Sapere Books and author MJ Logue are offering one paperback copy and one e-book copy of Abiding Fire.
How do you solve a murder when you are one of the suspects…
1664, London
Life should be good for Major Thankful Russell and his new bride, Thomazine. Russell, middle-aged and battle-scarred, isn’t everyone’s idea of the perfect husband for an eligible young woman but the moment Thomazine set eyes on her childhood hero, she knew they were destined for one another.
But Russell, a former Roundhead, now working for the King’s intelligence service, was never going to have a simple life in Restoration London.
Unable to shake suspicions of his Parliamentarian past, someone seems hell-bent on ruining his reputation — and his life.
Whispers about his sister’s violent murder follow him and accusations of treason abound.
When more deaths occur Russell finds himself under suspicion.
He is ready to escape from the capital, but Thomazine is determined to find the truth and clear the name of the man she loves.
But who is the real killer and why are they so keen to frame Russell? More importantly, will they succeed?
And has Thomazine’s quest put them all in mortal danger?
An Abiding Fire is the first book in the Thomazine and Major Russell Thriller series, compelling historical mysteries with a dash of romance, set in seventeenth century England.
‘written in a deceptively light, easy style that draws the reader in, until you’re frantically turning the pages to find out what happens, and the flavour, sights, sounds and smells of Restoration London, in all its crowded, often squalid vitality, leap into life. Highly recommended’ - Pamela Belle
‘everything in this book is utterly believable and solidly historical, right down to the gloriously funny dialogue and rather personal details…’ - P F Chisholm
‘a suspenseful read peppered with humour, and earthy language enough to lighten and lift the reader in between the more sinister elements as they unfold’ - Romance Reviews Magazine
‘London is brought vividly to life, the historical setting is impeccable, the plot is well-constructed, but it is the characters that make this book. Both Thomazine and Thankful step out of the pages to become real, believable, people. M. J. Logue has delivered an excellent read and I hope there will be many more books about Thomazine and Thankful—preferably sooner than later’ – Discovering Diamonds
For a chance to win, please leave a comment stating your preference for e-book or paperback and leave your contact details. If you prefer not to leave your contact details then please check back after the giveaway closes at midnight Sunday 17 March Pacific Daylight Time which is 8am Monday 18 March GMT to find out if you are a winner.
Monday, March 11, 2019
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Editors Weekly Round-up, March 10, 2019
by the EHFA Editors
Every week our contributing authors tell of saints or sinners, politics or war. Read about kings and queens, the common people, and legends from ancient to post-WWII. Never miss a post on English Historical Fiction Authors. Enjoy this re-cap of posts for the week ending March 9.
Every week our contributing authors tell of saints or sinners, politics or war. Read about kings and queens, the common people, and legends from ancient to post-WWII. Never miss a post on English Historical Fiction Authors. Enjoy this re-cap of posts for the week ending March 9.
by Nicola Cornick
by Dominic Fielder
by M. J. Logue
Friday, March 8, 2019
Slipcoat Cheese
by M. J. Logue
We’re not really familiar with the concept of “new” cheese as such, cheese that’s not intended to be stored for any length of time but eaten soft, straightaway. Slipcoat is a simple cheese, the salted curds are pressed under a light weight and then it’s aged until the cloth peels away from the cheese easily. The 1653 cookbook 'A True Gentlewomans Delight' very wisely suggests that, "if you find any mouse turd wipe it off, the Cheese will come to his eating in eight or nine dayes." It’s very much the kind of cheese a farmer’s wife would have made in the spring and early summer when her cows were giving a high yield, for the family’s immediate consumption – what was left over after the more heavily-salted and pressed cheeses to be stored for the lean months.
Most “new” cheeses were cooking, rather than eating, cheeses – the way we use ricotta today. It’s not a soft texture like Brie or Camembert – despite the name it’s not a spoonable, almost runny, cheese – and nor is it crumbly, like a Cheshire. It’s closer to a sort of feta, but not, as you’ll note from the recipe, salted: moist, friable, and not portable at all. Cheese was, obviously, a way of storing up the surplus of dairy produce for the time when it wasn’t in such abundance, but most was intended for personal consumption: only the surplus was sold on to a wider market, and so there are quantities of recipes in period cookery books for what we’d now consider “fresh” cheeses.
Slipcoat is interesting in that it’s weighted by degrees, just like a hard cheese, but using much lighter weights, which results in a much more open texture. Modern “fresh” cheese recommends 10 lbs of pressure for 20 minutes, followed by 25 lbs for 2-5 hours – but then it isn’t ripened, which slipcoat is, so its taste is much more complex than you’d expect from such a simple recipe.
With the onset of the Industrial Revolution – and the increasing need of the armed forces for mass-produced rations suitable for long storage – home dairying started to become less common as the age of the small self-sufficient farm passed, and so many of the unripened new cheese recipes passed from history as not commercially viable. It’s only really now that raw milk is becoming available again, and there’s an increased interest in home cheese-making, that we’re looking again at the recipes of the past for inspiration.
~~~~~~~~~~
M. J. Logue is a writer, mad cake lady, re-enactor, and historian. Being slightly potty about the clankier side of Ironside for around 20 years, she lists amongst her heroes in this unworthy world Sir Thomas Fairfax, Elizabeth Cromwell and John Webster (for his sense of humour). When not purveying historically-accurate cake to various re-enactment groups across the country, M.J. Logue can usually be discovered practising in her garden with a cavalry backsword.
![]() |
| Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons |
The time has come, the Ironside said, to talk of many things: of Banbury cheese, and slipcote cheese, and sometimes headless kings.
Banbury cheese must wait another day, for my accomplish't delight on this occasion is slipcoat cheese.
You may have heard of slipcoat - or spell it slipcote – cheese in historical fiction, but it's shamefully unlikely that you'll have ever tasted it: modern slipcoat is only commercially available from one dairy, High Weald Dairy in Suffolk, and that's a sheep's cheese. One theory of its name is that it’s allowed to ripen until the cloth it drains on peels away easily from the curds: the other, favoured by the dairy, that slip is dialect for little, and cote refers to a cottage, as in cottage cheese.
Kenelm Digby writing in the 1660s offers several recipes for it. “The Closet Of Sir Kenelm Digby Knight, Opened 'in 1669 gives us:
Banbury cheese must wait another day, for my accomplish't delight on this occasion is slipcoat cheese.
You may have heard of slipcoat - or spell it slipcote – cheese in historical fiction, but it's shamefully unlikely that you'll have ever tasted it: modern slipcoat is only commercially available from one dairy, High Weald Dairy in Suffolk, and that's a sheep's cheese. One theory of its name is that it’s allowed to ripen until the cloth it drains on peels away easily from the curds: the other, favoured by the dairy, that slip is dialect for little, and cote refers to a cottage, as in cottage cheese.
Kenelm Digby writing in the 1660s offers several recipes for it. “The Closet Of Sir Kenelm Digby Knight, Opened 'in 1669 gives us:
"Take three quarts of the last of the stroakings of as many Cows as you have; keep it covered, that it may continue warm; put to it a skimming dishful of Spring-water; then put in two spoonfuls of Runnet, so let it stand until it be hard come: when it is hard come, set your fat on the bottome of a hair-sieve, take it up by degrees, but break it not; when you have laid it all in the fat, take a fine cloth, and lay it over the Cheese, and work it in about the sides, with the back of a Knife; then lay a board on it, for half an hour: after half an hour, set on the board an half pound stone, so let it stand two hours; then turn it on that board, and let the cloth be both under and over it, then pour it into the fat again; Then lay a pound and half weight on it; Two hours after turn it again on a dry cloth, and salt it, then set on it two pound weight, and let it stand until the next morning. Then turn it out of the Cheese-fat, on a dry board, and so keep it with turning on dry boards three days. In case it run abroad, you must set it up with wedges; when it begins to stiffen, lay green grass or rushes upon it: when it is stiff enough, let rushes be laid both under and over it. If this Cheese be rightly made, and the weather good to dry it, it will be ready in eight days: but in case it doth not dry well, you must lay it on linnen-cloth, and woollen upon it, to hasten the ripening of it."
We’re not really familiar with the concept of “new” cheese as such, cheese that’s not intended to be stored for any length of time but eaten soft, straightaway. Slipcoat is a simple cheese, the salted curds are pressed under a light weight and then it’s aged until the cloth peels away from the cheese easily. The 1653 cookbook 'A True Gentlewomans Delight' very wisely suggests that, "if you find any mouse turd wipe it off, the Cheese will come to his eating in eight or nine dayes." It’s very much the kind of cheese a farmer’s wife would have made in the spring and early summer when her cows were giving a high yield, for the family’s immediate consumption – what was left over after the more heavily-salted and pressed cheeses to be stored for the lean months.
Most “new” cheeses were cooking, rather than eating, cheeses – the way we use ricotta today. It’s not a soft texture like Brie or Camembert – despite the name it’s not a spoonable, almost runny, cheese – and nor is it crumbly, like a Cheshire. It’s closer to a sort of feta, but not, as you’ll note from the recipe, salted: moist, friable, and not portable at all. Cheese was, obviously, a way of storing up the surplus of dairy produce for the time when it wasn’t in such abundance, but most was intended for personal consumption: only the surplus was sold on to a wider market, and so there are quantities of recipes in period cookery books for what we’d now consider “fresh” cheeses.
Slipcoat is interesting in that it’s weighted by degrees, just like a hard cheese, but using much lighter weights, which results in a much more open texture. Modern “fresh” cheese recommends 10 lbs of pressure for 20 minutes, followed by 25 lbs for 2-5 hours – but then it isn’t ripened, which slipcoat is, so its taste is much more complex than you’d expect from such a simple recipe.
With the onset of the Industrial Revolution – and the increasing need of the armed forces for mass-produced rations suitable for long storage – home dairying started to become less common as the age of the small self-sufficient farm passed, and so many of the unripened new cheese recipes passed from history as not commercially viable. It’s only really now that raw milk is becoming available again, and there’s an increased interest in home cheese-making, that we’re looking again at the recipes of the past for inspiration.
~~~~~~~~~~
M. J. Logue is a writer, mad cake lady, re-enactor, and historian. Being slightly potty about the clankier side of Ironside for around 20 years, she lists amongst her heroes in this unworthy world Sir Thomas Fairfax, Elizabeth Cromwell and John Webster (for his sense of humour). When not purveying historically-accurate cake to various re-enactment groups across the country, M.J. Logue can usually be discovered practising in her garden with a cavalry backsword.
She can be found on Twitter @Hollie_Babbitt, lurking on the web at asweetdisorder.com, and posting photos of cake, cats and extreme embroidery on Instagram as asweetdisorder.
M.J. Logue's latest novel, An Abiding Fire, is available for purchase from Amazon.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Flanders 1793: A Tale of Two Diaries
By Dominic Fielder
The gaining of Terra Firma was an obvious relief to all the Duke’s soldiers. It had been a less than auspicious start.
The parade of two thousand guardsmen which had set off along the Mall had turned into a drunken ramble by the time it had reached Greenwich. Soldiers were loaded into three overcrowded transports. A soldier slipped on a gang-plank, fell and shattered his leg. Amongst the doctors in the three battalions, no medical supplies could be found. None had been loaded but at least the campaign furniture of the Guards officers had. Some consolation at least. The young officer from York’s inner circle foreshadowed the days ahead, “Somewhere there was a fault.”
The epitaph of the Flanders campaign.
The ships that sailed into Hollands Diep narrowly avoided a storm that would have surely wrecked them. Such an auspicious start was compounded by the constraints of operational orders sent by the government, and Henry Dundas in particular, which attempted to shackle the Duke’s army to a protection of the landing places along Hollands Diep. In early March 1793, there were around 2000 men under the Duke’s command. Two weeks earlier, the French convention had passed a law to levy 300,000 men to be added to a standing army that John Lynn in The Bayonets of the Republic suggested had shrunk from 450,000 in November to 290,000 in February 1793.
While the French were fighting on every border, the Army of the North, under General Dumouriez was around 23,000 with the Army of the Ardennes also nominally under his control. Fortescue paints Dumouriez as the supreme chancer, his aims with the Army of the North uncertain. It seems more likely that Dumouriez had designs on capturing Amsterdam and its gold rather than The Hague and the seat of the Dutch Stadtholder.
The war for Corporal Brown is one that any soldier across the ages could identify with. Marching, waiting, marching again. In fact, there was to be no major engagement in Holland. The French had begun a siege of Willemstadt, a fortress on the south bank of Hollands Diep, but the arrival of a strong Austrian army under Prince Josias, drew Dumouriez and the bulk of his men in the direction of Brussels and a fateful battle.
As the moment of high drama approached, the tempo of the ever present politicking increased. The Duke of York was given license to move further inland but strict instructions from Dundas that the ‘British army’ was not to become just another corps in Josias’ ranks. Two thousand men would barely constitute an Austrian corps but that was being rectified. Hanover was to supply 15,000 infantry and around 5,000 cavalry. More Germans, Hessian troops, would follow as well as several squadrons of British cavalry. All this due by May, but by then the emergency and the chance to secure the peace dividend and political prize could well be lost.
Dunkirk might seem a strange choice as compensation for Great Britain’s efforts but, along with other French colonies in the West Indies, Fortescue suggests that such a deal had been brokered by Austria. The Imperials from Vienna were playing a much greater endgame, to ensure both its close ties with the restored House of Bourbon but also to expand north into Saxony. By greasing the palms and soothing the consciences of other nations, Prussia was also to receive French territory in the Austrian plan, who could deny Austria a rightful prize when she alone asked nothing of France. Pitt’s embattled administration thought that possessing a little part of France would play well at home with the mob.
Such manoeuvring was scarce confined to the allies. Dumouriez, the master strategist, had a foot firmly planted in both worlds and a step light enough to stay one move ahead of the guillotine. He was perhaps the last man to hold a private counsel with Louis XVI before the King’s execution. A courtier of some thirty years but also the Revolutionary Minister for War and now Commander of the Army of the North. Dumouriez believed that his men were more loyal to him than to France, much as Lafayette had done, the year before. A miscalculation that had nearly cost his predecessor his life.
When the negotiations between Dumouriez and Prince Josias first occurred, I cannot be certain. On the 18th March 1793, the two armies fought at Neerwinden. The Austrian victory sent the French reeling back towards their northern border. Somewhere in that time frame, the Convention in Paris heard that Dumouriez planned to defect. By the 1st of April, a delegation had arrived from Paris to arrest the traitorous general, only for Dumouriez to have them arrested and sent to the Austrian camp.
The timeframe is too tight for these events to play out consecutively. Eleven days for secret negotiations to be discovered, reported to Paris, a decision made and a delegation dispatched to the frontier? Which draws the obvious conclusion of collusion between Dumouriez and the Austrian Prince Josias before Neerwinden, making the battle a bargaining chip and the treachery to have been relayed to Paris from within the General’s close circle. If Dumouriez won, he had more choice. Amsterdam could still be taken. And with money, why restore an unpopular monarchy when a new-style of revolutionary leader might be more acceptable to the masses? The defeat weakened his hand but would the ultimate gambit of changing sides bear fruit?
Five thousand Frenchmen followed Dumouriez into exile, less than one in eight that had taken the field at Neerwinden. The rest of the Army of the North could return to France on the swearing of oaths by officers that its men would not bear arms again. Prince Josias was roundly condemned by his allies, even publicly by his own Emperor for the attempts to woo Dumouriez. For the rest of April, the Allies bickered about how best to impose peace, without it seems, the smallest concern that they still had to beat the French to accomplish such lofty goals. At the end of April, Prussia proposed its own negotiations with the Army of the North, to affect a mass defection, and found itself on the end of various verbal attacks from rest of the coalition.
A plan was eventually agreed, the capture of the fortress at Valenciennes, which opened a route to Paris. The battle itself, called the battle of Camp Famars, foreshadowed the events of 1794. There were no maps of the terrain. If any reconnaissance had been undertaken, that information failed to reach the frontline. What it did expose was the propensity of the troops to plunder, a scene that appalled Corporal Brown “Every house was plundered in a most unseemly manner, by the Austrians and others of the foreign troops; whose hardened hearts, neither the entreaties of old age, the tears of beauty, the cries of children, nor the moving scenes of the most accumulated distress can touch with pity.”
Valenciennes fell in a protracted siege at the end of July. The Army of the North, whose leaders had either defected, died at its helm or faced the guillotine for their ‘failures’, retreated. The allies pursued and Paris was just eleven days march away. But the coalition faltered again. The fortress of Lille would be at the backs of the allied forces and the Austrians feared having their supply lines severed. The Duke of York, with two brigades of British infantry and his Hanoverian and Hessian contingent was under pressure to secure Dunkirk before it was too late. After all, grabbing the city once the revolution had been beaten might look a little disingenuous. There was a last meeting between Prince Josias and the Duke of York before the British, with a corps of 10,000 Austrians acting as corps of communications, moved north.
With this moment of separation, the coalition lost the momentum and tempo of the war and would never regain it.
If ever you do attempt to follow the machinations of this campaign, do invest in a map of northern France. How the Austrian corps that accompanied the Duke was meant to protect communications between Josias and York has baffled my understanding. Lille and Dunkirk are around 50 miles apart. That is just one of the many farces that this rich campaign has still to reveal.
The story of Dunkirk and the fateful days of September 1793 are for another post.
~~~~~~~~~~
The King’s Germans is a project that has been many years in the making. Currently Dominic Fielder manages to juggle writing and research around a crowded work and family life. The Black Lions of Flanders (set in 1793) is the first in the King’s Germans’ series, which will follow an array of characters through to the final book in Waterloo. The King of Dunkirk will soon be released and Dominic hopes that the response to that is as encouraging as the reviews of Black Lions have been.
Dominc lives just outside of Tavistock, in Devon where he enjoys walking on the moors and the occasional horse-riding excursion as both inspiration and relaxation.
Social Media
https://www.facebook.com/KingsGermans/
@Kings_Germans (Twitter)
kingsgermans (Instagram)
Buy links
Amazon
‘Somewhere there was a fault.’The British campaign in Flanders, between 1793 and 1795, feels like an often-overlooked footnote in British military history. A disaster, that if we somehow look away, will be neatly swept under a rug, and we can return to the familiar narrative of a series of coalitions against France until the victory of Waterloo. Fortescue’s British Campaigns in Flanders is still the seminal work for understanding this campaign and sets the two diaries in context. The anonymous writer known as ‘Officer of the Guard’, was a member of the Duke of York’s staff and is a mixture of beautiful verse and pithy prose. Robert Brown’s account as corporal in the Coldstream Guards, is observant of the everyday. A shared war from very different social strata.
Terra Firma at length, thank my stars! We have gain’d,In February 1793, the French Convention declared war on Great Britain. In response, Great Britain sent a small army, a brigade initially with more men to follow. It was necessary to be on the continent, to be seen to be ‘doing our bit’ to restore the French monarchy; there were after all, political prizes to be had! While the Guards’ officers were no doubt keen to be rid of an overcrowded ship, Corporal Brown makes no mention of the hardship, instead comparing the villages around the port of Helleveotsluis to the country he had just left, ‘The streets are regular and kept remarkably clean, as well as the outside of their houses, which they are continually washing’.
And our raptures, believe me, can scarce be explain’d.
With more transport the breast of a debtor ne’er heav’d,
From straw and his fourpence per diem reliev’d,
Than ours when we shook all our friends by the hand,
As they joyfully leap’d from the decks on dry land.
Officer of the Guards Vol 1
The gaining of Terra Firma was an obvious relief to all the Duke’s soldiers. It had been a less than auspicious start.
![]() |
| The port of Hellevoetsluis at Hollands Diep |
The parade of two thousand guardsmen which had set off along the Mall had turned into a drunken ramble by the time it had reached Greenwich. Soldiers were loaded into three overcrowded transports. A soldier slipped on a gang-plank, fell and shattered his leg. Amongst the doctors in the three battalions, no medical supplies could be found. None had been loaded but at least the campaign furniture of the Guards officers had. Some consolation at least. The young officer from York’s inner circle foreshadowed the days ahead, “Somewhere there was a fault.”
The epitaph of the Flanders campaign.
The ships that sailed into Hollands Diep narrowly avoided a storm that would have surely wrecked them. Such an auspicious start was compounded by the constraints of operational orders sent by the government, and Henry Dundas in particular, which attempted to shackle the Duke’s army to a protection of the landing places along Hollands Diep. In early March 1793, there were around 2000 men under the Duke’s command. Two weeks earlier, the French convention had passed a law to levy 300,000 men to be added to a standing army that John Lynn in The Bayonets of the Republic suggested had shrunk from 450,000 in November to 290,000 in February 1793.
While the French were fighting on every border, the Army of the North, under General Dumouriez was around 23,000 with the Army of the Ardennes also nominally under his control. Fortescue paints Dumouriez as the supreme chancer, his aims with the Army of the North uncertain. It seems more likely that Dumouriez had designs on capturing Amsterdam and its gold rather than The Hague and the seat of the Dutch Stadtholder.
The war for Corporal Brown is one that any soldier across the ages could identify with. Marching, waiting, marching again. In fact, there was to be no major engagement in Holland. The French had begun a siege of Willemstadt, a fortress on the south bank of Hollands Diep, but the arrival of a strong Austrian army under Prince Josias, drew Dumouriez and the bulk of his men in the direction of Brussels and a fateful battle.
As the moment of high drama approached, the tempo of the ever present politicking increased. The Duke of York was given license to move further inland but strict instructions from Dundas that the ‘British army’ was not to become just another corps in Josias’ ranks. Two thousand men would barely constitute an Austrian corps but that was being rectified. Hanover was to supply 15,000 infantry and around 5,000 cavalry. More Germans, Hessian troops, would follow as well as several squadrons of British cavalry. All this due by May, but by then the emergency and the chance to secure the peace dividend and political prize could well be lost.
![]() |
| The Duke of York. The King's choice as the commander of the British army on the continent in 1793. |
Dunkirk might seem a strange choice as compensation for Great Britain’s efforts but, along with other French colonies in the West Indies, Fortescue suggests that such a deal had been brokered by Austria. The Imperials from Vienna were playing a much greater endgame, to ensure both its close ties with the restored House of Bourbon but also to expand north into Saxony. By greasing the palms and soothing the consciences of other nations, Prussia was also to receive French territory in the Austrian plan, who could deny Austria a rightful prize when she alone asked nothing of France. Pitt’s embattled administration thought that possessing a little part of France would play well at home with the mob.
Such manoeuvring was scarce confined to the allies. Dumouriez, the master strategist, had a foot firmly planted in both worlds and a step light enough to stay one move ahead of the guillotine. He was perhaps the last man to hold a private counsel with Louis XVI before the King’s execution. A courtier of some thirty years but also the Revolutionary Minister for War and now Commander of the Army of the North. Dumouriez believed that his men were more loyal to him than to France, much as Lafayette had done, the year before. A miscalculation that had nearly cost his predecessor his life.
When the negotiations between Dumouriez and Prince Josias first occurred, I cannot be certain. On the 18th March 1793, the two armies fought at Neerwinden. The Austrian victory sent the French reeling back towards their northern border. Somewhere in that time frame, the Convention in Paris heard that Dumouriez planned to defect. By the 1st of April, a delegation had arrived from Paris to arrest the traitorous general, only for Dumouriez to have them arrested and sent to the Austrian camp.
The timeframe is too tight for these events to play out consecutively. Eleven days for secret negotiations to be discovered, reported to Paris, a decision made and a delegation dispatched to the frontier? Which draws the obvious conclusion of collusion between Dumouriez and the Austrian Prince Josias before Neerwinden, making the battle a bargaining chip and the treachery to have been relayed to Paris from within the General’s close circle. If Dumouriez won, he had more choice. Amsterdam could still be taken. And with money, why restore an unpopular monarchy when a new-style of revolutionary leader might be more acceptable to the masses? The defeat weakened his hand but would the ultimate gambit of changing sides bear fruit?
So he sent the commissioners, under arrest,
To the Austrian encampment, and stood forth confess’d,
A friend to their cause, undertaking to bring
His army to publish young Louis their King.
And instantly mounting the modest cockade,
The power of his rhet’rick the Champion essay’d.
To his florid narration the answer reciev’d
Was, “Vive Dumouriez” Sounds he fondly believed.
Five thousand Frenchmen followed Dumouriez into exile, less than one in eight that had taken the field at Neerwinden. The rest of the Army of the North could return to France on the swearing of oaths by officers that its men would not bear arms again. Prince Josias was roundly condemned by his allies, even publicly by his own Emperor for the attempts to woo Dumouriez. For the rest of April, the Allies bickered about how best to impose peace, without it seems, the smallest concern that they still had to beat the French to accomplish such lofty goals. At the end of April, Prussia proposed its own negotiations with the Army of the North, to affect a mass defection, and found itself on the end of various verbal attacks from rest of the coalition.
![]() |
| Dumouriez, a man for all seasons? |
A plan was eventually agreed, the capture of the fortress at Valenciennes, which opened a route to Paris. The battle itself, called the battle of Camp Famars, foreshadowed the events of 1794. There were no maps of the terrain. If any reconnaissance had been undertaken, that information failed to reach the frontline. What it did expose was the propensity of the troops to plunder, a scene that appalled Corporal Brown “Every house was plundered in a most unseemly manner, by the Austrians and others of the foreign troops; whose hardened hearts, neither the entreaties of old age, the tears of beauty, the cries of children, nor the moving scenes of the most accumulated distress can touch with pity.”
Valenciennes fell in a protracted siege at the end of July. The Army of the North, whose leaders had either defected, died at its helm or faced the guillotine for their ‘failures’, retreated. The allies pursued and Paris was just eleven days march away. But the coalition faltered again. The fortress of Lille would be at the backs of the allied forces and the Austrians feared having their supply lines severed. The Duke of York, with two brigades of British infantry and his Hanoverian and Hessian contingent was under pressure to secure Dunkirk before it was too late. After all, grabbing the city once the revolution had been beaten might look a little disingenuous. There was a last meeting between Prince Josias and the Duke of York before the British, with a corps of 10,000 Austrians acting as corps of communications, moved north.
With this moment of separation, the coalition lost the momentum and tempo of the war and would never regain it.
If ever you do attempt to follow the machinations of this campaign, do invest in a map of northern France. How the Austrian corps that accompanied the Duke was meant to protect communications between Josias and York has baffled my understanding. Lille and Dunkirk are around 50 miles apart. That is just one of the many farces that this rich campaign has still to reveal.
The story of Dunkirk and the fateful days of September 1793 are for another post.
~~~~~~~~~~
The King’s Germans is a project that has been many years in the making. Currently Dominic Fielder manages to juggle writing and research around a crowded work and family life. The Black Lions of Flanders (set in 1793) is the first in the King’s Germans’ series, which will follow an array of characters through to the final book in Waterloo. The King of Dunkirk will soon be released and Dominic hopes that the response to that is as encouraging as the reviews of Black Lions have been.
Dominc lives just outside of Tavistock, in Devon where he enjoys walking on the moors and the occasional horse-riding excursion as both inspiration and relaxation.
Social Media
https://www.facebook.com/KingsGermans/
@Kings_Germans (Twitter)
kingsgermans (Instagram)
Buy links
Amazon
Labels:
Battle of Waterloo,
Dominic Fielder,
Duke of York,
Flanders,
General Dumouriez,
Helleveotsluis,
Hessians,
James
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
The "Lost" History of the Town of Swindon
![]() |
| Old map of Swindon |
The town of Swindon in Wiltshire is not well-known for its pre-industrial era history. It rose to prominence in the early nineteenth century, first with the building of the Wiltshire and Berkshire Canal in 1810 and later when it became a centre for the repair and maintenance of locomotives on the Great Western Railway. The development of a railway village and subsequently Swindon “new town” eclipsed the little village on the hill which had existed since before the Norman Conquest and which subsequently became known as “old town.” In fact some books seem to write Swindon’s pre-industrial past completely out of history. “Swindon was virtually a new town that grew up around the railway” is the only line about it in Mark Girouard’s book “The English Town,” dismissing centuries of Swindonian history.
At the other extreme is a very different publication: William Morris’s “Swindon of 50 Years Ago” written in 1885 which he freely admits is a collection of stories about the town and not a formal history, which he says would be impossible to write because “there is absolutely no material for such a purpose.” Somewhere between the two of these, though, Swindon does have a pre-railway history that is rich and fascinating.
We know from archaeological evidence that the hill on which Swindon Old Town was built has been inhabited for a very long time. Finds from the prehistoric, Bronze Age and Roman periods give an insight into the people who were living here down the centuries. The discovery of a Saxon settlement with pit buildings was particularly interesting as these were partially constructed below ground level and had thatched roofs. As well as being used for storage they are thought to have had a purpose rather like a community hall; they were a cultural focus for story-telling, music and dancing.
It was from the Old English that the name Swindon originally derived, Swine Down, a place that was a pasture for pigs. The Latin name for the village, Swyndon Super Montem which was used in formal documents in the medieval period literally meant “Swindon over the hill” which in time became High Swindon.
The Domesday Book gives a useful insight into the size and value of the village. At the time of the Norman Conquest it had a population of 27 households and was taxed on an income of 22 units of geld. The land was worth more in 1086 than in 1066 which was unusual because the conquest had depressed land values. This prosperity continued into the 12th and 13th centuries. The first documentary record of a market in Swindon was a reference to the fact that William de Valence had first established it in 1259. Certainly, the town is referred to as Chipping Swindon in 1289, and Chipping, of course, is a name derived from Old English meaning a market. Newport Street, the first recorded named road in Old Town, dating from 1346 is a record of the market that survives into the current day, “port” meaning a market town, a place where goods are transported and exchanged, so in this case, the new market at Swindon. Swindon was also a borough, which meant that it had been granted self-governance by the Crown and was entitled to elect its own MPs which it did in 1295. It was also a place where the justice was meted out at the court assizes.
A point that is frequently made by authors and historians writing the early history of Swindon is that it is a quiet little place where nothing much happened. Yet the historical record disputes this. For a town to be incorporated as a borough, for it to elect MPs and for it to hold a market is all evidence of a very active history of investment and development. The prominence of towns grows and wanes over the centuries; we see it on a larger scale with places like Norwich, the second largest city in England in the 16thcentury with Norfolk as the most populous county in England, and we see it on a much smaller scale with the prominence of market towns like Highworth and Swindon. In 1334, for example, Swindon Old Town was comparable in size and wealth with Devizes.
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| The remains of Holy Rood church |
This small but relatively prosperous town is recorded as having a parish church, Holy Rood, dating from 1154 although no remains of that original church can be found. However, some of the ruins that are still visible date from the 14th century. They stand close by the site of the old Goddard family manor house at what is now the Lawns Park. We also know that in 1086 Swindon already had a mill as this is mentioned in the Domesday Book. Although the mill buildings are long vanished, landscape archaeology reveals the dips and depressions in the ground via which one can trace the entire watercourse. Like so many of the villages along the Ridgeway, Swindon was on the spring line which facilitated a supply of water.
The existence of the springs and the mill also gives clues to the origin of one of the local road names, the Planks, because a raised causeway had to be built leading from the town to the church to enable people to arrive for services without getting wet or dirty from the spring waters.
Another old street name, Windmill Street, now Wood Street, hints at the fact that water power alone wasn’t sufficient to supply the needs of Swindon’s medieval population. Spring waters are notoriously unreliable and in a place as high as Swindon hill the alternative wind power for grinding grain was very useful. The name Windmill Street fell out of use in the late 16th century and Wood Street came in with the industrialisation of the area, where timber yards, farriers and other businesses sprang up. Wood Street developed into the merchant quarter of the town.
The basic structure of the streets that we still see in Swindon Old Town today was already in place by the medieval period. The market square was to the east of what is now the High Street. This name was first recorded in 1645 but almost certainly in use before that. This was a more prestigious road with larger houses and the principal inns of the town. 16 High Street is a surviving 17th-century house that was built on what is known to be a former medieval burgage plot. The long, narrow strip of land behind the frontage and the alleyway down the side of the house are still in existence, taking us straight back to Swindon’s medieval roots.
Swindon’s prosperity dipped in the mid-17th century as a result of the devastation wrought over the area by the English Civil War. However, by the end of the 17th century the re-discovery of the stone quarries, first worked in Roman times, had led to an increase in both prosperity and population. Swindon stone was smooth and white, suitable for the interior of houses. Quarries of lesser quality provided stone for paving the streets of London.
A list of inhabitants in 1697 shows that it had more than doubled from the start of the century with almost 800 people and all levels of society represented: there were those who worked the land, an emerging middle class of shop-keepers and tradesmen; yeomen and gentlemen who owned property, including members of the Goddard and Villet families.
18th century Swindon was by all accounts a very pleasant place to live. John Britton, an antiquary who was born near Chippenham referred to the politeness of the society there in his book “The Beauties of Wiltshire,” published in 1801. 'The pleasantness of its situation', he wrote, 'may have induced many persons of independent fortune to fix their residence at Swindon; and their mansions contribute as much to ornament the town as their social intercourse may be said to animate and enliven it.'
Inns flourished notably in Swindon. One of my favourite references to the town was dated 1627 and records that the constables considered (rather piously perhaps) that 9 licensed alehouses were too many for a relatively small town of approximately 300 people. We know the names of many of these inns: The Crown, built in the 16th century, was rebuilt and renamed The Goddard Arms in the 18th century in honour of the local landowners. The Bell, originally another 16th-century inn named the lapwing, had a particularly interesting history. Dutch and Flemish wool and cloth merchants established a base in Swindon in the early 18th century and, missing their local favourite tipple, gin, established an inn specifically to provide it.
In this instance “bell” is short for bellarmine, a stoneware jug into which spirits were decanted. The bellarmine was named after Cardinal Robert Bellarmine who was a fierce opponent of the Dutch reformed church. Thus the tradition was to stamp his face on the jug and smash it when you had finished drinking.
There are persistent rumours that Swindon was the centre of a smuggling ring in the 18th century, a place where illicit spirits were stored having been brought into the ports of Dorset and carried across the wasteland of Salisbury Plain, before onward transmission to the Midlands. Certainly, there is an extensive network of tunnels beneath the old town, connecting the private houses and the inns and various other buildings. Research is still going on into the smuggling trade in Swindon; if it is proven it may turn out to be one of the most fascinating elements of pre-industrial Swindonian history!
~~~~~~~~~~
Nicola Cornick is an international bestselling and award-winning novelist who has written over thirty historical romances and historical mysteries in a career spanning twenty years. She is the current chair of the Romantic Novelists’ Association UK.
Nicola studied History at the University of London and at Ruskin College Oxford and worked in academia for a number of years before becoming a full-time author. She volunteers as a guide and researcher for the National Trust at the 17thcentury Ashdown House and gives talks and seminars on a number of historical topics.
The existence of the springs and the mill also gives clues to the origin of one of the local road names, the Planks, because a raised causeway had to be built leading from the town to the church to enable people to arrive for services without getting wet or dirty from the spring waters.
Another old street name, Windmill Street, now Wood Street, hints at the fact that water power alone wasn’t sufficient to supply the needs of Swindon’s medieval population. Spring waters are notoriously unreliable and in a place as high as Swindon hill the alternative wind power for grinding grain was very useful. The name Windmill Street fell out of use in the late 16th century and Wood Street came in with the industrialisation of the area, where timber yards, farriers and other businesses sprang up. Wood Street developed into the merchant quarter of the town.
The basic structure of the streets that we still see in Swindon Old Town today was already in place by the medieval period. The market square was to the east of what is now the High Street. This name was first recorded in 1645 but almost certainly in use before that. This was a more prestigious road with larger houses and the principal inns of the town. 16 High Street is a surviving 17th-century house that was built on what is known to be a former medieval burgage plot. The long, narrow strip of land behind the frontage and the alleyway down the side of the house are still in existence, taking us straight back to Swindon’s medieval roots.
Swindon’s prosperity dipped in the mid-17th century as a result of the devastation wrought over the area by the English Civil War. However, by the end of the 17th century the re-discovery of the stone quarries, first worked in Roman times, had led to an increase in both prosperity and population. Swindon stone was smooth and white, suitable for the interior of houses. Quarries of lesser quality provided stone for paving the streets of London.
A list of inhabitants in 1697 shows that it had more than doubled from the start of the century with almost 800 people and all levels of society represented: there were those who worked the land, an emerging middle class of shop-keepers and tradesmen; yeomen and gentlemen who owned property, including members of the Goddard and Villet families.
18th century Swindon was by all accounts a very pleasant place to live. John Britton, an antiquary who was born near Chippenham referred to the politeness of the society there in his book “The Beauties of Wiltshire,” published in 1801. 'The pleasantness of its situation', he wrote, 'may have induced many persons of independent fortune to fix their residence at Swindon; and their mansions contribute as much to ornament the town as their social intercourse may be said to animate and enliven it.'
Inns flourished notably in Swindon. One of my favourite references to the town was dated 1627 and records that the constables considered (rather piously perhaps) that 9 licensed alehouses were too many for a relatively small town of approximately 300 people. We know the names of many of these inns: The Crown, built in the 16th century, was rebuilt and renamed The Goddard Arms in the 18th century in honour of the local landowners. The Bell, originally another 16th-century inn named the lapwing, had a particularly interesting history. Dutch and Flemish wool and cloth merchants established a base in Swindon in the early 18th century and, missing their local favourite tipple, gin, established an inn specifically to provide it.
![]() |
| The Bell Inn today |
In this instance “bell” is short for bellarmine, a stoneware jug into which spirits were decanted. The bellarmine was named after Cardinal Robert Bellarmine who was a fierce opponent of the Dutch reformed church. Thus the tradition was to stamp his face on the jug and smash it when you had finished drinking.
There are persistent rumours that Swindon was the centre of a smuggling ring in the 18th century, a place where illicit spirits were stored having been brought into the ports of Dorset and carried across the wasteland of Salisbury Plain, before onward transmission to the Midlands. Certainly, there is an extensive network of tunnels beneath the old town, connecting the private houses and the inns and various other buildings. Research is still going on into the smuggling trade in Swindon; if it is proven it may turn out to be one of the most fascinating elements of pre-industrial Swindonian history!
~~~~~~~~~~
Nicola Cornick is an international bestselling and award-winning novelist who has written over thirty historical romances and historical mysteries in a career spanning twenty years. She is the current chair of the Romantic Novelists’ Association UK.
Nicola studied History at the University of London and at Ruskin College Oxford and worked in academia for a number of years before becoming a full-time author. She volunteers as a guide and researcher for the National Trust at the 17thcentury Ashdown House and gives talks and seminars on a number of historical topics.
Her latest book, The Woman in the Lake, is available for purchase through all major retailers.
Connect with Nicola through her Website, Facebook, Twitter (@NicolaCornick) and on the Word Wenches blog.
Connect with Nicola through her Website, Facebook, Twitter (@NicolaCornick) and on the Word Wenches blog.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
Editors Weekly Round-up, March 3, 2019
Never miss a post on English Historical Fiction Authors.
by Judith Arnopp

to have a chance for a a paperback copy (UK) or an e-book (worldwide)
Friday, March 1, 2019
In Search of the Real Arthur
by Tim Walker
Many readers will be familiar with the legend of King Arthur and the knights of the round table, his court at Camelot, the ill-fated love affair between his queen, Guinevere, and Sir Lancelot, and the search for the Holy Grail. These romantic and chivalric embellishments were added by various writers in the Middle Ages to a less glamorous King Arthur in a story first told by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of Britain in 1136 AD. The effects of these additions to an already fantastical tale is to leave the impression that King Arthur is a made-up character, invented to fill the black hole in British history known as the Dark Ages (specifically, the late fifth and sixth centuries).
However, Geoffrey did not invent Arthur. There are earlier sources, mainly from Welsh literature, who mention a valiant military leader named Artur, Arthur (or Artorius in Latin) who may or may not have been a king. Undoubtedly, one of Geoffrey’s main sources would have been Nennius, the first compiler of early British history, in his work, Historia Brittonum (The History of the Britons c. 820 AD).
Historian Miles Russell in Arthur and the Kings of Britain (2018), describes this work as “a structurally irregular mix of chronicle, genealogical table, legend, biography, bardic praise poems, itinerary and folklore.” It is Nennius who gives us our first tantalising glimpse of a ‘real’ Arthur in the listing of his twelve battles. Nennius tells us, “Arthur fought... together with the kings of the Britons and he was Dux Bellorum.” He describes Arthur as a Dux Bellorum (a leader of battles), who leads the combined armies of the kings of Britain against their enemies, primarily the Angles and Saxons. Some interpret this to mean that Arthur was not a king, just a hired military commander. Others argue that Nennius assumes the reader knows that Arthur is one of the kings of Britain and that as Dux Bellorum, he was first amongst equals.
Miles Russell is of the opinion that Geoffrey originated the legend of King Arthur by taking the name of a real character in Welsh folklore and then deliberately constructing a Dark Ages superhero by piling on his shoulders the deeds of earlier heroic Briton leaders. This was perhaps done to satisfy his sponsors. It was a record of history they would welcome, the story of a Briton hero who fought against the unpopular Saxons whom they had recently defeated. His story of a busy and destructive Arthur fuelled the imaginations of later writers, who further embellished the legend and imbued him with the more romantic and chivalrous qualities of the day.
Whilst researching my new novel, Arthur, Dux Bellorum, I came across an article by historian David Nash Ford (www.britannia.com/history/arthur) who speculates on the locations of the twelve battles of Arthur as outlined by Nennius. Ford suggests that Arthur’s first five battles could have taken place in the modern English county of Lincolnshire. He then places other battles further north in Yorkshire/Northumberland and has a further two, possibly three, battles in Scotland. These locations may or may not be correct, but they suited my storytelling, as I send Arthur and his comrades on a journey north, finally arriving at one of the many Roman forts on Hadrian’s Wall. From his base on the Great Roman Wall, Arthur sallies northwards, fighting northern tribes at three locations in Southern Scotland.
I think it perfectly achievable that he could cover such distance (some historians have suggested the spread of locations is too wide) – travelling by horseback on Roman roads. It is a mere three hundred miles from Winchester, where the story begins, to Newcastle, at the eastern end of Hadrian’s Wall. He had plenty of time, as my story covers roughly a ten-year period, taking Arthur from late teens to late twenties. There is scope for a second book that takes Arthur southwards to the English Midlands and Wales for more adventures and to complete Nennius’s battle list.
There are other problems with Nennius’s list. For one, he mentions Badon Hill, most likely a battle associated with an earlier king such as Aurelius Ambrosius (or, as in my previous book, Uther Pendragon). Also, he doesn’t mention Arthur’s final battle, Camlann, mentioned by earlier Welsh sources and included in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s story.
My description of Arthur is partly based on the picture I chose for the book cover (Arthur Dux Bellorum by Gordon Napier). I was instantly drawn to this superb work of art when I recognised one element of Nennius’s scant description of Arthur: “The eighth battle was in Guinnion fort, and in it Arthur carried the image of the holy Mary, the everlasting Virgin, on his shield and the heathen were put to flight on that day, and there was a great slaughter upon them, through the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the power of the holy Virgin Mary, his mother.” The artist had clearly been inspired by this description in his portrayal of the young leader. Yes, Nennius was a Christian monk who was clearly keen to portray Arthur as a Christian leader fighting the pagan Saxons and Picts – a theme reflected in my storytelling.
What really happened in the late fifth and early sixth centuries? Perhaps one day a lost manuscript will be found, or archaeologists will uncover a definitive battle site or evidence of Arthur’s fortress (almost certainly not called Camelot) or his burial site (almost certainly not Glastonbury Abbey). A recent theory by historian Graham Phillips in his book, The Lost Tomb of King Arthur, makes the intriguing case for the location of Arthur’s kingdom, his final battle and burial place, to be in Powys, central Wales.
His entertaining, if tenuous, case hangs on the possibility that ‘The Bear’ or ‘ur Arth’ was a title given to the kings of Powys, and one particular king was the Arthur of legend. There are still plenty of ‘ifs’, ‘buts’ and ‘maybes’ in his extensively researched and passionately-argued case, but perhaps the most lasting impression is his enthusiasm for the search and deep commitment to the task of uncovering the definitive lost history of Arthur.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Tim Walker published his latest book, Arthur Dux Bellorum, on 1st March and it is available in e-book and paperback from Amazon and other online book stores. Although in a series, it can be read as a standalone novel.
Book Link: http://mybook.to/Arthur
Author Links:
Author website: http://timwalkerwrites.co.uk
Amazon author link: http://author.to/TimWalkerWrites
Goodreads author link: https://www.goodreads.com/timwalker1666
Twitter: https://twitter.com/timwalker1666
Facebook: https://facebook.com/TimWalkerWrites
Instagram: https://instagram.com/timwalker1666
Many readers will be familiar with the legend of King Arthur and the knights of the round table, his court at Camelot, the ill-fated love affair between his queen, Guinevere, and Sir Lancelot, and the search for the Holy Grail. These romantic and chivalric embellishments were added by various writers in the Middle Ages to a less glamorous King Arthur in a story first told by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of Britain in 1136 AD. The effects of these additions to an already fantastical tale is to leave the impression that King Arthur is a made-up character, invented to fill the black hole in British history known as the Dark Ages (specifically, the late fifth and sixth centuries).
However, Geoffrey did not invent Arthur. There are earlier sources, mainly from Welsh literature, who mention a valiant military leader named Artur, Arthur (or Artorius in Latin) who may or may not have been a king. Undoubtedly, one of Geoffrey’s main sources would have been Nennius, the first compiler of early British history, in his work, Historia Brittonum (The History of the Britons c. 820 AD).
Historian Miles Russell in Arthur and the Kings of Britain (2018), describes this work as “a structurally irregular mix of chronicle, genealogical table, legend, biography, bardic praise poems, itinerary and folklore.” It is Nennius who gives us our first tantalising glimpse of a ‘real’ Arthur in the listing of his twelve battles. Nennius tells us, “Arthur fought... together with the kings of the Britons and he was Dux Bellorum.” He describes Arthur as a Dux Bellorum (a leader of battles), who leads the combined armies of the kings of Britain against their enemies, primarily the Angles and Saxons. Some interpret this to mean that Arthur was not a king, just a hired military commander. Others argue that Nennius assumes the reader knows that Arthur is one of the kings of Britain and that as Dux Bellorum, he was first amongst equals.
Miles Russell is of the opinion that Geoffrey originated the legend of King Arthur by taking the name of a real character in Welsh folklore and then deliberately constructing a Dark Ages superhero by piling on his shoulders the deeds of earlier heroic Briton leaders. This was perhaps done to satisfy his sponsors. It was a record of history they would welcome, the story of a Briton hero who fought against the unpopular Saxons whom they had recently defeated. His story of a busy and destructive Arthur fuelled the imaginations of later writers, who further embellished the legend and imbued him with the more romantic and chivalrous qualities of the day.
Whilst researching my new novel, Arthur, Dux Bellorum, I came across an article by historian David Nash Ford (www.britannia.com/history/arthur) who speculates on the locations of the twelve battles of Arthur as outlined by Nennius. Ford suggests that Arthur’s first five battles could have taken place in the modern English county of Lincolnshire. He then places other battles further north in Yorkshire/Northumberland and has a further two, possibly three, battles in Scotland. These locations may or may not be correct, but they suited my storytelling, as I send Arthur and his comrades on a journey north, finally arriving at one of the many Roman forts on Hadrian’s Wall. From his base on the Great Roman Wall, Arthur sallies northwards, fighting northern tribes at three locations in Southern Scotland.
I think it perfectly achievable that he could cover such distance (some historians have suggested the spread of locations is too wide) – travelling by horseback on Roman roads. It is a mere three hundred miles from Winchester, where the story begins, to Newcastle, at the eastern end of Hadrian’s Wall. He had plenty of time, as my story covers roughly a ten-year period, taking Arthur from late teens to late twenties. There is scope for a second book that takes Arthur southwards to the English Midlands and Wales for more adventures and to complete Nennius’s battle list.
There are other problems with Nennius’s list. For one, he mentions Badon Hill, most likely a battle associated with an earlier king such as Aurelius Ambrosius (or, as in my previous book, Uther Pendragon). Also, he doesn’t mention Arthur’s final battle, Camlann, mentioned by earlier Welsh sources and included in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s story.
My description of Arthur is partly based on the picture I chose for the book cover (Arthur Dux Bellorum by Gordon Napier). I was instantly drawn to this superb work of art when I recognised one element of Nennius’s scant description of Arthur: “The eighth battle was in Guinnion fort, and in it Arthur carried the image of the holy Mary, the everlasting Virgin, on his shield and the heathen were put to flight on that day, and there was a great slaughter upon them, through the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the power of the holy Virgin Mary, his mother.” The artist had clearly been inspired by this description in his portrayal of the young leader. Yes, Nennius was a Christian monk who was clearly keen to portray Arthur as a Christian leader fighting the pagan Saxons and Picts – a theme reflected in my storytelling.
What really happened in the late fifth and early sixth centuries? Perhaps one day a lost manuscript will be found, or archaeologists will uncover a definitive battle site or evidence of Arthur’s fortress (almost certainly not called Camelot) or his burial site (almost certainly not Glastonbury Abbey). A recent theory by historian Graham Phillips in his book, The Lost Tomb of King Arthur, makes the intriguing case for the location of Arthur’s kingdom, his final battle and burial place, to be in Powys, central Wales.
His entertaining, if tenuous, case hangs on the possibility that ‘The Bear’ or ‘ur Arth’ was a title given to the kings of Powys, and one particular king was the Arthur of legend. There are still plenty of ‘ifs’, ‘buts’ and ‘maybes’ in his extensively researched and passionately-argued case, but perhaps the most lasting impression is his enthusiasm for the search and deep commitment to the task of uncovering the definitive lost history of Arthur.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Tim Walker published his latest book, Arthur Dux Bellorum, on 1st March and it is available in e-book and paperback from Amazon and other online book stores. Although in a series, it can be read as a standalone novel.
Book Link: http://mybook.to/Arthur
Author Links:
Author website: http://timwalkerwrites.co.uk
Amazon author link: http://author.to/TimWalkerWrites
Goodreads author link: https://www.goodreads.com/timwalker1666
Twitter: https://twitter.com/timwalker1666
Facebook: https://facebook.com/TimWalkerWrites
Instagram: https://instagram.com/timwalker1666
Thursday, February 28, 2019
Dresser to the Queen: Miss Marianne Skerrett
By Lauren Gilbert
In the television series VICTORIA, Mr. Francatelli had a relationship and married Nancy Skerrett, known as Mrs. Skerrett, who was the Queen’s dresser. She was a young woman with a sketchy past who tragically died young. In real life, Miss Marianne Skerrett rose to be the Queen’s principle dresser, and was with Queen Victoria for twenty-five years. You can see multiple images of Miss Skerrett on the Royal Collections Trust Website. One can be found HERE.
Miss Skerrett was born about 1793 in London; she was baptized in St Martin-in-the-Fields. Her parents were Walter Frye Skerrett and Albinia Mathias Skerrett. Walter had links to the West Indies (including Antigua, Barbados, Bermuda, Montserrat and what is now Guyana), and was a slave owner. He was born in 1762, possibly in Liverpool. By 1791, he was in London where he married Albinia Mathias in that year in St.-Martin-in-the-Fields Church. Albinia, who had been born about 1760, was a friend of Charlotte Burney (a sister of author Fanny Burney).
There are indications that Mr. Skerrett had been a colonel in the British Army during the Peninsular Wars, and that he was mentioned in William Francis Napier in his HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE PENINSULA. However, in Napier’s book, the colonel in question is named only as “Colonel Skerrett”, and there is no indication of Walter Frye Skerrett or a W. F. Skerrett or even W. Skerrett in the London Gazette or other sources that military appointments, promotions etc. are mentioned. (It seems likely that the Colonel Skerrett in Napier’s book was actually John Skerrett. There are a couple of other Skerretts who made rank as well.) It seems unlikely that Walter Frye Skerrett served in the British Army. However, records indicate he was very active in litigation as there are numerous court cases in which he was involved relating to business matters in the West Indies. It appears he may have owned a business in London, as one of these cases refers potential litigants to his representatives in the West Indies or to W. F. Skerrett and Co. in London. Walter Frye Skerrett died January 27, 1828.
Marianne was the older daughter born to Walter and Albinia. A second daughter, Henrietta, was born in London about 1796. So far, I have found no information about Miss Skerrett’s childhood or youth, including her education. However, it is reasonable to assume that it was respectable, and that she received some form of education. Multiple descriptions of Marianne indicate she was intelligent, well-read, and fluent in multiple languages (Danish, French and German). Additionally, artist John Callcott Horsley, in his RECOLLECTIONS OF A ROYAL ACADEMICIAN, described Marianne Skerrett as small (under five feet tall), thin, plain and a devout Christian.
In 1837, at approximately age 44, Marianne Skerrett was appointed head dresser with the care of jewelry. Data indicates that Laura Petty FitzMaurice, Marchioness of Lansdowne (principal Lady of the Bedchamber from August 1837 to September 1838) recommended Miss Skerrett to the queen. (There are indications that the Lansdowne family was also known to the Burney family.) This appointment put Marianne Skerrett in the Queen’s household at the time of Victoria’s coronation on June 28, 1838, so (in her capacity as head dresser with the care of jewelry) it is very likely that Miss Skerrett would have been involved in the preparations for that event.
Marianne Skerrett became head dresser and wardrobe woman. Available information suggests she was in that position about 1841. Her duties included ordering the Queen’s clothes and accessories, maintaining the wardrobe accounts, supervising hairdressers, seamstresses and others involved with the Queen’s wardrobe and appearance. In September of 1842, when Victoria’s former governess Baroness Louise Lehzen finally retired from the Queen’s household and left for Germany, Miss Skerrett took on some of Lehzen’s duties in addition to her own.
These additional duties included acting as a personal secretary to the Queen, in that Miss Skerrett wrote to tradesmen, commissioned artists and engravers, responded to solicitations for assistance from former servants, paid the bills incurred for creating and maintaining the Queen’s wardrobe, and wrote recommendations for other dressers and maids, all on the Queen’s behalf. Miss Skerrett may also have written some of the Queen’s personal correspondence to various family members on Victoria’s behalf. She also assisted Victoria with her etchings. In the years that Miss Skerrett was in Victoria’s household, she became a fixture on whom the Queen and other members of the household relied to get things done.
On February 1, 1847, Miss Skerrett even testified at court against a man named Francis Olifieres who had been indicted for stealing jewelry in 1845, in the course of which theft he alleged a connection to the royal household. Miss Skerrett’s brief testimony established that Mr. Olifieres had had one commission for the royal household in 1842, had had no interview with the Queen and had not been employed in the royal household. After other testimony, Mr. Olifieres was determined to be guilty and sentenced to be transported.
The time finally came when Marianne Skerrett was ready to resume life outside of the royal household. She retired from the Queen’s service in 1862 at the age of 69, and was given a pension of 70 pounds. She went to live with her sister in Marylebone in London, where she apparently lived until her death July 29, 1887. During her retirement, she remained in contact with Queen Victoria through letters and visits. Aged about 94 years at her death, Miss Skerrett left an estate valued at over 5000 pounds, and a will which was probated on October 8, 1887. She left Queen Victoria a painting by William Hogarth called The Popple and Ashley Families, which was a painting of a Bermuda family that showed Miss Skerrett’s grandmother as a child. This painting is still part of the royal collection and you can see it HERE.
In the television series VICTORIA, Mr. Francatelli had a relationship and married Nancy Skerrett, known as Mrs. Skerrett, who was the Queen’s dresser. She was a young woman with a sketchy past who tragically died young. In real life, Miss Marianne Skerrett rose to be the Queen’s principle dresser, and was with Queen Victoria for twenty-five years. You can see multiple images of Miss Skerrett on the Royal Collections Trust Website. One can be found HERE.
Miss Skerrett was born about 1793 in London; she was baptized in St Martin-in-the-Fields. Her parents were Walter Frye Skerrett and Albinia Mathias Skerrett. Walter had links to the West Indies (including Antigua, Barbados, Bermuda, Montserrat and what is now Guyana), and was a slave owner. He was born in 1762, possibly in Liverpool. By 1791, he was in London where he married Albinia Mathias in that year in St.-Martin-in-the-Fields Church. Albinia, who had been born about 1760, was a friend of Charlotte Burney (a sister of author Fanny Burney).
| Interior of St. Martin-In-The-Fields 1810 (Plate 79 of MICROCOSM OF LONDON by Thomas Rowlandson) |
Marianne was the older daughter born to Walter and Albinia. A second daughter, Henrietta, was born in London about 1796. So far, I have found no information about Miss Skerrett’s childhood or youth, including her education. However, it is reasonable to assume that it was respectable, and that she received some form of education. Multiple descriptions of Marianne indicate she was intelligent, well-read, and fluent in multiple languages (Danish, French and German). Additionally, artist John Callcott Horsley, in his RECOLLECTIONS OF A ROYAL ACADEMICIAN, described Marianne Skerrett as small (under five feet tall), thin, plain and a devout Christian.
In 1837, at approximately age 44, Marianne Skerrett was appointed head dresser with the care of jewelry. Data indicates that Laura Petty FitzMaurice, Marchioness of Lansdowne (principal Lady of the Bedchamber from August 1837 to September 1838) recommended Miss Skerrett to the queen. (There are indications that the Lansdowne family was also known to the Burney family.) This appointment put Marianne Skerrett in the Queen’s household at the time of Victoria’s coronation on June 28, 1838, so (in her capacity as head dresser with the care of jewelry) it is very likely that Miss Skerrett would have been involved in the preparations for that event.
| Queen Victoria in Coronation Robes 1838 by George Hayter |
These additional duties included acting as a personal secretary to the Queen, in that Miss Skerrett wrote to tradesmen, commissioned artists and engravers, responded to solicitations for assistance from former servants, paid the bills incurred for creating and maintaining the Queen’s wardrobe, and wrote recommendations for other dressers and maids, all on the Queen’s behalf. Miss Skerrett may also have written some of the Queen’s personal correspondence to various family members on Victoria’s behalf. She also assisted Victoria with her etchings. In the years that Miss Skerrett was in Victoria’s household, she became a fixture on whom the Queen and other members of the household relied to get things done.
On February 1, 1847, Miss Skerrett even testified at court against a man named Francis Olifieres who had been indicted for stealing jewelry in 1845, in the course of which theft he alleged a connection to the royal household. Miss Skerrett’s brief testimony established that Mr. Olifieres had had one commission for the royal household in 1842, had had no interview with the Queen and had not been employed in the royal household. After other testimony, Mr. Olifieres was determined to be guilty and sentenced to be transported.
The time finally came when Marianne Skerrett was ready to resume life outside of the royal household. She retired from the Queen’s service in 1862 at the age of 69, and was given a pension of 70 pounds. She went to live with her sister in Marylebone in London, where she apparently lived until her death July 29, 1887. During her retirement, she remained in contact with Queen Victoria through letters and visits. Aged about 94 years at her death, Miss Skerrett left an estate valued at over 5000 pounds, and a will which was probated on October 8, 1887. She left Queen Victoria a painting by William Hogarth called The Popple and Ashley Families, which was a painting of a Bermuda family that showed Miss Skerrett’s grandmother as a child. This painting is still part of the royal collection and you can see it HERE.
Sources include:
Troide, Lars E. and Cook, Stewart J. THE
EARLY JOURNALS AND LETTERS OF FANNY BURNEY Vol. V, 1782-1783. 2012:
McGill-Queen’s University Press. P. 256.
(Reference can be viewed in preview on Google Books HERE.)
Georgian Papers Programme. “Introducing the Georgian Goodies Series”
(date posted and author not shown). HERE
GoogleBooks. THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE (London, England)
Vol 143 (The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle From January to June
1828 Volume XCVIII by Sylvanus Urban, Gentleman. 1828: London, England.) P. 188. HERE; Horsley, John Callcutt, R.A.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A ROYAL ACADEMICIAN.
Mrs. Edmund Helps, editor. 1903: E. P. Dutton and Company, New
York. Pp. 126-131. HERE;
Napier, William Francis Patrick. HISTORY
OF THE WAR IN THE PENINSULA and In the South of France from the year 1807 to
the year 1814. 1836: David Christy,
Oxford. HERE
Gov.UK
Find A Will. Here. (Select Wills and Probate 1858-1996 and put in Surname Skerrett, Year of death
1887.)
OldBaileyOnline. Old Bailey Proceedings. 1st
February 1847. HERE
The Gazette Official Public Record. HERE
The National Archives. Discovery. Annual Army Lists, 1700-1799 and
1800-1899. HERE
University College London. LEGACIES OF
BRITISH SLAVE-OWNERSHIP. “Walter Frye Skerrett, Profile and Legacies Summary
1762-1828.” (No author or post date
shown.) HERE
Unofficial Royalty. “Marianne Skerrett” by Susan Flantzer. Posted October 9, 2018. HERE
Image of Miss Skerrett: Royal Collections Trust. Photograph of a full-length portrait of Miss Marianne Skerrett, Albumen print, RCIN 2906440. HERE; Copyright information HERE
Wikimedia Commons Images:
St. Martin-in-the-Fields (Public Domain) HERE
Victoria in Coronation Robes (Public Domain) HERE
A special thank you to Dr. Jacqueline
Reiter, who steered me to the London Gazette and the Annual Army lists at the
National Archives regarding Walter Frye Skerrett’s Army service. She was also gracious enough to check data in
her own possession.
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
Lauren Gilbert is the author of HEYERWOOD:
A Novel. A long-time member of the Jane Austen Society of North America and
life-long reader of history and historical novels, she has a Bachelor of Arts
in English with a minor in Art History.
She lives in Florida with her husband, where she is working on her
second novel A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT, to be released this year and the research
for a biography. Visit her website HERE for more
information.
Labels:
19th Century Britain,
Fanny Burney,
Lauren Gilbert,
Miss Marianne Skerrett,
principal dresser,
Queen Victoria,
royal household
Monday, February 25, 2019
Giveaway: Earl of Huntingdon (Outlaw's Legacy Book 3) by NB Dixon
Author NB Dixon is offering a paperback copy (UK) or an e-book worldwide of Earl of Huntingdon (Outlaw's Legacy Book 3)
He was once Robin Hood, bold outlaw of Sherwood; now he is Robin of Huntingdon, one of the most powerful earls in England.
Sir Roger of Doncaster, an enemy from Robin's crusading days, is back in England and determined to take Huntingdon for his own. Caught in a desperate struggle for survival, Robin's only solace is Will Scathelock, the man he has loved and resisted for years. Surrendering would be easy, but the stakes have never been higher. Roger has the might of King John behind him, and he will not rest until Robin is dead. Win or lose, Robin's life will never be the same.
For a chance to win, simply leave a comment below - Don't forget to leave your contact details - and a winner will be selected at random when the giveaway closes at midnight on Sunday 3 March Pacific Standard Time (which equates to 8am Monday 4 March GMT)
He was once Robin Hood, bold outlaw of Sherwood; now he is Robin of Huntingdon, one of the most powerful earls in England.
Sir Roger of Doncaster, an enemy from Robin's crusading days, is back in England and determined to take Huntingdon for his own. Caught in a desperate struggle for survival, Robin's only solace is Will Scathelock, the man he has loved and resisted for years. Surrendering would be easy, but the stakes have never been higher. Roger has the might of King John behind him, and he will not rest until Robin is dead. Win or lose, Robin's life will never be the same.
For a chance to win, simply leave a comment below - Don't forget to leave your contact details - and a winner will be selected at random when the giveaway closes at midnight on Sunday 3 March Pacific Standard Time (which equates to 8am Monday 4 March GMT)
Sunday, February 24, 2019
Editors Weekly Round-up, February 23, 2019
by the EHFA Editors
Enjoy this Editor's Choice from the English Historical Fiction Authors archives.
Every week our contributing authors tell of saints or sinners, politics or war. Read about kings and queens, the common people, and legends from ancient to post-WWII. Never miss a post - follow us on Facebook, Twitter, or subscribe via email.
Enjoy this Editor's Choice from the English Historical Fiction Authors archives.
by Richard Denning
Every week our contributing authors tell of saints or sinners, politics or war. Read about kings and queens, the common people, and legends from ancient to post-WWII. Never miss a post - follow us on Facebook, Twitter, or subscribe via email.
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