Word Wenches

Gone Fishing!

Andrea here, musing about family and some of the little memories that serve as touchstones from past to present, reminding us of fun moments that created connections and camaraderie.
 
This past weekend, my older brother and his son chartered a boat to go fishing out at the end of Long Island Sound, where it opens in the the Atlantic Ocean—a father-son experience that they have done over the years since my nephew was a little boy. (He is now all grown up!) The plan was for them to fish all day and then rendezvous with me and my my sister-in-law at my house for a fabulous fish dinner. (Yes, there was a Plan B! But it turned out it wasn’t necessary.)  And over the fruits of their labor we began trading fish stories that conjured up wonderful little vignettes of growing up . . .

Reasons to Like January

Nicola here. Sometimes I’ve been inclined to think of January as a long, dark, cold month without a lot going for it, but I was talking to a friend the other day and she saw the month in quite a different light.  “I love January,” she said. “I don’t spend much money and I get myself organised for the months ahead.” So as we approach Twelfth Night and the end of the traditional Christmastide, I thought I would muse on all the reasons there are to like January.

According to my Chambers Book of Days, the gemstone for January is the garnet and the birth flower is either the snowdrop or the carnation. At Ashdown Woods the first green shoots of the wild snowdrops are already pushing through the ground. By the end of the month they will be starting to flower. The snowdrop’s Latin name is Galanthus, from the Greek for “milk flower”. In French the snowdrop is known as the “perce-neige” because it pierces the snow, and the Germans call it Schneeglöckchen, little snowbell, which are all such pretty names suiting its delicate beauty. It’s real reminder of spring on the way.

This brings me to the weather. You may know the saying: “There’s no bad weather only bad clothing choices.” In my part of Northern Hemisphere it’s a time for scarves, gloves and hats and also waterproof layers. The rain may feel cold and raw but it’s also refreshing. And I love the sound the wind makes blowing through the bare branches of the trees. Darkness still arrives during the afternoon but the light lasts a little longer each day. My morning and evening walks give stormy skies and great views of the weather blowing across the Vale of the White Horse.

An old Celtic name for January was “the dead month” whilst the Anglo Saxons called it “Wolfmonath” which does send a shiver down the spine. It’s easy to see how January got its bad reputation. But there is so much pleasure in returning from a cold walk to a hot cup of tea, sitting down with a book whilst darkness falls outside, and enjoying the sense of new beginnings whether they are eagerly-anticipated TV shows or films, or a new course to join or a new interest to pursue.

What do you like – or even love - about January?

Boxing Day

Anne here, and it's the 26th of December — St Stephen's Day, and traditionally the occasion in England where church alms boxes were opened and the contents distributed between the poor of the parish. It's the day when Good King Wenceslas gave the poor man meat, wine and wood — "on the feast of Stephen."

It's also called Boxing Day, and this term is still used today in the UK, Australia, Canada, NZ and other commonwealth countries. In Regency times, this was the day when the affluent folk presented servants and tenants and the local poor with "Christmas Boxes."

In practice this could range from money, leftover food from the Christmas feast, to discarded clothing, and all sorts. It's the origin of the Christmas bonus and the custom of leaving out out small gifts for those who deliver to our homes — the paperboy, the postman, the milkman etc. It was also a day when servants who'd been kept busy on Christmas Day could have a day off to celebrate Christmas with their own families. 

But for aristocrats, it was also a day for hunting, donning the "pink" coats and heading out in the crispy dawn to hunt down a hapless fox. (Yes, the coats are actually red, but those in the know refer to the colour as pink, I know not why.) These days fox hunting is banned in the UK, and "drag hunting" has replaced it, though illegal hunts still take place.

Spring Flings!

Andrea here, and very happy that here where I live, I’m beginning to see signs of Spring finally starting to push aside the chill of Winter. Leaves are budding and flowers are starting to unfurl, adding tantalizing touches of color to the muted shades of the landscape. The air is warming, allowing hats, scarves and parkas to be hung in the storage . . .

February and March always feel endless here, and I am SO looking forward to spending more time outdoors—in shorts and T-shirts!—as the days grow delightfully longer. After all the isolation of the past year, the coming warm weather feels even sweeter as we (carefully) begin to tiptoe back to some semblance of normal activities.

So, in celebration of all fun seasonal activities ahead, I thought I’d compose a list—admittedly a silly one—of all the things I love about getting outside in warm weather . . . with a Regency twist!

Dog Collars II

Dachshund from the Book of Joanna the Mad

Joanna here. My last posting looked at truly ancient dog collars and leashes. Paleoleashes. Classical collars. I promised to return to this vital issue and speak of the Medieval and early Renaissance versions of what the well-dressed dog was wearing.

We know there were extravagant dog collars out there in theMedieval world, continuing a tradition of  lavish dog decoration that stretches back to the ancients.

Fancy dog collar c 1607

The favorite greyhound of Louis XI of France (1423-1483), for instance — named “Cher Ami”— was decked out in a collar of scarlet velvet embellished with pearls and rubies.

Fancier collar

 

(Some of these pictures are small, but if you click on them they get full sized.)

But leaving aside the follies of the nobility . . . what was the average dog wearing? The working dog? The any-old-dog-on-a-farm dog? The sheep-keeping dog? 

Sheep dog keeping watch.
See how small the sheep are?
They really were that small..

Tobias sets out on his journey with his dog

Going by available images, it looks like about a quarter of house and farm dogs, all guide dogs, (yes, they did have them in Medieval times,) and a sensible majority of sheep dogs are wearing some sort of simple collar.

Guide dog

 

 

 

 

 

American pies & Australian football

Anne here.
The other day I took time out from my writing frenzy (deadline looming) and went to my annual Aussie Rules Football Grand Final barbecue. Friends of mine have held it for the last 20+ years, and I never miss. It's spring here, and every year their garden provides a wonderful welcome.

The barbie (barbecue) starts at lunch time, then the footie (football) starts at 2.30. It finishes some time around 5, and then there's more nibbling and grazing and then around 8 or 9, more snags (sausages — yes, you're getting a crash course in Australian slang) come out and the leftovers are polished off and the party continues on into the night.

It's always a good night — even though our team, Collingwood, lost by a whisker when the other team scored a goal in the last few minutes of the game. 

We were sad about the loss, but there's always a big fire in the back yard, over which we barbecue, and into which we stare, and around which we talk and that's always a wonderful part of the night — for me, anyway. I do love a good fire. And I get to catch up with people I only see once a year.

There are always musicians and live music (generally Irish) and good company and good food — everyone brings salads or desserts or whatever to share. I bring the same thing every year — two big cheese and leek pies — sort of Greek — and get into trouble if I try to vary it. (And no, that's not the American pie in the heading. Read on . . . )

Peak Performance—the oldest golf club in Switzerland!

Andrea/Cara here, As many of you may have noticed, some of us Wenches have gallivanted hither and yon this summer and have been taking you on a virtual tour of our travels to historic places. (Trust me, your armchairs are SO much more comfortable than airline seats, and you don’t have to stand in security lines!) I’m going to continue the peregrinations today, but with a slightly different twist. I’m the resident Wench “jock,” so today instead of visiting castles or museums or Viking ruins, we’ll be taking a peek at some sporting history!

I just returned from playing golf at the oldest course in Switzerland (and the seventh oldest course in continental Europe.) The Engadine Golf Club, located a short drive from the legendary mountain resort village of St. Moritz, is not only set in a breathtaking beautiful setting, but it also has a fascinating history . . . so let’s tee it up and hit the fairways!

A Dip in the Pool of History

Nicola here! Last month we had a heatwave in England and now once again the hot weather is back, the grass has turned yellow and
there’s talk of banning the use of hosepipes. Our heat here (up to about 90 degrees Fahrenheit) is nothing though compared to the temperatures elsewhere in Europe and also across the world. It’s not something we’re equipped to deal with (no air con in most homes and other buildings) but at least as an island we have lots of lovely beaches and cool seas. I live as far away from the sea as it’s possible to do in England so I make do with the local swimming pool which is still very refreshing even though it’s a heated pool. Elsewhere in the country, the lidos - outdoor, unheated swimming pools - are becoming very popular again. It reminds me of the Spartan regime of my school swimming lessons which I always associate with the smell of wild garlic because they took place at an outdoor pool in the woods!

A Cold Plunge!

Nicola here! There are many Christmas and New Year traditions that I enjoy. Most involve being cosy and warm, out of the elements, maybe eating special food or chatting with friends in front of the fire. I might even go for a brisk walk with the dog, particularly if it's been snowing. I've already been to the swimming pool in an attempt to start 2018 in a healthy fashion. And yet... Possibly my least favourite way to mark either Christmas or New Year would be by jumping into cold water. Perhaps I'm missing something, though, as every year, more and more people are taking the plunge to celebrate the festive season.

The tradition of "winter swimming", open air swimming in the winter season, has long been associated with Epiphany in countries like Russia and in Eastern Europe but in the UK it has become popular for reasons varying from an extreme hangover cure to raising money for charity. The earliest record of the tradition in England seems to be from 1860 when the Brighton Swimming Club, which comprised a number of tradesmen from the town, met up at 7am every day for a dip in the sea. Apparently they had formed the club two years earlier when they had all decided they wanted to learn to swim, which is rather cute. Many other Christmas and New Year swims were established in the 20th century and have been running for approaching 100 years. Suitable garb these days can be anything from bikinis and mankinis to fancy dress and Santa costumes! 

Lidos and open air swimming pools are nothing new, of course, but in the far north (or south) it does take a hardy spirit to embrace them. Whilst the first official lido in England was established in the Regency period at Cleveland Pools in Bath, there is a record of an open air pool at one of Oxford's colleges in the medieval period!

Have you ever celebrated the festive season with a plunge into cold water? Are there traditions like that near where you are? Or have you done something different but equally challenging to welcome in the New Year?

Go Fish!

Andrea/Cara here, Where I live, the month of August is the epitome of the slow-paced languor of summer. It’s usually hot, which inspires outdoor thoughts of cool water, refreshing breezes and leafy shade, not to speak of lazy movements . . . or sitting and moving as little as possible! Which got me to thinking about Regency leisure pursuits.

Along with hunting and riding, fly-fishing is one of the most popular pasttimes depicted in paintings of the era. And when I decided to do a little research into the subject, I quickly discovered that Great Britain has a long been a leader in developing the lore, the traditions and innovations of the sport.

Are you ready to be hooked?

Tennis, Anyone?

Cara/Andrea here, and as I'm a little under the gun with deadlines and guest, I am invoking the Wench Panic Rule, which allows us to post an oldie but goodie . . . so without further ado . . .

Wimbledon is in full swing this weekend on the verdant grass courts of the All England Club.. It’s one of the “Grand Slam” events, a quartet of tournaments that are the crown jewels of the sport’s elite competitions. (Remember, I warned you all that I am the resident “jock” of the Wenches.) As it’s one of the grand traditions of a game that often appears in literature, it got me to thinking . . .

Check-Mate!

Cara/Andrea here, Today I’m talking about craft—on both an both abstract and physical level. Part of the fun of starting a new book is thinking up how to weave in the small details that give color and texture to the main plot and characters. In Scandalously Yours, which releases next week in paperback, I decided to have the opening scene revolve around a midnight chess game. I’m only a neophyte player, but the complex strategies of thrust and parry seemed to suit my cerebral heroine and soldier-hero. So naturally, being intrigued by the game, I needed to do some basic research . . .

The origins of chess are said to lie in a game called chaturanga, which developed in India during the sixth century. It quickly spread into Persia and became popular with the nobility. After the Muslim conquest of the empire, it spread west, reaching Europe by the late 900s. The Moors brought the game to Spain, and from there it made its way to the farthest reaches of the known world. The cerebral challenge, and the complex strategies of attack and defend played apparently played well across cultural divides, for chess was adopted with great enthusiasm wherever it was carried.

What Makes a Hero

Cara/Andrea here,
All of us here at the Wenches are avid readers year round, but summer, with its long days and laid-back pace, always seems a good time to make inroads on the TBR pile. So I’ve been sneaking in a little extra reading time. And though we do a regular “What Are We Reading” feature here, I thought I’d share a particularly wonderful book I just finished.

Every so often, I get together with two college pals for lunch, and as one of them is head of non-fiction at Viking and the other a long-time editor at the New York Times, you can imagine that—surprise, surprise!—we talk a lot about books. Now, I always ask my friend at Viking what the most exciting manuscript is on her desk. (it’s fun to get a heads-up on an upcoming release.) Well, this past winter, her eyes lit up and she said that she had something really special coming out in summer.

So, when The Boys In The Boat hit the shelves in June, I immediately snatched up a copy. As the Wench “jock” I had a natural affinity for the subject matter—it’s the story of the U.S. 8-oar crew team that won the gold medal at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. But wait! Those of you who aren’t particularly interested in sports shouldn’t drift away here. It’s not really about athletes and athletics. It’s about heroes and all the things that really matter in life.

Now, when we Regency authors write heroes, we dress them in elegant breeches and boots, we give them fancy titles and set them in the glittering mansions of Mayfair. But strip away the trappings and what we really do is create men of honor and integrity, men who are steadfast and loyal, who see the bonds of friendship as more important than their own personal desires. In a word, they have heart, and their own inner strength, even in the face of daunting adversity, gives them the courage to believe in themselves. And of course, love is an integral part of the story.

The “boys in the boat” weren’t aristocrats. They were hardscrabble, hardworking, mostly dirt-poor kids from the Pacific Northwest who wanted to better themselves by going to college. Somehow they cobbled together enough money to do so—some of the stories of their childhood will bring tears to your eyes—and in one of those wonderful confluences of fate that usually happens only in fiction, they came together with the legendary rowing coach of the University of Washington and a philosopher/boatbuilder who never finished grade school but could quote Shakespeare and Milton as he build exquisitely beautiful racing shells in the drafty old former WWI airplane hanger that served as the university’s boathouse.

The story that followed is a romance if ever there was one, an epic quest that like all romances has a happily-ever-after. The boys endured brutal workouts, physical pain, and sneering prejudice from the elite eastern universities who thought the yokels from the primitive west couldn’t possibly compete at a gentlemen’s sport. (College crew was far bigger than college football in those days—the big regattas drew huge crowds of spectators, were front page news on all the major newspapers, and the individual races were broadcast nationwide over the radio.)
 
But compete they did. And proved their mettle by winning the national championship and the Olympic trials, which earned them the right to represent the U.S. at the 1936 Games. You learn in the book that rowing is all about teamwork. Every minute motion must be in synch, and no one individual can carry the boat. Rhythm, sweat, willpower, trust in each other—it all must flow perfectly for the boat to fly over the water. And when it does, it’s poetry in motion.

I won’t recount the plot, but it’s a really wonderful read, especially as it interweaves fascinating portraits of America during the Depression and the rise of the Nazis in Germany into the story of the boys becoming a world-class crew team.  The culmination, of course, is the race in Berlin (you can see a vintage film clip of the actual race here) which transcended sport in its subtext. Hitler and his minions were hoping to send a message to the world about Aryan invincibility by winning as many events as possible. The U. S. team, highlighted by the brilliant performances of track star Jesse Owens and the boys from Washington, stood out as a beacon of light for the rest of the world.

So what about you? What qualities are most important for you in a hero? And do you have a personal unsung hero?

Out for a Drive

Nicola here, fresh back from a trip to North Devon and the National Carriage Museum at Arlington Court. I’ve always wanted to visit the carriage museum because although I have read a lot about 18th and 19th century carriages, and seen lots of pictures, nothing compares with the experience of seeing a carriage or riding in one. The other reason I wanted to go to Arlington is because of the connection to Ashdown House, as the Craven State Chariot is one of the stars of their collection. So here, for those of you who also have a love of elegant carriages (and fast cars!) is a quick run down of the main types of early to mid 19th century carriage in the collection and how they compare to today’s vehicles, with thanks to the National Trust at Arlington for providing me with extra information and photos. If you want to see larger versions of the pictures you can click on them for a bigger image.

The state coach or state chariot

At the top of the pile as far as carriages were concerned was the state coach or state chariot. This was used only by the nobility. Frank Huggett in Carriages at Eight comments that in the 19th century, wealthy aristocrats needed seven or eight carriages to preserve their distinction from the rising middle class and provide a suitable carriage for every aspect of their social life. The state coach was used for important occasions such as the state opening of parliament or society weddings and grand occasions. This is the equivalent of the Rolls Royce with chauffeur.

The state coach could carry four passengers in the body, the chariot two. These coaches would be pulled by a pair of horses and driven by a coachman. Two footmen would stand on the footman’s cushion, the padded platform behind the body of the coach. A state coach or chariot would have exceptionally fine decoration. The Craven chariot (pictured), for example, has silver-plated axle caps, a
silver plated family crest and other carriage “furniture.” It also has a sumptuous blue damask interior. For formal occasions the coachman wore full livery with powdered wig, tricorn hat, braided livery coat, white plush breeches, white silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes. The footmen wore similar livery except that they wore bicorn or cocked hats. The Cravens also had the ultimate carriage decoration of “matching footmen,” identical twins who rode on the back. The footmen carried silver topped staves known as wands, which were used to keep the crowds at bay. They were expected to keep completely motionless except when needed for crowd control! The Craven state chariot was absolutely gorgeous inside, the last word in elegance and comfort. That said it was also very cosy. I had imagined that there would be more space. However if one wanted an intimate chat on the way to the state opening of parliament then it would be just the thing!

The Barouche

The barouche was the equivalent of the family car, albeit a very plush family car. The barouche could hold four passengers and it is mentioned a number of times in the writing of Jane Austen as the type of vehicle owned by a rich family – the Bertrams of Mansfield Park, for example. It was something to aspire to. Mrs John Dashwood hankered after one in Sense and Sensibility. Originally known as German Wagons because they were first made in Germany, the early barouches were heavy vehicles. They were also the ultimate in elegance and the chosen vehicle in which to show off in the park.

On a more practical note, though, a travelling barouche was very comfortable for those long journeys between your country estates or even abroad. The travelling barouches needed to be sturdier than the town ones. It could be coachman or postillion-driven and required four horses, with the horses and postillions hired at the inns en route. The team would be changed every ten to twelve miles. If you used postillions they would ride the two nearside horses and a footman rode on the hind boot – the rumble seat – and it was his responsibility to apply the brake when travelling down hill. It was in a travelling barouche or travelling chariot that the young sprigs of nobility made the Grand Tour of Europe in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

This particular travelling chariot (above) belonged to Gibbs Crawford Antrobus who used it in his career as a diplomat. He was a junior secretary under Lord Castelreagh at the Congress of Vienna in 1814-1815 and subsequently Envoy Extraordinary and State Plenipotentiary for George IV to the kingdom of the two Sicilies. Isn't it gorgeously plush inside!

Many travelling barouches contained a “dormeuse boot” (which my auto correct changed to dormouse boot) with panels inside the coach that would fold down to allow the passengers to stretch their legs at full length in order to sleep (see picture on the right). Even so it looked pretty cramped and I wouldn’t have fancied trying to sleep in it.

One of the details that I loved in the travelling chariot was the sword case that was built into the back of the coach and accessible only from inside, a necessary precaution when one was travelling through uncharted or bandit ridden countryside!(pictured).

 The Phaeton

The phaeton was a four-wheeled carriage driven by the owner and never by their
professional coachman. It could be drawn by two or four horses and given its relatively small size I imagine it would be pretty fast with four. The high perch phaeton was very popular at the end of the 18th century and is mentioned a lot in the books of Georgette Heyer, for example, as a fast and fashionable carriage for young men to drive and show off in. However as you get into the 19th century the phaeton became lower, safer and more practical. Lady Catherine De Bourgh drove her own phaeton in Pride and Prejudice. There were bigger, tougher versions of the phaeton that were for the country sportsman rather than for town driving. The Mail Phaeton (so called because it used the same springs that a mail coach did) was built for country driving and was the vehicle of choice of the sporting gentleman – a Land Rover equivalent or SUV.

The name phaeton, is of course derived from Greek mythology, named for Phaeton the son of Helios, the Sun God, who drove his father’s chariot. The horses bolted and almost set fire to the earth before they were stopped, a rather neat metaphor for some of the driving we would surely have seen on the Regency streets had we been there!

The Curricle

Ah, the curricle! The racing car equivalent of the Regency period! There are no curricles in the collection at Arlington, perhaps because they were so light, fast and fashionable that they did not survive. Elegant and with a skeletal structure, curricles were drawn by a pair of horses, the aim being to show off your driving skills and your perfectly matched horses.

One thing I especially loved about Arlington was that it is still a working stables. You can go into the tack room and smell the leather of the harness and watch the carriage horses at work, or take a drive around the estate. You can even take carriage-driving lessons if you really want to get hands on experience.

I hope you have enjoyed this canter through the Arlington carriage collection. For more details on carriage interiors and decoration, check out the excellent blog post by Lesley-Anne McLeod here and to see the Arlington collection click here.

Do you fancy driving your own Regency phaeton or curricle, or would you prefer to travel in a coachman-driven carriage? What about travelling long distances with a dormeuse boot to sleep in? And have you enjoyed any historical romances that feature road trips or fast carriages?

Georgian and Regency Mayhem, Oh My

Because I write about spies — some of them women — and because spies have a not-totally-unmerited reputation for violence, I decided to look into acts of violence and mayhem Regency women might have got up to. 

Prior to considering this subject, I hadn't noticed all that many references to women duking it out or poking each other with fencing foils or shooting holes in each other with pistols at dawn in a formalized way. 
I though maybe this was common sense on the women's part.
Researching further, however ...

London's Central Criminal Court, the Old Bailey, is where perpetrators of Regency violence tended to end up.  Here's some glimpses into the unfortunate and violent side of life in Regency London.

It's 1804.  This is a man visiting a house of what he believes to be extremely hospitable women.  Little does he know ...
"I was walking in a street; I do not know the name of it; I was called by the signal of a young lady; she was standing before her door. ...  I went into the house with her, and the mistress of the house ... said, if I would speak to the young lady, I had better go up stairs.  After I had been up stairs, I came down again, and  ... I said to the ladies, if they would give me the change of a one-pound note, I would give them half a pound.
"Mrs. Beard ...  gave me a punch in the guts, a push, and a blow on the stomach; then they all fell on me at once, striking and beating me; the tallest woman, Ann Johnson, took me by the coat, and they all took me by the coat, and tore the part, where the pocket-book was, off; with that they all fell upon me ... after they had beat me well, I sung out so badly, that they were obliged to open the two doors, and then they shoved me out in the dirt, all four of them." (Proceedings of the Old Bailey)

Which sounds like a lively time was had by all.

Or this, from a woman walking home in the evening.  "I was coming from Bishopgate-street, I had a gown and umbrella with me; I was tyeing up my shoe at a corner of a street in Bishopsgate-street, there were three women came up to me, one seized me round my neck, another gave me a knock of the head and knocked me down, and the other took my bundle and ran away."  (Proceedings of the Old Bailey)


And:  "On the evening in question, I had been to Covent Garden Theatre; I was returning in company with Mrs. Hill. In the narrow part of Rathbone-place, I was suddenly without any provocation knocked down by the prisoner Paget, with her fist; she struck me on the face; while I was on the ground, I was severely kicked and bruised; I was stunned by the blow I received on my face; she took the shawl from my shoulders as I lay; I had it round my shoulders very close, and she pulled it to get it away; she did get it away at last."  (Proceedings of the Old Bailey)


Ah, the good old days when women were nurturing and gentle creatures. 

Besides this unfortunate tendency for mugging with violence, at least some small portion of the female population indulged in professional fisticuffs.

This match in 1723 was advertised: "There has not been such a battle for these twenty years past, and as these two heroines are as brave and as bold as the ancient Amazons, the spectators may expect abundance of diversion and satisfaction, from these female combatants."

The Morning Chronicle of March 24, 1807 reports:  "There were several fights amongst the lower orders on Sunday morning near Hornsey Wood; but the one which afforded the most diversion, was between two women; the opponents were Betty Dyson, a vender of sprats, and Mary Mahony, a market-woman. These Amazons fought in regular order upwards of forty minutes, until they were both hideously disfigured by hard blows. Betty was once completely blind, but the lancet restored her sight; and Mary was at length obliged to resign to her the palm of victory. The contest was for five guineas."

This to the left is a later prizefight.  Late Nineteenth Century.  The fights in Georgian and Regency rings would be bareknuckled.

When half-dressed females boxing got to be dull, sometimes they fought with swords.  Cesar de Saussure wrote in 1725:

"I witnessed an extraordinary combat, two women being the champions. As soon as they appeared on the stage they made the spectators a profound reverence ; they then saluted each other and engaged in a lively and amusing conversation. They boasted that they had a great amount of courage, strength, and intrepidity. One of them regretted she was not born a man, else she would have made her fortune by her powers; the other declared she beat her husband every morning to keep her hand in, etc. Both these women were very scantily clothed, and wore little bodices and very short petticoats of white linen.

"One of these amazons was a stout Irishwoman, strong and lithe to look at, the other was a small Englishwoman, full of fire and very agile. The first was decked with blue ribbons on the head, waist, and right arm; the second wore red ribbons. Their weapons were a sort of two-handed sword, three or three and a half feet in length; the guard was covered, and the blade was about three inches wide and sharp only about half a foot of it was, but then that part cut like a razor.

"The spectators made numerous bets, and some peers who were there some very large wagers. On either side of the two amazons a man stood by, holding a long staff, ready to separate them should blood flow. After a time the combat became very animated, and was conducted with force and vigour with the broad side of the weapons, for points there were none.

"The Irishwoman presently received a great cut across her forehead, and that put a stop to the first part of the combat. The Englishwoman's backers threw her shillings and half-crowns and applauded her. During this time the wounded woman's forehead was sewn up, this being done on the stage; a plaster was applied to it, and she drank a good big glass of spirits to revive her courage, and the fight began again, each combatant holding a dagger in her left hand to ward off the blows. The Irishwoman was wounded a second time, and her adversary again received coins and plaudits from her admirers.  ... The surgeon sewed it up, but she was too badly hurt to fight any more, and it was time, for the combatants were dripping with perspiration, and the Irishwoman also with blood. A few coins were thrown to her to console her, but the victor made a good day's work out of the combat." 

Brawls in brothels, mugging with violence, or public boxing and swordfights would have involved women of the lowest classes.  In Romance, our heroine shoots pistols and fences.  How wild is this idea?  Did women of the respectable classes train and fight for sport, the way their brothers, husbands, and cousins did? 

Seems so.

The Eighteenth Century Duchess of Queensbury, Catherine Hyde, was a notable fencer and trained at Angelo's School of Arms in London, the famous fencing studio. The print to the right, from 1816, is Rowlandson showing another woman fencer, Madame Collie of Rome, in white jacket and skirt. 

So training with the foil would not have been outlandish and incredible. In 1815 a traveller to Geneva can say, "Neither is it rare for mothers to have their daughters instructed in fencing till they are ten or twelve years old, for the purpose of giving flexibility to their limbs." (The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 3)

There are a few famous woman-woman duels in the period.  If they seems fairly silly, I suspect most male-male duels were silly too.

In 1792 Lady Almeria Braddock and Mrs Elphinstone fought what was referred to in the press as the "petticoat duel".

"A certain Mrs Elphinstone paid a visit to Lady Almeria Braddock and was rude to her hostess.  'You have been a very beautiful woman,' declared Mrs Elphinstone in the somewhat unflattering past tense.  'You have a very good autumnal face even now, but you must acknowledge that the lilies and roses are somewhat faced. Forty years ago, I am told, a young fellow could hardly gaze upon you with impunity.'

"Lady Almeria, not surprisingly, was furious and demanded satisfaction in Hyde Park in central London.  They began with pistols at ten yards, Mrs Elphinsonte putting a bullet through Lady Almeria's hat.  They then set to with swords, and Mrs Elphinstone was lightly injured.  Lady Almeria declared herself satisfied, Mrs Elphinsonte agreed, and both women curtsied to each other before departing the field."  (James Landale The Last Duel)

Here's another one.  Aristocrats behaving badly, as it were. 
In France, in 1721, the Comtesse de Polignac and the Marquise de Nesle, both lovers of the Duc de Richelieu, indulged in a most undignified scrap in the gardens at Versailles. 

"Lady de Nesle, losing all control of herself, had sprung like a tigress upon her rival, and attempted to tear a diamond necklace from the Countess's neck. Failing in this, however, she snatched the blush roses from their nest in the snowy bosom, and flung them in the face of her rival. ...  In a moment jewels and flowers and ribbons and laces strewed the floor, and there is no telling to what extent the extraordinary exhibition would have gone had not the enraged amazons been separated by the Marquis de Malbuisson and Mademoiselle Nathalie de Condacet.

"Out of this grew the duel, the Countess of Polignac being the challenging party. The ladies met at six  in the morning, in July, 1721, and fired one shot at each other without effect. Their seconds (the Marquis de Malbuisson and the Comte de Penthievre for Polignac and M. de Remusac and Vicomte D'Allagne for de Nesle) then rushed in to prevent further hostilities; the fair demons, however, would not be appeased, but called for a change of pistols, and again blazed away—this second time with satisfactory effect, for the Marchioness fell dangerously wounded by a bullet in her left side, while the Countess was just quietly touched in an ear." (The Field of Honor, Benjamin Truman)

Whenever I hear, 'history is dull', I always wonder what these folks have been reading. 

So, what's your most memorable fighting moment -- as spectator or participant? 

Going For The Gold

Cara Andrea here, It’s been HOT where I am—the sort of bright, blistering days that are conducive to curling up in a shady spot with a book and an iced lemonade, rather than moving so much as a muscle. But as the resident Wench Jock, I have to confess that I’m jumping up and down with anticipation over the upcoming Olympic Games in London. Despite all the questions concerning ‘enhanced performance” I still love watching the athletes compete in the various disciplines and strive to be the best they can be.  Now, many of the sports you'll see over  were popular in Regency London too—fencing, boxing riding. (Though I admit, the men were not swimming in sleek litle Speedos)Be that as it may, as we gear up for the action-packed fortnight, I thought it might be fun to take a short run through the history of the Games, even though it steps a bit outside our usual time periods. So lace up your sneakers . . . (though the first Olympians competed in the nude!)

The first Olympic Games on record took place in 776 BC on the plains of Olympia in the western part of the Peloponnese, and were held every four years (an “olympiad” was a measure of time in ancient Greece,  which—you guessed it—was a four year unit. As all the different city states had their own calendars and dating methods, it provided a unified way to record history events.)

The competitions were loosely tied to the cult of Zeus—the main temple of Olympia was and was highlighted by a 42-foot tall, gold and ivory decorated statue of the God by famed sculptor Pheidias, which was considered one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. However, they were also meant to foster friendly relations between the city states and celebrate the pure beauty of physical performance. All free male Greek citizens, regardless of social standing, were permitted to compete, but women were banned from participating. Indeed, married women were forbidden to watch, though for some reason unmarried women were permitted as spectators. (I shall leave it to you to speculate why . . . apparently men seeking to impress chicks with their buffed abs is not a new concept.)

According to Hippias of Elis, the first event ever held was the stadium, a footrace approximately 200 meters long. In 724 BC, a two-stadia race was added, and in 708 the pentathlon, which consisted of running, jumping, javalin-throwing  and discus-throwing, became part of the games. Other competitions were added throughout the years, including wrestling and the pankration, a sort-of ancient version of martial arts, which combined wrestling and boxing. It was a brutal sport, and said to have originated from Theseus’s fight in the Labyrinth with the Minotaur (there were no judges to pick the winner as in modern-day competition—the contest went on until one man conceded defeat or was rendered unconscious.

The Games continued for nearly twelve centuries (not even the Persian Wars and the Battle of Thermopylae tripped up the competition) until the Byzantine Emperor Theodosius I, a Christian, banned them as pagan rites. They lay dormant until the late 19th century when a movement led by Baron Pierre de Coubertin of France led to their revival. The first modern Olympics took place in Athens in 1896, and the first race was won by an American—college student James Connolly.

London first held the Games in 1908—though they were a last minute substitute for Rome, which, because of the relief effort needed to cope with the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, did not have the money to hold the event. Despite the obstacles, the Britis put on a jolly good show. There were a number of firsts—for the first time a stadium was built specially for the competition, for the first time swimming was held in man-made pool rather than open water, and for the first—and last—time, tug of war was an official event!

The Games of 1948—called the Austerity Games—were also held in London. They had been suspended with the advent of World War II, but it was felt that resuming them in bomb-ravaged London was a good way to rekindle the flame of international friendship through athletic competition (though Germany and Japan were not included.) The event was run on a shoestring (athletes were expected to bring their own towels, and because of rationing, protein was in short supply.)

Things will no doubt be a bit more glitzy when the 2012 Games return to London for a third time, beginning next week. So what about you—do you enjoy watching the Olympics? Do you have a favorite sport? A favorite athlete? I’m really looking forward to the swimming events, which offers some really exciting match-ups between the Americans Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte. And I’m pulling for Roger Federer to win a gold in tennis!
 

Country House Pursuits

Hello, Nicola here. One of the questions I’m often asked when I am showing visitors around Ashdown House is what did visitors to country houses do all day? Life in London or Bath was exciting, with plays, concerts, opera, shopping and many more entertainments. In contrast the country lifestyle was sometimes mocked as slow and boring, especially on a rainy day. “Morning walks, prayers three times a day and bohea tea” was how the poet Alexander Pope described it.

It was a leisured lifestyle, of course, because the owners and visitors didn’t have to work for a living, unlike the servants who attended to their every need. So they were free to pursue whatever activity and interests they wished and, mostly, had the money to indulge those interests. Below are just a few of the ways in which they passed their time.

Ashdown, being a hunting lodge, was all about sport. Guests would go fox hunting and hare coursing over the Downs, ride through the woodland or go pheasant shooting. There was a private racecourse and in the 19th century a nine hole golf course as well. Cricket was also played. If visitors wished to be slightly less active they could watch the progress of the hunt from the viewing platform on the roof of the house or visit the horses in their stables. Rainy days did not mean that exercise could not be taken. Many country houses had long galleries designed for a stroll in bad weather. At Ashdown there was the grand staircase where visitors could climb up and down, admiring the portraits as they passed. And by the mid-nineteenth century one of the favourite occupations of visitors to Ashdown was to watch the Earl taking photographs and posing for them as well. Who said country house life was boring?

Billiards 

From the Regency period onward Ashdown also had the appropriate accommodation for other country house pastimes. Billiards had been known as a game since the 17^th century when it was played with curved cues called maces. However it did not become widely popular until the late 18^th century and by the 19^th century it was common for there to be a separate billiards room, as there was at Ashdown, with a smoking room alongside. This suggests that billiards was primarily a male entertainment but in fact women played as well and mixed games occurred frequently. In 1813 Lord Byron declared his love for Lady Frances Webster over a game of billiards at Aston Hall in Yorkshire! The billiards balls in the picture are made of marble.

Card Games

Card games were another popular way in which to while away and evening. Most country houses had at least one card table and when there was a ball there were usually at least three tables where guests could play if they were not dancing. In Emma, Jane Austen describes: “a very superior party in which her card tables should be set out with their separate candles and unbroken packs in the true style.” Games such as Commerce, Speculation and Loo were considered respectable. However, card games brought with them the dangers of gambling and sometimes accusations of cheating. Nothing was more likely to destroy the happy atmosphere of a country house party than guests falling out because they had lost money at cards or someone had the temerity to accuse a fellow guest of swindling them.

Concerts, Theatricals and Dances

Some aristocratic families such as the Cavendishes were rich enough to employ a private orchestra and to build a private theatre but even those who could not afford to do so could put on private performances in which they all took part. Jane Austen grew up in such a world where families wrote and performed their own theatricals. The Pic Nic Club formed in 1802 to stage their own plays, which were followed by sumptuous suppers. The picture is one of James Gillray's cartoons making fun of the Pic Nic Orchestra.

Ladies were expected to be proficient on at least one musical instrument and both ladies and gentlemen sang. Performing duets together or having a gentleman turn the pages of the music for you as you played the pianoforte could be a very romantic experience for a young lady!

Then there were the country house balls. By the 19^th century there was a dedicated ballroom at Ashdown House but in many smaller properties the drawing room could substitute for a ballroom. All you had to do was move the furniture and roll back the carpets and you could hold an impromptu dance! The dancefloor was a great place to hold conversations without being overheard by your chaperon, although the steps of the dance might move a lady and gentleman apart at a crucial moment.

Drawing  

I have no talent for drawing so it’s fortunate these days that it is not a general requirement for the female sex to be able to paint and draw since I would be found sadly lacking. For ladies in the 18^th and 19^th century there were itinerant drawing masters who would instruct them in the arts of pencil sketches and of painting in water colour. Tradition dictated that these should be painted outdoors but when it rained ladies would sometimes sketch or draw interiors. These drawings have now become an invaluable historical record of what the interiors of country houses looked like and the style in which they were decorated.

Reading, Shell Work and Model Making

Other occupations for a rainy day might be reading, sewing or model-making. We might not now agree with Thomas Hobbes, who claimed that: “Reading is a pernicious habit, it destroys all originality of sentiment” but before the mid 17^th century reading was intended more for reflection than relaxation and country houses had very few books. By the 18^th century a separate room was set aside to house collections of books and although women were always noted to be more avid readers than men, the library was generally a male preserve up until the end of the 18^th century. Interestingly by abut 1820 it had become a multi-purpose sort of a room where tea was taken, music was played and books were read aloud to the assembled company. This is the Library at Blenheim Palace and as you can see it features a piano as well as endless wonderful bookshelves!

The most complicated and intricate of ladies’ entertainments was probably the shell work that became extremely fashionable in the 18^th century. Many ladies decorated boxes with shells but some practised shell work on a grander scale. Sarah, Duchess of Richmond, and her daughters Caroline and Emily, decorated a grotto with seashells at Goodwood Park in Sussex. In 1798 cousins Jane and Mary Parminter decorated a house called A La Ronde in Sussex (pictured) with seashells, feathered panels, glass, broken pottery shards, mica and cork. Shells were also used in model making. One of the most famous models made during the Georgian period was Betty Ratcliffe’s model of the China pagoda at Kew, complete with tinkling bells.

If you had been a Regency lady or gentleman which of the country house pursuits do you think you might have enjoyed? Something sporting or something creative? Which would you have liked to try? 

A House In The Country . . .

Cara/Andrea here,

One of the many reasons I’m enjoying Downton Abbey and all the enthusiasm for British History it has engendered here in the States is the interest it’s stirred in the great country houses. Now, many of us are familiar with the famous estates, like Chatsworth and Blenheim. But there are so many lesser-known places with unique and fascinating histories, as Nicola often points out in her wonderful posts.

For those of us who don’t live in the UK, and only occasionally get a chance to travel to the Sceptered Isle, these stately houses are incredibly alluring. The grand gardens, the ornate rooms, the opulent furnishings, the memorabilia decorating the niches and walls—it all resonates with wonderful stories and gives us a glimpse into the richly textured past. Last summer I had a chance to visit one of these  marvelous estates, so in homage to the recent start of Season Two of Downton Abbey here in America,  I thought I’d share  a little about Stoke Park, which is located near London, just a few miles from Heathrow Airport.

The lands of Stoke Park and the village of Stoke Poges, where it is located, are mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086, and through the ensuing centuries the estate passed to various nobles of the realm. Queen Elizabeth graced two of her favorites with use of enclave, first allowing Sir Christopher Hatton  to reside there, and then giving the honors to Sir Edward Coke. Coke became one of the most prominent lawyers in England, and was involved in sending the Earl of Essex to the gallows, as well as prosecuting members of the Gunpowder Plot. Two years before the Queen’s death, he entertained her at Stoke Park.

Royalty made another visit, albeit a less pleasant one, to the estate when King Charles I was imprisoned for a short time there before his execution. And in 1688, the newly crowned King William III was traveling in the area and wished to see the manor house. However, he was refused entrance by the owner, who said “He has got possession of another man’s house and shall not enter mine.”

Stoke Park eventually passed to the Cobham family, who also owned Stowe, a well-known estate in Buckinghamshire. In 1749, the dowager Viscountess came from Stowe to live at Stoke park—and brough with her another fascinating figure in English history—the legendary landscape designer, Capability Brown.

Lancelot Brown—who earned the moniker “Capability” for often telling clients that their estates had great “capability” for landscape improvement—was born in Kirkharle, Northumberland in 1716. He started his career as a gardener’s boy at Kirkharle Hall, and then moved on to Stowe, where he studied under the famous landscape designer, William Kent.

Brown made a name for himself by breaking with tradition and creating a new “natural” approach to designing gardens and grounds, as opposed to the formal layouts of the past. He called them “grammatical” landscapes—in explaining himself to Hannah More in an encounter at Hampton Court, he said, “I make a comma, and there . . . where a more decided turn is proper, I make a colon; at another part, where interruption is desirable to break the view, a parenthesis . . .” Now as a writer, I of course love this name for his style. And oh, can Brown punctuate!

His style is marked by long stretches of rolling grasslands, with bushes, trees  and lakes—manmade if necessary— artfully placed to create visual texture and interest. Many of the most famous estates in Britain feature his garden designs, including Croome Court, Blenheim Palace, Warwick Castle, and small traces at Kew Gardens. Stoke Park’s grounds—which today include a wonderful 18-hole golf course by the distinguished Harry Colt—showcase Brown’s genius for subtlely shaping the earth and creating pleasing vistas from every angle of the estate.

I was lucky enough to play golf through some of the grounds that he designed at Stoke Park, Now, Mark Twain called golf “a good walk spoiled” but nothing could diminish the pleasure of winding my way through the vistas of rolling grasslands, strategically placed clumps of bushes, and graceful stone bridges crossing scenic waters. It’s not often that I can combine my love of history with my love of sport, so this was truly a special experience.

Other notables who owned Stoke Park include Edward Gray, one of England’s premier poets. His most famous poem, “Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard” was written about St. Giles’s church in Stoke Poges. The Penn family, familiar to all us Yanks, was also a steward of the lands. In the early 1800’s John Penn, grandson of William, brought in the acclaimed architect James Wyatt to help design a manor house.

Now this brings us back to the Downton Abbey era, which also figures prominently in the history of Stoke Park. In 1908, sport-mad Nick Lane Jackson had the grand idea to “establish a country club somewhat along the lines of those which had proved so phenomenally successful in the United States.” He and a group of investors arranged to lease part of Stoke Park with an option to buy. The Stoke Park Club came into being, and today it still offers its members and hotel guests world-class golf and grass court tennis. (The famous golf match in the James Bond movie Goldfinger was filmed at the club.) The public can book a stay, which offers the opportunity  to enjoy tea and meals in the fabulous period rooms, or enjoy a quiet read in the library or various sitting rooms. It’s well worth a visit for it’s truly a special place, for everywhere you look, both inside and out, you get a breathtaking look at history.

What about you? Are you enjoying Downton Abbey? Would you like to have a stay at a grand English country house. Which one would you choose?

Grappling with Hoops of Steel

Joanna here, talking about the history of hoop chasing and the many misconceptions we nourish about this.
 
Right off, let me explain how chasing or bowling or driving or rolling or trundling a hoop came about.

About seven minutes after the invention of the wheel, some bright young lad standing in the back of the cave noticed you could roll the thing and chase after it.  It probably took a half hour's experimentation to discover you could roll it even better by knocking at it with a short stick.  You could make it go fast or slow, turn, even spin backwards.  A new human activity — part sport, part contest, part art, part meditation — was born. 

It proved amazingly popular.  There's something in the human race that wants to chase a rolling object.  We're like golden labs. 

I want to claim Classical sources for my subject.  And, indeed, the Classical Greeks were great hoop trundlers. 

Oh.  Let me digress.  The word 'trundle', which we'd use in 1800 when our characters are talking about rolling a hoop, means 'to push or propel on wheels or rollers. As in,

"I doubt if Emerson could trundle a wheelbarrow through the streets."

That is a quote from the redoubtable Thoreau where he is very likely criticizing Emerson. 

Trundle also means 'to spin or twirl' and you can see how that would neatly fit in with what we do to hoops.
Like so many of our most robust words, 'trundle' comes to us from Middle English where 'trendle' meant 'wheel'.  We use the word trundle, nowadays, mostly in the concept of 'trundle bed' — which is a little bed with wheels that goes under the main bed for anyone who may not happen to know this. 

Back to the Greeks. 

Yes.  They rolled hoops.  We see this represented on vases and bowls and the odd mosaic.  One common representation of boy-with-a-hoop is Ganymede, whom we see over to the left, with hoop and live chicken.  The rooster in this picture is symbolic and represents an appropriate gift from a homosexual lover to the beloved.  It should not be taken as an indication one carried around poultry as part of the sport of  hoop bowling, in case you were wondering.

To the right we got a boy rolling, not hoops, but wheels in this mosaic of Sixth Century, AD. 

Small wheels are very popular during hoop-time, and make an interesting toy, requiring more skill to guide than the ordinary hoop. To trundle a wheel the boy uses a long stick, one end of which he places under the hub, and with which he both pushes and guides the wheel in a very interesting and skilful manner, as he runs after it.
Outdoor Handy Book  By Daniel "Dan" Carter Beard, 1896

The hoop is apparently the superior instrument for racing, as per this contest in 1807.  Hoop versus wheel.  Do not bet on the wheels.

A wager between Mr. Bennet and Mr. Parkbouse was decided on Friday morning, 1st inst. on the Clapham road, from the third mile stone on the common to the fifth, Mr B. who trundled the hoop, having gained the contest by some distance. We understand another wager, of 200 gs. has been offered by Mr. B. to trundle a hoop for five miles against any man that can be found to run a wheel the like distance.
 

Bruegel, when he paints his Sixteenth Century panorama of children's games, puts the hoop bowlers right up front and center. 

Historically, well into the Twentieth, hoops were made of two materials. 

One sort was forged in a blacksmith's shop from iron.  I imagine the construction was pretty much like that of barrel hoops.  In fact, I suspect a good many of the hoops rolling the streets were popped off a barrel someplace.  Hoops were also similar to the metal rims of wooden wheels -- another likely source of hoops for the disenfranchised poor. 

Hoops might have pairs of tin squares nailed to the inside of the circle, that clattered back and forth against each other and jingled as the hoop was rolled.  This goes right into the Twentieth Century.  See it there at the left along with the sarcastic hound and the rack of rats, also in the Bruegel painting above.  (Click on either of these to increase size.)  

Martial, the Classical Roman writer, says, of a similar setup.  "Why do these jingling rings move about upon the rolling wheel? In order that the passers-by may get out of the way of
the hoop."

Myself, I suspect the tin janglers served the same purpose as those playing cards I used to attach to the wheels of my bike.  (With clothespins.  Remember clothespins?) 
They were there to make a nifty racket, and they did.

The other kind of hoop — I said there were two — was made of ash wood, rounded on the outside, carved flat on the inside.  Looks like they were made from a single piece of ash, soaked and shaped, bent and fitted.     

Dorothy Palmer reminisces about life in the 1920s:   

We also had hoops, which were often old cycle wheels minus the spokes. To be very grand was to have a wooden hoop purchased from Perkins Penny Bazaar in the Market Place at Oakham or a steel hoop with a trundle made by the blacksmith.

The boys in the picture to the right are very obviously using bicycle tires with the spokes removed.

One variation — it seems to be Nineteenth Century — were hoops with the driving stick fitted permanently.  Maybe it was intended for small children.  The idea never really caught on.
A case of 'Not Clear on the Concept'.


In the interests of fairness, I have to add some contemporary anti-hoop propaganda in here.

The practice pursued by boys in trundling their hoops on the streets and footpaths has become a dange rous nuisance. The other day a gentleman was riding a rather spirited horse in Macquarie-street when a careless urchin drove his hoop against the animal's legs, when it instantly reared and plunged, and would have thrown its rider had not his good horsemanship enabled him to keep his seat . . . the boys ought to be compelled to quit the public thoroughfares, and to resort to places where no injury could arise from the pursuit of their pastimes.
The Hobart Town Daily Mercury; 18 August 1858

Hoops were the skateboards of their day.

So the burning question of the hour is — did girls bowl hoops, or was it only a sport for boys?

Anytime after about 1830, we see girls depicted with a hoop and stick.  An example is the charming Renoir at the top of the page.  In the last half of the Nineteenth Century, hoop rollers are as apt to be girls as boys.  Victorian moralists and physicians considered it wholesome, healthy exercise for young girls.  

Girls to the age of thirteen may be permitted to indulge at pleasure in play and exercise proportionate to their strength, with as little restraint as their brothers.  We would not send them into the cricket ground nor initiate them in at football, because there is a sociality of intercourse in such plays that is not feminine in nature; but we would not preclude them from exercise as strong and as unrestrained merely because it implied an effort of physical power; nor would we shut them out from the boys of their own age who are usually brothers or near relatives on any principle of precocious prudery, so long as such games are not dangerous or indecorous, if they are they are as unfit for the brother as for the sister.
We love to see girls of eleven or twelve trundling a hoop or running a garden-face in rivalry with Tom just returned from Eton.
George Stephen, A Guide to Service: The Governess 1844.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But what about in the Regency?  What about the Georgian era? 

I have no evidence one way or the other.  There's no indication girls didn't play with hoops.  But hard proof they did starts emerging in the teens of the Nineteenth Century.  And when it does, it's treated as a commonplace. 

Amusements there are which properly come under the denomination of sports, in which a little girl or boy may partake. The hoop, battledore, drum, kite, bat and ball,etc.
Early education, 1821

. . . and saw, at the farthest end of the terrace, a young girl, of about fifteen, running very fast, with a hoop, which she was keeping up with great dexterity for the amusement of a little boy, who was with her. The governess no sooner saw this, than she went in pursuit of her young ladyships calling after her, in various tones and phrases of reprehension, in French, Italian, and English; and asking, whether this was a becoming employment for a young lady of her age and rank. Heedless of these reproaches, Lady Julia still ran on, away from her governess.
Tales of Fashionable Life: Vivian, Maria Edgeworth, 1812

Whenever the lessons of her childhood had been concluded, she had always been permitted, and even encouraged, to join in many of those games and exercises, that are usually appropriated to the amusement of the other sex. Often has she quitted an abstruse book, or a beautiful drawing, to trundle her hoop, or run races with her playfellow Augustus. And when other girls have trembled under the rod of the dancing master, she has been gaining health and activity together,
Manners: a novel,  Frances Brooke, 1817

I can't end without admitting that long, long ago in the foolishness of youth, I attempted to trundle a hula hoop.  It was not a great success.  Perhaps I just lack the knack, but I think Hula Hoops are too light for the purpose.

I suspect the world would be a better place if kids still bowled hoops through the public streets. 

 

I wonder —  What 'olde tyme' toys have you played with.  Did you find it a satisfactory experience? 

Some lucky winner from the comments trail will receive an early, fresh-off-the-press copy of my new book, Black Hawk, though they will have to wait for about a month till I get some author copies.

 

 

The Palio de Siena—A Race for the Ages

Cara/Andrea here,  As the resident Wench “jock,” I occasionally jog off from the ballrooms and country houses for a swing through the history of sporting traditions. Tennis and golf—games grounded in the lawns and links of Great Britain—have been past subjects. But today, as I’m straying farther afield . . . I’ve just returned from an idyllic trip to Tuscany, where I was lucky enough to experience (sort-of) one of the most famous sporting competitions in the world—the Palio de Siena, a rough-and-tumble bareback horse race that originated in the Middle Ages.

Heart and Hooves
The first thing to understand about the Palio is that it is much more than a mere sporting event. Passion, pageantry, pride—centuries of traditions and rivalries whip up emotions to a frenzy for the extravaganza that takes place each summer in the ancient hilltop city of Siena, Italy, as the 17 Contrade, or neighborhoods, compete against each other for the ultimate bragging rights as the Palio champion. The spectacle, a colorful gallimaufry of Medieval pomp and splendor, includes costumed rituals, ornate banners, the blessing of the horses in the Church, and a whirlwind ride around the dangerously steep and sharp turns of the Piazza del Campo.

The Palio has its origins in the 14th century races that used to be run through the narrow streets of the city. Apparently the citizens of Siena enjoyed a variety of rather violent games when they weren’t at war with their neighbors, for the central square was often the site of boxing brawls, jousts and bull fighting. When the Grand Duke of Tuscany outlawed the pitting of man against horned beasts in 1590 (no doubt preferring to keep his soldiers in fighting shape for human opponents) the Contrade, or neighborhoods of the city, began to organize races in the Campo. The first ones were run on buffalo and donkeys, but in 1656, horses became the mounts of choice and the Palio as we know it today galloped into its special place in history.

A Ride Through History
  So, now let’s saddle up—in a manner of speaking— and take a quick ride through the details of the Palio. There are two races each year, based on religious calendar of the Catholic Church: July 2, which celebrates Feast of the Visitation, and August 16, the day after the feast of the Assumption, which celebrates the Virgin Mary. (The August date was added in 1701.)  In 1729, the race course was formalized as a circuit around the perimeter of Piazza del Campo. (Wooden barricades are put up and dirt is laid over the rough cobblestones for the two races, which circle the square three times and last less than 2 minutes.) 

That same year also saw the limit of ten horses established, as the full complement of 17 too often ended in a melee of blood and broken bones. The annual slots rotate—the seven who didn’t race the previous year are automatically in, with the three additional places  chosen by lottery. To avoid Machiavellian maneuvers (chiefly doping and bribery, though in the past horses were sometimes be poisoned by rival Contrade) the mounts are also chosen by lottery a week before the race, and no purebred horses are allowed. As you can imagine, these days elicit much cheering and gnashing of teeth throughout the city.


Caterpilars, Dragons, Porcupines . . .
The rivalries between the 17 Contrade are fierce. For natives of Siena, they are “Caterpillars” or “Giraffes” first, and Siennese second. The residents of the neighborhoods sport their own heraldic colors and beasts (my favorite banners were the Eagle and the Dragon, though the Porcupine was pretty cool too.)  In the weeks before the races, the ancient grey stone walls of the city come alive with Contrade flags, and, you will see people around the city sporting their allegiance in the form of lovely silk scarves.

They are all vying to win the “Rag”—the Drappellone or Palio, which is a hand-painted banner, created by a different artist each year—and the strategies go far beyond pounding hooves and sweating horseflesh. Preventing one’s arch rival from  winning is almost as important as one’s own victory, so the plotting and secret alliances between the contestants puts the  Borgias to blush. Tradition holds that the biggest loser is the horse that comes in second. On the course, jockeys must contend not only with the treacherous turns and steep slopes but also with flailing nerbi (a whip made of a dried bull’s penis) flying elbows and deliberate kicks. In other words, all’s fair in love and Palio!

Spectator seats for the race run dear. A good one can cost over $1,000, though one can brave the crushing crowds and try to get a rail position on the center infield. Where admission is free—but be prepared to get there hours early and withstand the hot Tuscan sun. So I decided to simply enjoy the energy and color of the city by visiting two days before the actual race. And to my delight, I discovered yet another tradition of the Palio . . .
 
Squaring Off
  At around 5 pm I took a stroll to the Campo, simply to see the course and the splendid bell tower that is an iconic image of Siena, but it quickly became clear by the fast-growing crowds that something special was starting to happen. Troops of children filed in to bleachers by the bell tower and serenaded the square with lusty exuberance—I was told that the songs were the Siennese equivalent of college football fight chants. Another spectator informed me that the whole hoopla was because the horses were about to come out for a practice round, something that traditionally happens on the three evenings preceding the race.

  Sure enough, the square quickly filled up to full capacity, and the reserved seating on my evening was packed with club members from the different Contrade. (I merrily began to climb up to an empty seat, much to the horror of the locals, who made it quite clear that tradition banned interlopers! A closer look revealed that no women were in that section of the stands—they had their own enclave over in the corner.) The police quickly closed off the square with barricades, and a cannon blast signaled that the horses had entered the track. Amid wild cheering, they loped around at an easy canter, simply to become familiar with the noise and the twists and turns. Still, it was an amazing experience to feel the thrum of excitement making the very stones come alive.

After the three laps, the horses were each led off, followed by a procession of men from their Contrade singing at the top of their lungs. On the actual Palio day, the race is preceded by the Corteo Storico, a colorful medieval pageant of flag twirlers, costumed processions and traditional cavalry charges.

I’m sorry I didn’t get to experience the main event, but my small taste of the Palio was still a special experience. The chance to  witness living history, with all its rich traditions and colorful pageantry was truly memorable.

So what about you? Is there an historic event, be it sporting, musical, religious . . . whatever, that you would love to attend? Please share!

Tennis, Anyone?

Cara/Andrea here,

Like several of the other Wenches, I'm at the annual RWA Conference in NYC, which is always a whirlwind of activity, what with workshops, publisher meetings, editer pow-wows, and—perhaps most importantly—getting a chance to hug good writing pals from around the world and share gossip and laughs. I find that face-to-face connection is so fun, and so energizing. I always come home tired, but feeling that my creative batteries have been recharged by being around so many great, creative people.

But as I said, it's hectic here, and not always easy to get to a computer. So while we Wenches will be sharing Conference photos and stories very soon (Tonight is the Gala Awards Ceremony, and as Nicola, Joanna, Pat and I are among the finalists, we hope to report at least one Wenchly RITA on Sunday's news!) I am going to invoke Wenchly privilege for today and post an older blog. As it's the finals of Wimbledon this weekend, I thought it appropriate to talk a little about tenns.

So without further ado . . .

Wimbledon comes to a close this weekend, when the last tennis balls skid over the grass courts. It’s one of the “Grand Slam” events, a quartet of tournaments that are the crown jewels of the sport’s elite competitions. (Remember, I warned you all that I am the resident “jock” of the Wenches.) As it’s one of the grand traditions of a game that often appears in literature, it got me to thinking . . .

In historical novels, the words “Tennis, anyone?” conjure up vintage images of elegant figures clad in pristine whites moving gracefully across a swath of verdant lawn. (I’m particularly fond of E.M Forster’s A Room With A View and its descriptions of pastoral Edwardian garden party elegance.)

But take note—Edwardian is the key time frame here. Or late Victorian to be perfectly precise. Any time period earlier and an author is . . . hitting the ball into the net.

I cringe when I read Regency or Elizabethan authors having their characters play a set of tennis outdoors on the lawns. Yes, tennis has been around for centuries—but the game we know today as tennis was not invented until 1874, when Major Walter Clopton Wingfield  filed for a patent on a new sport he called sphairistike, which is Greek for . . . uh, well, lawn tennis. (Not that Achilles was known for his drop shot.)

Thankfully the Patent Office refused to patent the name (can you imagine trying to say “Sphairistike, anyone?” . . . especially after two gin and tonics.) But it did give him rights to the design of his court—which was first shaped like an hourglass, rather than the now familiar rectangle. Wingfield quickly published his rules as The Major’s Game of Lawn Tennis. The game was a hit with the younger sporting set, who were looking for something more vigorous than croquet to play at their country houses. It soon spread to the Continent and America, via Bermuda, and tennis tournaments became a popular pastime for the leisure class.

But back to the “real” story.

 The game of tennis (these days it is called real tennis, or court tennis, to distinguish it from the modern sport of lawn tennis) originated in the Middle Ages. Legend has it that the game was created by monks hitting a ball off the angled walls and roofs of their monastery or cloisters with their hands. (In France the game has always been known as jeu de paume—game of the hand.)

Racquets appeared in the early 16^th century and by the reign of the Tudors, tennis was so popular in England and France that numerous indoor courts were built for the game. (In 1600, the Venetian ambassador to Paris recorded that there were 1800 courts in the city. That sounds awfully high to me, but perhaps it was true,  because it’s also recorded that high stakes gambling on tennis was so prevalent in 1369 that Charles V had to issue an edict restricting play.)

Interestingly enough, one of the first mentions of a female athlete in history was a tennis player. In 1427, it’s recorded that Margot of Hanault played at a gambling house known as the Little Temple and attracted crowds when she took on all challengers.

Court tennis is often called the sport of kings, for royal names abound in the annals of the game. Louis X of France died from a chill he caught after playing jeu de paume.. Henry VIII, an ardent player, was said to have been executing a slice on the tennis court at Hampton Court as Anne Boleyn was losing her head. And on the Continent, Catherine de Medici was known to wear her hair styled in the shape of a tennis racquet.

Tennis also figured into the lore of the French Revolution. David’s famous painting of “The Tennis Court Oath” pictures the deputies of the Third Estate on the court at Versailles, swearing to fight for a constitution for France. (For the record, the monarchy went down to defeat in straight sets.) Napoleon and Wellington were also said to be aficionados of the game.

Classic literature abounds with references to court tennis. Perhaps the most famous is Act 1, Scene II in Shakespeare’s Henry V, where the King reacts to the French Dauphin’s insulting gift of tennis balls: “When we have matched our rackets to these balls/We shall in France, by God's grace, play a set/Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.”

A court tennis court is asymmetrical (so are the racquets) and the oddities reflect the game’s Medieval courtyard heritage. While all courts are approximately 110’ long by 38’ wide, no two are exactly alike. Each has its own unique little architectural details to bedevil the players, which is considered part of the charm of the game. However, the elements are the same. The ancient cloister roof is represented by the penthouse, a sloping ledge that runs along three sides of the court. On the fourth wall is a buttress called the tambour. There are openings in the walls called the dedans and the grille. A net crosses the center of the court, but it high at the ends and droops in the center because in past centuries, the monks had no way to tighten it. The floor is a hard, cement-like surface marked with painted lines that look more like football markings than the familiar lawn tennis layout.

As for scoring . . . oh, don’t ask. It’s incredibly complicated. Yes, the games and sets are scored the same as in modern tennis, but winning points is far more complex. As one top-ranked court tennis player admitted, ”If you haven’t played the game, it’s impossible to comprehend.” Suffice it to say, depending on where a ball lands, there are complex rules about playing hazards and chases, which are sort of games within games. (Cut to the chase is a term that comes from court tennis.) Sometimes the best way to win a point is not to play the ball at all! Even experienced players need a scorer to keep track of all the arcane permutations.

For modern tennis fans, this time of year marks the zenith of the game’s calendar. In May, the French Open—played on the glorious red clay courts at the Bois de Boulogne in Paris—is a much anticipated rite of Spring. And in the last two weeks of June, strawberries and cream at the grass courts of Wimbledon are a cherished English sporting tradition. So as you watch the modern athletes pummel the ball across the net, raise a toast to both the old and the new—and know that the roots of the game are far deeper than those emerald blades of grass.

So how about you—do you have a favorite summer game or pastime?

(P.S. There are ten court tennis courts in the U.S. Most are in Eastern private clubs, such as the Racquet & Tennis Club in NYC and Tuxedo Park, in Tuxedo, NY. However, there is one public court at the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport, RI.)

Football downunder

 Anne here, with a change of pace from books into an earthier and more vigorous pursuit. In the next couple of weeks my hometown will descend  into football frenzy. It happens every year. I'm talking Australian Rules football, not soccer, not rugby, not gridiron or gaelic or any other kind of football. It's a game all our own, born in 1859 in my home town, Melbourne when the first laws of the game were published by the Melbourne Football Club, and even though I'm no big footy fanatic, I think it's interesting. I hope you feel the same by the end of this blog.

It's a fast game, rough, dramatic and gladiatorial.  Click on this link to go to a smorgasbord of images that will give you an idea.

 It's characterized by long kicks that can go 75-100 yards or more. (see the records here.) In fact many a young Australian football player has secured a place in a US university on his ability to kick an oval ball accurately over a long distance.

They also handball the ball (punch it) for long distances. Throwing isn't allowed. The most spectacular part is when they make high leaps to "take a mark" - ie catch the ball.  

The phrase that's gone into football history is the commentator's expression "and the big men fly," for fly they seem to do. And come crashing down afterward.

  You get a free kick if you can take a mark, and over time the players have developed techniques to leap higher and higher, even springboarding on their opponents' backs.

 

This cartoon shows the future of taking marks according to Nicholson, a local cartoonist. LOL

 
 
 For a hundred years it was a Victorian (my state) League, and players from interstate migrated to Melbourne to play here. But as other states formed their own teams and entered the competition, the Victorian Football League became the Australian Football League -- AFL and now it's a more national game. But only 6 of the 16 main clubs are from outside Victoria, so you can see that it's really still a Melbourne game. It's also the most attended and most watched sport in Australia.

It also breeds the most gorgeous footballers -- tall, hunky and long-legged, whereas Rugby guys tend to be chunky and soccer boys whippy -- but then I'm biased.

Tonight the first semi-final of the season is being played between Geelong and Collingwood. The grand final is held on the last Saturday in September and on that Saturday afternoon the streets are quiet. Even people who don't watch football and don't care who wins (like me) will often gather at  friends' places to watch the match, and have a barbecue. 

Like beloved games in other countries, everyone has their own family traditions about football. People have fond memories of being taken as children to matches with their dad and grandad. I have a friend who's been going to the football ever since he can remember, and it's his tradition (with his childhood mates) to try to sneak in without paying — a kind of weekly challenge. It was a sad day when he realized he'd rather just pay than climb the fence and try to outrun the guards. ;)

I didn't grow up in Melbourne, and for me, the football was a distant thing, even though my father was a "one eyed" Collingwood supporter (ie he couldn't see any other team.) My cousins were Geelong supporters, and they used to tape huge blue and white streamers to sticks every Friday night before the match and rain, hail or shine they'd stand behind the goal posts and wave those streamers every time a goal was scored. And if Geelong lost, everyone knew to steer clear of Uncle Tommy.

 

There's a poem about Aussie rules football, Life Cycle, by Bruce Dawe. It's satire mixed with affection, and starts:

When children are born in Victoria
they are wrapped in club-colours, laid in beribboned cots,
having already begun a lifetime's barracking.  

Carn, they cry, Carn … feebly at first
while parents playfully tussle with them
for possession of a rusk: Ah, he's a little Tiger! (And they are …)

Barracking means rooting for (a term that means something different in Australia ;) Carn is a corruption of "come on" so "Carn the Tigers" is cheering on the team of Richmond, whose colors are black and yellow.

And toward the end of the poem...

They will not grow old as those from the more northern States grow old,
for them it will always be three-quarter-time
with the scores level and the wind advantage in the final term,

But the dance forever the same - the elderly still
loyally crying Carn … Carn … (if feebly) unto the very end,
having seen in the six-foot recruit from Eaglehawk their hope of salvation

The whole poem is here if you're interested, but there are a lot of obscure local references you probably won't understand. 

You will, however, I'm sure, understand the whole ritual of the sporting grand final. So what's your favorite sport? Do you share sporting rituals with family or friends? Do you play? Or get sucked into watching it on TV? Or do you seek refuge in a quiet place with a good book? I must admit it's often a book for me, unless I'm with friends, and then I confess, I get sucked right in.

To the Regency Races!

Nicola here. I live near a racing village and today I’m reflecting on the pleasures of race going in the Georgian and Regency periods in my local area. I’ve been researching this not for a book I’m writing but for a talk I gave yesterday for the National Trust on gambling in the early 19th century.  In 1836 one member of the Craven family of Ashdown House bet 8000 pounds (about the equivalent of 400 000 pounds or 625 000 dollars in modern terms) against the favourite, Bay Middleton, in the Derby race. He lost. All that money lost on one horse in one race…

 

Arriving in Style

 

First you had to get to your racecourse, and a spectator’s means of transport, mode of arrival and accommodation was defined by his class. The nobility and gentry, naturally, had their own carriages whilst families slightly lower down the social scale would arrive at the racecourse in a hired post-chaise which could travel at up to eight miles per hour and cost between sixpence and one shilling per mile.

 

The vast majority of spectators, however, arrived at a racecourse on foot and thought nothing of walking up to 15 miles to get there. The cheapest carriage that offered a public service was the covered wagon. The horse was led by a wagonner on foot and the vehicle travelled at walking pace. There are plenty of records of racing crowds travelling to the races at Newbury and Reading by stagecoach as well. These were drawn by four horses, carried six people inside and up to eleven clinging to the outside and in the late 18th century they charged fourpence per mile for the inside passengers and twopence for the outside ones. At seven to ten miles an hour travel by stage could be both dangerous and nausea-inducing, particularly at night on the downhill sections of the road.

 

The diligence was smaller and more comfortable than the stagecoach, carrying only four passengers inside and drawn by two horses. This also operated to a public timetable. Prices depended on whether it was a two wheeled variety or the more superior four wheeled one. 

 

The other alternative for some racecourses, depending on situation, was to arrive by water. Many rivers were navigable in the period. The Oxford races were served by the river Thames and with the opening of the canal system from the late 18^th century onwards race-goers might have the option of a public boat service.  From 1810 the Kennet and Avon Canal ran a twice-weekly passenger barge which had priority over the slower goods barges.

 

There was no charge for entry to the racecourse for those who arrived either on foot or on horseback but carriages paid for the privilege of parking where there was a good view of the track. By 1800 most courses had grandstands where for the sum of five shillings the middle classes, and ladies in particular, could buy a comfortable view of the course away from the common crowds. The other benefit of the grandstand was that it was covered, which gave some protection against the weather, either stifling heat or a downpour of rain.  In her letters Jane Austen mentions the Basingstoke Races of 1813 as being a complete washout and at Abingdon in 1828 the fashionable ladies were drenched (presumably they had not bought grandstand seats) and the horses were apparently running knee deep in water.

 

Coaching inns in towns such as Marlborough, Newbury and Reading did extremely well for custom during race weeks when they were usually full to overflowing. The other alternative for accommodation was to rent a house in the town for the period of the race meeting and some enterprising homeowners would either let their entire house or would rent out individual rooms. The inns offered special fixed price meals for race-goers during the period, rather like booking in for dinner, bed and breakfast these days. Usually the gentlemen and the ladies ate separately, though in 1829 the Star Inn at Oxford introduced mixed tables which must have caused quite a stir!

 

The Bet

 

The Georgian age was characterised by excessive gambling by the upper classes on just about anything that moved and some things that didn’t: horse races, beetle races, raindrop races, cards, cockfights, prize-fights, billiards and pedestrianism were a few of the events or sports that could be bet upon. Gentlemanly wagers at the races were initially conducted on a credit basis, one to one, off the course but in response to the demand for some fixed premises for these deals, Richard Tattersall, a horse auctioneer, set up the first betting shop at Hyde Park Corner in 1815. The entry conditions for Tattersalls were both financially and socially stringent, demanding as good a breeding in the customer as in the horse, as well as financial liquidity. Nor was gambling on the horses confined to men. A poem by Lord Abingdon called Adieu to the Turf makes reference to creditors circling Lady Bampfylde who was a racehorse owner and prominent patron and gambler.

 

Further down society, wealthy farmers were showing an interest in field sports and gambling. They would think nothing of losing £40 a day (several thousand pounds in today’s terms) at one race meeting. And amongst the working classes a day at the races was also popular. In 1784 La Rochefoucauld commented that: “a great number of people economise all through the year for the pleasure of risking the product of a year’s privation on one five-minute fling.”

 

In the beginning, racing wagers were unwritten and were settled the following day at the local coffee house. However by 1805 betting stands had become a feature of most racecourses with bookmakers called blacklegs. These were generally men from humble origins whose name derived from the top boots they wore because they could not afford stockings. Many were men of their word when it came to settling betting winnings but it was not unknown for a blackleg to decamp from the course without paying out to his customers.

 

It took some time for race results to become known as there was no mass communication.  Mail coach drivers were crucial in spreading the word of the results of important meetings. For really vital results carrier pigeons and even trail-trained hounds might be used to carry the news to interested parties in the surrounding coutryside. I love the idea of a beagle arriving at your door with the racing results attached to it's collar!

 

Other Entertainments

 

This was of course the age of both national and private lotteries so the opportunities for betting were not confined to the horses. One racecourse ran raffles during race week with valuable prizes such as a “high bred bay mare” one year and a four wheeled post chaise another. There were plenty of other ways to lose your money at the racecourse as well, including gambling sideshows such as the game of pitch and toss for money. Between 1805 and 1815 the town of Newbury in Berkshire banned EO betting (the precursor to roulette) in the town in race week so that gamblers were tempted to spend more on the racecourse. Billiards matches tended to follow the racing calendar as well and heavy bets were placed on the outcome of these.

 

On the course itself, vendors of beer and food could rent a pitch for their booth. There were shooting galleries, musical entertainments, acrobats, high wire dancers, fire-eaters, performing dogs and gypsy fortune tellers. Crime was rife on the racecourse with some booths taken by confidence tricksters intent on taking money off naïve victims. Pickpockets mingled with the crowds, as did prostitutes soliciting for business.

 

Cockfights and prize-fights also took place during race weeks and were popular across the social spectrum. Cockfighting was considered a gentleman’s sport but fell into disrepute by the 1820s. Prize-fighting was technically illegal after 1750 but the ban was widely ignored and after the 1809 Abingdon Races finished a crowd of thousands gathered to watch a 50 round fight which lasted almost two hours.

More salubrious were race week balls. These were held in the local assembly rooms and were priced at five shillings for the ladies and seven and sixpence for the gentlemen, very much an event for the gentry and aristocracy. The Newbury Mansion House Ball of 1805 was described as attracting guests of “the first fashion and distinction.” 

 

Theatres also ran special race week programmes with different plays each night and actors and actresses from London.  At Newbury’s Pelican Theatre the boxes cost three shillings, the seats in the pit two shillings and the gallery one shilling. Henry Thornton’s acting company toured the race towns frequently with a cast that included Dorothy Jordan, the Duke of Clarence's former mistress. Attendance at race balls and theatre performances meant that the ladies required the specialised of services of hairdressers and perfumiers brought in from London. Provincial hairdressers were not considered skilled enough to meet the requirements of their aristocratic clientele!

 

The Newbury Coat

 

One extraordinary wager that I came across when I was reading about gambling and racing was the story of the Newbury Coat.  Newbury was a very famous racing town and the populace of the period well accustomed to gambling. Mr John Coxeter, a cloth manufacturer in Newbury, commented to Sir John Throckmorton that he could take the coat from Sir John’s back, reduce it to wool and turn it back into a coat again all in the space of a day. Sir John was so taken with this idea that he laid a bet of 1000 guineas that at eight o'clock in the evening of June the 25th 1811 he would sit down to dinner in a well-woven, properly-made coat, the wool of which had still been on the sheep’s backs at five o'clock that same morning. (Presumably he didn't want to sacrifice the existing coat and fancied a new one!)

 

Thousands of people turned out to watch the bet take place; there was even a refreshment tent provided. The sheep were shorn, the wool was washed, stubbed, rove, carded, spun and woven. The tailor had already taken Sir John’s measurements and was ready to leap into action. Ten men worked at

cutting out, stitching, pressing, and sewing on buttons and at twenty minutes past six that evening Mr. Coxeter presented the coat to Sir John Throckmorton, who put the garment on before a crowd of over five thousand people. Sir John took dinner with forty gentlemen at eight o'clock in the evening wearing the coat, which was a large hunting coat in the admired dark Wellington colour, a sort of a damson tint. It had been completed in the space of thirteen hours and ten minutes. The wager had been won with an hour and three quarters to spare.

 

If you attended the Georgian races would you be in the grandstand or prefer to mingle with the crowd? Would you enjoy the races or the fortune-teller’s tent or would gambling simply not be for you? I’m giving away an ARC of my new book Whisper of Scandal, which does not feature racing at all, to one person who leaves a comment between now and Sunday morning!

Invictus: Blood, Sweat, and Reconciliation

By Mary Jo

I’m hammering toward the end of Lost Lords #3, plus the copyedit of my YA paranormal historical Dark Mirror (March 2011) must be sent to NYC today, so I was going to do a blog rerun, pulling something I wrote in years gone by.

Then over the weekend I saw the movie Invictus.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, the movie is based on real life, and the lead character is Nelson Mandela.  The opening scenes show him being released from his many years in prison and becoming elected the president of post-apartheid South Africa. 

South Africa has 11 official languages, including Afrikaans (related to Dutch), English. Zulu, Xhosa, and seven other Bantu languages.  Ethnically it’s about 80% black African, 9% European/white, 9 Colored (mixed race) and 2% Asian.  In other words, an enormously complex “rainbow nation.” 

Long Walk to Freedom

Nelson Mandela, who is one the great men of our time, along with Ghandi and Martin Luther King, faced staggering problems.  Apart from a desperate need for foreign investment and issues of education, jobs, and everything else imaginable, there was a very real chance of civil war. 

A long history of oppression and the terrible years of apartheid left many black South Africans profoundly angry.  White South Africans feared how their nation was changing, and that they might lose everything they owned, perhaps even their lives. 

It was Mandela who called for “truth and reconciliation.”  Truth, because wounded people need to be heard. Reconciliation, because nothing less would allow South Africa to survive as a nation.  And he modeled that behavior himself by emerging from prison after 27 years, and forgiving those who had imprisoned and persecuted him.

South Africa’s white minority was large and powerful, with skills and wealth the country needed desperately.  Nationalizing all white owned business would probably have destroyed the country, just as neighboring Zimbabwe had been destroyed. 

The Flag of a Rainbow Nation

So how to reconcile the volatile factions of South Africa?  Sports loom large in most cultures, since they’re ritualized forms of competition, are entertaining, and they enable people to feel like part of a tribe.  “The Baltimore Orioles may be having a disastrous season, but they’re still our O’s!” 

Mandela, who is smart as well as wise, realized that rooting for a successful national team could help bring people together.  The Springboks are South Africa’s national rugby union team, named for the gazelle that is a national emblem.  However, rugby was largely a white sport.  Blacks (including Mandela in his prison years), would usually root for anyone playing against the Springboks. 

 

The Rugby World Cup

South Africa was to be the host of the first Rugby Union World Cup in 1995, and as host nation, they were guaranteed a slot even though the team might not have qualified on its own.  International sports had boycotted South Africa during the apartheid years, so having the World Cup competition was a Very Big Deal. 

The movie focuses on Mandela and Francois Pienaar, the captain of the Springboks rugby team.  It follows the arc of the traditional sports movie, as scrappy underdogs struggle to outdo themselves.  But Invictus is so much more.  The movie is woven of threads of growth and hope and fear as people adapt to their new nation.  (Real Mandela and Pienaar above.)

A running thread is Mandela’s bodyguards, where the black guards are horrified to be joined by four white guards, while the whites looked  as if they expected the worst.  Their gradual coming together as a team of men who could work with and respect each other mirrors wider changes. 

I don’t have time to do a well-researched, well integrated blog, so instead I’m just going to toss out some factoids.

1) Invictus is based on John Carlin’s book Playing the Enemy:  Nelson Mandela and the Game That Made a Nation.   Clint Eastwood was the director, and the movie was nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Movie, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Supporting Actor

1) One reason this movie captivated me was because in 2005, we visited South Africa.  We traveled with South African friends and learned what a stunningly beautiful country it is.  On the flight over on South African Airways (lovely airline, by the way), I asked a couple of different South African passengers how the country had managed to avoid a disastrous, bloody civil war.  I’ll never forget the answer one of them gave:  “The forgiveness of the oppressed.”  He credited the generosity of spirit of the black South Africans.

2) Mandela was played by Morgan Freeman.  Having played God in an earlier movie,  he was a perfect choice.  So perfect that when Nelson Mandela was asked who he wanted to play him if a movie was made of his book Long Walk to Freedom, he said “Morgan Freeman.”  The casting was inevitable, and in fact Freeman was an executive producer who was instrumental in bringing Playing the Enemy to the screen.

Rugby!

3) Rugby was born in 19th century England, and it's a VERY rough sport—think American football played without any of the protective gear.  Rugby players are known for being big, muscular guys with no necks. <g> 

4) The rugby captain was played by Matt Damon, who is nothing like as large as the real Francois Pienaar, who is something like 6’ 4” and 240 pounds.  When the two men met and Damon looked up about 6” to Pienaar, he quipped that he looked bigger on screen.  They became immediate friends.  <g>

Damon is a good actor, and he got himself extremely buffed up for the role.  He also nailed the South African accent, from what my untrained ear could tell.

5) I live in a part of the US where there is a lot of British history and tradition, including some rugby.  The Mayhem Consultant was going by a local rugby playing field when a game was in progress.  Almost as soon as he parked, an ambulance came to carry away a player with a nasty compound leg fracture.  Did I mention that Rugby is rough?  <G> 

5) The Springboks' opponents in the big game were New Zealand's All Blacks, generally rated as the best team in rugby.  (The name refers to their uniforms—they’re racially integrated.)  The All-Blacks famously do a pre-game Maori haka war chant to raise the testosterone level and intimidate the opposition.  As I found when we went to a cultural show in Rotorua, New Zealand, sticking the tongue out as part of the aggressive posturing is basically saying, “You look delicious! I want to eat you!”  <G>

7) Here is a fun interview with Damon and Freeman. 

For me, what makes Invictus so powerful are the themes of forgiveness and reconciliation, since these themes come up in my books over and over.  It takes tremendous strength and maturity to seek reconciliation rather than vengeance.  (Abraham Lincoln wanted it after the Civil War.)  The movie's title came from the famous poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley.  It inspired Nelson Mandela in his years of captivity, (picture of him at Robben Island prison above) and famously ends:

I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Inspiring words indeed.  Is reconciliation a theme you enjoy reading about?  What are some of your favorite reconciliation stories, whether book or movie or real life?  What other themes appeal to you strongly?

Mary Jo, posting another picture she took in Cape Town