Half-Timbered Architectural Elements, a Tudor Construction

One of the most prominent features of Tudor and medieval architecture is what is called “half-timbered houses.” The editors of the Encyclopedia Britannica describes “Half-timber work” as a, “method of building in which external and internal walls are constructed of timber frames and the spaces between the structural members are filled with such materials as brick, plaster, or wattle and daub. Traditionally, a half-timbered building was made of squared oak timbers joined by mortises, tenons, and wooden pegs; the building’s cagelike structural skeleton is often strengthened at the corners with braces. This method of timber framing was adapted to both low, rambling country homes and six- or seven-storied buildings in crowded towns. In England it was popular in regions that lacked stone as a building material. It was used in England in the southern counties and the West Midlands, especially, from about 1450 to 1650.

“The wooden frames of 13th- and 14th-century half-timber structures were often elaborately ornamented. Exposed ground-floor posts were frequently carved with the images of patron saints, whereas other framing elements were enriched with delicate running patterns. In France the latter emphasized the vertical elements, and in England the tendency was to stress the horizontal lines of the structure. During the 15th and 16th centuries, the decorative contrast between the dark timber and the lighter filling was fully exploited. Panels between the studs were made of brick in herringbone patterns or of plaster molded or incised with floral forms or with inlays of slate, tile, or marl. Carved ornament was lavish and fanciful and showed classical motifs. Many wooden members were added without structural necessity. These were often crisscrossed under windows, and in England, where more timberwork was exposed, they were assembled in cusped shapes or chevrons to create the striking patterns of the “black and white” manor houses of Cheshire and Lancashire.”

e0c65a70fe954bd5e52863953ce68ed1.jpg ThoughtCo provides us a look at the history of this method of building. “After 1400 AD, many European houses were masonry on the first floor and half-timbered on the upper floors. This design was originally pragmatic—not only was the first floor seemingly more protected from bands of marauders, but like today’s foundations a masonry base could well support a tall wooden structures. It’s a design model that continues with today’s revival styles. In the United States, colonists brought these European building methods with them, but the harsh winters made half-timbered construction impractical. The wood expanded and contracted dramatically, and the plaster and masonry filling between the timbers could not keep out cold drafts. Colonial builders began to cover exterior walls with wood clapboards or masonry.”

Half-timbered indicates that the logs are halved or cut down to a square. In half-timbered buildings the walls are filled in between the structural timbers. Most commonly this infill was wattle-and-daub (upright branches interwoven by smaller branches and covered by a thick coat of clay mud), laths and plaster, or bricks. 

The 15th century half-timbered Black Swan Public house, Peasholme Green, York, Yorkshire, England, United Kingdom, Europe

http://www.robertharding.com The 15th century half-timbered Black Swan Public house, Peasholme Green, York, Yorkshire, England

To accomplish this, first stone or brick is set to serve as a footing around the perimeter of the house. Into that, a sill beam is placed on the foundation. Then upright beams are set with mortar into the sill beam and tenoned at the top into another horizontal beam. Think of this is like building blocks. One box is set upon another to create multiple floors.  

Britain Express tells us, “Often the upper floors project out over the lower ones. There are several conjectures as to the reasons for this. One is that houses in cities were taxed on the width of street frontage they used. So a high, narrow house saved the owner money, yet to maximize interior space the non-taxed upper floors were lengthened. Also, the projecting upper floors helped protect the lower house from rain and snow in the days before gutters and down-pipes.

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Tudor half-timbered buildings in Exeter Historic 15th century buildings in West Street

 “By the 15th and 16th century timber framing began to be exploited for its decorative qualities. Timbers which had minimal structural importance were added to the frame, to enhance the decorative effect of dark wood set into whitewashed walls. The Jacobean period saw this use carried to extremes.

“The construction methods used in half-timbering allow buildings to be easily dis-assembled and put up again elsewhere. This has helped salvage houses which would otherwise have been destroyed to make way for new development. Many medieval timber-framed houses have been re-erected at open air museums such as the Weald and Downland Museum at Singleton, West Sussex, and the Avoncroft Museum of Buildings at Bromsgrove, Worcestershire.”

Resources: 

“Half Timber Work,” Encyclopedia Britannica 

“Half-Timbered Houses,” Britain Express 

“What Is Half-Timbered Construction,” ThoughtCo

Posted in architecture, British history, buildings and structures, Tudors, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Jane Austen and the Rise of the Novel, a Guest Post from Victoria Kincaid

Here is another guest post from one of my fellow Austen Authors. Victoria Kincaid takes us on the search for the “novel.” 

regency_era.jpg I remember the moment in college when I realized that the novel was a relatively recent writing form. Novels are so dominant today—pushing all other writing formats to the side—that it’s hard to imagine a time when they didn’t exist. But in fact, the ancient Romans and Greeks had plays and poems (some very long epic poems that seem like novels)—as well as various nonfiction forms—but nothing resembling a novel. It wasn’t until the 1700s that we start seeing something that we would consider a novel today; in fact, the very name “novel” suggests that it is a new form of writing.

The ancestors of today’s novel were Elizabethan prose fiction and French heroic romances, which were long narratives about noble characters (the word for novel in many European language is “roman”—suggesting the form’s connection to medieval romances). What distinguishes these genres from novels is that they tend to focus on larger-than-life characters, epic quests, extraordinary heroes, and unbelievable adventures—which often symbolize primal human hopes and fears. Obviously, some novels share some of these characteristics. But what distinguishes the novel from the romance is its realistic treatment of life and manners. Its heroes are men and women like ourselves, and it primarily examines human character in society (certainly a good description of Austen’s work!).

The question of what was the first English novel is the subject of some debate. Some scholars would give that title to Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe (1719) (followed by his Moll Flanders in 1722). Both are rather episodic narratives stitched together mainly because they happen to one person. However, these central characters are regular people living in a solid and specific a world. Thus Defoe is often credited with being the first writer of “realistic” fiction.

Other scholars would give the title of first English novel to Pamela, an epistolary novel (told through a series of fictional letters) written in 1741 by Samuel Richardson. Pamela often gets the nod because of its psychological depth and careful examination of emotional states.

fashion-for-a-regency-ball.jpgThere are, however, other contenders for the title of first novel. One is Japanese author Murasaki Shikibu’s Tale of Genji (1010) which demonstrates an interest in character development and psychological observation. Another claimant is Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister (1687), a collection of fictional letters by Aphra Behn, who was the first woman in England to earn her living as a writer (she was primarily a playwright). Cervantes’ Don Quixote (1605-15) is considered an important progenitor of the modern novel.

All of this is to say that the novel was still a relatively new form of writing when Jane Austen came along. It had not been popular or widespread for even a hundred years when Pride and Prejudice was written. By then a lot of novels were being written, many of them with romantic elements and many of them written by women. Although the history of the novel often credits men with earliest examples of the genre, it is important to understand that many female authors (often forgotten today) were also part of the rise of the novel. Jane Austen did not simply spring spontaneously into being; rather, she was writing in the same tradition as Frances Burney, Maria Edgeworth, and other writers like them.

In fact, many scholars would suggest that there is a particular connection between female writers and the novel form. The history of the rise of the novel also parallels in some ways the rise of the female author. The advent of the novel made possible the publication and popularity of the Bronte sisters, George Eliot, and many other female authors who are not as well known today.

Virginia Woolf notes this confluence in A Room of One’s Own. She writes about how novels allowed women to adapt a new kind of sentence—rather than the kind of writing necessary for poetry or plays—to their own needs. “All the older forms of literature were hardened and set by the time she [womenkind] became a writer. The novel alone was young enough to be soft in her hands.” Woolf describes how women were able to use and shape a genre that did not have rigid traditions: “since freedom and fullness of expression are the essence of the art, such a lack of tradition, such a scarcity and inadequacy of tools, must have told enormously upon the writing of women.”

Throughout the book, Woolf pays tribute to Austen as a progenitor female author, and particularly calls out her the way she shaped the novel’s prose for her purposes: “Jane Austen looked at it [the traditional sentence] and laughed at it, and devised a perfectly natural, shapely sentence for her own use…” I love this image of Austen taking language, laughing at the clumsy tool she has been given, and reshaping it to her own purposes. It makes me think not only of Austen’s genius, but also the fun she must have had while she was writing—as she helped to create not only new stories, but also a new genre.

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Yorkshire’s Legendary “Blind Jack” Metcalf, Extraordinary Road Builder

What do you know of  Yorkshire’s legendary hero, “Blind Jack (John Metcalf)”?

JOHN METCALF was born at Knaresborough, on the 15 August, 1717 in a thatched cottage opposite Knaresborough Castle. Metcalf was considered a a pioneer in road construction. Between 1765 to 1792, Metcalf designed and helped build 180 miles (290 km) of turnpike road mainly in and around Yorkshire, Lancashire and Derbyshire. Many of his routes still survive today, for example as parts of the A59 and the A61. This was made even more remarkable by the fact that Metcalf was blind.

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An attack of smallpox left Metcalf permanently blind when he was six years old, but this did not seem to hamper the boy. It is said that after three years of blindness, Jack could find his way to any part of Knaresborough. He became an excellent rider and learned to place an instrument. Stories even tell of how Jack rushed into the River Nidd to rescue a soldier who was drowning, unable to swim due to a sudden bout of cramp. It took Jack four attempts, but eventually the soldier was saved.

At 15, Jack became the in-house fiddler at the Queen’s Head in Harrogate, replacing a 70-year-old fiddler who had apparently come to play the fiddle ‘too slow for country dancing’. Metcalf also became a guide to visitors in the local area, sometimes finding that the only way to receive custom from tourists was to conceal his blindness. In his youth, Metcalf also eloped with Dolly Benson, the daughter of the landlord of the Royal Oak in Knaresborough.

According to Historic UK, Jack joined the ‘Yorkshire Blues’ in 1764. This was a 64-man militia raised in the district by Captain Thornton to fight Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobites. The militia’s uniforms were dark blue with gold lace, providing their name. At the Battle of Falkirk, Jack evaded capture and was present at the Battle of Culloden, which saw the decisive defeat of the Jacobite rising by the Duke of Cumberland.

By 1752, Jack was operating a stagecoach company between York and Knaresborough, exposing him to the appalling condition of local roads. Soon after a new Turnpike Act in 1752, seizing the opportunity to make some money,  Metcalf obtained a contract for building a three-miles’ stretch of road between Ferrensby and Minskip.

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Knaresborough Viaduct via http://www.geograph.org.uk

Metcalf became famous as a builder of roads and bridges, using techniques that in the 18th Century were revolutionary. According to Ancestry.com, he “built roads on the Plain of York, as well as over the much more difficult terrain of the Pennines. His greatest speciality was in laying them across marshy ground, a problem no-one previously had solved. His only instrument was a stout staff. His method for laying foundations was to order his men to pull and bind heather in round bundles and to lay it on the intended road in rows, piling more bundles on top and pressing them down into the bog to soak up the water. He then brought carts loaded with stone and gravel to lay above the bundles of heather [and whin (types of heather and gorse, respectively)]. Living at a time when turnpike roads were being built all over Britain, he was responsible for around 180 miles of road in Yorkshire, Lancashire, Derbyshire and Cheshire, including the roads from Harrogate to Boroughbridge, Wakefield to Dewsbury and Doncaster, Knaresborough to Wetherby and Huddersfield to Halifax.” He advanced a viable mode of building upon marshland by using a combination of ling and whin (types of heather and gorse, respectively). Building a road from Harrogate to Knaresborough, Metcalf encountered a bog, and some saw the task as impossible. Nevertheless, Metcalf built across the bog and received the tidy sum of four hundred pounds for his work.

“Itching to do new things even in old age, Metcalf walked all the way from Spofforth to York to dictate his life story to a publisher, who printed the biography in 1795. E. & R. Pick’s The Life of John Metcalf, Commonly Called Blind Jack of Knaresborough also describes Jack’s exploits in hunting, card-playing, cock-fighting, bridge construction and ‘other undertakings’. Upon death, Blind Jack left behind 4 daughters, 20 grandchildren and a phenomenal 90 great and great-great grandchildren.” (Historic UK)

His headstone, erected in the churchyard of All Saints Church, Spofforth, at the cost of Lord Dundas, bears this epitaph: 

“Here lies John Metcalf, one whose infant sight
Felt the dark pressure of an endless night;
Yet such the fervour of his dauntless mind,
His limbs full strung, his spirits unconfined,
That, long ere yet life’s bolder years began,
The sightless efforts mark’d th’ aspiring man;
Nor mark’d in vain—high deeds his manhood dared,
And commerce, travel, both his ardour shared.
’Twas his a guide’s unerring aid to lend—
O’er trackless wastes to bid new roads extend;
And, when rebellion reared her giant size,
’Twas his to burn with patriot enterprise;
For parting wife and babes, one pang to feel,
Then welcome danger for his country’s weal.
Reader, like him, exert thy utmost talent given!
Reader, like him, adore the bounteous hand of Heaven.

[via Wikipedia as the source from . . .

“Curious Epitaphs, by William Andrews—A Project Gutenberg eBook”http://www.gutenberg.org.]

statue-of-john-blind-jack-metcalf-market-place-knaresborough-north-HT70Y4

“So valued by Knaresborough’s locals is their legendary road-builder that in 2008 they raised £30,000 to have his tall, portly figure immortalized in bronze by Barbara Asquith. Grasping a surveyor’s wheel in his right hand, Jack’s statue sits on a bench in the town centre, just outside the Blind Jack’s Pub. Although divided by over two centuries, present-day locals may sit beside Jack whenever they wish.”

Additional Resources to Extend Your Reading:

Friday Poem: ‘The Ballad of Blind Jack Metcalf’

Ian Duhig’s The Blind Roadmaker is out now.

Fabulous Tales of The Life of John Metcalf can be found HERE.

The Life of John Metcalf  by the man himself. 

“John Metcalf (Civil Engineer),” Wikipedia 

Tales of Metcalf’s Love Life can be found HERE. 

Posted in British history, history, Living in the UK | Tagged , , , , , | 8 Comments

Sir Walter Scott, the Historical Romance, and the Creation of a National Identity – Part I

 

Sir Walter Scott, 1st Baronet http://www.britannica. com/EBchecked/topic /529629/Sir-Walter-Scott-1st-Baronet

Walter Scott was the first great writer to recognize the potential of historical romance as a “dramatic narration of national history, a modern commercial equivalent of the old national epic. Scott’s Waverley novels started out as the romance of Scotland, but of a Scotland that was now part of the United Kingdom, so that the hero was generally a young adventurer from south of the border. But Scott soon broke with this pattern, and with Ivanhoe (1819), the tenth in the series, her turned the adventure tale into a ‘foundation epic of England.’” [Parrinder, Patrick, Nation and Novel, Oxford University Press, 2006, pg. 151]

In Ivanhoe, Scott addresses what he purports to be the beginnings of the “English identity” with the portrayal of the barriers between the Norman lords and their Saxon serfs. Scott creates “history” with his scenes demonstrating the divide between these two groups: politically, culturally, and linguistically. These depictions influenced later historiography. For a discussion of whether this “creation of history” was a good or a bad thing, read The Isles: A History, by Norman Davies (Macmilliam Press, 2000, pp. 335-337).

ivanhoeScott’s story brings to life the hardships under which the Saxons lived. Ivanhoe is set four generations after the Norman conquest of England. Having been captured on his return to England after the Crusades, King Richard is an Austrian prison. His brother, Prince John, has claimed the throne. Prince John encourages the Norman nobles to claim supremacy over the Saxons, capriciously robbing the Saxons of their lands and turning Saxon landowners into serfs. The Saxon nobility, especially Cedric of Rotherwood, decry the Norman’s highhandedness.  Cedric is so loyal to the Saxon cause that he has disinherited his son Ivanhoe for following King Richard to war.

The epigraph for Chapter 7 comes from John Dryden’s poem “Palamon and Arcite.” This poem is based on Geoffrey Chaucer’s “Knight’s Tale,” one of the Canterbury Tales. In these particular lines, we get a description of knights coming together for a tournament.

Knights, with a long retinue of their squires,
In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires;
One laced the helm, another held the lance,
A third the shining buckler did advance.
The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet,
And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit.
The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride,
Files in their hands, and hammers at their side;
And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide.
The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands;
And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands.
Palamon and Arcite

 vmf_vendor_UNN_4278555_1443202370049_527512.jpg Chapter 7 gives the reader a detailed description of the conditions in which the nation suffered. Scott’s uses the suffering of the Saxons as a means to define the ‘state of the nation.’

The condition of the English nation was at this time sufficiently miserable. King Richard was absent a prisoner, and in the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke of Austria. Even the very place of his captivity was uncertain, and his fate but very imperfectly known to the generality of his subjects, who were, in the meantime, a prey to every species of subaltern oppression.

Prince John, in league with Philip of France, Coeur-de-Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of influence with the Duke of Austria, to prolong the captivity of his brother Richard, to whom he stood indebted for so many favours. In the meantime, he was strengthening his own faction in the kingdom, of which he proposed to dispute the succession, in case of the King’s death, with the legitimate heir, Arthur Duke of Brittany, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder brother of John. This usurpation, it is well known, he afterwards effected. His own character being light, profligate, and perfidious, John easily attached to his person and faction, not only all who had reason to dread the resentment of Richard for criminal proceedings during his absence, but also the numerous class of “lawless resolutes,” whom the crusades had turned back on their country, accomplished in the vices of the East, impoverished in substance, and hardened in character, and who placed their hopes of harvest in civil commotion. To these causes of public distress and apprehension, must be added, the multitude of outlaws, who, driven to despair by the oppression of the feudal nobility, and the severe exercise of the forest laws, banded together in large gangs, and, keeping possession of the forests and the wastes, set at defiance the justice and magistracy of the country. The nobles themselves, each fortified within his own castle, and playing the petty sovereign over his own dominions, were the leaders of bands scarce less lawless and oppressive than those of the avowed depredators. 

To maintain these retainers, and to support the extravagance and magnificence which their pride induced them to affect, the nobility borrowed sums of money from the Jews at the most usurious interest, which gnawed into their estates like consuming cankers, scarce to be cured unless when circumstances gave them an opportunity of getting free, by exercising upon their creditors some act of unprincipled violence.

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy state of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply for the present, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear for the future. To augment their misery, a contagious disorder of a dangerous nature spread through the land; and, rendered more virulent by the uncleanness, the indifferent food, and the wretched lodging of the lower classes, swept off many whose fate the survivors were tempted to envy, as exempting them from the evils which were to come.

Parrinder says, “In Ivanhoe the King whose banner of Le Noir Faineant, literally, the ‘do-nothing’ black knight – [represents] a medieval anticipation of the nineteenth century doctrine of laissez-faire (155).” Scott’s story creates a crisis of instability and anarchy as the setting. Much of the derision between the Normans and the Saxons occupies the opening chapters of the novel. The “contagious disorder” in the quote above is the suffering of ordinary people. 

Scott follows this description of desolation with a “romantic” scene of a tournament held to entertain Prince John. One of the champions of the displaced Saxons turns out to be Ivanhoe, who fights under the name of the ‘Disinherited Knight.’ Ivanhoe defeats his Norman foes. “The ethic of chivalry is manifestly inadequate to deal with the social injustices Scott has outlined, but, after, all, he is writing an adventure romance and not a historical tract for his times.” (Parrinder, 155)

This “epic” romance is what Scott called the “Big Bow-Wow strain.” In Part II, we will look at the “romance” found in Scott’s Ivanhoe.

Posted in British history, historical fiction, Living in the Regency, publishing, real life tales, romantic verse, writing | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Princess Louise Marries a Commoner

c859b2290db4f763cf0476aea9fa2912.jpg In March 1871, Princess Louise Carolina Alberta, fourth daughter and sixth child of Queen Victoria married John Douglas Sutherland Campbell, Marquis of Lorne and heir to the dukedom of Argyll , which created quite a stir. In 1870, Lorne was marked by Queen Victoria as a possible groom for Louise, but at first, the princess was undecided upon Lorne.

Louise knew the difficulty her her eldest sister encountered in the royal courts of Europe, where Vicky’s liberal-minded precepts were met with repression. Louise did not believe she could not live such a life of restriction, especially with her growing interest in philanthropy and the advancement of women. She would be labeled as a troublemaker, just as Vicky was. Therefore, she knew she must seek a British husband, which meant a non-royal and a commoner. Her engagement to the Marquis of Lorne in the autumn of 1870 was supported not only by her mother but also by her mother’s Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli. Disraeli knew Lorne, a commoner despite his descent from the Kings of Scotland, for a gentle, good-tempered man of ‘bright cultivated intelligence’ who was just right for the artistic Louise. The match also pleased the British public which had feared yet another of the ‘German marriages’ which, in their view, had already occurred too often in the Royal Family. 

“In March 1870, the Marquess of Lorne was told an engagement was not going to take place; Louise had changed her mind. As the Queen wrote to Lord Granville on 13 March, ‘while the Princess thinks Lord Lorne very clever and agreeable, she does not think she could have that feeling for him which would enable her to wish for any nearer acquaintance with a view to a further result. He is too young for her…’

51bSI++o8YL._SX325_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg “The end of her putative engagement to Lorne does not seem to have caused Louise much heartache. Soon afterwards, she was at a breakfast party hosted by the Gladstone [the queen’s longtime bête noire, Prime Minister William Gladstone] family and Lady Lucy Cavendish noted in her diary, ‘Sat by Princess Louise, who looked very pretty and was charming and well-mannered, as usual.’ Rumours now suggested Lord Cowper as the princess’s intended fiancé. At the start of October, however, all mention of Lord Cowper was at an end, and the newspapers were about to get the story they’d been longing for.” (Hawksley, Lucinda. Queen Victoria’s Mysterious Daughter: A Biography of Princess Louise. ©2013, St Martin’s Press, 119) The princess and Lorne’s chance meeting at the Gladstones’ breakfast party at Carlton House Terrace led them to a better understanding. At the time of their engagement, Lorne’s income was a paltry £4,000, but he was eventually to be 9th Duke of Argyll. Although “romantic love” was purported, it was more likely that the pair thought they could like in harmony. 

article-2508123-006E6CA01000044C-645_306x521.jpgObjections to the marriage were expected from the European states, which did not condone marriages between royalty and commoners; however, the Prince of Wales’s objection was not. As the eldest son and Victoria’s assumed heir, Albert Edward (Bertie) not only objected to his sister marrying a commoner, but he also objected to Lorne for the Campbell family were prominent Liberals. Moreover, Lorne sat in the House of Commons as a supporter of Gladstone. According to Jerrold M. Packard in Victoria’s Daughters (©1998, St. Martin’s, 146), “It is likely, however, that Bertie’s most fundamental objection to his sister’s marriage purely concerned Lorne’s rank, a complaint founded on what were at the time rational grounds. In fact, all sorts of problems would inevitably have to be sorted out: Lorne’s precedence, the unedifying specter of Louise and her spouse being distantly separated at official functions, the Argylls’ deep involvement with banking and commerce (which might generate conflicts of interest, not to mention smacking of actually working for a living), even whether Louise herself might have to give up her own royal status.” 

Princess_Louise_and_Lorne_engagement.jpg The royal family did not expect objections from the public sector. By the time of Louise’s marriage, Victoria’s popularity had dipped considerably for she was sore to make public appearances after Prince Albert’s death. However, in order to force Parliament’s agreement to both Louise’s dowry of £30,000 (+ £6,000 a year for life) and £15,000 for life for Prince Arthur (who had come of age at the same time as the wedding), Victoria agreed to open Parliament (a duty she had forgone since Albert’s death). Louise stood on the steps during this duty. 

Princess Louise and Lorne were married in St. George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle in Berkshire. 

Resources and Other Readings: 

“The Mystery of Princess Louise: Queen Victoria’s Rebellious Daughter by Lucinda Hawksley – Review,” The Guardian 

“Queen Victoria’s ravishing daughter, a secret love and a sex scandal the Royal Family’s STILL trying to cover up,” The Daily Mail 

“Princess Louise,” Britannia 

“Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll,” Wikipedia 

Posted in British history, family, marriage, Scotland, titles of aristocracy, Victorian era | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A Gest of Robyn Hode, a Robin Hood Folk Ballad

In 1560, William Copeland printed the fragments of the various Robin Hood folk dramas. The “plays” were likely performed by mummers and strolling players for a century or more before Copeland printed them.

A Gest of Robyn Hode

Frontispiece to Wynkyn de Worde's 15th c. or early 16th c. edition of the Gest.A Gest of Roby Hode has been known by a variety of of titles. It is one of the earliest Robin Hood stories, likely written in the late 1400s. It is about 14,000 words in length. 

A “gest,” according to Dictionary.com, means a tale of adventures; especially :  a romance in verse; an adventure, exploit, or knightly gests.

Wikipedia provides us a brief overview of the tale. “A Gest of Robyn Hode” is Child Ballad 117; it is also called A Lyttell Geste of Robyn Hode in one of the two oldest books that contain it. It is one of the oldest surviving tales of Robin Hood [and] shows every sign of having been put together from several already-existing tales. It is a lengthy tale, consisting of eight fyttes, or sections. It is a ballad written in Middle English.”  

250px-Here_begynneth_a_gest_of_Robyn_Hode.png Bold Outlaw breaks down the “fyttes” as follows: “The Gest is divided into eight sections, known as Fyttes. Here’s a breakdown of the main action….

“Fytte 1 — Robin wants to have a guest before they eat. Little John finds a poor knight in threadbare clothing. The knight’s son killed someone in a joust and the knight had to borrow 400 pounds from St. Mary’s Abbey, York to pay the bail. Now, the loan is due, and the knight doesn’t have the money and will lose his lands. Finding him to be honest, Robin loans him the money and gives him fine clothing. He sends Little John along with the knight.

“Fytte 2 — The abbot of St. Mary’s and others are eager to seize the knight’s land. The knight shows up and pretends to be broke. They show no mercy. And therefore, when the knight pays up he doesn’t give them a tip. The knight returns home, collects the money, and makes a gift of fine bows and arrows, to repay Robin. On his way to Barnsdale (Robin’s base), he is delayed to help a yeoman in a wrestling match.

“Fytte 3 — Meanwhile, Little John goes to Nottingham and enters an archery contest. The sheriff is impressed and drafts Little John into his service. After spending some months with the sheriff, Little John causes trouble, fights and recruits the sheriff’s cook and they make off with the sheriff’s treasure. Later, they lure the sheriff into meeting Robin Hood. In exchange for his freedom, the sheriff promises not to harm Robin.

“Fytte 4 — Waiting for the knight to return his loan, Robin and his men intercept the high cellarer of St. Mary’s abbey. The monk is rude and dishonest, and so Robin robs him of 800 pounds, claiming the virgin Mary has sent this payment. When the knight does show up, Robin gives him another 400 pounds.

“Fytte 5 — The Sheriff of Nottingham holds an archery contest for a gold and silver arrow. Robin wins the contest. But his men are ambushed, Little John is wounded, and they take refuge at the castle of the knight (now called Sir Richard at the Lee).

“Fytte 6 — The sheriff goes to the king for help, and returns to capture Sir Richard. Sir Richard’s wife goes to Robin for help. Robin rescues the knight, kills the sheriff and flees to the forest.

“Fytte 7 — Planning to deal with Robin personally, the king goes to the forest disguised as an abbot. He makes friends with Robin. They have an archery contest which Robin loses. The knight discovers the king’s true identity. Robin enters the king’s service.

“Fytte 8 — The king and his men disguise themselves as outlaws and go to Nottingham. Robin serves the king for 15 months. Broke and bored, he returns to Barnsdale, reforms the band, and they stay as outlaws for 22 years. Robin is bled by his cruel cousin, the Prioress of Kirklees, and dies.”

As one can easily assume, latter ballads are based on the Gest

 

Bold Outlaw goes on to say, “Historians, such as John Bellamy, continue to focus on the Gest in their attempts to find an original Robin Hood. The description of Robin’s Yorkshire haunts is unusually specific. (Sherwood Forest is never mentioned in the Gest.) There is much debate about when the story is set. 

This woodcut has been used to illustrate both the Gest and the yeoman of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales“And there’s much debate over which Edward the king is meant to be. In the early 19th century, Joseph Hunter found the king’s journey in the Gest is similar to that of Edward II’s. There was even a Robyn Hood serving as a porter in this king’s court. However, other details point to the reign of Edward III. Professor Stephen Knight stated in his 1994 study of Robin Hood that the king may have been Edward IV, who was likely the king at the time of composition.

“But Professor Thomas Ohlgren has recently shown that the Gest may be have performed for the cloth guilds that were founded in the reign of Edward III. Ohlgren shows there are a lots of references which make Robin sound like a cloth merchant of Edward III’s day. Even the food Robin serves his guests is taken from the guild menus where this story may have originally been read. At a 2003 conference, Ohlgren revised his opinion and felt that the king in the Gest may have been a combination of Edwards III and IV, as if asking the current king to act like his famous predecessor.”

 

 

“Some of the incidents in Fouke fitz Waryn and A Gest of Robyn Hode are, for example, too close to be accounted for by ‘common tradition’ or coincidence — the game of truth and consequences by which those who lie are robbed, while those who tell the truth keep their money; the trick of enticing the enemy into a forest trap by promising him a long-horned stag; the captured king or sheriff swearing an oath not to harm the outlaw and then breaking it; and the wounded sidekick begging the hero to kill him by cutting off his head.”
A Book of Medieval Outlaws: Ten Tales in Modern English, edited by Thomas H. Ohlgren, p. 111.

Other Resources: 

The Child Ballads: 117

The Earliest Editions of the Gest

“Gest of Robyn Hode,” University of Rochester Middle English Text Series (Introduction)

“Gest of Robyn Hode,” University of Rochester Middle English Text Series (Actual Text of the Tale)

“Gest of Robyn Hode” in Traditional English You Tube 

The Project Gutenberg eBooks of Ballads of Robin Hood and other Outlaws by Frank Sidgwick

 

Posted in ballads, British history, Canterbury tales, drama, literature, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Crafting a Thatched Roof

We all admire the idea of a cottage with a thatched roof, but what are the practicalities? 

History: Thatching roofs can be traced to the Bronze Age. In Dorset, one can observe the remains of a round hut that displays signs of thatching at Shearplace Hall. Traditionally, thatched roofs came about because the wattle, daub walls, and cruck beams used in the construction of huts, etc., could not support the weight of anything but the lightest of materials. 

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Daily Mail ~ Expensive: Mr Tasker spent £13,000 replacing his thatched roof in the traditional style

 In an article entitled “The Art of Thatching,” we learn, “Thatched buildings appear in almost every county in the United Kingdom although the West Country – Cornwall, Devon and Dorset have probably the highest number of buildings which still retain a thatched roof. Materials used in thatch buildings were limited to whatever was available locally. Materials such as broom, sedge, sallow, flax, grass, and straw are all used. The most common is wheat straw in the south of England, and reeds in East Anglia. Norfolk reed is especially prized by thatchers, although in northern England and Scotland heather was frequently used. With the large reed beds in East Anglia and it’s longer life, reed has become the more common material for thatch, though long-straw thatching is still done. Rye, Straw or sedge grass is used for capping the ridges of all thatched buildings as it is more flexible than reed. Although thatch was primarily used by the poor, occasionally great houses used this most common of materials. In 1300 the great Norman castle at Pevensey in Sussex bought up 6 acres of rushes to roof the hall and chambers. Much later, in the late 18th century thatched cottages became an extremely popular theme with painters, who tried to portray a romantic view of Britain.”

Thatched roof churches could also be found. According to Britain Express, “In one humorous episode the parish church at Reyden, near Southwold, was roofed in 1880 with thatch on the side of the church hidden from the road, and with tiles on the side facing the road. Presumably the tiles looked more elegant than the more commonplace thatch.” 

  

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via Commonwealth Roofing

“So how does one thatch a cottage? First the thatch is tied in bundles, then laid in an underlayer on the roof beams and pegged in place with rods made of hazel or withy.
Then an upper layer is laid over the first, and a final reinforcing layer added along the ridgeline. It is at the ridgeline that the individual thatcher leaves his personal “signature”, a decorative feature of some kind that marks the job as his alone.” (Britain Express) 

A 2010 article in The Guardian tells of a man who still thatches roofs. This is his explanation. “We are on site at what’s called a re-thatch, which does what it says on the tin and still makes up the majority of [Glen] Holloway’s work. Thatched roofs last around 30 years. The minute you lay one, it slowly starts to rot. Looking pretty isn’t cheap. ‘I usually tell a customer they should be putting away £1,500 to £2,000 a year to cover it.’

“We climb a ladder to roof level. The old thatch has been stripped down to its underwear – a dry and musty, thin petticoat of thatch. Sometimes Holloway strips the thatch right off and lays new timbers. Then the real work begins. He picks up a spar – a branch of split hazel wood that has been tapered to a point at each end, and twists it in the middle into a V shape. Spars are used to staple the thatch into place.

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http://www.gettyimages.com Cottage with a thatched roof, Cregnesh, Isle of Man, British Isles :

 “The thatch itself is made from bundles of water reed, sent from Hungary. Fuel prices and carbon footprinting mean Holloway is encouraging local suppliers to grow wheatgrass, but it’s a lengthy process and most of the reed comes from abroad.

“Once he’s clipped the binding off a bundle he sits the reeds on the roof, with their flower ends facing up and their “butt” end facing the ground, and holds this temporarily in place with iron thatching pins, rather like a hairdresser pulls hair out of the way and clips it into place while working.

“Now it’s time for a thatcher’s primary tool, the legget. It looks like a spade. It has a flat aluminium head but turn it over and you’ll see a honeycomb effect punched out of the surface. The grooves catch the butt ends of the reeds as Holloway thumps the legget up against them. He does this in order to marshal the sea of butt ends (known as the coatwork) into as smooth a surface of thatch as possible. 

“This is called dressing and a well-dressed thatched coat is the pride of the trade. ‘I was always told it should look like poured-on custard,’ says Holloway, now a master thatcher, no less. After spending a day staring at the coatwork he says he develops “reed blindness”. I can see what he means; after an hour gazing close-up, a sea of thatch dances in front of my eyes.

12997675-man-working-at-covering-the-thatch-roof-of-traditional-house-in-denmark-a-sunny-summer-day-Stock-Photo.jpg“Another particular of a thatcher’s tool box is the shearing hook which looks like a left-handed scythe, except it’s right-handed and is used to shear the ears off the reeds. When Holloway has finally, and painstakingly, worked his way up to the ridge of the roof he has to pin the thatch down tightly with some spars. He creates a double layer of thatching at the ridge and covers this with thatching wire (like chicken wire but with a smaller mesh) to protect it from lumbering crows.

“Unlike the thatched layer underneath, the flowers of the top layer face downwards and are trimmed with the shearing hook to create a pretty, wavy design. Or to put it in thatching lingo, Holloway creates a ‘block pattern ridge’ using ‘cross pattern spar work.'”

Resources: 

“The Art of Thatching,” FatBadgers 

“How to Thatch a Roof,” The Guardian 14 May 2010

“The Inside Story of a Thatched Roof,” The Guardian 20 March 2017

“Master of a Traditional Craft,” The Guardian 26 October 2015 

“Thatching,” Britain Express 

“A Working Life: The Master Thatcher,” The Guardian 27 May 2011

Posted in architecture, British history, buildings and structures, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments

The Cancelled Chapters of Jane Austen’s “Persuasion,” a Guest Post from Alexa Adams

The Cancelled Chapters of Persuasion

brock1 I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in

F. W.

Captain Frederick Wentworth of Persuasion is not my favorite Austen hero. Though rather more dashing than the others, his behavior towards Anne Elliot is peevish and hurtful. Mr. Darcy, following Elizabeth’s rejection, struggles to impress her. Mr. Knightley, even when he thinks Emma’s heart belongs to another, remains her strongest advocate. Captain Wentworth, on the other hand, distinguishes himself by flirting outrageously where his heart is unengaged, claims Anne to be altered beyond recognition (and says so in the hearing of those who are sure to repeat his hurtful words), abrock3nd when he thinks he has lost Anne forever, he stalks off in a fit of jealousy. For all this I blame him, but then comes that letter …

Captain Wentworth might be unworthy of Anne, but his declaration of love is the most intense and satisfying in all of Austen. I have a hard time maintaining my irritation with him when he expresses himself so passionately, without any reserve, and fully reveals the true extent of his internal struggles. His transgressions are the result of his deep hurt. A better man might have proceeded differently, but there is no doubt of the ferocity of his love. Though I have read this novel countless times, I still feel the intense anticipation and grow week in the knees every time I read chapter twenty: one of the greatest scenes Austen ever wrote! And I ask myself: what if that letter had never been written?

It almost wasn’t. One of the greatest insights we have into Austen’s writing process are the so-called “Cancelled Chapters” of Persuasion.

One of the most common criticisms I receive on my books is that they end too quickly. I know a lot of authors hear this. It is wonderful to know that my readers want more, and with each new book I try harder and harder to deliberately slow down, but it is a constant struggle. In editing, it is inevitably the last chapter or two that I change the most. I completely rewrote the ending to my second book, Second Glances, only a month before publishing. I was nervous about the change, but knowing what Austen did to Persuasion gave me courage to proceed.

Austen not only changed the sequence of events leading to her story’s conclusion, she also added an entire additional chapter, considerably slowing down the rush towards happily ever after. In the cancelled chapters, Anne meets Admiral Croft on her return from Mrs. Smith’s house, having just learned of Mr. Elliot’s perfidy. The scene does not paint the Admiral in the best light, as he bullies Anne into intruding upon his wife, abandons her to the awkward company of Captain Wentworth, and, heeding the rumors of her forthcoming engagement to Mr. Elliot, forces the love sick man to ask her if the Crofts should give up their lease on Kellynch Hall, in order to make room for the supposedly engaged couple to move in. To a woman of Anne’s sensibilities and discretion, the moment is horrifyingly awkward. Fortunately, she readily dismisses the rumors in their entirety, and the lovers are able to swiftly find themselves reunited.

brock2So much more satisfying is the final version! Our old friends from Uppercross arrive in Bath, bringing with them their own value and regard for Anne, as well as the impetus for throwing her and Wentworth back into the same society. We have that wonderful moment when Sir Walter and Elizabeth arrive at the Musgrove’s lodgings, making a big display of condescension by including the Captain in their card party invitation. We also have the supreme satisfaction of Charles Musgrove dismissing the Elliots’ mincing superiority. But most importantly we have that amazing moment when Anne and Captain Harville discuss the lasting affections of men and women while Wentworth listens, writes, and responds. The second version of the ending is immensely more sophisticated than the first. As a true fan, I still wish the story was yet longer, but thank goodness Austen made the changes she did. The letter, the stroll down the gravel walk, the shared confessions and reminiscences at the card party – the book would be a shadow of itself without all of it.

In all of Austen’s novels, the last chapter provides a rather rapid conclusion. The very first lines of these chapters often reveal her conscious haste. In Mansfield Park:

                     Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody,    not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.

And in Persuasion:

Who can be in doubt of what followed? 

As readers, we wish she had lingered longer on the happily ever afters. I even wrote a short story collection drawing out these endings, following Austen’s hints about what happened, dwelling on the “guilt and misery” as well as the romance (the Persuasion tale is now available at Austen Author’s The Writer’s Block, if you are curious). Yet if Austen had given us everything we want and answered all of our questions, where would the Austenesque genre be? I will continue to strive to slow myself down and take the time to tell the story to completion, but I also feel pretty comfortable leaving my readers to dream up their own conclusions. As readers and writers, what do you think? Do you struggle with endings?

The entire text of Persuasion as well as the cancelled chapters are available at Molland’s Circulating Library, one of my very favorite websites and an excellent tool for the Austenesque author. It is also the source for the fabulous C.E. Brock illustrations featured above.

Posted in Austen Authors, book excerpts, book release, British Navy, excerpt, Guest Post, Jane Austen, Persuasion, publishing, writing | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on The Cancelled Chapters of Jane Austen’s “Persuasion,” a Guest Post from Alexa Adams

The Forest of Dean

In west Gloucestershire, marked by the rivers Severn and Wye, we find the Forest of Dean, a large tract of woodland and waste land reserved for royal hunting before 1066. It remains the second largest of the principal Crown forests in England. (List of Royal Forests can be found HERE.) The forest likely got its name from a manor called “Dean,” found in the northeast corner of the forest. It is where the Forest’s administrative centre was located in the late 11th Century. The name Forest of Dean was recorded circa 1080. 

In the 13th Century, the Forest of Dean extended northwards as far as Ross-on-Wye in Herefordshire, Newent, and Gloucester. From that time, the forest encompassed 33 Gloucestershire and Herefordshire parishes. It contained a central, uncultivated area retained for the Crown. “Revised bounds, perambulated in 1300 and accepted by the Crown in 1327, reduced the extent of the Forest to the royal demesne and 14 parishes or parts of parishes, most of them, like the demesne itself, in St. Briavels hundred. After 1668 in practice, and after 1833 officially, the Forest comprised the royal demesne only. The changes in the bounds over the centuries are described below. The royal demesne remained extraparochial until the 1840s when, villages and hamlets having grown up within it, it was formed into the civil townships (later parishes) of East Dean and West Dean and into ecclesiastical districts. After mid 20th-century changes the bulk of the former demesne land belonged in 1994 to the civil parishes of West Dean, Lydbrook, Cinderford, Ruspidge, and Drybrook.” (Forest of Dean: Introduction)

 

The Forest of Dean was a significant producer of oak timber, especially important to the British Royal Navy.

Lord Nelson wrote of the forest:

“The Forest of Dean contains about 23,000 acres of the finest Land in the Kingdom, which I am informed, if in high cultivation of Oak, would produce about 9200 loads of timber fit for building Ships of the Line every year; that is, the Forest would grow in full vigour 920,000 trees.

“The State of the Forest at this moment is deplorable, for if my information is true there is not 3500 Load of Timber in the whole forest fit for building and now coming forward. It is useless, I admit, to state the causes of such a want of Timber where so much could be produced, except that by knowing the faults we may be better enabled to amend ourselves.

“First, the generality of trees for these last fifty years have been allowed to stand too long. They are passed by instead of removed and thus occupy a space, which ought to have been replanted with young trees.”

2006-p18-01.jpg (To read the entire letter, visit Woodland Heritage, which reproduced the letter. Reproduced with the kind permission of “The Mariner’s Mirror” – Journal of the Society for Nautical Research. Go HERE.)

The forests also contained beech and chestnut trees, especially near Flaxley, providing the name for the woods called the “Chestnuts.” Hazel, birch, sallow, holly, and alder could also be found. ” In 1282 various ‘lands’, or forest glades, maintained by the Crown presumably as grazing for the deer, included several with names later familiar in the Forest’s history, Kensley, Moseley, Cannop, Crump meadow, and Whitemead (later a part of Newland parish). Numerous smaller clearings called ‘trenches’ had also been made as corridors alongside roads for securing travellers against ambush or for the grazing and passage of the deer. Larger areas of waste, or ‘meends’, such as Clearwell Meend and Mitcheldean Meend, lay on the borders adjoining the manorial lands, whose inhabitants used them for commoning their animals.

“Much ancient woodland was destroyed to make charcoal for the iron industry in the 16th and 17th centuries, but the re-establishment of the woods was encouraged by a policy of inclosure begun in the 1660s and designed to produce shipbuilding timber. The policy faltered during the 18th century but in the early 19th century large new inclosures were again formed and planted almost entirely with oak. A few Weymouth pines planted before 1787 were apparently the first conifers introduced to the Forest, and conifers were widely planted in the 19th century to shelter the young oak plantations. Large plantations of pure conifer were made during the 20th century and threatened to dominate the woodlands before 1971 when a policy of keeping equal proportions of coniferous and broadleaved trees was adopted. In 1994, when the Forest was more thickly planted than for several centuries, it included isolated late 17th-century oaks, park-like areas of early 19th-century oak preserved mainly as an amenity, and large plantations of oak, beech, fir, and spruce managed for commercial purposes.” (Forest of Dean: Introduction)

According to History of the Royal Forest of Dean tells us, “The 19th century saw the major development of industry. Enterprise and innovation combined with rich natural resources brought inventions, investors and workers to the Forest from many parts of Britain. Industrialisation demanded improved communications and better transport links. In the late 19th century original tram roads were converted to railways with all the Forest towns connected to the main lines bordering the area and linking with the docks at Lydney. Lydney Harbour has recently been restored to preserve its historical importance as a key player in the industrial development of the Forest of Dean.

“As a woodland, the Forest of Dean has played an important part in the heritage of Britain especially from the 17th century when the oak timber, and indeed iron, became important for the expanding shipbuilding industry. The exploitation of the area’s timber and iron ore resources continued throughout the Civil War but in 1649 recommendations were made for the conservation and management of the Forest. This was pursued by a Commission whose long-term work was scuppered by growing demand from the Navy. It was not until the Dean Forest (Reforestation) Act 1668 that effective management commenced, albeit dogged with trouble for another 120 years. During a visit to the Forest in 1802, Lord Nelson highlighted that the ‘finest timber in the kingdom’ was in a deplorable state. Consequently 30 million acorns were planted across 11,000 acres, but the oak was redundant before half grown thanks to its rapid replacement in shipbuilding by iron and steel!

“Despite further demands during the war years, the Forest, due to careful planting and felling programme’s, has maintained much of its traditional appearance. In addition, much of the war-time felling was replanted with oak and other broad leaved mixtures. The National Forest policy of 1958 emphasised the need for timber production but highlighted the need for due regard to amenity and recreation.”

royal_forest_of_dean.jpg

Resources and Additional Reading: 

Forest of Dean History Society

Forest of Dean: Introduction ~ pages 285 – 294 A History of the County of Gloucester: Volume 5, Bledisloe Hundred, St. Briavels Hundred, the Forest of Dean. Originally published by Victoria County History, London, 1996. ~ Read Online at http://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/glos/vol5/pp285-294

History of the Forest of Dean by Stephen Baker

History of the Royal Forest of Dean 

Nelson and the Forest of Dean 

 

Posted in estates, history, Industrial Revolution, kings and queens, legacy, royalty | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Do You Know These Words and Phrases?

Go Through Fire and Water ~ English for Students tells us, “Go through fire and water means to face any peril. This phrase originally referred to the medieval practice of trial by ordeal which could take the form of making an accused person hold or walk on red-hot iron or of throwing them into water.”

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Blackguard ~ World Wide Words tells us, “It’s sad that this contemptuous term for a scoundrel, a man who behaves in a dishonourable or contemptible way, has fallen out of use, since it carries a big punch. Our usual pronunciation as “blaggard” obscures its curious composition. Who or what was the black guard that got itself such a dreadful reputation? If I had a time machine handy, I’d go back to about 1500 and ask some pointed questions of Londoners. Failing this device, matters have to remain somewhat obscure.

“The earliest recorded use, by a few years, was in 1535. Then it referred to low menials in a royal or noble household. They were the ones who looked after the pots and pans and other kitchen utensils: the scullions or kitchen-knaves. Nobody knows for sure why they were said to be black — perhaps the colour of the pots literally or figuratively rubbed off on them. A slightly later sense is of the rabble that followed an army about: the servants, camp-followers and general hangers-on (here black presumably has its common derogatory sense). There seems to be a third sense, which refers to a guard of attendants or soldiers who were dressed in black; it’s possible that there really was a Black Guard — so called — at Westminster about this time (there are account records that refer to them, but nobody has any idea who they actually were).

“By the eighteenth century, the term was applied to children and young people who made a living any way they could, either as boot blacks or general assistants to soldiers (presumably this was a joke on the literal form of the word). Our modern sense appeared about 1730, and was a highly offensive term for a scoundrel or villain, or any low worthless minor criminal.”

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Paint the Town Red ~ Phrase Finder tells us the the phrase means to “engage in a riotous spree” and gives us a long explanation, of which I am sharing only part of it. “The allusion is to the kind of unruly behaviour that results in much blood being spilt. There are several suggestions as to the origin of the phrase. The one most often repeated, especially within the walls of the Melton Mowbray Tourist Office, is a tale dating from 1837. It is said that year is when the Marquis of Waterford and a group of friends ran riot in the Leicestershire town of Melton Mowbray, painting the town’s toll-bar and several buildings red.

 

melton

Further evidence for the event, but against it being the phrase’s origin, comes from a text below a picture of the revellers, dated 1837. The picture is labelled A Spree at Melton Mowbray and subtitled Or doing the Thing in a Sporting-like manner.

220px-Marquess_of_Waterford” That event is well documented, and is certainly in the style of the Marquis, who was a notorious hooligan. To his friends he was Henry de la Poer Beresford; to the public he was known as ‘the Mad Marquis’. In the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography he is described as ‘reprobate and landowner’. His misdeeds include fighting, stealing, being ‘invited to leave’ Oxford University, breaking windows, upsetting (literally) apple-carts, fighting duels and, last but not least, painting the heels of a parson’s horse with aniseed and hunting him with bloodhounds. He was notorious enough to have been suspected by some of being ‘Spring Heeled Jack’, the strange, semi-mythical figure of English folklore. The phrase isn’t recorded in print until fifty years after the nefarious Earl’s night out.

“The picture portrays actual streets in Melton and it is very likely that it was a representation of a real event. The newspaper report describes the red paint in Ackermann’s picture, although that is difficult to discern in later prints. Neither the text of the picture nor later reports mention the Marquis of Waterford or, more importantly, the phrase ‘paint the town red’. Actually, as pointed out above, the first use of the phrase in print is quite a lot later – not until 1883 in fact, and in New York, not Leicestershire. The New York Times, July 1883 has:

“Mr. James Hennessy offered a resolution that the entire body proceed forthwith to Newark and get drunk… Then the Democrats charged upon the street cars, and being wafted into Newark proceeded, to use their own metaphor, to ‘paint the town red’.”

“The other early references to the phrase also relate to America rather than England. The November 1884 edition of the Boston [Mass.] Journal has:

 

“Whenever there was any excitement or anybody got particularly loud, they always said somebody was ‘painting the town red’.”

“The next is Rudyard Kipling. That’s as English as you can get one would have thought. In this case though he too is referring to America – in his book Abaft Funnel, 1889:

“They would do their best towards painting that town [Chicago] in purest vermilion.”

There are other theories too:

“Jaipur (The Pink City) is the capital of the Indian state of Rajasthan. The old buildings of the city are constructed from pink sandstone. In 1853 it was painted pink in honour of a visit from Prince Albert. If that were the origin though, why don’t we paint the town pink?

“William and Mary Morris in their Morris Dictionary of Word and Phrase Origins say it probably originated on the American frontier. They link it to ‘red light district’ and suggest that people out for a night ‘on the town’ might very well take it into their heads to make the whole town red. Well, they might, then again they might not.

“It is sometimes said to come from the US slang use of “paint” to mean “drink”, When someone’s drunk their face and nose are flushed red, hence the analogy.”

______________________________________________

Broom-Squire ~ Again I return to World Wide Words. They explain: “A house recently advertised for sale near the Devil’s Punchbowl in Surrey mentioned that it had once been used by broom-squires. These weren’t the minor aristocracy of rural places that the second half of their title suggests but poor rural artisans.

“They were famously evoked by Sabine Baring-Gould — Anglican priest, antiquarian and novelist — in his 1896 novel The Broom-Squire, set near the house:

“At some unknown date squatters settled in the Punch-Bowl, at a period when it was in as wild and solitary a region as any in England. They enclosed portions of the slopes. They built themselves hovels; they pastured their sheep, goats, cattle on the sides of the Punch-Bowl, and they added to their earnings the profits of a trade they monopolized — that of making and selling brooms. On the lower slopes of the range grew coppices of Spanish chestnut, and rods of this wood served admirably for broom-handles. The heather when long and wiry and strong, covered with its harsh leafage and myriad hard knobs, that were to burst into flower, answered for the brush. On account of this manufacture, the squatters in the Punch-Bowl went by the designation of Broom-Squires. They provided with brooms every farm and gentleman’s house, nay, every cottage for miles around. A wagon-load of these besoms was often purchased, and the supply lasted some years.

A broom-squire’s cottage, c 1900.
“A hand-coloured postcard of about 1900. The broom-squire’s cottage is presumably the brick-and-tile one in the background, a great step up from the hovels of earlier descriptions.

“Broom-squires were necessarily restricted to the heathlands of England, such as the Surrey Heaths of the story and the New Forest further south, though at times the brush of the broom wasn’t heather but birch twigs, strictly speaking turning their makers into besom-squires, a term that appears only rarely.

“Squire is not a term of respect here. Alongside its sense of a country gentleman was a contemptuous one that evolved from its oldest meaning of an attendant on a knight, hence later merely a servant, and a lowly one at that. A close relative is the long obsolete apple-squire, which may be politely defined as a male companion of a woman of ill-repute, more accurately a pimp (we may guess the apple was a sly reference to the biblical Eve, though the Oxford English Dictionary suggests a woman’s breasts were meant). Broom-squires, often itinerant and always poor, had an unsavoury reputation not so far removed from the then conventional view of gypsies.

“A footnote in The Sporting Review in December 1840 to an article about hunting over yet another heath, in Somerset, described broom-squires negatively as ‘A variety of the genus homo found on Quantock, living on whortleberries, dwarf-birch, &c, &c. Towards winter they frequent the lower grounds, and prey on game of all sorts, preferring that of their own killing.'”

Other reports mention the rude huts they inhabited. The thatched sixteenth-century former gamekeeper’s cottage mentioned in the property advert was unlikely ever to have been the home of broom-squires. However, it makes a good story for the sales brochures.

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Have you watched the popular British-American drama television series, Penny Dreadful? Ever wonder the source of the title? 

Phrase Finder tells us, “Penny Dreadful is a cheap publication, containing melodramas written in a colourful and down-market style.

Penny dreadful magazine cover Penny dreadful is a rather dated expression, for no one can purchase a magazine for a penny these days.

“The expression is American and came into use in the late 19th century as a pejorative term for the numerous cheap crime magazines that purveyed poorly written and hackneyed storylines. The establishment were critical of the time spent on such by the working classes, as this comment in the North American Review, 1861 indicates: ‘They can read the ‘penny dreadful,’ but they cannot darn their stockings or mend their shoes.'”

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Arenaceous ~ World Wide Words tells us, “It means to have the appearance or consistency of sand. Unlike sabulous and its close relative arenose, both of which also refer to something sandlike and which rarely appear outside lists of rare words, arenaceous is still very much with us.

“But it’s a term you’re most likely to find in a deeply technical article that discusses matters such as “the influence of matrix conduction upon hydrogeophysical relationships in arenaceous aquifers” or refers to the ‘squamulose lichen of both calcareous and arenaceous soils.’ The rest of us can make do with sandy.

“If its spelling reminds you of arena, a public entertainment space, that is no accident. Both derive from arena or harena, the Latin word for sand. The English word arena comes from the name for the central part of a Roman amphitheatre in which gladiatorial fights and the like took place and which was strewn with sand to absorb the blood.

“Very rarely you may find arenaceous used figuratively. James Russell Lowell did so in Among My Books in 1876 when writing of William Wordsworth: ‘He seems striving to bind the wizard Imagination with the sand-ropes of dry disquisition, and to have forgotten the potent spell-word which would make the particles cohere. There is an arenaceous quality in the style which makes progress wearisome.'”

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Congé ~ Merriam Webster Dictionary gives us the origin of the word: alteration of earlier congee, congie, from Middle English conge, from Anglo-French cungé, from Latin commeatus going back and forth, leave, from commeare to go back and forth, from com- + meare to go. It means: a formal permission to depart;  a ceremonious bow; farewell; an architectural molding of concave profile. Meanwhile, Dictionary.com gives us these historical examples: 

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John S. Farmer in Slang and Its Analougues: Past and Present (Volume 1, page 130 – 134) gives us this definition of Barrack-Hack: “1. In an inoffensive sense applied to young women who attend garrison balls year after year. So used, there is no such imputation of lax morals as occurred in sense 2. 2. A soldier’s prostitute. “

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Farmer (page 135) also gives us these slang words: Barres, which means “(gaming) Money lost at play, but not paid. The term is an old one, and has long been obsolete. A corrupt form of ‘barrace,’ an obsolete plural of ‘bar.’ (and) Barrikin “(common) Gibberish; jargon; a jumble of words. see quote: 1851-1861 H. Mayhew, London Lab. and Lon. Poor, vol. 1, p. 15. ‘The high words in a tragedy we call jaw-breakers, and say we can’t tumble to that barrikin. Ibid. p. 25, Can’t tumble to your BARRIKIN. [i.e., can’t understand you]. Ibid., p. 27, The rich has all that BARRIKIN to themselves.” 

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