear’st thou rather, Milton, bard divine,
Whose greatness who shall imitate, save thee?
If thou O Philips [Mr. John Philips, author of Cyder, a poem] fav’ring dost not hear
Me, inexpert of verse; with gentle hand
Uprear the unpinion’d muse, high on the top
Of that immeasurable mount, that far
Exceeds thine own Plinlimmon, where thou tun’st
With Phoebus’ self thy lyre. Give me to turn
Th’ unwieldly subject with thy graceful ease,
Extol its baseness with thy art; but chief
Illumine, and invigorate with thy fire.
When Phoebus looks thro’ Aries on the spring,
And vernal flow’rs promise the dulcet fruit,
Autumnal pride! delay not then thy setts
In Tellus’ facile bosom to depose
Timely: if thou art wise the bulkiest chuse:
To every root three joints indulge, and form

The Quincunx with well regulated hills.
Soon from the dung-enriched earth, their heads
Thy young plants will uplift their virgin arms,
They’ll stretch, and marriageable claim the pole.
Nor frustrate thou their wishes, so thou may’st
Expect an hopeful issue, jolly Mirth,
Sister of taleful Jocus, tuneful Song,
And fat Good-nature with her honest face.
But yet in the novitiate of their love,
And tenderness of youth suffice small shoots
Cut from the widow’d willow, nor provide
Poles insurmountable as yet. ‘Tis then
When twice bright Phoebus’ vivifying ray,
Twice the cold touch of winter’s icy hand,
They’ve felt; ’tis then we fell sublimer props.
‘Tis then the sturdy woodman’s axe from far
Resounds, resounds, and hark! with hollow groans
Down tumble the big trees, and rushing roll
O’er the crush’d crackling brake, while in his cave
Forlorn, dejected, ‘midst the weeping dryads
Laments Sylvanus for his verdant care.
The ash, or willow for thy use select,
Or storm-enduring chesnut; but the oak
Unfit for this employ, for nobler ends
Reserve untouch’d; she when by time matur’d,
Capacious, of fome British demi-god,
Vernon, or Warren, shall with rapid wing

Infuriate, like Jove’s armour-bearing bird,
Fly on thy foes; They, like the parted waves,
Which to the brazen beak murmuring give way
Amaz’d, and roaring from the fight recede.—
In that sweet month, when to the list’ning swains
Fair Philomel fings love, and every cot
With garlands blooms bedight, with bandage meet
The tendrils bind, and to the tall pole tie,
Else soon, too soon their meretricious arms
Round each ignoble clod they’ll fold, and leave
Averse the lordly prop. Thus, have I heard
Where there’s no mutual tye, no strong connection
Of love-conspiring hearts, oft the young bride
Has prostituted to her slaves her charms,
While the infatuated lord admires
Fresh-budding sprouts, and issue not his own.
Now turn the glebe: soon with correcting hand
When smiling June in jocund dance leads on
Long days and happy hours, from ev’ry vine
Dock the redundant branches, and once more
With the sharp spade thy numerous acres till.
The shovel next must lend its aid, enlarge
The little hillocks, and erase the weeds.
This in that month its title which derives

From great Augustus’ ever sacred name!
Sovereign of Science! master of the Muse!
Neglected Genius’ firm ally! Of worth
Best judge, and best rewarder, whose applause
To bards was fame and fortune! O! ’twas well,
Well did you too in this, all glorious heroes!
Ye Romans!—on Time’s wing you’ve stamp’d his praise,
And time shall bear it to eternity.
Now are our lab’rours crown’d with their reward,
Now bloom the florid hops, and in the stream
Shine in their floating silver, while above
T’embow’ring branches culminate, and form
A walk impervious to the sun; the poles
In comely order stand; and while you cleave
With the small skiff the Medway’s lucid wave,
In comely order still their ranks preserve,
And seem to march along th’ extensive plain.
In neat arrangement thus the men of Kent,
With native oak at once adorn’d and arm’d,
Intrepid march’d; for well they knew the cries
Of dying Liberty, and Astraea’s voice,
Who as she fled, to echoing woods complain’d
Of tyranny, and William; like a god,
Refulgent stood the conqueror, on his troops
He sent his looks enliv’ning as the sun’s,
But on his foes frown’d agony, frown’d death.

On his left side in bright emblazonry
His falchion burn’d; forth from his sevenfold shield
A basilisk shot adamant; his brow
Wore clouds of fury!—on that with plumage crown’d
Of various hue sat a tremendous cone:
Thus sits high-canopied above the clouds,
Terrific beauty of nocturnal skies,
Northern Aurora [Aurora Borealis, or lights in the air; a phoenomenon which of late years has been very frequent here, and in all the more northern countries]; she thro’ th’ azure air
Shoots, shoots her trem’lous rays in painted streaks
Continual, while waving to the wind
O’er Night’s dark veil her lucid tresses flow.
The trav’ler views th’ unseasonable day
Astound, the proud bend lowly to the earth,
The pious matrons tremble for the world.
But what can daunt th’ insuperable souls
Of Cantium’s matchless sons? On they proceed,
All innocent of fear; each face express’d
Contemptuous admiration, while they view’d
The well-fed brigades of embroider’d slaves
That drew the sword for gain. First of the van,
With an enormous bough, a shepherd swain
Whistled with rustic notes; but such as show’d
A heart magnanimous: The men of Kent

Follow the tuneful swain, while o’er their heads
The green leaves whisper, and the big boughs bend.
‘Twas thus the Thracian, whose all-quick’ning lyre
The floods inspir’d, and taught the rocks to feel,
Play’d before dancing Haemus, to the tune,
The lute’s soft tune! The flutt’ring branches wave,
The rocks enjoy it, and the rivulets hear,
The hillocks skip, emerge the humble vales,
And all the mighty mountain nods applause.
The conqueror view’d them, and as one that sees
The vast abrupt of Scylla, or as one
That from th’ oblivious Lethaean streams
Has drank eternal apathy, he stood.
His host an universal panic seiz’d
Prodigious, inopine; their armour shook,
And clatter’d to the trembling of their limbs;
Some to the walking wilderness gan run
Confus’d, and in th’ inhospitable shade
For shelter sought—Wretches! they shelter find,
Eternal shelter in the arms of death!
Thus when Aquarius pours out all his urn
Down on some lonesome heath, the traveller
That wanders o’er the wint’ry waste, accepts
The invitation of some spreading beech
Joyous; but soon the treach’rous gloom betrays
Th’ unwary visitor, while on his head
Th’ inlarging drops in double show’rs descend.

And now no longer in disguise the men
Of Kent appear; down they all drop their boughs,
And shine in brazen panoply divine.
Enough—Great William (for full well he knew
How vain would be the contest) to the sons
Of glorious Cantium, gave their lives, and laws,
And liberties secure, and to the prowess
Of Kentish wights, like Caesar, deign’d to yield.
Caesar and William! Hail immortal worthies,
Illustrious vanquish’d! Cantium, if to them,
Posterity will all her chiefs unborn,
Ought similar, ought second has to boast.
Once more (so prophecies the Muse) thy sons
Shall triumph, emulous of their sires—till then
With olive, and with hop-land garlands crown’d,
O’er all thy land reign Plenty, reign fair Peace.

Smart-hop-garden
This illustration accompanied the second book. The British Museum has it in their collection, and they describe it as “a woman sitting in a vat, two others lifting a man in to join her, an amused crowd looking on.” Interestingly enough, the illustration appears to show an old ritual associated with hop-picking. According to the poem, it seems to involve a “festive ritual that played a part in the annual hop harvest, where a young woman, and a young man, are placed in a container of hops and covered up by it.”

Many years later, in 1931, George Orwell went hop-picking and made the following entry in his diary for September 19, 1931:

On the last morning, when we had picked the last field, there was a queer game of catching the women and putting them in the bins. Very likely there will be something about this in the Golden Bough. It is evidently an old custom, and all harvests have some custom of this kind attached to them.

The only reference I could find in the Golden Bough was this. “In hop-picking, if a well-dressed stranger passes the hop-yard, he is seized by the women, tumbled into the bin, covered with leaves, and not released till he has paid a fine.” One scholar speculates:

In any case, the ritual in the oldest version – Smart’s – seems to be some kind of fertility ritual: a male and a female hop picker are submerged together in a container of hops, which are the bounty of the harvest. It also seems to include some kind of wealth-redistribution element, where the other pickers claim a “largesse” or “fine” from those submerged. Whether it was for the honor, or just because they were the most efficient pickers, I don’t know, but it’s interesting either way. Ron Bateman notes that at least in Orwell’s day, the ritual took place on the last day of hop-picking, which I think strongly supports the idea of it being some vestige of a pagan fertility rite (or, even, the whole of the rite, with its purpose forgotten): having completed the harvest, the rite would help appease the field, its spirits, the gods, etc. to ensure the next year’s harvest would also be plentiful.

Anyway, here’s the second part of the poem.

THE HOP-GARDEN.

A GEORGIC.

BOOK the SECOND.

AT length the Muse her destin’d task resumes
With joy; agen o’er all her hop-land groves
She longs t’ expatiate free of wing. Long while
For a much-loving, much-lov’d youth she wept,
And sorrow’d silence o’er th’ untimely urn.
Hush then, effeminate sobs; and thou, my heart,
Rebel to grief no more—And yet a while,
A little while, indulge the friendly tears.
O’er the wild world, like Noah’s dove, in vain
I seek the olive peace, around me wide
See! see! the wat’ry waste—In vain, forlorn
I call the Phoenix fair Sincerity;
Alas!—extinguish’d to the skies she fled,
And left no heir behind her. Where is now
Th’ eternal smile of goodness? Where is now

That all-extensive charity of soul,
So rich in sweetness, that the classic sounds
In elegance Augustan cloath’d, the wit
That flow’d perennial, hardly were observ’d,
Or, if observ’d, set off a brighter gem.
How oft, and yet how seldom did it seem!
Have I enjoy’d his converse?—When we met,
The hours how swift they sweetly fled, and till
Agen I saw him, how they loiter’d. Oh!
THEOPHILUS [Mr. Theophilus Wheeler, of Christ-College, Cambridge], thou dear departed soul,
What flattering tales thou told’st me? How thou’dst hail
My Muse, and took’st imaginary walks
All in my hopland groves! Stay yet, oh stay!
Thou dear deluder, thou hast seen but half—
He’s gone! and ought that’s equal to his praise
Fame has not for me, tho’ she prove most kind.
Howe’er this verse be sacred to thy name,
These tears, the last sad duty of a friend.
Oft i’ll indulge the pleasurable pain
Of recollection; oft on Medway’s banks
I’ll muse on thee full pensive; while her streams
Regardful ever of my grief, shall flow
In sullen silence silverly along
The weeping shores—or else accordant with
My loud laments, shall ever and anon
Make melancholy music to the shades,

The hopland shades, that on her banks expose
Serpentine vines and flowing locks of gold.
Ye smiling nymphs, th’ inseparable train
Of saffron Ceres; ye, that gamesome dance,
And sing to jolly Autumn, while he stands
With his right hand poizing the scales of heav’n,
And with his left grasps Amalthea’s horn:
Young chorus of fair bacchanals, descend,
And leave a while the sickle; yonder hill,
Where stand the loaded hop-poles, claims your care.
There mighty Bacchus stradling cross the bin,
Waits your attendance—There he glad reviews
His paunch, approaching to immensity
Still nearer, and with pride of heart surveys
Obedient mortals, and the world his own.
See! from the great metropolis they rush,
Th’ industrious vulgar. They, like prudent bees,
In Kent’s wide garden roam, expert to crop
The flow’ry hop, and provident to work,
Ere winter numb their sunburnt hands, and winds
Engoal them, murmuring in their gloomy cells.
From these, such as appear the rest t’ excell
In strength and young agility, select.
These shall support with vigour and address
The bin-man’s weighty office; now extract
From the sequacious earth the pole, and now

Unmarry from the closely clinging vine.
O’er twice three pickers, and no more, extend
The bin-man’s sway; unless thy ears can bear
The crack of poles continual, and thine eyes
Behold unmoved the hurrying peasant tear
Thy wealth, and throw it on the thankless ground.
But first the careful planter will consult
His quantity of acres, and his crop,
How many and how large his kilns; and then
Proportion’d to his wants the hands provide.
But yet, of greater consequence and cost,
One thing remains unsung, a man of faith
And long experience, in whose thund’ring voice
Lives hoarse authority, potent to quell
The frequent frays of the tumultuous crew.
He shall preside o’er all thy hop-land store,
Severe dictator! His unerring hand,
And eye inquisitive, in heedful guise,
Shall to the brink the measure fill, and fair
On the twin registers the work record.
And yet I’ve known them own a female reign,
And gentle Marianne’s [the author’s youngest Sister] soft Orphean voice
Has hymn’d sweet lessons of humanity
To the wild brutal crew. Oft her command
Has sav’d the pillars of the hopland state,

The lofty poles from ruin, and sustain’d,
Like ANNA, or ELIZA, her domain,
With more than manly dignity. Oft I’ve seen,
Ev’n at her frown the boist’rous uproar cease,
And the mad pickers, tam’d to diligence,
Cull from the bin the sprawling sprigs, and leaves
That stain the sample, and its worth debase.
All things thus settled and prepared, what now
Can let the planters purposes? Unless
The Heav’ns frown dissent, and ominous winds
Howl thro’ the concave of the troubled sky.
And oft, alas! the long experienc’d wights
(Oh! could they too prevent them) storms foresee.
For, as the storm rides on the rising clouds,

Fly the fleet wild-geese far away, or else
The heifer towards the zeinth rears her head,
And with expanded nostrils snuffs the air:
The swallows too their airy circuits weave,
And screaming skim the brook; and fen-bred frogs
Forth from their hoarse throats their old grutch recite:
Or from her earthly coverlets the ant
Heaves her huge eggs along the narrow way:
Or bends Thaumantia’s variegated bow
Athwart the cope of heav’n: or sable crows
Obstreperous of wing, in crouds combine:
Besides, unnumber’d troops of birds marine,
And Asia’s feather’d flocks, that in the muds
Of flow’ry-edg’d Cayster wont to prey,
Now in the shallows duck their speckled heads,
And lust to lave in vain, their unctious plumes
Repulsive baffle their efforts: Next hark
How the curs’d raven, with her harmful voice,
Invokes the rain, ahd croaking to herself,
Struts on some spacious solitary shore.
Nor want thy servants and thy wife at home
Signs to presage the show’r; for in the hall
Sheds Niobe her prescious tears, and warns
Beneath thy leaden tubes to fix the vase,
And catch the falling dew-drops, which supply
Soft water and salubrious, far the best
To soak thy hops, and brew thy generous beer.

But tho’ bright Phoebus smile, and in the skies
The purple-rob’d serenity appear;
Tho’ every cloud be fled, yet if the rage
Of Boreas, or the blasting East prevail,
The planter has enough to check his hopes,
And in due bounds confine his joy; for see
The ruffian winds, in their abrupt career,
Leave not a hop behind, or at the best
Mangle the circling vine, and intercept
The juice nutricious: Fatal means, alas!
Their colour and condition to destroy.
Haste then, ye peasants; pull the poles, the hops;
Where are the bins? Run, run, ye nimble maids,
Move ev’ry muscle, ev’ry nerve extend,
To save our crop from ruin, and ourselves.
Soon as bright Chanticleer explodes the night
With flutt’ring wings, and hymns the new-born day,
The bugle-horn inspire, whose clam’rous bray
Shall rouse from sleep the rebel rout, and tune
To temper for the labours of the day.
Wisely the several stations of the bins
By lot determine. Justice this, and this
Fair Prudence does demand; for not without
A certain method cou’dst thou rule the mob
Irrational, nor every where alike
Fair hangs the hop to tempt the picker’s hand.

Now see the crew mechanic might and main
Labour with lively diligence, inspir’d
By appetie of gain and lust of praise:
What mind so petty, servile, and debas’d,
As not to know ambition? Her great sway
From Colin Clout to Emperors she exerts.
To err is human, human to be vain.
‘Tis vanity, and mock desire of fame,
That prompts the rustic, on the steeple top
Sublime, to mark the outlines of his shoe,
And in the area to engrave his name.
With pride of heart the churchwarden surveys,
High o’er the bellfry, girt with birds and flow’rs,
His story wrote in capitals: “‘Twas I
“That bought the font; and I repair’d the pews.”
With pride like this the emulating mob
Strive for the mastery—who first may fill
The bellying bin, and cleanest cull the hops.
Nor ought retards, unless invited out
By Sol’s declining, and the evening’s calm,
Leander leads Laetitia to the scene
Of shade and fragrance—Then th’ exulting band
Of pickers male and female, seize the fair
Reluctant, and with boist’rous force and brute,
By cries unmov’d, they bury her in the bin.
Nor does the youth escape—him too they seize,
And in such posture place as best may serve

To hide his charmer’s blushes. Then with shouts
They rend the echoing air, and from them both
(So custom has ordain’d) a largess claim.
Thus much be sung of picking—next succeeds
Th’ important care of curing—Quit the field,
And at the kiln th’ instructive muse attend.
On your hair-cloth eight inches deep, nor more,
Let the green hops lie lightly; next expand
The smoothest surface with the toothy rake.
Thus for is just above; but more it boots
That charcoal flames burn equably below,
The charcoal flames, which from thy corded wood,
Or antiquated poles, with wond’rous skill,
The sable priests of Vulcan shall prepare.
Constant and moderate let the heat ascend;
Which to effect, there are, who with success
Place in the kiln the ventilating fan.
Hail, learned, useful man! [Dr. Hales] whose head and heart
Conspire to make us happy, deign t’ accept
One honest verse; and if thy industry
Has serv’d the hopland cause, the Muse forebodes
This sole invention, both in use and fame,
The mystic fan of Bacchus shall exceed.

When the fourth hour expires, with careful hand
The half-bak’d hops turn over. Soon as time
Has well exhausted twice two glasses more,
They’ll leap and crackle with their bursting seeds,
For use domestic, or for sale mature.
There are, who in the choice of cloth t’enfold
Their wealthy crop, the viler, coarser sort,
With prodigal oeconomy prefer:
All that is good is cheap, all dear that’s base.
Besides, the planter shou’d a bait prepare,
T’ intrap the chapman’s notice, and divert
Shrewd Observation from her busy pry.
When in the bag thy hops the rustic treads,
Let him wear heel-less sandals; nor presume
Their fragrancy barefooted to defile:
Such filthy ways for slaves in Malaga
Leave we to practise—Whence I’ve often seen,
When beautiful Dorinda’s iv’ry hands
Had built the pastry-fabric (food divine
For Christmas gambols and the hour of mirth)
As the dry’d foreign fruit, with piercing eye,
She cull’d suspicious—lo! she starts, she frowns
With indignation at a negro’s nail.
Should’st thou thy harvest for the mart design,
Be thine own factor; nor employ those drones

Who’ve stings, but make no honey, felfish slaves!
That thrive and fatten on the planter’s toil.
What then remains unsung? unless the care
To stack thy poles oblique in comely cones,
Lest rot or rain destroy them—’Tis a sight
Most seemly to behold, and gives, O Winter!
A landskip not unpleasing ev’n to thee.
And now, ye rivals of the hopland state,
Madum and Dorovernia rejoice,
How great amidst such rivals to excel!
Let Grenovicum [Greenwich, where Queen Elizabeth was born] boast (for boast she may)
The birth of great Eliza.—Hail, my queen!
And yet I’ll call thee by a dearer name,
My countrywoman, hail! Thy worth alone
Gives fame to worlds, and makes whole ages glorious!
Let Sevenoaks vaunt the hospitable seat
Of Knoll [the seat of the Duke of Dorset] most ancient: Awefully, my Muse,
These social scenes of grandeur and delight,
Of love and veneration, let me tread.
How oft beneath you oak has amorous Prior
Awaken’d Echo with sweet Chloe’s name!
While noble Sackville heard, hearing approv’d,

Approving, greatly recompens’d. But he,
Alas! has number’d with th’ illustrious dead,
And orphan merit has no guardian now!
Next Shipbourne, tho’ her precincts are confin’d
To narrow limits, yet can shew a train
Of village beauties, pastorally sweet,
And rurally magnificent. Here Fairlawn [the seat of Lord Vane]
Opes her delightful prospects: Dear Fairlawn
There, where at once at variance and agreed,
Nature and art hold dalliance. There where rills
Kiss the green drooping herbage, there where trees,
The tall trees-tremble at th’ approach of heav’n,
And bow their salutation to the sun,
Who fosters all their foliage—These are thine,
Yes, little Shipbourne, boast that these are thine—
And if—But oh!—and if ’tis no disgrace,
The birth of him who now records thy praise.
Nor shalt thou, Mereworth, remain unsung,
Where noble Westmoreland, his country’s friend,
Bids British greatness love the silent shade,
Where piles superb, in classic elegance,
Arise, and all is Roman, like his heart.
Nor Chatham, tho’ it is not thine to shew
The lofty forest or the verdant lawns,

Yet niggard silence shall not grutch thee praise.
The lofty forests by thy sons prepar’d
Becomes the warlike navy, braves the floods,
And gives Sylvanus empire in the main.
Oh that Britannia, in the day of war,
Wou’d not alone Minerva’s valour trust,
But also hear her wisdom! Then her oaks
Shap’d by her own mechanics, wou’d alone
Her island fortify, and fix her fame;
Nor wou’d she weep, like Rachael, for her sons,
Whose glorious blood, in mad profusion,
In foreign lands is shed—and shed in vain.
Now on fair Dover’s topmost cliff I’ll stand,
And look with scorn and triumph on proud France.
Of yore an isthmus jutting from this coast,
Join’d the Britannic to the Gallic shore;
But Neptune on a day, with fury fir’d,
Rear’d his tremendous trident, smote the earth,
And broke th’ unnatural union at a blow.—
“‘Twixt you and you, my servants and my sons,
“Be there (he cried) eternal discord—France
“Shall bow the neck to Cantium’s peerless offspring,
“And as the oak reigns lordly o’er the shrub,
“So shall the hop have homage from the vine.”

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