I
note that farmers in my part of the country are taking an interest in raising
crops of woad and possibly processing the plant to make a dye akin to indigo.
Of course, anything which smacks of diversification appeals to farmers today,
whose markets have been decimated by politicians with a globalisation complex.
Woad (Isatis tinctoria) is no newcomer to Britain. It was probably brought in
by Celtic immigrants from western and southern Europe. The Old Celtic name for
it, glasto, has been incorporated into the place name Glastonbury in Somerset,
which means “place where the woad grows”. Among names of places dating
from Anglo-Saxon times there are many derived from wad, the common name for
the plant, including Wadborough in Worcestershire, Waddon in Dorset and Surrey,
Waddicar in Lancashire and Woodhill in Wiltshire (which appears as Wadhill,
“the hill where woad is cultivated”, in the 1086 Domesday Book.)
The practice of making a blue dye from woad dates from the Middle Ages, and
it is popularly believed that it was used as a war paint much earlier. By the
15th century the growing of woad increased markedly. Previously the plant had
been imported mainly from Toulouse, but also from Italy and Spain. By the mid-16th
century the government was encouraging farmers to raise woad and establish mills
to process it for dye. It is ironic that woad cultivation increased as a result
of the fall in the price of grain, prompting farmers, as happens today, to diversify.
Yet, by the end of the 16th century the government was expressing concern that
the acreage of woad crops in Oxfordshire and Lincolnshire was threatening other
uses for the land occupied by it.
Several backlashes were associated with woad cultivation. At first it was welcomed
because weeding and picking gave employment to many country folk. But those
interested in the cloth industry complained that it robbed them of cheap labour,
and others argued that it used pasture that could better be used to graze horses
and cattle. Moreover, dairy farmers in the lush valleys of Hampshire and Sussex
felt that their pasture was being robbed. Riots were occasionally organised
by people who argued that what was wanted was food, not dyes.
More serious, perhaps, was an early manifestation of what we now call the “nimby”
(not in my back yard) syndrome. The process of converting woad into a blue dyestuff
involved soaking the leaves in water, milling them, balling the product, and
then allowing it to ferment for long periods in vats. The ammonia that was produced
became highly unpopular. Cultivation of woad within four miles of a market town
or a city was forbidden. Elizabeth I went so far as to issue an edict that it
was not to be grown within eight miles of a royal residence and not processed
within miles of any of her frequent excursions to visit her nobility.
Arthur Young reported in the 18th century that some Fenland farmers had up to
200 acres under woad. After that, production fell sharply, and by 1924 it had
virtually ceased completely.
It will be interesting to see how far the current resurgence of the practice
will proceed. The present state of cottage industries renders it doubtful whether
a few enthusiasts can manage to make a living by reviving a once celebrated
blue dyestuff. Yet nothing is impossible, except getting Government ministers
to listen to their constituents.