From rags to riches, or how an Irishman became Viceroy of Peru

by Anna Belfrage

In 1721, Charles O’Higgins of Ballynary, Ireland, was blessed with the birth of a son, Ambrose. I’m not sure just how much a blessing it was at the time, as Charles and his wife Margaret had lost their hereditary lands in Sligo, thereby being forced to become tenant farmers. A come down, one could say, even if over time the numerous O’Higgins family found gainful employment with one of the local lords.

Ambrose in his heyday

Clearly, living conditions were good enough to accord Ambrose an education, and being a man hungry for a better life than that of a servant, young Ambrose took employment with a trading house and ended up in Cádiz, Spain in 1751. Spain at the time did not quite offer the opportunities that Ambrose yearned for, and so in 1756 he took advantage of his Catholic faith and applied for permission to emigrate to Spanish America. (Protestants were not allowed. The faith had to be kept pure.) Permission was granted ASAP, and Ambrose took off across the oceans, probably hoping to sort of fall atop a pile of buried treasure. Not to happen; the Spanish Conquistadores had done a very good job of relieving the formerly so rich Indian kingdoms of whatever gold and valuables they had, and the gigantic silver mine in Potosí remained under firm Spanish control.

Ambrose may have sulked a bit at the lack of gold lying about to be stumbled upon, but having burnt most of his ships he decided to make the best of things, and so lived for some time in Venezuela, in Nueva Granada (present day Colombia) and in Peru. Unfortunately for Ambrose, he attracted the interest of the Inquisition, a force very much to be reckoned with in the Spanish Colonies. Maybe he was a tad too lax in his faith. Maybe he had that endearing Irish tendency to jest about serious matters, thereby making a priest or two frown. Whatever the case, the ground beneath our dear Ambrose’s feet became too hot, and he decided to leave Peru for somewhat cooler climes, which is how he ended up in La Plata, i.e. present day Argentina. (As an aside, the La Plata name is most ironic; upon seeing this broad, glittering river, the eager first arrivals named it “The Silver River”, so sure were they that they too would strike lucky and literally dig silver out of the ground with spoons. Didn’t happen…)

So now our Irishman – somewhat disheartened as he was pushing forty with no fortune in sight – tried to make a living for himself in his new homeland. Being anything if not intrepid, Ambrose decided to leave all this trading business behind. Instead, he offered to find a passable way over the Andes, thereby creating a safe passage between Argentina and Chile. I’m not quite sure what drove him to come up with such a mad idea – the Andes is NOT the friendliest of mountain ranges – but the powers that were in La Plata were thrilled, and so Ambrose, at the mature age of 39, joined the Spanish Imperial Army as a draughtsman and engineer.

Fortunately for Ambrose, he proved good at his new career, rising like a glowing star through the ranks. He succeeded in creating a permanent all-year-round connection between La Plata and Chile, and when enticed to move to Chile he did so, finding himself suddenly the commanding officer of a cavalry unit charged with doing battle with the fierce Araucanian Indians. Ambrose must have been born with a four-leaf clover in his mouth , or maybe his devoted mother sewed one into his baptismal gown, because yet again Ambrose rose to the challenge, proving himself a most capable officer.

Colonial High Society in Santiago de Chile

Ambrose enjoyed his years in Chile – and this is also where the man met the love of his life. At the ripe age of fifty-seven, Ambrose fell heads over heels in love with the pretty Isabel Riquelme, the very young daughter of a powerful Chilean criollo family. (Criollos were the upper class in Spanish America, people with undiluted Spanish blood in their veins. Well; more or less undiluted…) One could have assumed this would have led to wedding bells and joy – after all, Ambrose was by now quite the catch, and Isabel seemed as stricken by her elderly beau as he was by her. But. Bureaucracy is a bummer, isn’t it? An officer of the crown was not allowed to marry into the criollo families without the crown’s express approval, and for some reason Ambrose never requested such a permission.

By now young Isabel was pregnant. Tsk, tsk, not the done thing - especially not among the haughty criollos. Her family was most upset.Very upset. Not that it helped; Isabel gave birth to a son, Bernardo, in 1778, and despite Ambrose being very present in Chile, he never met his only son. He did, however, pay for Bernardo’s education, both in Chile, Peru and England. Maybe that was Isabel’s father twisting his arm, and maybe Ambrose wanted to meet Bernardo, but seeing as he had dishonoured Isabel, maybe the Riquelme family took their vengeance by keeping his son from him.

Isabel

Isabel was soon wed elsewhere, and Ambrose returned to the world of manly pursuits, drowning the vestiges of his sad love affair in work, more work. Rebellions to be put down, treaties to be negotiated, more rebellions – Ambrose led a busy life. In the late 1780’s he was made Governor of Chile and he did such a good job that in 1796 he achieved the highest position available in Spanish America; our Irish adventurer was made viceroy of Peru, the second most important of the Spanish Colonies. Suddenly, Ambrose answered to no one but the king in faraway Spain.

At the time of his final promotion, Ambrose was 75 years old. He had lived most of his life very far away from his native shores, he rarely had an opportunity to speak his mother tongue. He was rich, he was successful, he was powerful – and rather lonely, I suspect. Ironically, Ambrose’s greatest achievement was to be the son he never met or formally acknowledged as his heir, the boy who never used his father’s name until Ambrose was dead.

Bernardo O'Higgins

In 1801, Ambrose O’Higgins died after a sudden illness. In his will, he bequeathed some of his land to his illegitimate son, Bernardo. Upon returning from his educational trip in Europe, Bernardo took possession of his land, changed his surname to O’Higgins, and went on to become one of the more colourful and powerful leaders in the Chilean Independence Wars. I’m not so sure his father would have approved – after all, Ambrose spent most of his life serving the empire Bernardo fought against. But maybe I’m wrong; maybe Ambrose would have swelled with pride at seeing just how capable a son he had sired. Truly a chip off the old block, was Bernardo.

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Anna Belfrage is the author of four published books, A Rip in the Veil, Like Chaff in the Wind, The Prodigal Son, and the fourth book in The Graham Saga, A Newfound Land. Set in seventeenth century Scotland and Virginia/Maryland, the books tell the story of Matthew and Alex, two people who should never have met – not when she was born three hundred years after him. For more information about Anna and her books, please visit her website, www.annabelfrage.com.

Anglo-Saxon Fashion

by Octavia Randolph

King Edgar from the New Minster Charter,
Winchester, 966CE

 Just as wool formed the cornerstone of the early English economy, so was it the foundation of everyone’s wardrobe, high-born or low. The vast majority of clothing was fashioned of this extraordinarily useful renewable resource shorn from sheep. Of secondary importance was the relative luxuriousness of linen, used for under clothing. Silk, exceedingly rare and costly, was limited to the very rich, and to the burials of the sainted.


Manuscript painting offers the greatest number of illustrations of Anglo-Saxon garments, with the kings, queens, saints and clerics depicted in raiment appropriate to their respective classes. Be mindful that our surmises are thus weighted towards the luxurious tastes of the wealthy. Ivory, wood, and bone carvings, stone crosses and wall paintings provide another glimpse into prevailing fashion. Lords and ladies, thegns and merchants describe and name particular articles of clothing in their wills, and leave them to favoured heirs. Grave finds and occasional cess-pit remnants of clothing provide additional, more egalitarian sources for study.

8th-9th century King and Queen

Unmentionables

Throughout the Anglo-Saxon period (450-1100) women wore a fairly slender undergarment, or shift, with long, narrow sleeves. In coloured illustrations this is generally white, indicating linen, although poorer woman may have had little choice but to wear wool next to the skin. It is not known how long the shift was, and it most probably varied in length. Linen shifts were valuable enough to be mentioned by several testatrix in their wills. No underpants were worn. (Of all the garments considered essential today, these were the most recently adopted, coming into general use only in the late eighteenth century. The sanitary napkins used by our Anglo-Saxon fore-mothers were most likely sewn linen pads stuffed with wool fleece, or perhaps layer upon layer of linen sewn together. These would have been set inside a close-fitting pair of drawers worn expressly for this purpose. Recall that commercially made disposable napkins only date to the third decade of the twentieth century, although commercially made reusable napkins were available decades earlier.)

Stockings, either woven and then cut and sewn to fit, or fashioned by the single needle technique known today as nålbinding, were held up by knee garters fashioned of wool strips.

Mentionables

Over the shift came the long woolen gown. This dress would of course vary with the wealth of the wearer. The pronounced predilection of the Anglo-Saxons for vivid colour suggests that the dyer’s art was amply employed in producing tints of blue (from leaves of the herb woad), yellow (from the weld plant), green (from club moss and greenweed), and violet (from lichen). In the 5th and 6th centuries, Anglo-Saxon women wore gowns that were simple tubes of fabric, fastened together at the shoulders by paired brooches - a style that was to persist into the 11th century with Danish women. A fabric sash or girdle was often wrapped around the waist, and was used to suspend household keys, small toilet implements such as nail scissors, ear scoops, and tweezers, and beautiful and mysterious objects such as small crystal balls and decorative spoon-like sieves, like those found in the female grave at Chessell Down, Isle of Wight. Anglian women’s graves have contained clasps of various metals at the wrist bones, apparently used to secure the sleeves.

Paris has ever dictated fashion to the rest of the West, and it was no different for our fore-mothers. Beginning in the late 7th century Frankish fashion had a strong influence on Anglo-Saxon women's clothing. The new gown style was ankle-length, with wide sleeves to the elbow, and was slipped on over the head. The girdle became less prominent with fewer, and more decorative, accessories hanging from it. Wide bands of contrasting colour adorn these gowns, edging the sleeves and hem and collar line, and sometimes running down the front. These may have been woven bands of wool sewn on, or broad areas of dense embroidery.

In the 10th and 11th centuries the body of the gown became more tailored, and the sleeves fuller and more voluminous as the period progresses. Contrasting colour cuffs, collars and hems remained popular. Girdles are infrequent, with no loose ends trailing, and with no objects suspended from them.

Mary from the
New Minster Charter

Cloaks changed from squares or triangles of wool, clasped with chained pins or brooches at one shoulder, to knee-length over-the-head enveloping garments. Amongst other luxurious accents, cloaks were embellished with embroidery; gold, silver, or copper wire trim sewn on; narrow coloured step weaving; and fur edging. If actual fur was out of the question, the skilled Anglo-Saxon housewife could actually create a looping weave on her loom in apparent imitation of fur or fleece. Hoods, when seen, were both individual items or integral to the cloak.

Early in the Anglo-Saxon period, women wore their hair loose, plaited, or caught in snood-like nets. Simple caps are also found. By the 7th century veil-like head coverings become more popular, and Kentish grave finds suggest brooches and pins may have held these in place. Curling tongs exist, so some hair must have been meant to be seen. As the period progresses women show less and less of their crowning glory - possibly as a result of the growing grip of Christianity and St. Paul’s injunction that women keep their heads covered - so that by the 11th century a headdress nearly envelopes the head and neck in a nun-like wimple.

Female Saint

Woman’s footwear changed least. Flat-soled ankle-height leather boots, fastened with a side over-flap with toggles or laces, were standard. As leather tanning was well advanced, perhaps these boots were dyed various colours, or worked with carved or die-struck ornamentation for the wealthy.

What the Well-Dressed Thegn was Wearing

As always, less change is evident in men’s clothing over the period than in women’s. A linen loincloth or short brief-style breeches may have been worn under closely fitting legging-like trousers of wool. A leather or woven belt held the trousers at the waist, and leather strips were sometimes wrapped around the calves to protect them. Well-to-do men wore a linen under tunic with fitted sleeves under their outer tunic of wool. A superb example of a thegn's or nobleman's dress has been created by the extravagantly talented E.V. Svetova of New York City, who generously provides a wealth of detailed information in her re-creation.

7th Century Angle nobleman as costumed
by E.V. Svetova

In the 5th and 6th centuries the tunic was short, thigh length, and usually sleeveless, and cinched with a leather belt. Though the 7th to 11th centuries tunics generally sported sleeves, and a wide variety of sleeve lengths are depicted, including those with long full sleeves, long tight sleeves, and contrasting coloured cuffs along with contrasting collar bands. Tunics are still above the knee but beginning to lengthen, and illustrations from the 10th and 11th centuries show some very long, calf-length tunics, most especially for kings.

Men generally enjoyed the freedom of going bare-headed except in cold weather when furred caps were worn. By the end of the period a tall pointed cap, with the point often shown as bent over, became fashionable. Short ankle boots with toggle or laced fastenings were the norm, and appear to be nearly identical in both men and women, though the men’s sometimes have more pointed toes. Monastic records note "wool night shoes"; these may have been warm slippers of felted wool worn to protect monk's feet from the cold. Certainly there may have been a secular corollary. Costly gloves, richly embroidered, are mentioned by several men in their wills.

Reproduction leather shoes and pouch by Regia Anglorum

Cottars, Slaves, Children

Simple agricultural folk wore simple utilitarian clothing which allowed them mobility for the arduous tasks of household and farm. It would perhaps be a mistake to think that the average farm worker was awash in dull brown, gray, or even undyed wool. As most dyestuff was readily available for the picking, there is no reason to suppose the milk-maid’s gown was any less brightly-coloured than her mistress’s everyday dress. It would certainly be of courser-grade stuff, lack costly (and time-consuming) embellishments such as elaborate embroidery, but her cloak might just as well be lined with soft domestic squirrel snared by her father as her mistress’ was with arctic fox traded by merchants.

Slaves wore whatever it pleased their owner to provide for them; in Summer some must have been essentially naked save for the briefest of loin cloths or shifts. Newborns were closely swaddled and diapered in surprisingly modern appearing cloths (the square of cloth that forms the folded diaper must surely be the most unchanging article of human apparel, being thousands of years old, and the classic nappy still has not been totally supplanted by its machine-shaped disposable substitute). Children were dressed in miniature, simplified versions of adult clothing.

Silk and Leather

The very rich - kings, king’s kin, archbishops - might cherish one or more garments of silk. Imported from the East at fabulous cost, silk’s ability to take and hold the most brilliant of colours, coupled with its natural shimmer, must have particularly delighted our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. Silk was worked into gowns for women, tunics for men, and most especially cloaks or hooded mantles for both sexes. Certainly such a garment would only be worn in fair weather, perhaps as part of ceremonial display, but since timber halls could be cold and draughty places, these sumptuous garments could be enjoyed indoors as well.

Silk is the type of clothing most often mentioned in Anglo-Saxon bequests, for its intrinsic worth and the rich treatment it often received (gold and silver embroidery, gemstones sewn upon it) gave it singular value in the deceased’s estate. Leather was of course of immense utility for shoes and belts, but also was used for jerkins, cloaks, and leg-wrappings that served rather like protective greaves. Tanners could create a variety of charcoal, black, and brown colours during the tanning process (which inevitably employed disagreeable raw materials including all sorts of human and animal excrement) and finished leather could be additionally painted or stained with mineral pigments. Leather workers used pokers and irons to etch and burn decorative patterns, as well as dies with stamped designs.

E.V. Svetova's leather belt and seax sheath for
the 80 cm ball-jointed doll pictured above

Where to See Fashion

Manuscript painting, either in facsimile (or for the fortunate, in the original) is the prime source for examples of Anglo-Saxon clothing, although remember that you are generally observing vignettes from the lives of the aristocracy. Books such as The Anglo-Saxons edited by James Campbell (Penguin 1982) contain many photos of manuscript personages, along with carvings depicting clothed figures. Dorothy Whitelock’s Beginnings Of English Society (a source I never tire of citing) speaks to wills and bequests, and Dress in Anglo-Saxon England by Gale Owen-Crocker is an essential source. An earlier book by the same scholar, then writing as Gale R. Owen, Rites and Religions of the Anglo-Saxons (reissued by Barnes & Noble) contains detailed information on clothing and jewellery in grave finds.

Finally, Anglo-Saxon style clothing is simple to design and sew, even for the novice. Stitching by hand lends great authenticity to seaming (you are absolved from using a bone needle) and is wonderfully calming. Purchase lightweight pure wool in colours pleasing to you and use wool thread of narrow gauge (needlepoint tapestry yarn, reduced to a single ply, is a good choice). If this seems a bother, use silk rather than polyester or cotton-blend thread. The decoration of the gown can be as elaborate as you have time for, and can be accumulatively embellished bit by bit over the years. Historic recreation societies always boast skilled seamstresses amongst their numbers, should you get bogged down and need advice, stylistic or technical. For a historically correct and beautifully realized depiction of men's dress, see E.V. Svetova's 7th century example. Attractive brooches and other jewellery bits are readily available online, as are short boots based on the York Coppergate model and other interesting leather goods. Wear your creation at Yule celebrations and other festive occasions and be proud.

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Over 100 Five Star Reviews

Octavia Randolph is the author of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga.  Young women with courage. Swords with names. Vikings with tattoos. Warfare. Passion. Survival. Sheep. And Other Good Things...

Giveaway: The Only Blue Door by Joan Fallon

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Willibrord: A Saint Enmeshed in Politics

By Kim Rendfeld

Around 716, Saint Willibrord, the Northumbrian-born bishop of Frisia, faced a difficult choice as Francia was embroiled in civil war: whose side should he choose in this high-stakes family fight over an inheritance?

A 14th century image of Plectrude

Should he support Plectrude, widow of Mayor of the Palace Pepin II? Willibrord owed his monastery in Echternach to Plectrude’s mother, Irmina, who had given him the property 10 years before. Later, Plectrude and Pepin donated more land to the abbey on the condition that Willibrord’s successors remain loyal to Pepin’s sons by Plectrude and their descendants. (At this time, power rested with the mayor of the palace, who raised and led armies.)

Or should Willibrord get behind 30-year-old Charles, Pepin’s son by the concubine Alpais? Later nicknamed “Martel” or “The Hammer,” Charles was winning on the battlefield against Ragenfred, a Neustrian rebel, and more important to Willibrord, the rebel’s ally, Radbod, a pagan Frisian chieftain. (To make matters even more complicated, Radbod was the father-in-law of one of Pepin and Plectrude’s deceased sons.)

A 16th century depiction
of Charles Martel

Hostile to Christianity, Radbod had driven Willibrord out of Frisia, burned churches, and killed many missionaries. At the time, Willibrord was about 58, an old man by medieval standards. Although he had been dedicated to the Church as a young child and tonsured at age 15, perhaps his fate in the afterlife weighed more heavily on his mind. Would God hold him accountable for the souls lost in Frisia?

Willibrord had been a missionary on the Continent since 690, following a 12-year stint in Ireland, where he might have been influenced by Ecgbert, who wanted to evangelize the pagan Saxons but was prevented from doing so, and Ecgbert’s companion Wichtberct, who had tried preaching to the Frisians for two years without success.

He decided to seek Pepin’s protection soon after arriving at Utrecht. Pepin was successful on the battlefield, having won Utrecht and Vechten from Radbod.

Pepin and Willibrord’s relationship was mutually beneficial. For a medieval ruler, God’s favor was essential for victory. Another reason for a Frankish aristocrat to care about the Frisians’ religion has as much to do with politics as saving souls. Pepin had pagan enemies in the Danes and the Saxons to the north and east. If the Frisians were Christian, they would be more likely to ally themselves with the Franks.

A medieval manuscript depicting Saint Willibrord

To that end, Pepin wanted Willibrord to have the pope’s blessing for the mission in Frisia and sent Willibrord to Rome in 692. Willibrord returned to Rome three years later, was consecrated a bishop, and received a pallium, a vestment for high-ranking clergymen specially honored by the pope.

Willibrord’s mission took him into northern Francia, Frisia, and Denmark, the last of which he gave up on except for 30 boys he instructed and had baptized. He suffered a setback when the aging and ailing Pepin died on December 16, 714. Francia was torn apart as Ragenfred allied with Radbod, Plectrude, and Charles fought for control. Willibrord retreated to Echternach.

Sources don’t say if Willibrord agonized over his decision between Plectrude and Charles or prayed about it, but he decided to support Charles, despite his past with Plectrude. Perhaps he reasoned that the only way for him or his successors to get back to the mission of saving souls in Frisia was for Charles to defeat Radbod.

Apparently, Willibrord, later known as the Apostle of the Frisians, made the right decision. In 718, Charles had a decisive victory against Radbod, who died a year later of unknown causes, anything from illness to complications from his wounds to assassination by his own people. With this Frankish victory, Willibrord was again in Frisia, perhaps taking on secular responsibilities as administrator of Frisian lands in addition to spiritual duties.

His decision would have a larger impact than he originally realized. For three years, his assistant in Frisia was the much younger Boniface, a native of Wessex and later a saint called the Apostle of Germany.

Public domain images via Wikimedia Commons

Sources

Saint Willibrord website

Alcuin’s The Life of Saint Willibrord

"St. Willibrord" by Francis Mershman, The Catholic Encyclopedia Vol. 15

The Carolingians: A Family who Forged Europe, Pierre Riché, translated by Michael Idomir Allen

Early Carolingian Warfare: Prelude to Empire, Bernard S. Bachrach

Heaven's Purge: Purgatory in Late Antiquity, Isabel Moreira

Kim Rendfeld stumbled across Willibrord while researching her work-in-progress about Queen Fastrada, Charlemagne’s influential fourth wife. Kim has written two other novels set in the early years of Charlemagne’s reign: The Cross and the Dragon (2012, Fireship Press),  a tale of love amid wars and blood feuds, and The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar (forthcoming 2014, Fireship Press), a story of the lengths a mother will go to protect her children. For more about Kim visit her blog, Outtakes of a Historical Novelist, at kimrendfeld.wordpress.com or her website, kimrendfeld.com.

Marie Corelli: The First Best-seller

by Pauline Montagna

The most popular writer of late Victorian age was not Arthur Conan Doyle, HG Wells, Rudyard Kipling or H. Rider-Haggard, but a woman whose name few of us would recognise today, Marie Corelli. Corelli published 30 novels, most of which were best-sellers and on her death in 1924 she was Britain's best-selling and most highly paid author.

Although Corelli was most often derided by the critics for her florid style, melodramatic plots, intellectual pretentions and frequent errors, the public adored her. Among her friends and fans were many of the literary and political elite, including Winston Churchill and the royal family several of whom, including Queen Victoria herself, collected her books.

While the literature of the 1890s was self-consciously artistic, the story indirect and oblique, lacking a defined narrative voice and morally relativistic, Marie Corelli's novels drew on an older tradition of sensation, gothic and horror fiction which gave her readers not only a thrill, but a sense of continuity and security. And while her stories were sensational, her values were safely Victorian.

Marie Corelli's novels unfolded in long, convoluted plots which combined mysticism with elements of weird science and the gothic, elements such as premature burial, angels, time travel, fantastic worlds, dream-magic, mesmerism, astral projection, interplanetary travel, ancient magic, lost races, hidden cities of immortals, reincarnation and ancient Egypt. They did not attempt to intellectualise, but to move, excite, shock and inspire. Her narrative voice spoke directly to the audience, lecturing and advising, comforting and confiding in them. She forthrightly expressed her conservative views, while at the same time espousing eccentric, esoteric spiritual beliefs which she nonetheless tried to reconcile with orthodox Protestant Christianity.

Corelli was quintessentially Victorian in her attitudes to gender roles as well. She opposed female suffrage until after World War I. She abhorred dandies who curled their hair and female cyclists. Yet her lifelong companion was a woman, Bertha Vyver, and although biographers have tried to deny it, their relationship was undoubtedly an intimate one. Corelli herself, of course, never openly admitted it, but a close reading of her poetry betrays erotic feelings towards women. She was dismissive of marriage and disdainful of men.

It was only in her fifties that she developed a passion for a man, artist Arthur Severn, whose father had been a close friend of Keats. He lived in John Ruskin's old home in the Lake District and was married to Ruskin's cousin. One suspects it was these connections rather than the man himself she fell in love with. However, her passion was never returned and he often derided her success.

Marie Corelli tried to obfuscate her humble and, in her eyes, shameful origins, for she was born illegitimate in London in 1855, the daughter of Charles Mackay, a minor literary figure who was married with four children, and his servant, Mary Elizabeth Mills. They married after Mackay's wife died when little Isabella Mary was six years old. After a stint in a French convent (which must have been an unpleasant experience as she was later to become virulently anti-Catholic) she started sending out pieces for publication at the age of nineteen. It was during a short musical career in her twenties that she adopted the name Marie Corelli.

Corelli received the first payment for her writing at the age of thirty in 1885 and immediately began her first novel, 'The Romance of Two Worlds' which was published by George Bentley in the following year. Over the ensuing years she produced a series of novels which, though not literary successes according to the 'clever men of the press' were popular sensations. So popular and influential were they that one, 'Wormwood', which rather exaggerated the evils of absinthe, led to harsh anti-alcohol laws in Switzerland. Corelli had great respect for her public whose tastes, she believed, were fundamentally decent, but was hostile towards the press and the publishing industry. Though she tended to be abrasive and insensitive herself, she was easily offended and never forgot or forgave a slight.

At the height of Corelli's career, a new publishing era began which was not only to bring her more fame, but much greater fortune. Hitherto, the publishing industry had catered very much to the needs of the circulating libraries. New novels were published in three volume sets that were so expensive only the libraries could afford to buy them. Readers had to borrow them or wait for the cheap one volume editions to come out some six months later. The libraries negotiated upfront and discounted payments for new releases based on their potential profitability. This allowed the publishers to pay authors an upfront, one-off fee.

However in 1895, the circulating libraries announced that they would no longer pay high prices for new releases and demanded that the cheap editions should not come out until a year later. The publishers responded by releasing the cheap editions immediately, thus encouraging a book-buying rather than a book-borrowing culture. From then on authors' payments would depend on their sales volume. With her immense popularity, Corelli would benefit the most from this new system.

Corelli used her first novel under this new regime to retaliate against her critics. In 'The Sorrows of Satan', she depicts Satan as a sophisticated aristocratic adventurer, roaming the earth looking for someone who would not succumb to temptation. The mercenary, decadent press and corrupt publishing industry are contrasted with the pure and angelic author Mavis Claire (a very thinly disguised Marie Corelli) who charitably forgives the critics who fail to appreciate her genius. Corelli was now in a position to dictate terms and she refused to allow the distribution of free review copies. If the critics wanted to pan her new book they would have to pay for the privilege. Ironically 'The Sorrows of Satan' got more press coverage than ever and the critics had to grudgingly admit that the book had some literary merit.

In 1899, after a bout of ill-health, Corelli moved to Stratford-upon-Avon with Vyver where they bought and renovated Mason Croft, a rundown Tudor mansion. Corelli threw herself into local affairs and antagonised the town's male hierarchy by resolutely, and sometimes unilaterally, championing the cause of preserving Stratford's heritage and character. It may well have been in retaliation that Corelli was charged with food hoarding during World War I when she circumvented rationing to acquire a large amount of sugar to preserve her orchard's bumper crop. The resulting adverse publicity only hastened the inevitable decline in her popularity after the trauma of World War I and the resultant changes in public tastes and attitudes.

In 1924, Corelli suffered a fatal heart attack, but her nurse, not seeing the imminent danger, refused to wake Vyver and Corelli died alone. In her will Corelli left her entire estate to Vyver for her lifetime. Thereafter Mason Croft was to become a trust and a meeting place and accommodation for authors visiting from abroad. Vyver continued to live in Mason Croft and attempted to preserve it as Corelli's will stipulated, but diminishing royalties left her to struggle on in increasing poverty until her death in 1942.

As there was no money left to maintain the house, Corelli's will was declared null and void, their household goods were sold at auction and the house taken over by the Air Ministry. After World War II it was acquired by the government and occupied by the British Council. In 1951 it was purchased by the University of Birmingham and now houses the Shakespeare Institute. Corelli's own personal papers are held by the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust.

Though mostly forgotten in the literary world, Corelli is fondly remembered for her tireless efforts to preserve Tudor Stratford-upon-Avon, without which the town would not be the thriving tourist destination it is today.


Postscript: Marie Corelli's Gondola

In 1904 Marie Corelli attended the Italian Fair in London and purchased an authentic Venetian Gondola complete with an Italian gondolier. She and Bertha Vyver became a well-known sight as they punted in it up and down the River Avon. However, the gondolier took to drink and was sent back to Italy. Thereafter one of Corelli's gardeners, Earnest Chandler, took over as gondolier. When Chandler went to war in 1915, the gondola was put into storage, but after his death in 1917 Corelli never used it again.

The gondola was sold in the auction after Vyver's death, changing hands several times and used in various places for tourism, film and promotional work. In 2010 it was finally purchased by Avon Boating, fully restored and is now available again for boating on the River Avon at Stratford.

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Pauline Montagna

17th & 18th Century England: Histories Informing One Another

By Philippa Jane Keyworth

During my studies at university I have become rather addicted to research. Now, don’t get me wrong, before I started studying my history degree I did do research for my novels….when I had to. You see, research always seemed a hassle when I was writing. I would be flying along, tapping out my story or scrawling it in illegible handwriting, and to stop and check a date or what my character would wear to the theatre in 1815 was just a hindrance to the flow.

There it is. I have been honest about it; research was to me a hindrance, not a love. In some ways it still is, but since starting at university, my whole view of history has changed, and with it so has my aversion to research, an activity so many other historical fiction authors love!

So what is university doing to change my view of research? Well, quite simply, it is showing me the interconnection of the past and how histories inform each other, and this has become very evident as I've looked at the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in England.

The seventeenth century saw a period of rapid population expansion. London’s population grew from 80,000 to 400,000 in the hundred years between 1550-1650. This population boom put pressure on the economy. Slow economic growth meant a lack of job opportunities and food supplies.

Seventeenth century England still relied heavily upon it’s agriculture to provide food, and a series of bad harvests in the 1620s, 1630s and 1640s saw starvation and the rural poor moving into cities in order to find either work or poor relief, thus increasing the risk of plague and civil unrest.

Though the scientific revolution took place during this century, England was still far off from expanding their exports beyond the dominating wool product, and equally far off from increasing domestic manufacturing through the use of new technologies.

The economic and social pressures were added to by the religious turmoil of the day. Catholics and Protestants were still at loggerheads, and the monarchy did not help matters. The Civil War punctuated the mid 1600s, turning fathers against sons and mothers against daughters.

And then, to top it all off, in 1688, the Glorious Revolution took place. Thank goodness it was a bloodless revolution! It was the beginning of the truly constitutional monarchy; some say the start of the Enlightenment. All in all, when taking a very broad overview, the seventeenth century is not one I would have particularly liked to make my home in, and it stands in huge contrast to its descendant, the eighteenth century.

Dorothy Marshall dubs the eighteenth century as ‘… ‘the Age of Challenge Contrast and Compromise.’’ Most of all, in comparison to many of the preceding centuries, the eighteenth was one of relative stability. Though there were bad harvests they did not repeat themselves incessantly as they had before and therefore did not cause the mass starvation of previous centuries. Outbreaks of plague began to lessen, none decimating the population as they had in the fourteenth century. The monarchy was now constitutional, established with William III, and continued without abusing the English people to the same extent of Charles I and his penchant for prerogative taxation.

Even religion changed. Enlightened thought was a new philosophy running through the courts of Europe, preaching equality between men, God as benevolent not malevolent, and pleasure as the highest achievement.

The still growing population was now supported by an expanding economy. As Beverly Lemire surmises in her article on the second hand clothes trade, the general standard of living was higher. Labourers now had surplus income not needing to be spent on essentials such as food. The new money went on luxuries like jewellery and clothing. The rise of consumerism had begun and the working and middling classes began their ascent through society.

Towards the end of the century the industrialisation of Britain began. Silk throwing factories, spinning machines, all of them made lighter work, created more jobs in cities and moved people away from their rural crafts to begin massive urbanisation.

However, the eighteenth century, like the seventeenth, was not without its turmoil. The American Revolution of 1775 saw the outworking of Enlightened thought and the loss of the English colonies. It also resulted in the bankruptcy of the French government, one of the factors that sparked the French Revolution of 1789. This in turn sparked a series of European wars.

It is narrow-minded and terribly whiggish to think that history is simply a recording of human progress, however, it is hard to view the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries without coming to similar conclusions.

What can be seen most however, is the insight into how histories interconnect and inform one another. Without the religious persecutions of the previous two centuries, one could argue the Enlightenment would not have come about. Without religious persecution, the colonies of America might never have attracted so many brilliant-minded people, nor perhaps would the colonies have cast off their kin across the Atlantic. Without the American Revolution, the French government may not have become bankrupt and thus a large factor on the run up to the French Revolution would have been taken out of play. Without the rapid expansion of the population of the seventeenth century, eighteenth century England would not have had to improve manufacturing techniques, grow industry and the economy and thus begin the industrialisation of England which would eventually lead to the Industrial Revolution.

I realise this is all conjecture on my part but it does fascinate and show that history is interconnected. So, I’ll end this post by saying, I cannot deny it, the more I see histories informing each other, the more I want to research!

References:

The Stuart Age: England 1603-1714 by Barry Coward

Eighteenth Century England by Dorothy Marshall

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Philippa Jane Keyworth, known to her friends as Pip, has been writing since she was twelve in every notebook she could find. Whilst she dabbles in a variety of genres, it was the encouragement of a friend to watch a film adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice that would start the beginning of her love affair with the British Regency. Her debut novel, The Widow's Redeemer (Madison Street Publishing, 2012), is a traditional Regency romance bringing to life the romance between a young widow with an indomitable spirit and a wealthy viscount with an unsavory reputation.

The Widow's Redeemer @ Amazon UK

The Widow's Redeemer @ Amazon USA

Thomas Cranmer's Everlasting Legacy ~ Poetic Prose

by Beth von Staats

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury (Jesus College, Cambridge University)

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BLESSED Lord, who hast caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning; Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and comfort of thy holy Word, we may embrace, and ever hold fast, the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury

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Thomas Cranmer on this day especially is remembered as a great Protestant martyr, a tortured soul who found his courage just in time to die with the knowledge that his salvation was only guaranteed by his faith and his faith alone.

Most history lovers think of Thomas Cranmer as the man plucked up from obscurity to become Archbishop of Canterbury for the specific role of settling King Henry VIII's "Great Matter" once and for all, a task he dutifully committed by finding the King's marriage to Catalina de Aragon invalid. Others think of Cranmer as the ever cautious reformer, who, hiding behind the front man and principle driver Thomas Cromwell, helped pave the way to the Henrican Reformation and introduction of an English language Bible. Then there are those who also look to him as the lead and principle change agent for the sweeping Protestant reforms that ravaged through England during the reign of King Edward VI.

As memorable as these historical events were, and as dramatic and heroic his ultimate martyrdom was, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer's greatest gift to the world is something most people never think about, his brilliance in composing a liturgical vernacular written specifically to be read aloud, the literary genre we now know as poetic prose.

1549 Book of Common Prayer

The Book of Common Prayer, Thomas Cranmer's lasting liturgy for the Church of England, now extended worldwide to the Anglican Communion, is a literary masterpiece -- his words contained profoundly embedded into the very cultural soul of the British people, the lyrical vernacular deeply imprinted into every English speaking person worldwide. As Cranmer openly admitted, The Book of Common Prayer was not his entire original creation. Through his scholarship of theology, Cranmer dove head first into the Latin of the English Catholic Church, most notably a book known as the Sarum Missal, the liturgy of choice of the priests and monks of Salisbury Cathedral. Cranmer also borrowed from the liturgy of the Reformed Church of Cologne and prayers from the the Byzantine rite.

Though today some may call this literary plagiarism, these compositions were written in Latin for the clergy. Thomas Cranmer's intent instead was to create an English language liturgy that was universally gospelled throughout all parishes of the Church of England, one whose beauty laid in its simplicity and scriptural truth. Cranmer's steadfast and primary goal in his religious reformation was to insure every person, whether educated or illiterate, could understand God's word. Thus, he didn't trifle with originality, but instead celebrated the richness of English religious traditions then only understandable to Latin scholars and translated them with his gifted hand of literary genius.

This acknowledged, it is critical to note that much of the most eloquently written and profoundly beautiful collects and prayers of The Book of Common Prayer, notable for their grace, simplistic grandeur, idioms, imagery, repetitions, contrasting reversals, general rhythms and lyric poetic cadence were of Thomas Cranmer's original composition.

Even Cranmer's writings in general through his scholarly articles and personal letters hold beauty and depth of feeling. Thus there is no Tudorphile alive who cannot quote Cranmer's professed love for Queen Anne Boleyn, "Now I think that your Grace best knoweth, that, next unto your Grace, I was most bound unto her of all creatures living...".

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"See a prayer book in his hand, 
True ornaments to know a holy man." 

 William Shakespeare (Richard III)

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William Shakespeare

Since the inception of The Book of Common Prayer, countless novelists, screenplay writers and poets show plainly in their writing styles and plots strong influence from the poetic prose of Thomas Cranmer. The first notable author to look to Cranmer for inspiration was none other than William Shakespeare. In fact, literary historian and Professor Daniel Swift argues that The Book of Common Prayer was absolutely essential to the playwright.

Although some historians believe Shakespeare was Roman Catholic, Swift convincingly demonstrates the playwright's use of Cranmer's liturgy in his early comedies, while the marriage rite is used in other plays. Also pronounced is Shakespeare's focus on church ceremonies for the departed in the connected rites of Communion and burial. Macbeth is the play Swift notes is most influenced by Thomas Cranmer's liturgy, demonstrating without question that Shakespeare clearly utilized The Book of Common Prayer as source material for his writing, taking what he wished and leaving the rest.

Charlotte Bronte

So engraved is Thomas Cranmer's literary style in English vernacular, many writers and composers, knowing and often unknowing "borrow" from it, enhancing the quality, rhythms and poetic cadences of their work. Most commonly this takes the form of the use of triplet repetitions, which is often seen in the writing of Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austin. It's no surprise to learn then that both women were daughters of Anglican clergymen. Examples of Cranmer's use of commonly known "triplets" include:

"...Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection..."

"What the heart loves, the will chooses and the mind justifies."

"O God, from whom all holy desires, all good counsels, and all just works do proceed; Give unto thy servants that peace which the world cannot give..."

Thomas Cranmer's poetic and rhythmic liturgical vernacular is as pronounced in our modern times as it was to Shakespeare, Bronte and Austin. Regardless of religion, many of us when marrying vow, "... to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health...".

Thomas Cranmer's prayer for the dead lives on eternal, as well. David Bowie and Faith No More fans sing aloud in the shower to tunes entitled "Ashes to Ashes", a theme continued in the novel titled Ashes to Ashes, by Tami Hoag and a play titled the same by Harold Pinter. Perhaps most notably, in Great Britain viewers tune in faithfully to BBC One's popular science fiction and television police drama Ashes to Ashes. 

"Give peace in our time, O Lord."

President Barack Obama

World War II history buffs will harken to Neville Chamberlain's policies of appeasement, declaring the most cherished "peace in our time", a theme continued in a politically charged song by Elvis Costello. Even President Barack Obama controversially invoked Thomas Cranmer in his second inaugural address, again striving for "peace in our time". Conservatives slammed Obama in the social media incorrectly citing Chamberlain as the source.

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury was a literary genius, who if novels had been envisioned in his lifetime, would surely have crafted masterpieces rivaling the greatest fiction writers in history. Cranmer's brilliance lay in his sonorities and structure of the English sentence and his knack of being as astute a listener as he was an author. Thus, on this anniversary of Thomas Cranmer's martyrdom, rather than remembering the circumstances of his tragic death, celebrate instead the man with the depth and quality of composition that leads literary historians to place him alongside William Tyndale and William Shakespeare as the pronounced founding influences of the English language as we know it now to be.

Many people today will remember the right hand of Thomas Cranmer. After all, it signed the recantations that Cranmer told those listening to his last speech "troubleth my conscience", so much so that he announced and then did thrust it first into the fire that consumed him.

Instead, today I prefer to cherish the words that flowed from the quills it held, and the man who wrote with "...an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace."

SOURCES:

Aitkin, Jonathan, Common Prayer, Uncommon Beauty, The American Spectator

Swift Daniel, Shakespeare's Common Prayers: The Book of Common Prayer and the Elizabethan Age

Woods, James, God Talk, The Book of Common Prayer at 350, New Yorker Magazine

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Beth von Staats is a short story historical fiction writer and administrator of 

Queen Anne Boleyn Historical Writers.

 REVELATION: Tudor Era Short Stories by Beth von Staats

                                               

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Carriages: a quick run-down for the historical novelist

by Sue Millard

I was such a horse-obsessed child that, for the whole year when I studied A level Art, my teacher had to ban me from including any in the work I produced for her. At home, I drew horses doing all sorts of things, from enjoying wild freedom on the hills or grazing in a field, to riding holidays or racing or jumping. The only discipline that didn’t interest me at all was horses being driven, in harness. That wasn’t just because of the intricacy of the harness itself – though a set of “straps” as the gypsies call it, when thrown on a bench, looks like nothing so much as a heap of leather spaghetti – no, it was the fact that horses pulling carriages or agricultural machinery wore bridles with blinkers. And the fact is that blinkers (winkers or blinders) conceal the horse’s most attractive features, its beautiful, deep, liquid eyes. The child artist that I was, therefore, chose to dismiss carriage horses entirely.

However, I developed an interest in driving horses quite by chance, when the equestrian author Clive Richardson asked me to provide a few line drawings for his book “Driving:  the Development and Use of Horsedrawn Vehicles”. When I expressed curiosity about the material I was producing, and mentioned that my Fell mare had been trained to harness before I got her, he was kind enough to lend me a set of harness and an exercise cart so I could try the discipline for myself. And the rest, as they say, is history. (See what I did there?)

Carriages for the historical novelist

For our purposes as historical writers, carriage driving needs to be understood because it’s an important form of transport. In the eras before steam and internal combustion we had an almost symbiotic relationship with the horse – though also with the donkey, mule, ox and even the dog, who were all pressed into use at our need. However, since Debbie has asked me to deal with carriages, I am going to leave the other species out of this article!

You’ll need to be clear on a few phrases and their meanings. Here’s a short list!

Traces – the long leather straps that join the horse’s collar to the carriage he is pulling. Even mainstream edited novels can get that wrong: Alexandra Ripley when writing “Scarlett” clearly thought that traces are another name for reins for controlling the horses. They aren’t.

Collar – the roughly oval, leather-stuffed-with-rye-straw thingy that goes round the horse’s neck. It pads his shoulders from the pressure of the hames, long brassplated or silverplated arms to which the traces are attached. The hames are fastened onto the collar at top and bottom by hame straps. The horse pushes into the collar and the hames take up the strain, then the traces which are slotted onto the trace hooks (on a carriage for a single horse) or looped over roller bolts  (on a pairs carriage) tighten and pull the carriage forward.

Whip – to encourage the horse/s to go forward, or sometimes sideways if he is jumping away from a scary object and you don’t want him to. A carriage whip is LONG. A holly stick (often also called the “stock”) is between 4 feet 6 inches and 5 feet long. The thong is made from 4, 5 or 6 finely plaited strips of “white leather” (ironically it’s traditionally made from horse hide). That is fastened to the stock using a tube of split goose quills “whipped” with black linen thread, to give the whip a nice curve from whipstock to thong. For the driver of a single or a pair of horses, the whip thong is also 4 or 5 feet long with a 6 inch lash of whipcord on the end, so a driver should be able to flick it forward to touch the horse some 10 feet ahead of his own shoulder. A four in hand whip has a lash up to 10 feet long. Hence the other meaning of “whip” – a driver good enough to be able to use a whip efficiently without taking off his passengers’ hats! Also, a great way for you or your servant to break the top of your whip is to put the carriage away through a low stable doorway with the whip standing upright in the whipholder beside the seat!

Tyre – the metal rim of a carriage wheel, fitted as a red-hot hoop by the local blacksmith and his boys, and immediately doused with water to cool it to a tight fit without burning the wood. Old, poorly maintained wheels could sometimes lose the tyre, which would then go bowling down the road ahead of the carriage – and sometimes the wheel, deprived of its support, could collapse. Some carriages from the mid-19^th century onwards had rubber or “caoutchouc” tyres which were solid (pneumatic tyres for carriages were a very late invention and only really took off in modern times on metal competition carriages). Coachbuilders described rubber tyres as “invaluable for invalids” because they had a slight cushioning effect and were very much quieter than iron on stony surfaces. Rubber tyres were held in a U shaped channel by two lengths of wire, which on an old carriage might rust through and allow the tyre to fly off – again, forwards, which wouldn’t help the driver controlling his horse!

Carriage – this is a trick question! Strictly the “carriage” is what we’d now call the “undercarriage” or chassis – the suspension of the vehicle. “Carriage” also tended to be the overall term  for a 4-wheeled private vehicle, such as a phaeton, landau or brougham, while public 4 wheeled vehicles were “coaches”, and from the mid-19thC included omnibuses and cabs or “growlers”. There were many different styles of carriages, often with subtle differences due to customer preferences, intended usage, and (of course!) fashion. A good starter list of carriage names can be found on Wikipedia.

Carriage types and construction

Your historical characters, especially the menfolk, might well be carriage experts, as men often try to be with cars today. They would know the age of carriages in part by the type of suspension they have: the oldest coaches have the body slung on leather straps from wooden or metal posts – see the Gold State Coach built in 1762. Even quite early coaches had glass in their windows – Samuel Pepys’ coach needed a window replaced in December 1668 and it cost him £2 (40 shillings).

Suspension

Spring suspension to relieve the jolts of metal tyres on stony roads was introduced from about 1700 onwards, with the “whip spring” and “cee spring”, both still using leather straps. The elliptic spring invented by Obadiah Elliott in 1804 did away with the need for a leather strap, and by increasing the number of springs to 4 for each axle and the number of metal “leaves” in each spring, even heavy coaches could provide a modicum of comfort for their passengers. 

At the other end of the scale, 2-wheeled vehicles were the cheapest to make and needed only one horse. Early gigs date from the late 18thC and might have been little more than a plank with a seat and shafts set above the wheels; in North America the “riding chair” and in England the “whisky” (nothing to do with the drink but referring to its lightness and speed). Gigs had either elliptical or semi-elliptical springs and seated two people side by side without provision for a third party – so your young unmarried ladies had better not ride in one beside a gentleman driver, because being unchaperoned, they risked acquiring the label “fast”.  On low-class country vehicles which saw a lot of use down narrow roads with scratchy hedgerows, it was quite usual not to paint the woodwork but to varnish it because damage could easily be touched up with fresh varnish without being noticeable, whereas paint needed to be colour matched by an expert.

Woodwork

English carriage-builders used oak for the spokes of the wheels, elm for the wheel hubs, and ash for shafts and poles and vehicle bodies. A gentleman’s carriage would be painted to a very high standard, with the grain of the wood filled and rubbed smooth, covered with many layers of undercoat and then several of the top coat of paint. Seating was durable and constructed like indoor furniture, with horsehair stuffing held in place by cloth, sometimes topped with felt, and then upholstered. The interior of a private carriage might be very luxurious, trimmed in morocco leather, silk, and lace. Parts of the exterior were also of hard leather, for instance dashboards to keep dirt from flying up off the horses’ hooves, and mudguards above the wheels for the same reason.

Maintenance

One of the reasons why a man who “keeps his carriage” was considered to have plenty of money was that he needed servants to look after his horses, to “put the horses to the carriage”, to drive (if he didn’t drive himself) and “take them out of the carriage” afterwards. It was a big job to maintain the equipment. Harness had to be wiped down and cleaned with saddle-soap and then oiled or greased to keep it supple, while the buckles (whether brass or silver plated) had to be polished and the buckle tongues kept greased – otherwise metal salts or rust could corrode the leather and cause it to break in use. Steel bits needed to be cleaned with sand to keep them bright. Carriages had to be washed with generous amounts of water to remove the dirt of the road, then dried and polished, and the cushions and floor mats needed to be brushed.  The coach-house in an English climate had to have a fire kept going most days, to keep woodwork and harness from deteriorating with rust, mould and damp.

And now a little something for your estate owners

A conscientious estate owner would take an interest in the horses his tenants used to manage his land. The phrases “works in chains” and “is good in all gears” mean that the horse is trained for farm work.

Pairs of horses, who work either side of a pole, and plough horses, pull by chains, in the case of ploughing, very long ones. A single horse in a cart, however, draws the load by short chains. There’s one over the big heavy saddle on his back, to hold up the shafts; two from his collar to the shafts, to draw the load; and two from the breeching round his bum, to the shafts, to prevent the cart running him over on downhill stretches and to let him back it up to an unloading dock. The reins are more likely to be long plough-cords than leather.

Wains, wagons and carts which are agricultural or used for commercial heavy transport have heavy-duty everything – big, thick shafts, heavy wheels with iron hooped tyres, iron banded hubs. The harness is also wide, heavy leather, and it doesn’t have a shiny finish. The buckles are often iron or steel rather than brass.

There’s no brasswork on cart shafts like there is on a gentleman’s carriage. Brass is a relatively soft metal that will not take stress. Those work-chains are dealing with weight, so the staples on each shaft that carry a hook for the chains, are blacksmith-forged iron, 8 to 10 inches long with sharpened, bent-back points hammered into the wood. No screws or nails could be stronger. I have a cart shaft-staple that I found on our farm; I don’t have a farm cart, but it’s still being used, because I hammered it into the wall outside my stable. That’s where I tie up my pony while I put her harness on before we go out for a sunny drive along our Cumbrian roads.

References

Richardson, C, 1985: Driving: the Development and Use of Horse Drawn Vehicles. (Batsford.)

Walrond, S, 1974: The Encyclopedia of Driving. (Country Life.)

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Sue Millard looks after the web site of the North West Driving Club, http://www.northwestdrivingclub.co.uk/, having also been its secretary, treasurer, press officer and chairman at various times over the past 30 years. Her historical novel, Coachman, is available alongside several other genres from her Jackdaw E Books site, http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/

Trading on the Martyrdom of his Mammy: James VI and I and the Wooing of Britain's Catholics, by Linda Root

James Stuart at age 20 - Public domain art

King James VI of Scotland may have shed a tear in February of 1587 when his mother Marie Stuart, erstwhile Queen of Scots, was executed, but if he did so, he did it privately. He had expressed to his confidants that she had brought it on herself. For much of his life, he had ignored her letters, even after he was free of the supervision of her detractors.  It took prodding from the baroness of Ferniehirst, Lady Janet Scott to get him to read them and respond. And even then, there was little affection in the exchange.

Yet, fifteen years after her death, his government was speckled with former Marians, and his bride Anne of Denmark was privately attending the Mass.  He had written a book entitled the Basilikon Doron, ostensibly intended as a guide to monarchy for his son Henry, Duke of Rothesay in 1589.  It criticizes both extremes in the Scottish religious climate--Catholics and Puritans.  True to his own religious philosophy, he advised a middle road.  To the displeasure of the Scottish kirk, he was less than enthusiastic when it came to persecuting Catholics. He conserved his energies for persecuting witches.

Queen Anne of Denmark -Public Domain art

Not every aspect of his character is consisted with the James whose pamphlets regarded papistry as if it were the plague.  Although he was a theologian, he was not a reformer in the sense of John Knox. James, it seems, was a far more astute politician than he has been credited for as while he was looking to the South and savoring the English throne, he traded  on his mother's reputation in hopes it would deliver him a kingdom.  But he did it carefully, with a degree of caution uncommon in a Stewart.

Public Domain 19th century painting of the execution of Marie Stuart

Immediately following the queen's beheading, the king's cousin Lord Francis Stewart, heir to the dead queen's husband, publicly criticized his sovereign's reluctance to go to war to avenge his mother death.  Bothwell was so outspoken on the topic, James had  him warded in Edinburgh Castle to prevent him from raising an army of Border Reivers and marching south himself. (See, for example, Bothwell and the Witches by Geoffrey Godfrey, Robert Hale Ltd., 1975).

Yet, in the next decade, what had been widely regarded as a controversial state execution had become a martyrdom, and that changed the king's attitude toward his mother. Arguably it was not his mother's grisly death but the pending demise of the monarch to the south that prompted his posthumous affection for his mother.  How much of it was the sincere expression of a child who had suffered a tragic loveless youth and how much of it was masterful politics is a most intriguing question.

The death of the Queen of Scots did not send an immediate tidal wave of protest inundating the Christian world. (Mary Queen of Scots and French Public Opinion, 1542-1600, Alexander Wilkinson, Palgrave-MacMillan 2004). According to Wilkinson, whose arguments are supported by a great many references and some graphs, in Marie Stuart's beloved France there was little or no interest in the Queen of Scots once she sailed for Scotland in 1561.

Then came the publication of George Buchanan's  book Historie de Marie Royne d'Ecosse in 1571 and its translation into numerous languages including French in 1572. While the French version was published with a false Edinburg imprint, Wilkinson asserts it to be an enterprise of the English government, no doubt printed in London and shipped abroad to spread it venom to the wider audience.

George Buchanan - Public Domain Art

The 4th Duke of Norfolk

The purpose of all of this was to glean support for pending English intervention in the Scottish Douglas Wars by breaking the Lang Siege of Edinburgh Castle, and to raise foreign support  for the trial and execution of the Duke of  Norfolk, Marie Stuart's dangerous suitor, least the Norfolk execution appear to foreign powers as a move against Elizabeth's Catholics rather than a strategic lancing of a political boil.

Whatever the intent in publishing Buchanan's sensationalized account of Marie Stuart's reign at the precise time when England and France were negotiating a peace accord, its  short term effect was to make Marie Stuart unpopular on the Continent, exacerbated by the wholesale slaughter of Protestants in the Saint Bartholomew's Day Massacre. By 1579 the debate over Marie Stuart's fate had  died down and there was virtually nothing published about the Queen of Scots in France until her execution.

However, when news of what had occurred at Fotheringhay reached France, it was a public relations coup for the rising Holy League. Says Wilkinson, the martyrdom of Marie Stuart became very much a Leaguer cause in France. However,  to use the modern vernacular, the assassination of her Guise uncles the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine by Henri III knocked her off the frontpage, and there was very little interest in Marie Stuart in France thereafter other than in the literature and arts. However, even after the failed invasion of the Armada, in England there was a continuing phobia when it came to Catholics during the waning years of Elizabeth Tudor's reign.

By Quodvultdeus (Own work) Creative Commons

These were the years of intrigue and Jesuit infiltrations and hidey holes in great houses where secret Masses were held such as the priest hole opening from the Withdrawing Room at a house in Havington, England. While Elizabeth was not especially tolerant of her Catholic recusants,  most first offenders were fined. More severe penalties were reserved for repeat offenders and defiant Jesuits.  In the wake of the Armada, a poor economy and worse harvests made the Catholics in England convenient scapegoats for a monarch who had lost her lustre.

One argument I have not seen espoused contrasting the religious policies of the two kingdoms during the 1590s comes from my own history in the Episcopal Church. The parish church I attended in a suburb of San Diego was what we called 'High Anglican'. The congregation railed against the new prayer book and rather than adopt it, it's use was optional but subtly discouraged. When American Roman Catholic services were reformed during the later part of the 20th century to eliminate much of the Latin in the Litanies, one could attend a Mass at Saint John's in Chula Vista where I was a member, and another at Our Lady of Guadalupe Hidalgo in Otay that same day and hardly notice the difference. In my hypothesis, at least insofar as the common folk were concerned, my illustration is what likely happened in England--other than the folks distributing and receiving the benefices, most  English hardly noticed. The result of Henrician Reform was largely financial, at least until Puritanism threatened.

Knox admonishing the Queen of Scots, Public Domain Art

This was not the case across the Border to the north during the early years of the Scottish Reformation. John Knox's approved religious service was nothing at all like Cardinal David Beaton's mass.  Knox, you may recall, railed at the baptism service of the infant king and the Scottish kirk chastised Elizabeth's proxy Princess Jean Stewart, Countess of Argyll, for acting as her proxy.  Infant baptisms were considered vestiges of papistry. So were other things like dancing and Christmas. When Marie Stuart married her third husband Lord James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, there was a wedding breakfast but no masques and no ball.

No matter on which side of the religious issue they found themselves, the common folk of Scotland did notice. And this polarity in Scotland put James VI in a very uncomfortable position. The truly amazing thing is how very well he toed the line. One way he did that was by cashing in on the mystique surrounding Marie Stuart, Queen of Scots, the mother whose letters he refused to answer, and by salting his government with former Marians on the one hand while lifting his bejeweled hand to write anti Catholic propaganda with the other. And make no mistake, in most cases he was writing for a very specific audience--the English Privy Council.

 In researching my novels in the Midwife's Secret Series, The Mystery of the Hidden Prince, The Other Daughter and the forthcoming 1603: The Queen's Revenge, I was forced to abandon several preconceived notions  I had held for years, one of which was that Elizabeth Tudor kept her ministers in a nail-biting panic while she lay on pillows on the floor for fear of dying in her bed,  without offering a clue as to who was to be her heir.

The truth is that for all practical purposes,the English succession had been settled long before the date of her death. Ever since the execution of the overreaching Earl of Essex who had accused Cecil of favoring a succession by the Spanish Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia, Robert Cecil had been very careful to stay in step with his colleagues who favored  James. Most of the policy makers at Westminster had come to agree with Knox insofar as The Monstrous Regiment of Women was concerned.  At the end of Elizabeth's life, dealing with Gloriana had grown  tedious. The acknowledgement of James VI of Scotland as her heir was a formality and the story of her deathbed gesture is more than likely balderdash.  Cecil had William Carey prepped to ride to Holyrood as soon as Elizabeth Tudor had the decency to die.

However, the Privy Council was not the sum total of the English hierarchy, and the acceptance of James by the English had a good deal to do with his attitude toward religion. Suddenly  he had nothing but praise for his dear departed mother, and he manifested this attitude by elevating Marians like Alexander Seton to high places in the government while pardoning the worst of the aristocratic Catholic dissident lords such as Huntly, Errol and Maxwell. He did not pardon his cousin Francis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, because Bothwell was  still plotting with the Spanish to depose him.

James justified the appointments of suspected Catholics to high places in his government as a gesture of good will, but what he was really seeking was a guarantee that English Catholics would accept him as their king. He had bought into his mother's argument that the English crown was his by Divine Right. However, he was careful how he defined the Divinity conferring the right.

He began making concessions to Scottish Catholics not because he felt it was the right thing to do, but because he was playing to an audience across the Border to the South  Especially in the north, England had a large population of Closet Catholics who were watching. And to make certain he did not lean too far in a precarious direction, he continued catering to those who feared a return to the auld religion by flaunting his Protestantism in his writing. Concurrently he was moving Scotland toward an episcopal model for the Scottish kirk.  It was a good deal like walking a tightrope.

 Like his mother Marie Stuart, he engaged in a prodigious correspondence, writing to not only Philip III and Henry IV, but also to the Pope. The truth is emerging showing James I of England to have been unusually popular in Europe. Modern histories are beginning to present James as a very crafty fellow who believed he had been ordained by God to unite the British people by first uniting the crowns  and moving slowly to a religious accommodation that extended some rights to those Catholics who were willing to be subtle about it. And he did it in an atmosphere of peaceful relations with his European contemporaries.

He portrayed his mother as a political victim rather than a religious martyr, so as not to offend the English or the Scottish Kirk.  His plan to have her re-interred at Westminster in the Henry VII Chapel was a brilliant move to emphasize that she, too, was a Tudor through her grandmother Queen Margaret. By keeping counsel with opposing factions, even the one as far away as Rome, he managed to capture the English throne without any serious opposition.

Most English Catholics were enthusiastic during the early days of his rule. He had made religious concessions to Scottish Catholics. His grand design was to unify the countries of England and Scotland. In the spirit of the letter he had written in 1599 to Prince Henry,  he sought  a religious accommodation that would extend a degree of tolerance to both Catholics and Puritans in both England and Scotland. How  extra copies appeared in the hands of foreign kings remains a thinly veiled mystery. And if a group of Catholic fanatics had not tried to blow him up, his plan might have worked.

James I of England- Heraldic Badge
a joining of the Thistle and the Tudor Rose

(By Sodacan  (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons)

Linda Root is the author of the historical novels of the Queen of Scots Suite found on Amazon and Amazon Kindle.The Queen of Scots Suite by Linda Root