Word Wenches

History of Woo-woo

Mary Jo tells me I have Uranus in my chart, thus making me the wench who wants to try everything at least once. I assume that’s the reason I’m the wench who doesn’t just write historical fiction but dabbles also in contemporary and paranormal and anything else that catches my fancy. Which means my research wanders far and wide and not always down historical pathways.

But sometimes my contemporary research takes a turn to the past, as with my current idea—I can’t even call it a work in progress at this point since I’m still in research mode. And what I’m researching is feng shui, the ancient Chinese—not art or science but a school of belief—that employs methods of living auspiciously with the earth’s energies. That’s a pretty modern concept for several thousand years BC!

ANCIENT HISTORY
Today, we think of feng shui as a method of decorating to promote “good vibrations,” but the practice is ancient and much more far-reaching. By 888 AD, there were written texts and exams from the court of  Emperor Hi Tsang laying out a complex method of capturing the vital energy, or chi, of an architectural site and channeling it through  design and landscape to promote health, power, and whatever good fortune was required of the building. Considering most of Europe didn’t know the meaning of  sewers at the time, architecture to promote health was a pretty woo-woo concept.

 
PRINCIPLES
The fundamental elements of feng shui come from many sources—astrology, astronomy, religion, superstition, architecture, primitive environmental science, as well as cultural and social issues, among other things. The basic principle is to place and situate a building so it is in harmony with its surroundings (shades of Frank Lloyd Wright!), and to create a structure that balances the yin and yang of chi energy. The simplest description is to envision a house in which water flows in the front door and gently floods the entire house with positive energy. If you have a back door that is completely open to the front door, then the water will flow in one and out the other without embracing the house. (My house was built counter to every feng shui principle I know and I feel it. Have you ever hated a house you lived in? Bad chi energy might be why. Or the fact that the windows are in all the wrong places, the landscaping is an eyesore, and the garage is wonky, if you want to be scientific about it.)

CURRENT PRACTICES
Feng shui was first introduced to the United States during the gold rush in California when the Chinese workers brought their beliefs with them. Of course, back then, Americans ignored the principles, but today, feng shui is seen as part of the teachings of Confucius, part Taoism and I-ching, and very Californian New Age woo-woo as well as a respected principle of interior design. Laying out furniture for energy flow also improves the flow of the household, giving an open, more inviting feel instead of the claustrophobic conditions of many of our boxy rooms.

Without going into the “why” and "how" of feng shui decorating (a fun site for tips: http://www.fengshuitips.co.uk/home.htm) , some of the minor suggestions are not to leave shoes around the front door. The feng shui reason is that the chi energy will carry the smell and sickness through the house. The practical logic is that visitors can trip over them and sue you, and they’re ugly and offensive to look at. Feng shui says no TV in the bedroom. So does Psychology Today. Feng shui doesn’t allow children to sleep on the floor because they need chi energy to flow around them. I’m thinking kids sleeping on the floor are going to get into a lot more trouble crawling around picking up bugs and toys than kids safely tucked beneath covers. And I really love the warning against mirrors in the bedroom—who wants to look at themselves when they first get up? That would be enough to ruin my energy for the day.

Anyone else fascinated with the “whys” behind the woo-woo sciences? Have you ever applied feng shui to your house? I swear, my husband got a great new job after we re-arranged the “Career” section of our last house!  Oh, and a fun book to introduce you to feng shui is Move Your Stuff, Change Your Life by Karen Rauch Carter, just in case you’d like to grasp fundamentals from a modern point of view. And there I go again, straying away from history.

More Winners!

Sherrie, here.  Time to give away more books!  We have two new winners:  Lynne Colter left a comment on Nicola Cornick's post entitled Travels with my research and as a result she has won Nicola's latest trilogy -  Whisper of Scandal, One Wicked Sin and Mistress By Midnight.

Our next winner is Susan Klinger, who won an Anne Gracie book for leaving a comment on Anne's post, Meet a Wenchly Reader

Congratulations, winners.  Enjoy your books!

From Fact to Fairytale to Fiction

When an author sets out to write a book, often precious little writing gets done at first. With the first surge of creative ideas, I can get a few chapters down, but before the rest of the book can be drafted (let alone finished!) there are ideas to brainstorm, research to do, outlines to scribble, endless pages to fill, a keyboard about to take a beating, and tons of thinking to do. And none of it gets going without an initial idea and concept.

(left: The Word Wenches official Queen Hereafter bookmark, designed by Wench Andrea Pickens/Cara Elliott, and available to download--see the sidebar!)

That’s pretty much the way I went about writing Queen Hereafter: A Novel of Margaret of Scotland. I had lots of historical facts about the medieval queen, and those facts needed to be spun into fiction. Margaret—princess, refugee, queen and later saint—is that rare medieval figure with an actual (factual!) contemporary biography, written by her personal confessor, Bishop Turgot, a man who clearly admired and loved her. This sort of thing can be a gold mine for a historian or a writer. Turgot idealized his beloved friend as well, giving us the basis of our best knowledge of this fascinating medieval queen, and the basis of the mythology that has grown around her.

Yet to write the novel, I had to work forward and backward at the same time—piecing together facts to create fiction, and unraveling the idealized version of Margaret to try to find the real person within. The challenge was to make her a real young woman, rather than just saintly and perfect.

Sometimes, though, the romantic, idealized version is lovely in and of itself, especially when we know the story has a basis in solid historical facts. Aside from her political, social and historical significance, the life of Queen Margaret of Scotland, who married Malcolm Canmore in 1069, proves that true love does indeed exist—and that not all royal marriages were simply convenient.  

Here’s an excerpt from the author’s note in Queen Hereafter – it seems nicer, in a way, to introduce the good Queen Margaret of Scotland with her fairytale, rather than just her facts:

 

“There is perhaps no more beautiful character recorded in history.”

  --W. F. Skene, Celtic Scotland, 1895, on Queen Margaret

  A medieval fairytale: a princess, eldest child of an exiled prince and an exotic noblewoman and raised in a pious royal court, sails with her family to the land of her father’s birth and the throne promised there. The father dies within a week of arriving, possibly poisoned, and his widow raises their children alone—two princesses and a small prince who is to inherit the throne. When the aging king dies a decade later, his enemies invade and the royal family must flee. Sailing over raging seas, they are shipwrecked along a northern coast belonging to a barbarian people.

    That king, known to be a brute warrior, offers the fugitives sanctuary; he soon falls in love with the eldest princess, requesting her hand in marriage. Devout, educated, a beautiful young creature of a virtuous and charitable character, the princess intends to become a nun. But for the good of all she is persuaded to marry the warrior king.

         Their marriage of near opposites produces eight healthy children—six boys and two girls—and the queen works tirelessly to bring charity, genteel culture and religious reform to her adopted nation, earning the love and trust of the people. The king and queen adore one another: she teaches him to read and turns his plain fortress into a palace; he translates for her when she lectures his foreign priests on theology; she feeds orphans with her own golden spoon and establishes a free ferry for pilgrims; she steals the king’s gold to give it to the poor and releases his ransomed prisoners and he affectionately calls her his little thief. He orders a cover of precious metal and gems made for her favorite old book; he adores her, and she loves him, their children and her faith more than life. Their enduring affection for one another is widely respected and admired.

        Twenty-two years later, the king is killed in battle alongside his eldest son, and the queen dies of heartbreak within days. Their royal dynasty lasts generations; the queen is declared a saint by her descendants; the king is immortalized in literature, and their memory is still revered today.

        Fairytales and romance, indeed—yet this is Margaret and Malcolm’s true story in a nutshell, handed along by generations of historians and supported by medieval documents. Historians know a good deal more about them now, but their romantic story remains a solid foundation beneath both new and accumulating facts. The story of Margaret and Malcolm is a tale of a beauty and her beast, two people who changed the course of Scottish, and medieval, history.

Queen Hereafter will be released in hardcover from Crown/Random House on December 7 - less than six weeks away! I'll be giving away a hardcover copy on this blog in December, and there will also be a big giveaway in December with a chance to win a set of Wench books, including Queen Hereafter -- more news about that coming soon!

I hope you'll make a note to look for Queen Hereafter--or as it's known around my house, The Margaret Book. And please check out the new look and new features on my website, where you can read the prologue and first chapter.

~Susan  

What's In A Word?

Cara/Andrea here, red-faced for having garbled my posting date and blithely danced off to New York City for two days, leaving the text and pictures on my hard drive. Apologies to all for the delay, and on the theory of better late than never, here goes!

If you are like me, you may you may often stop and wonder where a word or a phrase came from . . .

In the course of researching various arcane historical subjects, I occasionally come across some unexpected—and fascinating—facts. Being a writer, the ones pertaining to language are especially interesting to me. Now, maybe I’m a geek, but knowing the origins of a particular word or a phrase is fun, and gives me an appreciation of the wonderfully wide range of texture, color and inspiration that we have in English. I thought you might enjoy some of the ones that have particularly caught my fancy, so without further ado, here’s a short list:

NAUTICAL

Slush fund
During the early 1800s, the meat served aboard ship in the British Navy was pretty disgusting and consisted mostly of fat and gristle. For the most part, it was simply boiled in large vats, leaving a thick scum on the top of the water which was called “slush.” This was skimmed off, and half of it was used to waterproof the ship’s rigging. The other half belonged to the ship’s cook as an official perk of the job, and he sold it to tallow merchants to supplement his Navy wages. Thus the term “slush fund”.

Head
This modern nautical term for toilet also derives from the British Navy. The beakhead was a term for an area in bow of the ship. The figurehead and the catheads were also located in the bow, as were the primitive wooden latrine seats that hung over the sides of the ship. When sailors needed to relive themselves, it became customary to say they were going to the “head.”

A square meal
For easy storage, the wooden plates used in the British Navy were usually square instead of round.


Limey
A slang term still used for the British, it came about because during the 1700s, the British government discovered that scurvy, a disease caused by a lack of Vitamin C, could be prevented by giving sailors citrus fruit. So in 1795, it became standard orders that all sailors in the British Navy received a daily ration of lemon or lime juice.

MILITARY

Leathernecks
Marines worn leather stock (which is a band of material under the collar to keep a chin up) Thus called ‘leathernecks.’

Shrapnel
the invention of a fused spherical case-shot that was designed, by General Sir Henry Shrapnel, to explode over the heads of enemy troops and shower them with musketballs.

Lock, stock and barrel
This term dates from the 1600’s and comes from a British government Ordnance order demanding that the gun barrels being ordered for the army be equipped with wooden stocks and double spring French locks—in other words, the weapons had to be in full working order. Toda, it still means “complete, and ready to go.”

Going off half cocked
An improvement was made to flintlock weapons in the early1600s, whereby a mechanical safety mechanism was designed to keep the gun from firing in the half cock position. Thus, “going off half cocked” means “exploding” prematurely. It also has connotations of something not working properly.

Bite the bullet
In the days before anesthesia, soldiers wounded on the battlefield would be given a bullet to bite down on while a doctor operated on a wound in order to keep from screaming in pain.

FASHION

Milliner
In the 1500s, the English considered hats and trimmings from the northern Italian city of Milan to be the best in the world. The merchants were called Milaners, which became milliner.

Raglan sleeve
The style, which is inset without a seam at the shoulder, is named for Lord Raglan, the dashing commander-in-chief of the British forces during the Crimean War. Having lost an arm at Waterloo, he favored a loose-fitting overcoat with this type of design and it came to be named for him.

Cravat
During the Thirty Years’ War, a regiment of mercenaries from Croatia—then a part of the Austrian Empire—were hired by the French. The Croats, called Cravates by the French, traditionally wore a colorful muslin scarf knotted at the neck, with long tails, often trimmed in lace. The style quickly caught on with the French, who simply named it after the original wearers. When the neckcloth became popular in England, it was simplified even further to ‘cravat.”

Buckle
The Romans were the first to invent chinstraps for war helmets, and as the fastener that held the strap in place was positioned on the cheek, it was called a “buccula,” meaning “little cheek.”

MISCELLANEOUS

Blackballed
At Muirfield, one of the oldest and most exclusive golf clubs in Scotland, when someone applied for membership it was a tradition that the all the current members voted on whether to admit the applicant by putting a golf ball in a wooden ballot box—white signified approval, black signified a rejection. It took only one black ball to sink a person’s chances of being admitted to the club.

The acid test
Nitric acid was used to test the purity of gold before countries had a standardized system of coinage.

Bobby (or Peeler)
The modern day London bobby, or policeman, owes his nickname to Sir Robert Peel, who established the first official police force in London, circa 1830. Early law enforcement officers were also called “peelers”.

Cut to the chase
This saying comes from the arcane game of court tennis, which was the sport played by Henry VIII (very different from lawn tennis, which didn’t come into being until the 1870s.) It has a very complex, complicated set of scoring rules—don’t ask—but one of them involves a ball landing in a certain place. When it does, a “chase” is called. However, the set is played out before the players engage in a game within a game, which ultimately determines the winner. So “cut to the chase” means skipping over parts of an endeavor to get to the most important, or dramatic, point.

Pleased as punch
This saying has its origins in the traditional street puppet show of “Punch and Judy”, where the character Punch is always very proud of himself when he murders off everyone else in the play. Popular in 19th century England, the show had its origins in medieval Italian street theatre.

Pipe dream
This term, which refers to an unrealistic goal or notion, came into being in England , where during the 18th and 19th century smoking opium had become prevalent. (Samuel Taylor Coleridge is said to have written many of his famous poems, including Kubla Khan, under the influence of the drug.)

I could go on and on, for etymology is a source of endless smiles. However, at this point, I’d rather turn the pen over to you. Do you like learning the root of phrases or words? And have you a favorite arcane term or phrase? Please share!

Novelists Inc Future of Publishing Conference

   Pat here:

In general, I dislike conferences. I’m an introvert who prefers a small, quiet dinner party to the massive noise and energy of a crowd. (You will notice I even walk on the beach when no else is there!) I love seeing old friends and talking to industry professionals, but the intense scheduling of conferences almost always triggers my flight instincts, so I only attend ones where I know I can get outside the hotel, explore, and relax.

The one exception to this rule is the Novelists Inc conference, and that’s probably because they avoid crowds, intense scheduling, and always hold their annual meeting somewhere that begs exploring. This year, it was in a resort on St Pete beach—in October, when the weather is perfect. And the meetings were fascinating exchanges between industry titans and my friends. Really, it’s hard to beat a venue like that.  (some video interviews of authors attending:  http://www.genreality.net/ninc-2  )

For those of you interested in the future of publishing—even NYC publishers agree that e-books have arrived. Sales of e-books have jumped from 3% of the trade market to 9% in the past year. They’re expecting the sales of digital books to expand exponentially after Christmas with the arrival of discounted e-readers. This is causing a tremendous shift in how publishers and authors interact and no one is entirely certain how the house of cards will fall.  One thing we’re all agreed on—we want print books to survive. For now, publishers are using “agency pricing” for ebook sales in hopes of keeping bookstores and print books out there. That might work for another year, in my opinion, while new ebook reader owners explore all the free and $2.99 offerings available on the internet, while continuing to buy paper at discounted prices at Walmart or wherever. But the convenience of buying books without leaving the house is just too tempting for electronic books to be second string forever.

 Since I spent as much of my conference time going to lunches and dinners with fun people instead of attending workshops, that’s the biggest news I have to contribute from the conference. I know we had everything from belly dancing classes to brainstorming with side trips on how to publish electronically—a panel that could have lasted three times as long and still not answered everyone’s questions. But as a result of these discussions, look for a lot more backlist ebooks in the future. (If you want to know where your favorite authors are publishing their backlist, I'd suggest bookmarking this page: http://backlistebooks.com/  It's a temporary site, but they're adding authors every day, and should be up full strength soon.)

I know it may seem odd to nonwriters, but networking and learning the business is as important in our isolated worlds as it is in the big “outside” industrial world. Are there any questions in particular you’d like to ask about what we learned at the conference? (Here's a list of our line-up: http://ninc.com/conferences/2010/index.asp ) Readers need to be really concerned about the future of books, because formats and distribution will be developing wildly over these next few years, and the consumer will be the ultimate judge of how we read in the 21st century.

Or maybe you just want to know our favorite restaurant in St. Pete. "G" Doesn't the scenery look absolutely idyllic? We'll probably be going back there next year. They have hammocks!

Free Bookmarks for our Readers!

Sherrie, here.  Wench Cara/Andrea has been busy these past few weeks designing some truly gorgeous bookmarks for all the Wenches.  We are offering them free to you, our readers, in the sidebar on the right, under Free Printable Bookmarks.  This most recent batch includes eight beautiful bookmarks (thumbnail below).  They are pdf documents and you can print off the bookmarks directly from the Bookmarks page, or download the pdf to your computer and print them off later.  (Hint:  they look really nice printed on photo paper)  

For those of you familiar with our bookmarks, you may notice we've changed the labels to make it easier for you to identify which bookmarks you want to print out.  Instead of being labeled bookmark #1, #2, etc., they are now labeled with the author name and year, with the most recent on top and the oldest on the bottom.

As promised, here is your sneak peek.  The thumbnail doesn't really do them justice.  Just click on the thumbnail to see a larger picture, or better yet, click the above link to see them full size.  Enjoy!

 
 

Children's games

Anne here, showing off the beautiful bookmark Cara/Andrea designed, one of a set she designed for the WordWenches. More about that on Sherrie's weekly Sunday post.

Maddy, the heroine of the book on the left was responsible for the upbringing of her five much younger half-sisters and brothers, and in the writing of the book I had to think up things for the children to be doing at various times. 

Which brings me to today's topic —children's games and pastimes. 

There's not a lot written in the 19th century about children's play — formal games, yes, but not the kind of unorganized play kids mostly do, especially poor children without balls or hoops, tops or special toys. So I started making lists of possibilities, using my own experience and games passed down through the generations. Of course there would be games like hopscotch and skipping and leapfrog and hide and seek and chasey (tag) and blind man's buff — they've been played by children through the ages. 

There would be war games, of course, and since the children in the story were born when England was at war with France they'd play at soldiers, reenacting famous battles and take their heroes from contemporary times. One wet day I had the boys making boats out of walnut shells in order to reenact the Battle of the Nile. 

Children invent games using whatever is to hand. I remember one year we made huge and elaborate forts under the pine trees from piled up pine needles. Remember telling time with dandelion seed heads? And asking "Do you like butter?' with  buttercups.  English children battle with conkers, played with horse chestnuts on strings, but it was the wrong time of the year for conkers in my story. We used to make mudslides and one Scottish winter I learned the delights of ice slides. I used that one — an ice-slide prompted the accident that started the story. 

I loved playing with marbles as a child, and did include a reference in the book — in a scene I later deleted. That's the thing with research — you do a mound and only the barest tip of the iceberg shows. 

Of course, ring a ring of roses has been played for centuries, but it was a bit young for these children. I suppose you've all heard the story that it's an allegory for the Great Plague. Turns out (well, according to Wikipedia) this isn't true. It was a theory that only came up in the 1950's and apparently it's been discredited. The symptoms don't particularly fit those of the plague, and similar games appear in countries and cultures all around the world. 

I wanted to find some singing and clapping games for the girls. Remember those? They vary from place to place and time to time, but they've been around forever. My dad taught me this one that his grandmother taught him. You clap each others hands in time with the words.
My mother said
I never should 
Play with the gypsies in the wood
If I did
She would say
Naughty girl to disobey
(and now the clapping would get faster and faster)
Down the alley 
Courting Sally
Picking up cinders
Making flinders
Feeding monkeys
Riding donkeys
All the livelong day!

The more games I listed the more I remembered. Did you ever play Drop the Hankie?
I wrote a letter to my love,  and on the way I lost it
Someone must have picked it up and put it in their pocket.
Thief, thief drop it! Thief, thief drop it...  (and then the mad chase)

There was something called In and Out the Windows." where children linked hands and could "open" or "close the windows, and there was a some kind of pursuit between someone inside and someone outside.  As we played this games, we sang, "Go in and out the windows; Go in and out the windows; Go in and out the windows, As we have done before." It looks like they're playing it here.

I thought of having them play the game "Sardines" -- it's a variant of hide and seek, except that only one person hides. When each person finds them they hide with them, until they all end up squashed in, say a closet, (which made it very popular as a rather risque game for adults in Victorian times.) But the cottage these children lived in was too small, with few hiding places. 

Speaking of Victorian parlor games, my godmother was a treasure trove of the more harmless ones. She used to play this game after dinner, where a person had to say to their neighbor, straight-faced, "I love you but I just can't smile." And that person would turn and say it to the next person. If they smiled they were out, so of course "the beloved" would do all they could to make them smile. It used to have me in fits of giggles as a kid.

My list goes on; Simon Says, I Spy, What's the time Mr Wolf, Fruit Salad, Charades, Rats and Rabbits, Queenie Queenie who's got the ball? Knucklebones.



I searched to find a skipping rhyme, but couldn't find one from the era. This is one I grew up with:
Cinderella
Dressed in yella
Went to meet her handsome fella.
On the way her undies busted
How many people were disgusted?
1! 2! 3! 4! (etc.)

Suitable for a Regency-era story? No, I didn't think so, either.

So most of the games and activities I thought up and researched never found it into the story, but I don't mind. It was a lot of fun discovering games new-to-me, and remembering old ones. And maybe I've prompted your memory. What games did you love to play when you were young? Do you remember any clapping or skipping rhymes? Let's share some memories.

Travels with my research

Nicola here! For my new book, One Wicked Sin, I delved into a lesser known part of British history and had a great deal of fun doing so. One Wicked Sin takes place against the background of the lives of Napoleonic War prisoners in Britain and it is something that seems largely to have disappeared from the history books. At one point during the early nineteenth century there were sixty thousand prisoners in Britain, either locked up in prison ships or high security gaols or, more intriguingly, given their liberty in country towns all over England and Scotland. These were not just French prisoners. I discovered that during that period just about everybody united to take on the British in war. There were Americans from the War of 1812-1814, there were Scandinavian privateers, Spanish, Dutch, and Irish soldiers and sailors. There were prisoners from the West Indies, who had to be issued with extra clothes to keep them warm in the British weather. I wanted to find out more about their stories so I visited two very different places; Portchester Castle, which had been used as a prison to house Napoleonic prisoners of war, and the town of Wantage, where prisoners had been given their liberty to live amongst the population.

Portchester

I visited Portchester on what felt like the wettest day of the year (which those of you who know England will realise is no small matter.) I was the only visitor at the castle that morning and the sheer miserable state of the weather added enormously to the atmosphere. As I stood in the massive keep and saw the water running down the walls and listened to it dripping relentlessly and heard the wind howling in the tower I thought that had I been incarcerated in here I would very likely have run mad.

Portchester Castle dates originally from Roman times so by the time it was used as a prison, from the start of the 18th century, it was already ancient. There were many complaints about cramped conditions and protest riots. Despite the building of an "airing ground" where prisoners could take exercise within the confines of the Roman outer wall, overcrowding at Portchester continued to be a problem.  The men slept in hammocks and were allowed a sleeping space of only 2 foot 6 by 6 foot. It is no surprise that in such conditions tempers would fray. The picture gives an idea of what this would have looked like. I stood in the vast keep of the castle - it's empty now - and imagined it festooned with hammocks only 2 foot apart. The noise, smell and crowding would have been overwhelming.

The prisoners were very creative and spent a great deal of their time making craft items which they would then sell at market.  This picture shows an item made by one of the Portchester prisoners, who also entertained themselves by forming a theatre troupe and performing various productions including Rossini's Barber of Seville sung to the accompaniment of a twelve piece orchestra!

Another useful resource was a recent Time Team archaeology programme (for those who have not seen it, Time Team is brilliant!) which excavated the prison camp at Norman Cross near Cambridge. There's a link to the Time Team article here. Norman Cross was built new to house the increasing number of prisoners from the wars.  Compared to the dripping medieval keep at Portchester these new prisons may well have seemed state of the art but conditions in them soon deteriorated and disease was rife. Within a few years Norman Cross had developed a reputation for being a place of hard gambling. Many gaming pieces have been found there and in some cases prisoners froze in the winter because they had literally gambled the clothes off their backs. There is a link here to the Norman Cross website.

Wantage

In stark contrast to the treatment meted out to the common soldiers at places like Portchester and Norman Cross, the life of an officer on parole was very different. In order to research this in more detail I visited my local parole town, Wantage in Oxfordshire. The first point that struck me about many of the parole towns was that they were very small. Modern day Wantage has a population of ten thousand people. In 1800 it was much smaller so that an influx of foreign officers into the population would have created quite a stir and had a cultural effect as well as a political one.

The second point that hit me was that there is very little in Wantage and a lot of other parole towns to mark the fact that foreign prisoners of war ever lived amongst the population. At Leek in Staffordshire, another parole town, there is a monument to the prisoners who lived - and died - there. In Wantage there is no public acknowledgement. In the museum, though, I had my most exciting moment of my research when I held in my hand the original letter from 1809 from a French colonel who was also a Duke addressed to his bankers Coutts, in London, asking them to transfer some money to the local bank in Wantage to cover his costs whilst he lived there on parole. The letter was in the original French and he was asking for 123 pounds - but that was just for a few months and in addition to the allowance all parole prisoners also received.

The life of a parole officer was pretty civilised. Although they were under curfew and were not allowed to go more than a mile out of the town bounds, they were accepted socially and invited to dine with the local gentry. They had given their word - their parole - not to escape but some did of course attempt it. Others eloped with local girls, or intermarried and stayed in England and Scotland after the end of the Wars. Some taught French and dancing (a great way to meet the local ladies!) They played billiards, formed theatre groups and spent their money in the local shops. In many places, Wantage included, the only thing that marks the fact that these men were ever there are street names such as Frenchman's Walk. The American, French and Irish prisoners who once bought their brandy in the The Bear Inn or who joined the parties at Becket House have vanished forever.

A Question and A Prize!

For me, holding in my hand that letter written by the French Duke was the highlight of my research and a very special moment. Have you ever discovered anything exciting that linked you directly to the past? If so what was it and how did you feel? If not, what would you like to find? I'm giving away a set of my trilogy books, Whisper of Scandal, One Wicked Sin and Mistress By Midnight to one commenter.

Fox Hunting

Emily and the Dark Angel, out now, is the latest of my Classic Regencies to be reissued, and it takes place in Melton Mowbray in Leicestershire, a town called the “Queen of the Shires.”

WHAT ARE THE SHIRES?

The identification of the “Shires” has been debated, but we can say it means Leicestershire, tiny Rutland, and some nearby fringes of other counties which are mainly pasture land, and thus good for riding. But above all it means Leicestershire.

“It is a country not only of grass, but of wide pastures where there is room for a horse to extend himself between his fences, where the turf is old and sound, well drained, and seldom deep.” Foxhunting in the Shires,  by T F Dale, available to read here.

Here's a photograph of typical Leicestershire countryside near Melton. 

THE QUEEN OF THE SHIRES.
At the heart of Leicestershire is Melton Mowbray, a town central for the three major hunts -- the Quorn, Belvoir(pronounced beaver) and Cottesmore. A hunt basically is the pack of hounds, but it also refers to a geographical area.

I did a some research in the Melton library, which has a copy of  Melton Mowbray, queen of the shires, by Jack Brownlow,1980 by Sycamore Press, Wymondham, Leicestershire. Some of the information here comes from that book.

If you’ve read Regency romance for a while, you’ll be bound to have heard about Melton because it was the place to be for the top-of-the-trees young men of the period in the winter months. Travel to and from Melton was still arduous, especially in winter, so once there, the “Meltonians” as they were called, stayed. In fact, they lingered so long that society ladies would complain of the lack of eligible men at the beginning of the London season.

HUNTING BOXES 
They lived in inns, rented rooms, or ideally had a hunting box. In theory a hunting box was a small, informal place, and some were mere cottages, but most were grander and some were mansions. Belvoir Castle, seat of the Duke of Rutland, could be considered a hunting box at times as people did stay there and ride to the hunts, or into Melton for a convivial evening.

MELTONIANS

A Meltonian would arrive in the town with a string of horses, both hunters and hacks, but once there he would buy and sell, always striving to own the best horses available. That buying and selling plays a significant part in Emily and the Dark Angel. (And also in the Rogues books, Forbidden, and Dangerous Joy.)

This is not a lady’s world, and those ladies normally residing in Melton found the influx of men annoying, for they certainly didn’t have marriage on their minds. However, Emily Grantwich can’t hide away. Because her father is crippled and her brother missing presumed dead in the army, she’s managing the family estate near Melton. She needs money, and selling her father’s hunters is one way to get some. To sell them at a high price, however, they need to be ridden in a hunt – something she can’t do.

  A few women did hunt, but they were nearly all Cyprians, and it took great riding prowess unless they were willing to ride astride. The side-saddle of the period lacked the leaping horn added later, which gave a woman a more secure seat and made taking fences safer.This illustration is from this World of Jane Austen blog. Though drawn to show the folly of wearing a wig when riding, it also shows the flailing leg and lack of control.

Emily is a keen rider, but despite the role forced upon her, she’s a conventional woman who’d never dream of anything so scandalous as joining the hunt.

ROUGHRIDERS
What Emily wants to do is hire a rough rider. Yes, that’s an English term of the period, applied to men who rode horses in the hunt in order to show them off to best advantage so they’d bring a high price. The best one around was Dick Christian. He charged 15 shillings a ride for his regulars, and a pound a ride for occasional work. He was such a good rider, that on a blank day – ie when no fox was found – he was paid to ride ahead to provide a good run. This image shows a hunt, and Dick Christian's Last Fall. I'm not sure what that means, for he died at 83.

Emily was dreaming high when she wished for Christian to ride her horses. However, Piers Verderan, the Dark Angel, has encountered Emily Grantwich, (you can read that scene, with a rake, a lady, and a Violet Tart by clicking here) and finds himself wanting to help her. His moment comes as he’s riding into Melton.

A SNIPPET -- VERDERAN ENCOUNTERS DICK CHRISTIAN

    “Good day to you, Christian. A handful?”
    “You could say that, sir,” the young man said, laughing, ably discouraging his horse from nipping at Verderan’s mount. “But we’re coming to terms.”
    “Busy this year?”
    “Busier than ever, sir. Seems everyone wants me to ride. Give up, Fly-By-Night!” he said to his mount as the horse tried to circle. With voice and vicelike legs he held the horse steady. “ You’d think he’d be ripe for a rest,” he commented wryly. “We’ve just done a five-mile run. He’ll be afine one for a long day once he realises who’s master.”
    “Whose is he?”
    “Just a coper’s, sir. I’m riding a prime piece of blood later in the season for Lord Stourbridge, though. Might be to your taste.”
    “I’m not looking for more horses at the moment.”
    “Pity, sir. The Grantwich lot’s coming up. The old man’s bedridden and the son’s dead in the war they say. Sorry business, but there’s a couple of fine horses there. Sir Henry had an eye for them. Had word asking if I’d ride for them. I’d like to oblige, being such a sad case, but I’m booked for most of the season.”
    “Word from Sir Henry?” asked Verderan, alert.
    “No, sir,from the daughter. She runs things these days.”
    It was a crazy impulse, but he didn’t fight it. “Do you have a couple of customers you don’t mind offending, Christian?”
    The young man looked at him shrewdly. “A couple maybe.”
    “A bonus of twenty guineas to take on the Grantwich horses. Just between the two of us.”
    The young man’s eyes widened. “Twenty! You’re on, sir, and it’s a pleasure.”
    Verderan saluted. “It’s my season for mad charities. I’ll send a draft to you. At the Blue Bell, as usual?”
    “Aye, sir. And if you’ve any more such charities in mind, I’m your man.”
    With a laugh, Verderan rode on.

MORE ABOUT MELTON

With so many rich and fashionable men in the town for months, it expanded rapidly. Like London, it had its clubs, There was a New Club in High Street, but the prime one, the one every man wanted to belong to, or even be invited to, was the Old Club in Burton Street.

Then and Now is a lovely site showing old and current pictures, and it has some of Burton Street, showing the Old Club. I've taken this image from there, but do visit to see how beautifully they show the changes. Click here.

Can't you just see the prime Meltonians standing in the bow windows, surveying lesser mortals?

ANOTHER SNIPPET. VERDERAN INVITES THREE YOUNG MEN TO DINE AT THE OLD CLUB -- MUCH TO HIS SURPRISE.

  “I too have inherited a place nearby,” Verderan said. “But for the moment I’m staying at the Old Club.”
    He looked at their awed faces and found himself saying, “If you promise not to blow your noses on the tablecloth you may dine with me there tonight.”
    Despite their attempt at sophistication, three faces flushed with colour and three pairs of eyes shone. “I say, that’s damned decent of you, Ver,” said Harry.
    “ Yes, it is,” said Verderan brusquely. “Don’t make me regret it.”
    The trio correctly took this as dismissal and made themselves scarce while Verderan wondered if it was a sign of senility, this tendency to be so disgustingly kind to people. More likely it was a lingering effect of the morning’s adventure. He was never coming within a mile of Poudre de Violettes again.

And what happens?
    That evening, Verderan found the meal at the Old Club drawing to a close without any obvious disaster having taken place. Well trained by Eton and Christ Church, his three guests had the precise blend of ease and deference which made them invisible to the lions they ate with. They listened with flattering absorption to the hunting tales of the old hands and made just sufficient contribution to the conversation to avoid being apostrophised as nodcocks.
    Verderan thought he could see them taking mental notes for their memoirs—or for tales for their grandchildren. “Did I ever tell you about the time I dined at the Old Club with Assheton-Smith . . .”
    Golden memories of the evening had been assured the trio when it was found that Lord Robert Manners had ridden over from Belvoir Castle and brought with him the great man himself, the legendary Thomas Assheton-Smith, who had succeeded Hugo Meynell as Master of the Quorn.

(Lord Robert Manners was the son of the Duke of Rutland. Hugo Meynell and Tom Assheton-Smith were great men in the development of fox hunting in the Shires, along with Obaldeston, a less admirable character, as we see.)

    Osbaldeston spoke up again. “So tell us, Verderan,” he drawled. “Why, pray, were you seen squiring an upper servant through town, covered with a fine dusting of flour?”
    Verderan discovered that he didn’t want anyone, least of all Osbaldeston, poking around Miss Grantwich’s reputation.
    “Good lord,” he replied nonchalantly. “How came you by that tale? I hardly thought any civilised person was about at that hour.”
    The sharp little face, so like his quarry the fox, tightened at the slight. “You obviously were, Verderan.”
    “But I have never claimed to be civilised, Osbaldeston,” replied Verderan, to a general chuckle. “And it was not flour but Poudre de Violettes.”
    Violet had said the “Squire” was after her favours. From the sudden colour in his cheeks, for once she had not been lying.
    Before Osbaldeston could respond, Chart Ashby exclaimed, “Violet Vane,” and then went red as he realized the knowledge his words implied.
    “Can you afford her?” asked Verderan with interest.
    “Hardly,” said Chart, recovering some of his carefully cultivated sangfroid. “I met her once and she asked for a gift of the stuff. I…I’d heard she was in town.”
    “Did you give her any?” Verderan asked.
Chart coloured again as he said, “ Yes.”
     “I wouldn’t expect too much return on the investment," Verderan said kindly. "She obviously only collects it to use as ammunition.”

(BTW, you can download a special Wench bookmark for this book here. Print it out on thick paper or card stock and enjoy.)

So in Emily and the Dark Angel I wove real people into my fictional inventions, perhaps more than in any other of my other Regencies. Melton and the Shires just such a rich ground, full of incidents and characters.

THE MELTONIAN DANDIES

There were probably more than I know about.
The Gambling Dandy. Major General the Honourable Henry Craven, 2nd son of Lord Craven.
The Red Dandy. Rufus Lloyd of County Tipperary, veteran of the Peninsular War. According to Queen of the Shires, he was crazy. (I gathered all this data before the web, and I've tried to find out more about these people. Nothing on this one.)
The Plebian Dandy. Henry Pierrepont, - son of Lord Manvers. Why plebian? No idea.
The Mosaic Dandy. John Mills of the Coldstream Guards. There’s a book, For King and Country: Letters and Diaries of John Mills, Coldstream Guards, 1811-14, and was also a  famous amateur cricketer. Perhaps his many skills led to the word "mosaic."

Awareness of these Dandies led me to call Verderan’s uninvited guest, Kevin Renfrew, the Daffodil Dandy, because he always dresses in yellow.

Another Meltonian was the famous Captain Barclay, the athlete and strong man who for a wager walked 1,000 miles, but he did it by walking one mile in each of 1,000 successive hours -- a mile an hour, every hour, for forty-two days and nights. There's more about him here.

DID ORDINARY FOLK HUNT?
Despite the costs, hunting wasn’t an entirely aristocratic sport. The custom was that anyone with a horse could follow the hunt, and some odd characters did. There was a chimney sweep who hunted in his working clothes, complete with black top hat and brush, and a group of weavers regularly followed the hunt. Because the hunts needed the good will of the farmers, they were not expected to subscribe to a hunt and were encouraged to take part. A group of Leicestershire graziers followed the Quorn and were called the Bluecoats.

NOW FOR QUESTIONS AND PRIZES!
When Emily and the Dark Angel first came out, I heard no unease about fox hunting, and it won a RITA, (that's a RITA) so it didn't offend any judges, but this time around I’ve heard some murmurs. Does foxhunting bother you as a major element in a Regency? Are you bothered by angling, or men going out with guns to shoot birds or rabbits? 

I’ve never hunted, but why, I ask, should brothels and gaming hells be okay in period romance, and fox hunting not? Are we rational about what we object to about the past?

Regency England was another world, with different sensibilities from the 21st century. How far should authors adapt the world to suit modern tastes? We can simply ignore some things – I firmly ignore dentistry! – but some things are so central that pretending they’re not there is to create a fantasy version of the period.

But then, I did once name the Regency of Regency romance “Prinnyworld.”

Discuss!

I’ll pick three winners from among the most interesting comments. If you're one, you can have your pick of the reissued Classic Regencies as listed here.

Talley-ho! as they used to call when the hounds caught scent of a fox.

Jo

New Winners!

We've had another round of winners recently!  Melissa Tarun won a copy of the anthology Bespelling Jane Austen, and MJ Selle won a book from Joanna Bourne. Congratulations, winners!  If you haven't already been contacted, please send your mailing address to Sherrie so that we can send your books!

Meet a Wenchly Reader

Anne here, introducing a new, occasional feature called Meet a Wenchly Reader. We thought it might be fun, now and then, to shine the spotlight on a few of the names that regularly crop up in the comments — a kind of quick snapshot that highlights the range of readers we have and where they come from. Today we invite you to meet RevMelinda, Louis and Maggie, who've been reading this blog and dropping in to comment for years. We've asked each person the same questions and asked for a photo or two that's important to them. We hope you enjoy meeting your fellow wenchly readers.

RevMelinda, tell us a little about where you live. 
I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest for over 20 years with my husband and our two daughters.  Our city overlooks the Columbia and Willamette rivers, about 90 minutes from both the atmospheric rocky beaches to the west and the towering Cascade mountains to the east.  Over the years I’ve come to appreciate the perpetual misty rain, the bikes and bridges, the coffee shops and brewpubs, the Thai eateries on every corner, and the ultra-casual dress code (even at church or the opera).  We can see Mount Hood from our living room window—particularly beautiful at sunrise.

This picture represents my professional capacity as a volunteer coordinator for hospice.  I work to recruit, train, assign and support volunteers who provide weekly respite in the homes of our hospice patients.  Hospice is an interdisciplinary way of providing medical, social, and spiritual care to people who are terminally ill and have a prognosis of 6 months or less.  I feel privileged to work with volunteers committed to comforting and companioning our patients and their families in this most intimate and profound of journeys.

Can you tell us 3 interesting facts about yourself or 3 authors who are auto-buys for you?

Interesting fact: (not three, just one!) I’m a Presbyterian minister by vocation; you can read my sermon about romance novels here. 
Three authors who are auto-buys:  CS Harris (the Sebastian St. Cyr series of mysteries set in the Regency; Harris describes her protagonist as “Mr. Darcy with a James Bond edge”) Carla Kelly (beautifully written and emotionally honest romances often featuring doctors, sea captains, and ordinary people doing extraordinary things) Karen Marie Moning (her paranormal Darkfever series is like crack with covers—once you start, you can’t stop, and you want everyone you know to get addicted too)

This second picture (taken some years ago) combines three of my favorite things —my daughters, the Pacific Ocean, and the setting sun.

How you usually read the Word Wenches blog?  
I read the Wenches most often at home, in the morning, while I sip the day’s first cup of coffee.  However, I usually don’t make a comment until the afternoon or evening as I need some time to ruminate on the blog topic of the day.

 What book do you remember as the one that made you fall in love with reading? 
I never lose an opportunity to talk about the first romance novel I ever read, Georgette Heyer’s “The Masqueraders.”  It has a crazy premise—a brother (Robin) and sister (Prudence) hide from their past in the plain sight of society by pretending to be the opposite sex (Robin pretends to be a woman, Prudence pretends to be a man)—but Heyer makes the crazy premise work.  The book has a little bit of everything—masquerades, duels, secret pasts, a lost heir, a sinister villain, a botched elopement, fabulous clothes, delicious secondary characters—and Sir Anthony Fanshawe, the large gentleman with sleepy eyes who is much more alert than he seems, is an unlikely but thoroughly swoon-worthy hero.

Introducing Louis.  

My wife and I raise Arabian horses on our five acres of Southern California backcountry.   We have five children...four boys and a daughter...all grown up. We have five grandchildren and two great grandchildren.   I am a retired television engineer and have been retired for 12 years. My wife is a retired RN. I'm a WWII vet and was in the Navy. I'm 86 years young.  

I think this is my favorite of our horses. Her name is "Fair Lady"  a purebred Arabian She is blind in one eye due to a genetic cross that was not known when she was bred. We all still love her.  

I started reading in the second grade. Started with "Romance" when about 12 while visiting an aunt... she had several Grace Livingston Hill books that I read... and I continued from then on.   I'm a voracious reader,  re-reader and share that with my daughter. Auto buys are JAK and Nora Roberts plus several others. Some newer writers that I like are Lauren Willig, Mary Anna Evans, and Maria V Snyder.  

I usually read the Word Wenches blog around noonish. Sometimes with coffee and sometimes with a sandwich.  

This picture is of one of our "Resident Road Runners" sunning on our deck rail. There is a pair of them and they raised two chicks this year.

 

Our third wenchly reader is Maggie Robinson. 

 I live down a long private dirt road that ends at a lake in Maine. Gorgeous sunrises. Loons. Peace. This is our forever house. I want to die here (but not anytime soon).

This is my chance to tell you about my two upcoming releases, right? I’m tremendously excited to share a December Brava anthology title with Virginia Henley and Kate Pearce. My second book in the Courtesan Court Trilogy, Mistress by Midnight, comes out in January. Yes, Nicola and I share the same title, but I know Wenchly Readers are way too smart to mix us up.

3 Interesting facts about yourself?
 I was a double-debut author this spring, writing as both Maggie Robinson and Margaret Rowe. I’m rather old for a debutante. I credit reading the Wenches for inspiration, but don’t blame them—all errors are mine. In the next couple of years there will be eleven books published with my names in them somewhere. I’m stunned and oh so grateful.

How you usually read the Word Wenches blog?
I wake up very early, read the news, e-mail and my favorite blogs online in my pajamas. I subscribe to the Wenches’ alert so I can read the new post right from my mailbox. Traditionally, I have a cup of tea with too much sugar and lemon and a maple-nut muffin, and then get to writing.

What book do you remember as the one that made you fall in love with reading?
Like so many girls, I loved Little Women, although I’m still upset that Jo didn’t marry Laurie. I’ve been trying to match-make ever since.

Thank you RevMelinda, Louis and Maggie for joining us and sharing a little about your lives. I certainly enjoyed getting to know you a little better, I hope others did too.  I'll send a book to one person who leaves a comment.

What a pity it isn't illegal . . . Regency Ice Cream.

Ice cream is exquisite. 
What a pity it isn't illegal. 
~Voltaire

Joanna here, ruminating on Regency ice cream.
 
There's a certain perversity to Mother Nature. 

Take  strawberry ice cream. 
Here we have an obvious Good Thing.  Combine fresh strawberries, something sweet, and milk.  Cradle the mixture in ice and harden it. 
Voilà -- you're going to end up with something tasty.

But it's not so straightforward. 

 

When you've got the ice handy --  when the wind is howling through the shutters and there's icicles on the eaves, you are shivering in your fur-lined mukluks, without strawberries, and without milk   because the cow is dry, it being -- well -- the dead of winter, and she's huddled in the hut with you trying to eat the mattresses.  Nobody's in the mood for a frozen desert. 

On the other hand, when strawberries are springing up red and juicy about the lilting fields, just begging for poets to compare them to some young girl's lips, the nearest actual ice is at a five-thousand-foot elevation. 

In the ancient world, if you happened to have teams of runners fetching snow from distant mountain peaks -- who doesn't? -- you could bring together the disparate elements of summer and winter.  The Chinese, millennia ago, made a dish of sweetened, flavored milk and rice hardened by packing it in snow. 

Nero, who is famous for  a number of indulgences, indulged in ice cream.

The Persians enjoyed their complicated fruit drinks cooled with snow from Mount Damavand.  Sort of a Twelfth Century smoothie.  
 
I'll just interject an author personal note here. 
I lived for a while at the foot of picturesque, snow-capped Mount Damavand and used to come out my front door in the morning and watch the goat boys driving their particolored herds down the dusty trails of the mountain side. 
The Persian word for snow is 'barf'. 

The story of Regency ice cream is not so much 'when ice cream came to Europe' or 'who invented it up' -- I'd argue the Cro-Magnons had the concept -- it's about how ice cream stopped being the Neiman Marcus conspicuous consumption of the fabulously powerful and slid down the social scale till ordinary folk could have a bite.

It's all about the ice.
The technology that brought ice cream to the Georgian and Regency table was  the ice house. 

An icehouse is a glorified root cellar.  A Schwarzenegger of a root cellar.  It was an underground excavation lined with brick or stone and insulated with boards and straw. 

 

 

 

 

The bottom curved to hold ice melt.  The roof was domed.  The door typically faced north.  Strategically planted trees provided shade. 

In the dead of winter, men cut blocks of ice from nearby lakes and  ponds,  brought it back in horse-drawn carts and stacked the great blocks  inside.  Ice  stayed snug, frozen through the height of the summer. 

These ice houses could be huge.  The interior of one Georgian ice house,  Parlington Hall in Yorkshire, measured sixteen feet in diameter by twenty feet deep.  And they could be efficient.  In the warm climate of Virginia, Thomas Jefferson noted that his ice supply at Monticello could last till October. 

It was a miracle of rare device,
a sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The idea of the ice house probably piggybacked home with English travelers to Italy.  It went viral in England in the mid Seventeenth Century.  In 1682, Charles II had his own ice house built in St. James park.  Owners of the great estates all climbed onto the ice house bandwagon.  Ice cream became almost democratic. 

 Well . . . maybe not quite for the masses just yet.  In the early 19th Century ice cream was still a rich man's treat.  In 1808, when Jane Austen went to stay with her rich brother Edward, who had an ice house at his home Godmersham in Kent, she could write her sister Cassandra;
 "In the meantime, for elegance and ease and luxury, the Hattons and Milles’ dine here to-day, and I shall eat ices and drink French wine, and be above vulgar economy."
 
In town, shops like Negri’s, (which became  Gunter's in 1799,) at the Sign of the Pineapple in Berkeley Square and dozens of confectioners along Bond Street served ice creams and water ices.  In Paris, fashionable Parisians ate ices in cafés at the Rodeo Drive of the day, the Palais Royale. 
  When it didn't snow, or just to keep up with demand, London imported ice. 

Two or three mild winters, of late, in succession, have brought a new article of foreign trade into England.  Ice, for the use of the confectioners, comes now to us all the way from Norway  . . .

This imported ice, (jealous of sunshine) is foremost in our streets now of mornings, moving along, in huge cart-loads, from the below-bridge wharfs ; and looking, as it lies in bulk, like so much conglutinated Epsom salts.
Blackwood's Magazine in 1823

I now want to call someone a conglutinated Epsom salt, but I doubt I will have the opportunity.

We dare not trust our wit for making our house pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Here's a 1769 recipe for making ice cream.  Apricot ice cream:
 
Pare, stone and scald twelve ripe Apricots,
 beat them fine in a Marble  Mortar,
put to them six Ounces of double refined Sugar, a Pint of scalding Cream, work it through a Hair Sieve, put it into a Tin that has a close Cover, set it in a Tub of Ice broken small, and a large Quantity of Salt put amongst it,
when you see your Cream grow thick round the Edges of your Tin, stir it and set it in again ’till it all grows quite thick,
when your Cream is all Froze up, take it out of your Tin, and put it in the Mould you intend it to be turned out of.
The Experienced English Housekeeper by Elizabeth Raffald

The freezing apparatus looked something like this.  The ice that  chilled the ice cream was mixed with salt to make it colder and put in an outer tub.  The salt was used because a brine of salt water can reach a colder temperature than plain water.   An inner container, called a sabotiere, held the ice cream mixture.  That sabotiere might be made of pewter or -- oh dear -- lead.  A sort of scraper moved the newly formed ice crystals from the inner wall of the sabotiere.  

 

Ice cream was originally called 'iced cream'.  After the 1770s, the words, 'ice cream', began to appear.  That's the term that gradually took over.  A 'water ice' was what we'd now call a sherbet or Italian ice.
Just to be confusing, 'sherbet', in this period, meant a sweetened, dilute fruit drink. 

How was ice cream served?

Soft ice cream might be placed in a mold, as the recipe above suggests, hardened, and turned out onto a plate.  Or the ice cream at a formal dinner might be put into a special ice cream server, a seau à glace. 

This was a three-piece rig, some of them just beautifully decorated.  The outer bowl held the ice, probably salted.  An inner bowl containing the actual ice cream sits within that.  Then the lid comes down over the ice cream.  You then pile a tasteful collection of ice cubes on the lid to chill the last side of the ice cream.   
 
 
At Gunter's Tea Shop or in a Paris Café, our Georgian or Regency heroine licked her ice cream mounded up in a cone-shaped glass, or ate it more delicately with a little spoon, from glass or from  a tasse à glace -- an ice cream cup -- like those Sèvres cups pictured above.  

.
 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this last picture, we see the waiter with a menu card . . . doubtless listing all the sorts of ice cream on offer.

Sometimes, one over-indulges.  For instance, from Adelaide and Theodore, a novel  by Genlis, in 1796:

Adelaide was silent and melancholy; I asked her the reason of it; she told me she had a pain in her head. It is, says I, because you have surfeited yourself.
 

—Me, mamma ?

—Yes; you have eat ten tartlets, six biscuits, and taken two glasses of ice cream, therefore it is not at all surprising that you should be sick.

 

The temperature of ice cream would have been a novelty and a shock in an era without refrigerators and freezers.  Here's a caricature of a vulgar cockney's first encounter with ice cream.  It's an exaggeration, of course . . .

"Lauk ! its all in a freezed lump, I declare,'' cried she, directing a most immoderate spoonful into her gaping mouth, with the intention of setting both jaws to work, when giving a violent shriek, she dropped the glass, which broke in a thousand shivers; and, with a sudden effort, spit out the offending mouthful plump on the counter.
. . .
"'Drot all ice-creams, say I. How could you be such an ignorant creature to persuade me to eat such stuff . . . I'll tell ye what, my girl, (turning to the shop-woman) that there sort of stuff ought to be cried down. It may be a fashionable way of freezing your quality folks to death, but I'd sooner be burnt up alive in a brandy cag."

That great idea, the ice cream cone, is probably a late Victorian invention.  There's no written reference to waffle cookies being used to serve ice cream before the 1880s.  The ice cream fork, not such a great idea, is a strange spork-like thingum that marches in the array of Victorian silverware.  It also seems Victorian.  At least, I can't find a Regency reference.  


Here's the first American recipe for ice cream, in Thomas Jefferson's handwriting.  He brought it back from France.  It calls for vanilla bean, not available in America at that time.  He used to cajole them from friends traveling to Europe.

Ice Cream.
2. bottles of good cream.
6. yolks of eggs.
1/2 lb. sugar

Just a lovely start to a recipe, IMHO.

 

Photocredits: The icehouse at Tapeley Gardens is cc attrib Rog Frost.  The top left and top right seaux à glace and the six ice cream cups are copyright Ivan Day, historic foods. com .  Sorbetiere from Joseph Giller.

 

For me, the ultimate ice cream is pistachio.  From a sugar cone.  Outside under a blue sky full of sun.  I feel quite certain Jane Austen would agree with me.

What's your significant ice cream, and what literary character do you share it with?   
 

One person in the comment trail will win a copy of Forbidden Rose or the trade edition of Spymaster's Lady, your choice. 

Bespelling Jane Austen

by Mary Jo

In marketing, a brand name can take you a long way, and there is no stronger brand in romance than Jane Austen.  Her wit and sharp but compassionate characterizations and social commentary have never gone out of style.  Her stories have been filmed again and again, and there have been an incredible variety of spin-off pastiches. 

Which brings us to Bespelling Jane Austen, in which four most excellent authors:

Mary Balogh  

Colleen Gleason 

Susan Krinard  

Janet Mullany

have paranormal fun with Jane.  They are visiting the Wenches today (particularly Janet, who is a member of my local RWA chapter) to talk about their stories and how Jane Austen might feel about them!

There are very well organized authors!  Bespelling Jane Austen has a website and here is a link to excerpts of all four stories: 

For this visit to the Word Wenches, I decided to cut right to the chase: 

“Would Jane Austen forgive the liberties you've taken with her?”  <G>

MARY BALOGH
Jane Austen not only had a great sense of humor, but she also had a fine sense of the absurd. Think of Mr. Collins as a perfect example. I think if she were living today she might well get a chuckle out of finding her stories being so irreverently (but very affectionately!) used as a jumping off ground for wild tales of vampires and reincarnated lovers and the like. I know I would if anyone should ever try doing something similar with my books.

And that for me is the ultimate test. Would I mind if it happened to me? Since the answer is definitely no, I can only assume and hope that Jane Austen would not find our stories disrespectful. Please, Jane, don't turn over in your grave. One or four of us might just have to write a story about it...

JANET MULLANY

Consider that if Austen did mind and was around to do something about it she’d have her revenge on all four of us in the most devastatingly elegant and merciless satire. I hope she’d admire our humor and our inventiveness in analysis and reconstruction of her books into shorter works.

For instance, the episode of Mr. Elton and the picture of Harriet, which takes up several chapters in Emma, I interpreted as a photo on his cell phone; the gift of the piano to Jane Fairfax is the gift of a car, something extravagant and not altogether suitable for someone living in a historic area with cobbled streets. Austen might object to us not including enough of her originals and not going far enough with it—she was a woman who wasn’t afraid of a literary challenge.

COLLEEN GLEASON

Jane would, I think, very much enjoy the liberties I took with Northanger Abbey for my own version simply because her version was a take-off on the very popular "horrid" novels of the time. She obviously had a sense of humor, and I like to think that she would have liked the wink-wink-nudge-nudge I tried to incorporate into “Northanger Castle.”

In her book, Catherine Morland is terribly wrong about certain things, and she is mortified when her overactive imagination gets her in trouble. In my version, Caroline Merrill has her own embarrassing moments, but they aren't quite as tenuous as Catherine's. Plus, I think Jane would have loved Lord Rude. ;-)

SUSAN KRINARD

Yes, I think she would. Jane Austen was ahead of her time in writing a story that gently mocked social conventions but also wrote books that were enjoyable purely as fiction. We, as romance writers, are doing much the same thing by couching the language of modern life in stories readers can relate to. I'm sure Jane had plenty of imagination, and would have appreciated the tribute of other writers.

So there you are! Riffs on Jane Austen by four authors who love, admire, and know her work. 

A free copy of Bespelling Jane Austen will be given to one commenter between now and midnight Tuesday. 

Fangs for the visit to Janet, Susan, Colleen, and Mary!

Mary Jo

(1) Bespelling Jane Austen; (2) Winner

BESPELLING JANE AUSTEN:

On Monday, October 11, Mary Jo will feature the authors of Bespelling Jane Austen:  Mary Balogh, Janet Mullany, Susan Krinard, and Colleen Gleason.  Bespelling is a Harlequin anthology of four stories based on Jane Austen novels, but with a paranormal twist!  Join us on Monday and read about Bespelling Jane Austen!

WINNER:

We have yet another winner!  (We do love to give away books!)  Jeanne Miro has won a book from Anne Gracie for leaving a comment on Anne's post regarding where we get our ideas.  Congratulations, Jeanne.  Anne will be contacting you for your mailing address.

Reading the Fine Print

Cara/Andrea here,

In that strange synchronicity of thought that sometimes swirls through the ether, it appears that Susan and I both decided to talk about books and why we love them this week. In the spirit of “there can never be too much of a good thing,” I shall, however, stick to my inkly guns, for I intend to a more “hands-on” approach.

Consider Susan’s lovely words and pictures on the beauty of a room filled with books as a prologue to my post, so to speak. Her waxing poetic on the look, the feel, the smell and the texture of real books echoes my own elemental affinity for ink and paper.

Now, that said, allow me to give you a little backstory on how those lovely library shelves come to be filled with bibliographic treasures . . .

I love the printed page. For me, it’s the aesthetics—though in truth, much of the subtle nuances have been lost these days in the blur of cheap newsprint and mechanized speed-demon presses that spit out zillions of copies per hour. So what I really mean is, I love the printed page from the centuries when its creation was a labor of love as well as profit.

From the mid 15th century, when Gutenberg set his eponymous Bible in moveable type, to the late 19th century when Ottmar Mergenthaler invented the revolutionary linotype machine, printers were artists of a sort, painstakingly creating each word out of individual letters cast in lead. (Equipped with a typewriter-style keyboard, the linotype machine allowed a typesetter to compose an entire line of text, which was then cast in one piece of metal—thus it’s called “hot type” as opposed to traditional “cold type” where each word is composed of individual lead letters.) A printer’s workshop—the sort of which I speak—was a whole little world unto itself, with its own arcane language and its own quirky traditions.

So now, let’s roll up our sleeves (warning—in printing, you have to be willing to get your hands dirty!) and take a quick primer course on how a “real” printed page is created.

These are pieces of type, cast out of lead. They are called "sorts" in printer's lingo—hence the term "out of sorts" because when a printer ran out of type while setting a page, it was not a happy moment. There are hundreds—no, thousands—of different typeface designs, from elegant serifs  to flowery scripts to austere sans serifs. A printer usually tries to match the type to the “feel” of the text. In other words, Lord Byron’s poetry would, to my eye,  look awkward set in Helvetica bold. Once a typeface is chosen, the printer decides on the size of the page, the width of the text, and the size of the actual type. Another variable is leading, which as the name implies, consists of actual strips of lead that are inserted between the lines of type. They range in thickness from a hairline (yes, this is an actual measure) to a wide variety of  “points,” i.e 3 pts. of leading, 6 pts. of leading, etc.

What’s a point? I did warn you that printing has its own language and customs. Traditionally, printers use a measuring system based on picas rather than inches. There are roughly 6 picas to an inch, and 12 points to a pica. Type sizes are also measured this way—you are probably all familiar with 12 pt. Times Roman on your computer, right? Well, even in this digital age, points and picas remain the standard for designers and printers. 

As you can imagine, print workshops are filled with cabinets full of leading in a vast array of lengths and widths. They are also filled with drawers of lead “spacers” Em spacers, en spacers, word spacers, hairline spacers . . . okay, you get the point.

Once all these decisions are made, the work begins! A composing stick, which has a moveable locking end that can be adjusted to various widths, is used to hold the letters. The type is set upside down and right to left, so the page can be built on top of itself. (printers develop an uncanny ability for reading this way.) A printer takes his letters from a type case, which holds one size and style of type. Is it arranged alphabetically? Oh no, that would be far too easy. It’s arranged by the frequency of use—the vowels are closest to the center, and range outward, with Zs and Qs toward the outer edges. Again, printers and their assistants—or “monkeys”—must memorize the arcane arrangement, for when a page is finished, the type must be ‘distributed” back to its proper place. And nothing makes a printer curse more than finding the wrong letter in the wrong compartment!



When the stick is filled, the  lines tied off with a length of twine to keep from spilling helter-skelter, and moved to a composing tray. Once a page is complete, it’s time to go to press. There are a variety of press styles, but let’s stick with a flat bed proofing press. The type, which is all cast to a standard height, is locked into place with wooden “furniture,” which are blocks of wood that are tightened with a printer’s quoin and key. The pressure is key. Too little and the type will wobble under the pressure of the print cylinder, causing a smeared impression, or actually breaking the type. Too much and the type will be squeezed up, with the same results.

The printer is now ready for paper . . . oh, don’t get me started on paper! Like typefaces, paper comes in an infinite variety of textures, colors and weights. Plain white? No such thing. There are warm whites (undertones of yellow), cool whites (undertones of blue), pearl whites, cream whites . . .you get the picture. And then there is grain. It’s important to print with the grain going parallel to the binding, otherwise a finished book may warp in a weird way. All paper has a grain, which is determined by the way the paper fibers are aligned during the papermaking process. Take a sheet, curl it up as if you were going to fold it in half (but don’t) and test the pressure against you palm. Do it in both directions. One way will have more resistance than the other. This is ‘going against the grain.” It’s a real no-no to mix  the direction of the grain—pages always be printed with the grain going the same way. If the paper is dampened very slightly, it takes a better impression. But the process is very time-consuming. Today, some artisan printers still follow the tradition, however it is becoming a lost art.

Now, back to the press . . . a sheet of paper is clipped into place on the cylinder, which rolls over the inked type (on a flat bed press, there are soft gelatin rollers below the paper cylinder, which lay a light layer of ink over the lead.) A printer will adjust the pressure of the paper against the type by adding or subtracting thin sheets of paper, calling packing, beneath the actual printing paper. Connoisseurs of fine printing consider a “perfect” impression is one where you can feel just a ghost of embossing from the lead letters.  Again, too much pressure and the type will look heavy and distorted. Too little pressure and the type will be faint and uneven. And then there is the subject of adding illustration to the text. However that is a whole other can of worms (or block of wood, as the case may be!)

This is, admittedly a very basic explanation of the process. There are many nuances of printing left unsaid, but I hope you begin to see why I consider a printer of real books to be an artist.

I could go on and on and on about the books I consider beautiful. But that would take up far too much space, so I’ll leave you with just a few parting images. Here are two examples that I love from the Kelmscott Press, the magnificent workshop founded by William Morris, a leader of the Arts & Crafts movement in the late 19th century. (top and left) And here is a special treasure from my own library—a handmade book with original etchings by Lance Hidy.  (bottom)

How about you? What do your feel about paper vs. digital? And do you have a favorite “aesthetic” book—one that you love for its look and feel, regardless of the subject matter?

A Paradise of Books

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.  -Jorge Luis Borges

I've been exploring the world of e-books lately, reading a few books on my Kindle, and yes...there is a lovely convenience to this whole e-book thing. Yet I remain a total book lover--no amount of convenience is going to change that. What I want, along with a good read, is the aesthetic of the book as object. Recently I had a conversation with a friend who loves reading and stories, but isn't much of a bibliophile - and is convinced that electronic books will soon be taking over, and that books in bookstores and even libraries are eventually on their way out. OK, I get the efficiency and convenience and the staggering knowledge base that can be contained in a flat plastic thing with a screen (and I get that I could carry hundreds of books in my purse this way)... but -- to the frustration of my techie-minded and forward-thinking friend -- there is nothing like a real book.

I love the art of the thing, the texture, the smell of ink and paper and board, even suede and leather; I want the immensely satisfying visual and tactile reality of the book. I love seeing thousands of books crammed in bookshelves -- I love the sight of them, the color, texture and design, and the way that an infinity of thoughts, facts and imagination can surround us all at once in a room full of books. I love bookstores--and that absolute paradise of books, the library.

So here you go, let's take a break here on the blog and go for a stroll through a paradise of libraries full of books, from the oldest (the legendary library of Alexandria) to libraries we can use today. Set aside your e-reader, set down your paperback, enlarge the blog perimeters on your screen, and just enjoy. A picture's worth thousands of words, books, and thoughts ...

Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house.

- Henry Ward Beecher

The ancient Library of Alexandria

Chained medieval books in Hereford Castle

The Bodeian Library, Oxford

 

Trinity College Library, Dublin

 

Dunrobin Castle, Scotland

 

 

 

 

Castle Hill, Prague

 

 

 

 

 

Library of Congress, Washington DC

 

 

 

 

 

Garrett Library, Evergreen Museum, Baltimore

 

 

 

 

Are you a dedicated bibliophile, or have e-books won you over? Or do you have a foot planted firmly in each world? Do you think libraries (and bookshelves crammed with books) will never disappear, or do you foresee a future filled with gorgeously appointed mahogany-shelved libraries filled with sleek plastic and silicone e-readers?

Susan, whose real book, Queen Hereafter, will be available in real and cyber bookstores and in e-book form in December!

 

 

Where do get your ideas?

Anne here. The question above is probably the most common question an author gets asked. And when an author first gets published, people who don't know her — and sometimes people who do — assume that if the events and characters from her books don't come from history books, they must come from her life.

I can't speak for other authors, but for me, this is far from the truth. Not one character I've ever written has ever existed outside my imagination. And my life hasn't been nearly as exciting or adventurous as that lived by most of my heroines. And, alas, the heroes that walk my pages are not hanging around my house. Even the occasional dog that appears in a book wasn't one of my dogs. Really, I often just dream up scenes and stories and I have no idea where that comes from — I only know it's not from history books and it's not from my life. 

What I do often take from life, however, are the small details that "furnish" the book, the things, for instance that evoke a scene and a mood. The scent of herbs drying or bread baking, of new cut grass, or of damp dog. The fragrance of a wood fire, the crackle and hiss of burning wood, the settling of coals and the dancing of shadows on the walls when the only light is firelight.  

I think I'm lucky in that I have very vivid memories from childhood, many of which can be used in historical novels. I've lived in places where there was no electricity, where an open fire was the only heating. Some of my relatives were farmers, and my parents went through a back-to-nature phase where we tried to live self-sufficiently and kept hens and vegetable gardens and a cow and a goat. 


In THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING, my new book (out tomorrow — yay! And isn't that the most beeyoutiful cover!) Ahem, back to the blog...
I'll explain where some of the details I used in the book —my new book (out tomorrow!) —come from. This, in a nutshell is the set up:
 An injured man, a desperate woman... 
She saves his life. He fakes amnesia...

But of course it's never so simple as that. Maddy, my heroine is well born, but poverty stricken  She does what she can to make ends meet. She keeps bees. I grew up with hives in the back yard and the fresh, sharp, clean scent of beeswax at harvesting time. Like my father, Maddy grows vegetables and worries about protecting her seedlings from frosts and storms — and her chickens from foxes. She does hat makeovers, which I remember  my grandmother doing, remaking her church hats to give them a new lease of life. Details furnished from my life.

The cottage Maddy lives in is based on one that the 18th century explorer Captain James Cook lived in as a boy with his parents and many siblings. It was dismantled many years ago and reassembled in a public garden in Melbourne. It's amazingly tiny -- seriously poky and claustrophobic to those of us used to modern houses and apartments. No wonder he was comfortable in a ship. Here it is:

Maddy has young half-bothers and sisters to care for.  The youngest is a little girl obsessed with fairy tales — don't we all know kids who live out their stories? Little Lucy knows exactly how to deal with a handsome, unconscious hero.

 “He’s a prince,” Lucy insisted. “And he needs a princess to kiss him and then he’ll wake up.”
“That’s Sleeping Beauty, silly,” Susan told her.
“Same thing,” Lucy declared stoutly.
“No, because Sleeping Beauty is a girl and he’s a man.”Henry joined in. “And a man can’t be a beauty.”
“Why not?”
“Because he can’t,” Henry said. “Only ladies can be beautiful.”
Maddy smiled to herself. She disagreed. This man was wholly male, and beautiful.

Sometimes the inspiration for a scene will begin with a picture, a photo or collection of photos. I've spoken before about how I use collages to help me form the world of the book. Here's the collage for THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING.

Sometimes it's a song. I was listening one day to a song, "When You Taught Me How to Dance" by UK singer songwriter Katie Melua. Instantly a scene came to mind. Maddy is a girl who's never been to a party, never danced in public, and doesn't know how to waltz. So my hero, Nash, offers to teach her. They make a time, but Maddy arrives late... and finds the hero with her four year old half-sister.The song is here:

Here's a little bit of the scene:
 She watched Nash Renfrew now, tall and elegant and as handsome a man as she’d ever dreamed of. He bowed gracefully to his very diminutive partner.
Lucy made a deep, wobbly curtsy, then bounced up in triumph. She gripped his hands and carefully climbed onto his feet, standing with one small foot on each large boot. Maddy swallowed.
“Ready?” Nash asked the little girl.
Lucy nodded. Tibby played the opening bars and off they danced, tall man and tiny girl standing on his feet, her little hands clinging to his in an excited death grip.
They circled, first in a very slow clump-clump-clump, clump-clump-clump, then faster and faster as Lucy became used to the rhythm and the movement. Soon they were stepping to the music, then twirling around the room.
Maddy’s eyes misted up. Lucy was so proud, so thrilled. Once, Nash swept her up in an arc through the air and she squealed with delight, then he settled her deftly back on his boots and they continued as before.
Lucy caught sight of her and shrieked gleefully, “Maddy, Maddy, look at me, I’m dancing!” 
Maddy laughed and clapped and nodded, halfway to tears.

(If you want to read more about THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING, out tomorrow! With a gorrgeous cover ;) click here)

So my ideas come from everywhere, I pick them up like fluff, and I furnish the stories with details not just from research books, but from life and pictures and music and imagination and from memories.
It's raining outside, and that and writing this blog has made me think of a camping trip in my childhood, where it rained and rained, and the smell of the wet canvas and the sound of the heavy, flapping tent and the wind whistling through the guy ropes, as I lay in the dark wondering if the tent would fall down... Who knows, it just might furnish a scene in the current book I'm writing...

What's a memory you have from your childhood? I'm giving away a copy of my new book THE ACCIDENTAL WEDDING to someone who leaves a comment.

Jeannie Lin, HWW

Pat here.  Jeannie Lin, as is our custom, it gives me great pleasure on behalf of the Word Wenches to appoint you an Honorary Word Wench (HWW) and thank you for the fascinating blog post on the Tang Dynasty and your new release. It is a Wench tradition that we offer our guests a virtual gift to suit their fantasies and not lighten our pockets.  For you, I've selected a complete Tang Dynasty court of clay figurines!

Winners

We have more winners!  Scorpio won a book from Joanna Bourne. Jean Merriott won two books from Nicola Cornick.  And two of our guests gave away books:  Elaine Ransil won a book from guest Ciji Ware, and Alison Lindsay won a book from guest Jeannie Lin.  Congratulations, winners!

Down and Out in Georgian England

Nicola here, talking today about the experience of being poor in rural Georgian society. In our books we often read and write about the other end of the scale, the aristocracy, the wealth and the glamour. The poor existed right alongside but in another world entirely.

Philanthropy

The Poor Law, which was laid down in 1601, established a system of administering poor relief in England that was still in force over 200 years later. It stated that Justices of the Peace should appoint overseers to administer poor relief in each parish. Each parish was responsible for its own poor and was to maintain the sick, disabled and those too old to work. The able-bodied must be found work and the idle were to be compelled to find work or imprisoned. Children were to be apprenticed.

In theory at least the attitude towards the poor was philanthropic. Instructions in the Overseers' Book from Bampton in Oxfordshire in the 18th century stated: "Bring the Poor that are cast out to your house. Charge them that are rich in this world to doe (sic) good. Give alms of such things as ye have. Thou shalt not glean in the field but leave it to the poor. Take heed that your alms be not seen of other men." In other words, don't make a big show of your charitable giving and exhort your rich neighbours to be generous too!

Reality

In reality of course the treatment of paupers was vastly different. For a start, no one seems to have been very keen to serve as Overseer and as a result people were fined if they refused. The law empowered the Overseer to levy a local Poor Tax on all those parishoners whose income was above ten pounds a year. Naturally this made the Overseer extremely unpopular with his - or her - neighbours. (In my locality there was only one female Overseer during the period, possibly because she was the only woman in the neighbourhood rich enough in her own right and also tough enough to serve in this difficult job!)

One of the problems with the Poor Law was that the rules were so complicated that it was almost impossible to decide who belonged to which parish and was therefore in need of support. For example a woman could be born in Parish A, serve as a housemaid for more than a year in Parish B and then marry a man from Parish C and would thus be entitled to claim poor relief in all three parishes.

Passing the Parcel

The Poor were a financial burden on a parish and so one of the main tasks of the Overseers was to move on as quickly as possible any pauper who looke as though they were going to be expensive. New arrivals in a parish could be expelled and sent back to their original home. Nowhere was this rule applied more harshly than in the treatment of women who were pregnant but unmarried. The eviction of a heavily-pregnant woman or even one in the act of giving birth was common. This would prevent the bastard child from being born in the parish and therefore becoming an encumbrance. Sometimes women were offered a substantial bribe to move on to a neighbouring parish:

"Gave hir (sic) to go off with her big belly 16 shillings." "Paid to the Warder to remove a big-bellied woman 1 shilling." And even more poignantly: "Mr Burgess and one other drove away Mrs Cooper's big-bellied maid so that ye shall hear no more of her. Burgess paid 1 shilling and 3 pence."

Illegitimate children of a parish were put to work from the age of about eight, watching cattle, scaring the birds or picking up stones from the fields. Many parishes sent pauper children to the cities to be apprenticed.

Unmarried pregnant women would be hauled before the Justice of the Peace and questioned closely as to the identity of the father of the child. If the father came from another parish it was in the interests of the Overseer to make sure that a marriage took place so that the cost of the bride fell on her husband's parish instead. There were a couple of ways of ensuring the match. In one record for a Catherine New, the record states "Five pounds paid to Atkins to marry Catherine New." Further down the list of expenses: "Expenses of men going about with Atkins until the marriage time - one shilling." These men had been told not to let the groom out of their sight in case he changed his mind, but in more extreme cases where it was thought that a groom might run away from his responsibilities he would actually be brought to the church in handcuffs.

Travelling Through

A heavy expense on the parish coffers was also caused by people travelling through. Soldiers and sailors returning from the Napoleonic Wars were pointed in the direction of their original parishes by the Army and Navy. These returning servicemen were not vagrants and they carried "removal certificates" to prove that they were entitled to lodging and food in every parish they passed through on the way home. An entry in one local Overseers' book recorded payment of one shilling to a retired serviceman who was passing through with his wife and seven children.

The cost of transporting the sick poor to hospital also had to be levied through the Poor Law. A glance  into the Overseers' records shows how prevalent sickness was in the rural communities with infant mortality high and many cases of contagious disease. A local carter charged the Overseer 5 shillings and 6 pence to transport a woman with smallpox to the "pest house." Evidently this local hospital could not help her for a week later there was a charge of 13 shillings in the book for her funeral. Pauper funerals were very costly for a parish; ironically they had every reason to try and keep their poor alive because the wool shrouds in which they were obliged to bury the poor by law were extremely expensive.

Fish Skin Breeches

The aim was to get the able-bodied poor to work so that they became self-sufficient and many of them were put to work on the manorial lands. In order to do this though they had to be appropriately dresssed and so the Overseers Book lists the clothing that was provided:

Two pairs of fish skin breeches - 7 shillings and six pence, two foul weather coats, 17 shillings, a pair of stockings (male), 1 shilling.

There were no workhouses in the smaller villages but there were "town houses" which gave refuge to the  destitute poor. These were generally hovels with mud walls held up with wooden hurdles.

At the other end of the scale was the manor. Here is Beckett House, the seat of Lord Barrington in the Georgian and Victorian period. As I said at the beginning, another world entirely!

 Do you think that there is a place for exploring the "underworld" and the life of the poor in historical romance books or will we always prefer to read about the balls and the life of high society?