The Time Traveller's Guide to Elizabethan England

by Mortimer, Ian

  If that does not quite satisfy you, do not worry; in fashionable Elizabethan England, the sky’s the limit, especially if you are a gentleman trying to make an impression at court. According to Philip Stubbes, some men have been known to pay £10 just on one shirt.84

  Men’s Hair and Beards

  Enter a barber’s shop in London, or have a barber come to your house, and you will have such a range of hairstyles presented to you that you will be quite bewildered. Would you like a Dutch cut or a French one? A Spanish one or an Italian? New? Old-style? Gentlemanly? Common? Would the esteemed gentleman/goodman like to look ‘terrible to his enemies or amiable to his friends, grim and stern in countenance or pleasant and demure’? When it comes to the actual haircut, you will have your head rubbed down with linen cloths (‘rubbers’) and combed several times with ivory combs of increasing fineness. Only then does the cut begin. Note that most men carry their own two-sided comb: one side is of widely spaced teeth for disentangling hair; the other is narrow teeth, for combing out the nits that may be living in it. Wealthy men have combs of ivory; less wealthy men carry combs of carved wood.85

  With beards, there is also considerable scope for personal invention. William Harrison exhorts his readers to consider the shape of their faces when discussing their beards with their barbers. Dignified courtiers such as Sir Christopher Hatton, Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir William Cecil go for the full moustache and beard, simply trimming them to look neat. A young gentleman with curly hair might rather have a small moustache and otherwise be clean-shaven. Robert Dudley, earl of Leicester, opts for the bushy-beard look in later life. George Clifford, earl of Cumberland, who has very distinctive long curling brown hair, has a pointed beard and wide moustache when he sits for his portrait as the queen’s champion in 1592. His predecessor in that role, Sir Henry Lee, whose hair is short and curling, chooses a thin moustache and a small, tapering goatee-like beard when he is painted in 1568, shaving not only his cheeks, but his sideburns. This is not dissimilar to the style adopted by Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Edmund Spenser and other writers and actors at the end of the reign, all of whom have short, trimmed pointed beards and moustaches. In contrast, Sir Philip Sidney, the dashing young poet, is completely clean-shaven in the 1580s. So is the physician Andrew Boorde: he hates beards because, when he had one, he was sick in it and it took a very long time to remove the smell. Note that to be clean-shaven, you should try to go to the barber once a week; after two weeks the clean-shaven look is wearing thin. The regulations of the Inns of Court in London deem a student officially to have a beard if he has not shaved for three weeks.

  Men’s Acccessories

  There are three items that all men carry, or should be expected to have about their person. The first is a comb, already mentioned. The next is a sharp knife, for eating and other day-to-day tasks. The third is a purse for coins: normally a small leather or cloth bag on the end of a leather cord attached to the belt. Beyond these three, there is an unpredictable variety.

  Wealthy men wear jewellery. For a royal favourite this might mean a jewelled gold chain with a pendant jewel containing the queen’s image. Alternatively it might mean a ring. Rings are not always worn on the finger: when given as a gift, you might wear it on a band around your arm or on a chain around the neck. This fondness for jewellery doesn’t yet extend to earrings, however. Although a famous seventeenth-century portrait of Shakespeare shows him sporting a simple earring in his left ear, it is highly unlikely you will see any men with pierced ears in Elizabeth’s reign.

  Another important accessory is weaponry. The aristocrat may well wear a breastplate or gorget (collar armour) when having a portrait painted – and may even wear a full suit of armour if taking part in a celebratory joust – but apart from these he will rarely don armour. For him – and for you, if you move in such circles – it is the sword that matters. Swords are status symbols: in London no one can carry one unless he is a knight. You can buy them easily enough: a 34-ounce silver-handled rapier fit for a lord will cost you £11 in the 1580s; or, at the bottom end of the market, you can pick up a second-hand sword and dagger for 3s 4d.86 William Harrison comments that ‘seldom shall you see any of my countrymen about 18 or 20 years old to go without a dagger at least at his back or by his side’. Of course, having such weapons close to hand inclines people to use them. In this respect, a little fashion accessory is a dangerous thing.

  Not all swords are merely status symbols. Outside towns, even men of modest means will own weapons of some sort, in line with the legislation for the militia (the amateur force for the defence of the realm). Men with goods worth between £10 and £20 have to provide a bow, a sheaf of arrows, a steel helmet and a bill or halberd when the militia is called out. Those with goods worth between £20 and £40 have to provide two bows with arrows, two steel helmets, one halberd and one steel ‘almain rivet’ (light armour for a foot soldier, consisting of a breastplate and back plate with thigh guards). So it goes on, with higher allocations of armour to be provided by those with greater wealth and income from land. At the top end of the scale, anyone with £1,000 per year from land is required to keep six horses or geldings with harnesses and saddles, ten light horses or geldings with sufficient harnesses and saddles, forty steel corselets, forty almain rivets or coats of plate armour, forty pikes, thirty long bows with thirty sheaves of arrows, twenty steel helmets, ten bills, ten morrions (crested steel helmets) and twenty hackbuts or arquebuses (long-barrelled guns). Men who do not have sufficient wherewithal to supply arms and armour very often have to use them on behalf of their social superiors, donning the almain rivets and carrying the bills that their manorial lords keep for the purpose. This is why you will find so many coats of armour and weapons hung up in manor houses. Militia men are regularly inspected for the state of the armour they carry; and selected men undergo regular training too – they are called ‘the trained bands’ – so if you are selected to serve in the militia, this is what you may well end up wearing.87

  Other accessories relate to people’s work and occupations. Physicians and surgeons often have to ride out of town to see their patients, so on top of their long, fur-trimmed gowns they wear gabardines (overcoats) and caps. Gentlemen wear spurs when riding, partly as a sign of status and partly for urging their horses on. Miners wear practical garb similar to that of normal labourers (a thigh-length coat or doublet and belt, knee-length breeches and boots), but with the addition of a protective, padded round cap and a candleholder between their teeth. Up on the downs the shepherds have their smocks, hats and crooks. Mariners wear trousers or slops, and loose upper garments over their shirts. The butler in a gentleman’s house can frequently be seen in an apron, as can many working men and women, from butchers and smiths (in leather aprons) to brewers, bakers, fishmongers and cooks (in aprons made of canvas and serge).

  Nightwear

  Most men wear a nightshirt and cap in bed. Francis, the above-mentioned late-in-rising schoolboy, sleeps in his day shirt at night, and probably most boys of his age do likewise, changing their shirt in the morning if they have a clean spare. Even if you reserve a separate shirt to wear in bed, it will be essentially the same garment as a day shirt. If there is any difference it will be that the nightshirt has a collar, rather than the ties to attach a ruff. The nightcap normally takes the form of an easily washed linen cap, saving the pillowcase from the grease of the hair. A few gentlemen have adopted the ladies’ fashion of wearing a nightgown – a loose, comfortable lined gown, which can be worn over the nightshirt – although these are not actually for sleeping in, but for keeping warm when getting dressed or having your hair rubbed.88

  Women and girls also wear nightrails very similar to, or the same as, their smocks. Lace-trimmed perfumed cambric is favoured among those who can afford it, together with a linen coif or cap. In heading to bed, Lady Ri-Melaine says to her maidservant:

  take off my clothes, help me pull off my gown, pull off my shoes, give me my pantofles and my nightgown for fear I
catch cold; why do you not give me my waistcoat? Where is the white hair lace to bind my hairs? I have not my linen coif nor my fustian undercap … warm my bed well …89

  Women’s nightgowns can be of the most lavish material, designed to receive visitors as well as keep the wearer warm between leaving the bed and getting dressed. Even the queen wears them to meet people. Hers are made of silk, taffeta and velvet, lined with sarcenet and trimmed with gold and silver lace90 – the nearest modern equivalent would be a dressing gown, but on a lavish scale far beyond most people’s idea of nightclothes. In 1578 she allows a young man to catch her in her nightgown at Whitehall and declares herself to be ‘much ashamed thereof’.91 In fact, it is striking how often she is caught in her nightgown. In December 1597 she allows the French ambassador (the breast-fixated one) and his companions to see her in her nightgown and exclaims: ‘What will these gentlemen say to see me so attired? I am much disturbed that they should see me in this state.’ The ambassador notes that it is past one o’clock in the afternoon.92

  Cleaning Clothes

  The finest clothes are of little significance if they are dirty. In fact, ostentatious but dirty clothes may well have the opposite effect from that which you intend. This presents a real challenge to those who have to make fine clothes presentable. As William Horman points out, ‘if woollen clothes be taken no heed of and shaken and brushed, they will be moth meat and all to eat’. Nor are moths the only enemy: mice, damp, mildew and dust also cause problems. The solution to the mouse problem is easy: get a cat. The others are trickier.

  There is no washing process for cloth of gold, silk, satin, taffeta and suchlike garments. If there is a small stain, it can perhaps be sponged off. Otherwise delicate and expensive clothes are cleaned by having the lining removed by a tailor, who will pass it to a laundress to wash separately, before sewing it back into the garment. The showy outer part will be brushed or rubbed with a linen cloth. ‘Old men brushed their study clothes with cow tails as we do hair brushes,’ explains Horman. The brushes in question are shaped like modern shaving brushes: they consist of dyed pigs’ bristles protruding from a bone handle.93 Once brushed, the clothes are perfumed with powdered orris root, damask-rose powder, civet or ambergris, and then wrapped carefully in linen bags before being returned to their coffers. Furs are treated with fuller’s earth, beaten, trimmed and similarly perfumed. To combat damp and mildew, clothes that have not been worn for a while are regularly aired. Large quantities of coal are transported to the Tower and other royal palaces to air the queen’s expensive clothes: they are hung out on long cords across the heated room.94

  When it comes to the actual washing of woollens and linens, you need a tub, hot water, a scrubbing board (for the coarser cloths) and soap. And a woman. Men do not wash things in Elizabethan England: it is exclusively women’s work and it is hard labour – hard on your hands and legs as well as your skin. Washing is usually done in a kitchen, where it is at least easy to boil the water.95 As for the soap, many recipe books contain instructions for making it at home: ‘take one strike [two bushels] of ashes and a quart of lime … mingle both these together. Then you must fill a pan of water and seethe them well. So done, you must take four pounds of beast’s tallow [fat] and put it into the lye, and seethe them together until it be hard.’96 If you would rather buy soap, three sorts are commonly available. Black soap is the cheapest: a liquid soap made in London from potash and train oil (extracted from whale blubber), costing about ½d per lb. Better is grey soap, a viscous liquid speckled with white, made in Bristol from potash and tallow (a liquid version of the above recipe), costing 1d or 1¼d per lb. Both these varieties smell disgusting and are caustic, so Mediterranean soap, made from potash and olive oil, is far superior. The best imported variety is Castile soap: a hard white cake from Spain, costing somewhat more (3d or 3½d per lb). In 1559–60, £9,725 worth of soap is imported into London, with another £4,665 worth of potash for making soap.97 Going to a washerwoman and asking for a good-quality shirt to be laundered carefully will cost you about 1d. Washing a servant’s linen for a year costs about 16d. Note that the finer and whiter the linen, the more expensive the soap. You cannot use black or grey soap on cambric without turning it grey.

  When the clothes are clean they can be dried in the sun, if the weather is clement. In the fields outside London you will find washerwomen carrying their heavy baskets full of clean washing to dry on the grass or on hedges. In winter, clothes can be dried by the kitchen fire. Ironing as we know it has not yet been invented: flattening linen is done with warmed large stones or, in some wealthy households, the use of a screw press.

  Given all this attention to appearance and detail, it is fitting to give Philip Stubbes the last word, in one of his finest tirades against English clothes; for so passionate is his invective that you get a real sense of how much people enjoyed their splendid apparel in Elizabethan England:

  I think verily that Satan, Prince of Darkness, is let loose in that land – else it could never so far exceed as it doth for the like pride … thrice accursed be these years which bringeth forth such unsavoury fruits; and unhappy are that people whom Satan hath so bewitched and captivated in pride.98

  7

  Travelling

  ROAD TRANSPORT

  The use of the word ‘road’ as a noun is an Elizabethan invention, occasionally to be heard from the 1560s onwards.1 The terms ‘highway’, ‘path’, ‘lane’, ‘street’ and ‘way’ are more normally used. Nevertheless, whatever you call them, roads themselves are among the oldest parts of the man-made landscape. Many of the routes in use date from Roman times. Even in a city, whose houses are rebuilt over and over again, the twists and turns of ancient paths lie like ghosts between the changing structures. And transport along these roads is similarly unchanging. Standing at a town gate on market day, you’ll still see hundreds of people approaching – driving cattle or sheep, leading carts laden with sacks and crates, or walking with baskets on their arms or on their heads (holding them in place with a wreath of hay).2 Men are carrying dossars (huge baskets) on their backs or leading slow packhorses laden with panniers. Nothing much changes, you think … Until you hear the rumble of wheels behind you, the crack of the whip and the speeding coachman’s cry of warning.

  COACHES

  In many ways the increased use of the four-wheeled coach or ‘car’ goes hand in hand with the rise of the gentry and new wealth in the towns and cities. There have been passenger coaches since at least the thirteenth century, but, until now, they have been exclusively for royalty and aristocrats. Very soon after Elizabeth’s coronation, however, the number of coaches on the roads dramatically increases. This is mainly due to the return of Protestant émigrés from the Continent, where coaches have been popular among the wealthy for a number of years. In 1560, 500 coaches are in use in the city of Antwerp alone.3 William Boonen, arriving from the Netherlands in 1564, so impresses the queen with his coach-driving skills that she appoints him her personal coachman.4 It is a good example of how the Protestant revolution affects all walks of life.

  In the royal household coaches are referred to as ‘close cars’ (‘close’ meaning enclosed, as opposed to open to the elements). Most Londoners refer to them as ‘caroches’ – a corruption of the Italian carrozze, which are stately carriages for the very wealthy. Initially the task of making the royal close cars falls to the royal wheelwright; but in 1569 it goes to a designated ‘coachmaker’, William Rippon, who has been producing coaches for the aristocracy for several years.5 The queen has four made for her between 1578 and 1586: they all have timber bases with iron frames forming the superstructure, sides of leather, and linings of linen and brightly painted cerecloth. They have locking doors, for her majesty’s security. When the queen goes on a royal progress she may have between 300 and 400 carts and wagons with her, using up to 2,400 horses; but her own presence consists of her personal coach, a spare one (in case the first should break down) and what we might call the ‘royal convenience�
� coach, containing a close stool (portable toilet) in case the queen or any of her ladies in waiting is caught short when travelling.6

  Another reason for the sudden popularity of coaches is the lowering of the cost of production. In the Middle Ages a coach was an elaborate construction that would have set you back several hundred pounds. In Elizabeth’s reign most people feel they don’t need carved and gilt woodwork or embroidered silk hangings; it is enough simply to be travelling on four wheels. In 1573 a new coach can be obtained for just £34 14s, plus 2s 6d for painting your coat of arms on the side.7 A second-hand one might cost as little as £8: the earl of Essex has one valued at this price, and the earl of Bedford has two old coaches valued together at £10 in 1585.8 This does not include a team of four or six horses (at £10 or more). Do not underestimate the cost of the horses’ feed, especially if you are staying in town. When the purchaser of a brand-new coach, Mistress Kytson, arrives in London in 1574, she spends £2 11s 9d on her food and that of all her menservants. Their horses, however, consume £2 18s 4d of feed in the same time.9

  It is predominantly women who create the new demand for coaches. This is partly because the English consider it a somewhat effeminate way for a gentleman to travel.10 Although Lady Cecil travels by coach, her husband, Sir William, usually rides, and he continues to do so even when he is getting on in years.11 Similarly Dr John Dee in 1595 hires a coach to send his wife and children from Mortlake to Coventry while he follows on horseback.12 In London, aristocratic ladies like to travel by coach to go shopping at the Royal Exchange. ‘Page, bid the coachman put his horses to the caroche,’ commands a lady as she prepares to leave a shop, adding, ‘Go to, Coachman, why do we tarry? Drive your horses.’13 We have already come across Thomas Platter’s comment that the women of England ‘often stroll out or drive by coach’ together.14 One of the major attractions of taking a coach is that you can have a private chat with your friend. In The Merchant of Venice Portia says to Nerissa: ‘But come I’ll tell thee all my own device when I am in my coach.’15 Similarly, men will use a coach when they wish to confide in a woman, travel with her secretly – or seduce her.16