Over recent years much attention has been given to temporal trends between 1550 and 1900 in the proportions within English rural society of living-in servants in husbandry on the one hand and, on the other, cottage labourers. According to Ann Kussmaul there were two periods when the balance shifted towards labourers and away from servants: one took in the latter half of the sixteenth century and the first part of seventeenth; the other began in the latter part of the eighteenth century and continued throughout the nineteenth. These were both periods when population was rising rapidly and when labour was not in short supply. Between the mid seventeenth century and the mid eighteenth, by contrast, there was a quite dramatic shift in the balance and a growing tendency among farmer-employers to hire farm servants on yearly terms. A relative shortage of labour as population declined, a shift towards pastoral farming (in which resident labour on the farm was all the more desirable to cope with the constant needs of animals as well as crises of birth and death which could occur at any time of the day and night), the falling costs of providing board: all of these encouraged farmers to begin to bind young people to annual contracts and to keep them on the farm.

In a poem written at Dean Prior in Devonshire sometime between 1630 and 1648, and addressed to the Earl of Westmoreland, Robert Herrick invites the Earl to watch a procession of harvesters bringing in the last load:

Come forth, my Lord, and see the Cart

Drest up with all the Country Art.

See, here a Maukin, there a sheet,

As spotless pure as it is sweet:

The Horses, Mares, and frisking Fillies

(Clad, all, in Linnen, white as Lillies.)

The Harvest Swaines, and Wenches, bound

For joy, to see the Hock-cart crown'd.

The myriad forms of ‘popular culture’ have attracted an increasing amount of attention from historians of early modern and modern England. Students of English social relations are now familiar with several episodes of ‘cultural conflict’ in which there was putative friction between ‘elite’ and ‘popular’ (or ‘patrician’ and ‘plebeian’) notions of acceptable behaviour. As the epigraphs to this article suggest, two particular era of ‘cultural polarisation’ have attracted considerably more attention than any others. On the one hand, historians of the Reformation, and especially of its ‘enforcement’ in late Elizabethan and Jacobean local communities, have identified the suppression of traditional, festive culture as one of the ‘cultural reverberations’ of the spread of protestantism. On the other, Edward Thompson has encouraged students of eighteenth-century England to think in terms of a tension between ‘patrician society’ and ‘plebeian culture’, and of the possibilities that this ‘field of force’ raised for ‘class struggle without class’.

On the 25th June 1789, Jean Louis Varey, of the village of St Ferreole near Faverges in Haute Savoie, met Jean Burdet in the local inn to discuss the future of a field the latter had rented from Varey's father. After the conclusion of this business they took a glass of wine specifically with four others: Jean Baptiste Prevost, the son of the notary, and three local peasant householders Jean Roderigue, Pierre Raucaz and Aime Guignon. Many others were also in attendance. Varey had recently returned to his home after a period of time trading in France, and he clearly fancied himself as something of an enterpreneur. The others thought him a bit above himself.

The purpose of this study is to examine the changing proportions of bequests made by the inhabitants of eight Lincolnshire parishes to various categories of heirs between 1567 and 1800. Six of the parishes are located in the clay vale of western Lincolnshire, the other two are on the fen edge in the south of the county. There are 1,442 wills from these parishes which made 10,763 bequests. These bequests can be divided into three categories, those made to the immediate family, those made to kin and those made to unrelated people who must represent the community in which the deceased had lived. The share each of these categories enjoyed changed significantly in the period. By the eighteenth century the immediate family had become predominant and, apparently, the community occupied a less important place in the social environment of the will makers.

One of the legacies of the great landed estates in England is the large number of distinctive estate cottages which are scattered throughout the countryside. These are, of course, more in evidence in some counties than others, particularly in those where a considerable proportion of land was owned by the elite. Estate cottages survive in some numbers from the eighteenth century, but the greatest number was built in the nineteenth. Research on estate buildings has tended to highlight the model village, built largely during the first half of the nineteenth century and created for aesthetic reasons. A well-known example is Somerleyton in Suffolk, designed in the 1840s for the then owner of Somerleyton Hall. Here, the cottages, built in a variety of styles – some with mock timber-framing, others with thatched roofs – surround the village green. Ilam in Staffordshire is another example, where cottages which were designed by G.G. Scott in 1854 display a range of styles and materials, many alien to the local area. A third example is Edensor on the Duke of Devonshire's Derbyshire estate, where the stone buildings exhibit distinctive Italianate features. The list could be extended, but these examples were clearly designed to impress, to provide aesthetic pleasure for the owners and, in the case of Ilam, to create a picturesque image of idyllic contentment among the labouring population as much as to provide good, spacious, sanitary accommodation for employees. In each of these examples, the cottages are generally of individual design and thus expensive to build.

Agricultural output per man had risen substantially in the early nineteenth century, partly as a result of greater specialisation. This, in turn, stimulated demand for those trades which served the entire rural community, such as the tailor, bootmaker, baker, butcher and shopkeeper, as craftsmen and tradesmen were increasingly called upon for goods and services, which were formerly provided by members of the household. Demand for traditional services to agriculture, from figures such as the wheelwright and the blacksmith, was also sustained. But in contrast to the situation in agriculture, there appears to have been no increase in productivity in the rural crafts and trades. As a result of growing demand for these services, rural craftsmen and tradesmen increased in numbers and became more specialised in occupation during the first part of the nineteenth century.

In 1868, when the Meiji emperor had his powers ‘restored’ by the political revolution that destroyed the old feudal system of the Tokugawa shoguns, Japan was a predominantly agricultural economy. By the time of the emperor's death in 1912 Japan had achieved significant industrialisation and in 1920, after a further boom during the First World War, she was well advanced along the road to a distinctive type of industrial development based on textile goods for export, heavy industry for domestic civilian and military capital investment, and considerable state intervention in economic and social organisation. In the mid 1880s, about 70% of the gainfully-employed population were engaged in agriculture, producing well over 40% of the gross national product. Farmers derived about three-quarters of their total income from agricultural activities, although agriculture probably absorbed only about 60% of total work hours for the labour force as a whole, with another 2% each for fishing and construction, and a further 16% or so for traditional mining and manufacturing. By 1920, the GDP of the Japanese economy had grown almost three-fold, but the share supplied by agriculture was under 30%, while just over 50% of workers were employed there.1.

‘I am persuaded that the Memorial Crosses, in the Churchyards, on the village greens, where the roads meet, will for many years to come cry eloquent but silent protest against all that divides and degrades village life.’ The Bishop of Hereford, 1920.

Few historians have made a more significant contribution to our understanding of social relations in the English countryside in the early nineteenth century than Roger Wells. In a series of publications, he has consistently and persuasively argued that, in the years from 1790 to 1834, the labourers of southern England fell victim to the rise of a new aggressive agrarian capitalism which fractured and destroyed an older complex social system, replacing it with the naked power of class interest and ushering in a new class consciousness among the rural labourers which corresponded to that developing in the towns among the industrial labourers. This class consciousness was the product of an active resistance which sometimes, as in Swing, took the form of overt protest. Swing, Wells believes, marked the clear expression of class conflict in the countryside. The labourers' defeat was compounded by the New Poor Law, by which triumphant agrarian capitalism imposed its new sway. Placing ‘a priceless premium on employment’, the New Poor Law transferred power into the hands of the large capitalist farmers who speedily came to dominate the Union boards. Under its pressure, residual aspects of ‘class collaboration’ between the labourers and the superior social orders dissolved. The labourers were left to develop a defensive class culture which found echoes in Chartism but was seen more extensively in a ‘class war’ which took the form of disorder, arson, poaching, ‘rough’ behaviour or in a parodied or cynical deference. Persuasive as Wells'’ case is, however, one element of rural society is, by and large, missing from it, and indeed from many other studies of rural protest in the nineteenth century: namely the landlords and, in particular, the largest landlords. Wells sees their role from 1815 to 1830 as being essentially niggardly, continuing to demand social discipline but increasingly failing to play their old role of mediator between the poor and the rate paying classes. Their support for the New Poor Law ‘proved to be the final nail in the coffin of rural paternalism’.

On May 12th, 1926 Stanley Baldwin announced the end of the General Strike in a radio broadcast to the nation. The announcement was followed by a choir singing Parry's now familiar Jerusalem with its resounding climactic affirmation of ‘England's green and pleasant Land’.1 It is hard to resist the speculation that this was Baldwin's choice as much as Reith's, since the Conservative Prime Minister had from the outset of his political career been identified as an ordinary man rooted deeply in the English countryside.2 Baldwin's private correspondence demonstrates that his attachment to ‘our eternal hills’ was entirely genuine, but there can be little doubt that this was also an image that he consciously cultivated, and which – via his mastery of the new instruments of mass communication – he was able to convey to a wide and popular audience. To this extent he might be thought of as a Tory populist: as J.C. Squire noted in the Observer review of Baldwin's 1926 collection of his speeches, entitled On England (released just before the General Strike), ‘this is the work of a thoroughly representative Englishman: not the common man, but one expressing what the common man feels and cannot say for himself’. These ‘common’ themes and sentiments ranged across a number of issues from Shakespeare to the topical ‘Peace in Industry’, but pride of place in the volume was granted to his definitive statement on national identity, given in May 1924 ‘to celebrate our country and our Patron Saint’ at the Annual Dinner of the Royal Society of St. George, and entitled plainly and unambiguously ‘England’.

After the Civil War, settlers surged into the western two-thirds of Kansas occupying a region which only a few decades previously had been identified as part of the Great American Desert, and therefore too parched for farming. Many of those newly exploiting the virgin soil had learned their farming in a humid climate and were poorly equipped for survival in an arid region. Failure rates were high amongst pioneers who could not withstand the periodic droughts which destroyed not only their crops but also the gardens which were designed to provide vital subsistence foodstuffs. Farms thrived for a few years but then withered in the relentless sun; eventually hard-hit families gave up the struggle and moved on.

When Jean Valjean, the hero of Victor Hugo's Les Misérables, evades captivity by disappearing into the Paris sewers, the author relaxes the narrative tension for nearly twenty pages in order to reflect on the harm caused by that city's waste-disposal methods. In doing so, he identifies what were to become, several decades later, central issues of concern for the British organic husbandry movement. With an artist's insight Hugo recognised that the Parisian sewage system was doubly wasteful: ‘the land impoverished and the water infected’ (Hugo, 1909: 532). A ‘restitution of the mire to the land’ (Hugo, 1909: 548) was required, and he suggested the creation of a tubular arrangement, ‘a system of elementary drainage, as simple as the lungs of man’, which would ‘bring into our cities the pure water of the fields and send back into our fields the rich water of the cities’ (Hugo, 1909: 532). The alternative – the road being taken – was to squander potentially precious fertility and emaciate the population.