Asking how people slept in the Middle Ages sounds embarrassingly pointless. Surely the answer is, the same way we do.
Well no, they didn’t. That would make the post too short and I want to be sure you get your money’s worth here. They broke the night into two separate sleeps, which is the same way everybody in the pre-industrial world seems to have slept. The sources I’ve found are heavily tipped toward Europe, but some say the practice clings on in unindustrialized pockets of the world today.
The two sleeps
We’re talking, remember, about a time before there was much in the way of artificial lighting, so no electricity, no gas lamps. They had candles, sure, but they were expensive and weren’t all that bright. And when people went to bed,they either blew them out or risked burning down the house. So when it got dark, they–or most of them anyway–toddled off to bed.
We’ll talk about the definition of bed in a minute.
A couple of hours later, they woke up, not because that was the plan but because they just did, and they spent another couple of hours–let’s say from 11 to 1, although no one would’ve been watching the time–either lying awake or up and about, in both cases without fretting about what was wrong or how they were going to get back to sleep, because waking up in the middle of the night was just what happened.
This went on into the early nineteenth century, and a couple of studies have documented this way of sleeping among non-industrial people and people asked to live without industrial-age lighting and entertainment.
What did they do in the interval between sleeps?
Some people lay in bed and chatted, because at least in the medieval era, rare was the person who slept alone. Some got up and worked–by moonlight, by starlight, by rushlight (those were the waxed stems of rushes–the candle-substitutes of ordinary households), by candlelight if they could afford candles–although the people who could you probably didn’t need to work in the middle of the night.
All the folks you’d expect to recommend prayer and meditation recommended the time between sleeps as a time for prayer and meditation, and no doubt some people did both. Folks drank their religion straight back then: no ice, no mixers.
I’ve read about monks and nuns getting up in the middle of the night and traipsing to the chapel for prayers, and it’s sounded downright punitive. I imagined someone having to haul them out of their sleepy little beds. This puts it in a different light. They were awake anyway. If the purpose of their lives was to pray, this was a time to go pray.
The time between sleeps was also a time for sex, and was considered a particularly good time to conceive children.
Sex when people weren’t sleeping alone? For one thing, sharing a bed didn’t mean all its occupants had to get up or stay in bed in unison. For another–I’ll go out on a limb here (I’ve read this somewhere but haven’t looked for a source to confirm what my memory insists on) and say that sex wasn’t thought of as something people should do in private. Privacy wasn’t a thing yet. (Sex has always been a thing. In the early Middle Ages, even your local lord and lady bedded down in the hall with their kids, their hangers-on, their guests, their attendants, their servants, and anyone I’ve forgotten to list. The solar–a room for the aristocrats alone, along with maybe a servant or three on hand in case they were needed–didn’t come into existence until midway through the medieval period.
Eventually, people went back to bed for what was called their morning sleep.
Bed sharing
Beds were communal places, and an entire family might sleep together, with the couple in the middle, the girls arranged on the side nearest the wall, with the youngest closest to her mother, and the boys on the other side, also in age order.
But it wasn’t just the family tucked up in bed. Non-family members would also be likely to crawl in, and they’d be on the outside–guests, friends, servants. And, as one article I found reminds us all, fleas and lice. When people traveled, strangers who stayed at inns would share a bed.
Sleepers and would-be sleepers were expected to minimize their fidgeting and avoid physical contact.
Beds
If you were rich enough in the medieval era, your bed was elaborate and impressive, with several mattresses–straw, then wool, then feather, and sheets, blankets, coverlets, pillows, bolsters, all that good stuff. The bed was your most important piece of furniture.
A coverlet? That was a bedspread, although in recent times it seems to have wandered off and become something smaller.
The curtains and canopies we think of as the mark of the nobility’s beds came into use midway through the medieval period.
Middle-ranking people had beds with simple wooden bedsteads with plain headboards and as much of the accompanying stuff as they could afford. The main thing was that they were up off the floor.
Everyone else? It depends on what stretch of time we’re talking about, but at least in the early medieval period, they slept on the floor. They might have had a mattress stuffed with straw, wool, hair, rags, or feathers, or some mix of them. Whatever it was made from, it could be moved out of the way during the day.
As I write this, a couple of wildflowers called bedstraw and lady’s bedstraw have just come into bloom in the hedges. I haven’t been able to find out much about bedstraw itself, but lady’s bedstraw (the lady in question of the Virgin Mary, not the local Lady Muck) was added to straw mattresses both for its fragrance and to keep fleas away. It was also believed to ease a birth.
If you were at the bottom of the economic and social heap, you slept on straw or hay–or according to one website, the earthen floor. A BBC article says the poor might sleep on a scattering of heather, and I hate to argue with the BBC, but we have some growing out back and it’s pretty woody stuff. I haven’t tried sleeping on it but I have a hunch I’d do better on the bare ground.
How do we know any of this?
In the 1990s, the historian Roger Ekirch was researching a book on the history of nighttime. He wasn’t expecting to find anything new for a chapter on sleep, but how could he write about night and ignore sleep? So good historian that he was, he started digging through court depositions, where all sorts of odd and wondrous facts about everyday life can be found.
What he found was a seventeenth-century case mentioning, casually, the first sleep, which implies a second sleep. The case was about an incident that happened in the interval between the two. He kept digging and found many mentions of what he was now calling biphasic sleep. It showed up in letters, diaries, medical textbooks, philosophical writings, newspaper articles, ballads, and plays. He found records or hints of it in Europe, Africa, South and Southeast Asia, Australia, South America, and the Middle East, the earliest dating back to the eighth century BC.
And somehow, all of that had slipped out of our awareness and our histories.
*
Important information about Britain’s recent election
In last week’s post, I missed a crucial bit of lunacy about the election. Nick the Incredible Flying Brick stood as a candidate for the Monster Raving Loony Party in Holborn and St. Pancras. His statement to voters said, “We have a manic-festo that includes scrapping January and February. It would help with fuel bills and the cost of living.” He got 162 votes against Keir Starmer’s 18,884.
Somebody mentioned him in a comment, and I did look for it so I’d know who to thank, but I’m damned if I can find it now. Whoever you are, my thanks. Along with my apologies.

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“How did you sleep?” If you’re staying at someone’s house it’s considered very Britishly rude to say “I had a terrible night” as it’s somehow a reflection on the host. Even if you were kept awake by, erm, feline parkour and a singalong, it’s still regarded as an insult to the host if you complain and you should just say, “Good, thanks”.
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I had no idea. It’s so easy to insult people when you wander into a different culture.
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It’s the same with travelling. “How was your journey here?” “Fine, thanks” is the only acceptable answer. I once held my birthday party in a pub and when one of my friends was leaving, I said, “Thanks so much for coming. I know it was a long way to come for you.” And she said, “Yes, it was.” I’ve never invited her again.
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I’d have walked right into that–and never been invited back. I’d have thought someone going to all that trouble to get there would be a compliment.
Show’s you what I know.
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I had hoped for “Yes, it was, but it was great fun” or some such thing. Even if it wasn’t great fun!
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Ah. I’ll store that in the back of my mind–and probably not find it when the occasion demands. I have an awkward habit of frequently saying what I think. Or occasionally what I haven’t yet thought, surprising myself at least as much as the person I’m talking to.
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Ah yes, but there’s a code. Anything like, “Not too bad,” stands in for, “pretty awful, actually.”
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I’ll never really speak British, will I? Or hear it the way it’s meant. I have this silly habit of thinking people are saying what they mean.
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I’m not sure why people forgot about first and second sleeps. Chaucer mentioned them in the Canterbury Tales and they’re still read by quite a lot of people.
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I expect it’s one of those things that zings right past the modern mind unless you’re looking for it. And until you know to look for it, you simply don’t see it. A kind of Where’s Waldo moment.
Is it Waldo? The name’s different in the US and UK (no idea why) and at this point I’m not sure I haven’t substituted some third, entirely irrelevant, name.
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It’s Wally here. Goodness knows why, because, as as far as I know, Walter hasn’t been a popular name for the best part of a century.
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I’m sure the decision was made by legions of people who work in children’s publishing, based on fact, opinion, baseless assumptions, and pseudo expertise. Over donuts. And I’m sure the resulting change communicates something so subtle that it goes right over our heads.
Oops. Did I just sound cynical there? Sorry.
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Wally isn’t the change; Waldo is. It’s British in origin.
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I did wonder as I was typing, but figured that either way it involved focus groups, consultants, and everything I listed anyway.
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I do hope you saw this – https://www.cornwalllive.com/news/uk-world-news/jacob-rees-mogg-loses-seat-9391986
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Oh, that is spectacular. And I’d missed it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My life has been enriched beyond measure. I’d love to reciprocate with a meme that was circulating of someone standing behind Rees-Mogg when he was sprawled on the Commons benches, driving a stake through his heart, but I can’t find it. I did google “driving a stake through rees-mogg’s heart,” but oddly enough nothing useful came up.
Sigh.
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I saw that too but I think it’s been removed which is sad.
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Nothing ever really disappears from social media, does it?
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No, the interweb swallows it all and keeps it safe.
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…whether we want it to or not.
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Hubby found it
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Thank you. Thank him. Anyone reading this, it’s worth following the link.
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fascinating stuff! There’s so much I don’t know. Im afraid i never heard of the brick either. Ah well, I know now!
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The longer I live, the more I don’t know–or at least the more I realize I don’t know. Filling in little snippets should keep our brains working for another decade or three.
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Fascinating stuff, thank you!
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My pleasure.
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Interesting post. Makes me want to go back to bed.:-)
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Now there’s a great idea!
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Your interesting post has me wondering whether a Middle Ages variant of me would have found sleeping better or worse. I have always been a terrible sleeper, prone to bouts of insomnia, so I wonder if all of that bed-sharing and itchy discomfort and parasites would have made it even more challenging for me to settle into slumber back then or whether I would get to sleep easier having never been pampered by the possibility of perfect sleeping conditions.
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Interesting question. I wonder if anyone’s trolled through diaries, court records, and all the other documentation from that period to see what evidence of insomnia they find. Given how tightly packed beds would’ve been, I expect an insomniac would’ve driven everyone up the wall. And I say that as a former insomniac myself. (For reasons I don’t understand, a flipped a few years back and I now sleep better–not to mention earlier. I switched from a night owl to a lark. I offer no explanation.)
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Aside : Before the inexorable rule of the clock, hours were of different length (the “small” hours).
The large bed for all can still be found in 19th century travel writings, one bed, one table for all (table d’hote). “War makes strange bed fellows.”
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Okay, that caught my attention and I consulted Lord Google, who somehow thought I wanted to know about Werner Herzog. Once we got that ironed out, what I found (this was, mind you, a 60-second research jaunt) was that it was the ancient Greeks who broke the day into even measurements–before that, an hour didn’t have a fixed length.
If I get the time (something I’m short of just now), I’d like to read more about it.
The phrase I always heard was that politics make strange bedfellow. But yes, it must’ve been, um, interesting. Not to say annoying. I find myself wondering what happened to people with restless legs. Were they exiled to the floor?
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The “hour” had no fixed length afterwards too.
The Greek had clocks running by steam or by water, so yes, they were able to meassure time, and create equal segments one could call hours. They even had (very likely) something like a computer to measure years – and to bring in accordance the different “timing” (think lunar year, solar year, where starts what etc., I mean the Antikythera machine).
These clocks btw were rare machines, and if I remember correctly, the few we know existed were in some palaces, so not necessarily in a public environment. There was no rule of the damn clock, that started only some centuries later in Europe.
So – do we see this in the “dark” “middle” Ages ? Surely not. Thank the Arabs that we at least know something about that guy Archimedes.
The need to measure time arises when you do your religious duty “by the clock” (that is no clock damn it !). As far as I recall they simply divided night time in more or less equal chunks (shorter night in summer, shorter chunk, vulgo “hour”, longer in winter), maybe with the help of stinky “candles”.
The field is large, computus, you need to calculate the year too, when it starts, see above, read R. Maurus about the topic (good luck).
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The need to tell the time accurately arises, at least in part, from the ability to tell the time accurately. When people are traveling by foot, by horse if they’re lucky, they won’t say, “I’ll be there by 4.” You’ll expect them on Tuesday. Or possibly Thursday. Or–well, they’ll get to you soon.
I’m not saying measuring time accurately has no uses, only thinking about it in the life of an individual.
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I learned this interesting fact a year or so ago, but you’ve added a lot more detail I didn’t know. It does seem quite bizarre to us nowadays. I sleep pretty well for the most part, thankfully, but keep this up my sleeve as a comfort if I can’t get off again in the “wee small hours” – just potter and do something else for a while seems the best option, and experts agree; don’t lie in bed too long awake.
I wonder if this pattern is an ancient, evolved feature of humans, or if it’s a cultural thing, whether it’s related to hunter-gatherer people needing to be watchful at the darkest time of night, or somehow related to farming and developing after the Neolithic Revolution. My guess is there have been lots of local habits like this – like the siesta in hot climates (which also seems bizarre when temperate-climate residents learn of it). I’ve read of some tribal communities sleeping at all sorts of random times. When there’s no work to be done, it makes sense to save energy sleeping.
How annoying we didn’t have a flying brick to vote for in my constituency.
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The few studies I read of, one in an unindustrialized village and another of people who’d been artificially isolated for the study, make it sound like it’s a fairly natural pattern, although as you get far enough toward the poles the long summer days must surely have an effect. I’d go for what you mention about sleeping when it makes sense instead of looking at the sky. The sky’s going to be bright. If you’re tired, sleep.
And yes, as a former dedicated insomniac, it is comforting not to fret about being awake. To just get up–or lie in bed and read, for that matter–works a lot better.
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Being retired, and living alone except for The Cats, I wonder if the biphasic sleep pattern isn’t a more natural one that we have just eased out as our lifestyles changed. Like many older people, I have to get up during the night, and once you realize there is no reason you have to be alert and up by 6 am you can allow yourself a few different sleep patterns. We all know (or are) people who are either night owls or larks and having the luxury of living your life by those patterns and not the alarm clock’s might be something we don’t need to feel guilty about.
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The articles I read do talk about the industrial revolution having a heavy hand in ending that sleep pattern. The demands of the factory floor and all that. A friend who’s a freelancer seems to follow his own sleep pattern so thoroughly that he sounds to me like he’s largely gone out of sync with the world. It works well for him.
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I wonder if this sleep pattern would have varied by season. In summer people probably went to bed later because of longer daylight. And of course it would grow light much earlier. So maybe in summer sleep periods were shorter, or there was only one.
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Good point. I found myself wondering if people didn’t go to sleep while it was still light in the summer–especially in the far north. At a certain point, the old body has a way of telling people, Listen, I don’t care what the sky looks like. I’m tired.
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That could be. Especially after a day of physical work.
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Exactly.
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I’d heard about this biphasic sleep “of olde” somewhere in the last year or two, and I must tell you, it was incredibly validating to hear, because that’s basically my middle-aged sleep pattern – not so much in summer, but definitely during the school year when stress is higher. (I guess it’s apropos that the middle aged sleep like it’s the Middle Ages.) I’m just grateful that the timing of sleep and wakefulness is the only commonality, and not the floor-sleep, the fleas, and the whole-household sleep.
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Now that’s a list to review if in the middle of the night you decide to meditate on gratitude.
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I love history
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That’s two of us.
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Dont forget that many ordinary people shared their homes with their livestock for extra warmth too!
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Good point. Restless sleepers need not apply.
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Biphasic sleep makes a lot of sense for people dealing with long winter nights. Around the Winter Solstice in Michigan, the night is about 15 hours long. That is a long time to sleep through. (Except now that I am watching my daughter’s two toddlers while she’s away. Fifteen hours of sleep sounds amazing.)
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Two toddlers? Fifteen hours of sleep sounds like a minimum.
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❤️
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I break the night into 5 separate sleeps, at least. I should go back to the Bronze Age.
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Five seems extreme, but we can’t always choose.
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♥️♥️♥️♥️
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Nice share…enjoyed.
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I loved this – thank you. Instructive and entertaining at the same time.
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Thank you.
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I knew nothing about this subject till I read your article. Very interesting!
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I’ll go you one better: until I stumbled over something about it in my reading, I didn’t even know it was a topic.
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