Adventures in London – Page 2 – for when research exceeds the bounds of books

Classes at the School of Historical Dress

I wanted to write about the two most recent classes I took (making and setting Elizabethan ruffs, and historical tailoring stitches and techniques) but I have learned entirely too much to create a coherent description of my experiences. Instead I’ll try to capture three important things I’ve learned by taking classes at the School of Historical Dress with Jenny Tiramani and four other highly skilled and knowledgeable teachers.

FIRST: Use the correct materials. You cannot achieve realistic-looking results without using the correct fabrics, and your process will be rather more difficult if you lack the necessary tools. If an item was made out of a crisp silk material, you probably won’t be able to get the same shape and drape if you substitute linen, wool, velvet, or a softer or thinner silk. If the original garment was slashed using a pinking tool, you cannot easily use modern pinking shears or an X-acto knife to get the same result. (Of course some substitutions, such as using cotton thread instead of linen, will have minimal effect on a project.)

SECOND: Think about who would have made the item. Use materials and techniques that they would have used. Seamstresses used certain stitches, tailors an overlapping but not identical set, and neither did the work of the embroiderers, lace makers, or laundresses. Don’t confuse the techniques of one profession for those of another.

Tailors worked with pattern books, measurements, and curved shapes to make form-fitting outer garments; seamstresses primarily cut and pieced rectilinear and triangular shapes to make linen undergarments and accessories such as ruffs. Seamstresses sewed ruffs but laundresses starched and set them, which required an entirely different skill set. If you try to use a tailor’s curved lines and body-fitting techniques to create a linen shirt, you will probably not produce a realistic historical garment. If you use a seamstress’s rectangular construction to recreate a doublet or gown, you will not achieve a period silhouette. Don’t look at the tiny stitches on a linen shirt and assume that professional tailors always sewed seams as tightly, but also don’t look at the large and sloppy stitches on some tailor-made garments and assume that your linens will hold up if assembled as quickly.

THIRD: Before making guesses about techniques, be sure that you know what the extant garments can tell you about the methods appropriate both to the time period and garment type. Jenny asks me this question again and again, reminding me that the techniques I have relied on most heavily (looking at artwork in books and reconstructing shaped garments by pattern draping on the body) will not show me how to construct historically accurate clothing. I try to describe to her how limiting it is to be an amateur researcher based in America nowhere near any museums with extant clothing from before 1600. However, with the ever-growing number of quality books published about historical clothing, she is right to point out that many resources are available, if we only look hard enough. Art alone will not give us accurate clothing designs. Archaeological textiles and grave goods often lack certain important details and provide an incomplete picture (for example, often the linen fibers have disintegrated, leaving only silk and wool). Whenever I wonder “how did they do this?” I need to always remember to look for information about surviving garments.

Working with Jenny and the other teachers at the School of Historical Dress has been one of the most fabulous unanticipated benefits of living in London. I have asked so many questions, questioned so many of my sewing habits, improved so many of my techniques, eagerly jotted the names of so many quirky suppliers, and added so many odd tools to my sewing wishlist. Pity my poor husband; Christmas shopping this year is not going to be simple.

Examining the 1502 Croft Tomb

Writing up my observations about the previous effigy was so rewarding, I think I’ll spend my Friday night analyzing another particularly fine sculpture.

This tomb, one of the first that I photographed, is located in Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire. It contains the figures of Richard Croft and his wife Agnes (or Anne), daughter of John Fox. Richard died in 1502 and requested “my body to be buryed in the Chapell of saint John Baptist in the Chirch of Chepingnorton by the walle on the left syde of said chapel ther where the Cofer standith.” His wife died in 1509.

The original monument lacked inscription (presumably the arms painted on the tomb were sufficient to identify it); one was added in 1683 by a descendant of the Croft family. Although the tomb likely stands near its original location in the church, it has clearly been disassembled, patched, and probably incorrectly reassembled. The head of the tomb has two niches from which the figures have been lost:

The decorative architectural elements around these niches appear to match those around two mourners on the side of the tomb as if they, and not the the shield-bearing angels, belong on the side of the tomb.

Richard and Agnes Croft had four children – two sons, two daughters – and because the mourners on the side of the tomb appear to be one male, one female, I think that the sides of the tomb have been reassembled out of order. The empty niches probably stood where the angels are now with praying figures representing their eldest daughter and son. The angels most likely graced the head of the tomb. I have no idea what was originally at the foot, for now the limestone slab with the 1683 inscription is there.

Agnes’s clothing is similar to that of Edith Babington. I am pleased to find such costume in 1502, during the lifetime of Elizabeth of York, substantiating the idea that the fashion the queen adopted had been embraced by contemporary ladies. Like Edith, Agnes wears round-toed shoes, a full-length gown, a loose belt with an off-center pendant on a square chain, a gabled headdress, and a full-length mantle just covering her shoulders that is held with a cord decoratively looped over her chest. Not only is no closure evident on the gown, but I detect no neckline; I assume that it is meant to be behind the cord.

Some features of Agnes’s clothes differ from Edith’s. Each sleeve ends in a large turned back cuff. Her hood, while similar, has fewer visible layers. Over the peaked under-cap she has a frontlet that drapes down her arms. Behind this is another layer of fabric that I cannot interpret well. The back of the cap is an interesting mix of curves and angles. If only I could see what is obscured against the pillow! The fold in the frontlet over her temple has a strong upward angle as it moves away from the face. This is unusual; on that part of the hat I usually see something close to a right angle fold running parallel to the ground.

Agnes’s belt is similar to Edith’s, with a rose clasp and a pendant, likely a pomander:

The belt clearly illustrates the form of the clasp: a rose with two hooks off the back. Each hook fits into a hole on the end of her belt, which was probably leather and possibly also fitted with metal chapes at each end. Why did Edith wear her belt on the left hip, while Agnes wears hers on the right? I prefer dangling items on my left (non-dominant) side, and during this time being left handed was fiercely discouraged. Perhaps this figure was always meant to rest against the wall, so the belt was carved on the outward facing side where it could be admired.

The greatest difference between these effigies is Agnes’s jewelry. The necklace seems outdated compared to the rest of her costume. Wide, ornate collars usually grace effigies with hat styles of the late 15th century, such as butterfly headdresses and truncated hennins. Since Agnes was most likely alive when this effigy was carved, perhaps she specified the items of dress in which she was depicted. Although I know tombs were usually created without any attempt to accurately depict the people they represented, I’d like to imagine that she had a favorite necklace and requested a version of it carved on her effigy.

This tomb was a delight to see, although I am annoyed with myself for failing to take detailed photographs of certain sides and angles. I was just learning how to photograph effigies when I visited.

My entire family accompanied me on the excursion to Chipping Norton. It was supposed to be a short stop on our way to Stratford-upon-Avon, but we ended up spending most of our short winter daylight hours in town (minus those spent stuck in traffic around Oxford). My older boys each made a brass rubbing while my husband entertained the littlest one in the church’s nursery corner.

The church is large and quite beautiful, with a stunning clerestory that streams sunlight into the nave. While we were inside a church warden happened upon us and was amazed that someone would come all the way from America to see the tombs in his church. Chipping Norton is not a tiny town, but it isn’t a standard tourist destination, either. He loves the tombs (there is also an Elizabethan one) and wishes his church could pay for a restoration. He showed me a recent conservation report and asked that I let him know if I learned anything about these people or this tomb. I hope someday I can provide him with a bit of interesting information.

Exploring Costume Details on a 1511 Effigy

I have written almost nothing about my research progress, holding it instead inside my mind, often as just a mass of images, not words. This makes it awkward to share my observations. I’d like to post some effigy images from the early 16th century for someone also recreating costume of that era, but rather than mail them just to her, I’ll finally edit photos and blog about them.

I’ll begin with one of the effigies I found most satisfying to visit: Edith Babington (née Fitzherbert), wife of Thomas Babington, whose tomb rests in the nave of the Parish Church of Ashover, Derbyshire. Edith died in 1511, and according to the church guidebook this tomb was commissioned after her death, not after his in 1518.

(Click on the photos for full size images.)

Normally I am unhappy to see a painted effigy, because it means that historical information such as fragments of original color has been covered, obscured by well-meaning 19th or 20th century painters whose skill was seldom on par with the original 16th century artists. They also make mistakes in costume interpretation. Notice the loops of gold cord across her chest? These hold her mantle and are quite common on effigies. However, when the trailing ends of this cord pass under her hands, they change color to black with gold tassels. Also, the decorative lappet on the front of her bonnet is painted dark green, a color I have not seen represented in other images. I have seen that piece in both art and effigy as black, red, and gold, but not green. Despite these quibbles with the color scheme, overall the painting was pleasingly executed, with some depth of color produced by layering, and some real care for the effigy.

My original research goal was to document the earliest gable headdresses, and sadly this effigy is one of the earliest I can show. I imagined before I began that surely I would find some images that predate Elizabeth of York’s circa 1503 portrait; instead I found little evidence that gables really existed before 1500. I have a few brasses that might fall in the 1490s which show gabled bonnets, but I have not satisfied myself that they were actually executed during the 15th century.

Many of the other effigies from the first decade of the 16th century do not have gabled headdresses, but instead loose flowing hair capped with crowns, garlands, or similarly shaped rolls and netted caps. All the effigies with flowing hair also wear the terribly outdated (by 100 years) fashion of the sideless surcoat; I suspect that some important symbolism is to be conveyed by the combination of unbound hair and sleeveless overdress, but I have not yet satisfied myself that I have cracked the code. Maybe this was wedding garb, or was meant to evoke thoughts of holy women, or in some way announced the deceased lady’s elevated social status. To further confuse the question, I have not yet found a single early 16th century brass that shows a woman with flowing hair or a sideless surcoat. Only on effigies are women thus displayed.

But back to Edith! Her gown looks fairly typical of the time, comparing it mostly with English brasses. It is square necked, showing about an inch of a kirtle neckline beneath; tight sleeved without decoration at the cuff (folded back fur-lined cuffs are also common); lacks visible closure; and fits snugly to the hips before flaring to considerable fullness that falls straight down rather than being held out by undergarments. Her round-toed shoes are covered by the fullness of her gown, on which a tiny dog (a symbol of fidelity common on effigies) tugs earnestly. Her mantle is held by a long cord across the chest, but barely wraps around her shoulders. Since it leaves her front uncovered and falls to the floor behind, it seems likely that such a garment serves more of a decorative or symbolic function rather than being a useful cloak for keeping warm.

Edith wears only a little jewelry. She has a plain ring on her left hand but nothing on her right:

a rose-shaped clasp on her belt, which she wears over her left hip:

and at the end of a chain with very square links, a round ornament large enough to be a pomander:

There were other reasons that I liked this tomb. The man’s effigy was that of a civilian– a rare treat, since most tombs depict knights.

The tomb also had a vast number of weepers on the sides. They couldn’t have had that many children, so I puzzled over them for a while. I decided that the figures at the head of the tomb, between shield-bearing angels, were probably the donor couple praying to their favorite saints. I believe that would be Saint Catherine, holding the wheel on which she was to be tortured, and possibly Saint Thomas Becket, given that this was created in pre-Reformation England, those look like bishop’s vestments, and the donor’s name was Thomas. A rosary is prominent on Edith’s miniature figure, while her full-sized one on top of the tomb lacks one. Over the donors’ heads are the remains of scrolls that would have born prayers, most likely defaced during the Reformation. I am quite surprised that the saints’ figures survived.

I concluded that the weepers represented not only the couple’s children, but also their spouses. Each segment of the tomb contained a male/female pair until I came to one that had a woman holding the hands of two men. I surmise that one daughter’s first husband predeceased her mother, and she had remarried before this tomb was made. The other side bore a similar trio: one man with two women. It also had a set of two men uniquely attired: one in armor, one in priest’s robes. Perhaps one son, and not the eldest one (since he was in the middle of the side of the tomb and children are usually depicted in birth order) managed to attain a rank greater than his father? I assume that this son never married, so it was most convenient to pair him with his celibate church-serving brother. The last set of figures was also different: three males, the middle one with his gown worn open, showing his doublet and hose. I’d like to imagine that these last three were the little boys who had not yet wed when their mother died. It is unusual that no infants were depicted; did none of their progeny die early?

Here are the weepers on Edith’s side of the tomb, shown from left to right:

And here are the weepers on Thomas’s side of the tomb, also shown from left to right. The last trio of males was hard to photograph, tucked behind some immovable piece of furniture.

I love how much paint – which I assume is original to the tomb – remains on the weepers. The tiny details of purses and rosaries are wonderful.

The thing that I most enjoyed about this tomb, however, was Edith’s hat. Trying to interpret it, I see an underlayer that reaches to her shoulder, over which two lappets are placed. The bottom lappet (painted black) protrudes slightly farther than the cap beneath, and the top lappet (green) is narrower than the bottom one, but the same length.

The back of the rigid cap is draped with a black veil, and the front edge of the veil is folded back. See below, how the third, raised layer of fabric is very small at the bottom where it rests on her upper arm, and wide at the top? I think that and the layer it sits on is one piece of fabric, folded so that what we see is the underside or lining. At the top the folded forwardmost edge of the veil is hidden under the black lappet.

This. THIS is what I came to England to see. This is what I could not learn from photos in books or online. This tomb gives me so many clues about how to construct Elizabeth of York’s distinctive dress.

Now if only I could find more exemplars of this costume, instead of conflicting styles that predate it, postdate it, or are entirely imaginary. Ah, the thrill of the hunt.

Mudlarking

I finally photographed my mudlarking finds from 27 June. Nothing I found was “wow”-worthy, but I had a great time. People might enjoy seeing what sort of historical refuse one finds along the Thames foreshore.

This isn’t my first time wandering the waterline — while we were living near St Paul’s we set off on walks along the river more than once. Once we happened to be out at low tide and I encouraged the kids to come down with me and take a look. At that time I didn’t even know that the Thames had tides — I’ve lived along rivers most of my life, but not tidal ones!

In May I took my brother-in-law and his fiance down to the shore. Although I’d learned how to look up the tides, I didn’t know where to climb down to the water. Many stairs have locked gates. We spent perhaps half an hour looking around the south bank near the OXO Tower, and I found what I’d hoped for: several bits of clay pipes. Most were plain with larger bowls, likely from the 18th century. The tiny bit on the lower right has a word on it, DROIT, which I assume means the piece was stamped with the motto Dieu et mon droit.

In late June, guided and inspired by London Mudlark‘s Facebook posts and Julia’s Mudlarking Blog, I set off for the river below Millenium Bridge, the pedestrian passage from St Paul’s Cathedral to the Tate Modern Museum. The tides were unusually low (conveniently in the middle of the day when the boys were at school), the skies were sunny and the weather warm.

I snapped photos as I was leaving — when the water was low I was too busy hunting. The tide comes in quickly; I stayed only two hours, but when I arrived I could easily walk beyond the pilings. Across the river is the reconstructed Globe Theatre (not located in quite the same place as the original, but fairly close). Downstream you can see Southwark Bridge and The Shard — the newest, tallest building in London.

Globe Theatre across the Thames

My goal was simple: I wanted to find pins. I’d heard that they were everywhere on the foreshore, and I thought that they would be one of the most accessible costume-related Tudor-era finds that I might make. I have never had much interest in antiques. In my opinion, if it is cool enough for me to want it, it belongs in a museum where everyone can see it. As with so many things having to do with history, the experience of living in England is changing me. (For example, I now consider something from the 18th century “fairly modern” and “not that special”.) At the School of Historical Dress leatherworking class I’d seen mudlarking finds that Jenny Tirimani and Karl Robinson bought: belt buckles, studs, chapes, purse frames and ornaments. This shifted my thoughts about mudlarking: here were actual Tudor era objects from which I could learn, but they weren’t museum-display-worthy. Without a metal detector I didn’t think I’d find any buttons or buckles, but if pins were plentiful, then I’d set my sights on those: findable, interesting, not valuable.

But I had to figure out how to find pins. I started walking near the water’s edge, just looking. I found pottery shards. Although they weren’t what I wanted to collect, I found them irresistible. Tiny little bits of history, itty bitty hand painted patterns, spots of color among the stones. I would almost immediately imagine them as jewelry, and they would slip into my bag. Blue is by far the most common color:

There are geometric patterns (rows 1 and 2) and hand painted pieces (3) with recognizable botanical motifs and outdoor scenes (4). Some are more modern transfer ware (especially the fourth row), and some I have no idea about! There are also other colors, especially green:

I grouped some together as “brown”, which included basic styles like slipware and salt glaze. The first piece on the third row has a nice raised pattern to it, too. Perhaps it is part of a Bellarmine jar? I won’t pretend to be any sort of expert, as almost everything I know comes from reading posts by the ladies I mentioned above!

The shimmering glass, which I REALLY didn’t mean to collect, caught my magpie eye. Unfortunately, the iridescent layer flakes easily. I found the center of the bottle interesting, perhaps because it clearly shows where the item was hand made. I find arts in which I have not dabbled, such as metal and glass work, fascinating, imagining that they are beyond my abilities.

Clearly, I was not finding pins. As I pressed further down the shore, I tried to picture in my mind what the London Mudlark’s photo of pins in situ looked like…sand. I needed to find sand. The shore is rocky, washed clean by the wake of many boats. I wandered away from the largest stones, found a sandy/muddy bit and knelt. Stared at it. Found it. A pin. Another. Another, and another. I stayed on my knees until they were bruised and I could find no more scraps of metal, then moved on to another likely patch of damp sand, and more success. When I came home, I counted 99 pins in my bag — counting ONLY ones that still had wire-wrapped heads.

I think I have two chunky hat pins in here (far right), and the rest would be pins for dressing or sewing. Some are incredibly tiny and delicate.

While down in the mud I also found some other intriguing metal bits: aglets! These covered the ends of laces with which clothes used to fasten; we retain them in modern clothing on the tips of shoelaces. My finds varied slightly: one hole going all the way through both sides, one hole only on one side, or two holes; tapered or straight; both edges crimped under at the side seam or just one (none of them seemed to just meet in the middle, like those I’ve bought at reenactor markets). Two of them still have the metal pins through the holes at the top (aglets were not sewn to cords). I wonder — was one long edge (or two) bent slightly, then the whole tube curled around the end of the braid or ribbon that was being finished? That way not only would the pins at the top grip the cord, the entire length of the aglet would bite into it. Or were they rolled into their final shape before the braids were inserted?

I also found a small metal rod (a stylus?), a claw-shaped metal object (my biggest mystery), three interlocking riveted rings (like mail), a single riveted ring, some rings without rivets, some twists of wire that I think probably held small bundles of good, and a tack.

The metal scraps on the left below might be trimmings from making aglets and wire. The pile of wires undoubtedly contains many pins that have lost their heads (I can see where many of them have been sharpened at one end).

I was not alone on the foreshore; I spoke to several other mudlarkers and a photographer. We would inquire politely about what brought us to the Thames that day, and all wanted to know why I was kneeling in the dirt. I was by then soaked from the knees down. Waterproof boots were no match for the waves that rolled toward me in the wake of passing boats. Kneeling near the waterline, I couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid these, and soon stopped trying. All were impressed by the bristling handful of pins.

I collected other odds and ends, too: A pocketknife that reminds me a great deal one I had as a child; it had been my grandfather’s and he let me have it. A clay marble. Some sort of rusted nails that seem to have a covering of metal that is peeling off them — I don’t know what they are, just something curious. And a bit of metal that I think was the head of a safety pin.

There are square, hand-forged nails on the shore of all sizes. I collected a few to show my aspiring blacksmith son.

One can also find bones and teeth on the shore, mostly leavings from long-ago butchers. I think I’ll send these back to the river next time, along with the shiny little chunk of pyrite I collected.

I was nearly ready to leave, just looking about a bit under the bridge itself, when I again struck up a conversation with two mudlarkers (the same two mentioned in Julia’s blog post!). They kindly invited me to join them at the Tate Modern for a bite, and we had a wonderful time chatting there. They showed me photos of the jewelry they make with their finds, and we found each other’s Pinterest pages. I probably needed that conversation time more than any mudlarking, as Tom had been in California for five days and I hadn’t done anything social during that time. Wonderful ending to a wonderful day!

I’m not Sewing, I’m Fermenting

While in England I’ve sewn very little; I haven’t even constructed clothing I cut out before we moved. Partially, I’m busy. Partially, we’re not going to events and so my family doesn’t need new clothing. Partially, I’m still thinking about what I want to sew and how I want to sew it.

Even my biggest project — the circa 1500 gable style English woman’s bonnet — hasn’t been touched with a needle. Although I’ve measured many effigies and taken more photos than I know what to do with, I haven’t tried to construct a hat. (Not even a cardboard and tape mock-up…I really should at least do that.) I have supplies: thread, buckram, linen, wool, velvet, wire. I have wheat starch, should I gain the confidence to try starching something myself. If I need supplies, I’m in LONDON, for goodness sake — I can get what I need. But I’m still not sewing.

Why?

I think it is because I’m learning too fast for my scissors, much less my needle, to keep up. I am haunted by the familiar disappointment of cutting out a garment and then being sure that I either patterned, fit, or stitched it wrong — a realization that usually arrives before it is finished enough to wear. I will eventually design, cut, and sew again — but for now, I’m learning in my mind, not with my fingers.

I have seen effigies and tombs, over fifty of them dated between 1485 and 1555, many including figures of weepers on the sides of the tomb. Each figure gave me one more chance to see how the hat and veil might sit, even how they might be adapted for a young child. Each helped cement in my mind how the outer gown fashion changed, and how to properly accessorize. The carvings of children are more useful than one might imagine, because their simplified veil-less headgear lets you see what sits underneath the adult bonnet. Sometimes they wear a different style from their parent, confirming that two fashions overlap.

I have seen paintings, up close where I could finally see the details that require a high-resolution image to see on a screen. Sometimes the play of light over the three-dimensional surface of the painting clues you into important bumps and lines that you don’t notice even in a good printed or digital image. The difference between the black veil and the black background appears. The tiny dots on the collar stand out, and then you have a clue where to put the button closure. Even when the work of art is one that I have stared at for years, seeing it in person gives me a chance to see it differently.

I have seen, even handled, extant 15th and 16th century fabrics. There are pieces on display at the V&A and the Globe Theatre, and the School of Historical Dress is making its own collection. I don’t approach these samples with any solid research question, but the more fabrics and patterns I see, including the bits mended or cut or re-purposed or faded, the better my concept of historical fabrics grows. Hopefully my ability to shop for modern facsimiles will improve through this experience.

I have seen excellently-researched modern interpretations of sixteenth century clothing. I went to the Tudor Child exhibit, fondled their fabric samples, studied the costume next to the painting that inspired it. I sat down in front of the boy’s school gown (the only garment there I was ever likely to try to produce for my own children) and stared at it. Sitting made it easier to just let go of the hurried pace of life and allow myself just to contemplate the object at hand. I can’t say that I had any ah-hah! moment about fit or materials or construction, but I suspect that when I look at the pattern, it will seem more familiar and less daunting.

The recreation groups, both professional and amateur, seem to have fairly good clothing. I appreciate what I see done well — like so much nice wool, in fine colors! and silk gowns actually made of silk! — and bite my tongue about the less than accurate aspects, like the entire camp of women all wearing identically patterned (first problem) short sleeved gowns with princess seams (second problem), and not one of them with a proper hood on for being outdoors (third problem). Seeing whole companies in clothing of a consistent era makes my heart sing; the SCA will never, ever look anything like this.

I have gone to talks that blew my mind, met incredible authors and researchers and bloggers and enthusiasts like myself. Seeing a presentation about the underclothes found at Lengenburg castle? Wonderful! Spending the next day in the company of Beatrice Nutz? Fabulous. She has a wicked sense of humor, loves to spin, and gave me an “archaeologist’s point of view” on the recreated goods at the Reenactor Market. One that really stuck with me is that the excavated pins she has seen had wire wrapped heads of just two twists, and the ones for sale at the market were usually wrapped three times. Minor detail? Yeah! But I love it.

This past weekend I attended my second MEDATS conference, where the first speaker got everyone talking excitedly about the patterned hose she reconstructed with sprang. (I have a how-to book in the mail already.) Eventually these ideas and articles would filter across the ocean, but here I am getting them sooner, often getting them straight from the source, and sometimes getting chances to touch and turn and experience the experimental recreations, giving me a tactile knowledge that photos just fail to capture.

I think the biggest game-changer for me has been taking a class with Jenny Tiramani. Although I asked, and she answered, as many questions as I could formulate over those two days in her house, I am still processing the larger questions that she planted in my mind. I’m starting to look at sewing and patterning differently, and when I can figure out how to explain what I mean, I’ll blog about that, too!

So while I sit, and think, and see more and hear more and read more, I am fermenting. There are some interesting and potent ingredients in this batch, and I have high hopes about the outcome, but we shall have to wait and see. Not every brew is fit to drink, not every pattern fit to wear, not every theory correct once tested. Let’s see how this project turns out. But for now, don’t rush me. I’m fermenting.

Visits from Friends

Easter Monday found us visiting briefly with our across-the-pedway neighbors from Durham. They brought us a stack of hand-made Valentines from Eno Commons, which were lots of fun to read. Weyland would pick one up and run around making sure that EVERY adult had acknowledged and admired the card. The older boys were quite sorry when their playmates (girls of very similar ages to my boys) had to leave.

Tom returned from California bearing a new DVD, which was met with more enthusiasm than you might imagine. We have a restricted media diet here. Before we moved, we streamed Netflix through our Wii, but didn’t have live television. Here, we found that Netflix was limited — because it was being accessed through a UK IP address, but on a US region Wii player, our list of possible shows and movies was drastically limited (we had more selection when we viewed Netflix through the computer). We cancelled THAT, but we also don’t have any live television. We don’t pay for cable, and don’t pick up any stations without it. It is quite possible that the hardware of our television isn’t capable of picking up the UK broadcast signal — we didn’t try very hard. I filled out the “we don’t have a TV, we shouldn’t have to pay the BBC tax” waiver, and got an unannounced visit from the TV checker. But unless he can do some magic to make shows appear instead of static, well, we have a screen for our other media devices and not a television. We own a DVD/VCR combo machine, but very few discs and tapes. A healthy supply of Barney and Elmo, yes — back when Garrett was three I was hitting the yardsales and picking up such things — but since then I’ve avoided owning movies. In Durham I regularly checked out movies from the library, but here they are, of course, meant for a different region. Yes, we could switch the region on our DVD player — but then we couldn’t play the movies we own! So new movie, happy kids.

The next day an even more eagerly anticipated person than Daddy arrived: Garrett’s best friend, accompanied by his mom. They wanted to do all sort of things that I wouldn’t naturally do, so our adventures were rather different. We started at Madame Tussauds wax museum. We arrived just after opening, but it was a crush of people. Made it through, enjoyed the parts we stopped for, snapped some amusing photos, and who knows — maybe I’ll even take the boys back. Maybe.

Then we grabbed lunch at Hard Rock Cafe. I knew it wasn’t really a British restaurant: the sign for the toilets said “restrooms”, on the table was French’s yellow mustard, and the waitress asked whether our guest wanted milk with her tea. It was cold outside, but since we were nearby I suggested we cross two more London highlights off our list. We walked past Buckingham Palace, but by the time we got to Trafalgar Square all we wanted was warmth. We caught the first bus headed our way and rode it down Abbey Road (got to show off the world’s most famous zebra crossing!) toward home.

Thursday was cold. Cold and wet and sometimes snowing and often windy. Miserable weather, especially since Garrett’s best friend only wears shorts and short sleeves, all the time, and only packed a light sweatsuit at his mother’s insistence. At the Tower of London he huddled inside while my boys and I joined Colonel Blood’s gang attempting to steal the crown jewels (same set of actors that we enjoy at Hampton Court, reenacting an actual heist from 1671). What could have been fairly serious and frightening was made hilarious by Colonel Blood’s inept son (photo left) who “recruited” us to join the gang, and in the end got caught with unloaded pistols.

Yes, it really was snowing that hard. Springtime indeed! Harumph!

The next day Tallis stayed with friends while I drove Garrett, best friend, and his mom on a whirlwind tour of the English countryside. Stonehenge first thing in the morning: freezing cold. Freaking freezing cold and windy and yuck. Old Sarum, same thing. Only we were up higher and the wind was blowing even harder. Almost blew us off the walls, and no I am NOT kidding.

Then an unexpected stop in Wilton, because I drove past a church that made me go “Hey! Wait, I haven’t seen anything like THAT!” and since were making great time (since we had no desire to stay outside anywhere) we stopped. The church is called the Italianate Church with good reason — besides being Italian in style (built in the 1840s), they have imported lots of interesting old things like columns from a Roman temple and medieval glass from the continent. They also moved many of the windows and brasses and memorials from the old church that was being replaced, so it felt worth the visit.

We continued to Old Wardour castle, which was our favorite stop that day. It had warmed slightly, and the site is mostly the roofless shell of the keep (destroyed during the Civil War). No furniture, no velvet ropes, nothing we couldn’t touch — just run up and down the stairs, in and out of the huge old rooms, laughing and being boys. Perfect. Then on to Farleigh Hungerford Castle — a nice enough ruin, but we just didn’t have much energy left to enjoy it. Well, I did, but the boys…they were tired of old buildings. Unfortunately we headed from there to Bath, too late to enter any churches or businesses (except the fudge shop passing out samples…we did go into the fudge shop, and leave with goodies) but in time for pizza dinner. Yum. How unfortunate, after such a long and exciting day, that I had to stay awake to drive home!

Back in London we rested a day, then spent a day on the Thames: checked out Big Ben, the Houses of Parliment, the London Eye, Trafalgar Square, and a sightseeing boat down to Greenwich. I know that all the boys wish that our friends could have stayed longer!

Being a Tourist Part 2

Further tales of my explorations, picking up a week before Easter. (I wrote this back in April, then never finished polishing and posting it. So I’ll just leave this where it is and make another post continuing the story!)

My SCA guests left the same time that my husband did. During his week at Google headquarters in California I had three boys and a limited social support network (the only regular adult-time activity I have, hosting the local SCA singing group, was cancelled for the week). Rather than take it easy, I filled our days to the fullest.

First Weyland and I toured St Paul’s Cathedral. That building seems very special to him, and I don’t know whether it is because we lived by it for a month, or because it is such a recognizable feature of the skyline. The self-guided tour is on an iPod touch, which was perfect for Weyland — launch the children’s tour, and he was competent to navigate the menu himself. He often listened to sections more than once, especially the one featuring the boys choir. For such a young child, he was incredibly focused and well behaved. I had to coax him to climb the steps to the Whispering Gallery (an inside view of the dome, looking down on the transept) and carried him at times, but once in the gallery he was fearless. It is a LONG way down to the floor from there, and although I’m not afraid of heights, my stomach did lurch as I contemplated the view. Especially when Weyland leaned so confidently on the iron railing, displaying a complete lack of concern for the drop. We couldn’t climb higher up the dome to the external viewing platforms because they were closed for maintenance.

Normally the crypt would be a place I would linger, but since the oldest effigies are both Elizabethan and damaged by the 1666 fire, I didn’t fret too much over the injunction against photography or Weyland’s desire to hurry through. We tarried in the Oculus film experience, though. Cuddled on my lap he happily watched a virtual tour up the dome, a bit about the daily life of St Paul’s, and images of cathedral history, repeating some parts of the film before he wished to leave. You can walk into the film at any point in the loop, but I noticed that almost all the adults walked out again without absorbing all that was there for them to enjoy. I was glad that day to be with my curious, tolerant preschooler rather than a hurried adult.

When the boys got out of school early on the last day of the term, I left Weyland in preschool and tried touristing with the older two. We rode the London Eye, the enormous ferris wheel on the Thames, because I wanted to try it without Weyland. (He had initially expressed fear of riding the huge machine but has since ridden it with confidence; the experience is very slow and not scary at all.) I wanted to then take them to the London Dungeon for some good scary fun, but the line was terrible. Apparently the fire alarm had gone off twice that afternoon. My boys initially resisted going into the aquarium next door but enjoyed it once inside. Too bad the fire alarm went off again (it is all part of the same huge building) before we’d even made it through the first exhibit! We consoled ourselves by riding the London Eye a second time. I LOVE having annual memberships that let you just walk on in — no way would I have bought us tickets for two rides!

Over Easter Weekend I had no question what we’d be doing: Hampton Court Palace had the professional acting group staging the arrival of Charles II with his wife Catherine of Braganza for their honeymoon. Friday we spent the entire day watching the tensions between his new wife and his hugely pregnant mistress Barbara Villiers unfold amid the general hubbub of the court in the year 1685. The scene was complex, with events going on all over the palace, without a solid schedule. There were scientists discussing the latest theories, egotistical actors practicing a truly awful play, a trio of instrumental musicians, singers, gentlemen ready to fight a duel to the death over a lady, high ranking nobles, family members of the king such as his mother and brother, and of course a number of cheerful little Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. Because we did not always know where and when to go for the next “scene” there were moments of boredom, but the boys came prepared with a sketchbook. Some of the actors noticed their drawings and drew the attention of the actor playing Sir Peter Lely, the court painter. This attention further fueled their desire to draw, and they began portraits of some of the ladies of the court. When these ladies had to move to another part of the palace for a scheduled scene, we followed along, getting to “sneak” through some back ways and past some guards as we went.

That day was so much fun, we returned Sunday for a second day at the palace, and this time convinced one of our new friends (with kids) to come along. Not only did the boys continue drawing whenever possible, but Garrett and I performed a song for the queen. One of the most fun people to draw had to have been one of the actors. He was so vain about it, and almost completely stopped his part in the rehearsal scene just to strike dashing poses for the boys. Weyland even got into the spirit. He filled a page with colorful lines and then shyly crept up to the queen, queen mum, and their attendant for them to oooh and aaaahh over him and his artwork.

Being a Tourist is FUN (Part 1)

I’ve been too busy to write, not because of research (though I am better organized, ready to hit the countryside exploring churches) but because I’ve been traveling and playing tourist. I’ve joined so many organizations that my wallet overflows with cards that get me into this or that for free. I’ve already gotten my money’s worth or far more out of every one of them, even those I’ve only had a month.

We’ve had a number of guests, and I take hosting seriously. I happily accompany people to my favorite London museums and historic sites, pointing out what I think they’ll find most interesting and helping them beat the crowds. I’ve driven three different sets of guests outside London, and taken my family out twice. I also try to select interesting outings for my children, who vary widely in their degree of interest. The oldest can be persuaded and usually has fun. The youngest wants to go wherever, whenever, no matter how age appropriate it might or might not be. The middle one doesn’t want to go, no matter how tempting I try to make it sound, unless he has solid previous experience telling him it will be worth his while.

In February I had guests that are part of the same Society for Creative Anachronism kingdom that we’re from back in the US, but we lived far enough apart that I hardly knew them. We hit it off and had a fantastic time exploring together, sampling pubs wherever we went. They joined me on a drive through the countryside of Kent where I saw two churches with brightly painted effigies. I helped them make brass rubbings, and we ducked into the gate of Battle Abbey (founded by William the Conqueror on the spot where he defeated King Harold and won the Battle of Hastings in 1066) even though we couldn’t tour it. We drove toward Dover hoping to see the cliffs, but the short daylight hours hampered our exploring. We did stop at the Battle of Britain Memorial (because it was easy to pull over there) and walk – CAREFULLY – out to the edge of the cliff where even in the dark we could see the shining white stone.

On our second trip to Kent we went to the northeast, collecting fossils during low tide at Herne Bay (at 8:00 in the morning, in the cold cold wind, after a two hour drive from London…brrr) before driving to Canterbury Cathedral, then Leeds Castle. At Canterbury I “collected” more effigies, although I had to ask permission to get into a chapel that was, for no reason I could ever fully understand, locked behind an iron grill. The person who accompanied me as I quickly took some photos said the most ridiculous thing about how they had to be careful after 9/11. I fail to understand how letting me see and photograph all the other tombs and chapels is fine, but opening this chapel (that any visitor can see into) causes you to scold and ask why I didn’t call in advance to arrange special permission to take photos, as if I even should have known that the gate would be locked? It was a treat to recognize some of the effigies from books that I’ve been reading about the subject, especially the one of the priest with the fleshed and clothed form on top of his tomb, and the terribly realistic cadaver only partially draped in a shroud on display below.

After gaining a little confidence driving British roads, I was ready to take my family out for an excursion during half term break. We stopped first at a church I wanted to visit, where the boys made brass rubbings while I photographed. I thoroughly delighted the church warden, who was astounded to think that someone came all the way from America to see effigies, and that I knew the effigies in his church were there and made a special effort to see them. He suggested a family-friendly place for lunch and we ended up strolling around the town just enjoying the sunny day. We walked past a shoe store and I seized the opportunity to outfit my growing ones in new shoes which they promptly covered in mud at the playground. We then ventured on toward Stratford-upon-Avon, arriving at dusk (since daylight disappears so early in the winter). We took a family-friendly ghost tour of the Falstaff Experience, ate in an ancient pub, walked to Shakespeare’s birthplace for a quick photograph, and ventured over the river Avon before calling it a day and returning to London.

Our next guests were also SCA friends, a family we know who have two young children. They wanted to visit Stonehenge, which was as underwhelming as I’d expected. Luckily the cheerful fellow selling me a membership suggested we visit Old Sarum, just 15 minutes away. Although it is just the ruined remains of a castle (where William the Conqueror had his barons swear fealty), it was fantastic. It is on a hill with great views all around and a moat that must have been some feat to dig. The children delighted in running and climbing everywhere while the adults enjoyed the puzzle of identifying what the stone foundations had been before they were stripped. At the base of the hill was an extra treat: experimental archaeologists recreating homes of the prehistoric people who built Stonehenge. During their lunch break we got a short tour of the different construction methods they are testing. They even cut the trees with hand made axes, and one of the interns is going to live in the houses once they’re finished to verify their habitability. I love it! After Old Sarum we checked out the nearby town of Salisbury, and especially Salisbury Cathedral. There aren’t any effigies there of early Tudor women, but there were plenty of effigies for me to photograph, plus a beautiful original copy of the Magna Carta and of course stunning architecture.

On our next outing they detoured with me to Ewelme to see the justifiably famous effigy of Alice de la Pole. I wasn’t expecting to learn anything relevant about costume from her — she’s late 15th century, but not late enough — but her ornate tomb is in pristine shape and also features a cadaver below her recumbent effigy. This cadaver stares up at a fresco of saints and my friend got a rather hilarious photo of my on my back, head tilted back of the edge of a step, trying to see the painting. The church had other treasures like grotesques, carved angels, and some early Tudor brasses, and was far enough out into the countryside that we enjoyed seeing some uniquely old world things along the roadside like thatched roofs and unexpected castles. We continued our trek northwest to Warwick Castle, which I absolutely must bring my boys back to see. Not because the interpretation of the site is good — it is fair at best — but because it is such fun to climb the castle walls and see the ancient buildings. The weather was fabulously awful — late in the day when we climbed the walls it snowed great wet clumps of snow in wind so strong that it blew sideways instead of falling down. And this was supposed to be the second day of spring! The greatest disappointment was that the wet weather prevented them from firing the trebuchet because it was too slick for even the mechanical tractor to grip and pull it down for a launch.

While at Warwick the Horrible Histories were setting up little mini camps about different time periods, getting ready for spring break. I paused to look at the Vikings and Henry VIII, but they had others. Before seeing this display I had an amused and tolerant view of Horrible Histories, which the kids discovered on CBBC just after we moved here. They’ve written some entertaining songs that my kids enjoyed (our favorite is Charles II, the King of Bling) and we bought Garrett the recorded books set for his birthday, which he and his brother have quite loved. I thought they were fine for introducing some time periods of English history I might not have brought to their attention before, and amusing them with some vaguely historical tidbits. But the camps really turned my stomach. Just how many cliches can you fit into one tiny little space, with just two or three costumed interpreters staffing it?

More touristing tales to follow soon!

Why I Don’t Sew Leather

The weekend of March 2-3 I took a course sponsored by the School of Historical Dress: Historical Stitching and Decorative Techniques on Leather 1400 -1600, taught by Karl Robinson. The class was small, just six students, and over the two days I made a belt, man’s purse, woman’s purse, and some samples showing stitching techniques used on leather jerkins. This was an introductory course, although our progress was made easier by the uniformly high skill set of the participants. So many factors played into making this weekend fantastic that I hardly know which to describe first.

We met at Sands Films, a company that supplies historic costumes to films. We spent most of our days in their Laundry (virtual tour here) where they dye. This company is serious about its historic costumes. They keep a research picture library that is open to the public; although I walked through, I never had time to pull any of the folios off shelves. Currently the library also has an exhibit of embroidery done for them by a recently deceased gentleman. Truly magnificent stuff.

The tutor for the class was a member of the Tudor Group, which looks like the sort of reenactment organization I’d want to belong to if I were staying in London. Serious about their authenticity. It pleased me that although many classmates had professional standing, titles or academic degrees that laid out clearly their skill set and qualifications, our teacher came to his skill through his hobby. Like me. He’d once wanted a leather item that he couldn’t afford to buy…someone showed him a thing or two…and now he sews and sells his own leather goods.

The social aspects of the class were fun; intelligent peers are a real plus. I also greatly enjoyed the company and commentary of Jenny Tirimani, who as a director of the School of Historical Dress was constantly hovering around the class, seeing how it was going (this is the first time this class has been offered — the school is just getting started). Our hosts at Sands Films outdid themselves in the hospitality department. We were regularly offered tea and biscuits, were served lovely soups and breads and puddings both days, and were given a tour of the studios after classes ended Sunday.

I liked getting to see the assorted artifacts offered. Both Jenny and Karl have collections of antique metal things — purse hangers, decorative studs, buckles, and the like — that have been found and are freely available for purchase. These aren’t incredible, belongs-in-a-museum pieces, but still…I am so unaccustomed to being around truly old things, the idea of owning such treasures is a tiny bit frightening. But the thrill of finding them calls to me. If I weren’t so busy, I’d pay attention to the tides on the Thames and try a bit of mudlarking myself.

Jenny also shared some reconstructed leather clothing she’d made or commissioned for the theater. Fantastic stuff. The leather hosen particularly caught my eye…wouldn’t that be perfect for rapier armor?

The most important lesson I took home, though, is the answer to why I don’t sew leather. Simple! I don’t own the right tools. Give me the custom commissioned knives, the cutting mats, the clamp that goes between my knees and is such a fantastic third hand, the leather needles, the different awls and punches, the special conditioning blend for softening the leather, the proper vegetable tanned leather itself — give me those things, and I’ll sew you something. Give me those things and some time to practice, and I might even make something nice. For now, though, I’ll buy my shoes and belts, and thank the artisans who make them for the time, frustration, and sore fingers that they’re saving me.

Oh, Google, How I Love Thee

When Google offered to move us to England, I was glad that Google was part of my life. But I had no IDEA that many days Google tools would become my primary method of research.

When I finished editing and posting last week’s photos, I was at loose ends. I wouldn’t have more photos for a while, and now what was I to do on my project? Ah-HA! After all the painstaking work that it took to identify the latitude and longitude for the 123 churches with monuments, why not get lat/long for the 850 monumental brasses and incised slabs listed in my database? Sure! I could do it. I’d learned lots while tracking down those first 100 churches, I could do more.

Here is my method:

First try Google maps, using church name, city name, and county. Sometimes this gets you right on the place you want, with a single marker right on top of the church. Then all you have to do is copy the html that pops up with the little “link to” button (next to the print button), paste that gobbledygook into a blank document, and find the numbers that represent the latitude/longitude of the marker (look for something like ll=51.967399,-0.00118 – but make sure you don’t copy the numbers after “sll” if it shows up, because while they are lat/long data, they aren’t what you want).

Often Google maps will have multiple suggestions, and you’ll have to zoom in to see which is correct. Find the marker you want, click it, and a window pops up with “more info” as link. When you click that, a Google+ page about the church opens, with a small map. Double click that map and a new full-featured Googlemap will open from which you can extract the lat/long as described above. Sometimes, when you’re really lucky, the Google+ page will link to the church’s website.

Sometimes the church isn’t one of the options Googlemaps found for you and marked with an icon. If you landed in the right town, look around a moment. Google has a special icon they use for marking churches; scan for that. If you’re in a medium-sized town and don’t want to do a virtual flyover of the whole place, look for “Church Lane” or “Rectory Road” and start hunting there. If you find the church icon, click through to the Google+ page and the church-centered Googlemap. Data collected.

If you didn’t land in the right town, or aren’t sure, it’s time to leave Google. For Church of England sites, www.achurchnearyou.com is a fantastic resource. They usually have at least an address for the church and a map of where it is (a Googlemap, of course). Using this data, you can usually go back to Googlemaps and find the right spot. It is worth clicking through the tabs on this site, though. Sometimes the “About Us” page has a welcome that includes information about when they are open. Sometimes this is coded on the “Features and Facilities” page; a door icon means it is an open church; rolling over will give you the hours. A key icon means that it is locked but there is a keyholder nearby.

Sometimes you enter an address into Googlemaps, you know you’re in the right town, but you haven’t landed on the church. Many of the churches, especially in small towns, haven’t been marked with an icon. Then you have to find it – churches don’t look all that different from other buildings when viewed from above. Road names are great clues as to where to search. I recognize churches most often because they are surrounded by graveyards, which show up as a distinctive pattern of small, regularly-spaced shadows. Sometimes I’ve identified the church because it was the one building not oriented with the road, but rather aligned east-west. When I was really uncertain, I’ve even switched to street view to check out a likely building.

Once you’ve found that unlabeled church, then you have to find the latitude/longitude that will land you right on top of it. For this, I use www.findlatitudeandlongitude.com – also powered by Googlemaps. Enter the data that will get you close to the church, like town or road names, so that you can find it again. Now click anywhere on the map and the site will tell you the latitude and longitude of the marker.

If you try these sites and still can’t find the church, perhaps it is “redundant” and no longer has a congregation, but will be listed at www.visitchurches.org.uk. I’m especially looking forward to visiting these unused churches; I want them to feel loved!

Compiling this location data, augmenting my database of monuments, and exporting it to a custom Googlemap results in this:

https://1500stitches.org/map.html

My map, my pride and joy. It has been made vastly more elegant thanks to my wonderful husband.

This map is my travel plan. I want to photograph as many of the top three levels of monuments as I can. If there are churches along the way with brasses, I’m ready to stop in those, too. My order from Whitewinds arrived last week. It will take a long time to use up that roll of brass rubbing paper!