The History of Irish Tea: Hardship, Wartime and the Ritual of Elevenses

From luxury to daily necessity

Tea came to Ireland as it came to the rest of Europe, through the wealthy, and in the 18th century it spread to everyone. But incomes in rural Ireland were very low, so “only poor quality and weak leaf was affordable.”

Keen sets the scene: a mostly rural population, “living in a harsh climate and exploited by absentee English landowners,” in a country with no commitment to economic development. In that setting, he writes, tea spread “as a vital survival and social force in a country of poverty.”

The Famine and the “luxo-necessity”

Through the hard years of the 19th century, including the Great Famine of the 1840s, tea became what the blog calls a “luxo-necessity”: cheap, warming and cherished. Keen is careful to call tea a “consequence not cause” of that history. When blight wiped out two years of potato crops, ordinary people had nothing to fall back on, and tea “took the edge off starvation.” For many it was the main thing in the day’s diet, with occasional bread.

He adds a plain explanation for the long reputation of cooking in England and Ireland at the time: “under 10% of homes nationally had any heating or oven.” A kettle, a pot and a handful of leaf were within reach when an oven was not.

The Irish answer, the blog says, became the identity of its tea culture: “the kettle on the hob that brews all day to bring out its flavor,” and a taste “for the very heaviest of teas, with plenty of milk and cream to soften the harshness.” Keen puts that stewing pot alongside English high tea as the defining image of a national tea habit.

The base was Assam, “the fullest of all leaf.” Darjeeling, in the blog’s words, “was dismissed as too light,” and green tea barely registered. A small number of Irish tea companies grew up making plain, strong blends, and over time they loosened their dependence on the English East India Company and the London tea auctions. That London auction had begun in 1679, set up by the East India Company with a royal monopoly over tea imported from India and China.

In a second story, Keen writes that the Irish are “more ‘English’ than the English in teas,” distinctive in the sheer strength of their cups: “the old line is that you should be able to let a spoon stand upright in it.” The same habit of strong, malty Assam softened with milk is what an Irish breakfast blend is made for today.

The war that sent Ireland to Africa

During the Second World War, Ireland stayed neutral, and the blog records that this cut its tea supplies from India and Ceylon by 75%. Government and business worked together to buy directly from growers, first in Kenya and then in Rwanda.

Britain, meanwhile, was buying all the tea it could find. By one estimate, tea was second only to bullets among the British government’s largest purchases by weight in 1942, ahead of artillery shells, bombs and explosives; that year Britain decided to buy every available pound of tea from every country in the world except Japan. Cut off from British-run sources, Irish blenders and merchants had little choice but to look elsewhere.

Kenya, Rwanda and the strength of CTC

Much of that African tea is CTC, the small-granule tea made for quick, strong brewing; the blog describes the result as “eyebrow-bleaching strength.” This is why many Irish breakfast blends today pair Assam with African tea. For how CTC differs from whole leaf, see Orthodox vs CTC tea.

Keen notes that Kenya is now the largest tea exporter in the world, ahead of India and China, though most African tea goes anonymously into blends. Rwanda rarely appears on a supermarket label at all, yet Ireland’s leading brands name it, and Ireland “has greatly improved the quality of Rwanda’s production in the Rift Valley, whose climate is perfect for tea.”

Elevenses and the art of saying yes

Tea in Ireland is as much about hospitality as about breakfast. A cup was an expected offer on any visit, and accepting it was just as expected. The main social ritual was a late-morning cup shared at work or at home, which our blog calls “Elevenish” and which is better known as elevenses.

The blog ends with a passage from the American novelist C. E. Murphy (2005) on how an Irish host and guest refuse and insist until “you both end up in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting,” concluding: “I liked the Irish way better.” In her telling, the guest says no thank you, the host asks if they are sure, then says she was making some for herself anyway, and the dance repeats. The American version is shorter: “someone asks you if you want a cup of tea, you say no, and then you don’t get any damned tea.”

Keen closes on what remains after the hard history: “the charm of Ireland’s tea culture.” For how other countries took to tea, see Tea cultures of the world and The history of tea.