Native herbs Hops
A relative of marijuana, hops were a Teutonic introduction to British brewing culture and gave rise to the original working holiday, finds John Wright
FEW plants I encounter on my walks fill me with as much excitement as the hop: its spiky, palmate leaves on Velcro vines that clamber over hedgerows, up trees and even climbing the full height of a telegraph pole’s tethering cable.
The hop was introduced to England from Germany in the late 15th century, solely for the making of beer. It did, however, have a fight on its hands, as ale had existed for centuries, flavoured by various aromatic herbs. The distinction between the two was firm until the 19th century—indeed, many municipalities once forbade ale-makers from using hops in their brews. Today, the two terms are largely interchangeable, with the making of the old ales a matter for enthusiastic homebrewers alone.
Hop is the name for both the plant and the female flowers used in brewing. The plant is dioecious, but the males and their small flowers are seldom noticed. I may never have seen one had I not spent a day at a Herefordshire hop farm, where I was shown some. Harvest was in progress, with two very wide, lawnmowerlike machines, joined at the top to form a huge inverted ‘V’ and running the length of the towering rows. The crop was then taken to the processing plant, where the leaves were separated from the hops using multiple gently sloping conveyor belts, all based on the principle that leaves are flat and stay on the conveyor belt, whereas hop flowers are round and roll downhill. I found the process fascinating, if incredibly noisy, but it could never be as romantic as the old way.
In the hop fields of old, the plants were detached from their poles and laid on the ground. Here, the hops were removed by hand and placed in a sacking hopper (there seems to be no etymological connection) held on four poles. Seasonal workers required for the job would travel to hop fields all over the country, but the best recorded are those of entire families of Londoners decamping for a few weeks to Sussex and to Kent, the home of the English hop. The writer of a long article in London’s Weekly
Dispatch of 1869 was clearly enamoured of this annual event, noting that it was effectively a holiday for the poor and expressing admiration for Wild hops grew in the hedgerows, a memory of what had been the hard work involved. He was also condescending to the point of eye-watering insult. After writing of the ‘green boughs or a clear, undimmed sky’ they wo
