Lady Elinor Fettiplace and Her Receipt Book

by Lauren Gilbert

Laid Table by Nicholas Gillis, 1611

Old cookbooks and women’s household books or receipt books from times past are fascinating to me. So much “real people” information is to be found there: what they ate and when they ate it, how they celebrated, how they treated sickness or injury and which of those concerned them most, and other personal details of daily life can be found in these books. Women were responsible for the health, welfare, and feeding of their families, which at the wealthier end of the spectrum, included employees and visitors (uninvited as well as invited). Recipes were collected from friends and relatives and added to personal collections. The mistress of the household had to know what ingredients should be used and how dishes should be prepared (even if she did not do the cooking), make sure that medicinals and home remedies were properly prepared and available for use when needed, and that the supplies needed were available and techniques for completing tasks were known for household chores like laundry. Initially, these books were compiled by and for wealthy women (education being limited), but can still provide a view of their times that can illuminate the lives of people in general. One of the earliest of these books is the receipt book of Lady Elinor Fettiplace, of 1604.

Borne Elinor Poole c1570-1574, probably in Gloucestershire, to Sir Henry Poole of Gloucestershire and his wife Anne Wroughton (daughter of Sir William Wroughton of Wiltshire), Elinor was born into a family of “new men” making their fortune in the Tudor era by judicious marriages, holding positions with benefits and making themselves agreeable to important people. (The wool trade also helped.) Her paternal grandmother was a descendant of Sir Richard Whittington, a wealthy merchant who was Lord Mayor of London four times (and the inspiration for the story about Dick Whittington and his cat). Her paternal grandfather Sir Giles Poole was one of Henry VIII’s gentleman pensioners and prospered under all three of Henry’s children. (There was a family connection with the Earl of Leicester.) Her mother’s family prospered in a similar fashion. Other marriage connections included the Thynne family as well as Sir Walter Raleigh.

The Fettiplace family was an ancient line, which supposedly served William the Conqueror. Fettiplaces held various positions at court in the 13th, 14th and 15th century. They too made advantageous marriages and acquired large land holdings (at one point rumoured to hold 13 counties). At the time Elinor Poole married Richard Fettiplace in 1589, the Fettiplace name and land holdings were still impressive, but the family fortune was more uncertain. In February of 1589, her grandfather Sir Giles Poole died and left her a marriage portion of 400 pounds. It appears that, in their part of the marriage agreements, the Fettiplaces had to settle debts, which involved selling a certain amount of property. However, after the wedding of Elinor to Richard (later in 1589 after her grandfather’s death), influence by both sides got Richard invited to an important wedding at which Queen Elizabeth I was present in June of 1600. He was knighted during the celebrations. In 1604, Elinor wrote her name in her book of receipts with that year. The basic recording of the recipes themselves was apparently the work of a scribe, but she made notes herself. It’s important to realize that literacy among women was not particularly prized during this time; her ability to read and write (including knowledge of Latin) argues a more extensive education than was common even among upper-class women of this time.

The couple lived at Appleton Manor, near Oxford, where she would eventually have been responsible for the normal duties of the mistress of the house and prepared to manage the rest of the estate in her husband’s absence. The family in residence appears to have included Richard’s father Sir Bessell Fettiplace and mother (called Elinor or Helen) and his younger brothers and sisters. Elinor and Richard had 2 sons, John (the heir) born about 1589 and a younger son Henry born in 1602 about whom nothing else is known, as well as a daughter Anne born about 1594 who died in 1609. In between, there were 2 other daughters who did not survive infancy. It seems likely that Henry died in infancy or as a very small child, but his fate is not known. In 1603, Richard attended the coronation of King James, which indicated his holding a position of some influence. Son John was married in 1606 to his cousin Margaret Fettiplace. The young couple also lived at Appleton and had a son the next year.

Sir Bessells died in 1609 at which point Sir Richard came into his own, making Elinor the mistress of the household. (It appears that Richard’s mother retired on her jointure, making way for Elinor.) At this point, there was a multi-generational family living together (whether at Appleton Manor or at another family property) plus servants. Normally this would include a steward, a butler, a cook, a gardener, personal servants, and assistants to the others; similar households numbered as many as 100 or more persons. In addition to that, such households were responsible for providing hospitality to travelers and others, and assistance to local poor. Being an age of conspicuous consumption, Sir Richard and Lady Elinor Fettiplace would have been expected to “keep up with the Joneses” and maintain a similar standard of hospitality as that of their relatives and peers, many of whom were in high places indeed. Plague and other illnesses would also have to be dealt with. Elinor’s receipts included a plague remedy going back to Henry VIII and a herbal poultice from Dr. Thomas Muffet, scientist (whose daughter was the inspiration of Little Miss Muffet), as well as receipts for elegant cuisine (including a sweet potato dish attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh), and instructions for proper laundering of silk, whitening clothes and to prepare leather to be perfumed (perfumed gloves being a popular gift during the Elizabethan era).

Sir Richard Fettiplace died in 1615, leaving Elinor a widow. It appears she left Appleton Manor, retiring to her dower property (apparently near her family), leaving Appleton to her son and his wife and 4 children. She also spent considerable time at her father’s seat, Sapperton House. Her father Sir Henry Poole died in 1616 and left Elinor another 500 pounds and his coach. Sadly, Elinor’s son John died in 1619. At some point, Elinor married Edward Rogers, apparently a commoner known only as a citizen of Gloucestershire. This marriage appeared to be of fairly short duration. He died in 1623 and was buried at Sapperton church, leaving his entire estate to Elinor except for some bequests. After his death, Elinor lived on as a widow until her own death in 1647, which also appeared to have occurred in Sapperton. At her death, Lady Fettiplace left her book to her niece Anne, daughter of Sir Henry Poole the younger (her brother). The book was written in by other hands as it was passed on through the family and back to Fettiplace descendants until that branch of the family became extinct in the 18th century. It came into the hands of Hilary Spurling (author and theatre critic), as it was in the possession of one of her husband’s great-aunts. Ms. Spurling was fascinated by the book as a historical document. She put together a wonderful volume containing family information, historical context and the recipes themselves, as they were recorded (with Elinor’s notes where made) and then explains how to make these dishes today. This book gives an eye-opening view of Tudor and Elizabethan cuisine.

The original book itself (which I have not seen, unfortunately) is bound in leather and written on fine paper, with the Poole coat of arms stamped in gold on the cover. I do have Ms. Spurling’s book. The recipes are by month in her work, which illustrates the seasonality of food at that time. The recipes included some that appear to have been accumulated from times past (it was not unusual for a mother’s book to be copied and given to her daughter or daughter’s at the time of her marriage, then added to) as well as contemporary recipes. Spices were used differently than in medieval tradition, with a lighter hand. Citrus fruits were used, and lemon juice appeared. More vegetables were used, including imports such as the sweet potato. (I always envisioned lots of bread and meat, but not so many vegetables.) The recipes also indicated a level of knowledge of techniques that surprised me. Lady Fettiplace’s recipe “To Make White Bisket Bread” involves sugar, a small amount of flour, beaten whites of eggs and some crushed aniseed, combined together, formed into “coffins” (crusts) and baked; this is a recipe for meringues, which were not supposed to have been known (at least in England) in 1604. Clearly, Elizabethan cuisine was more sophisticated than many people believed. Ms. Spurling included suggestions for modern cooks and tried many of them successfully, as have others. Some of the more exotic ingredients such as rose water and ambergris are available (although not necessarily at the grocery store) and make it possible at least have an idea of what these foods might have tasted like. I plan to have a go myself. (The sweet potatoes sound especially nice, especially for Thanksgiving!)

Sources include:

Spurling, Hilary. ELINOR FETTIPLACES’S RECEIPT BOOK English Country House Cooking. 1987: Penguin Books, Middlesex.

Dickson Wright, Clarissa. A HISTORY OF ENGLISH FOOD. 2011: Random House, London.

David Nash Ford’s Royal Berkshire History. “Elinor Poole, Lady Fettiplace.” 2008. HERE

Epicurean Piranha. “The Magic of Meringue!” Posted September 10, 2012. HERE

Lost Past Remembered. “Elinor Fettiplace, Walter Raleigh’s Rose Sweet Potatoes, and an Excellent Negus,” posted by Deana Sidney on November 24, 2010. HERE

Image: Wikimedia Commons. "Laid Table" by Nicholas Gillis, 1611 (Public Domain). HERE

Image: Cover of ELINOR FETTIPLACE'S RECEIPT BOOK by Hilary Spurling-picture taken by Lauren Gilbert of her copy of the book.




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Lauren Gilbert, author of HEYERWOOD: A Novel, lives in Florida and loves old cookbooks. She is working on A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT, due out soon.

Visit her website at http://www.lauren-gilbert.com for more information about her.

Making Provision for Those That Shall Be Maimed In This Present War - Medical Care in the English Civil War

by MJ Logue

After the first battle of the English Civil War at Edgehill on 23^rd October 1642, the people of Warwickshire found themselves with an estimated butcher’s bill of between one and two thousand men injured in the fight.

Camp-followers and soldiers’ wives who followed the Army were able to care for their injured menfolk, but a casualty list of such magnitude was beyond either their capability or their resources. Most sword-cuts were not able to penetrate the sleeve of a buff-coat – but not every soldier owned a buff-coat. A musket-ball was an ounce of lead, and would break thinner bones, such as ribs; thicker bones, such as limbs, tended to be shattered on impact. Not, as you can imagine, the sort of injury with which the ordinary woman – or, indeed, the ordinary medic – would be greatly familiar with from a civilian existence!

It is not known whether either Army’s medics operated a triage system. What is known, however, is that after Edgehill as many casualties as possible were removed to a more stable environment to provide the best care. In the Army of Parliament both Lord Brooke and the Earl of Essex are documented as having provided funds for the ongoing care of their casualties by local people: a receipt presented by Katherine Hobson of Warwick, after the battle, shows that she received £25 for the care of around 150 men. (Kington being Kineton, ie Edgehill)

These are to certifie to all those whom these may any wayes concerne
That I Katherine Hobson of Warwicke dureing the time of wars imployed by the Lord Brooke in the Attendinge & dressing of the wounded soldiers that came from Kington battel (wh[i]ch said Souldiers were in number aboute Seaven score & the said battell was in The year of our Lorde God 1642) I say Rec[eive]d of Mr Richard Lacell then Bayleff of Warwicke the sume of Twenty five pounds, for the buying Of necessarys for the said Soldiers

It is not known whether the King’s troops enjoyed a similar care: the wholesale destruction of His Majesty’s always-lackadaisical administrative paperwork after the surrender at Oxford means that it is impossible to say with any certainty. It may be guessed from contemporary Royalist sources that perhaps it was not always the case; it was conceded by many that the Parliamentarian medical services were far superior to the King’s, despite having men such as the physicians Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689) "the English Hippocrates”, and Richard Wiseman (1625-1686), the greatest English surgeon of his day, in the ranks. These practitioners fought in opposing camps. Sydenham was a cavalry officer for the Parliamentary forces, whereas Wiseman was an ardent Royalist. Moreover, Wiseman became a personal friend of King Charles II, just as the pre-eminent physician William Harvey (1578-1657) had been a good friend (and hunting partner) of King Charles I.

Sydenham was enrolled at Magdalen College, Oxford, at the beginning of the war, and qualified as a Bachelor of Medicine in 1648 – presumably using some of the experience and knowledge gained in active service, in his practice. Wiseman wrote a book on field surgery, Several Surgical Treatises, and was an advocate of early amputation on the field of battle as well as an expert on gunshot wounds – also, presumably, using his field experience! He was of a similar age to Sydenham, but had entered the ranks of Barber-Surgeons just before the Civil War. (One of the main differences between doctors and barber-surgeons was that doctors were academically trained, and barber-surgeons were apprenticed.)

Edgehill seems to have been significant not only for the aftercare of its soldiers but for the fortunate coincidence of cold weather conditions which saved the life of many left on the battlefield unattended. The eminent physician to Charles I, William Harvey, who was present at the battle of Edgehill reported:

... that Sir Adrian Scrope was dangerously wounded there, and left for dead amongst the dead men, stript; which happened to be the saving of his life. It was cold clear weather, and a frost that night; which staunched his bleeding, and at about midnight, or some hours after his hurte, he awaked, and was faine to draw a dead body upon him for warmth-sake.” Harvey was also familiar with the best way of raising body temperature: “I remember he kept a pretty young wench to wayte on him, which I guess he made use of for warmth-sake as King David did, and he took care of her in his Will.

On 25 October 1642, within hours of the stalemate at Edgehill, Parliament passed an Act that for the first time acknowledged the State’s responsibility to provide for the welfare of its wounded soldiers and also for the widows and orphans of those killed -"An Ordinance of both Houses, declaring their Resolutions of making provision for those that shall be maimed in this present war, who are in the service of Parliament; and for the wives and children of those that shall be slaine". Three weeks later, on 14^th November with the pressure for care for the wounded rising, Parliament formed “The Committee for Sick and Maimed Soldiers” to rationalise the organisation and implementation of its aftercare arrangements.

Edgehill was significant not only as the battle which began the English Civil War, but, to a degree, the battle which began the concept of state responsibility for those hurt in its service. Diverse wounds and missing limbs often prevented returning soldiers from earning a living – these survivors seem to have been given a lump sum of £2 (in context, a colonel of horse in the New Model Army, three years later, would have received wages of a pound a week: £2 was a hefty lump sum, but not enough to retire on!) whilst a regular pension was agreed on. Significantly, widows and dependents of soldiers were also allowed to enter a claim for maintenance, provided they were able to provide relevant war records. Many of these widows were also in the position of having cared for injured soldiers who were wholly unrelated to them, after battle: Hester Whyte cared for wounded Parliamentarian soldiers after Edgehill, “who continued at her house in great misery by reason of their wounds for upwards of three months. She often sat up night and day with them, and in respect of her tenderness to the Parliament’s friends, laid out her own money in supply of their wants.” (Petition to the Committee of Safety for Warwick and Coventry)

There is much, much more to be said on the matter of Parliamentarian care of its soldiery – the hospital structure, the diet of sick and hurt soldiers, the value of opportunities afforded for women to be recognised in paid employment outside the home. In 1657 four women were interviewed for the single position of ward Sister at a London soldiers’ hospital. A nursing post in one of the London soldiers’ hospitals would have attracted a wage of 5s per week, with accomodation and food provided. (Set that against the widow’s pension of 4s per week, and it’s a much less impressive deal.)

That, however, is for another day entirely. On this anniversary of the battle of Edgehill, let us raise a toast to the Committee for Sick and Maimed Soldiers: the first of its kind in England.

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MJ Logue can be found lurking at uncivilwars.blogspot.co.uk, , and the first three books in her bestselling series featuring the (mis)adventures of sweary Parliamentarian cavalry officer Hollie Babbitt and his rebel rabble are available here.

Let's Go A' Barbering

By Katherine Pym

First, a little technical history:

Back in the day, monks were barber-surgeons.  They took care of all men's needs, from spiritual to physical. They groomed men and performed surgery on them. It was a monopoly.

But in 1163 at the Council of Tours, Pope Alexander III declared clergy getting their hands bloody was contrary to healing souls, and they were therefore banned from the practice. Enter the lay person where the profession of Barbery combined the services of grooming and doctoring. 

Barbers let passersby know they'd leech or perform surgery by putting a bowl of blood in their windows, but in 1307 an Ordinance forbade that little advertisement. Accumulated blood must be privately taken to the River Thames and dumped into its waters. If not, barbers were fined 2 shillings by the sheriff. Not to be outdone, barbers continued to advertise with red rags in the window.

The next year in 1308, the barber guild was formed. The first master of Barber's Company was Richard le Barber. In 1462, the guild received a royal charter by King Edward IV.

In 1540, the guild's title was changed to Barber-Surgeon, and disputes erupted. Finally, King Henry VIII enacted: "No person using any shaving or barbery in London shall occupy any surgery, letting of blood, or other matter, except of drawing teeth."

This law was not followed or enforced. Barbers often performed surgical procedures. They would barber in one part of their shop, and on the other do surgery, and surgeons--to make extra coin--practiced barbery.

The barber had long hours. King Henry VI issued an edict : "No barber open his shop to shave any man after 10 o'clock at night from Easter to Michaelmas, or 9 o'clock from Michaelmas to Easter, except it be any stranger or any worthy man of the town that hath need : whoever doeth to the contrary to pay one thousand tiles to the Guildhall."

Well, to cut that edict to a nubbin, it meant anyone with a coin could be barbered whenever he wanted, which included Sundays and holy days. Barbers traipsed around town all days, from sun up to sundown and beyond. Pepys was often barbered on Sunday mornings before he went to church, or late at night before he went to bed. 

From Visible World published in 1658, and considered the first illustrated schoolbook, the barber in his shop would "cutteth off the hair and the beard with a pair of sizzars or shaveth with a razor which he taketh out of his case. And he washeth one over a bason with suds running out of a laver and also with sope and wipeth him." 

The barber's shop was a world onto itself.  Gallants met there to be barbered or sewn together after suffering sword wounds.  Carbuncles would be lanced and drained, and medicines dispersed. Those waiting played musical instruments and gossiped.  The barbershop was where men went to learn current events or the latest scandals.

Once in the chair, their beards were starched and their hair trimmed. In "Quip for an Upstart Courtier published in 1592. It related that the courtier sat down in the throne of a chair, and the barber, after saluting him : 'Sir, will you have your worship's hair cut after the Italian manner, short and round, and then frounst with the curling irons to make it look like a half-moon in a mist ; or like a Spaniard, long at the ears and curled like to the two ends of an old cast periwig ; or will you be Frenchified with a love-lock down to your shoulders...'"

After the barber finished with the hair, he'd attack the the beard. There were several ways to fashion the facial hair. Beards and mustaches could be formed into the Roman T, a stiletto-beard, soldier or spade beard, bishops beard, or the well known Vandyke. You could have the "court cut, and country cut." You could look fierce to your enemy or friendly to the ladies.

Some barbershops created a veritable spa environment. Their nose and ear hairs were snipped. They'd foam and wash the patron's beard, dab it with fragrant waters, and anoint his closed eyes, then pull a rotten tooth. 

Or should the barber have pulled the tooth, first?

For more reading on London 1660's (and one French Revolution novel), please see:
http://www.amazon.com/Katherine-Pym/e/B004GILIAS

Resource: At the Sign of the Barber's Pole, Studies in Hirsute History by William Andrews, Cottingham, Yorkshire, J.R. Tutin, 1904

Superstitions and Bodily Health

by Diane Scott Lewis

Before modern medicine lay people and some physicians held the belief that transferring the ailment to another object could cure you of disease. Since antiquity, and well into the eighteenth century, people believed that men reflected aspects of the natural world. It was a dominant strategy that explained the mysteries beyond the ken of the science of the day.

A man in late seventeenth century Somerset claimed that his brother was cured of a rupture by being passed through a slit cut in a young ash tree, three times on three Monday mornings before dawn. When the tree was later cut down, his brother grew ill again.

To cure jaundice, you took the patient’s urine, mix it with ashes and make three equal balls. Put these before a fire, and when they dried out, the disease leaves and he’s cured. In Devon, to cure the quartan ague, you baked the patient’s urine into a cake, then fed the cake to a dog, who would take on the disease.

Even Richard Wiseman—a Barber Surgeon—who wrote Chirurgicall Treatises during the time of Charles II, believed to remove warts you rub them with a slice of beef, then bury the beef.

Color as well played a part in how health was viewed. “Yellow” remedies were used to cure jaundice: saffron, celandine with yellow flowers, turmeric, and lemon rind. John Wesley, who wrote Primitive Physick, in the mid-eighteenth century, suggested that sufferers of this illness wear celandine leaves under their feet.

Health was also governed by astrological explanations. Manuals intended for physicians and apothecaries included this “otherwordly” advice. Nicholas Culpeper detailed which herbs were presided over by which planets in his famous health text, Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. For example, if a headache was caused by the actions of Venus, then fleabane (an herb of Mars) would cure the malady.

However, the Vox Stellarum, the most popular almanac in the eighteenth century, took a more moderate view: “Men may be inclin’d but not compell’d to do good or evil by the influence of the stars.” Yet this same almanac, in 1740, listed which diseases were prevalent in certain months—a vestigial form of astrological medicine.

 

Thank goodness more enlightened physicians, such as brothers William (a leading anatomist and renown obstetrician) and John Hunter (one of the most distinguished scientists and surgeons of his day) in the eighteenth century, came along to bring medical thinking into the modern world. Though superstition among the lay people remained.

I delved into this research for a character, a young physician, in my still unpublished novel, Ring of Stone. Information taken from, Patients, Power, and the Poor in Eighteenth Century Bristol, by Mary E. Fissell, 1991.

To learn more about my novels: http://www.dianescottlewis.org

17th Century Recipes

by Katherine Pym

From the book: Samuel Pepys' Penny Merriments, Being a Collection of Chapbooks, full of Histories, Jests, Magic, Amorous Tales of Courtship, Marriage and Infidelity, Accounts of Rogues and Fools, together with Comments on the Times. Selected and Edited by Roger Thompson of the University of East Anglia at Norwich, 1977.

Whew, what a mouthful. Our titles these days are much shorter, with less syllables, easier to remember. To remember this, I simply refer to it as: Penny Merriments, a tome I found in a bookstore and considered a great find. It has all sorts of wonderful information, like recipes to make one beautiful, or a recipe for the newest way to roast a hare. It sends me right back into the era of my choice...

17th century England started out with traders going to far distant shores, but the cost was extensive. Spices were gathered through the Levant Company (owned by noblemen and gentlemen of quality) and the fledgling East India Company. As the century moved forward, their ships went to places already taken by the Spanish and Portuguese. 

 

Battle during First Anglo/Dutch War

The Dutch East India Company (VOC) began at about the same time as England's, but they weren't hampered by the religious upheaval and civil wars England endured during the first half of the century. The Dutch VOC had a leg up on English merchant shipping until Cromwell decided enough was enough and went to war with Holland. This is known as the First Anglo/Dutch war (1652-54), and fought entirely at sea. These wars were over trade, who could monopolize which ports in the East and West Indies.


With that said, the recipes below show an inordinate amount of spices, which were very costly. During the reign of King James I, a fight to near death took place between VOC and English Merchantmen in the South Seas that decimated the crops of nutmeg on Pulo Run Island, in the Banda archipelago.

Dutch Flagship sailing into Mediterranean Harbor

Through the Levant Company, citrus fruits, dates, pepper, cotton cloth, and other fruits and spices were trekked across the desert sands to ports the Levant held in the Mediterranean, then imported via ship to London. (I won't even mention the pirate contingent that upped the cost of goods.) Once these commodities hit the London markets, they proved costly for the middling English household.

The below recipes can only come from later in the 17th century, and were directed to the more well-to-do. Middling folk who could read, enjoyed the thoughts of these, though... 

"To Roast a shoulder of mutton with Oysters the best way.
"Take one not too fat nor too lean, open it in divers places, stuff your oysters in with a little chopt penny-royal (of the mint family), baste it with butter and claret wine, then serve it up with grated nutmeg, yolks of eggs, ginger, cinnamon, butter and red wine vinegar."

"To Stew a Leg of Lamb the best way.
"Slice it and lay it in order in your stewing-pan, seasoned with salt and nutmeg, adding a pound of butter, and half a pint of claret, with a handful of sliced dates, and the like quantity of currants, and make the sauce with the yolk of two eggs, a quarter pint of verjuice (acid juice from sour or unripe fruit, very sour), and two ounces of sugar. Boil them up, and put them over the meat, serving up hot together." 

"The Art of Beautifying the Hands, Neck, Breast and Face: Harmless and Approved, with other Rare Curiosities.
"To make the hands arms white, clear and smooth. Take a quarter of a pound of sweet almonds, blanch and bruise them, with a quarter of a pint of oil of roses, and the like quantity of betony-water (plant of the mint family): heat them over a gentle fire; and then press out the liquid part, and it will serve for either hands or face anointed therewith."

"To take away Freckles, Morphew (scurfy skin) or sunburn.
"Steep a piece of copper in the juice of lemon till it be dissolved (can copper dissolve?), and anoint the place with a feather morning and evening, washing it off with white wine."

"To take off any scurf from the hands and face.
"Take water of tartar, that is, such wherein calcined (burnt to a powder) tartar has been infused, anoint the place, and wash it as the former (with white wine)."

And now, for the final and most excellent recipe...

"To sweeten the Breath, and preserve the Teeth and Gums.
"Boil a handful of juniper berries, a handful of sage, and an ounce of caraway seeds in a quart of white wine, til a third part be consumed: strain it and wash your mouth with it morning and evening, suffering a small quantity to pass down: you may whiten the teeth by rubbing them with pumice stone."

So, who wants to try one of these recipes and let me know how it works? I'd especially like to know the results of whitening your teeth with pumice stone. Or should I do a disclaimer? Don’t do this without the guide of a professional!

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Katherine Pym's novel Twins, a 2012 EPIC finalist, delved into trade with the Levant Company. Find all of Katherine's works at: http://www.amazon.com/Katherine-Pym/e/B004GILIAS 

Age Ain't Nothing but a Number

by Samuel Thomas

In an earlier post (here) I noted that, despite the popular perception that most people in the pre-modern world died young, in the seventeenth century nearly 10% of the population was over the age of sixty, which – by most accounts – is when one became “old.” But, as the saying goes, age ain’t nothing but a number. What was old age like in the past? To answer that question, we need to get behind the numbers.

The most interesting thing about old age in the early modern period is that one could “grow old” several times. The first phase of old age was known to contemporaries as “green old age.” This was a time, usually when a person was in his fifties or sixties. While the body might have begun to decay, it was a time of generally good health and continuing activity.

In his sixty-first year, Presbyterian minister Oliver Heywood traveled over 1,000 miles on horseback over extremely difficult terrain, delivered 135 weekday sermons, and attended forty religious fasts. When he was sixty-eight, he logged 700 miles, eighty-two sermons, and another forty fasts. Other men and women had a similarly pleasant experience of old age, as their children married and started lives of their own, or they found spiritual peace that had eluded them in their youth.

It is here worth noting that an individual’s experience of old age is closely tied to wealth and gender. A man who spent his entire life working in the fields would grow old much sooner (and more painfully) than a gentleman or aristocrat. Part of what allowed Heywood to enjoy his green old age was that (by lucky accident) he’d inherited an estate in Lancashire, so he did not have to worry about money.

Thanks to their role bearing children, many women also aged earlier than men, regardless of their social status. In contrast to the popular image of labor being fraught with peril, a woman had only a 6-7% chance of dying in childbirth (over her lifetime, not per birth). But the fact is that in the pre-modern era, a woman might become pregnant a half-dozen times, and this could take a terrible toll on her body. 

The lot of the poor, aged and female was a hard one.

Whatever a person’s social status, green old green old age faded to brown and the elderly grew weaker, sicker and less likely to recover from illness.  In extreme old age, physical decay became a central fact in a person’s life, as it became more difficult to see, hear, breathe, and walk.  Along with these physical challenges, many elderly people suffered from memory loss and melancholy. In 1699, at age sixty-nine, Heywood described his condition in touching detail:

My wind grows exceeding short, any little motion puts me out of order – my chapel is near me, but when I walk to it (as yesterday) my wind so fails me that I am forced to stand and get new breath, before I go into my pulpit. When I go up to my chamber, my breath cuts, that I am forced to sit a season in my chair to breath me. When I lay down in my bed I pant a considerable time and cough and oftimes my waters comes from me with motion.

An individual’s ability to cope with the challenges of extreme old age varied with social status. The wealthy obviously lived in greater comfort than the poor. A few years after this, Heywood found himself unable to walk the few steps to his chapel, so he paid two men to carry him in a specially-built chair. Obviously this was a luxury which most of his neighbors could not have afforded.

But old age was not just a physical event. For some in early modern England (particularly the puritans), it could be seen as an event of cosmic significance.

Sam Thomas is the author of The Midwife's Tale coming soon from Minotaur/St.Martin's. You can learn more at his website, like him on Facebook (or in a coffee shop if you run into him there), and follow him on Twitter.

Desperate Measures in the 17th century

In the 17th century if you were ill it was much more dangerous to employ a physician than to use your local herbalist.

The richer you were, the more likely you were to die if you became ill. Not from the disease, but from the treatment! When Charles II became ill, and the best doctors in the country were summoned, a courtier was heard to say, "it is dangerous to have two doctors, to have fifteen is fatal."

No wonder, as the physicians immediately took 16 ounces of blood from him. An emetic of antimony followed, and then a Spirit of Blackthorn purgative, and then a white vitriol enema. The king's head was shaved and blistered and plasters applied to his feet. Is it any wonder he died? The same fate awaited poor George Washington, who was bled of about half the blood in his body before he finally begged to be left alone in peace to pass away, which he promptly did.

(Above) Treatment with a clyster or enema syringe, 17th century.

Fortunately most poor people could not afford the expensive attentions of a physician and relied on a local herbalist or cunning woman to administer plant remedies. Plant remedies were much gentler than any treatment offered by a physician, and so the patient had a much better chance of recovery.

Many of the herbal remedies were from common plants such as nettles which were used to combat anaemia and as a blood tonic. Modern research has shown they are rich in iron.

Nettles were not only used as a pot herb in Spring, but also they could be used to make rope. The fibres were widely used in weaving producing a flax-like cloth, more durable than linen. It was also used as a hair lotion and produced a good yellow dye. The local village herbalist was skilled in all aspects of plant lore.

When I was researching the lady's slipper plant I discovered it had been over-collected in the 17th century because of its use as a nervine or sedative. I also discovered that if taken with alcohol the plant could induce numbness and hallucinations - a very unpleasant cocktail altogether.

But you'll have to read my book to find out what happened to Sir Geoffrey Fisk when he used the herb to try to cure his eczema. The Giveaway to win the book is still open, but hurry, only for one more day! Just click on the Giveaway page.

The lady's slipper

Government and virtues ~

A most gallant herb of Venus, now sadly declined. A decoction is effectual to temper and sedate the blood, and allay hot fits of agues, canker rash and all scrophulous and scorbutic habits of the body. The root drank in wine, is its chief strength, to be applied either inwardly or outwardly, for all the griefs aforesaid. There is a syrup made hereof excellent for soothing restlessness of the limbs, hence oft times goes by the name of Nerve Root.

Vices ~

Be wary of this herb, for surfeit of it calls forth visions, fancies and melancholy. Take it not with strong liquor. If giddiness, sickness of the stomache, dullness of the senses ensue, or drowsiness withal ending in deep sleep, straightway desist. In women and children, safer it being tied to the pit of the stomache, by a piece of white ribband round the neck.

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