Sydney Gardens, walking for pleasure in Bath

Imagine to yourself, my dear Letty, a spacious garden laid out in delightful walks, bounded with high hedges and trees, and paved with gravel; part exhibiting a wonderful assemblage of the most picturesque and striking objects, pavilions, lodges, goves, grottoes, lawns, temples and cascades; porticoes, colonnades, and rotundoes; adorned with pillars, statues, and paintings; the whole illuminated with an infinite number of lamps, disposed in different figures of sun, stars, and constellations: the place crowded with the gayest company, ranging through blissful shades, or supping in different lodges on cold collations, enlivened with mirth, freedom and good humour, and animated with an excellent band of music.

The wonderful description of a pleasure garden above was written by Tobias Smollett in his book, Adventures of Humphry Clinker. Pleasure gardens developed naturally from the custom of promenading, and in Bath the concept was taken a step further with Sydney Gardens when the traditional promenading area was combined with a scheme of houses so that the owners could look upon green spaces as if they owned the land. Thomas Baldwin, the architect to the Pulteney family who owned the estate drew up the first plans, but only one of his terrace's was completed before financial problems hit in 1793. Great Pulteney Street was completed, as were the houses in Sydney Place where Jane Austen came to live in 1801. Bath stopped at this point, the countryside stretched beyond, and a ten minute walk took you into town, much as it does today. You can see why the Austens would have chosen this end of the city. They were country people at heart, and Jane wrote of walking in the gardens and visiting the labyrinth, a maze, every day.
Constance Hill wrote about the interior of number 4, Sydney Place a hundred years after Jane had left.
We sat in the pretty drawing-room with its three tall windows overlooking the Gardens. The morning sun was streaming in at these windows and falling upon the quaint empire furniture which pleasantly suggests the Austen's sojourn there. The house is roomy and commodious. Beneath the drawing-room, which is on the first floor, are the dining-room and arched hall from which a passage leads to a garden at the back of the house. The large old-fashioned kitchen, with its shining copper pans and its dresser laden with fine old china, looked as if it had remained untouched since the Austens' day.


A silver token was issued to each shareholder as a free pass into the pleasure garden, and you can see the coin featured what we know as the Holburne Museum today. Back then the museum was a hotel and tavern at various different stages, and sitting (as it still does) at the end of Great Pulteney Street made a fabulous focal point at the end of this classically inspired vista. The museum has recently undergone extensive re-modelling, and the new exhibitions inside are wonderful. There is a lovely cafe at the back where you can enjoy some refreshment, inside and out, and you can get a sense of what it must have been like to attend 'public breakfasts' in Jane Austen's day.

Sydney Gardens opened in May 1795 with the Tavern building known as Sydney House nearest to the city, containing dining rooms and meeting rooms. There were two wings on both sides of dining cubicles, a movable orchestra, and a space for fireworks. There was a main, wide walk, and narrower pathways leading off into shrubberies and winding walks. The New Bath Guide (1801) describes them as 'serpentine walks, which at every turn meet with shady bowers furnished with handsome seats, some canopied by Nature, others by Art'. There were waterfalls and pavilions, alcoves to enjoy tea, urns, statues, swings, castle ruins, and a labyrinth, said to be twice as large as Hampton Court's.
The gala Jane Austen attended on 4th June 1799 was spoilt by rain, so she went to the repeat performance two weeks later. She enjoyed the fireworks and illuminations, but not the music which she avoided by not arriving until nine o'clock!

Jane Odiwe

Deliciously Gothic – a visit to Strawberry Hill

I recently visited Strawberry Hill, the summer villa of Horace Walpole (1717-1797), now restored to its original Gothic splendour at a cost of nine million pounds. It really is the most astonishing building which both ravishes and startles the eye.

Readers will remember that in Georgette Heyer’s The Convenient Marriage, Horace Walpole is the god-father of the heroine, Horatia Winwood, though Horatia herself is not particularly keen to visit Strawberry Hill in case she’s expected to ‘fondle his horrid little dog, Rosette, who was odiously spoilt, and yapped at one’s heels.’ Personally, I found the place enchanting.

Walpole wrote the first Gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto, in 1765. It was an immediate success and has been in print ever since. Walpole himself said of it, ‘I gave rein to my imagination; visions and passion choked me.’ The story opens with a huge, black-plumed helmet crashing down and killing Conrad, son of the tyrant, Manfred of Otranto, on his wedding day. Not unnaturally, the bride, Isabella, is terrified and attempts a mid-night escape through a gloomy vault. The story is full of ghosts, a statue which pours blood, prophecies, torments and a spooky forest cave. All splendid stuff and Walpole’s imagination didn’t stop there.

Back in 1749, he’d bought Chopp’d Straw Hall in Twickenham, a higgledy-piggledy, ‘gingerbread’ house whose quirkiness he wanted to retain. Palladian symmetry did not interest him; what he wanted was mystery and surprise. He set about creating a Gothic building, full of irregularities and filled with ‘gloomth’, a word he coined for the Otranto-like effect he sought.

He took inspiration from a variety of places. The staircase going up from the hall is based on the library staircase in Rouen Cathedral, for example; the pierced Gothic arches in the library echo the side door of the choir in old St Paul’s; a chimney-piece is inspired by an archbishop’s tomb in Canterbury cathedral. The house manages to be both over the top and elegant in a slightly decadent way. I loved it.

The pièce de résistance, however, has to be the gallery with its crimson damask walls and splendid ceiling, a miracle of papier-maché fan vaulting in white with gold leaf which almost blinds the eye. Everything has been specially designed to add to the room’s ambience. I just loved the door knobs, for example, in brass with enamel inlay.

If you want to be inspired and refreshed (they have an excellent tea- room, too!), look no further. Strawberry Hill is the place for you. www.strawberryhillhouse.org.uk

Photos by the author. Top: Strawberry Hill outside. Centre: the gallery. Bottom: door knob and keyhole plate

Elizabeth Hawksley

A Most Unusual Palace

I had been meaning to visit Kew Palace for ages, ever since I saw a TV programme about its restoration, so a sunny June day was perfect to show it off in the setting of Kew Gardens which surround it.
The brick house - it is far too domestic and small-scale to be thought of as a palace - was built in 1631 by a Flemish merchant at a time when many wealthy men had a Thames-side home to escape from the dirt and noise of London. It was built on the foundations of an Elizabethan mansion, possibly once owned by Robert Dudley.
Frederick, Prince of Wales and son of George II, built his own country retreat, the White House, almost opposite this old redbrick house - a good distance from the rest of the family who used Richmond Lodge as their retreat: he did not get on well with his siblings, it seems!
Frederick died in 1751, apparently as a result of an infection following a blow from a cricket ball - Wisden's Almanac cannot record many cricketing deaths, I imagine, and certainly no other royals! His son, shy George, succeeded his grandfather in 1760 and he and his wife Charlotte set about producing a large family - nine sons and six daughters. They used Richmond Lodge, but as the sons grew up the elder two, George (later Prince Regent and George IV) and Frederick (The Grand Old Duke of York of the nursery rhyme), went to live in the red brick house which became known as Kew Palace.
When the unfortunate king first fell victim, in 1788, to the "king's malady" - the little-understood porphyria - he was forced to stay at the White House then and again in 1801. It held such unpleasant memories for him that he had it demolished in 1802 once he recovered.

Then in 1804 he fell ill again and Kew Palace was the only sizeable building that afforded the necessary privacy and peace. It was renovated (it even had water closets installed, the one on the third floor is shown, left)  and the family used it extensively. In 1810 the king went into a severe decline from which he never recovered and the family, his unmarried daughters in particular, settled into a quiet domsticity that would not have been out of place for a middle class family of retiring habits.

The ground and first floors have been beautifully restored. The king's library, the dining room where he was tricked by his doctors into confinement in 1801 by the tale that he was to meet the queen at Kew, the queen's boudoir with its fashionable decor, the drawing room and the bedrooms of the queen and Princess Elizabeth are all perfectly in period but the third floor was abandoned in 1818 after the queen died at Kew and has been left conserved rather than restored so that the structure of the building can be seen. In many ways it is even more atmospheric and haunting for being so stark and it was here that the Princesses Augusta and Amelia spent their quiet and rather lonely years at Kew, both of them yearning to get married and escape.
Meanwhile their eldest brother George was launched on a career of excess and indiscretion that included a totally unacceptable and illegal marriage to Mrs Fitzherbert.
When George III died in 1820, and the Regent was finally monarch, Kew was far too humble and quiet to suit his tastes. The royal family never used it again and it fell into decline until restoration began in 1996.
Now it is a charming little palace, filled with ghosts and an air of quiet melancholy. Hanging in my writing studio I have a reproduction toile de jouy fabric, designed in the late 18thc, that shows George III and his family enjoying the rustic pleasures of life in the grounds at Kew: it is good to think that sometimes, despite everything, they were happy there.
Louise Allen

Perranarworthal

One of the locations in the book I'm currently working on is the village of Perranarworthal. During the late C17th and early C18th it was a bustling and important place. Perran Foundry, built by the Fox family and partners was sited beside the river, then deep enough then for ships importing coal, timber and iron ore, to sail right up to jetties just a few yards from the Norway Inn. Built in 1829-30, the inn was an important coaching stop on the Truro - Falmouth road.
A short distance along the road towards Carnon Downs is Tullimaar House. Secluded and invisible from the road it was built in 1828 for Benjamin Sampson who was originally a mine carpenter. Born in 1770 he held the post of Manager at Perran Foundry and became a shareholder. He also founded the gunpowder works at Kennal Vale, and his investment in Tresavean Mine made him a fortune. He lived at Tullimaar until his death in 1840. Since then the house has been the home of many distinguished residents including Sarah Parkin, former mistress to George III, who spent her last years there.
More recently Tullimaar was occupied by American troops during the latter part of World War II and General Dwight D. Eisenhower stayed at the house for two weeks in the run-up to D-Day in 1944.
Princess Marthe Bibesco, the Franco-Romanian writer, bought the house in 1957 and lived there until 1973. From 1985 until his death in 1993 the house was home to Nobel Prize-winning novelist Sir William Golding. If only walls could talk!

Jane Jackson.

Regency Dancing? Sort of ...

Last weekend, as many of you will know, was the RNA conference at Caerleon, near Newport, in Wales. A fantastic time was had by all. Much laughter, quite a lot (!) of wine, and huge amounts of inspiration, both from the sessions we attended and from discussion with fellow authors. For those who have never attended an RNA conference, you missed a treat.

One of the sessions was Regency Dancing. Not an academic lecture on the subject, but REAL dancing, on our two left feet. Well, my two left feet, anyway.

I can tell you that it looked nothing at all like the elegant performances in the prints in the latter part of Louise Allen's post on 19th June. For a start, we were all female. And then, not one of us had thought to wear Regency costume. Or corsets! One or two very well-prepared participants had thought to wear proper dancing shoes. For the rest, it was an assortment of trainers, ordinary outdoor shoes, sandals, and bare feet with tastefully painted toenails.

We lined up in rows to form sets. I was dancing with Louise Allen, I as the man, she as the lady. Not perhaps the most sensible allocation of roles, as Louise is at least two inches taller than me. Twirling her under my arm was not one of our more elegant moves, I'm afraid.

We had a go at two different Regency dances, both called waltzes, but neither of them what modern viewers would think of as waltzes. One was danced in sets of 6 (3 couples); the other was danced in sets of 4 (2 couples). There were strong similarities with country dancing, with similar steps and moves, but in the limited time we had to learn the dances, it was quite difficult to remember all the moves and to get them in the right order. There was no such thing as a waltz hold; holding hands was as far as it got.

I fervently hope that no one was taking pictures, as some of our attempts ended in chaos. But I really did enjoy it, in spite of the confusion, and I would love to try it again.

Next time, I'll take a pair of dancing shoes. I might even find some corsets, so I can have a Regency lady's straight-backed posture as well.

Joanna
http://www.joannamaitland.com

Life in the Country Town

One Wicked Sin, book 2 in my Scandalous Women of the Ton Series, is out in the UK this month and I am very excited about it! I have been doing a series of radio and newspaper interviews to promote the series and one of the things that has fascinated readers is the idea that One Wicked Sin is set in Wantage when it was a parole town.

The idea of a small county town having to accommodate an influx of foreign prisoners fascinates me. At the end of the eighteenth century Wantage had the reputation of being very rough; as well as the prisoners of war, it's permanent population was swollen by the navvies working on the nearby Wiltshire and Berkshire Canal. There were reports of fights in the local inns between the townsfolk and the "incomers," and visitors to the area were warned not to visit Wantage as it was the sort of place where you might be robbed, beaten or worse.

I've always enjoyed reading reports from local newspapers of the era and from these one can gather all sorts of information on local life which often was a great deal stranger than fiction. I've included a few examples here just to give a taste of news from the English country towns.

From the Bury and Norwich Post, January 1801: "The following extraordinary incident took place at St Ives on Monday. A bullock walked into the passage of the Royal Oak public-house in the town and the staircase door being open, it went upstairs into the dining-room and ran with such violence against the front window (which was a sash) as to drive the whole window-frame into the street... It received no material injury."

From The County Chronicle, August 1801: "The young gentlemen of Eton, on leaving school for the Midsummer vacation, took their annual aquatic excursion to Surley-Hall... The young gentlement exhibited great skill in rowing, and were all attired in fancy dresses. In the evening some beautiful fireworks were let off and the day concluded with festive mirth and innocent entertainment."

From The Suffolk Chronicle 1815: "It is with the deepest regret we learn that a riotous disposition has shewn itself in the parish of Gosbeck... On Tuesday last, twenty deluded persons assembled and in a wanton and most disorderly manner they destroyed two threshing machines and threatened to destroy others."

From the Norfolk Chronicle, March 1806: "Tuesday morning last, we understand, an affair of honour was conducted between Captain RN and GT of the militia in garrison. A brace of pistols was discharged without effect. Upon the seconds interfering, the affair was honourably terminated. The cause of the misunderstanding we are not acquainted with."

Bought for the Harem

Here is an excerpt from my book coming in August

HMB are moving to simultaneous publications here and USA.  Because of the digital age this will prevent crossover and readers buying the same book twice by mistake.  Good thinking.

Hope you enjoy this excerpt.

‘This is an assignment I would trust to no other, Kasim. Prince Hassan is very precious to me. He will soon be of the age to marry and I must find the right wife for him. He already has many beautiful women in his harem but none of them are what is needed. Hassan will take my place when I die…’ The Caliph waved his hand as Kasim would have protested. ‘It is as Allah wills, my son. All men must die to take their place in Paradise. I shall not shrink from death when my time comes – but I would have my son secure. He needs a woman of both exceptional beauty and intelligence but also spirit. She will produce his heir. His mother was such a woman and this is what I want for my son.’


Kasim looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Is there no one within the ranks of your fellow lords with a daughter that would fill your requirements? She at least would be a Muslim and trained in all the things she should know to fit her for her duties as the prince’s chief wife.’

The Caliph was silent for a moment. His eyes held a cold glitter as he looked at Kasim and his mouth formed a thin hard line. ‘If I chose a wife from one important family I should make an enemy of another. You know the jealousy of the tribal chiefs, Kasim. We are constantly having to suppress uprisings and small rebellions amongst the chieftains of the north. My own wife came from the country that gave you birth and I wish for an English wife for my son.’

‘You wish me to buy a woman from the slave markets of Algiers?’

‘Yes, that is my wish. Choose wisely, my son. The price is immaterial. I want a jewel beyond price for Prince Hassan.’

‘It shall be as you command.’

Kasim bowed to his royal master and took five steps backward, before turning to leave the presence chamber. He was frowning as he made his way towards his own apartments in the palace. The Caliph treated him with respect and even affection. A tall, handsome man with dark hair and deep blue eyes, he owed his position here to a man he knew to be ruthless and yet compassionate, wise and yet sometimes ruled by his ruthless nature. Kahlid was a just ruler of his province, which he held in subservience to the Sultan, but he gave no quarter to his enemies. To raise your hand against him and fail was to die. Kasim had recently returned from an expedition to crush a rebellious tribe to the north of the Caliph’s territory. He had done so efficiently and with as little wanton bloodshed as possible, but he knew that the prisoners the Janissaries had brought back would receive harsh punishment. There was nothing he could do to change that fact, and any interference would be frowned on.

However, he would not be there to see the punishments for he must leave as soon as he could provision his ship. A request from the Caliph was an order. Kasim must find a bride for the young prince – and an English girl of exceptional beauty and intelligence.

He smiled ruefully for it was not an easy task. Given the choice he would ride out to do battle against the mountain tribes and leave the purchase of slaves to another more inclined for it. The slave masters of Algiers would have many men, women and children on offer. Some of the women would be beautiful and might end up in the harem of the Sultan himself but the Caliph had been precise in his instructions.

The woman must be beautiful, spirited and intelligent – and English. Kasim knew that he might need to spend many months searching for such a woman.

Reading Aloud

One year, when I was about fourteen and at boarding school, I won two bronze medals. The first was for a London Academy for Music and Dramatic Art exam, and the other for a public speaking competition (youth section) at the Cheltenham Music Festival. I’m not sure how, because I certainly can’t act for toffee, but I learnt that I was good at reading out loud. There was, I discovered, a knack to it. You had to be able to see a line or so ahead and anticipate which words need to be stressed and to have the confidence to convey the appropriate emotion.

It also helps if you can, somehow, put yourself into the background. You are not doing it to glorify yourself, you are doing it for the author whose work you are reading.

Recently, I was asked to read aloud in extraordinary circumstances.

I have just returned from holiday in Turkey with an archaeological group. We visited a number of classical sites: some famous, like Troy and Ephesus, others little visited, like the ruined city of Priene nestling on a wooded hillside overlooking the river Mæander. I was asked to read an extract from Euripides’ Agamemnon in the theatre there. Greek theatres have fantastic acoustics – guides often demonstrate this by sending visitors up to the top whilst they remain centre stage. They then light a match - and you can hear it clearly. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity.

The group scattered about the theatre. I drew a deep breath, told myself that this was for Euripides – a playwright I much admire – and walked onto the stage.

The passage I’d been given was the herald’s return to Mycenae to tell the queen, Clytemnestra, and her lover, Aegisthus, that King Agamemnon is coming home from Troy, victorious. Of course, the original audience (and mine) knew that Agamemnon and his captive, the Trojan princess Cassandra, would be murdered: Clytemnestra had not forgiven him for sacrificing their daughter, Iphigenia, to get a fair wind to Troy. The herald’s speech, therefore, needed an undertone of dramatic irony.

I launched into a paean of victory: I proclaimed, triumphantly – with suitable gestures - that Paris was dead, Hector was slain, and Troy was totally destroyed. Agamemnon, King of Men, the son of Atreus, was victorious! (Boasting was obviously part of the herald’s job description.)

Then came my big speech. I raised my arms to heaven and called on Zeus, Apollo and Hermes to hear me. (I could hear my words ring round the theatre in such a way that I half-expected a thunderbolt from Olympus.) I ended with an exhortation: Welcome Agamemnon! Welcome the victor home!

You could have heard a pin drop. It was hugely satisfying.

Elizabeth Hawksley

The Jane Austen House Museum, Chawton

I had a wonderful day at the start of June, giving a talk at the Jane Austen House Museum. The house is in the beautiful village of Chawton set deep in the English countryside and it was Jane's home for the last eight years of her life. She wrote Persuasion, Mansfield Park and Emma whilst living there, and she also revised her three other major works -  Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Northanger Abbey - there.

The atmosphere of the house is amazing. Even standing outside I am immediately reminded of Emma: "A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer." Once inside, the atmosphere intensifies. For me, the highlight is the table at which she wrote:

I gave the talk in the new lecture hall, which is a light and airy building in keeping with the style of the house. It's in the garden and provides the setting for talks, concerts and other Austen-related activities. There is always something going on there and if you're planning a visit, then it's a good idea to see what events might be on at the time. You can find a list of events here The Regency Butler talk looks particularly useful for Regency authors, and don't miss Victoria Connelly's talk on 9th July!

I was surprised to see so many people there at my talk and had a lovely time, chatting about my Austen heroes' diaries and my love for Jane Austen. I signed books afterwards - the museum has a lovely shop - and thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon. I'm sure you will love it if you haven't been.The staff are very friendly and very knowledgeable, and their genuine love for Austen shines through.

Amanda Grange

The Waltz - From Outrageous to Acceptable in Six Years?

I recently acquired a print and text from the fashion journal la Belle Assemblee for February 1817 with a charming print of "A group of waltzers" and it was so different in tone from the other prints of waltzing in my collection that I did a little digging to see what I could find out about attitudes to the waltz.

The dance originated in Germany in the 16thc as a country dance and by the 1780s there are references to how shocking it is that members of the German aristocracy have taken it up. Even in its country of origin the holds and something about the rythym of the dance caused severe doubts about its morality. The image on the left is from the French publication Le Bon Genre and is undated, but it must be at least 1810 as the version below, an English print acknowledging the French original, is dated to that year.

Both versions are caricatures that make the dance seem dangerous and sexual. The couple on the left in both versions, seem to be anticipating quite another form of exercise!

Some authors say that the dance was introduced to England in 1816 by Princess Lieven, one of the patronesses of Almack's, but Raikes dates its arrival to 1813 and Gronow to 1815. In fact it must have been known here earlier as the prints show.

The Mirror of the Graces, a handbook on costume and female etiquette written by "A Lady of Distinction" and published in the UK in 1811 has this to say on the subject-

But with regard to the lately introduced German waltz, I cannot speak so favourably. I must agree with Goette,[sic] when writing of the national dance of his country, "that none but husbands and wives can with any propriety be partners in the waltz."

There is something in the close approximation of persons, in the attitudes, and in the motion, which ill agrees with the delicacy of woman, should she be placed in such a situation with any other man than the most intimate connection she can have in life. Indeed, I have often heard men, of no very over-strained feeling, say, "that there are very few women in the world with whom they could bear to dance the Grman waltz."

But by the time of the Belle Assemblee (1817) print and article, the attitude seems rather different. This was an expensive journal, bought by the upper classes and read by matrons with daughters to launch onto the Marriage Mart - not a group likely to take kindly to the promotion of a dubious dance, although the whole article appears to be a puff for the book mentioned in the text.

The scene is rather odd - the ballroom has only three groups of dancers and the three young ladies appear rather out of place. However, from the accompanying text, this would appear to be a dancing class or demonstration. I found the text facinating with its description of a veariety of waltz styles, so I have copied it in full.

It is so well known that dancing, from the earliest ages, with persons of all denominations and in all countries, has been esteemed not only a species of polite amusement and recreative pleasure, but also a healthy exercise, so as to require scarcely any further comment to recommend it. Waltzing is a species of this amusement; and notwithstanding that it is capable, from the beautiful simplicity of its graceful movements, of affording to its votaries much pleasing and delightful practice, many prejudices have long existed agaisnt it, arising from the extravagant manner of performing it peculiar to those countries in which it was till lately so generally practised. By the more immediate and recent extensive communications with the Continent, waltzing has become a prevalent species of amusement in this country; and that it is equally chaste with quadrilles, English country dances etc becomes clearly obvious on the perusal of a late publication by Mr. Wilson, Dancing-Master, entitled "A Description of the correct Method of German and French Waltzing." The Embellishment to which this subject refers, represents a lady and gentleman performing the French slow waltz;  the lady having (what is technically termed) turned a Pirouette, and the gentleman performed a Pas de Bourie.

The three ladies in the centre are performing an Allemande waltz; the composition of which, in point of beautiful figure, attitude, and varied effect, affords ample opportunity to the dancers of displaying all the grace, ease, and elegance of which the human figure is capable.

The couple on the right are represented as performing the Jette, or quick Sauteuse waltz; in the perfomance of which the agility of the dancers may be fully displayed, as it can only be properly performed by "tripping it on the light fantastic toe;" it also afford pleasing, and occasionally desirable, recreation after enjoying the performance of the more easy and graceful movements of which the slow waltz is composed."

I can imagine the scenes in many a Mayfair drawing room as the young ladies of the house attempted to leap about on their toes and reluctant brothers were drafted in to assist as partners while Mama stood by, torn between worries over how respectable it all was and a desire that her daughter be in the forefront of fashion!

Louise Allen

Graveyards

Old cemeteries fascinate me. Apart from being havens for wildlife, they are a wonderful resource. The parish church for our village was founded in 411 AD and has been a site of worship for sixteen hundred years. St Melior was supposed to have arrived on a millstone. Other saints in Ireland and Brittany are also associated with this mode of travel. Perhaps it’s the nature of being a saint that you have to do things the hard way. But would people have believed any less in their preaching had they arrived in – say - a coracle? To have safely crossed the Irish sea, Bay of Biscay or English Channel in a tiny circular one-man craft made of animal skins stretched over a wicker frame would surely have been a miracle in itself, and far more believable.
In the older parts of the churchyard large marble or granite tombs are the final resting place for several generations of the same family. The surnames on these tombs reveal who was important in the area over different centuries. Sons were often given the same first name as their father and grandfather. These range from Alfred to Zephaniah.
The ages inscribed on the headstones tell their own stories. Many children died in infancy. Women died during or shortly after childbirth. Ours is a fishing village and many men were lost at sea.
Then there is a memorial commemorating men from the village who died in two world wars. A short distance away is another.

Erected in 1872, this lists the names of 53 boys aged between 15 and 17 who were training for a naval career aboard the wooden ship HMS Ganges moored for 33 years off Mylor Naval Dockyard (now Mylor Yacht Harbour) The majority of the boys died from illnesses like measles, scarlatina and ‘flu; preventable now but too often fatal then. But 8 died from falls (from the spars or rigging) or from drowning. As a mother with two sons and three grandsons I can never pass this memorial without a lump in my throat.

But though this graveyard holds stories of great tragedy, there is also unintentional humour. Near one of the main paths is the headstone of a man who drowned while fishing off rocks. The inscription reads:

His end was all most sudden
As if the mandate came direct from Heaven.
His foot did slip, and he did fall.
Help, help, he cried. And that was all.

How fashions change! The panier

I write books set in the Regency era, but my real love is the mid Georgian era, the 1750’s in particular. And of course one  of the big differences is dress. I can’t possibly cover all the differences in one blog post, but one of the most—prominent—differences was the panier. Or paniers, strictly.

The shape of the skirt changed drastically throughout the century. At the beginning, the bottom was padded to give an elegant shape to the folds flowing over the back. Then the skirts got fuller and fuller, until the sheer bulk of petticoats must have been too much, and the hooped petticoat was worn. Those of us who have been bridesmaids and forced into a meringue dress knows what that’s like. quite handy, because you can wear big pockets under it. it must have signalled freedom to the hampering, tangling, hot skirts.

In the 1740’s, the hoops became enormous. Women had to go through doorways sideways, and coming towards you they looked like ships in full sail, or walking sofas. As fashion developed the mantua went out of fashion, replaced by the sacque, the robe anglaise, and the robe a la francaise, but the mantua continued to be worn at court. and the huge size of the hoops continued, too, right through until the 1820’s.

But the hooped petticoat is cumbersome. Getting in and out of coaches, walking in high winds and just getting through doors can be a hazard. So eventually some bright spark developed the panier. It was a cage, usually made of cane or whalebone, that rested on the hips. It gave the necessary padding for passion, but were much more practical. They were collapsible, that is, they worked a bit like an umbrella and could be lifted to temporarily collapse them for doors and coaches.

By the 1750’s, everyday hoops and panniers were much smaller. Sometimes, especially on informal occasions, the lady might replace the panier with a quilted petticoat for some light padding. There was a brief fashion in the mid 1750’s among the younger set for leaving off the paniers in public. With gowns designed to be worn with paniers underneath, it made the wearer look a bit—deflated. But the panier continued to decline in size, until they disappeared altogether in the 1780’s and the bum roll made a reappearance. I love the look. Before the hair became stupidbig in the fashion of the 1770’s, the line was elegant and beautiful, as seen in the gorgeous portraits by Gainsborough and Reynolds.

It’s always the case that the younger generation despises the clothes that its parents wore, although that has sped up in recent times. The heavy brocades and sumptuous silks of the high Georgian era gave way to the impractical pale and thin muslins of the early nineteenth century, and they themselves gradually grew fuller until, inevitably, the hoop made a return. Only this time it was called the crinoline.






Lynne Connolly
http://lynneconnolly.com

The Jane Austen Handbook

It seems a long time since I posted here- my last post coincided with the blogger black out last month. I was going to talk about my new book but it is not being published until August now.

Therefore I'm going to tell you about a delightful little book I discovered called 'The Jane Austen Handbook' by Margaret C Sullivan -who is the editor of Austenblog.com. She lives in Philadelphia.

This book tells you what Jane would do. For instance:

How to behave at your first ball

How to ride sidesaddle

How to decline an unwanted marriage proposal

How to improve your estate

How to throw a dinner party.

It also includes thoughts on all Jane's books, film adaptions and Jane Austen related retellings.

There are sections on all sorts of regency related subjects.

For instance -acceptable men's professions were -the church/the military/the law and medicine.

How a lady might earn a living- governess/schoolteacher/companion/lady's maid/authoress

This is written with a light witty style and I will find it a useful addition to have on my reference shelf.

Next time I am due to post will be at the RNA conference- I shall have to borrow someone's lap top to do it as I'm sure you will want to know what's going on in Wales.

Fenella Miller

Whisper of Scandal

This month sees the UK publication of Whisper of Scandal, the first in my Scandalous Women of the Ton series. This will be followed by One Wicked Sin next month and Mistress by Midnight in August. I am thrilled that the Scandalous Women are coming to the UK and I love the gorgeous covers that the books have! I hope you like them too.


Whisper of Scandal is set in London and the Arctic and was huge fun to write and research. I'll be talking about the book and my research at two forthcoming book festivals: The Burford Festival on 17th June and the Witney Book Festival on 19th June. At Witney I'll also be discussing "How to write the Regency Historical." All the details are on my website and if you are in the area I would be delighted if you would like to come along to say hello and join in the debate.

Regency Letters

The Bartered Bride is out now in USA. Coming soon there the Hanover Square trilogy and cming here soon, paperback in august is Bought For the Harem.

Dearest Mama

I write to you from Italy, where I have spent a pleasant month with my sister Horatia and her friends. I must tell you that the climate suits my health and I have decided to settle here. There is a very pleasant villa not far from my sister's home and it is there I shall live. The estate will be sold and while I realise this may leave you without a home I am offering you the chance of living here with me and the lady I intend to marry, as soon as her family will allow it - or a house in Bath.

I am quite prepared to purchase a house in Bath for you, dear Mama. My lawyers will make certain that you have all you need - but should you wish to visit either Horatia or myself we shall be delighted to see you. I know you feel my sister has disgraced the family but I assure you that here no one regards it. She is welcomed by most of the local notables, though some visiting English do not wish to be known to her. However, her divorce is soon to be complete and then she will marry. I must tell you that she is expecting her husband-t-be's baby and very happy. We should all like to see both you and Antonia.

Your loving son, Robert

Hope you enjoyed this little series. I expect it will be back to excerpts next time.

Best wishes Anne Herries

The bi-centenary of the battle of Albuera

May 16th, 2011, is the two hundredth anniversary of the battle of Albuera, one of the bloodiest of the Peninsular War. The small town of Albuera is immensely proud of its part on the battle and, each May, hosts a day of celebration, together with the Friends of the British Cemetery in nearby Elvas, to honour those who fought and died there.














The Friends of the British Cemetery was set up to restore both the abandoned cemetery and also the tiny chapel of S. Joao, which had been the military hospital in Wellington's time but which had fallen into serious disrepair. After long negotiations with the Archdiocese of Evora, the Friends were allowed right of usage and took on the responsibility for the chapel's restoration and maintenance. This was marked by a formal ceremony in which the bishop of Evora re-dedicated the chapel.

The picture below shows the Corps of Drums - Princess of Wales's Royal Regiment, looking splendid in their scarlet uniforms, who were there to mark the occasion.














The seond picture (below) shows the Portuguese Infantry Regiment No 8. There are wearing original 1811 uniforms which were doscovered in an old cupboard in the now-disused barracks. Unfortunately, all the uniforms were too small for 21st century Portuguese soldiers, so the 'soldiers' on parade are, in fact, women!














Elizabeth Hawksley

Top photograph of the chapel of S. Joao was taken by the author, the other two are courtesy of http://www.british-cemetery-elvas.org/

Moving House

The problem with moving house - well, two of them actually - is the realisation that you can't find anything and that everything is taking far longer to get straight than you ever imagined.

Having moved a month ago we're still chasing both things and time, so instead of the quite long and detailed post I was planning for today I am just going to share a couple of Regency prints which amused me and which focus on housing problems of some kind.

The couple on the pavement surrounded by their possessions are part of a series published by Ackermann featuring "boring" social situations. This one is all about what a bore it is when your landlady discovers that the young woman sharing your rooms is not married to you - "you have not pass'd thro the inconvenience of the matrimonial ceremony" - and evicts you without ceremony - along with lapdog, parrot and potplant. The young gentleman in his highly fashionable pantaloons and wasp-waisted coat looks as though he is about to take off and leave his weeping ladyfriend to deal with the situation!

The lodgings shown above look very respectable and the street is clean. Even the family begging seem unthreatening, if pathetic.




The other print shows lodgings that are far less respectable. It is from the famous "Tom and Jerry" series and shows Jerry returning to London and calling on his old friend Bob at his lodgings. His post chaise is standing in the road behind and the postillion is knocking on the door but there is no sign of Bob, only the annoyed landlady hanging out of the window and the nightwatchman snoring down below. The ricketty house is propped up on the pawnbroker's shop opposite, a pair of cats are squaring up for a fight on the roof and the dome of St Paul's Cathedral looms over the scene.

I doubt whether this landlady would turn a hair if her gentlemen lodgers brought home a woman who who was not their wife!


Louise Allen

Plot Wars

Last December my husband Mike was given indefinite loan of a field in which to grow fruit and vegetables. Though thigh-high in weeds, for him it was a clean page. First he bought a brush-cutter and strimmed the entire field including the hedges – working in 15-minute bursts as this machine is heavy, requires a supporting harness, and is swung from hip height. It took weeks. Next he dug over the first 3 metre by 9 metre plot and poured on thirty bags of home-made compost - a mix of straw-free horse poo and seaweed gathered from our local beach during the freezing winter (I held the sacks open) when it was so cold our faces were numb and even with gloves on we couldn’t feel our hands. Never has no pain no gain rung more true. But to get good stuff out you have to put good stuff in. And with gardening, as with writing, preparation is the key. Meanwhile the field’s previous occupants, rabbits, pheasants and pigeons, were watching, biding their time. With the soil warm from four weeks of hot dry weather in April, new and second-early potatoes were planted before Easter. Additional plots were prepared and planted. That’s when the trouble started.

The day after planting leeks and onions he had grown from seed, Mike returned to the field. The onions had gone and there were random diggings among the potatoes. Clearly something was trying to reach the fresh shoots. We ordered some plastic mesh – the kind builders use – and surrounded the plots with that. The rabbits chewed through it and the pheasants simply jumped over. Each morning he’d arrive and catch the pheasants among the crops. Once over the mesh in a flurry of wings and squawks they stretched their necks forward, head and body totally level as they hurtled towards the hedge, looking as if they were on wheels. Mike dismantled the frames and used the wire netting as an additional barrier all the way round the outside of the mesh. That stopped the rabbits but not the pheasants. This was war and demanded radical measures. My suggestion of an air rifle with telescopic sights and a silencer was declined. Instead he ordered some black electrical conduit and a roll of fine-mesh green netting and built a cage to cover each plot. He made a door for each cage from spare panels of corrugated Perspex on a wooden frame. So far it’s working. The netting allows sun and rain through, keeps the pheasants out, and has created a micro-climate. And we’ve just dug our first new potatoes.

While this was going on I sent off a 14-page outline and character biogs for my new book to my editor who had asked for "a darker edge". She received them on the Tuesday after Bank Holiday. On Thursday of the same week I received an email from her to say she had read them, liked them, and looked forward to receiving an exciting book. So no pressure!

Henry Tilney - what a bargain!

It isn't my day, but I'm just dropping in to let you know that Amazon UK are offering the hardback of Henry Tilney's Diary at the absolute bargain price of £7.83 instead of RRP £18.99

Hale hardbacks are beautiful books, with removable glossy covers, and at £7.83 the hardback is cheaper than many paperbacks. I've no idea how long this offer will last, so seize the day!!!

Amanda Grange

No one seems to be blogging so I thought I would put another post on. Just received a huge parcel of copies of the USA A Country Miss in in Hanover Square. HH are bringing the trilogy out one after the other in consecutive months. I was thrilled with the cover which unfortunately I can't scan to show you. However, because it is going mainstream as well as direct they sent me loads of copies and that means anyone who would like one should email me at
linda@lindasole.co.uk
and I'll send a free copy anywhere in the world free of charge to your snailmail.
Just got back from holiday in Spain, which was lovely but it is nice to be home. Haven't started work yet but I have lots of ideas for future books. In the Uk M&B are bringing out Bought For The Harem in August. Captive of the Harem is now on sale in China as a comic book and I bought a copy for my kindle from uk site. The pictures are wonderful. You can see what is happening without understanding the balloons. It is a lot of fun and I feel delighted it has been done that way in Chinese. It was done a while ago in Japense. COTH has sold in so many countries. I wonder if Bought For The Harem will do as well?
:ove to you all, Linda/Anne