English Historical Fiction Authors

English / British Historical-Fiction Summer Reads

noreply@blogger.com (Debra Brown) — Sun, 27 May 2012 04:27:00 +0000

by Debra Brown

Getting ready for summer reading? Don't forget your sunglasses! Or if you are Down-Under, just grab a blanket, light a fire and read along. I have invited my author friends to send me the titles of their British historical fiction so you can find many here in one place. You can read more about each book at the purchase point. Feel free to join us on Facebook to chat with the authors and talk about the books.

English / British Historical Fiction Books by Subgenre

Biographical

Her Highness, the Traitor ~ Susan Higginbotham

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Montfort The Early Years 1229 to 1243 ~ Katherine Ashe

Montfort The Founder of Parliament: The Viceroy 1243-1253

Montfort The Revoutionary 1253 to 1260

Montfort The Angel with the Sword 1260 to 1265

Amazon US

Amazon UK

The King's Concubine, a novel of Alice Perrers ~ Anne O'Brien
Queen Defiant, a novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine
The Virgin Widow

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Thrillers

The Crown ~ Nancy Bilyeau

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Fair Weather ~ Barbara Gaskell Denvil

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Limbo Man ~ Blair Bancroft
Purchase

Adventure

The Queen's Lady ~ Barbara Kyle
The King's Daughter (Thornleigh)
The Queen's Captive (Thornleigh)
The Queen's Gamble (Thornleigh)
The Rival Queens (coming in early 2013)
Amazon US
Amazon UK

I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince ~ Rosanne E. Lortz

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Sumerford's Autumn ~ Barbara Gaskell Denvil

Amazon US

Amazon UK
The Lady's Slipper ~ Deborah Swift
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Peaceweaver ~ Judith Arnopp

The Forest Dwellers

The Song of Heledd

Confessions of the Queens

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Twins ~ Katherine Pym

Purchase

Historical Suspense

The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy ~ Regina Jeffers

Purchase

Cozy Mystery

The Phantom of Pemberley ~ Regina Jeffers
Purchase

Crime or Mystery

Devoured (Available for pre-order in the UK) ~ Denise Meredith

Amazon UK

Satin Cinnabar ~ Barbara Gaskell Denvil

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Deadly Engagement (Alec Halsey Crimance book 1) ~ Lucinda Brant

Deadly Affair (Alec Halsey Crimance book 2)

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Of Carrion Feathers (release date June 1st, 2012) ~ Katherine Pym

Purchase

Death by Marriage (Released in June 2012) ~ Blair Bancroft
Purchase

Sweet (Clean) Romance

The Companion of Lady Holmeshire ~ Debra Brown

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Lydia ~ Wanda Luce
Purchase (US)
Purchase (UK)

Love Me Always ~ Marie Higgins

Charmed By Knight

True Love's Deception

Belong To Me

Love Comes Blindly (available in mid-June)

The Sweetest Kiss

The Sweetest Touch

Take My Heart (Colonial America, English characters)

Falling In Love Again (Colonial America, English characters)

Amazon US

Amazon UK

The Shattered Mirror ~ David W. Wilkin

Purchase US

Purchase UK

Rhianna (to be Released on July 16th) ~ Amanda L. V. Shalaby

The Reckless Barrister ~ April Kihlstrom

The Wily Wastrel

The Sentimental Soldier

The Ambitious Baronet

The Widower's Folly

Soldier's Bride

Purchase

To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn ~ Sandra Byrd

The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr

Purchase

Of Moths and Butterflies ~ V.R. Christensen
Amazon US

Amazon UK

Heyerwood: A Novel ~ Lauren Gilbert
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Walk to Paradise Garden ~ John Campbell
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Darcy's Passions ~ Regina Jeffers
Darcy's Temptation
Purchase

Romantic Satire

Merits and Mercenaries ~ A Lady a.k.a. Lady A~

Purchase

Romance (Moderate)

Rules of Conduct ~ Maggi Andersen

Amazon US

Amazon UK

The Queen's Pawn ~ Christy English
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Gisborne: Book of Pawns ~ Prue Batten

Amazon US

Amazon UK

The Highest Stakes ~ Emery Lee

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Noble Satyr (Roxton series book 1) ~ Lucinda Brant

Midnight Marriage (Roxton series book 2)

Autumn Duchess (Roxton series book 3)

Salt Bride

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Viola, a Woeful Tale of Marriage ~ Katherine Pym
Purchase

Captain Wentworth's Persuasion ~ Regina Jeffers

Purchase

At the Mercy of the Queen ~ Anne Barnhill
Amazon US
Amazon UK

By the Sword ~ Alison Stuart
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Coming Home ~ Vonnie Hughes

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Lady Silence ~ Blair Bancroft
A Gamble on Love
A Season for Love
The Temporary Earl
The Harem Bride
The Courtesan’s Letters
Steeplechase
Mistletoe Moment
The Captive Heiress
Purchase

World War II English Village Life

Gang Territory ~ Peter St John

Gang Warfare

Gang Rivalry

Gang Loyalty

Gang Petition

Gang Spies

Purchase

Epics

Undreamed Shores ~ Mark Patton

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Time Travel

Dreamspell ~ Tamara Leigh
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Gothic Romance

The Montmoors 1: The Governess and the Master ~ Lisa Greer
The Montmoors 2: The Bastard Returns (Releasing June 25th)

Amazon US
Amazon UK

Steampunk

Airborne - The Hanover Restoration ~ Blair Bancroft

Purchase

Inspirational Romance

Christmas at Pemberley ~ Regina Jeffers

Purchase

Paranormal Romance

Vampire Darcy's Desire ~ Regina Jeffers

Purchase

Memoirs

At Home in the Land of Oz: Autism, My Sister and Me ~ Anne Barnhill
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Gertrude Jekyll

noreply@blogger.com (M.M. Bennetts) — Sat, 26 May 2012 04:42:00 +0000

by M.M. Bennetts

She wasn't a queen or a princess. Nor was she a pawn. She was denied neither education nor legal standing. Yet through her extra-ordinary life, her quietly pioneering work, and her writings, she has exerted more practical influence over how the 20th century British viewed their surroundings and what they did with them than any person before or since. And she was a Victorian woman.

Her name is Gertrude Jekyll (pronounced to rhyme with treacle).

She was born on 29 November 1843 (just five years into Victoria's reign), the fifth of seven children born to Captain Edward Jekyll, who was an officer in the Grenadier Guards, and his wife, Julia Hammersley. The family was well-to-do, though not titled, and living at 2 Grafton Street in Mayfair at the time of her birth.

When she was nearly five, the Jekyll family moved to a sprawling country house near Guildford in Surrey, called Bramley House. Situated just off the Horsham Road, in the fertile Wey Valley, the house was surrounding by lush green meadows where cattle grazed in fields edged and speckled with cow parsley and buttercups.

And there, with her many siblings, Gertrude was encouraged to wander first in the garden and latterly, farther afield, exploring the park with its streams, woods and mill-ponds, climbing trees, playing cricket with her brothers, and learning first-hand all about plants, flowers and the landscape--studying the outcrops of sandstone, eroded by time, the heaths, the tree roots. She also had the benefit of good governesses who taught her languages, music and art and in this 'age of liberal indulgence' her parents elected for her to continue to study all three.

As she matured into young womanhood, her greatest desire was to be an artist, so in 1861, her parents enrolled her at the South Kensington School of Art to study painting. Jekyll was among the first handful of women to be taught at art school--where she studied the works of great artists, but most especially the work of J.M.W. Turner and studying his use of colour.

In the autumn of 1863, she travelled to Corfu, Crete, Rhodes, Athens and Constantinople--drawing and sketching.

Upon her return home, she met John Ruskin, and through him came into contact with that new wave of British artistry, the Arts and Crafts Movement. She visited William Morris, went to lectures by Ruskin, met Edward Burne-Jones and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Through Morris's influence, she began design and embroidery, as well as beginning to work in metal and wood. Indeed, her diary for these years mentions frequent meetings with the greats of Victorian art such as Frederick Leighton and G.W. Watts.

And year after year, she travelled abroad--to France, Italy or Spain. She spent a winter in Algiers. She visited the great gardens of Europe and the Near East.

By the time she was thirty, she had gained a reputation for 'carving, modelling, house-painting, carpentry, smith's work, repousse work, gilding, wood-inlaying, embroidery, gardening and all manner of herb and flower knowledge and culture'.

In 1868, the family had left Bramley Park to move to a house in Berkshire that Edward Jekyll had inherited. But when he died in 1876, the family members who remained at home decided to return to Surrey. They bought land high on Munstead Heath, near Godalming and the Wey valley and hired an architect to build them a house there.

And it was there that Gertrude Jekyll really began to come into her own as she spent more and more of her time creating the garden there at Munstead. Indeed, within four years, the garden was already sufficiently famous to merit a visit from the first President of the National Rose Society, Dean Hole, and from William Robinson, the editor of The Garden.

Jekyll then bought a plot on the other side of the lane from Munstead Heath, and there developed the ideas that would transform the gardening culture of Victorian England--from one of formality and carpet bedding as she called it to a marriage of colour and contrast, of cool to balance hot, of shape and scent, and year-round beauty.

Over the course of her life, she wrote thirteen books on gardens and gardening, and made plans for or helped to make the plans for some 350 gardens.

Her advice often flew in the face of what had been accepted practice for decades and replaced it with a hands-on love of gardening, of the processes of creating a garden, from double-digging the beds to arranging leaf-shapes to compliment each other, to planting herbaceous perennials in naturalistic drifts of colour as a painter--indeed painting a picture with plants--and using all that she had gleaned from her years studying art.

Among her favourite colour dynamics was the creation of a long and deep border of graduated harmonies that set pink against grey foliage at each end then fused into white flowering plants which bled into pale yellow into pale blue, then into darker blues punctuated by stronger yellows, oranges and vibrant reds back into the oranges, yellows and on until the softened misty edges of palest pink against the silvery greys of catmint, stachys and artemisia. It was a blending and use and understanding of colour worthy of Turner himself.

Jekyll was 46 when she first met the young architect Edwin Lutyens, and their collaboration of house and garden design and decoration is one of the significant partnerships of the early 20th century. Though whilst many of their houses and gardens remain, some to be ruined and then restored, many of them have disappeared, so it is through her prolific and delightful writings and garden plans that she is best known to us today.

Always blunt-spoken, never shying from controversy, her writings are practical and witty, honest, engaging and wry. (She used to refer to the smell of one plant as "housemaid's armpit".) And through them all there runs a theme of looking deeply and well at everything, of learning to look and to see as an artist. Whether it's the shape of a leaf or the vivid contrast of colours or the spill of foliage against crumbling stone, she encourages one to see what's really there, not what habit tells us is there. Is the bark of a tree really brown? Or is it black and tan and crumbling mould and mottled moss?

"To learn how to perceive the difference and how to do right is to apprehend gardening as a fine art. In practice is is to place every plant or group of plants with such thoughtful care and definite intention that they shall form a part of the harmonious whole, and that successive portions, or in some cases even single details, shall show a series of pictures. It is so to regulate the trees and undergrowth of the wood that their lines and masses come into beautiful form and harmonious proportion; it is to be always watching, noting and doing, and putting oneself meanwhile into closest acquaintance and sympathy with growing things."

And that seeing, for Miss Jekyll, was the beginning of the magic, the art and the process that is a garden...

M.M. Bennetts is a specialist in early nineteenth-century British and European history, and the author of two historical novels set in the period - May 1812 and Of Honest Fame. Find out more at www.mmbennetts.com.

"The Rack Seldom Stood Idle..."

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Bilyeau) — Fri, 25 May 2012 03:41:00 +0000

By Nancy Bilyeau

In 1588, more than halfway into the reign of Elizabeth I, a man named John Gerard, English by birth, returned to his homeland, setting foot on the coast at Norfolk. He was arrested six years later, in a London house he had rented. The government officials did not believe Gerard’s story that he was a gentleman fond of gambling and hunting. And they were right to do so. Gerard was actually a Jesuit priest, educated in Douai and Rome, and leading a covert and highly dangerous life in Protestant England.

Father Gerard was conveyed to the Tower, accused of trying “to lure people from the obedience of the Queen to the obedience of the Pope.” His interrogators demanded to know who had assisted him in England. He refused to name names.

In a book Father Gerard wrote years later, he reports being one day “taken for a second examination to the house of a magistrate called Young. Along with him was another… an old man, grown grey.” Young began the questioning—what Catholics did Father Gerard know? “I answered that I neither could not nor would make disclosures that would get any one into trouble, for reasons already stated,” says the Jesuit.

Young turned to his silent colleague and said, “I told you how you would find him.” The older men looked at Father Gerard “frowningly” and finally spoke. “Do you know me?” he asked “I am Topcliffe, of whom I doubt not you have often heard.”

Sir Richard Topcliffe then led the interrogation, and Father Gerard was tortured by use of manacles for more than six hours. A friar said, ‘Twice he has been hung up by the hands with great cruelty…the examiners say he is exceedingly obstinate.”

Topcliffe, a lawyer and Member of Parliament, began serving the queen in the 1570s and seems to have reported to Sir Francis Walsingham. He hated Catholics with great intensity and boasted of having a chamber in his home containing devices “superior” to the ones in the Tower. The government allowed him to make official use of this home chamber. When a prisoner must be "put to the pain," it was time to send for Topcliffe. His favorite methods: the rack and the manacles.

Of all the mysteries of Elizabeth I, few are as baffling as the humane queen’s favor toward the inhuman Sir Richard Topcliffe, chief torturer of the realm. An undoubted sadist, he was the dark blot on her golden age.

When researching an earlier blog post on “Little Ease” in the Tower of London, I came across the 1933 book The History of Torture in England, by L.A. Parry. The 16^th century was when torture reached its height in England. “Under Henry VIII it was frequently employed; it was only used in a small number of cases in the reigns of Edward VI and Mary. It was while Elizabeth sat on the throne that it was made use of more than in any other period of history.” Parry quotes the historian Hallam: “The rack seldom stood idle in the latter part of Elizabeth’s reign.”

More recent historical works confirm this grim record. Prisoners were tortured and some were later executed. Anne Somerset in Elizabeth I said, “one-hundred and eighty-three Catholics were executed during Elizabeth’s reign; one-hundred and twenty-three of them were priests.” Elizabeth Jenkins, author of Elizabeth the Great, shudders over the “unspeakable Richard Topcliffe” and says, “The whole process of hunting down priests and examining them under torture was quite outside the domain of the law courts.”

How could the erudite Elizabeth who said she had “no desire to make windows into men’s souls” officiate over these horrors? Two people seem to have triggered this change in the queen. One was Pope Pius V who excommunicated the queen in 1570, branding her as a “servant of crime.” This act encouraged her subjects to rise up.

The other was the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots, a focus of possible rebellion the entire time she was held in the kingdom after she was driven out of her own land. Elizabeth's secretary, Walsingham, became her spymaster. The indefatigable Puritan was convinced that the Jesuits and other priests who secretly practiced in England were part of an international conspiracy to destabilize the realm and eventually depose the queen. Many of the interrogated priests, such as Father Gerard, insisted they were loyal to the queen, that they led secret lives because Mass was illegal. But some unquestionably were drawn into dangerous conspiracy against Elizabeth, such as the Babington Plot, which sought to replace Elizabeth with Mary.

In fact, the embattled queen, no doubt frightened as well as enraged, ordered that the guilty Babington conspirators be executed in ways so horrible it would never be forgotten. And so the first ones were. But the crowd of spectators, presumably hardened to such sights, were sickened by the hellish castratings and disembowelings. When the queen heard of this, she ordered the next round of traitors be hanged until they were dead.

Elizabeth realized she had gone too far. It’s regrettable that she did not realize that more often.

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Nancy Bilyeau is the author of the historical thriller set in Tudor England, The Crown.

The Art of Courtly Love

noreply@blogger.com (Sandra Byrd) — Thu, 24 May 2012 04:42:00 +0000

By Sandra Byrd

The art of courtly love and chivalric romance so popular during the early medieval period saw a revival during the Tudor era. Because the majority of noble marriages were arranged, with the focus being on financial or political gain, courtly love was a gentle, parrying game of flirtation wherein people might express true, heart-felt affections.

According to historian Eric Ives, “The courtier, the ‘perfect knight’, was supposed to sublimate his relations with the ladies of the court by choosing a ‘mistress’ and serving her faithfully and exclusively. He formed part of her circle, wooed her with poems, songs and gifts, and he might wear her favor and joust in her honor … in return, the suitor must look for one thing only, ‘kindness’ – understanding and platonic friendship.” Many of the plays and entertainments in Henry the Eighth’s court reflected these values and Henry himself, early in his reign, was very chivalrous and courtly indeed.

The longest game of courtly love, played out before all of Europe, was undoubtedly between Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII. The relationship started out as courtly flirtation but as sometimes happened, it then progressed to a more serious, deeper connection with a significant goal in outcome and purpose. Andreas Capellanus, in his definitive twelfth century book, The Art of Courtly Love, set out to inform “lovers” which gifts could be offered, (among them a girdle, a purse, a ring, or gloves) and to clarify the signs and signals that indicated such a love game was underway – or on the wane.

Although Anne and Henry's courtly relationship did not follow each of the thirty-one rules Capellanus lists from the “King of Love,” it did dovetail with some of them – a few of which have been examined below.

Rule II. He who is not jealous cannot love. This rule immediately brings to mind the incident between Henry and Thomas Wyatt during a game of bowls. Thomas Wyatt used one of Anne’s ribbons and bauble to mark distance, and he meant to use it to provoke or test Henry’s jealousy. Henry, predictably, flew into a possessive bluster. Anne recovered nicely from Wyatt’s foolishness, but there was no further doubting that she was Caesar’s and not to be touched.

Rule IV. It is well known that love is always increasing or decreasing. One of the most extraordinary things about Henry’s affection for Anne is that she was able to not only capture it but build upon it over a remarkable period of time – seven years from 1525 when it was clear he had fallen for her, to 1533 when their public marriage took place – allegedly, without physical consummation. He did not become bored or disinterested in her companionship. This was no mean feat when one considers Henry’s short attention span. He wrote tender love letters to Anne, some of which still exist, a powerful demonstration of his growing love as Henry loathed writing.

Rule XI. It is not proper to love any woman whom one would be ashamed to seek to marry. Much has been made of the fact that Anne “held out” sexually from Henry for personal reasons, and that Henry wanted his heirs by her to be legitimate, two among other valid reasons why they did not simply have an affair. But there is strong evidence to suggest that Henry found Anne worthy of marriage – he crowned her –and took great pride in displaying her before all the court. In Anne it is clear that for some time Henry believed he’d found a spirited soul mate who was as vibrant as he was and he desired for her to be his wife.

Rule XIV. The easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized. We’re often reminded that Henry left his wife and broke away from the Roman Catholic Church during his pursuit to marry Anne, courting war and ill will in the process. But Anne, too, made sacrifices. Her child-bearing years were quickly slipping by; there was a rush to judgment as she was reviled by much of the populace as a usurper; she had no official role nor position; and, finally, there was no guarantee that she would even have her marriage. Both of them risked much.

Only one of them, in the end, lost everything.

Rule XXVIII. A slight presumption causes a lover to suspect his beloved. In the end, it took very little to convince Henry that Anne had betrayed him, a ridiculous acceptance of circumstances that demanded Anne be in places she clearly was not and act in ways that would never have gone unnoticed and that were in stark contrast to her character. . One must ask, why? Cappellanus answers that question for us, too.

“…when love has definitely begun to decline, it quickly comes to an end unless something comes to save it.”

At the point when the King’s affections began their precipitous drop, long after their game of courtly love was over and well into their marriage, the only thing that could have saved Anne was the son she miscarried. Chivalric values included integrity, protecting the vulnerable, and acting with self-sacrificing honor. Sadly, Henry did not turn out to be the “perfect knight” Ives speaks of.

Learn more about Sandra’s books here: Sandra Byrd's Tudor-Set Books including her books, To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn and The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr.

The Blue Stocking Circle

noreply@blogger.com (Lauren Gilbert) — Wed, 23 May 2012 05:18:00 +0000

By Lauren Gilbert

Muses in the Temple of Apollo by Richard Samuel, 1778
Contains portraits of the Bluestockings

After the death of Queen Elizabeth I (a very scholarly woman), education for women declined. Gentlewomen in the early 18th century England were not encouraged to be educated. For many, reading, writing and a little arithmetic were the most they could hope for (useful skills for acquiring religion and running a household). Maybe a little French, drawing or painting, and some music, for social accomplishments. For most women of lower classes, even that much education was not possible. Ideally, women should be content with whatever fathers and husbands chose from them to know. As Alexander Pope wrote in 1720:

In beauty and wit

No mortal has yet

To question your empire has dared;

But men of discerning

Have thought that in learning

To yield to a lady was hard.

However, not every woman was satisfied to be uneducated, confined solely to domestic interests or placated with empty compliments. Even without the kind of formal education provided to young men, there were women who learned at home, acquired knowledge, and wanted to be able to use and enjoy it.

I should begin by saying that this article is an introduction, a broad and general overview, to a group of well-to-do, mostly married, society women in the mid 18^th century, who wanted to do more than dance and play cards for recreation. They were women of some education who met informally to discuss literature, the arts, education, and similar topics. They did not allowed politics and scandal as topics for discussion. These meetings, or “conversations”, were similar to the French salons, and were held in the women’s homes.

The two most noted hostesses were Elizabeth Vesey and Elizabeth Montague. Other women who participated included Fanny Burney (Madame d’Arblay), Hannah Moore, Mary Delany (see earlier post in this blog), Catherine Talbot, Elizabeth Carter and others . Each of these women is worthy of a blog post of her own. Several of these women were authors or artists themselves. (Elizabeth Montagu contributed to Lord Lyttleton’s “Dialogues of the Dead,” Hannah Moore and Fanny Burney were both novelists. Mary Delany produced hundreds of letters and her own works of art.) Some provided encouragement to those who did write, study, and create. Individually, members of the group provided financial assistance to artists, writers and others who were in need.

Interestingly, the participants at these meetings were frequently fairly evenly divided between men and women right from the beginning. (This was not about men v.s. women; these were women who wanted to be involved on an even level with men.) Elizabeth Vesey was the first important hostess of these gatherings, and her husband participated in her events. He himself was interested in literature, and was considered an excellent host. The hostesses invited educated men to participate and mixed society figures with writers and artists. The male guests included David Garrick, Horace Walpole, James Boswell, Dr. Samuel Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Lord Lyttleton, and Samuel Richardson. Science, music, art, literature and education itself were all represented at these meetings and were widely discussed. Sometimes, one particular speaker would dominate the event; other “conversations” might consist of small groups conversing among themselves.

Where did the term “Blue Stocking” come from? There are several theories, but the most accepted indicates that the term was coined as an affectionate nickname for Benjamin Stillingfleet, botanist and poet, who had given up society. He originally declined his invitation to Mrs. Vesey’s “conversation” because he did not have formal evening wear, which included black stockings. She told him not to mind, just to come in his blue stockings (his usual every day wear) and he did; he was very popular and was called “blew stockings” afterwards. According to Boswell, “Such was the excellence of his conversation, that it came to be said, we can do nothing without the blue stockings, and thus, by degrees, the title was established.” This term was gradually applied to the women members of the group as a good natured (yet somewhat malicious) nickname. Hannah Moore wrote a poem “Bas Bleu” (French for Blue Stocking) celebrating the group. The term seems to have begun as an informal, affectionate nickname within the group that later was applied in derision by outsiders. Ultimately, to be called “blue” or “bluestocking” became a negative term for an earnest or priggish woman who likes to show off her knowledge.

Today, the “Blue Stocking Circle” is considered an early feminist movement. Personally, I find it difficult to apply the modern term “feminist” to these women. They were women of their time. Their positions and resources allowed them certain freedoms that other women did not have; although they clearly supported intelligent women and education, there is nothing to show they sought a radical change in social structure. Politics were not a subject for their “conversations” and there is no indication that they were actively discussing significant changes on a societal or political level in relation to the position of women in general. In fact, they were not always tolerant of those who did flout certain society standards. For example, Hester Thrale was friends with Elizabeth Montagu and Fanny Burney. However, Mrs. Montagu and Miss Burney couldn’t accept Hester’s second marriage to an Italian music teacher named Gabriel Piozzi, and the friendships ended. Clearly, even though they were willing to mix elements at their “conversations,” there were still conventions to be upheld. They were generous with their support, but there is no indication they tried to change the world in which they lived. However, these women clearly showed that females could hold their own with men in intelligent conversation, that women were capable of enjoying literature and learning about science and the arts as well as how to embroider and draw. Their group was the most well known, but by no means the only group involving women in discussion; debating societies were very popular. In a very real sense, their “conversations” and similar groups contributed to people thinking about the issues that ultimately became feminism.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Heape, R. Grundy. GEORGIAN YORK. (1937: Methuen & Co. Ltd., London)

Hilton, Boyd. A MAD, BAD, & DANGEROUS PEOPLE? England 1783-1846. The New Oxford History of England, J. M. Roberts, Gen. Ed. (2006: Clarendon Press, Oxford)

Hodge, Jane Aiken. PASSION & PRINCIPLE The Loves and Lives of Regency Women. (1996: John Murray (Publishers) Ltd., London)

Bartleby.com. The Cambridge History of English and American Literature in 18 Volumes (1907-21), Volume XI. The Period of the French Revolution. http://www.bartleby.com/221/1502.html http://www.bartleby.com/221/1502.html http://www.bartleby.com/221/1503.html http://www.bartleby.com/221/1500.html

Encyclopedia.com. Drabble, Margaret and Stringer, Jenny. The Concise Oxford Companion to English Literature, 2003. http://www.encyclopedia.com/utility/printdocument.aspx?id=1054:BlueStockingCircle.

Ludwig, Katelyn. REINVENTING THE FEMININE Bluestocking Writers in the 18th Century. http://www.katelynludwig.com/masters/index.html

Wikisource.com. 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica/Montagu,Elizabeth Robinson. http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/1911_Encyclop%C3%A6dia_Britannica/Montagu,_Elizabeth_Robinson

Website: CONTRIBUTIONS OF 20^TH CENTURY WOMEN TO PHYSICS. Byers, Nina. Overview of Women’s Education in England and the United States1600-1900. Posted 12/4/1999. http://cwp.library.ucla.edu/articles/WL.html

Lauren Gilbert is the author of HEYERWOOD: A Novel.

The Delicate Investigation

noreply@blogger.com (Regina Jeffers) — Tue, 22 May 2012 04:46:00 +0000

by Regina Jeffers

The Fox-Greenville government presented the Prince the opportunity to take a bit of revenge on several levels, especially when it came to his estranged wife, Princess Caroline. By 1799, the Princess spent most of her time living at Montague House in Blackheath. Caroline also spent most of her time "flirting" with several of George III's ministers, specifically Henry Dundas (Treasurer of the Navy), Charles Long (an Undersecretary to the Treasury), William Windham (Secretary of War), George Canning (a member of the Board of Control and future Prime Minister) and William Pitt. These senior Tories cultivated Caroline to serve as her daughter's Regent if George IV met with an untimely death.

Caroline's exploits were common knowledge among those who followed palace gossip. Thomas Lawrence, the portrait painter, reportedly had a brief affair with the Princess in 1800. Rear-Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, who had thwarted Napoleon's plans for Syria, occupied much of the Princess's time during 1801. Smith lived with Sir John Douglas (a knighted Royal Marine officer) in Blackheath during 1801-02. As neighbors of the Princess, the Douglases and Smith were often visitors at Montague House.

In the Fall of 1802, a three-month-old boy's arrival at Montague House added coal to the fire. Reportedly, Caroline had asked her staff to assist in locating a child for her to raise. A woman named Sophia Austin came to the Princess's home to ask for assistance in finding employment for her husband, Samuel, who had been dismissed from the Deptford Dockyard. Mrs. Austin was persuaded by the Princess's staff to place her newborn son in the Princess's care in exchange for Caroline's assistance.

At Christmastide 1802, Caroline took up an alliance with Captain Thomas Manby. The Douglases were away at Plymouth at the time, and by their return, Manby had replaced Sir Sidney in the Princess's regard. Yet, by the spring of 1803, Manby's frigate, H.M.S. Africaine, had been refitted, and he set sail. Reportedly, Caroline had paid for his cabin's remodeling and had given the captain £300. When his frigate was stationed at Dover Roads, Caroline took a house in Ramsgate and visited the ship often.

Having second thoughts about the Douglases' knowledge of her affairs, Caroline began a "smear campaign" against her former friends and Sir Sidney. Apparently the Princess was trying to discredit the threesome before they had the opportunity to do the same to her. When George III gave Caroline the Rangership of Greenwich Park, in an effort to reduce her debts, the Princess leased a house in Greenwich to the newly founded Royal Naval School. She followed that with the earmarking of various other houses in the Park for her Household and officials of the school. Among the tenants given notice to quit their house were Sir John and Lady Douglas.

The Douglases retaliated by given George IV evidence of his wife's affairs. Lady Douglas provided the Prince Regent with a charge that Willy Austin, the child Caroline had taken in, was Princess Caroline's child, and that the Princess planned to pass the boy off as the Prince's because Caroline had slept two nights at Carlton House during the dates of the boy's conception. If Lady Douglas's claims proved true, in addition to committing adultery (a crime punishable by death), the Princess planned to supersede the succession of her own daughter, Princess Charlotte.

The Prince turned the information over to Samuel Romilly, the Whig lawyer. The Douglases made a written statement, which was shown to several more of the "political brotherhood." Following the death of Pitt and the formation of the Ministry of All the Talents in early 1806, Prinny "took no steps whatever to make it [Caroline's possible crimes] the subject of public investigation; but manifested on the contrary the greatest desire to avoid it if possible." However, as Romilly had been appointed Solicitor-General, the prosecution of the Princess appeared imminent. If the Prince could prove the charges, he could pursue the dissolution of his marriage to a woman he despised.

In May 1806, the Dukes of York, Kent, and Sussex encouraged their brother to consent to laying the charges against the Princess before the Council. Despite the fact that some of the evidence against the Princess had been contradicted by her two physicians, George IV agreed to the request. The so-called "Delicate Investigation" began on June 1. Lady Douglas's testimony became the basis of the charges, but others gave statements. Among those who were questioned were William Cole and Robert Bidigood, the Princess's former pages and most of her Household staff.

Despite Prinny's hopes that the Commission would find against the Princess, on July 14, the Commission released its report. It concluded that the child was not of Caroline's issue. However, the Commission declared the Princess guilty of adultery until proved innocent. Having received a copy of the Secret Commission's report, the King was in a difficult position. While there was no actual proof of adultery, the circumstantial evidence was compelling. Therefore, George III severed "all future social intercourse" with Caroline except "outward marks of civility."

Win Shadows In A Timeless Myth

noreply@blogger.com (Teresa Thomas Bohannon) — Mon, 21 May 2012 11:31:00 +0000

Giveaway: Shadows In A Timeless Myth or A Very Merry Chase

Shadows in a Timeless Myth by Teresa Thomas Bohannon is our featured giveaway this week. Please read about the book HERE and you will be prompted to return to this post to enter the giveaway.

Of Cameleopards and Lions: The Medieval Bestiary

noreply@blogger.com (Rosanne Lortz) — Mon, 21 May 2012 06:26:00 +0000

By Rosanne E. Lortz

Throughout history, from Aesop’s Fables to the Animal Planet network, the human imagination has been captured by the scaly, furry, four-footed, scurrying, slithering, swimming, and winged creatures of the animal world. Not only have the characteristics of animals provided endless fascination, but also the lessons that can be drawn from those characteristics.

The Physiologos, a Greek book written in the second or third century A.D., was the first book to take brief descriptions of animals and add to them Christian allegories. This book was translated into most of the European languages and is said to have been the second most popular book in Europe (after the Bible).

Page of the Etymologies

In the seventh century, Isidore of Seville wrote an extensive encyclopedia of animals (Book 12 of his Etymologies), attempting to describe every animal in the world. Eventually, someone had the bright idea of combining the allegorical interpretation of the Physiologos with the detailed descriptions from Etymologies. The medieval bestiary was born—part encyclopedia, part self-improvement, part doctrinal treatise, and especially popular in the country of England.

Richard Barber, in his translation of a thirteenth century bestiary, gives this succinct description of the genre:

Bestiaries are a particularly characteristic product of medieval England, and give a unique insight into the medieval mind. Richly illuminated and lavishly produced, they were luxury objects for noble families. Their three-fold purpose was to provide a natural history of birds, beasts, and fishes, to draw moral examples from animal behaviour (the industrious bee, the stubborn ass), and to reveal a mystical meaning—the phoenix, for instance, as a symbol of Christ’s resurrection.

The medievals believed that animals had a wonderful capacity to reveal truths about this world and the world beyond it. The Old Testament book of Proverbs had its own examples of morals learned from animals (e.g. Proverbs 6:6--Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways and be wise), and the book of Job supported the idea that mystical meanings could be gleaned from a study of the natural world:

But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee;
And the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee:
Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee:
And the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee.
(Job 12:7-8)

T. H. White, the twentieth century English author most famous for his King Arthur series The Once and Future King, was deeply interested in bestiaries and published his own translation of a twelfth-century bestiary. In the appendix he discussed the worldview that made this kind of literature possible:

In the ages of faith, people believed that the Universe was governed by a controlling mind and was capable of a rational explanation. They believed that everything meant something…. Every possible article in the world, and its name also, concealed a hidden message for the eye of faith.

For modern readers, it often seems that these “hidden messages” or mystical meanings take precedence over reality (a lion’s offspring are born dead and come to life after three days—you're joking, right?). Many of the fantastic animals described in the bestiary also stretch the imagination to the point that one could consider the medievals insanely gullible or outright liars.

"Lions roar over their dead cub to revive it."
Taken from The Medieval Bestiary

T.H. White, however, was not deterred by the seemingly false or the sublimely fantastic. "It can hardly be repeated too often that the bestiary is a serious scientific work." Many of the bizarre claims were honest mistakes made by naturalists from earlier centuries and repeated by others who drew on their work. Many of the animals that we would immediately classify as “mythical” return to the realm of reality upon closer examination. White noted that:

A Cameleopard…is a genuine animal, and by no means a bad attempt to describe an unseen creature which was as big as a camel while being spotted like a leopard, i.e. a giraffe...the real pleasure comes with identifying the existing creature, not with laughing at a supposedly imaginary one.

A Cameleopard taken from The Medieval Bestiary
"The artist clearly had no idea what the beast looked like,
so he drew a camel with an unusual head and neck."

In the passage quoted above, White expressed something very important, both for the study of bestiaries and for the study of the past in general. Instead of immediately dismissing the medievals as unintelligent or laughable, he extended them the courtesy of assuming them sensible and found a pleasure in puzzling out what they meant. By reading the bestiary on its own terms, White—an agnostic himself—was finally able to conclude that:

The Bestiary is a compassionate book. It has its bugaboos, of course, but these are only there to thrill us. It loves dogs, which never was usual in the East from which it originated; it is polite to bees, and even praises them for being communists…the horse moves it, as Sidney’s heart was moved, ‘more than with a trumpet’; above all, it has a reverence for the wonders of life, and praises the Creator of them: in whom, in those days, it was still possible absolutely to believe.

_________________________

Rosanne E. Lortz is the author of I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince, a historical adventure/romance set during the Hundred Years' War, and Road from the West: Book I of the Chronicles of Tancred, the beginning of a trilogy which takes place during the First Crusade.

You can learn more about Rosanne's books at her Official Author Website where she also blogs about writing, mothering, and things historical.

_____________________

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Barber, Richard. Bestiary. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1999.

The Medieval Bestiary: Animals in the Middle Ages. http://bestiary.ca/

White, T.H. The Book of Beasts. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, Inc., 1984.

The Shooting of Partridge

noreply@blogger.com (Farida Mestek) — Sun, 20 May 2012 06:44:00 +0000

by Farida Mestek

Last month I blogged about interesting facts and curious habits of partridges and today I'm going to tell you some interesting facts (at least for me) about shooting them.

According to Robert Blakely, the author of “Shooting” where I take my information and occasional inspiration from (I still dream about writing a Regency novel about a shooting party), tells us that the shooting of partridges is a popular sport. In fact, it is more universally entered into than any other of the sporting amusements of Britain. It is more homely and domestic than moor shooting; and can be enjoyed by the comparatively weak and aged.

We are told by distinguished sportsmen, that the footing of partridges, though a very requisite qualification in pointers, is one of the last things that should be expected from them; for they are not to be relied on until they get fairly to comprehend from the sportsman that they are not to catch the bird; the only thing required of them is to point out where it is. It is well known that partridges will generally lie closer and better to dogs that wind them, than to those that track them; the reason given for this is, that when they are winded, the dogs do not go straightforward towards them, but follow the scent left by their devious course. When birds see dogs trace their footsteps down wind they will fly off, for they cannot take the scent till they are near them. Another matters is of some importance in commencing partridge shooting in September, and that is, that dogs brought immediately from the moors, and put upon the hunting of the partridge, are in many cases unfit for the purpose for some days, till they are again broken in to their new task.

Some sportsmen recommend being very early in the field for the partridge, while others maintain this is a comparatively useless custom. However, if we could take anything like an accurate census of sportsmen's success in partridge shooting during the months of September and October, we would find the most productive hours to range from eleven till three in the afternoon. But after the month of October, and from this to the end of the partridge season, we should not insist on being earlier in the field than about mid-day. The weather now becomes sour and ungenial in the fore part of the day.

It is an established maxim in partridge shooting, that broken coveys yield the best sport. It has been whimsically said, that while the young birds have the old ones with them they are “up to every move on the board”. Deprived of their natural leaders and protectors, they seem lost, and have no settled idea of safety. This is the fortunate time for sportsmen to make play upon them and press their dogs to ferret them out, and trace them from one spot to another.

As the season advances, the size of the shot to be used for partridge shooting should be enlarged. For the first fortnight No. 5 and No. 6 are recommended; after this No. 4 and No. 5. In October, No. 3 will be found the most eligible.

Food for Thought - Medieval Feasts

noreply@blogger.com (Debra Brown) — Sat, 19 May 2012 06:33:00 +0000

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

By the last fading years of the English Medieval period, just before the Tudor onslaught– the huge gap between rich and poor which had existed since 1066, had started to wane with the emergence of a new Middle Class, the expansion of trade, the regrowth of the population and the development of new businesses. But the initial narrowing of the poverty gap, with the virtual end of the so-called Feudal system, really came about as a result of the Black Death (1348- 1353 and onwards) when labour became harder to purchase and the working man discovered his real value. Another of those somewhat uncomfortable situations where great disaster brings great benefit in its wake!

Where food was concerned, however, the gap was still distinctive and no one was going to get excited about being invited to dinner at the local crofter’s cottage. But a medieval feast – now that was a different matter.

For the majority, dinner was traditionally eaten at midday or some time earlier. Especially for those who rose at first light and took no breakfast, then dinner could be taken as early as 9 in the morning. Breakfast was not entirely unknown of course – breaking the fast of a long English evening and a long cold night was sensible, but it was unlikely to involve much more than bread and ale, or possibly porridge. Farm labourers took food with them as they tramped out to the fields, something cold wrapped in their shirts or hats. This was, for instance, the origin of the Cornish pasty. Many took a little ale and bread after early morning Mass, but many others took nothing at all.

There were two qualities of bread – cheat for the poor and manchet for those who could pay for better. Manchet was baked with white flour and was considered more refined. Bread rolls were the most common, (as loaves were more likely to be made of sugar at that time!) bought ready made from the bakers where a baker’s dozen really did mean 13. Cheat, on the other hand, was made with dark flour, either rye or a mixture of oats and barley, less refined in taste but more filling. Those with only rudimentary kitchens in their own homes often utilised communal ovens in cook houses or the village square.

Supper was likely eaten shortly before sun down but the hour would depend on the working habits of the family. For the poor this would likely comprise bread and cheese, a vegetable pottage or what had been left over from dinner. For the wealthy, supper could be anything from a light snack to a full scale feast. Eating well was a proof of status, and in any case, a rich man was likely to have a huge household to feed.

Thanks to the imagination of many and a few old films, there still appears to be a misunderstanding of medieval table habits. In fact, they were likely to be far more strictly tidy than our own modern more casual practises. The use of clean linen, including a very large starched napkin placed across the left shoulder, was essential. Since the fork had not yet been introduced into general English usage in the late 15th century, cutlery meant spoon and knife only. The knife was often each man’s own property brought to the table. The use of fingers was therefore necessary, but this did not mean bad manners. Hands were wiped on the napkin, washed before and after meals, and only used where the spoon and the knife were insufficient. Grace would be pronounced first by the head of the family (or the chaplain in a large household), the first course would be laid, and there was supposed to be consideration for others at the table where communal bowls and platters were concerned. Someone taking more than his share would be frowned upon. The position of the salt cellar could be an important part of accepted etiquette, and generally behaving with discreet decorum was important. A child was taught table manners. His elders would be judged by theirs.

Light ale was the most common drink, also for children. It was weak by our standards but many beers were stronger. Wine was most likely to be imported from Flanders, France, Italy or Spain, although some was produced in England. The famous Malmsy was a sweetish Greek wine. Burgundy was highly favoured and there were various qualities, with Beaune perhaps the best. There was Claret, Cabernet from Brittany, Vernaccia and Trebbiano (Italian), Sack (sherry from Jerez) and many, many more. If spiced and possibly gingered, and then maybe heated, the wine became Hippocras and was supposedly medicinal. Certainly very pleasant on a chilly evening by the fire. Very sweet wines from the Levant were favoured by some ladies. Verjuice, made from unfermented and often unripe English grapes, was used in cooking. Mead was often bought from the monasteries where honey from the locally kept bee hives was used, and sold, by the monks. So there was certainly no lack of good lubrication to help the digestion. Water was, after all, completely undrinkable. It was dangerously polluted in almost all areas of the country, and was used mainly for washing though also in cooking where it was hopefully sufficiently boiled for safety. Dysentery was, however, common.

Fruit and vegetables were not particularly favoured, especially by the rich. Fresh fruit was considered extremely bad for you, and too much of any fruit could prove fatal! Death from a surfeit of berries was sometimes a doctor’s diagnosis. Fruit was used in cooking, but more commonly for brewing. Cider and Perry were popular in country areas. Vegetables were given to farm animals, but also eaten by the poor. A vegetable pottage (slow cooked stew) or a cabbage soup was both filling and easily produced. But for the rich it was protein all the way. Meat, fish and dairy was favoured. Fish was not always popular but the Church insisted on no meat being eaten on Fridays, religious fasts and many saints’ days. Abstention from these strictures could be bought or pleaded, but the rules were fairly strict and, it seems, usually upheld. Although a great variety of fish and seafood was available, the boredom of a fishy diet could be alleviated by the addition of duck, beaver and other water or sea birds, usefully classified as fish by the helpful and hopeful clergy.

Meat was the staple diet of those who could afford it. Roasting was the favoured cooking method, slowly turned on a spit over a roaring open fire. Boiling in stews and soups was also common, as was frying, and smoked bacon was much utilised. Since there was no method of refrigeration available, meat and fish were preserved out of season by smoking and drying. Rich dishes of meat stuffed with onions, herbs and raisins were popular, and apples were more often used in stuffings than as fresh fruit. Those unable to afford such regular luxuries would still eat meat as often as was possible, but would frequently be reduced to eating simple stews of beans, barley, oatmeal, lentils and peas.

The use of spices in cooking was considered important – not to disguise the taste of rotten meat which is another of the many myths regarding medieval affairs which still persists – but to add flavour and to pronounce wealth and status. Spices were, on the whole, enormously expensive. Therefore the more spice added to your guests’ platters, the more they knew and respected your importance. So a fair dose of cinnamon, nutmeg, anise, caraway seeds, cloves and even the monstrously expensive saffron might be liberally spread across your dinner.

Dishes could be either simple or complicated. Roast boar crusted in mustard – pickled lampreys – buttered crabs on a bed of smoked eels – calves’ testicles filled with onion, minced lambs’ kidneys and nutmeg – capon studded with cloves and served on salad greens, clams and beans – a galantine of three dark meats in aspic – baked pike in burned cream – larks bound in leeks in a red wine sauce - boiled tripe and sweated onions – stewed rabbit in a pastry pie. Well it goes on and on – both the amazing and the horrifying.

For feasts in grand houses, three courses were normally served (there could be more) but each course was comprised of many separate dishes. Depending on how lavish the host wished to appear, twenty or more different platters might be set across the table for each course. And even more confusing to us, each of these courses could include both sweets and savouries. Custards, spit-roast apples, creamed almonds with marzipan berries, jellies, tarts and fruity dumplings in syrup could be served right amongst the roast meats, stews, meat pies and fish.

The third and last course, however, often contained only wafers and a huge sugar sculpture, known as a subtlety. This could be amazing and a chef could boost his reputation by producing something to make the guests gasp. For Christmas celebrations a whole nativity scene might be carved from sugar loaves. Swans, peacocks, angels, crowns, palaces and many other gorgeously elegant and fragile creations made of nothing but sugar, would be carried out to the table by the chef and his assistants, greeted by clapping and cheers. All in all, not a particularly healthy diet but not, perhaps, as pernicious as English eating habits became over the following centuries.

And of course in those days the great chandelier swinging from the huge medieval beams was true to its name and held only candles, their light dancing across the platters and gilding meat juices golden, highlighting the tips of pastry crust, flickering over the gleaming jellies and blurring those magnificent subtleties until the swan truly seemed to be swimming in its pool of reflections. The candlelight, and the surging light of flame from the hearth, would also shimmer across the satins, the damasks, taffetas and jewellery of the guests. Those were the days of dressing suitably for the occasion.

The poor rarely tasted sugar, which was dreadfully expensive. They did not lack sweetening however, as honey was plentiful. But a humble meal did not aspire to contain sweet meats or custards, and a modest sufficiency to control hunger was frequently all that could be expected. During these final years of the medieval period, particularly during the reigns of Edward IV and Richard III, the country prospered and the poor were rarely so poor. But only the extravagant rich aspired to a three course feast, or needed to announce their reputations with the massive expense of hosting one. Aldermen, city mayors, guild dignitaries, prosperous traders and weddings parties where one side needed to impress the other – all these spread their tables heavily until the table legs groaned. Some guests ate to do justice to such a feast (King Edward IV is reputed to have become an overweight glutton in his later years) but many of these sumptuous dishes were afterwards relegated to the kitchens, and were then shared out to the scullions, to local
alms houses and charities, and to the beggars at the doors.

The new foods discovered by the Spanish in the New World (1492/3) had not yet been introduced into the European diet, so there were no potatoes or tomatoes or the many other originally American delights we now take for granted. But what was lacking was made up for by the enormous energy and ingenuity of the cooks and their imaginative adherence to inventing new recipes and enriching old ones.

There are many fascinations to discover during this long gone age of 500 years past, but my new historical novel, SUMERFORD’S AUTUMN, (Available Amazon Kindle) is not much concerned with the parties of the nobility, though some of this is mentioned. Set in 1497 it is more concerned with the poor, the disadvantaged, and those suffering the displeasure of the new Tudor king. Sumerford Castle is grand but damp, and the earl and his family are neither as rich nor as comfortable as they seem. Rather than descriptions of feasts, there are descriptions of imprisonment, torture in the Tower, treachery, piracy and misfortune. But the research on this time period which I have been following with a passion for many years, covers all aspects of this remarkable era.

Marketing In Victorian London Circa 1876

noreply@blogger.com (Teresa Thomas Bohannon) — Fri, 18 May 2012 07:04:00 +0000

by Teresa Thomas Bohannon

Food Supply.—The Quarterly Review, on one occasion, illustrated, in a whimsical way, the vastness of the system. The following is described as the supply of meat, poultry, bread, and beer, for one year:—72 miles of oxen, 10 abreast; 120 miles of sheep, do.; 7 miles of calves, do.; 9 miles of pigs, do.; 50 acres of poultry, close together; 20 miles of hares and rabbits, 100 abreast; a pyramid of loaves of bread, 600 feet square, and thrice the height of St. Paul’s; 1000 columns of hogsheads of beer, each 1 mile high.

Markets.—London contains nearly 40 markets for cattle, meat, corn, coal, hay, vegetables, fish, and other principal articles of consumption. The meat-markets are of various kinds—one for live animals, others for carcases in bulk, and others for the retail of meat; some, also, are for pork, and others principally for fowls. The New Cattle Market, Copenhagen Fields, near Pentonville, built, in 1854, to replace old Smithfield Market, covers nearly 30 acres, and, with outbuildings, slaughterhouses, &c., cost the City Corporation about £400,000. It is the finest live stock market in the kingdom. The present Smithfield Market, near the Holborn Viaduct, for dead meat and poultry, is a splendid building, 625 feet long, 240 feet wide, and 30 feet high. Wide roads on its north, east, and west sides, accommodate its special traffic. A carriage road runs right through it from north to south, with spacious and well ventilating avenues radiating from it. There are in this market no less than 100,000 feet of available space. It has cost upwards of £180,000 already. There are underground communication with several railways, to bring in, right under the market, meat and poultry from the country, and meat from the slaughterhouses of the Copenhagen Fields Cattle Market. Newgate Market, as a market, no longer exists. Leadenhall Market is a depôt for meat and poultry. At Whitechapel there is a meat market also. The minor meat markets require no special note here. Billingsgate, the principal fish market of London, near the Custom House, was greatly extended and improved in 1849. It is well worth visiting any morning throughout the year, save Sunday, at five o’clock. Ladies, however, will not care to encounter its noise, bustle, and unsavoury odours. The fish arriving in steamers, smacks, and boats from the coast or more distant seas, are consigned to salesmen who, during the early market hours, deal extensively with the retail fishmongers from all parts of London. The inferior fish are bought by the costermongers, or street-dealers. When particular fish are in a prime state, or very scarce, there are wealthy persons who will pay enormously for the rarity; hence a struggle between the boats to reach the market early. At times, so many boats come laden with the same kind of fish as to produce a glut; and instead of being sold at a high price, as is usually the case, the fish are then retailed for a mere trifle. Fish is now brought largely to London by railway, from various ports on the east and south coasts. The yearly sale of fish at Billingsgate has been estimated at so high a sum as £2,000,000.

Covent Garden Market (connected by Southampton Street with the Strand) is the great vegetable, fruit, and flower market. This spot, which is exceedingly central to the metropolis, was once the garden to the abbey and convent of Westminster: hence the name Convent or Covent. At the suppression of the religious houses in Henry VIII.’s reign, it devolved to the Crown. Edward VI. gave it to the Duke of Somerset; on his attainder it was granted to the Earl of Bedford; and in the Russell family it has since remained. From a design of Inigo Jones, it was intended to have surrounded it with a colonnade; but the north and a part of the east sides only were completed. The fruit and vegetable markets were rebuilt in 1829–30. The west side is occupied by the parish church of St. Paul’s, noticeable for its massive roof and portico. Butler, author of Hudibras, lies in its graveyard, without a stone to mark the spot. In 1721, however, a cenotaph was erected in his honour in Westminster Abbey. The election of members to serve in Parliament for the city of Westminster was held in front of this church: the hustings for receiving the votes being temporary buildings. The south side is occupied by a row of brick dwellings. Within the square thus enclosed fruit and vegetables of the best quality are exposed for sale. A large paved space surrounding the interior square is occupied by the market-gardeners, who, as early as four or five in the morning, have carted the produce of their grounds, and wait to dispose of it to dealers in fruit and vegetables residing in different parts of London; any remainder is sold to persons who have standings in the market, and they retail it to such individuals as choose to attend to purchase in smaller quantities. Within this paved space rows of shops are conveniently arranged for the display of the choicest fruits of the season: the productions of the forcing-house, and the results of horticultural skill, appear in all their beauty. There are also conservatories, in which every beauty of the flower-garden may be obtained, from the rare exotic to the simplest native flower. The Floral Hall, close to Covent Garden Opera House, has an entrance from the north-east corner of the market, to which it is a sort of appendage as a Flower Market. Balls, concerts, &c., are occasionally given here. The Farringdon, Borough, Portman, Spitalfields, and other vegetable markets, are small imitations of that at Covent Garden.

Malt liquors.—The beer and ale consumed in the metropolis is, of course, vast in quantity, though there are no means of determining the amount. If, by a letter of introduction, a stranger could obtain admission to Barclay & Perkins’s or Truman & Hanbury’s breweries, he would there see vessels and operations astonishing for their magnitude—bins that are filled with 2,000 quarters of malt every week; brewing-rooms nearly as large as Westminster Hall; fermenting vessels holding 1,500 barrels each; a beer-tank large enough to float an up-river steamer; vats containing 100,000 gallons each; and 60,000 casks, with 200 horses to convey them in drays to the taverns of the metropolis!

Shops and Bazaars.—The better-class London retail shops, for wealth, variety, and vast number, are among the greatest wonders of the place. They speak for themselves. The wholesale establishments with which New Cannon Street, Wood Street, and the south side of St. Paul’s Churchyard—noticeably the gigantic warehouses of Messrs. Cook & Co.—abound, if, by a letter of introduction, an order of admission can be obtained, would strike a stranger—in spite of less external display, save as regards size—as more wonderful still, so enormous is the amount of their business operations, and of capital incoming and outgoing.

There are about 7,400 streets, lanes, rows, &c., in the metropolis. From Charing Cross, within a six miles radius, there are something over 2,600 miles of streets. As regards trades generally, it is hard even to get anything like an approximate notion of their numbers. As the Post Office London Directory says, new trades are being added to the list every year. Thus, we are told, 57 new trades were so added in the year 1870. But to specify a few, there are, say, about 130,000 shopkeepers, or owners of commercial establishments, who carry on more than 2,500 different trades. Loss of much of London’s shipping trade, &c., has indeed driven hundreds of emigrants of late from our east-end waterside neighbourhoods. But London has gone on growing all the same, and trade with it. Among these trades are, without counting purely wholesale dealers, about 2,847 grocers and tea dealers, 2,087 butchers, 2,461 bakers, 1,508 dairymen, &c., 2,370 greengrocers and fruiterers, more than 595 retail fishmongers, 891 cheesemongers, (this computation does not include the small shops in poor neighbourhoods which sell almost everything,) 2,755 tailors, (not including about 500 old-clothesmen, wardrobe-dealers, &c.,) about 3,347 bootmakers, about 450 hatters, and so forth. All these are master tradesmen or shopkeepers, irrespective of workmen, foremen, shopmen, clerks, porters, apprentices, and families. We may add, that in the pages of that very large book the London Post Office Directory, no less than 52 columns and over are occupied by the long list of London publicans.

The principal Bazaars of London are the Soho, London Crystal Palace, (Oxford Street,) and Baker Street bazaars, to which should be added the Burlington Arcade, Piccadilly, and the Lowther Arcade, (famous for cheap toys,) in the Strand. The once celebrated Pantheon, in Oxford Street, is now a wine merchant’s stores. Many small bazaars exist.

The Bazaar system of oriental countries, in which all the dealers in one kind of commodity are met with in one place, is not observable in London; yet a stranger may usefully bear in mind that, probably for the convenience both of buyers and sellers, an approach to the system is made. For instance, coachmakers congregate in considerable number in Long Acre and Great Queen Street; watchmakers and jewellers, in Clerkenwell; tanners and leather-dressers, in Bermondsey; bird and bird-cage sellers, in Seven Dials; statuaries, in the Euston Road; sugar-refiners, in and near Whitechapel; furniture-dealers, in Tottenham Court Road; hat-makers, in Bermondsey and Southwark; dentists, about St. Martin’s Lane; &c. There is one bazaar, if so we may term it, of a very remarkable character—namely, Paternoster Row. This street is a continuation of Cheapside, but is not used much as a thoroughfare, though it communicates by transverse alleys or courts with St. Paul’s Churchyard, and, at its western extremity, by means of Ave-Maria Lane, leads into Ludgate Hill. Paternoster Row, or ‘the Row,’ as it is familiarly termed, is a dull street, only wide enough at certain points to permit two vehicles to pass each other, with a narrow pavement on each side. The houses are tall and sombre in their aspect, and the shops below have a dead look, in comparison with those in the more animated streets. But the deadness is all on the outside. For a considerable period this street has been the head-quarters of booksellers and publishers, who, till the present day, continue in such numbers as to leave little room for other tradesmen—transacting business in the book-trade to a prodigious amount. At the western extremity of Paternoster Row a passage leads from Amen Corner to Stationers’ Hall Court, in which is situated Stationers’ Hall, and also several publishing-houses.

Mudie’s Library.—While on the subject of books, we may remind the visitor that the most remarkable lending library in the world is situated in London. Mudie’s, at the corner of New Oxford Street and Museum Street, affords a striking example of what the energy of one man can accomplish. At this vast establishment the volumes are reckoned by hundreds of thousands; and the circulation of them, on easy terms, extends to every part of the kingdom. The chief portion of the building is a lofty central gallery, of considerable beauty.

Teresa Thomas Bohannon,
MyLadyWeb, Women's History, Women Authors
Regency Romance A Very Merry Chase
Historical Fantasy Shadows In A Timeless Myth.

FenMaric, one of the main characters in my historic fantasy novel, Shadows In A Timeless Myth, was a member of the ninth legion who fought and died attempting to stop Boudicea in ancient Roman London. He still exists to appear in Shadows because he was battle cursed by a Druid Priest to the same fate that the Druid Priests believed themselves fated for, soul transmigration...but with a vengefully, punishing twist!

Giveaway: Walk to Paradise Garden

noreply@blogger.com (John Campbell) — Thu, 17 May 2012 15:30:00 +0000

Walk to Paradise Garden by John B. Campbell is our featured giveaway this week. Please read about the book HERE and you will be prompted to return to this post to enter the giveaway.

William Shakespeare's 'Dark Lady'

noreply@blogger.com (Victoria Lamb) — Thu, 17 May 2012 10:47:00 +0000

Was William Shakespeare in love with a dark-skinned mistress behind his wife's back?

William Shakespeare's sonnets from 127-152 are popularly known as his 'Dark Lady' sequence, being dedicated to a problematic female muse whom Shakespeare both insults and adores by turns. But what precisely does 'Dark Lady' signify, and was there ever such a person?

Court beauty, Mary Fitton

Experts tend to disagree on her identity. Some believe Shakespeare's mystery woman must have been a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty - possibly even Mary Fitton, one of Elizabeth I's maids of honour in the late 1590s, whose apparent promiscuity makes her a likely candidate for some of his more insulting sonnets about her lack of faithfulness.

Others take Shakespeare's descriptions of his mistress more literally, i.e. that she was exotic and darker-skinned rather than simply an English brunette. The poet Emilia Lanier has been considered as one possible candidate for this - a notorious Tudor beauty, Emilia was descended from Venetian Jews, and may even have inspired one of Shakespeare's most famous plays, The Merchant of Venice, and perhaps the character of Rosalind in Love's Labour's Lost.

Possibly a portrait of Emilia Lanier, nee Bassano, a courtly poet and one of the candidates for Shakespeare's 'Dark Lady' - it should be remembered that Tudor women often painted their skin to look fashionably pale

Another possibility is the shadowy figure of Lucy Morgan, one of Elizabeth's lesser-known ladies at court, whom some historians have associated with a 'Lucy Negra' of more dubious fame in Tudor times. According to contemporary records, Lucy Morgan married a Thomas Parker in the late 1500s. This would also fit, given how angrily Shakespeare refers to his Dark Lady's cruelty, i.e. that she teased him and would not return his love, but loved another instead.

It could be that Shakespeare was deliberately writing anti-romantic sonnets in this sequence, and that a dark-skinned mistress merely made a strong contrast with the pale beauties of Elizabethan fashion. After all, Sonnet 131 finishes with the assertion, 'In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds', which would seem to negate his previous references to her darkness.

But the case for his Dark Lady being nothing more than a literary device is weak, given the sheer number of sonnets that mention her - and their emotional vehemence. Besides, darker-skinned peoples and those of African descent were far from unknown in Tudor England, as demonstrated by a 1575 painting by Marcus Gheeraerts the Elder which depicts a group of black musicians and entertainers performing before Queen Elizabeth herself.

Of course, none of this proves the assertion that Shakespeare's mistress was dark-skinned, nor that she even existed outside the poet's admittedly fertile imagination. But since we have no absolute proof that she wasn't dark, or even actually 'Moorish', nor any way of determining her identity for sure, it's certainly both fun and exciting to speculate who Shakespeare's Dark Lady was - and what their fiery relationship might have been like!

Victoria Lamb is the author of The Queen's Secret:
Lucy Morgan, a black singer and entertainer at the court of Elizabeth I, is enlisted to spy on Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, and uncovers a plot to assassinate the Queen.

Currently available from Amazon.co.uk in Hardback and Kindle editions. Paperback edition due out in July 2012. Also available from Berkley in the US from early 2013.

Pronunciation - Eighteenth Century style.

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Rendell) — Thu, 17 May 2012 05:58:00 +0000

by Mike Rendell

It is fascinating to conjecture what our ancestors would have sounded like - how they spoke, and whether they had a strong accent. We can read what they wrote down, but we can never be sure what their pronunciation was, in the era before tape recorders and gramophones! I recall seeing learned articles suggesting that Shakespeare may have spoken with an American accent (and why not: the accent must have derived from something, somewhere - why not the English Midlands in the 16th Century?).Of course it is difficult to draw conclusions from one indicator - then, as now, there would have been huge variations based upon origin, background, education and wealth. But I can comment upon how my ancestor Richard Hall chose to speak, or at least, how he aspired to speak, in the 1700's because he wrote down those words which might otherwise trip him up. The fact that he wrote them down shows how important it was to "speak proper English" - how vital it was to appear different to all those migrants heading into the capital in the middle of the Eighteenth Century. London's deaths exceeded births, yet the population in London still increased every year, thanks to the drift of men and women seeking work, looking for the streets paved with gold. They came from the villages and towns up and down the country, and brought with them the regional accents, colloquial expressions and slang from their own region. If my 4xgreat grandfather was to succeed in business he needed to sound the same as his wealthier customers, not the same as a yokel from the shires!

To modern ears some of the pronunciation sounds a bit twee and precious, but think for a minute how accents and pronunciation changes. Think of Her Maj, who in the sixty years she has adorned the throne, has altered enormously in the way she pronounces the "Queen's English." Fashions change. And if further proof is needed think of the way the name of the Duchess of Devonshire is pronounced in the film 'The Duchess' - "Georgi-ay-nah" rather than the more usual"Georgi-arnar". It is almost as if the aristocracy wanted to make sure that they spoke differently from the hoi polloi!
Where the spelling differed from the pronunciation Richard Hall jotted down the reminders: so, we get "shaze" for "chaise", "dimun" for "diamond" and even "crownor" for "coroner"

I was also intrigued to see that "gold" was pronounced "gould", farthing as "fardun" and daughter was "dawtor" and nurse was "nus". O.K., some of the examples are obvious ("yot" for "yacht") but on the whole he does come across as a tad affected by modern standards!

Place names and proper nouns were obviously not the same as now: I can just about remember people calling "Cirencester" by the name of "Sissester" and the Somerset village of Congresbury being pronounced "Coomsbury" but although we still talk of "Brummies" we don't call the city "Brummijum" any more. Bartholomew is not, so far as I am aware, pronounced "Bartolomy". And even in Richard's time "Brighthelmstone" was being abbreviated to match the way it was pronounced - "Brighton".

I suppose it boils down to the fact that pronunciation, like spelling, changes over the centuries. as well as from locality to locality. But it does make you think, when a well-educated man like Richard speaks of "hartichokes" rather than "artichokes", and calls his cucumbers "cowcumbers". Step back in time and I might have quite a problem being accepted in polite company as I rather think my ancestor would have fallen about laughing at my strangled vowels and plummy pronunciation!

Wristband was pronounced "risban", waistcoat was "wescote" and if you were sitting at the table doing your toilet (i.e attending to your wig, powdering your nose, applying a little white lead to the forehead, and rouge to the cheeks....) you would of course remember to call it "twaylet" or even "twilight".
In some ways you can brand Richard a snob - he cultivated the way he presented himself because he was desperate to be accepted.
The story of Richard's life, how he married an heiress, how he built a shop at One London Bridge, how he fell out with his family and retired to become a gentleman farmer in the Cotswolds, is told in my book The Journal of a Georgian Gentleman. I also do a blog, three or four times a week, on life in Georgian England. You can follow it here.

A Prince, a Prophet and a Peer

noreply@blogger.com (John Campbell) — Tue, 15 May 2012 23:05:00 +0000

(Peers with Purpose, installment #1)

By John B. Campbell

Sir Samuel Hoare, 1st Viscount Templewood, and his wife Lady Maud Hoare, Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, Viscountess Templewood, demonstrated how to live a life of engagement and purpose. And they did so in the dramatic days of the early twentieth century.

Samuel John Gurney Hoare, 1st Viscount Templewood, more commonly known as Sir Samuel Hoare, offset his relatively small stature with athleticism and dynamic (though not precisely charismatic) personality. Critics thought him to be narcissistically ambitious while others admired his drive, political savvy and concern for the greater good. The Machiavellian climate of the British government in those troubling days of anarchists, socialist campaigns, fascism and Nazi aggression created as much in-court-intrigue as that seen during the reign of Julius Caesar. Would Sir Samuel’s early years of training prove adequate?

In 1935, while Hoare served as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, a crisis arose when the Italians invaded Ethiopia. Hoare felt he understood the psyche of Benito Mussolini, whom he had gotten to know while previously serving with British overseas intelligence, and sensed diplomatic conflagration on the horizon. He thus felt the need to prevent the Italians from forming an alliance with the ever-menacing Adolf Hitler, were Anglo-Italian relations to become strained. In Hoare’s estimation, it seemed a good idea to join with Pierre Laval, the prime minister of France, in hopes of resolving the dilemma via a secret agreement. Their venture came to be known as the Hoare-Laval Pact and it outlined how Italy would be allotted two-thirds of the African territory it had conquered. In return, Ethiopia would be allowed to keep a narrow strip of territory with access to the sea. In those late days of The Empire, Hoare felt their solution was generous as well as prudent.

The details of the secret pact, however, mysteriously leaked to the press on December 10, 1935. The pact became widely denounced by the members of Parliament who sat in different camps from Hoare. Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, being one such, rejected the plan and demanded Hoare’s resignation.

Sir Samuel Hoare’s resignation speech created one of those ‘moments’ film directors would love to recreate. Reportedly, Hoare stood up and presented a narrative so powerful it, in a flash, engendered a wave of sympathy. With sincerity and fervor, he told his story, explaining how by means of his negotiations “not a country, save our own, has moved a soldier, a ship or an aeroplane as a result.” Hoare was described by Henry Channon as a Cato defending himself, adding how Sir Samuel, for 40 minutes, had held the House breathless. When Sir Samuel sat down, however, he burst into tears.

From that account alone we glean a measure of the gentleman’s complexity of nature, his talents and vulnerability.

Earlier, Sir Samuel got his diplomatic feet wet in—talk about some colourful training—Czarist Russia. In 1916, he was assigned to a British intelligence team, comprising of Oswald Rayner, Cudbert Thornhill, John Scale and Stephen Alley. Leading them was Mansfield Cummings who had been appointed head of the British Secret Intelligence Service in Petrograd.

Sir Samuel Hoare, as I’d mentioned, was viewed by some as pompous. Whether it was pomposity or boldness, he served as the right kind of front man, from the right class, for Cummings’ purposes while the rest of the team worked behind the scenes, focusing their sights on the sinister clog to Russia’s international relations—Grigory Rasputin.

Hoare became friendly with Vladimir Purishkevich, the leader of the monarchists in the Duma, and in November of that year, he learned of the man’s interest in “liquidating” the “drunken debaucher influencing the Czarina and Russia’s policies.” Hoare later recorded that Purishkevich seemed so casual in his tone on the topic that such talk appeared as mere wishful thinking rather than an actual plot in motion.

At the end of 1916, after Purishkevich joined Prince Felix Yusupov, along with the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich Romanov, Dr. Stanislaus de Lazovert and Lieutenant Sergei Mikhailovich Sukhotin, they carried out their part in having the Tsarina’s special advisor killed.

Afterward, Hoare took issue with—of all people—Tsar Nicholas II (maybe Hoare was a bit pompous) who suggested a sole instigator behind the assassination: Hoare’s colleague, British agent Oswald Rayner. Whatever Hoare understood of the intrigue, he had had enough caviar and vodka and was grateful to leave the icy shark tank behind after getting reassigned to Rome.

Sir Samuel Hoare was literate and widely read in several languages, which had served him well in his demanding work in Russian and Italy during that early phase of his life. Later, timing served him well in that he was part of the wave of young Conservatives in 1922, which propelled him into increasingly senior Cabinet positions for the next 18 years, a bumpy ride, as we noted at the outset with the account of the Hoare-Laval Pact, but an all ‘round successful run.

Sir Samuel Hoare played a particular role that drew him to my attention while I was researching the era for my novel. As Foreign Secretary in 1935, he was instrumental in securing government approval for the British rescue effort on behalf of endangered Jewish children in Europe: Kindertransport.

It was in 1909 that Sir Samuel married Lady Maud Lygon, daughter of Frederick Lygon, 6^th Earl Beauchamp. Her title took precedence over that of her husband until he was created a viscount in 1944.

Lady Maud intrigues me. I am still looking for more information on her. She earned her title, Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE), in the 1920s, as a result of being the first woman to fly a great distance—12,000 miles plus, as she inaugurated, along with her husband, the London-Cairo-Delhi air service.

You can watch a clip of the lady on the British Pathé site, which features a garden party she held for thalidomide children in or around 1963. Therein, fashionably dressed, she is down on her knees, interacting with the children.

http://www.britishpathe.com/video/lady-hoares-thalidomide-childrens-party

Lady Maud traveled widely with her husband (at one point he was ambassador to Spain). She launched ships (the Ark Royal) and inaugurated airports (Croyden/London). This adventurous humanitarian peer makes a cameo appearance in my novel Walk to Paradise Garden.

Together, Sir Samuel and Lady Maud endeavored to make a marked difference in the world. How I’d love to time travel and be a guest at a dinner party with them. Wouldn’t you?

Anglo-Saxon Monsters and Creatures

noreply@blogger.com (Richard Denning) — Tue, 15 May 2012 04:59:00 +0000

by Richard Denning

The Anglo-Saxons believed in many different creatures and monsters. They populated their world and haunted their nightmares. Today I look a bit at some examples.

Barghests (sometimes called black dogs) are evil creatures who appear as huge black dogs or hounds, as large as a calf. They can move silently at times. Some can shape-shift and appear as different creatures. These terrifying dogs are often linked to certain roads, gates or locations near water.

Dweorgar ( or dwarfs)are usually described as ugly, often bad tempered and occasionally evil. Dwarves are talented at making magical items and artefacts. They created many of the powerful artifacts made by the gods such as the Brisingammen of Freya.

Svartálfar (dark elves) these are very different from the beautiful light elves that became Tolkien's elves and which today we might be more famliar. Dark elves are ugly and misshapen but perhaps nearer an evil version of Santa's elves. They can influence human dreams and give nightmares. They live underground. Possibly sunlight can turn them to stone which is why they avoid it.

Ravens : Ravens, although a natural bird have deep symbolism in Saxon Mythology. Firstly Woden (Odin) has two ravens called Huginn and Muninn (thought and memory) who flew across the world and brought news back for the god. Ravens were often seen at battlefields and so became associated with death. Indeed seeing a large black bird became a bad omen suggesting imminent death for someone.

Grendel Grendel is one of three foes, along with Grendel's mother and a dragon, in the Anglo-Saxon epic poem Beowulf. Grendel is thought of as a huge troll like creature who dwells in a swamp or a cave. Those are the sorts of locations the Saxons thought trolls lived. Beowulf eventually kills Grendel.

There were just a few creatures who the Anglo-Saxons believed inhabited the woods and hills. It was for fear of them that they avoided such places in the night. When bad things happened they would blame them and they would pray to Woden and Freya to protect their families.

These sketches are by Gillian Pearce who prepared them for my new book Shield Maiden - a historical fantasy for children which blends history with mythology. Find out more:
http://www.richarddenning.co.uk/shieldmaiden.php

Flirting With Fans - A Victorian Tradition

noreply@blogger.com (Karen Wasylowski) — Mon, 14 May 2012 04:43:00 +0000

By Karen V. Wasylowski

With so many restrictions regarding proper behavior between a lady and the gentleman of her choosing, during the Victorian Age, how was a girl ever to express her interest in a young man? The Regency Era and it's overt sexual freedoms were a thing of the past (supposedly); nice young ladies no longer could dampen their gowns (tell me another one) to show off their lovely figures, nor could they rouge their nipples (perhaps).

Pity the poor Victorian lady. Without the allurements allowed in the past, these pioneering women were reduced to using props. Parasols, gloves - anything with which to flirt; these sisters of ours were desperate.

And the most interesting, the most useful of all, was THE FAN. Position, posture and pressure - the three keys. Flirting with Fans was an artform. It should be reinstated and pursued during our lifetime. I wonder if Snookie ever considered one...?

Here are some of the popular fan signals and what they mean. Perhaps one can practice at home on husbands?

The fan placed near the heart: “You have won my love”

A closed fan touching the right eye: “When may I be allowed to see you?”

The number of sticks shown answered the question: “At what hour?”

Threatening movements with a fan closed: “Do not be so imprudent”

Half-opened fan pressed to the lips: “You may kiss me”

Hands clasped together holding an open fan: “Forgive me”

Covering the left ear with an open fan: “Do not betray our secret”

Hiding the eyes behind an open fan: “I love you”

Shutting a fully opened fan slowly: “I promise to marry you”

Drawing the fan across the eyes: “I am sorry”

Touching the finger to the tip of the fan: “I wish to speak with you”

Letting the fan rest on the right cheek: “Yes”

Letting the fan rest on the left cheek: “No”

Opening and closing the fan several times: “You are cruel”

Dropping the fan: “We will be friends”

Fanning slowly: “I am married”

Fanning quickly: “I am engaged”

Putting the fan handle to the lips: “Kiss me”

Opening a fan wide: “Wait for me”

Placing the fan behind the head: “Do not forget me”

Placing the fan behind the head with finger extended: “Goodbye”

Fan in right hand in front of face: “Follow me”

Fan in left hand in front of face: “I am desirous of your acquaintance”

Fan held over left ear: “I wish to get rid of you”

Drawing the fan across the forehead: “You have changed”

Twirling the fan in the left hand: “We are being watched”

Twirling the fan in the right hand: “I love another”

Carrying the open fan in the right hand: “You are too willing”

Carrying the open fan in the left hand: “Come and talk to me”

Drawing the fan through the hand: “I hate you!”

Drawing the fan across the cheek: “I love you!”

Presenting the fan shut: “Do you love me?”

If there are too many here to remember I propose little cheat sheets...stuffed into white gloves...and the gloves should definitely hold onto a lovely pink parasol!

(special thanks to The Language of the Fan, by Micki Gaffney)

Karen V. Wasylowski is the author of "Darcy and Fitzwilliam: the Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer," Pride and Prejudice Continues!

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English Folk Songs - Lord Bateman

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna Dawlish) — Sun, 13 May 2012 06:53:00 +0000

by Jenna Dawlish

In this post, I continue my series looking at English Folk Songs. Today, is one of my favourite songs - Lord Bateman. This song is known as a Child ballad number 53 because it was collected by Francis Child. It is sometimes called "Lord Bateman and the Turkish Lady". Like many folk songs, this has a great story:

Lord Bateman tells the story of a nobleman of high degree who sails abroad and is captured and put in prison. There he stays for a long time, until he catches the eye of the daughter of his captor. She secretly visits him to talk to him and bring him food. They fall in love. Then one night, she steals her fathers keys and sets him free.

Lord Bateman must escape in his ship. They believe they will never meet again.

Years later, and Lord Bateman is back home in England. Unknown to him, the lady who set him free travels to England to find him because she can't forget him. She travels through the country asking where Lord Bateman is, and eventually finds his castle. They are re-united and discover that their love for each other has not gone and marry.

Legend says that this story is about Thomas a Becket's parents, though how true that is, is not certain. Generally it is thought this story is a fairy tale.

H.E. Marshall's book "Our Island Story" has a chapter devoted to this story. The couple are called Rohesia and Gilbert. http://www.mainlesson.com/display.php?author=marshall&book=island&story=gilbert

I have posted a couple of versions of the song below, but it has been sung many, many times. Just search in Spotify or YouTube and you will see how popular it is in the folk world.

Jenna Dawlish

Jenna Dawlish is the author of two Victorian novels. Love Engineered and Sprig of Thyme.

Women's Rights and the Battle for Identity

noreply@blogger.com (V.R. Christensen) — Sat, 12 May 2012 04:58:00 +0000

The husband and wife are one person in law: that is, the very being or legal existence of the woman is suspended during her marriage, or at least is incorporated or consolidated into that of her husband, under whose wing, protection and cover, she performs everything. - Sir William Blackstone, Commentaries on the Laws of England 1765-1769

At the time of Blackwell's statement, a woman, having married, gave up control of any income she had earned from wages, or property, real or personal. Everything was his. True, he could not sell her real property without her permission, but any income made from it belonged to him, any contracts made against it, must be made by him. Of course there were legal ways to preserve a woman's property for her own use, but these did little more than remove it from her hands into that of a trustee. She still could not use the money or gain by it during the course of her married life, but it would be preserved for the security of her children, or for her use upon the death of her husband.

Not only did a woman forfeit her right to personal property, but she gave up her legal rights as well. She could not file a lawsuit, enter into any legal arrangements, or write a will or sign a contract. Legally speaking, she had no identity. She was an extension of her husband and nothing more. If one were fortunate enough to marry a good man with a democratic mind and an eye toward fairness, this was possibly just as well. Unity has been the preserving virtue of many a home and nation. It was, after all, the case for many. It was hardly the case for all.

Consider the example of Caroline Sheridan, who, in 1827 married George Norton. It was, from the start, a bit of a mismatch. He was 26, socially awkward, not very intelligent, and he had little money. Caroline, at 19, was a social star, beautiful, witty, and rich. This he seemed to have resented, though no doubt her wealth was a chief factor in his desire to marry her in the first place. George was also possessed of a violent temper which was easily exacerbated by drink. They were not very happy and separated many times, but their three children always brought them back together.

Until 1836, when, while Caroline was visiting her sister, George removed the children and barred her from the house, refusing to allow her any access to her children. As children were the property of the husband, this was his right, and she had little recourse. The income she made as a successful writer was also his, and this, too, he laid claim to. At the time of this last separation, he demanded she live with her brother, upon whom she was to depend for support. She was also to relinquish all claims to her children, including her right to see them. If she did not agree to the terms, he threatened to sue Lord Melbourne on the grounds of adultery. Of course she did not agree, and George went ahead with his suit.

Because Caroline had no legal identity of her own, George could not sue her. And that was likely not his aim, as Caroline had nothing to give him he did not already have. But because Caroline was his property, he could sue Lord Melbourne for damages, as any compromising relationship between them would devalue her as his wife. He could therefore recover his losses in a pecuniary manner. Perhaps this was him aim, after all. Whether she and Lord Melbourne had an affair is unclear, though they did indeed maintain a close friendship throughout their lives.

The suit, however, was a failure. There was no proof. The jury made the decision without ever leaving the box. George, having lost his claim, consequently had no chance of divorcing her, as a successful damages suit was a prerequisite for divorce. Despite his loss, and Caroline's supposed victory, her reputation was tarnished. There was no going back to George now. But what to do about her children?

She turned to Thomas Talfourd, a serjeant-at-law and a member of Parliament, and persuaded him to introduce a bill granting mothers the custody of children under seven. The result was the Custody of Infants Act of 1839, which also granted a mother access to children under 16. A passing of a law, however, does not ensure its being observed. George still refused to let her see her children. Until tragedy struck, when the youngest of her sons was seriously injured in a riding accident. George agreed to let her see him, but he died before she could get to him. George thereafter relented, and allowed her access to her remaining boys.

In 1848, George was again in need of money. Caroline allowed him access to property left in trust to her in exchange for a separation deed and £500.

That same year, Lord Melbourne died and named Caroline in his will to be supported from his estate. In 1851, her mother died, leaving her £480 yearly, willed to her alone as her 'separate estate,' this with the intent of keeping it from George. Effectually it did, but in reality he could now claim that she no longer needed any assistance from him and he once more cut off his support. In retaliation, Caroline set her creditors after him to collect their debts, as any debts accrued by a woman were the responsibility of her husband. (This was a trick also used by Theresa Longworth when she wished to prove that she was in fact legally married to William Yelverton, with whom she exchanged vows by way of a secret 'Irish marriage'. That suit failed.) Caroline's suit raised questions about the nature of her separation, which was proved invalid as it was only by deed (which she had no rights to enter into as a married woman) and not by ecclesiastical decree.

These injuries drove her to take up her pen once more and in 1854 she wrote a pamphlet entitled English Laws for Women in the 19th Century, which was a passionate indictment of the laws governing married women. Then, in 1855 she published A Letter to the Queen on Lord Chancellor Cranworth's Marriage and Divorce Bill, in which she challenged the double standard that was the right of men to sue on the grounds of adultery but did not offer the same recourse to women. She went a step further, accusing men of maintaining and defending their extra marital liaisons as their right and privilege as men. The Letter to the Queen eventually brought about the Divorce and Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857, which restored 'the property rights and status of a single woman ... as long as she remained apart from her husband.' It allowed women to sue on grounds of adultery if her husband had also deserted her for a period of more than two years, or if he could be proved guilty of brutality, or of adultery committed with a relative, a man, or an animal. Providing proof of these was a tricky and scandalous business, but it was a step, even if only a small step, in the right direction.

In 1870, the first Married Women's Property Act was passed, but the law that actually made it through the parliamentary mill was such a watered down version that what was affected was merely a small compensation to women who invested in the matrimonial practice. Women now kept possession of their earnings, inherited personal property, and small sums of money.

Throughout the ensuing years, further amendments were made to the laws governing the rights of married women (in fact it is said that there were perhaps eighteen such bills introduced to Parliament in the years between 1857 and 1882.) Neither can we forget the many others who brought about the advances toward women's equality; Ursula Mellor Bright, Eliza Lynn and Barbara Leigh Smith, just a few among these.

But it was not until the passing of The Married Women's Property Act of 1882 that women won any real victories. According to Mary Shanley (Feminism, Marriage, and the Law in Victorian England, 1859-1895), this Act 'allowed the common law doctrine of coverture to include the wife's right to own, buy and sell her separate property.' According to the 1882 Act, a woman was now entitled to keep 1) any money earned in the form of income made from employment, trade, or use of skill, 2) any property inherited, including money in amounts up to £200, her 3) real property and earnings from it. It also dictated that 4) both parents were equally responsible for the upkeep of their children.

Once more quoting Mary Shanley, the Married Women's Property Act of 1882 was 'the single most important change in legal status of women in the nineteenth century. ... In enabling married women to act as independent legal personages, it not only gave them the legal capacity to act as autonomous economic agents, but struck a blow at the whole notion of coverture and the necessary subordination of woman's will to that of her husband. Quoting Jennifer Phegley (Courtship and Marriage in Victorian England) 'The 1882 Law gave every married woman sole possession of everything she earned or inherited, before or after marriage. This act came the closest of any marriage law reforms of the century to allowing the existence of marriage in which both partners were equal under the law.'

V.R. Christensen is the author of Of Moths & Butterflies, for which the months before the passing of the Married Women's Property Act of 1882 serve as a backdrop. Cry of the Peacock, a companion piece to Of Moths & Butterflies, is due to be released in October of 2012. She also is the author of a neo-Victorian paranormal novella, entitled Blind. (Free May 12 in the Kindle store.) To learn more about her and her work, visit www.vrchristensen.com

200 years ago today - Death of a Statesman

noreply@blogger.com (M.M. Bennetts) — Fri, 11 May 2012 06:52:00 +0000

by M.M. Bennetts

It had been a hellish kind of a day already. And it was only gone five in the afternoon.

First on the agenda had been the bruising debate over the Conduct of the War in the Peninsula, with the Whigs and Radicals joining forces like some verbal artillery unit.

And in less than an hour, there would be yet another stormy session in the Royal Chapel of St. Stephen, where the House of Commons met--this time over the repeal of the Orders in Council, which the Government had announced they intended to do on 29 April. That at least ought to please the pro-American radical factions on the opposition benches. And one trusted it would stop this silly to and fro-ing with the Americans over impressment. Because what England did not need was a war with the Americans. Not at this time. Not when they were utterly dependent on wheat and flour from New England to feed Wellington's troops in the Peninsula.

But the debate finished, Brougham having finally closed his gob for the moment, and MPs were pouring out through the lobby doors and into the stone hallway...many of them on their way to the necessary chamber, no doubt. It was the usual crowd. Lord Osborne, General Gascoyne, Smith, the MP for Norwich...

Sir Spencer Perceval

And emerging from a side door which stood adjacent to a stone staircase, known chiefly for its worn treads, the Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Spencer Perceval, deep in conversation with Lord Osborne.

It was just a normal Monday afternoon. The afternoon of 11th May 1812.

John Bellingham had been a merchant and, with his wife, had travelled to Russia. There, his business had failed and he, owing many roubles, had been placed under house arrest. He'd finally been freed and the debt forgiven on the understanding that he would leave Russia. Upon his return to England, he'd taken to writing letters to various Government officials accusing the Russian envoy of ruining his business and demanding restitution--which letters had eventually all been passed to the Treasury to be handled by the Chancellor. But over a period of three years, the Chancellor had given him no joy--despite the hundreds of letters and petitions he'd written.

Angry and resentful over his ill-treatment, for the past several months, he'd taken to sitting in the gallery of the House of Commons, assessing its weak points, learning to identify the various Honourable Members. He'd also sent threatening letters informing the Chancellor that as he'd failed to dispense justice, Bellingham felt at liberty to execute justice himself. But no one paid much heed--it's doubtful his letters were even read. Most probably they were just added to the already overladen pile of his ceaseless correspondence.

Now, armed with a pair of pistols, at just gone five in the afternoon, as the members were streaming from the chamber, he had hidden himself in the shadow of the stone stairs, just behind the folding doors. And as the Prime Minister emerged into the lobby, Bellingham stepped forward, aimed for Perceval's heart, and fired.

The shot reverberated through the closed stone corridor, deafening all.

The Prime Minister, his hand clutched to his breast, reeled backwards and fell, murmuring, "Murder!" (Or as other eyewitness accounts have it, "I am murdered!")

Smith, with Osborne's help, struggled to raise the fallen man. Someone cried, "Oh my God! It's the Prime Minister!"

Someone else called for a doctor. Smith, Osborne and a few others lifted him to carry him to the closest chamber, that of the Speaker's Secretary, and there laid him on a sofa.

Back in the hallway, chaos had broken out. There were calls to seal off the doors, shouts that it was a conspiracy and a French conspiracy at that.

A black-coated doctor from Great-George-street arrived and was shown to the small room. He searched Perceval's neck and wrists for any sign of a pulse, then said what they'd all been fearing for the past quarter of an hour: "It is too late, gentlemen. I am sorry, he is dead."

(The shot, fired at point-blank range, had passed through Perceval's heart.)

In the hallway, the MPs were milling and congregating in a fury of concern, and there were loud cries of "Shut the doors, let no one out!" Then, as the reality of what they had witnessed dawned upon them all, there were exclamations of "Where's the murderer? Where's the rascal that fired?"

From out the shadows of the stone staircase, John Bellingham, dressed in an overlarge and worn brown coat, stepped forward and loudly proclaimed, "I am the unfortunate man!"

If it had been chaos before, now it became a scene from bedlam. Instantly, Bellingham was seized and searched--in his pockets another primed and loaded pistol, an opera-glass and a number of papers and bundles of letters. The spent pistol was not found. Upon being questioned why he had done such a thing, he replied, "Want of redress and denial of justice."

To which there were calls for him to be hanged or taken out and shot. Clerks were racing through the corridors, locking doors--for if this was part of a conspiracy, who or what was next?

The Speaker of the House banged and banged with his gavel, desperate in his attempts to bring the House to order. But to no avail. Finally, fearing for Bellingham's safety--for the honourable members were now a mob of angry murderous men--he had no choice but to order that he be removed by the Sergeant of the House to the prison room, by means of a secret passage.

With many doubting that Bellingham had acted alone, and given the Napoleonic state's record in dispossessing European countries of their legitimate rulers, an emergency Cabinet Council was called.

Over the fraught course of that evening, they arrived at a series of measures to prevent further disturbance and panic, and to flush out fellow-conspirators and/or French spies. Sharpshooters were installed atop government buildings and on the roof of 10 Downing Street. The mail was stopped and all foreign letters opened and scrutinised at the Foreign Letter Office. The Household Cavalry guarding the King and Queen at Windsor and the Prince Regent in London was trebled. The Thames River police were put on high alert and ordered to search vessels for possible conspirators. And the militia was called out to patrol the streets of the capital in force. It was as full-on as any modern government's response to a terror attack.

Taken before the Magistrates that evening, Bellingham denied any personal enmity towards Perceval, expressing great sorrow for his death and insisting he had only taken away the life of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Despite or perhaps because of Bellingham's obvious mental derangement, a verdict of 'wilful murder' was returned by the Coroner. At last bound over for trial, at 1.00 a.m., Bellingham was escorted, manacled, from Westminster to Newgate Prison by a company of the Light Horse.

The next day, 12th May, the Foreign Secretary, Viscount Castlereagh, spoke to the proposal to award Perceval's widow and children a handsome annuity in recognition of the great sacrifice he had made on behalf of his country. But as he paid tribute to his friend and colleague, Castlereagh broke down, sobbing, before the assembled MPs and had to be helped back to his seat--to strong sympathy from the House.

John Bellingham was tried for murder on 15th May at the Old Bailey before Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, with the Duke of Clarence, the Marquis Wellesley and almost all the aldermen of the City of London occupying the bench. The jury took fourteen minutes to return a guilty verdict.

The following Monday, the 18th, Bellingham was hanged before the Debtor's Door of Newgate Prison.

Sir Spencer Perceval was buried in the family vault of St. Luke's, Charlton on 16 May. A memorial to him was placed in Westminster Abbey in June 1812.

Perceval

Spencer Perceval remains the only Prime Minister to ever have been assassinated in British history. Though that's not the only reason he should be remembered. He had been a good man and a good Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer, respected by his contemporaries to a remarkable degree. He had steered the country through a most volatile and dangerous period, both domestically and abroad.

Yet saddest of all, like his mentor, the great William Pitt, he did not live to see the fruition of his work to defeat Napoleon. Indeed, he didn't even know that at the moment of his death, the tide was at last turning against the Napoleonic juggernaut.

His murder, although generally overlooked today, summoned up the same fears for national security as we have suffered in our generation. This is perhaps best seen in a letter written by his step-mother to Lord Castlereagh shortly afterwards:

What a catastrophe, my dearest Castlereagh, are you condemned to witness, and what privation has the country suffered in this tragedy of Mr Perceval's murder. Never since the Duke of Buckingham has such a daring assassination been attempted in England; but what a difference in men; one justly an object of public jealousy and contempt; the other admirable in all his attributes and every day obtaining more confidence. Some deep plot must be at the bottom of this desperate act. I can never credit that a lunatic alone conceived and executed it. I now tremble for your life...There is a conspiracy against everything good and great. I hope you do not despise caution in your own person.

Perceval's assassination and the subsequent private and political turbulence form the cornerstone of my novel, May 1812, which is available as a free Kindle download today (on both amazon.com and amazon.co.uk) to mark the bicentenary of his death. The above account, as well as that in the book, is drawn from several eye-witness accounts found in the newspapers and journals of the day.

M.M. Bennetts is a specialist in early nineteenth-century British and European history, and the author of two historical novels set in the period - May 1812 and Of Honest Fame. Find out more at www.mmbennetts.com.

A Time to Reflect.... on Mirrors

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Rendell) — Thu, 10 May 2012 05:00:00 +0000

by Mike Rendell

It is interesting that when my ancestor Richard Hall was writing in 1781 it was the old frame which got thrown away, to be replaced with a "New Carv'd Gilt frame" - while the actual mirror or glass was kept. Why? Because mirrors were extremely costly.
Mirrors had of course been around for several thousand years, originally using polished bronze or similar materials. But in the sixteenth century Venetian glassmakers on Murano found a way of coating the back of a sheet of glass with silver mercury.

Rivals stole the method of production and brought it to France, Germany, and particularly England, so that by the 1700s London had a thriving mirror-making industry.

A spectacular mirror in the style of Thomas Chippendale.

Cheap it was not - and it was also highly dangerous, since mercury is an extremely unstable and dangerous chemical to work with. The process was quite complicated. First you needed a stone table which was completely level (so that mercury would not run off when poured) but the table had to be capable of being tilted gently. Then you needed a completely flat sheet of tin, moulded to give a gulley running all round its four sides( to catch the mercury as it drained).The tin was tied securely to the table. A small amount of mercury would then be spread across the surface and rubbed gently into the surface of the tin (traditionally using a hare's foot).

The next stage was to pour mercury over this prepared surface to a depth of between three and six millimetres. It needed to be as evenly spread as possible. Then came the difficult part - lowering the glass sheet onto the mercury so that it floated. The weight of the glass would force the mercury out to the gulley running round the tin sheet where it could be collected and used again. A blanket would be placed over the glass and weights used to press down the glass. The stone table would then be tilted, and the whole shebang left to dry for three weeks.The critical moment would come when the glass was lifted from the table - apparently even a loud noise could cause the mercury to run off from the back of the glass, with potentially fatal consequences. Death by inhalation of mercury fumes was not uncommon in factories where mirrors were made.

An Italian 'Grotto' mirror from the 18th Century, courtesy of http://www.antiquefurnishings.co.uk/mirrors.htm

Small wonder therefore that a mirror or looking glass was an expensive item, certainly one which it was worthwhile for Richard to spend one pound eleven shillings and sixpence to re-frame (perhaps nearer a hundred pounds in modern terms). The chemical process of coating a glass surface with metallic silver was not discovered until thirty years after Richard's death. The actual inventor is a matter of dispute but one candidate is the German Justus von Liebig who published an article in 1835 remarking that "...when aldehyde is mixed with a silver nitrate solution and heated, a reduction is formed, as a result of which the silver settles itself on the wall of the vessel, forming a superb mirror."
In Richard's time, mercury-backed mirrors came in all shapes and sizes. The woodcarver Grinling Gibbons made intricately carved frames to go with his mirrors, but in the eighteenth century the adornment to the frames was often painted rather than carved. They became part and parcel of the design of the fireplace. Designers such as Robert Adams would produce schemes for fireplaces with a matching mirror and frame above it, sometimes reaching to the ceiling.

Fireplace with overmantel mirror, c. 1750 Image courtesy of the Victoria & Albert Museum

Mirrors designed to go above a fire-place were known as chimney glasses, while those intended to go between two sets of windows were called pier glasses. It became fashionable in the Eighteenth Century to have mirrored sconces - wall fittings to hold a candle but with a mirror at the back to reflect light back into the room. Later in the century cheval glasses came into fashion. According to Encyclopaedia Britannica (http://www.britannica.com/) "The cheval glass was first made toward the end of the 18th century. The glass could be tilted at any angle by means of the swivel screws supporting it, and its height could be adjusted by means of lead counterweights and a horse, or pulley, from which the name was taken. Thomas Sheraton in the 1803 edition of The Cabinet Dictionary, included a design with a nest of drawers at one side and another with a writing surface. When wardrobes were fitted with mirrored doors, the cheval glass became unnecessary in bedrooms".

Meanwhile my great great great great grandfather Richard Hall would have sat at his dressing table in his bedroom, attending to his toilet (or perhaps, as he would have said, his 'twaylit') using this tilting adjustable mirror. It makes you ponder on the transient nature of an image to think it was once his visage which reflected in the looking glass, and now it is mine!

Mike is the author of a book entitled "The Journal of a Georgian Gentleman" based upon the diaires and miscellaneous papers kept by his ancestor in the Eighteenth Century. He also blogs regularly on life in the Georgian era.

Elizabeth & Mary, Rival Queens: A Study of Leadership

noreply@blogger.com (Barbara Kyle) — Wed, 09 May 2012 06:07:00 +0000

by Barbara Kyle

Should we act from the head or from the heart? Deliberation or passion? In fiction, the Dashwood sisters in Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility personify this choice in matters of love. Elinor carefully considers her desires, weighing them against her responsibilities, holding her deepest feelings in check. Marianne scoffs at such reserve and acts boldly on her passions.

When it comes to ruling a country, with stakes infinitely higher, two queens have immortalized this crucial choice. Elizabeth Tudor of England planned her moves with Machiavellian care, keeping her ambitious nobles in line and her kingdom safe from foreign attack. Her peaceful reign spanned over forty years. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, followed her desires, making impetuous decisions that enraged her nobles. She ruled for less than seven years, created turmoil and civil war, boldly gambled her kingdom by hazarding all on the battlefield, and lost.

Mary Queen of Scots

Elizabeth I of England

The two women were cousins. Yet they never met. When Mary fled to England to escape the Protestant lords who had deposed her she begged Elizabeth for protection and an army to fight her enemies. Elizabeth, however, needed Protestant Scotland as a bulwark against possible invasion by Catholic France or Spain, and so decided it was prudent to keep Mary in England under house arrest. Mary's captivity continued for nineteen years - a comfortable captivity befitting her status as a queen - during which she plotted ceaselessly to overthrow Elizabeth with the help of Spain and take her crown. Elizabeth waited out those nineteen years and finally, after the last plot almost succeeded, executed Mary.

It's a story that has enthralled the world for over four hundred years, sparking plays, operas, an endless stream of biographies, and several movies. (The latest starred Scarlett Johansson as Mary.) In 1895 one of the first movies ever made was an 18-second-long film of Mary's execution produced by Thomas Edison.

Edison's 1895 film The Execution of Mary Queen of Scots

In Edison's brief film the actress playing Mary lays her head across the executioner's block. He raises his axe. An edit occurs during which the actress is replaced by a mannequin. The mannequin's head is chopped off and the executioner holds it high in the air. It was filmdom's first special effect.

What is it about these two queens that so perennially fascinates us? I think it's that primal divide of head vs heart, of sense vs sensibility. Elizabeth, though passionate, acted with forethought. Mary, though intelligent, acted on her desires.

Francis and Mary

Partly it stemmed from their upbringing. Mary became queen of Scotland just days after her birth. Her French mother, Mary of Guise, ruled in her daughter's name and sent Mary at the age of five to France to join the French king's family in preparation for marriage to his son and heir, Francis. Growing up in the most glittering court in Europe, Mary was pampered and petted and loved by the French royal family. She married Francis when they were both in their teens, and when his father died a year later the young couple became king and queen of France. At age sixteen Mary had reached the pinnacle.

Elizabeth at about age thirteen

Elizabeth's upbringing could not have been more different. Hers was a childhood of uncertainty and fear. Her father, Henry VIII, beheaded her mother, Anne Boleyn, for adultery when Elizabeth was three. He disinherited Elizabeth. Her half-sister Mary came to the throne when Elizabeth was twenty-one and sent her to the Tower where Elizabeth, terrified, fully expected to be executed. But Mary died and Elizabeth, who had never thought she would rule, became queen at the age of twenty-five. In those perilous years she had learned to watch and wait, and never to act rashly.

It was a lesson Mary never learned.

These two queens, raised so differently, had very divergent outlooks on three aspects of monarchy. The first is what we today might call patriotism. Mary, formed by France, was not much interested in Scotland, which she considered an unsophisticated backwater. In 1560 her husband, the young King Francis, died and so did her mother, who had ruled Scotland in Mary's name. Mary was therefore free to return to her homeland and take up her birthright as its reigning queen. Instead, she chose to stay in France where life was pleasant, and spent many months casting about for a new European husband. Finding none to her liking, she grudgingly returned to Scotland.

Mary landing in Scotland

Elizabeth, on the other hand, loved her country and its people with a sincerity in her words and actions that rings to us down the centuries. She was proud of being "mere English" ("mere" in those days meaning "purely"). She enjoyed meeting common people on her journeys through the shires, and bantering with them with a familiarity that shocked the European aristocracy. She said often that her people were her family. Her people loved her in return.

Secondly, nowhere was the head-or-heart divide more apparent than in the choices these women made about marriage. For a queen, marriage was a crucial matter of state. After four years on the Scottish throne Mary fell passionately in love with an English nobleman, Lord Darnley, and despite the vociferous disapproval of her nobles she hastily married him. She even used her power as monarch to name him king.

Mary Queen of Scots and Lord Darnley

This splintered her court into factions - for and against Darnley - a situation that diminished much of Mary's power and led to a simmering civil war. Mary bore a son, James. But the marriage quickly soured when Darnley proved to be an arrogant, charmless wastrel. Mary turned to a tough military man on her council, the Earl of Bothwell, and there was gossip that they were lovers. Seventeen months after marrying the queen, Darnley was murdered. (The house he was sleeping in was blown up.)

James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell

Bothwell was accused of the murder, tried, and acquitted. Three months later, Mary took him as her third husband. The people suspected her of having colluded with him to murder Darnley. When she rode back into Edinburgh the townsfolk hissed at her and called her "whore."

Elizabeth, famously, never married. She knew the danger if she did: her husband would be considered king, creating warring factions in her realm and eclipsing her power. For two decades foreign princes vied for her hand in marriage, and Elizabeth used them to negotiate alliances, and to disrupt foreign alliances that endangered England. She frustrated her councilors, who constantly urged her to marry to produce an heir. Elizabeth was acutely aware of the succession problem: a monarch who left no heir consigned their realm to likely civil war. And, with no heir of her body, her throne would pass to none other than Mary, her cousin. Elizabeth's decision to stay single was a hard one that brought her considerable personal anguish. She was heard to say, when Mary's son was born, that she envied Mary the baby "while I am barren stock." But she knew her decision was wise.

Thirdly, the head-or-heart divide had its greatest impact in how the two women ruled. The business of governance did not interest Mary. She rarely attended the meetings of her council, and when she did she sat and sewed. She enraged Darnley and her nobles by ignoring them and spending her time with her young Italian secretary, Rizzio.

Elizabeth was what we would call a "hands-on" leader, involving herself in every aspect of governance. Furthermore, on the eve of a possible invasion by the terrifying Spanish Armada she rode out to her troops assembled at Tilbury and inspired them to face the foe, giving an address so stirring that Winston Churchill quoted it to steel England's people to face a possible invasion by the Nazis.

Elizabeth addressing her troops at Tilbury

"Let tyrants fear . . . I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects. And therefore I am come amongst you ... being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live and die amongst you all." (Elizabeth at Tilbury)

Mary Stuart is to be pitied. She spent nineteen years under house arrest and died a gruesome death, beheaded at Elizabeth's order. But before she reached England it was her incompetence as a ruler in Scotland, her disastrous decisions in leadership, that led to her downfall there. If peace, prosperity, religious tolerance, and increased international respect are the fruits of successful leadership, Elizabeth Tudor remains one of England's greatest rulers.

_________________

Barbara Kyle is the author of the acclaimed "Thornleigh" novels set in Tudor England. Her latest release is The Queen's Gamble.

She welcomes visitors to her website: www.BarbaraKyle.com

Dunadd - Fortress of the Scots

noreply@blogger.com (Richard Denning) — Tue, 08 May 2012 05:55:00 +0000

by Richard Denning

I was fortunate last month to spend an Easter break in Scotland. I was up in Argyll - a land full of historical connections which along with the getting up there and back meant I passed numerous historical locations.

One place at the very top of my list of "get to" spots was Dunadd - the rocky fortress of the Scots of Dal Riata and I thought I would share some images with you today.

Scotland gets its very name from the Irish SCOTS. The Scots were originally from Ireland and around the year 500 started to migrate across the narrow gap between Ulster to Argyll (only 12 miles at its narrow point). In Argyll they came into conflict with the Picts who occupies much of mainland Scotland as well as the Romano-British (Welsh speaking peoples of Strathclyde and Manua Goddodin (Edinburgh).

What would follow would be conflict and alliances and swinging fortunes that would eventually lead to ONE nation of Scotland. But that would take centuries. Kenneth MacAplin united the Scots and Picts in 843 but Strathclyde was not included until 1034.

So when the scots first came from Ireland and started to carve out a land in Argyll around 500 AD the future held only conflict and strife and it was here at Dunadd near Kilmartin that they ruled from.

Dunadd may have originally been a Pict outpost but the Scots made it into a near impregnable fortress. The surrounding area is bog and marsh land along the river Add. Indeed Dunadd is located in a loop of the river. Dunadd itself though is a towering rock that rises high above the plains. Possibly this was once an island.

Finally we forded yet another river and emerged onto a low-lying plain. The mountains were away to the north and ahead of us a river twinkled in the sunlight as it meandered across a boggy, marshy land. In the centre of the plain was a single, steep-sided hill and perched on the top an imposing fort. We had come at last to Dunadd, the capital and chief fortress of the kings of Dál-Riata.

As we approached the fortress we were under constant observation from the high stone walls that loomed above us. The path slanted uphill and entered the fortress through a rocky defile. This natural, narrow passageway had been turned into a superbly defensible portal. We passed a pair of huge wooden gates, which would have provided a challenge to any attacker, pelted and fired upon as they would be from those walls as they assaulted up though the narrow channel.

From Child of Loki

The Scots made good use of a natural tiered arrangement of rocks and flat spaces. This meant they already had battlements made for them by nature and natural gateways which the battlements loomed over. To gain access to the King's chambers the traveller would have to pass through no less than four gateways each leading to progressively higher levels.

Dunadd was not just a fortress. It was an economical and trading hub. To here came wine from the Mediterranean , Tin from Cornwall and rare dies from the Loire in France. From here flowed precious jewellery. The outer courtyards would have been full of workshops working gold and bronze.

“Come with me,” he ordered and led us across the space full of workshops between the outer and inner walls. There was the usual array of blacksmiths and so forth, but we passed more than one hut in which men were smelting gold and silver. I paused at one to take a closer look and saw a smith pouring molten metal into moulds. Another was breaking open the moulds to reveal exquisitely detailed necklaces, almost as beautiful as my mother's had been. These lands might be wild, but their craftsmen were skilled, their kings and lords were wealthy and their coffers full of the spoils of victory.

At the very top of the fortress is what would once have been a walled enclosure bearing a rock into which were carved a footprint. This footprint motif appears in other location in Scotland and may actually be Pictish in origin. The Scots incorporated it into their kingship rituals.

The king would place their foot in the print and claim the land; becoming one with it. It would have been a powerful ritual and would have imprinted on those watching from a lower level as the king silhouetted against the sky came forward, that this man was their lord.

Here my daughter demonstrates.

From the lofty heights of Dunadd the kings of Dal Riata could look down on the lands below and easily spot an approaching army which would have had to camp out on the damp land below.

This then was Dunadd from which the mighty kings of the Dal Riata Scots ruled their domains. If you find yourself in Argyll near Kilmartin it is well worth the visit as is Kilmartin Museum itself.

Dunadd appears in Child of Loki. Find out more here: http://www.richarddenning.co.uk/childloki.html

Giveaway: The September Queen by Gillian Bagwell

noreply@blogger.com (Gillian Bagwell) — Mon, 07 May 2012 16:58:00 +0000

Enter to win one of two copies of The September Queen by Gillian Bagwell!

Please read about the book HERE. You will be prompted to return to this post to enter the giveaway. Please be sure to leave your contact information!

Little Ease: Torture and the Tudors

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Bilyeau) — Mon, 07 May 2012 07:01:00 +0000

By Nancy Bilyeau

On a March night in 1534, a man and woman hurried past a row of cottages on the outer grounds of the Tower of London. They had almost reached the gateway to Tower Hill and, not far beyond it, the city of London, when a group of yeomen warders on night watch appeared in their path, holding lanterns.

In response the young couple turned toward each other, in what seemed a lover’s embrace. But something about the man caught the attention of Yeoman Warder Charles Gore. He held his lantern higher and within seconds recognized the pair. The man was a fellow yeoman warder, John Bawd, and the woman was Alice Tankerville, a condemned thief and prisoner.

So ended the Tower’s first known escape attempt by a woman. But Alice’s accomplice and admirer, the guard John Bawd, was destined to enter the Tower record books too, and for the grimmest of reasons—he is the first known occupant of a peculiar torture cell used during the reigns of the Tudors and early Stuarts. The windowless cell measured 1.2m (4 square feet) and bore the faintly prim name of Little Ease. The prisoner within it could not stand nor sit nor lie down but crouched over, in increasing agony, until freed from the suffocating, dark space.

Torture and the Tower of London have long had an uneasy relationship. The echoes of those screams are part of the walled fortress’s allure, along with the X marks the spot of Queen Anne Boleyn’s and the Lady Jane Grey’s decapitations and tales of the travails of inmates Ralegh, Cranmer, Fisher and More. Today’s visitors see for themselves, in well-curated exhibits, the replicas of the rack and other devices fashioned for pain. Tower publications are emphatic: Torture took place during a brief span in its near 1,000-year history. Which is true. But it happened, and with an intensity that cannot be denied.

In 1215 England outlawed torture through the passage of Magna Carta, except by royal warrant. The first king to authorize it, reluctantly, was Edward II. He submitted to intense pressure from the Pope to follow the lead of the king of France and demolish the Order of the Knights Templar, part of a tradition begun during the Crusades. King Philip IV of France, jealous of the Templars’ wealth and power, charged them with heresy, obscene rituals, idolatry and other offenses. The French knights denied all, and were duly tortured. Some who broke down and “confessed” were released; all who denied wrongdoing were burned at the stake.

Once Edward II had ordered imprisonment of members of the English chapter, French monks arrived in London bearing their instruments of torture. In 1311 the Knights Templar “were questioned and examined in the presence of notaries while suffering under the torments of the rack” within the Tower of London as well as prisons of Aldgate, Ludgate, Newgate and Bishopgate, according to The History of the Knights Templar, the Temple Church, and the Temple, by Charles G. Addison. And so the Tower—principally a royal residence, military stronghold, armory, and menagerie up until that time—was baptized in torture.

Did the instruments remain after the Knights Templars were crushed, to be used on other prisoners? We cannot be certain, although there is no record of it. The next mention of a rack within the Tower is a startling one—an unsavory nobleman made Constable of the Tower pushed for one to be installed. John Holland, third duke of Exeter, arranged for a rack to be brought into the Tower. It is not known if men were stretched upon it or if it was merely used to frighten. In any case, this rack is known to history as the Duke of Exeter’s Daughter.

It was in the 16^th century that prisoners were unquestionably tortured in the Tower of London. The royal family rarely used the fortress on the Thames as a residence; more and more, its stone buildings contained prisoners. And while the Tudor monarchs seem glittering successes to us now, in their own time they were beset by insecurities: rebellions, conspiracies and other threats both domestic and foreign. There was a willingness at the top of the government to override the law to obtain certain ends. This created a perfect storm for torture.

“It was during the time of the Tudors that the use of torture reached its height,” wrote historian L.A. Parry in his 1933 book The History of Torture in England. “Under Henry VIII it was frequently employed; it was only used in a small number of cases in the reigns of Edward VI and of Mary. It was whilst Elizabeth sat on the throne that it was made use of more than in any other period of history.”

Yeoman Warder John Bawd admitted he had planned the escape of Alice Tankerville “for the love and affection he bore her.” Unmoved, the Lieutenant of the Tower ordered Bawd into Little Ease, where he crouched, in growing agony. The lovers were condemned to horrible deaths for trying to escape. According to a letter in the State Papers of Lord Lisle, written on March 28, Alice Tankerville was “hanged in chains at low water mark upon the Thames on Tuesday. John Bawd is in Little Ease cell in the Tower and is to be racked and hanged.”

Today no one knows exactly where Little Ease was located. One theory: within the nooks and crannies of the White Tower. Another: in the basement of the old Flint Tower. No visitor sees it today; it was torn down or walled up long ago. Besides Little Ease, the most-used torture devices were the rack, manacles, and a horrific creation called the Scavenger’s Daughter. For many prisoners, solitary confinement, repeated interrogation, and the threat of physical pain were enough to make them tell their tormentors anything they wanted to know.

Often the victims ended up in the Tower for religious reasons. Anne Askew was tortured and killed for her Protestant beliefs; Edmund Campion for his Catholic ones. But the crimes varied. “The majority of the prisoners were charged with high treason, but murder, robbery, embezzling the Queen’s plate, and failure to carry out proclamations against state players were among the offenses,” wrote Parry. The monarch did not need to sign off on torture requests, although sometime he or she did. Elizabeth I personally directed that torture be used on the members of the Babington Conspiracy, a group that plotted to depose her and replace her with Mary Queen of Scots. But usually these initiatives went through the Privy Council or tapped the powers of the Star Chamber. It is believed that in some cases, permission was never sought at all.

Over and over, names pop up in state papers of those confined to Little Ease:

“On 3 May 1555: Stephen Happes, for his lewd behavior and obstinacy, committed this day to the Tower to remain in Little Ease for two or three days till he may be further examined.”

“10 January 1591: Richard Topcliffe is to take part in an examination in the Tower of George Beesley, seminary priest, and Robert Humberson, his companion. And if you shall see good cause by their obstinate refusal to declare the truth of such things as shall be laid to their charge in Her Majesty’s behalf, then shall you by authority hereof commit them to the prison called Little Ease or to such other ordinary place of punishment as hath been accustomed to be used in those cases, and to certify proceedings from time to time.”

After the death of Elizabeth and succession of James I came the most famous prisoner of them all to be held in Little Ease, Guy Fawkes. Charged with plotting to blow up the king and Parliament, Fawkes was subjected to both manacles and rack to obtain his confession and the names of his fellow conspirators. After he had told his questioners everything they asked, Fawkes was still shackled hand and foot in Little Ease and left there for a number of days.

And after that final burst of savagery, Little Ease was no more. A House of Commons committee reported the same year as Fawkes’ execution that the room was “disused.” In 1640, during the reign of Charles I, torture was abolished forever; there would be no more forcing prisoners to crouch for days in dark airless rooms, no more rack or hanging from chains.
And so, mercifully, closed one of the darkest chapters in England’s history.
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Nancy Bilyeau’s historical thriller, The Crown, is on sale in North America, the United Kingdom, Australia, the Netherlands, Italy and Germany. A part of the story takes place in the Tower of London. To learn more, go to www.nancybilyeau.com