Run rabbit, run rabbit! run! run! run!

(Friday, March 10th, 1600)

During our stay in St.Edmundsbury I have had opportunity to ask around, and found that Moyse's Hall is currently the home of the King family, local merchants. From Mistress Woodgate, one of the family servants, I learn that the house was, as I thought, originally the home of a Jewish financier who dedicated the hall on the first floor for use as a synagogue, although later part of the building was used as a tavern before being bought by the King family.

Since Will Kemp planned to stay a few more days in Bury St. Edmunds, I had time to follow up my ambition to trace the town walls. Of course there are places where it was difficult or impossible to follow the path of the walls, but in many places the knapped flint walls are still standing at least partially. And the houses don't reach all the way to the wall; in many places there are small meadows with sheep or blanketed horses huddling against the snow and munching from bundles of hay on both sides of the wall.

In the course of my exploration I took a few minutes to ask one of the shepherds about the tedious business of stone-picking and he told me that the flints grow underground during the winter, so that every year there are more stones to be picked!

Once again, undeterred by the frosty dark, Will Kemp sets out at 7a.m., jigging with unbelievable stamina past conyers heath*, and through the villages of Timworth and Ingham where an enterprising carter has stationed a wagon beside the road for curious villagers to cheer him onward, and by 10 o'clock we reach the enthusiastic crowds at the edge of the small market town of Thetford!

Since the assizes are in progress the town is packed and Sir Edwin Rich of Mulbarton, in deep crimson velvet hat and cloak greets Will personally from horseback, welcoming him to the town, and inviting him to accept the hospitality of his manor.

I feel obliged to write in support of Master Kemp that though he has been succoured in diverse places, he has remained true to his cause in taking up his jig at whatever place he left off. And it has been encouraging to see the generosity that has been offered to him by men of all stations appointed by God.

X:246
T:Three Handed Reel
T:Fanny Frail
C:Trad.
A:Bromsberrow Heath, Gloucestershire
S:Dommett
B:Dommett, p. 4, 26, 43
N:originally entered by Rich Holmes, 1996 Sept.
M:4/4
K:D
L:1/8
I:speed 300
fd A2 fd A2 | g2 f2  ec A2 | g2 f2 e2 d2 | edcB  AGFE |
DF A2 EG B2 | A2 d>d fd B2 | A2 dc B2 E2 | C2 F2 D4   ||
%abc

*Conyers Heath; so named for the rabbit-catchers who lived there, providing the town with a plentiful supply of meat and skins.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

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Saint Edmundsbury

(Saturday, March 4th, 1600)

It's my birthday! I've already celebrated my birthday this year in my native time, so am tempted to have a second birthday back here. However, Will Kemp keeps up a cracking pace; even Tom Slye has admitted that sometimes he has trouble keeping up, and he's been a taberer these past fifteen years, five of them with Will.

Since Will has been staying with the Colts family, I have touched base with Master Slye, and am ready for once, when Will sets out before dawn, in the frosty March air. Master Colts' fool is accompanying Will in his dance as a good-sized crowd, some of whom must have been up as early as five a.m. trot along after.

It seems quite a detour to me, but Will Kemp has chosen to make his way through the village of Clare making a visit to the widow Everet.

Since I am not invited to visit I take the time to talk to some of the village folk who know Mistress Everet and their accounts are uniformly full of praise: a woman full of charity and virtue, quiet, devout, modest and well-spoken. I learn from them, that in his time, her husband was a Yeoman, a farmer who owned and worked his own land, which explains her comparative wealth.

By the time we reach the outskirts of St.Edmundsbury the lowering sky has started to snow lightly: tiny tingling flakes that catch in my eyelashes and hair. And my fingers are numbly grasping the reins, scarcely feeling inside my gloves. And the crowds here are busier than anywhere we have visited so far. I learn later, that Sir John Popham, the Lord Chief Justice of the realm was entering the town at the same time, by another route and as the crowds cleared a path for the honorable gentleman, most of them made haste to gawp as Will Kemp danced and frolicked his way into the town, being forced to pause seven times before he could reach the Angel Inn opposite the abandoned abbey.

X:204
T:The Morris March (Winster Processional)
M:2/2
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Winster
O:English
R:Reel
%P:(AB)$^{infty}$
P:(AB)8
K:G
I:speed 400
L:1/8
P:A
|:g2 d2 d2 ef | g2 d2 d2 ef | g2 d2 d2 c2 | B4 G2 z2 :|
P:B
|:c2 e2 e2 dc | B2 d2 d2 cB | A2 B2 c2 d2 | B4 G2 z2 :|
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Merrily to Melford

(Wednesday, March 1st, 1600)

I continue to be taken by surprise by Will Kemp's eagerness to get going. Being somewhat of a late riser (around 7pm) on these chilly mornings, the other tavern guests are usually finishing their breakfast or making horses ready by the time I get to the table. This morning master Kemp set out nearly an hour before, borrowing a horse to ride the three miles he danced previously and continue, so I will have some way to make up.

I finally catch up with Will in Sudbury, the first of the Suffolk market towns which we will pass through but I have no idea where he is. Usually it's a pretty fair bet that if I head for the nearest excited crowd, Will is either in the middle, or somebody can tell me where to look but today a wagon has lost a wheel and there is no shortage of bystanders with advice on how to raise the wagon, repair the axle and take care of the horses!

I am alerted by a ringing "Heigh Ho! Master Kemp!" as Will sets out to leave the town for Bury, and along with the rest of the throng I run for the edge of the marketplace to see a large and hearty-looking fellow with a ruddy complexion stripping off a butcher's apron announce boldly that he would count it an honor if he might keep Will company in a morris as far as Saint Edmundsbury. Will, of course, is always glad of a companion in his epic dance and the pair set out together. I choose to follow them, leading Cherry, my mare.

We have covered barely three-quarters of a mile by my reckoning when master Cobbold, for such is his name, calls a halt, panting, drenched with sweat, and crimson in the face.

He seems a tad embarrassed to admit that Will's energy is uncommon, and though he might be offered a hundred pounds (more than a year's income) he would not make the distance.

To add insult to the poor fellow's embarrassment one of our fellow-travellers, a red-haired young woman, taunts him as a "faint-hearted lout"! saying that if she had begun to dance she would go at least a mile if it killed her. Which raised as much of a laugh from the group as any of Will's quips might have.

And so it was that Will's "Maid Marian" borrowed a set of bells (fortunately for us, Tom Slye was carrying an extra set), kilted up her skirt, and danced with determination to Melford.

After slaking our thirsts we parted company, "Maid Marian" (Mistress Martyn) to a nearby farm, and Master Kemp, with his company, to the home of Master Colts, who would not suffer him to stay at a common inn. And I took my weary limbs to sleep at the Swann Inn, but I couldn't get this particular morris tune out of my mind. For some reason it seemed to suit Mistress Martyn.

X:135 T:The Maid of the Mill M:6/8 C: S:Bacon (RKS MSS) N:ending of A part rationalized H:abcTranscriber: Alex Boster A:Ilmington O:English R:Jig P:${1}over{2}$A(AB$^2$)$^4$A %P:A.(AB2)4.A K:G %I:speed 300 P:A L:1/16 |: E2 | G4 G2 F2E2D2 | G4 G2 A2B2c2 | B3AG2 A4 F2 |1 G8-G2 :|2 G12 || P:B L:1/16 d4 d2 d4 e2 | e4 e2 e4 e2 | g2f2g2 e2f2g2 | g8-g2 g2 | e2e2e2 e4 d2 | d4 e2 d6 | g2f2g2 e2f2g2 | g12 |] %abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

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Acknowledgements

Please visit the Kentwell Hall page to learn more about re-enactments at this historic building, not far from Long Melford, Suffolk, England.

Leapfrogging twixt Chelmsford and Braintree

Having arrived late in Chelmsford, I caught up the day's events over breakfast with Will Kemp the next morning (Saturday). To summarise:

Sir Thomas Mildmay met him at the gates of his estate, where he graciously received a pair of garters from Master Kemp.

When Will finally made it through the crush to the Saracen's Head he was too weary to dance further, so tossed a few gags from the window for the crowds gathered below.

After breakfast, Will set out, but only made three miles of the road toward Braintree before turning back. I think he had overestimated his stamina and needed more time to recover.

During the stopover in Chelmsford a young lady of fourteen obtained permission from her parents to dance a Morris (or three). The innkeeper was good enough to clear a large dining room, and the pair danced for almost an hour, with bells jingling, and handkerchiefs waving merrily.

(Monday, February 28th, 1600)

When I got up this morning I found that Master Kemp had already accepted a ride with a gentleman setting out in the moonlight a little after 6am, shortcutting the distance he had danced previously.

The road between Chelmsford and Braintree left a lot to be desired: on either side of the road thick brambles and other undergrowth sealed the edges of the forest and the road itself was a well-trodden mire. Ruts, potholes, puddles and mud all the way. At times I was obliged to dismount my horse for fear of losing her footing, and by the time we caught up with Tom Slye and Will Kemp, we were all thoroughly muddy.

Before we caught up though, I saw a couple of equally damp and muddy lads making their way down the Great Waltham road. I found out later that these two game fellows had essayed to keep Master Kemp company in his dance, thinking it a small thing to dance a few miles from one town to the other, but they soon found the mud too much for them. After one of them fell into a huge puddle that Will managed to jump almost completely, he compared them to a couple of frogs, each trying to pull the other out of the mud!

X:87
T:Glorisher (Leapfrog)
M:6/8
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Field Town (Finstock)
O:English
R:Jig
%P:A.(AB)$^2$.(AC)$^2$
P:A.(AB)2.(AC)2
K:G
Q:C3=100
P:A
d/2c/2 | BAG GFG | ABA D2 (3E/2F/2G/2 | ABA Adc | BcA GAB |
cde de=f | def g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc BcA | G>AG G2 ||
P:B
z | e2 d dAB | cdc cAB | cde edc | GAG FED |
G2 g gfg | G2 g g2 g/2f/2 | edc B>cA | G>AG G2 ||
P:C
z | e3 d3 | d A2 B3 | c2 d c3 | c A2 B3 | c2 d e3 |
(2ed(2cB | (2AB G3 | (2FE D3 | G3 g3 | (2gf g3 |
G3 g3 | g3- g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc B>cA | G>AG G2 ||
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

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Horseplay

(Friday, February 25th, 1600)

I would be the first to admit that I'm not a terribly good horse rider, and about a mile after leaving Ingatestone, I finally realized that my horse was favoring her right hind leg. Dismounting, I found that she had thrown a shoe, and while it wouldn't be a big problem on these dirt roads, in the long term it could lead to painful damage to her hoof, and the livery stable would certainly demand compensation from me when I change horses.

That was how I came to detour to Margaretting, the nearest village with a smithy. When I got there, three old men were sitting on logs in the shade of the barn end of the smithy while a "simple" lad busied himself chasing birds from the field beside the smithy. I asked the old fellows if the smith was also a farrier, and they laughed at me:

"No farrier, he. But a smith's no use in a village like this without he knows shoeing."

When the smith steps out of the workshop he calls to the lad chasing the birds and I watch in fascination as the boy gentles the horse almost as if they spoke the same language, while the smith sizes up the hoof that needs shoeing.

This is a fascinating process: first the surface of the hoof is pared with a sharp knife, and some dirt picked from the frog. I continue to watch patiently as the smith presses a hot metal shoe against the hoof making clouds of foul-smelling smoke, but my horse stands as calmly and patiently with her minder as if she were in her home stable. It takes a couple of returns to the ringing anvil inside the workshop to adjust the fit of the shoe and finally the smith twists off the protruding ends of the nails, rasping them flush to the wall of the hoof. The whole process has taken a little over an hour, not including time spent waiting.

When I get to the Saracen's Head at Chelmsford, it's late, it's cold, and I'm tired. But for once, I have a chance to talk to Will Kemp himself.

I ask Will Kemp what kind of jokes he uses, when he's not clowning. Of course, as he points out, most of the jokes he speaks on stage are written for him by the playwright, but

"I asked a painter of likenesses once 'how is it that your paintings are so fair, yet your children are so ugly?' 'Master Kemp' quoth he, 'I paint by day, but beget by night!'",

"John Nokes was driving his cart not far from here, and about noon, stopped to rest awhile. While he slept, thieves took his team, so that when he woke he exclaimed 'either I have lost my horses, or I have found a cart!'",

"What is't that a noble gentleman values so, that he wraps it in a silk kerchief, and keeps about him, yet a common beggar tosses away?"

When I admit to being stymied, he informs me "it is but the snot of their noses!"

Something about the way he tells it has me chuckling, and before I can regain my composure, he asks me if I would lend him my kerchief?

I pass it to him (it is clean, by the way) and he proceeds to stuff it into one nostril, then to my surprise (and mild disgust) draws it out of the other.

Before I can ask him to return it, he inserts it into the other nostril, sneezes a great sneeze, crosses his eyes, and proceeds to draw my kerchief from his right ear!

When Tom Slye his taberer joins us with a round of drinks, Will's eye catches a couple of wooden buckets standing in a corner, where the potboy left them after cleaning. Feigning drunk, he staggers across and trips on an imaginary uneven flagstone, landing with each foot in a bucket. Then quickwitted Tom (who presumably has had plenty of experience of Will's humor) strikes up yet another morris, and Will clumps the buckets to the tune of Bean Setting, a scene which puts me in mind of Gene Kelly's impeccable choreography in the 1949 musical, On The Town.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

References

Humor in Kemp's Day To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].