Once dismissed as frivolous and merely decorative, Anglo-Saxon artwork is increasingly recognised to be loaded with hidden meaning, but we have barely begun to decode this visual language. Doing so offers the potential to transform our understanding of this historical cultural network of the so-called “Dark Ages” as a significant world civilization.

New research by Thegns of Mercia member James D. Wenn, focused on a seemingly unrelated subject area, and a series of chance discoveries, have led to transformative new learning perspectives with wide-ranging implications. A book due to be published soon by Canalside Press will lay out many of these discoveries, with key concepts discussed in an upcoming public lecture in April 2023, but neither can fully document the application of these new perspectives on the corpus of Anglo-Saxon art. In the coming weeks we will, therefore, be publishing a special series of articles, here, which will explore the decoding of Anglo-Saxon art made possible by these perspectives.

​​Most cultures across Northern Europe share a love for alcoholic drinks made from the fermentation of malted barley; a love which has persisted for at least 6,000 years. The wide range of elaborate drinking vessels in early Anglo-Saxon princely burials, and later written descriptions of mead-hall culture, revelry and ritual-drinking strongly evidence the important role consumption of alcoholic drinks played in social life, and functioning, of Anglo-Saxon society. In ‘Beowulf’ it is made very clear that drinking binds warriors together and cements loyalty of troops to their leaders; unable to party in the hall due to Grendel’s attacks, Hrothgar’s fellowship dwindles. Also described is the serving of drinks by the women hosts within the hall – in strict social order (Pollington, 2003) suggesting that women tended to be in charge of brewing and rationing the drinks, and hinting at the soft-power they wielded at feasts by judging and signalling the social pecking-order (Herbert, 1997).

Outside of feasts and social gatherings though, it appears that ale was the staple drink of day-to-day life. Ælfric’s Colloquy – a 10th century ‘classroom textbook’ for teaching Latin literacy (with Old English gloss) describes an imagined conversation between a ‘master’ and a novice monk / boy who describes every-day life, including his “sober” diet (Hagen, 1995). When asked by the master “what do you drink?” he replies “ale, if I have any. Water if I have no ale”. When asked why he does not drink wine, he replies that it is too expensive, but also, that wine is unsuitable for “the young and foolish” and implies it is too intoxicating for a child. This is strong evidence that among Anglo-Saxons water was drunk, routinely, but that ale was preferred as the everyday, daytime drink (including for children) and that this ale cannot have been particularly alcoholic.
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It is often said that medieval folk subsisted entirely on ale because water was contaminated and unsafe to drink; we can see from Ælfric’s Colloquy that, at least as far as the Anglo-Saxon period is concerned, this is an oversimplification. Water from streams in more remote and upland areas – such as where monasteries were often sited – would usually be perfectly safe to drink; water from further downstream and especially near major settlements, less so. Early medieval folk could have no knowledge of microbiology but it would not take a genius to notice that those who drank more water, and less ale (considered "strengthening" and generally associated with good health) were often more likely to suffer stomach upsets, leading to the evolution of a habitual preference for ale over water as part of early medieval people’s daily routine.
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It's clear, therefore, that ale was central to both every-day life in Anglo-Saxon England, and to social functioning. Its worth examining then, what precisely Anglo-Saxon ‘ale’ and 'beer' were, how it was made, and why it became so important.