tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359Sat, 12 Dec 2009 19:16:16 +0000Georgian musings from the English Midlandshttp://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)Blogger190125MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffingtonhttp://feedburner.google.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-6731588179998013460Tue, 01 Dec 2009 14:12:00 +00002009-12-01T14:22:00.197ZAngel Croft HotelLichfield<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lichfield_snapper/4146915743/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2636/4146915743_9b22fd460b_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lichfield_snapper/4146915743/">Angel Croft Hotel</a> <br /></span><br clear="all" /></center><p>This week I've been photographing this late 18th-century building, the Angel Croft Hotel at 3 Beacon Street, which I have <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/03/angel-croft-hotel.html">posted on before</a>. <br /><br />I'm sad to say it's still in an awful state with most of the windows broken, but they are boarded, so I can only hope that it stays relatively unharmed until someone can afford to spend some money on it. I love the sort of gothic turrets at the back; it's still a rather <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lichfield_snapper/4147076861/">spooky place</a> however. The once-elegant lawn at the back is now just tangled overgrowth.</p><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SxUlhU3RUBI/AAAAAAAABJE/vl4wTmdXn2w/s1600/Angel3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SxUlhU3RUBI/AAAAAAAABJE/vl4wTmdXn2w/s320/Angel3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410271781821960210" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-6731588179998013460?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/X0SgqzaqwEk" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/12/angel-croft-hotel.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-7075865061704009020Mon, 23 Nov 2009 18:34:00 +00002009-12-01T14:20:42.041ZErasmus DarwinLichfield<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lichfield_snapper/4128546222/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2550/4128546222_13a0b405d0_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lichfield_snapper/4128546222/">Me and my shadow: Stowe Pool, Lichfield</a> <br /></span><br clear="all" /></center><p>I know, I know, it's been a while, but I've been taking a break from the blogging and all things 18th century to concentrate the mind on my photography skills, and to press on with the urgent matter of finding some gainful employment. But I haven't abandoned Georgian life: coming up next month there will be a trip to the <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/displacement-activity-256.html">Erasmus Darwin dinner I mentioned a while back</a>, hopefully with some shots of all the historic dishes we've been promised... I can't wait to try them!</p><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-7075865061704009020?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/K2TchgFqHsg" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/11/me-and-my-shadow_23.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-6212925973952186338Thu, 22 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-10-22T12:29:24.042+01:00Dublin CastleSmock AlleyMargaret WoffingtonDublinHandel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St9HMTUnv9I/AAAAAAAABIE/U66VeLB4yg8/s1600-h/Dublin_blog1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St9HMTUnv9I/AAAAAAAABIE/U66VeLB4yg8/s320/Dublin_blog1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395109155283910610" border="0" /></a><br /><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">One of Dublin's grand Georgian thoroughfares</span></em></center><br />Apart from our trip to <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-search-of-mrs-woffington-part-1.html">Teddington in Part 1.</a> we also made a slightly more ambitious journey to Dublin, where Mrs Woffington was born and bred. Mainly I wanted to see the site where the famous 18th-century theatre, Smock Alley, had stood in the 1700s. It's still a narrow street but what I didn't realise was that there's a contemporary studio theatre on roughly the same spot (my photographs of it are <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/02/smock-alley.html">here</a>).<br /><br />Wandering around Dublin with a modern A-Z and a photocopy of an 18th-century map was fascinating and memorable, but as with our trips to London, we had trouble finding anything much dating from Peg's childhood in the 1730s. Yes, Dublin is a truly magnificent Georgian city, but constantly we stumbled across the problem that the street plan was extensively remodelled by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wide_Streets_Commission">Wide Streets Commission</a> from the mid-1750s, so that the Dublin of the early 18th century no longer exists.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St-Q3WML98I/AAAAAAAABIc/Y_Pb76WRRpc/s1600-h/Dublin_map.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 263px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St-Q3WML98I/AAAAAAAABIc/Y_Pb76WRRpc/s320/Dublin_map.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395190159137044418" /></a><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">With a photocopy of Rocque's map of Dublin from 1756: the street plan of Temple Bar remains virtually unchanged but the buildings are different</span></em></center><br />The circumstances of Peg's childhood are surrounded by conjecture, but following the sudden death of her father (one writer claimed he fell off a ladder), debts began mounting and the Woffington family (mother, Peg and baby sister Polly) were forced to eke out a living in a low cabin, with Peg selling watercress door-to-door. <br /><br />At some time around 1727 she seems to have been discovered by a celebrated rope-dancer called Madame Violante, who had set up a tumbling booth in Fownes Court and Peg got her first theatrical engagement, as a singer. Take a look at the picture below of Fownes Street Upper and despite the modern facades, the upper sections of the buildings are clearly early 18th-century panelled houses. These narrowly escaped demolition in the 1980s when the state transport company, <a href="http://www.cie.ie/home/">CIE</a>, proposed that a new bus station be built across the site.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St-M6yINEmI/AAAAAAAABIM/llYTWLfPyQ8/s1600-h/Fownes2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St-M6yINEmI/AAAAAAAABIM/llYTWLfPyQ8/s320/Fownes2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395185820129628770" border="0" /></a><br /><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Fownes Street Upper, Temple Bar</span></em></center><br />Of course, there was one thing we knew existed during Peg's lifetime and that was <a href="http://www.dublincastle.ie/">Dublin Castle</a>: a powerful social and political symbol with a complex history. In the 18th century it would have been the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Protestant_Ascendancy">Protestant Ascendancy's</a> seat of power; early in the century it hosted the viceregal <span style="font-style:italic;">levee</span>: a formal reception held just after the grandee had risen from bed, usually held on a Sunday. The Castle would also host the usual round of banquets, state balls and 'drawing rooms' (card parties for ladies), with the season ending on St Patrick's Day with a special ball.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuA6tXtO5KI/AAAAAAAABI8/9H3Z5r_FiQ4/s1600-h/Old_Castle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 134px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuA6tXtO5KI/AAAAAAAABI8/9H3Z5r_FiQ4/s320/Old_Castle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395376904722113698" /></a><br /><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">The Castle as Peg would have known it: from Charles Brooking's<br />map of Dublin in 1728</span></em></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuAzBbTD5gI/AAAAAAAABI0/u5defJPMbg4/s1600-h/Dublin_Castle2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuAzBbTD5gI/AAAAAAAABI0/u5defJPMbg4/s320/Dublin_Castle2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395368453190444546" /></a><br /><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Dublin Castle's 13th-century Norman Record Tower, 2007.</span></em></center><br />As you can see from the picture above, Dublin Castle is a Norman construction which has much in common with the castles of Wales with their round towers; the Castle still had a moat (formed by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/River_Poddle">River Poddle</a>) in the Georgian period, but by this time it was redundant and filled with rubbish. <br /><br />The British administration never rebuilt the medieval castle as a single piece of architecture however; derelict parts were patched here and there, resulting in the mix of buildings we see today. Under the gaze of the Wide Streets Commission, the gate at Cork Hill (below), the Guard House and Court Marshall Room were all completed in 1751, and the Upper Castle Yard itself was <a href="http://www.dublincastle.ie/history11.html">extensively remodelled</a>, so even this isn't a true picture of early 18th-century Dublin. Only the old maps can come close to recreating the Dublin that Peg knew as a child and young woman.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuAr2hXiYzI/AAAAAAAABIk/DiYKvasMm4A/s1600-h/Dublin_Castle1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuAr2hXiYzI/AAAAAAAABIk/DiYKvasMm4A/s320/Dublin_Castle1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395360569259877170" /></a><br /><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Upper Yard, Dublin Castle, 2007</span></em></center><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuAv0A927YI/AAAAAAAABIs/RAIHnkRaSE8/s1600-h/castleyard_malton.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SuAv0A927YI/AAAAAAAABIs/RAIHnkRaSE8/s320/castleyard_malton.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395364924249009538" /></a><br /><center><em><span style="font-size:78%;">James Malton: Upper Yard, Dublin Caste, 1791.</span></em></center><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Further Reading:</span><br /><br />I was lucky enough to find several fantastic books that really helped me to imagine Dublin before the work of the Wide Streets Commission. I can highly recommend Peter Pearson's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0862786681?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0862786681">The Heart of Dublin: Resurgence of an Historic City</a> which is an utterly passionate account of the unknown areas of Dublin; I'm indebted to Pearson's work throughout this blog post. I was also hugely excited to find - in the bargain bin of Dublin's <a href="http://www.dublincity.ie/RecreationandCulture/MuseumsGalleriesandTheatres/CityHall/pages/city_hall_hub.aspx">City Hall</a> gift shop - <span style="font-style:italic;">A Directory of Dublin for the Year 1738</span>, published by the Dublin Corporation Public Libraries in 2000. I got a thrill when I looked up Margaret Woffington in the index and found her listed as 'actress, Theatre Royal, Aungier Street' and a resident of Jervis Street: a surprisingly well-to-do area, judging from the professions of her neighbours, north of the river. And although it depicts the new Dublin emerging in the final decade of the 18th century, Colin Smythe Ltd's pocket-sized edition of Malton's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0851054250?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0851054250">Georgian Dublin: 25 Aquatints</a> is simply a joy to behold.<br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-6212925973952186338?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/p79DldA-yIs" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-search-of-mrs-woffington-part-2.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-7921583523939389591Tue, 20 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-10-20T09:52:14.233+01:00Ye Olde Trip to JerusalemNottinghamPaul Sandby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Stw_AWBDpsI/AAAAAAAABG8/0TnbLuhbLWw/s1600-h/Notts_blog5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Stw_AWBDpsI/AAAAAAAABG8/0TnbLuhbLWw/s320/Notts_blog5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394255728825575106" /></a><br />I'm pleased to say we made it to Nottingham (home to Robin Hood, above) just in time to catch the last few hours of the <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/crossing-swords-with-hogarth.html">Paul Sandby show</a>. It was held at <a href="http://www.nottinghamcity.gov.uk/index.aspx?articleid=1036">Nottingham Castle's</a> splendid Art Gallery (below) and seemed to be attracting quite a few crowds right to the last.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Stw-_ypedII/AAAAAAAABG0/HDXWH2biSsw/s1600-h/Notts_blog6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Stw-_ypedII/AAAAAAAABG0/HDXWH2biSsw/s320/Notts_blog6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394255719331427458" /></a><br />The show started off with some of Paul's (and his elder brother, Thomas's) early topographical works. This was particularly fascinating for me because the beginning of Sandby's career coincided with the failure of the 1745 Jacobite Rebellion; the army's Board of Ordnance was ordered by the Duke of Cumberland to make a 'compleat and accurate survey of Scotland... that a country, so very inaccesible by nature, should be thoroughly explored and laid open'. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St15D4R3ggI/AAAAAAAABH8/7up7SRqT0mc/s1600-h/Jacobites.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 167px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/St15D4R3ggI/AAAAAAAABH8/7up7SRqT0mc/s320/Jacobites.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394601036213617154" /></a><center><em><font size="1">Paul Sandby: The taking of Jacobite prisoners</font></em></center><br />Sandby's role, in 1747, was as chief draftsman, mapping the recent war zone, <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/peter-watkins-culloden.html">Culloden</a>, which he did so with the greatest detail. But his sketchbook, showing the military dress of an English soldier, and his off-duty works of Edinburgh street life, really bring the period to life and reveal Sandby's eye for comic detail.<br /><br />This combination of technical dexterity, wry humour and urban commentary brings Sandby straight onto the patch of William Hogarth - something easily seen in Sandby's <span style="font-style:italic;">Twelve London Cries Done From Life</span> (published 1760) showing such down-and-outs as the milkmaid, entertaining the vulgar crowds with a raree-show (or peepshow), the raucous <a href="http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/English/EventsExhibitions/Past/SatLondon/Londoners/TheLondonPoor.htm">mackerel-seller</a>, and the hawker of a low ballad about the celebrated prostitute, Kitty Fisher. The accompanying collection of satires on Hogarth I have <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/crossing-swords-with-hogarth.html">mentioned already</a> and are crammed with vicious and obsessive detail.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxKhRpi2yI/AAAAAAAABHM/8a18mN6qboU/s1600-h/Sandby_Somerset.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 90px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxKhRpi2yI/AAAAAAAABHM/8a18mN6qboU/s320/Sandby_Somerset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394268389216803618" /></a><center><em><font size="1">Paul Sandby: View to the East from the Gardens of Somerset House</font></em></center><br />But perhaps Sandby's greatest achievements are the depictions of cities such as London and Nottingham, particularly his breathtaking views (from the East and the West) from the Gardens of Somerset House (above) which find Sandby committing to paper an incredibly accurate view of 18th-century London. Thanks to Sandby's camera-like eye, these two large canvases give a great sense of space to the viewer, as if they are actually standing on the riverfront terrace outside old Somerset House, admiring the magnificence of the London skyline.<br /><br />Later views of Windsor have the tinge of romanticism that was less appealing to me than his honest images of 18th-century city life. Other highlights were Sandby's view of rush-hour at the tollgate near his home and a small watercolour of an artist's studio in St George's Row, Bayswater, which could have been either Sandby's own, or his 'dream studio', complete with a grand classical archway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxNz0HVGYI/AAAAAAAABHk/pXnZ0DUebqI/s1600-h/Notts_blog3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxNz0HVGYI/AAAAAAAABHk/pXnZ0DUebqI/s320/Notts_blog3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394272006241065346" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxNr3dF2nI/AAAAAAAABHU/1BmrIvoZRZw/s1600-h/Notts_blog2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxNr3dF2nI/AAAAAAAABHU/1BmrIvoZRZw/s320/Notts_blog2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394271869698693746" /></a><br />After such an enjoyable exhibition, it seemed only right to make a detour to <a href="http://www.triptojerusalem.com/">Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem</a> - established 1189 AD and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ye_Olde_Trip_To_Jerusalem">reputedly the oldest pub in England</a> (above) - which consists of a series of caves, hewn from the rock on which Nottingham Castle sits. We had a drink in the rock lounge, which seems to have been the original brewhouse, judging from the passageway/chimney above our heads (used for winching the kegs up into the Castle).<br /><br />There's plenty to occupy the tourists including The Pregnancy Chair (below): believed to have the power to make any woman who sat on it conceive a child, and the Cursed Galleon: covered by what looks like 50 years of dust and deadly to anyone who attempts to clean it!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxP0o5rjhI/AAAAAAAABHs/W6ngZCIfrKo/s1600-h/Notts_blog1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StxP0o5rjhI/AAAAAAAABHs/W6ngZCIfrKo/s320/Notts_blog1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394274219434151442" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-7921583523939389591?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/kbfq6wjN5d4" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/picturing-britain-paul-sandby-review.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-719780528271572752Mon, 19 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-10-19T09:00:01.737+01:00David Garrick52 Weeks of ArtSamuel JohnsonSt Johns HouseLichfield<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Stn8eIAks-I/AAAAAAAABGU/6aDlnsh7t7s/s1600-h/ST_Johns+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Stn8eIAks-I/AAAAAAAABGU/6aDlnsh7t7s/s320/ST_Johns+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393619623229043682" border="0" /></a><br />Last week we were a bit startled to see the front of <a href="http://www.stjohnshouse.co.uk/">St John's House</a> in Lichfield adorned with pop art takes on Samuel Johnson (above right) and David Garrick (above left), with a dictionary definition in the middle. It's a bold look for a grade II* listed Georgian building.<br /><br />The three works are part of Lichfield's <a href="http://www.52weeksofart.com/">52 Weeks of Art</a> project and will be displayed on the front of the new boutique bed and breakfast for the next month. They're part of a series of 26 artworks - designed by professional and developing artists, students and schools - which will be popping up around Lichfield over the next six months. To quote St John's <a href="http://www.stjohnshouse.co.uk/">website</a>:<br /><blockquote><i>The series will depict different art styles of the 20th century but with a twist as they all have a link to Lichfield. The first three duly show reworkings of Andy Warhol, with a pop art version of Samuel Johnson; Rat le Bek with a street art interpretation of David Garrick and Joseph Kosuth with a dictionary definition of the historic uses of the poster.</i></blockquote>What next? A Banksy-style portrait of <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2008/12/happy-birthday-erasmus.html">Erasmus Darwin</a>?<br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photograph © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-719780528271572752?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/v8yckDVRtQ8" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/sam-and-dave-georgian-poster-boys.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-4890646856351734164Fri, 16 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-10-22T12:17:52.429+01:00David GarrickTeddingtonMargaret WoffingtonHorace Walpole<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsoSF5zWbWI/AAAAAAAABFs/2lvisPXrsF0/s1600-h/The_Wof.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsoSF5zWbWI/AAAAAAAABFs/2lvisPXrsF0/s320/The_Wof.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389139796727065954" border="0" /></a><br />As this Sunday marks Peg Woffington's birthday, it's about time that I blogged about the several research trips we've done in search of the elusive actress.<br /><br />I've blogged before about the trip we did to the <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2008/12/garrick-temple.html">Garrick Temple </a> at Hampton, but I haven't yet uploaded my photographs of nearby Teddington, which was also on our historical hit-list that day, being the location of Mrs Woffington's villa, and the place where she settled in the last years of her life.<br /><br />According to Janet Camden Lucy's <span style="font-style: italic;">Lovely Peggy</span> (which, despite the whimsical title, is the only really scholarly biography of Peg Woffington), the burial register confirms that Mrs Woffington died in London, but her request to be buried in Teddington suggests a strong affection for the place.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsoR4GnTpxI/AAAAAAAABFc/XAlkOk-Xl5k/s1600-h/Woffington2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsoR4GnTpxI/AAAAAAAABFc/XAlkOk-Xl5k/s320/Woffington2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389139559648044818" border="0" /></a><br />In the 18th century, Teddington - a riverside village between Strawberry Hill (where Horace Walpole had his <a href="http://www.friendsofstrawberryhill.org/">gothic castle</a>) and Hampton Wick - was a fashionable summer retreat for wealthy Londoners. Peg's villa was said to have been built by Sir Charles Duncombe at the start of the century and it was known as Teddington Place House until 1851, when the name seems to have been changed to Udney Hall.<br /><br />Demolished in 1946, it must have been an impressive residence, with ceilings painted by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonio_Verrio">Verrio</a> and panelling by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grinling_Gibbons">Grinling Gibbons</a>. It stood in what is today Udney Park Gardens (above), adjacent to St Albans Church, and I had expected the site to be right on the banks of the Thames (much like <a href="http://www.twickenham-museum.org.uk/detail.asp?ContentID=19">Pope's villa</a> in nearby Twickenham), but it could be that the course of the Thames has changed slightly over the years.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsoR4Sh8eRI/AAAAAAAABFk/gvJu-yiRGS8/s1600-h/Woffington1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsoR4Sh8eRI/AAAAAAAABFk/gvJu-yiRGS8/s320/Woffington1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389139562846779666" border="0" /></a><br />We also spent some time picking our way through autumnal leaves and cobwebs in the graveyard of Teddington's parish church, <a href="http://www.stmarywithstalban.org/home/home.htm">St Mary with St Alban</a>, before realising that Woffington's memorial tablet (above) is actually inside the church, just within the north chancel arch. It describes her as a 'spinster, Born Oct. 18th 1720' and informs us that an infant nephew, 'Master Horace Cholmondeley, aged 6 months' lies in the same tomb.<br /><br />Local legend says that Woffington also endowed some almshouses, long known as Woffington Cottages on the High Street, two of which were <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/07/peg-woffington-cottage.html">tea rooms</a> for a while, though now closed. The church is also connected with another 18th-century luminary, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Hales">Dr Stephen Hales</a> - inventor of the surgical forceps - who was Perpetual Curate from 1709 to 1761.<br /><br /><a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-search-of-mrs-woffington-part-2.html">Part 2: Mrs Woffington's childhood in Dublin</a>.<br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Top: Margaret Woffington by JB Vanloo, c. 1742<br />Other photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-4890646856351734164?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/uLbwHiLOTIM" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-search-of-mrs-woffington-part-1.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-6724124417244637481Tue, 13 Oct 2009 13:00:00 +00002009-10-13T14:00:02.604+01:00Irish legs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s1600-h/samuel_johnson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 160px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s200/samuel_johnson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279590835830085986" /></a>Thick legs, jocularly styled the Irish arms. It is said of the Irish women, that they have a dispensation from the Pope to wear the thick end of their legs downwards.<br /><br />From: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1406810053?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1406810053">Captain Grose's 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=memoofthecele-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1406810053" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-6724124417244637481?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/I9SANlL86Kc" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/word-of-week-irish-legs.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-6011542995513020653Mon, 12 Oct 2009 17:57:00 +00002009-10-12T19:24:21.569+01:00Erasmus DarwinMinster PoolLichfieldChristmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StNuK_ZRXfI/AAAAAAAABGE/75qhZaPwiJY/s1600-h/Autumn_Minster_Pool.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StNuK_ZRXfI/AAAAAAAABGE/75qhZaPwiJY/s320/Autumn_Minster_Pool.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391774313987792370" /></a><br />Lichfield really is very beautiful in Autumn, and so I went for a walk today and took pictures of <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2008/12/minster-pool.html">Minster Pool</a> instead of getting on with the pressing business of finishing my novel. To be honest it was a welcome distraction from writing about the failed invasion of Britain by the French in 1744.<br /><br />Another pleasant distraction was this invitation (below) which I received last week from our friend <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/ghostly-dr-darwin.html">Dr Erasmus Darwin</a>. It seems I am to attend a <a href="http://www.erasmusdarwin.org/2009/10/georgian-christmas-supper/">Christmas supper</a> at <a href="http://www.erasmusdarwin.org/">his house</a> in December where he will be serving Yorkshire Christmas <a href="http://www.historicfood.com/Pie%20recipe.htm">pye</a>, plum porrige, <a href="http://www.historicfood.com/English%20Puddings.htm">tansy pudding</a>, potted cheese and <a href="http://www.historicfood.com/Posset%20Recipes.htm">sack possets</a>. I can't wait...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StNvkSUVhGI/AAAAAAAABGM/8mciprQxNVQ/s1600-h/Darwin_Supper.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/StNvkSUVhGI/AAAAAAAABGM/8mciprQxNVQ/s320/Darwin_Supper.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391775848075723874" /></a><br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photograph © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-6011542995513020653?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/cT5ZB6GjJi4" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/displacement-activity-256.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-5342637099964626820Tue, 06 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-10-06T09:00:01.982+01:00HogarthPaul Sandby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsorM207_II/AAAAAAAABF0/DKxL9JVeqLo/s1600-h/Paul_Sandby.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 244px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsorM207_II/AAAAAAAABF0/DKxL9JVeqLo/s320/Paul_Sandby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389167403978194050" /></a><center><em><font size="1">Windsor Castle by Paul Sandby, source: Wikimedia Commons</font></em></center><br />Before it closes on October 18th, I hope to catch the <a href="http://www.nottinghamcity.gov.uk/index.aspx?articleid=5895">Picturing Britain exhibition</a> at Nottingham Castle which gathers together the work of an extraordinary - and largely forgotten - 18th-century topographical artist called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Sandby">Paul Sandby</a>. Marking Sandby's bicentenary year, the show encompasses the Nottingham-born artist's accomplished landscape painting (he was known as a staunch defender of English landscape) and, perhaps most interestingly, his satirical works. <br /><br />Sandby was a critic of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Hogarth">Hogarth</a>, who became the target of a series of savage prints in the 1750s and early 1760s. These find Sandby ripping into <span style="font-style:italic;">The Analysis of Beauty</span>, casting Britain's most popular artist as an inane fool in a harlequinade and a fitting subject for <span style="font-style:italic;">A New Dunciad</span>. It's jaw-dropping stuff, even by today's standards.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsozA98JzkI/AAAAAAAABF8/QaHjvOkJMqw/s1600-h/Sandby_satire.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SsozA98JzkI/AAAAAAAABF8/QaHjvOkJMqw/s320/Sandby_satire.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389175995822100034" /></a><center><em><font size="1">Paul Sandby, Satire on Hogarth, shown as a devil fanning the fire at the mouth of hell.<br />Source: <a href="http://monsterbrains.blogspot.com/2009/07/satire-in-hell-print-made-by-j-lewis.html">Monster Brains</a></font></em></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-5342637099964626820?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/aokRuMPIYa8" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/crossing-swords-with-hogarth.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-1069051788519507623Mon, 05 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-10-05T09:00:00.804+01:00pattering<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s1600-h/samuel_johnson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 160px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s200/samuel_johnson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279590835830085986" /></a>The maundering or pert replies of <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2008/12/on-not-being-served.html">servants</a>; also talk or palaver in order to amuse one intended to be cheated. Pattering of prayers; the confused sound of a number of persons praying together.<br /><br />From: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1406810053?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1406810053">Captain Grose's 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=memoofthecele-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1406810053" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-1069051788519507623?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/6hqmScety8o" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/10/word-of-week-pattering.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-8737997277882265251Wed, 30 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-30T09:00:02.165+01:00Barbara EwingDavid NokesLichfield<center><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sr91uQKfD5I/AAAAAAAABE8/hWMvdZ8tSgk/s1600-h/ll09+nokes.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 143px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sr91uQKfD5I/AAAAAAAABE8/hWMvdZ8tSgk/s200/ll09+nokes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386153116831780754" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sr91uLWUUgI/AAAAAAAABE0/bDrppR497Xk/s1600-h/ll09+ewing.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sr91uLWUUgI/AAAAAAAABE0/bDrppR497Xk/s200/ll09+ewing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386153115539231234" /></a></center><br />Not long now until Lichfield's <a href="http://www.lichfieldfestival.org/site/content/view/59/76/">Literature Weekend</a> (Oct 8th-11th). New Zealand actress and novelist Barbara Ewing will be visiting to promote her novel <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0751540943?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0751540943">The Fraud</a>: a story of celebrated portrait painter Filipo di Vecellio who entertains the likes of Thomas Gainsborough and William Hogarth in his fashionable London home, but whose success conceals a swarm of dangerous secrets (Oct 10th, Wade Street Church, 5pm to 6pm, £5).<br /><br />On the same evening, David Nokes visits to talk about his <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/080508651X?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=080508651X">biography of Samuel Johnson</a>, a book that attempts to get behind the figure that, to some extent, Boswell created (Oct 10th, The George Hotel, 8pm to 9pm, £6). If Nokes' previous book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0198128347?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0198128347">Jonathan Swift, A Hypocrite Reversed: A Critical Biography</a>, is anything to go by this should be a revealing look at Lichfield's famous son. <br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-8737997277882265251?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/XbsEtprbEyE" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/georgian-gems-at-literature-weekend.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-1595525562760683048Tue, 29 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-29T09:00:01.958+01:00IcelandHalldor LaxnessIceland's Bell<a hef="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrpwDjPj8mI/AAAAAAAABEU/o8j7EsnBc2E/s1600-h/Turf+Houses.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 305px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384739510777279074" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrpwDjPj8mI/AAAAAAAABEU/o8j7EsnBc2E/s400/Turf+Houses.bmp" /></a> <em><font size="1">Icelandic turf houses, early 19th century</font></em><br /><br />Meanwhile - and almost as an aside - Laxness has set his story in motion. As the cord-thief Jón Hreggviđson unwillingly cuts down the bell, he cracks a scurrilous joke about the king. That’s a criminal offence. The legal action that ensues becomes the driving force of the whole novel, expanding, twisting back on itself, and eventually, over three decades drawing the whole of Icelandic society into its coils – right up to the king himself. It’s a classic Icelandic narrative gambit. Throughout the 1940s, Laxness was engaged in editing new editions of the medieval Icelandic sagas. The single, rash, action leading to a legal dispute that embroils the whole nation (and punctuated by set-piece courtroom battles at Thingvellir), is an archetypal Saga narrative. Laxness conceived <i>Iceland’s Bell</i> as a modern saga, and the famous line from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nj%C3%A1ls_saga"><i>Njál’s Saga</i></a> (known to every Icelander) is a sort of unspoken ground-bass to <i>Iceland’s Bell</i>: “With laws shall our land be built up, but with lawlessness laid waste”.<br /><br />Laxness borrows a literary style from the sagas, too. We never read his characters’ thoughts or inner emotional conflicts. Like the anonymous saga-poets, Laxness simply describes their words and actions – and lets us infer the emotions for ourselves. Instead of manipulating the reader’s feelings, Laxness prompts them. The effect is clear, objective and yet, at the book’s great climaxes, overwhelmingly moving.<br /><br />And make no mistake, this is a story of epic range and emotion. Jón Hreggviđson’s decades-long struggle for justice is its backbone, and there’s no doubt that Hreggviđson – an illiterate, impertinent peasant-farmer, with seemingly endless reserves of stoicism and a head full of garbled medieval ballads – is the novel’s central figure. Hreggviđson (and the lawsuits he pursued from 1683 to 1715) really existed, but Laxness makes this near-forgotten 17th-century criminal a figure of universal significance.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpn75ax1uI/AAAAAAAABDk/4meTrtBUHIw/s1600-h/Grettir.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 246px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384730583197931234" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpn75ax1uI/AAAAAAAABDk/4meTrtBUHIw/s400/Grettir.jpg" /></a><em><font size="1">Grettir: 17th-century Icelandic illustration</font></em><br /><br />He’s the eternal underdog; resourceful, facetious and seemingly indestructible. Icelandic readers will have found traces of favourite saga-characters in his make-up – the buffoonish Björn from <i>Njál’s Saga</i>, the bullish <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grettis_saga">Grettír the Strong</a>, and of course the great trickster-poet <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egill_Skallagr%C3%ADmsson">Egill Skallagrímsson</a>. English readers might be reminded of Baldrick. But Hreggviđson is very much his own man. Whether conscripted into the Danish army or wrestling with trolls on an Icelandic heath; flogged, abused, and pushed around by the mighty, he always comes back with the proud assertion that he’s descended from the saga-hero <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gunnar_H%C3%A1mundarson">Gunnar of Hliđarendi</a> – and throws in an apposite verse of his favourite <i>Elder Ballad of Pontus</i>.<br /><br />Against his story, and intertwined with it, another very different narrative unfolds. And for many readers, the romance of the Lady Snaefriđur, “Iceland’s Sun”, and the King’s Antiquary, Lord Arnas Arnaeus makes <i>Iceland’s Bell</i> one of the greatest love-stories in modern literature. Snaefriđur (literally “Fair as Snow”) is one of Laxness’ most beloved creations: daughter of Iceland’s senior magistrate, sister-in-law of the <a href="http://www.skalholt.is/en/skalholtsstadur/">Bishop of Skálholt</a>, she’s universally admired as Iceland’s loveliest and most nobly-born heiress.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrppYdSvybI/AAAAAAAABD0/WG9VPollx_c/s1600-h/Skalholt+1789.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384732173375883698" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrppYdSvybI/AAAAAAAABD0/WG9VPollx_c/s400/Skalholt+1789.jpg" /></a><em><font size="1">Skalholt Cathedral, 1789</font></em><br /><br />We meet her first as a figure of fairy-tale enchantment:<br /><br />She wore no hat, and her head shone with dishevelled hair. Her slender body was childishly supple, her eyes unworldly as the blue of heaven. Her comprehension was still limited only to the beauty of things, rather than to their usefulness, and thus the smile she displayed as she stepped into this house had nothing to do with human life.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrpowRS1rpI/AAAAAAAABDs/ADcCL_4UQA0/s1600-h/Snaefridur.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 280px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 378px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384731482960277138" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrpowRS1rpI/AAAAAAAABDs/ADcCL_4UQA0/s400/Snaefridur.jpg" /></a><em><font size="1">"Snaefridur, Iceland's Sun" - costume design from 1950 National Theatre of Iceland dramatisation</font></em><br /><br />But Snaefriđur will soon learn about human life, and in full measure. Like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gu%C3%B0r%C3%BAn_%C3%93sv%C3%ADfursd%C3%B3ttir">Guðrún Ósvífursdóttir</a>, the commanding heroine of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laxd%C5%93la_saga">Laxdaela Saga</a>, she’s proud, determined and idealistic. She’s also in love – and is prepared to break the law, and bring about her own social and financial ruin, rather than betray her emotions. One night at Thingvellir, she springs Jón Hreggviđson from the condemned cell and sends him with a ring and a message to her beloved in Denmark. Determined that if she can’t marry the “best of men”, she’d rather have the worst, she marries the brutish drunkard Magnús of Braeđratunga. Meanwhile she sacrifices her wealth, dignity and youth to pursue a long series of lawsuits against her true love, Arnas Arnaeus – who has ignored Hreggviđson’s message (but taken up his case), returned the ring, and quit Iceland in pursuit of a higher calling.<br /><br /><i>Fire in Copenhagen</i>, the final volume of <i>Iceland’s Bell</i> is dominated by his story, just as the second, <i>The Fair Maiden</i> is dominated by Snaefriđur, and the first, <i>Iceland’s Bell</i>, focuses on Jón Hreggviđson. Court Assessor Arnas Arnaeus, the Royal Antiquary, is the highest ranking Icelander at the Danish court, and at first sight he’s little more than another Jacobean dandy:<br /><br /><i>The aesthete in him spoke out from every seam, each pleat, every proportion in the cut of his clothing; his boots were of fine English leather. His wig, which he wore under his brimmed hat even amongst boors and beggars, was exquisitely fashioned, and was as smartly coiffured as if he were going to meet the king.</i><br /><br />But he enters Hreggviđson’s turf hovel in search of something more precious to him than his own status – fragments of old Icelandic parchments. His passion is the ancient literature of Iceland; to him, the proof that his stricken country once created great art. In his elegant Copenhagen townhouse, he collects a library of Icelandic sagas, ballads and poetry.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpt686JhXI/AAAAAAAABEE/wdEamlhERFA/s1600-h/Copenhagen+1720s.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 253px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384737164024710514" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpt686JhXI/AAAAAAAABEE/wdEamlhERFA/s400/Copenhagen+1720s.gif" /></a> <em><font size="1">Copenhagen c. 1720</font></em><br /><br />Meanwhile he pays court (<i>Fire in Copenhagen</i> opens with a gorgeous set-piece description of a royal masque in the Danish capital), marries into money, and struggles to improve the lot of the Icelanders – making powerful enemies along the way. It’s all of it necessary to protect his priceless manuscripts, and sacrificing the love of his life is just part of the price he decides to pay. The tragedy of their love is that Snaefriđur understands this too:<br /><br /><i>“Snaefriđur” he said as she turned to leave. He was suddenly standing very close to her. “What else could I have done but give Jón Hreggviđson the ring?”<br />“Nothing, Assessor”, she said.<br />“I wasn’t free,” he said. “I was bound by my work. Iceland owned me, the old books that I kept in Copenhagen – their demon was my demon, their Iceland was the only Iceland in existence. If I had come out in the spring on the Eyrarbakki ship, as I promised, I would have sold out Iceland. Every last one of my books would have fallen into the hands of my creditors. We would have ended up on some dilapidated estate, two highborn beggars. I would have abandoned myself to drink and would have sold you for brennivín, perhaps even cut off your head -"<br />She turned completely around and stared at him, then quickly took him by the hand, leaned her face in one swift movement up against his chest, and whispered:<br />“Arní.”<br />She said nothing more, and he stroked her fair and magnificent hair once, then let her leave as she had intended. </i><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrpnEBCG5mI/AAAAAAAABDc/LEFM8iBxEOM/s1600-h/Arni_Magnusson_portrait.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 175px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 248px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384729623169263202" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrpnEBCG5mI/AAAAAAAABDc/LEFM8iBxEOM/s400/Arni_Magnusson_portrait.jpg" /></a><br />Laxness based Arnas on the great Icelandic antiquarian <a href="http://www.arnastofnun.is/page/a_arni_magnusson_en">Árni Magnússon</a> (1663-1730). Magnússon (pictured above), like Arnas Arnaeus, built a collection of Icelandic manuscripts in Copenhagen; and like him, led a troubled personal life. And his collection, too, was badly damaged in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copenhagen_Fire_of_1728">Great Fire of Copenhagen</a> in 1728, which forms the dramatic climax of <i>Iceland’s Bell</i>. But unlike Arnas’, it wasn’t completely destroyed. Three decades after Iceland gained independence, and <i>Iceland’s Bell</i> was published, the Danish government started to repatriate the Magnússon collection. Today, the manuscripts are protected by the <a href="http://www.arnastofnun.is/page/arnastofnun_frontpage_en">Árni Magnússon Institute</a> in Reykjavík, and the room that houses them in Reykjavík’s <a href="http://www.thjodmenning.is/index_english.htm">Culture House</a> is a place of pilgrimage for lovers of European literature.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrptkOEjriI/AAAAAAAABD8/5e1ivdBMVtg/s1600-h/Copenhagen+fire.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 313px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 179px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384736773494779426" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrptkOEjriI/AAAAAAAABD8/5e1ivdBMVtg/s400/Copenhagen+fire.gif" /></a><em><font size="1">Great Fire of Copenhagen, 1728</font></em><br /><br />Halldór Laxness doesn’t have quite such a happy end in store for his characters. But he wouldn’t be the writer he is if he didn’t somehow find hope in even the bleakest of circumstances. At one point in the novel, Arnas comments that his countrymen’s “one and only task is to keep their stories in memory until a better day”. In the closing pages of Iceland’s Bell, his life’s work is in ashes, Iceland is more abject than ever, and he has sacrificed love and career in vain. But one thing – one person – has survived it all; the indomitable Jón Hreggviđsson and his head full of poetry. Together, they ride to the harbour where Hreggviđsson, pardoned at last, is to take ship back to Iceland. And as always, the illiterate cord-thief has a verse for the occasion:<br /><br /><i>“Now I shall teach you an introductory verse from the</i> Elder Ballad of Pontus<i>, that you have never heard before,” he said.<br />Then he recited this verse:<br /><br />“Folk will marvel at the story,<br />There on Iceland’s shore<br />When Hreggviđsson’s old grey and hoary<br />Head comes home once more.”<br /><br />After both had memorized the verse, they all sat in silence. The road was wet, causing the carriage to sway from side to side.<br />The Assessor remained lost in thought for some time, then finally looked at the farmer from Rein, smiled and said:<br />“Jón Marteinsson saved the</i> Skálda<i>. You were all that fell to my lot”.<br />Jón Hreggviđsson said: “Does my lord have any messages he would like me to deliver?”…<br />“You can tell them from me that Iceland has not been sold – not this time. They’ll understand later. Then you can hand them your pardon”.<br />“But shouldn’t I convey any greetings to anyone?” said Jón Hreggviđsson.<br />“Your old ruffled head – that shall be my greeting” said the Professor Antiquitatum Danicarum.</i><br /><br />Arnas Arnaeus gives his life to the written word. Jón Hreggviđsson can’t even write, but his nation’s literary culture bubbles, unquenchably, beneath his “old ruffled head”. It takes a writer of Laxness’ vision to point out that a nation’s literature can survive without books – but not without its humanity. When Laxness was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1955, the Swedish Academy’s citation was:<br /><br /><i>For his vivid epic power, which has renewed the great narrative art of Iceland.</i><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpx4n530rI/AAAAAAAABEc/aHwvwWv_yhs/s1600-h/Halldor_Laxness.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 235px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384741522073178802" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpx4n530rI/AAAAAAAABEc/aHwvwWv_yhs/s400/Halldor_Laxness.jpg" /></a><br />None of his novels embodies that spirit more stirringly than <i>Iceland’s Bell</i>. And nothing captures the spirit of the novel better than Laxness’ response to his career’s crowning moment. As the telegrams of congratulations poured in from around the world, Laxness realised that he couldn’t respond to them all. So he decided to respond only to one – a message of <i>“lycka til!”</i> [congratulations!] from the Sundsvall Society of Pipe Layers, in northern Sweden.<br /><br />In other words, sewage-workers. Praised by the whole world, Laxness was moved above all by the idea that “men who bent double over pipes, deep in the ground, should climb out of their drains in the midst of the winter in Sundsvall, in order to shout ‘hurrah for literature’”.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;"></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-1595525562760683048?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/xv4EUeDDBOw" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/icelands-bell-part-2.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-409216010416022384Mon, 28 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-28T09:00:03.082+01:00IcelandHalldor LaxnessIceland's Bell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sr9B5CPhWUI/AAAAAAAABEs/XQ8jKci9f-k/s1600-h/Wof_profile_small.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 0px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 76px; height: 95px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sr9B5CPhWUI/AAAAAAAABEs/XQ8jKci9f-k/s200/Wof_profile_small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386096127468722498" /></a><font face="georgia">Today I'm delighted to welcome guest blogger Richard Bratby, a freelance journalist who writes for, among other things, the <a href="http://www.birminghampost.net/">Birmingham Post</a>, the <a href="http://www.thisislichfield.co.uk/">Lichfield Mercury</a>, <a href="http://www.metro.co.uk/">Metro</a> newspaper and the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra's <a href="http://cbso-weblog.livejournal.com/">blog</a>. He will be here today and tomorrow talking about an area of 18th-century history that may be new and surprising to many of us. His focus is on the work of Nobel Prize-winning Icelandic novelist Halld&oacute;r Laxness (1902—1998) whose historical novel <i>Iceland's Bell</i> is an epic tale of a nation struggling for survival during the 18th century.</font><br /><br /><br /><b>Iceland's Bell (Part 1)</b><br /><br /><div><font face="georgia">If you love the 18th century, chances are you have a favourite historical novelist. It’s a boom area in literature – and an opportunity for readers to slip, for a few hours, into a world of classical terraces, elegant ballrooms, porticoed mansions and rolling parkland. But in the right hands, readers have shown themselves more than willing to move beyond Austen-esque Georgian England and into ever more exotic terrain. Rose Tremain’s 1999 Whitbread award-winner <em><a href="http://www.blogger.com/http//www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0099268558/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_2?pf_rd_p=471057153&amp;pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe&amp;pf_rd_t=201&amp;pf_rd_i=0099422034&amp;pf_rd_m=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&amp;pf_rd_r=1ENA0JNKCFKEH84ZBQ4J">Music and Silence</a></em>, for example, found a wide readership for a story set in the Royal court of 1630s Denmark.<br /><br />So here’s a historical novel also set in part at the Danish royal court, covering (roughly) the period 1700-1730: the age of the Great Northern War. Epic in scope, it sweeps across nations and seas, a story of oppression, suffering and intrigue; of boisterous humour, deep poetry and star-crossed romance. It’s by a great novelist; in fact, a Nobel laureate. And yet it’s barely known in the English-speaking world. It’s called <em>ĺslandsklukkan</em> – <em>Iceland’s Bell</em> – and it’s by the Icelandic writer </font><a href="http://www.blogger.com/http//www.gljufrasteinn.is/info.html?super_cat=6&amp;cat=16&amp;info=379"><font face="georgia">Halldór Laxness</font></a>.<font face="georgia"></font><br /><br /><div align="left"><font face="georgia">To be fair, until recently you’d have had to have read it in Icelandic, or maybe German. Incredibly, <em>Iceland’s Bell</em> was only translated into English in 2003 (it was first published in 1945). </font><a href="http://www.blogger.com/http//www.amazon.co.uk/Icelands-Bell-Halldor-Laxness/dp/1400034256"><font face="georgia">Philip Roughton’s translation </font></a><font face="georgia">(which I’ve used throughout this post; with Icelandic letters such as đ [pronounced ‘th’] used about as consistently as Blogger allows me; apologies to Icelandic readers) has only now given this extraordinary novel to English-speakers. But the 18th century-loving community still seems to have been rather slow to seize on it.<br /><br /></font><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrlIS_DmBLI/AAAAAAAABBU/_O0-_x1mO_0/s1600-h/Iceland%27s+Bell.jpg"></a><font face="georgia">Maybe that’s because Laxness is best-known as a literary modernist; the author of powerful social-realist novels like <em><a href="http://www.blogger.com/http//www.amazon.co.uk/Independent-People-Halldor-Laxness/dp/009952712X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1253656509&amp;sr=1-1">Independent People</a></em> (1934) and visionary psyechedelia (</font><a href="http://www.blogger.com/http//www.amazon.co.uk/Under-Glacier-Vintage-International-Original/dp/1400034418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1253656549&amp;sr=1-1"><font face="georgia"><em>Under The Glacier</em> </font></a><font face="georgia">– 1968). You certainly wouldn’t guess from the cover of the Vintage edition that this was a historical novel.</font></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srph4jMVmjI/AAAAAAAABCc/Qi9UC85nX6Y/s1600-h/Iceland%27s+Bell.jpg"><font face="georgia"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384723928622406194" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srph4jMVmjI/AAAAAAAABCc/Qi9UC85nX6Y/s320/Iceland%27s+Bell.jpg" /></font></a></div><br /><br /><font face="georgia">Maybe it’s because of the notorious English-speaker’s allergy to literature in translation (though if you can handle Tolkien’s imaginary names and places, you should be able to cope with Laxness’ genuine Icelandic ones). And maybe it’s because when you open <em>Iceland’s Bell</em>, you enter an authentic, brilliantly realised 18th-century world that’s startlingly different from anything in Austen or Georgette Heyer.<br /><br />How different? Well, here’s the oldest surviving building in the Icelandic capital, Reykjavík (below). It dates from 1762 – in other words, a good half-century later than the period chronicled in <em>Iceland’s Bell</em>.<br /><br /></font><font face="georgia"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 175px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 131px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384727907741592498" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrplgKkR67I/AAAAAAAABDE/_spitF0Dp7g/s400/Reykjaviks-Oldest-House-to-_1412814995.jpg" /><br /><div align="left"><font face="georgia">At the start of the 18th century, Reykjavík simply didn’t exist as anything more than a tiny fishing settlement, and it doesn’t feature in <i>Iceland’s Bell</i> (for Laxness’ take on Reykjavík, try his enchanting coming-of-age novel <em><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fish-Can-Sing-Panther/dp/1860469345/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=books&amp;qid=1253658475&amp;sr=1-1ttp://">The Fish Can Sing</a></em>). But the fact that this was one of the biggest and most impressive residences in Iceland gives you some idea what to expect in the novel. True, it’s a story of noblemen, elegant ladies, country squires and great estates – but don’t picture Palladian mansions and jardins à l’anglaises. A couple of the locations featured in the novel survive today. Bessastađir, just outside modern Reykjavík, was the seat of the Danish regent, and it’s still the </font><a href="http://english.forseti.is/ThePresidentialResidence/"><font face="georgia">residence of the President of Iceland.</font></a><font face="georgia"> </font></div><br /><br /><font face="georgia"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384728200516869138" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrplxNPWHBI/AAAAAAAABDM/AsgHPJ-JQUc/s400/Bessastadir.jpg" /><br />This is where Jón Hreggviđsson is imprisoned near the start of the novel, and although it was extensively rebuilt from the 1760s onwards, it’s still on the same site. Here’s how it looked at the start of the 19th century. Remember, in the period of <em>Iceland’s Bell</em> this was by some way the biggest and most impressive building in Iceland – and it wasn’t even as grand as the structures in this picture:<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384728436988212258" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpl--KgdCI/AAAAAAAABDU/3kxFqvQcpYM/s400/Historic+Bessastadir,+1834" /> <em><font size="1">Bessastadir, c1834</font></em><br /><br />Only slightly less imposing were the houses of the Danish Monopoly Merchants – the officials licensed by the Danish crown to control and manage all trade with its colony of Iceland. From 1602 to 1786 trade with Iceland was rigorously controlled by Denmark, and in the period of <i>Iceland’s Bell</i> all trade was forbidden except through licensed Merchants in designated monopoly ports. The result, unsurprisingly, was poverty and even famine. Most Icelanders were subsistence farmers or fishermen, living in turf-roofed cottages. (In the novel, Jón Hreggviđson is initially convicted as a “cord-thief”, and throughout <em>Iceland’s Bell</em>, a shortage of fishing-cord is reported as Iceland’s most urgent problem. Icelanders couldn’t even feed themselves without it). In such circumstances, the Monopoly Merchant’s houses were symbols of unimaginable power and wealth.<br /><br />And when you look at the surviving examples – such as the <em>Husiđ</em> in the monopoly port of </font><a href="http://www.eyrarbakki.is/"><font face="georgia">Eyrarbakki</font></a><font face="georgia"> (1765), </font><a href="http://husid.com/english.html"><font face="georgia">today a museum</font></a><font face="georgia"> – it’s impossible not to do a double-take. This is the very house where Squire Magnús of Braeđratunga passes out in the pigsty after selling his wife for a keg of </font><a href="http://www.brennivin.com/"><font face="georgia">brennivín</font></a><font face="georgia">, in Part 2 of <em>Iceland’s Bell</em> (Laxness stayed in Eyrarbakki to complete the novel). It’s about as grand as Georgian architecture got in Iceland. And it’s not exactly Blenheim Palace:<br /><br /></font><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384421031396279906" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrlOZnGEhmI/AAAAAAAABB8/PnQtFri-Kyo/s320/Husid" /><br /><br />This is the world in which Laxness chose to set his great historical novel. Like many of his literary choices, it proved controversial amongst his fellow Icelanders. Laxness was at the height of his career; ten years later, in 1955, he’d be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. He worked on the book over the period 1942-45. On 17th June 1944, after seven centuries of foreign rule, Iceland finally achieved </font><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Icelandic_independence_movement"><font face="georgia">independence from Denmark</font></a><font face="georgia"> - though with the superpowers already positioning themselves for the Cold War to come, the young Republic’s future looked far from secure. National pride, and nationalist passions, were burning high. Now, at this historic moment, Iceland’s leading writer published a novel set in the most humiliating period of Iceland’s history.<br /><br />Laxness makes his intentions clear from his very first page:<br /><br /><em>There was a time, it says in books, that the Icelandic people had only one national treasure: a bell. The bell hung fastened to the ridgepole at the gable-end of the courthouse at Thingvellir by Oxará. It was rung for court hearings and before executions, and was so ancient that no-one knew its true age any longer. The bell had been cracked for many years before this story begins, and the oldest folk thought they could remember it as having a clearer chime. All the same, the old folk still cherished it.</em><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384423538090392818" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrlQrhQhPPI/AAAAAAAABCE/9e52MevijaA/s320/blog1.jpg" /><font size="1"><em>Thingvellir: photograph © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</em></font></font><br /><br /><font face="georgia">Anyone who’s ever been on holiday to Iceland (and got further than the </font><a href="http://www.bluelagoon.com/"><font face="georgia">Blue Lagoon</font></a><font face="georgia">) will have visited Thingvellir – the breathtaking natural gorge where, for nearly a thousand years, the Icelandic Parliament, the </font><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Althing"><em><font face="georgia">Althingi</font></em></a><font face="georgia"> met annually in the open air. Today it’s a </font><a href="http://www.thingvellir.is/english/"><font face="georgia">World Heritage Site</font></a><font face="georgia">; a wooden church (dating from the 19th century) has replaced the 17th-century courthouse. The old bell, sent as a gift to Iceland by King Olaf of Norway in 1015, and known to Icelanders under colonial rule as “the nation’s sole possession”, really existed. And what happens next – like many of the events in <em>Iceland’s Bell</em> – really happened, too:<br /><br /><em>One year when the king decreed that the people of Iceland were to relinquish all of their brass and copper so that Copenhagen could be rebuilt following the war, men were sent to fetch the ancient bell at Thingvellir by Oxará.</em><br /><br />The king’s hangman comes from Bessasađir with a work party of convicts, and the bell is cut down.<br /><br /><em>The pale emissary took a sledgehammer from a saddlebag, placed the ancient bell of Iceland on the doorstep before the courthouse, and gave the bell a blow…the bell broke in two along its crack.</em></font></p><br /><br /><p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpvt-cRLyI/AAAAAAAABEM/6FvPCPszctM/s1600-h/Thingvellir+church.bmp"><font face="georgia"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 302px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384739140121210658" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Srpvt-cRLyI/AAAAAAAABEM/6FvPCPszctM/s400/Thingvellir+church.bmp" /></font></a><font face="georgia"> </font><font face="georgia"><font size="1"><em>Thingvellir church, early 19th century<br /></em></font><em></em><br /><br />The nation’s last remaining treasure has been hacked down and shattered. Laxness’ message could hardly be more clear. He hasn’t just set his novel in the darkest period in Icelandic history – he’s beginning his story at its absolute lowest point. But there’s worse to come. There’s a famine, and an epidemic. By the end of <em>Iceland’s Bell</em>, the island itself has been put up for sale by the king of Denmark – and even he can’t find a buyer. </font><br /><br /><p><font face="georgia"><em>Tomorrow - Part 2: A Hero, two lovers, and the Great Fire of Copenhagen.</em><br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT: 0px" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe now!</a></p></div></font><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-409216010416022384?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/6srvnhaYraU" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/viking-18th-century.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-3325942063666297312Wed, 23 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-23T09:22:00.452+01:00Lady Georgianna<center><object width="650" height="430"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LoT5eN4Gx_k&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LoT5eN4Gx_k&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed></object></center><br />The '18th-century party people', Lady Georgianna, are back with a new <a href="http://www.lady-g.co.uk/">website</a> and some dates in the Midlands. <br /><br />If you don't know of them, they're a costumed trio (comprising singer, Allegra, harpsichordist Signora Storace, and Isabella Wrighten on cello) who blend popular songs of the period with light-hearted readings. Check out their <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/25608916@N05/">Flickr stream </a>for photos and above for the new video of Take Heed. The ladies <a href="http://www.lady-g.co.uk/main/?page_id=11">make their own costumes</a> (the famous 'cleavage-enhancing gowns') and they have a few tips for budding dresmakers on their site. <br /><br />They're bringing their Ladies of Misrule programme (a risqué look at pleasure gardens) to St Columba’s Church, Moseley on October 24th and Lichfield Guildhall on December 6th, and they present a spooky insight into the first gothic novel, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Castle of Otranto</span>, at St Columba’s Church on November 28th, for which the audience is encouraged to come in masks and costumes.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;"></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-3325942063666297312?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/n-pLnO5q6Gw" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/lady-georgianna.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-2321072298737398989Tue, 22 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-22T09:00:03.342+01:00Samuel JohnsonMuliebrity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s1600-h/samuel_johnson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 0px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 160px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s200/samuel_johnson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279590835830085986" /></a>Womanhood; the contrary to virility; the manners and character of a woman.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />From: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0141441577?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0141441577">Samuel Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language: An Anthology</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=memoofthecele-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0141441577" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-2321072298737398989?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/VwHi62K5IGg" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/word-of-week-muliebrity.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-5474738447140743103Sun, 20 Sep 2009 11:53:00 +00002009-09-20T13:24:36.764+01:00clay pipeSamuel JohnsonLichfieldThe <a href="http://www.johnson2009.org/">Johnson tercentenary</a> celebrations are still in full swing here in Lichfield. Below are a couple of pictures I took yesterday: the first is Johnson's bust in the Birthplace Museum, decked with flowers, and the second is Johnson's statue in the Market Square which has a wreath placed on it each year to mark the birthday.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYCpL0LQI/AAAAAAAABA0/jk1x30xhcvQ/s1600-h/blog8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYCpL0LQI/AAAAAAAABA0/jk1x30xhcvQ/s320/blog8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383516838262222082" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYDdDy-jI/AAAAAAAABBA/625uhRrKAN8/s1600-h/blog12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYDdDy-jI/AAAAAAAABBA/625uhRrKAN8/s320/blog12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383516852187232818" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.thejohnsonsociety.org.uk/">The Johnson Society's</a> annual supper in Lichfield's Guildhall was a complete success last night, with the Bishop of Lichfield, the Rt Reverend Jonathan Gledhill, taking up the post of President. If you're interested I've written a blow-by-blow account of the evening for <a href="http://thelichfieldblog.co.uk/2009/09/20/bishop-becomes-new-johnson-society-president/">The Lichfield Blog</a>, but there are some photographs of the event below. We all received a commemorative Johnson clay pipe (bottom) made especially for the occasion.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYBv2SstI/AAAAAAAABAg/ZiWbKjWgDbc/s1600-h/blog10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYBv2SstI/AAAAAAAABAg/ZiWbKjWgDbc/s320/blog10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383516822871126738" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYBzcEONI/AAAAAAAABAo/KaTzetjP5PQ/s1600-h/blog9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYYBzcEONI/AAAAAAAABAo/KaTzetjP5PQ/s320/blog9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383516823834867922" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYc9a4CHUI/AAAAAAAABBM/rg326hCfb60/s1600-h/blog11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrYc9a4CHUI/AAAAAAAABBM/rg326hCfb60/s320/blog11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383522246079946050" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-5474738447140743103?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/nIHrqUfE1bo" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/celebrations-continue.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-7351123821841563880Fri, 18 Sep 2009 22:42:00 +00002009-09-20T13:18:49.427+01:00Samuel JohnsonLichfield<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNNPWlUxI/AAAAAAAAA_o/C2FkFE5PG0o/s1600-h/blog1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNNPWlUxI/AAAAAAAAA_o/C2FkFE5PG0o/s320/blog1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382941975725298450" /></a><br />Well, today marks Dr Johnson's 300th birthday and to kick off a weekend of celebrations, tonight Lichfield was treated to a son et lumière by artists David Harper, Andy Mckeown and Peter Walker, projected onto the sides of Johnson's house.<br /><br />We went down to the markeplace for about 7.15pm to find the projection underway (above) and the bell ringers of St Mary's in full swing. But then it was a quick walk over to Minster Pool to catch the official launch: a lantern parade by local children (below).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNNiPv3SI/AAAAAAAAA_w/5oSPlr8iS7I/s1600-h/blog2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNNiPv3SI/AAAAAAAAA_w/5oSPlr8iS7I/s320/blog2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382941980796902690" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNOX3w2YI/AAAAAAAABAA/QFU8m65EY7U/s1600-h/blog4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNOX3w2YI/AAAAAAAABAA/QFU8m65EY7U/s320/blog4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382941995191818626" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNOEu4mLI/AAAAAAAAA_4/0zaI-IupS_o/s1600-h/blog3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNOEu4mLI/AAAAAAAAA_4/0zaI-IupS_o/s320/blog3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382941990054303922" /></a><br />You can see the first part of the artwork above, which was a projection of Lichfield people talking about their favourite words from the dictionary; this then changed into an A to Z of Johnson's life (below), narrated by local actors and interspersed with dictionary definitions. It also included music from the <a href="http://www.lichfieldcathedralchamberchoir.org-a.googlepages.com/">Lichfield Cathedral Chamber Choir</a> including the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah. We talked to Johnsonians from America, Sweden, Norway, Australia and Bulgaria, all milling about in the crowd. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNcKTjJYI/AAAAAAAABAI/-6mTRM_sXqA/s1600-h/blog5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNcKTjJYI/AAAAAAAABAI/-6mTRM_sXqA/s320/blog5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382942232068433282" /></a><br />The Market Street side of the <a href="http://www.samueljohnsonbirthplace.org.uk/">Johnson Birthplace Museum</a> also came to life as Lichfield's own Dictionary of the English Language - you could go along to the tent opposite the front door and type your name and favourite word into the computer for it to be added to a live scrolling projection of words (needless to say, this quickly degenerated into 'add me as a friend on Facebook', but it was still fun to watch).<br /><br />At 10pm there were fireworks over the Market Square and we joined some other members of the <a href="http://www.thejohnsonsociety.org.uk/">Johnson Society</a> at the King's Head for some birthday cake, which was cut by <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/02/tired-legs-but-brisk-spirits.html">Dr Nicholas Cambridge</a>. Tomorrow, <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/celebrations-continue.html">the Tercentenary supper</a>...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNcsueS8I/AAAAAAAABAQ/-qUXHgIUZD4/s1600-h/blog6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNcsueS8I/AAAAAAAABAQ/-qUXHgIUZD4/s320/blog6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382942241308167106" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNc-8ONpI/AAAAAAAABAY/NdLkP2cSqGc/s1600-h/blog7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrQNc-8ONpI/AAAAAAAABAY/NdLkP2cSqGc/s320/blog7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382942246197671570" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-7351123821841563880?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/wLZSTMnwxWU" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/happy-birthday-sam.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-5947323176602714800Fri, 18 Sep 2009 08:35:00 +00002009-09-18T09:56:11.655+01:00pleasure gardensKatherine SwiftThe Morville HoursSarah Jane Downing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrNJ3yLzskI/AAAAAAAAA_g/W_X3QybTSDw/s1600-h/pleasure_garden.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 113px; height: 160px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SrNJ3yLzskI/AAAAAAAAA_g/W_X3QybTSDw/s200/pleasure_garden.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382727202350805570" /></a>If you can't make <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/06/pleasure-gardens-talk-in-london.html">her event in London</a> in November, there's another chance to catch the author <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/04/paradise-regained.html">Sarah Jane Downing</a> talk about her book on English pleasure gardens on Tuesday September 29th at 4pm at the historic <a href="http://www.lordleycester.com/">Lord Leycester Hospital</a> in Warwick. After Downing's talk you can sample the 'famous Lord Leycester Hospital cream tea' and take a tour of the Master's garden, followed by a talk from Katherine Swift, author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0802717535?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0802717535">The Morville Hours: The Story of a Garden</a>, which delves into the history of The Dower House at Morville in Shropshire (£3.50 per event or £7.50 for both talks plus cream tea). <br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-5947323176602714800?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/pDSxQ0cmJg8" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/if-you-cant-make-her-event-in-london-in.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-1755992527511679509Mon, 14 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-14T09:00:01.458+01:00Samuel Johnsonwordiadictionary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sqzr5ySdCsI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/3FDxzDuQ-KU/s1600-h/wordia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sqzr5ySdCsI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/3FDxzDuQ-KU/s320/wordia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380935032785144514" border="0" /></a><br />Dr Johnson would certainly have been interested in the site <a href="http://wordia.com/">Wordia</a> (pictured above) which invites people from all walks of life to think of a word that has special meaning to them, talk about it on video and have it uploaded into the 'visual dictionary'. <br /><br />Tomorrow <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/02/tired-legs-but-brisk-spirits.html">Dr Nicholas Cambridge</a> - the Chairman of the <a href="http://www.johnsonsocietyoflondon.org/">Johnson Society of London</a> and a former GP - will be talking about the word scrofula. You can leave comments on individual definitions or even link to uses of the word on Twitter (I'd venture to suggest that only <a href="http://twitter.com/drsamueljohnson">Dr Johnson himself</a> is liable to be tweeting about scrofula, but you never know).<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-1755992527511679509?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/dcyEqiTKa0Y" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/wordia.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-482472903900442544Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:00:00 +00002009-09-11T14:00:07.735+01:00Erasmus DarwinLichfield<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sqlhpx0yTEI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/NH-CWzthZ18/s1600-h/Darwin_window+_blog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/Sqlhpx0yTEI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/NH-CWzthZ18/s320/Darwin_window+_blog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379938600248036418" border="0" /></a>So we've been on the tour of the cellars, and have also been told that one of the ground floor rooms of the <a href="http://www.erasmusdarwin.org/">Erasmus Darwin House</a> is haunted: a result of Dr Darwin having dissected so many dead bodies on the premises. But I must admit, the sight of the pale figure of Darwin himself, surveying Beacon Street from his top window, gave me a little start of surprise when I passed the other day. We always seem to be <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/01/erasmus-darwin-at-home.html">catching sight of him</a> one way or another... Are the staff trying to give me a heart attack?<br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photograph © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-482472903900442544?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/CmGuW8E4kAg" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/ghostly-dr-darwin.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-8574741288150890147Fri, 11 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-11T09:00:01.430+01:00hum trum<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s1600-h/samuel_johnson.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 160px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SUTf5IkPWWI/AAAAAAAAAI8/qhKrxYlHVZ8/s200/samuel_johnson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279590835830085986" /></a>A musical instrument made of a mopstick, a bladder, and some packthread, thence also called a bladder and string, and hurdy gurdy; it is played on like a violin, which is sometimes ludicrously called a humstrum; sometimes, instead of a bladder, a tin canister is used.<br /><br />From: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1406810053?ie=UTF8&tag=memoofthecele-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1406810053">Captain Grose's 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=memoofthecele-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1406810053" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-8574741288150890147?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/41XCZNKurwc" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/word-of-week-hum-trum.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-4982806251221827564Thu, 10 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-10T09:00:01.999+01:00rabbitsSamuel JohnsonErasmus Bunny<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqaPHXYv2NI/AAAAAAAAA-w/D-vkW75caYY/s1600-h/Erasmus_plate.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqaPHXYv2NI/AAAAAAAAA-w/D-vkW75caYY/s320/Erasmus_plate.jpg" border="10px" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379144161640306898" /></a><br />OK, so my Photoshop skills are hideous, but the point is, what happened to Erasmus Bunny II? When we went past his hutch at the weekend, we saw a rabbit, but it didn't look quite like <a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2008/12/visiting-erasmus-bunny.html">the mascot of this very blog</a>. It looked like a thinner and more lively version. Had they put Erasmus on a diet at last?<br /><br />An enquiry at the <a href="http://www.erasmusdarwin.org/">Darwin House</a> drew a blank, but the staff in the Cathedral bookshop told us that Erasmus Bunny II died peacefully in his sleep about a month ago and his son, Erasmus Bunny III, has now taken over the role of official Lichfield Cathedral Rabbit. As Johnson said of Pope in his <span style="font-style:italic;">Lives of the Poets</span>: "The death of great men is not always proportioned to the lustre of their lives." I think we can say the same of this portly - sometimes grumpy - but very important rabbit.<br /><br /><big><b>...Long Live Erasmus Bunny III.</b></big><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqaUtY51g3I/AAAAAAAAA_I/8LN42EpUFjc/s1600-h/Erasmus_blog1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqaUtY51g3I/AAAAAAAAA_I/8LN42EpUFjc/s320/Erasmus_blog1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379150312440693618" /></a><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-4982806251221827564?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/NqIWfIA7vhM" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/goodbye-erasmus-bunny-ii.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-716595579610020427Wed, 09 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-09T16:02:29.442+01:00Samuel JohnsonPeter Martin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqaDzJgO7VI/AAAAAAAAA-o/XSrW1A_Sdns/s1600-h/Johnson_radio.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqaDzJgO7VI/AAAAAAAAA-o/XSrW1A_Sdns/s200/Johnson_radio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379131719688318290" border="0" /></a>You might already know that BBC Radio 4 has chosen Samuel Johnson for episode 6 of its Great Lives series, hosted by Matthew Parris. In this episode, '<a href="http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/02/boris-vs-hodge.html">Boris Johnson</a>, the Mayor of London, nominates Samuel Johnson, writer of the great dictionary. Dr Johnson's biographer, <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/aug/09/biography">Peter Martin</a>, joins the discussion.' It's already been on once, but there's a final chance to catch it this Friday at 11pm.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-716595579610020427?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/xKK9oAv1_Is" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/boris-on-dr-johnson.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-6565125200948698182Tue, 08 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-08T09:00:00.901+01:00CullodenPeter WatkinsJacobites<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqOvX0mS4aI/AAAAAAAAA-g/3yn72IXW1v0/s1600-h/Cumberland-Reynolds.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqOvX0mS4aI/AAAAAAAAA-g/3yn72IXW1v0/s200/Cumberland-Reynolds.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378335203801620898" /></a>Flicking through the TV channels at the weekend, we were surprised to stumble across a screening of an amazing documentary, <a href="http://www.screenonline.org.uk/tv/id/520802/index.html">Peter Watkins' Culloden</a> from 1964, which BBC4 had dug up from the archives. <br /><br />What a brilliant, compelling film. It dissects the 1746 Battle of Culloden, but it's no dry historical account. Watkins shot it like a docudrama, as if a war reporter had entered the battlefield with a hand-held camera and was interviewing people from both sides of the conflict. Despite the lack of modern 'special effects' - or the fact that you don't actually see a lot of the violence - it was brutal and shocking, perhaps because Watkins captures the psychology of warfare so beautifully, gaining first-hand accounts from everyone - from the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_William_Augustus,_Duke_of_Cumberland">Duke of Cumberland</a> (pictured above left) to the individual clansmen and their families.<br /><br />If Watkins does come down somewhat heavily on the side of the Highlanders - butchered indiscriminately by the English, even after the conflict was over - it's an impressive work because it takes away the romantic notions of 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' and replaces them with the horrors of real war. What makes Watkins' film such a masterpiece is that you're no longer learning about history, as from a distance, but somehow inside the conflict in the most visceral way possible. I'm very interested in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacobite_rising">Jacobites</a> (and am writing about the '45) but have never seen anything like this before.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-6565125200948698182?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/WDBlo4wMUX8" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/peter-watkins-culloden.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220593272019655359.post-1351783249863325119Mon, 07 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +00002009-09-07T09:00:00.257+01:00The Sheriff's RideLichfield<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqOmKKt6FQI/AAAAAAAAA-Y/7wDdb55Iww0/s1600-h/blog1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqOmKKt6FQI/AAAAAAAAA-Y/7wDdb55Iww0/s320/blog1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378325073616311554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqOmJ-41OCI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/BOvM6s7hEgk/s1600-h/blog2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iwhGUST0W3Q/SqOmJ-41OCI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/BOvM6s7hEgk/s320/blog2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378325070440904738" /></a><br />We'd just popped over to the pub on Saturday, when the traffic began to slow and we realised that the <a href="http://www.lichfield.gov.uk/events.ihtml">Sheriff's Ride</a> was going past. The tradition dates back from Queen Mary's Charter of 1553, in which Lichfield was a county in its own right, and the Sheriff had to 'perambulate the new County and City annually on the feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, 8th September'. Presumably they schedule it for the closest weekend each year.<br /><br /><center><span style="font-style: italic;">Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.</span></center><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" alt="" style="vertical-align:middle;border:0"/></a>&nbsp;<a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe now!</a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8220593272019655359-1351783249863325119?l=mrswoffington.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MemoirsOfTheCelebratedMrsWoffington/~4/41Fcn71NjhQ" height="1" width="1"/>http://mrswoffington.blogspot.com/2009/09/sheriffs-ride.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Mrs Woffington)0