In the olden days, I could be depended upon to launch into a set-speech when someone complained about the harshness of their lives. Even the modern lower-middle class, I would explain, live better lives than the nobility of medieval and early modern times.
Our houses and apartments are much warmer than medieval castles, at any distance from the fireplaces, during the winter. Few buildings had potable water piped in, and, in almost all that did, the pipes were made of lead. There were no flush toilets until that late 18th century.
Various methods were used to dispose of bodily waste: chamber pots were the indoor option of the householder and tenant. Castle walls were pocked with corbels, open at the bottom, that sent the waste of servants and soldiers either to a ditch that emptied into the nearest water source or simply onto the ground.1 The nobility deposited in their private stool, built like a over-sized velvet-lined child's training potty, which had a dedicated servant who took the result (“the stool”) away to throw down an available corbel. The same was often the source of the castle's potable water. In London, and other large cities, professional water carriers lugged large jars-full from locations of cleaner water, or from aqueducts, to houses wealthy enough to afford to buy it.
Some castle “jakes” sat above indoor pits that smelled as might be expected. Inside the castle bailey were open-bottomed Port-a-Johns that were used until they filled up and then were covered over with dirt and a new hole dug nearby. Courtiers urinated in the fireplaces in waiting rooms. Litter was thrown everywhere within the walls and collected by garbage wagons every few months. Castle grounds periodically wreaked of garbage and offal. Tenement blocks in populated towns and cities could smell every bit as bad.2
It was one of the many signs of status to be given rooms away from the bailey and the kitchens which tended regularly to catch fire. Lesser beings were not so lucky.
It took until the 19th century for London and Paris to grow desperate enough to stop the terrifying cycle of dysentery, typhoid, and cholera epidemics, which killed many tens of thousands, for the cities to build modern under-ground sewer systems. At about the same time, surgeons began in the habit of washing their hands before doing surgery. These two advancements have since saved more lives than all the subsequent medical advances until our day.
This subject could (and does) fill enormous libraries. This small sample will have to be sufficient for our present purposes.
One of the most ironic results of this is Shakespeare's washing machine. A considerable majority of Shakespeare's fellow playwrights were born into an England in which the word “Master” was rapidly transforming into “Mister”. Master had been the proper word for centuries with which to address superior officers of guilds, of noble households and other males awarded coats-of-arms for special services to the crown. But England was rapidly becoming a trading empire. Skilled workers of every type were needed in plenty. The respect for their station was growing rapidly. Toward the end of the 16th century, any respectable head of household, tradesman, merchant, etc., was addressed as “Master”. The title was becoming our modern Mister.
The playwrights of the time were mostly drawn from this new class. And you can see it in their plays. Ben Jonson was a bricklayer's son. This did not prevent him from getting an excellent education in the premiere public school of his day but college proved beyond his family's means.
In Jonson's plays there are house-wives polishing pewter to a fine luster, doing laundry and much more. At the center of his plays, he is portraying the life of the new class to which he belongs. He shows his education, also, by references to, and plays about, classical history.
Another bricklayer's son who had access to a quality education and wrote exceptional plays and prose is Thomas Middleton. Middleton's works are chock full with laundresses, starchwomen, worsted stockings (what we call socks), and six-penny ordinaries (which we might call greasy spoons). His wives wash dishes. Shop keepers are everywhere at their shop doors heard to cry “What d'ye lack?” at passersby and sending their sons to be educated, as he had been, at Cambridge and the Inns of Court.
And what is seen especially in Middleton is servants and tenants shaking their heads at the foolishness of their “betters”. The tables are turned. Sons of gentlemen are all but uniformly ridiculously dressed and unmitigated dolts. Once sons of mercers turn courtiers (and they do in profusion) all hope of a useful life is lost. They will forever be a financial burden.
The likes of Jonson's and Middleton's works will be the model for Bertie and Jeeves stories for hundreds of years to come. At the behest of the likes of Thomas Cromwell and William Cecil, the nobility is being retired to their lands, where their ego and refusal to apply themselves to a practical education will be allowed a steadily shrinking domain. The new government is made up of myopic mercers' and drapers' sons graduating from the Inns of Court.
As amusing as these works may be the details of world they depict are foreign to us. The irony of this is that we feel a much closer relationship to the works of Shakespeare. With the exception of a single play, called The Merry Wives of Windsor, he makes no mention whatsoever of laundry. In none does he mention starchwomen or a character doing his or her best to preserve a farthing candle.
He resembles us. Unlike Middleton, he never mentions suet under the assumption that we will understand how candles were made. When his characters read at night it is by light that he feels no need to explain. Unlike Middleton, the author or his protagonist never complain
How many such black and ghastly seasons have I passed over, accompanied only with a demure watching-candle, that blinked upon Aristotle's works, and gave even sufficient glimmering to read by, but none to spare!3
Surely, Shakespeare feels no need, any more than the modern author to specify that a character is able to read his books because he or she has turned on the electric light. When they attend a masque, in a great hall, no one lights the scores of expensive candles. As in our world, the chandelier is simply there making light. Presumably someone turned on the switch.
His characters travel by horse like we travel by car. The horse stands waiting equipped with saddles, reins and bits, like all our cars stand at every moment awaiting our commands with power windows, cruise control and zero-to-sixty in impressive numbers of seconds that we do not need to mention. The details are unspoken, assumed. His silence on the matter, like the modern author's, makes clear that, upon their return home, they park their horse in the garage, just like we don't think to mention, hop off, and go straight into their abodes, filled with amenities unnecessary to mention, to see if there is any leftover pizza in the refrigerator.
What we likely do not notice is that Windsor is the town that serves the Queen's primary palace. It is a place that the noble and the wealthy and hangers-on walk into as they pass out of the back gate of the palace.4 The laundresses can be seen washing the laundry in Datchet Mead not far from the gate. At the distance, their own servants can hardly be made out from those of Mistress (Mrs.) Ford or Mistress Page. Their clothing simply appears at their privy chambers clean and fresh, at appropriate times, and together with servants to common to mention to help put it on them.
The overflow of the palace servants and guests take rooms at the inns and houses, drink at the taverns. Those who reside inside go out to get a change of air. Perhaps, a pottle of ale. The residents of the town grow wealthy with the business of the wealthy. Their wives have servants that can be seen carrying the buck-baskets filled with dirty laundry as one goes in and out of the gate.
Yet, only minor characters, meant to provide comic relief, or servants, seem ever to sport soiled or tattered clothing, or have to wait wrapped in a sheet until their only shirt comes back from the laundry, etc., in the plays of Shakespeare. In fact, there are no laundresses in his world. There is no laundry. The characters of the classes from which Shakespeare draws his plots don't even seem to express particular concern about such matters except in one instance. The theme of “exile” has long been noticed to be persistent in the works of Shakespeare and there he and his characters wear motley, in comedies, in tragedies rags.
Add to all of this, the fact that nearly all modern readers read the poetry and plays of William Shakespeare (if they read them at all) in modernized versions. The spelling is standardized, at times the grammar, and words or phrases are even sometimes replaced by modern equivalents. Still more, plays like Coriolanus or Titus Andronicus are almost never revived in print, on stage or on film. Some scholars are adamant that they could not possibly have been written by Shakespeare — at worst the offensive portions, they assert, were co-written by others and only less objectionable parts by the Bard.
It is no surprise, then, that Shakespeare is perceived to be like us; the world he depicts familiar. Neither is it a surprise that it is the more democratic direction of the late Elizabethan period that seems foreign — even off-putting. The details around washing cloths or dishes rarely enter into our literature because the washing machine, the dishwasher and drier are assumed thus a part of every story without being mentioned. Clean clothing comes from back stage... in both the 21st century and in the plays of Shakespeare. We read Shakespeare as if he had a washing machine.
1See my “A Brief History of the Castle Jakes.” Virtual Grub Street, July 7, 2019. https://gilbertwesleypurdy.blogspot.com/2019/07/a-brief-history-of-castle-jakes.html
2See my “Livin’ Real at Windsor Castle with Queen Elizabeth.” Medieval and Tudor Topics, June 4, 2022. https://vgs-pbr-reviews.blogspot.com/2022/06/livin-real-at-windsor-castle-with-queen.html
3Father Hubburd's Tales. The Works of Thomas Middleton, V.598 (1840). [Dyce ed.]
4See my “Mr. Billington's Bluster: the Uncommon-ness of The Merry Wives of Windsor.” Virtual Grub Street, May 27, 2024. https://gilbertwesleypurdy.blogspot.com/2024/05/mr-billingtons-bluster-uncommon-ness-of_27.html
Also at Virtual Grub Street:
- On the Possibility that Edward de Vere and Shakspere of Straford Shared a Beer in Southwark. February 9, 2026. "The Earl of Oxford would have taken this route in 1575, as would Michel Eyquem, Seigneur de Montaigne,"
- Du Bartas – Dinosaurs = Shakespeare's Gaunt Speech in Richard the Second. November 30, 2025. "After quite some time it was discovered that one John Eliot's French lesson book Ortho-epia Gallica included..."
- Sonnet 130: Shakespeare's Reply to a 1580 Poem by Thomas Watson. September 7, 2024. “Interesting to see our Derek Hunter debating with Dennis McCarthy, at the North group,...”.
- Rocco Bonetti's Blackfriars Fencing School and Lord Hunsdon's Water Pipe. August 12, 2023. “... the tenement late in the tenure of John Lyllie gentleman & nowe in the tenure of the said Rocho Bonetti...”
Check out the Shakespeare Authorship Article Index for many more articles and reviews about this fascinating time and about the Shakespeare Authorship Question.
- Check out the V.G.S. Oxfordian Shakespeare Poetry Page for many poems by Shakespeare together with historical context.











