If you’ve brushed shoulders with medieval history, you’ll know the Catholic Church wasn’t shy about raising money, but you may have to brush a bit more than your shoulder to learn about church ales.
They were a way for local churches to raise money and for local people to throw a party, because an ale could involve not just the obvious–ale–but also food, sports, games, music, dancing, and whatever else local tradition dictated. Some were linked to the church calendar–Whitsun ales were common, as were ales to celebrate the church’s patron saint–and others were held to raise money for specific thing. A bride’s ale, for example, would raise money for a poor couple who were getting married, or an ale might also be help to pay the parish clerk.
But they were more than a way to raise money. They were massive social occasions–the kind of events that hold small communities together.
Irrelevant photo: toadflax
A couple of examples
Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, had a Whitsun ale every seven years. The years without a Whitsun ale were dedicated to sleeping off the hangover, because on the seventh year, look out: the ale began on Holy Thursday and roared on all week.
Since Whitsun’s related to Easter, following it by a fair few weeks, and since Easter’s related to Passover, which is calculated on a lunar calendar, Whitsun’s a restless holiday that moves around the calendar, usually between May and June. But don’t look at the calendar: whatever the month was, Woodstock set up a maypole, and decked it out with ribbons and flowers. The Duke of Marlborough paid for it.
Next to the maypole was the drinking booth, and opposite that a shed–okay, a shed some 50 feet long–decorated with evergreens. That was called the Bowery. Not Bowery as in New York’s old skid row. A bowery was a shady, leafy place. Or a dwelling. Or a lady’s bedroom. Or several vaguely related other things.
Never mind. We’ll come back to this particular Bowery.
A lord and lady were chosen to preside over the ale, along with a waiting-man and a waiting maid and two men who carried a painted wooden horse. We’ll come back to the horse as well.
They’d go around the town in a procession, with the lord and lady offering a Whit cake for people to taste in return for a small payment. Whole cakes were also for sale.
The lady’s parrot and the lady’s nutcrackers were hung up in front of the bowery. These were an owl and a hawk in cages and a pair of threshing flails. Anyone who called them flails, owls, or hawks was fined a shilling. If they didn’t cough up, they were carried around the maypole on the wooden horse. If they still wouldn’t pay up, someone confiscated their hat.
Students from Oxford came over to ride the horse for the sheer hell of it and they frequently ended up fighting with the morris dancers when they wouldn’t pay the shilling.
Did we mention the morris dancers? Morris dancers show up everywhere.
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In Reading, Berkshire, parishioners also elected a king to preside over Whitsun, and there was ale, morris dancing, and feasting in the churchyard.
If you’re not a fan of morris dancing, I’m sure it looks better after some ale.
At Hock Tide (also linked to Easter but not a religious festival), the women of the parish kidnapped the men on the first day of the festival and held them for ransom, with the money going into the parish funds. On the second day, the men kidnapped the women.
According to a source on the festival, “In St Laurence’s, there may have been a division of the sexes for the feasting, with the accounts recording separately the ‘wyvis soper [supper]’ and the ‘bachelers soper.’ ”
In some parishes, the women were responsible for organizing the activities for an ale, and at least one set of parish records lists the expense of a supper to thank them for their work. For what it’s worth, in the village where I live, it tends to be women who organize local events, and the organizing itself, although not formally a way to socialize, still brings people together.
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In Crowcombe, Somerset, parish ales were held in a two-story house that had been built in 1515, in response to church authorities frowning on ales being held in the church nave. (Naves are where the congregation stood during church services; they didn’t have pews yet, so they were generally the largest open, indoor space in a village, and they were separated from the sanctuary by a screen, which–I’m speculating here–may have made them feel less like a religious space and more like a secular one.)
The house was given by the lords of two manors and the church was to pay rent for it. The goal was to meet the village’s needs for a community space.
Brewing and baking were done downstairs until the mid-1600s, and feasting and dancing were upstairs. Food and drink were carried up an outdoor staircase, in procession.
While we were paying attention to ales, the Church of England snuck in and replaced the Catholic Church. Some traditions continued seamlessly and others didn’t. Church ales were one of the things that carried over.
But English Protestantism was made of multiple, conflicting strands, and church leaders gradually turned against ales–first against clerical involvement and later against the ales themselves.
When the Commonwealth came along in 1649, it brought in an austere form of Protestantism. The monarchy was overthrown, the Church of England ceased to be the state church, and church ales were out.
Then the Commonwealth collapsed and the kings came back, bringing the Church of England with them, but not the ales. The church was happy enough not to revive them. Church rates were a more reliable way to raise money–and an easier one.
Church rates? They were a tax that went to maintain the parish church, usually collected by churchwardens. The earliest known use of the phrase is from the mid-1600s. They were abolished in 1868–at least in England.
Some ales were resurrected, both to raise money and to bring the community together. They never became as widespread as they had been, though. They were usually supported by local government or landowners. I’ve found a couple of contemporary ones. In July, Weymouth held a church ale and (yes indeed) teddy bear zipwire. And the parish church in St. Ives, Cambridgeshire, is holding (or just held–they’re less than forthcoming about the dates) a Booze in the Pews festival.
Notes from the U.K. 
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I’ve never heard of this and it doesn’t sound remotely medieval. The shilling fine is also an indication that it’s a much more recent tradition.
Just to be sure, I checked in Going to Church in Medieval England by Nicholas Orme. It doesn’t appear in the index, so I looked at Whitsun. He does say that Whitsunday was a time when money was collected for the church and then taken in procession to the cathedral, if it was close enough, or to a more local collection point, if it wasn’t. It wasn’t a time for parties, though, because it was at the time of year when the food was very low after the previous year’s harvest. As an aside, he also mentions that Whitsun was a common time for rebellions (e.g. the Peasants’ Revolt), because it was a week off work and people were disgruntled because they were hungry.
He also says that eating and drinking in church was forbidden, but difficult to police, but I don’t imagine that priests would encourage it by throwing a party.
The inclusion of morris dancers is another clue that this more likely to be something invented by the Victorians, although I can’t imagine that they were keen on having parties in churches.
There were almost always sports, music and dancing on medieval Holy Days, though.
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I don’t know what to say. You could be right, but the sources I used–a couple of parish websites tracing their local history and one academic site–are pretty definite about it. So much history–especially the ground-level history of how people lived their lives–gets lost, I don’t suppose its any wonder when authoritative sources disagree.
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Parish websites might be written by people unwilling or unable to do thorough research, so they could just be repeating misinformation. What was the academic source? If something like this did go on, I can see all kinds of possibilities for a novel. In fact, it might give me a good ending for the current novel.
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Wouldn’t that be great if this gives you the ending you need. Fingers crossed. The Whisun ale is from the link below–Oxford Reference. https://www.oxfordreference.com/display/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803122336930
I’m with you on local parishes not necessarily having the most scrupulous researchers. The two I used struck me as–well, at least competently put together. Let’s hope that means they were decently researched as well.
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Although the article says Middle Ages, it really means the Early Modern Period. It mentions the 15th and 16th centuries, but the first real details date from the 17th century.
It’s a shame, but I could still end the story with something about a Whitsun procession.
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Well, rats. I confess, I wasn’t scrupulous about what part of the (alleged) medieval period we were talking about.
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Great article. 😀👏 The history of ale and the church clearly go hand in hand. The only alcohol I can think of these days that has that religious connection in Britain is Buckfast😀
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That must be from Buckfast Abbey, not all that far from us. Get drunk and support the church, all in one go.
You have to admit, it’s efficient.
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Church Rates may have been cancelled, but something called Chancel Tax, or Chancel Repair liability still exists – a right that some churches have to force house owners in certain areas to pay for specific repairs to the church – something that anyone owning a house should check and, if necessary, get insurance against. It’s another of those anachronisms left over from the past that needs to be legally repealed.
And perhaps the churches could be told to hold ales again to raise the money instead.
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Given what repairs cost on centuries-old buildings, they’re going to have to get people to drink a hell of a lot of ale.
We first heard about chancel tax from the lawyer shuffling papers for us when we bought our house. He told us it didn’t apply to our house, and when he explained what it was Ida hit the roof. Not because it would affect us but on general principles. When he tells tales about his clients, I’m sure he’s still talking about us.
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Yes, my reaction was definitely similar to Ida’s when we were told. My initial thought was not take insurance but to fight it if it came up, and make an issue of it, but sanity (and my wife) prevailed.
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Very wise of your wife.
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… must be an English speciality, this “ale”. Pfingsten sees the procession, and there are some customs of course ; there is no “Maibaum”, maybe a “Pfingstbaum”, but only local, not even regional.
That a village starts some kind of collection for the poor bride – not here, not in the middle ages or early modern. A tad too romantic. So when the custom of these Ales was interrupted & abolished since mid-1600s it may have been re-discovered in late 18th or early 19th century, as A. Munday already mentioned – something not too uncommon (in German Volkskunde we speak of Fund und Erfindung, comes originally from the Voksliedforschung, but describes well what happened in/since 19th century).
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I suspect it was pretty strictly English. On a hunch, I did a 3-second Google search for church ales in Scotland and came up with a few fairly bizarre links, including one to a church with “ale” in its name (don’t ask me to explain that). So even within Britain, it looks like the tradition was geographically limited.
Emphasis on “looks like.” I haven’t dug very far.
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Well, the church has never been above making money – sometimes as needed for truly Christian work – in sometimes dubious ways. Bingo is essentially a form of gambling isn’t it . And having a little fun in Church ?Obviously not an Oliver Cromwell idea.
( Psst :The Protestant church I came up in used grape juice instead of wine. That made the main problem getting the grape stains out of the napkins.)
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Grape juice stains! Now, I would never have guessed that was a religious issue. I can’t help but think wine presents the same problem, although I’ve never heard about it. Probably because I’m hanging out in the wrong circles–fortunately.
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Hmm. Cromwell just wasn’t a fun guy.
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No, probably not. I doubt it was one of his goals in life.
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My goodness, this is quite entertaining to read, but you do go on! I imagine this is the kind of things Hobbits would earnestly discuss. A lot more fun than The Golden Bough I guess. But what do I know?
I am pleased to have found your blog. I hope I shall have the motivation to imbibe in it some more.
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Yeah, I admit, I do write long. What can I tell you? It’s what the information demands. Glad you stopped by. Hope it draws you back.
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