A Dedicated Follower of Fashion!

Ordinarily, I don't approve of the I'm so glad that didn't happen to me attitude. But after celebrating Thanksgiving with Annabelle Sarah Hale (and with not only her permission, but her encouragement) the following song (to the tune of "Oh Susanna" for those of us who don't read music) struck us both as an entertaining gift to share with music-lovers for ages to come.

I think the lyrics tell a better story than anything I could concoct!

                   

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Through a Glass, Darkly

To answer the riddle that Master Garrett puts to me, I must have two things:
I immediately find myself thinking along the lines of "eye of toad, and wing of bat..."
Doctor Dee continues to explain:
A lock, and a key. Our Lock is an item of knowledge, but not how it may be used. Our Key is he that hath  understanding to use what is known, but possesses not the Lock.
And am I one of these two, Doctor Dee?
You are. Or more properly, what you have told us of last night is the Key. Now it is for Doctor Kelley and myself to find the Lock and apply the Key. And in order that the Key may open the lock, we shall also have need of you if you are willing?
How do you propose to use me?
If you will, get you to the priest and be shriven and fast until the seventh hour today when you shall come here and join myself and Doctor Kelley in a scrying for the Lock.
I followed the instructions given, firstly seeking confession with the village priest. I never imagined I might have accumulated so many sins until he suggested a list of possible headings! And although Master Garrett wasn't keen on the idea, I was given leave to make my way to the house of Doctor Dee. By the time the seventh hour rolled around I think I could have recited the pater noster backwards and my tummy was rumbling quite noticeably.

Doctor Kelley's study was surprisingly tidy; a couple of shelves held ancient-looking books, and such furnishings as there were had been moved back against the walls to make room for a small table in the centre of the room on which lay a bundle wrapped in black velvet. Doctor Dee bade me be seated, and carefully unwrapped the velvet bundle to reveal a slab of polished obsidian.
Now Doctor Dee picked one of the vials from the collection on Doctor Kelley's desk, uncorked it, and using the feather end of an uncut quill, proceeded to draw a faint circle encompassing the chairs and table where I was seated. At each of the cardinal points of the compass, he added an obscure symbol and invoked the protection of one of his familiars; I remember the names of Il, Po and Va but forget the fourth.
Finally Dee and Kelley settled themselves around the table equidistantly we joined hands and Doctor Kelley advised me to close my eyes and recall as clearly as I might, every detail of the night before when I was awoken.
With eyes closed, I listened to Doctor Kelley murmuring what seemed at first to be random phrases; a cat cries, a rat finds an apple core, the mice scratch at their fleas. I know my mind started to wander, and I may have missed something, but when he said The heaven opens and the seeker descends! I came back to earth with a start. I am afraid my surprise disturbed the mood and if neither of the Doctors had said anything I still would have known that they were less than pleased with my conduct. However, they did at least confide that they felt something had been achieved, even if they did not elect to enlighten me further.
Leaving the house of Doctor Dee in the dark, my spirits were thoroughly cast down and I would happily have slunk back to Master Garrett's loft to break my fast with a cold pie but on my way back into the village Peter and his sweetheart, Susan siezed me one by each arm and frogmarched me to the tavern, refusing to let me leave once more until I had lined my belly, drunk good cider, and danced a measure or two.

References

Doctor Kelley hath his own page in the Booke of Faces
                   

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Who owns the night?

Once again, this is a difficult entry to write. I've been living in the real, tangible world for so long (and "real" and "tangible" take on new meanings when you spend the evening singing songs over a half-pint in a candle-lit tavern rather than watching re-runs on television) that despite my previous experience^{1, 2} with the fey folk, I am having some difficulty incorporating the latest developments into my understanding of the world.

As part of the terms of my employment I am allowed to sleep on the premises, in Master Garrett's workshop on a small straw pallet over the lumber store and it was only days after starting here that I was awoken by a brilliant light shining into the lumber store. Of course, I thought I had overslept and was about to hear the Master's opinion of my work ethic, so as quickly as I could, I scrambled into doublet and hose but halfway down the ladder the light shifted and disappeared as if someone had passed by with a brilliant lantern. Of course, in the year of our Lord 1583 electric light is unknown, so I was puzzled and alarmed. I shinned back up the ladder and into my sleeping loft where I tried several times to strike a light with tinder and flint in hope of lighting a candle, but achieving flame from flint sparks is a tricky business at the best of times, and something I have never mastered.

Perhaps because of my nocturnal surprise I woke earlier than usual, and remembering what happened before I fell back asleep, I was out into the workshop as soon as possible to check that all was in order; none of the tools or workpieces were disturbed, and nothing taken, so after a breakfast of honeycakes and hazelnuts I stepped outside to look around the shop. What I found was three indentations pressed into the dirt almost four inches making a triangular pattern, and this in soil packed hard enough that even wagon wheels scarcely mark the surface unless there has been a good rain first.

Peter, the apprentice was the first to arrive for work and after taking a brief look at the impressions, crossed himself and looked at me: "Mark my words, this will not sit well with Master Garrett!".

Sure enough when Master Garrett arrived he gazed at the marks for a few minutes. "Have either of you stepped inside the triangle?"

Once he had satisfied himself that neither of us had done more than look from a safe distance, he ordered me to ask whether Doctor Dee would examine the site, and gave me directions to the Doctor's house. The door was answered by the Doctor's manservant who sent me back bearing the message that the Doctor was with a gentleman but would attend Master Garrett in the
first hour after noon.

After that, work in the shop proceeded with an uneasy quietness making the morning seem longer than ever, but as promised Doctor Dee arrived, with another professional-looking man, both of them wearing their black doctoral robes, and close-fitting black caps. The Doctor was immediately recognizable by his long, neatly brushed pointy beard and took Master Garrett first to examine the marks. After a while, Peter and I made excuses to step outside the workshop and Doctor Dee requested a pitcher of water.

Watching the Doctor pour a little water onto the ground between marks was one of the most surprising things I have ever seen: the water sat, forming a small puddle. A little more water a short way outside the pattern was quickly absorbed, making sticky mud of the dry soil. Without being able to stay and learn more I was dismissed inside, and a few minutes later was
joined once more by Peter but it was not until Master White, miller, came to arrange the fitting of new axles to one of his carts that Master Garrett joined us once more.

This song didn't make it into the printed archive until the eighteenth century, but I couldn't resist the temptation to slip it in here!

References

1. Beltane Fire


2. Away with the Fairies

The
written content of this work is licensed under a Creative
Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Who owns the night?

Once again, this is a difficult entry to write. I've been living in the real, tangible world for so long (and "real" and "tangible" take on new meanings when you spend the evening singing songs over a half-pint in a candle-lit tavern rather than watching re-runs on television) that despite my previous experience^{1, 2} with the fey folk, I am having some difficulty incorporating the latest developments into my understanding of the world.

As part of the terms of my employment I am allowed to sleep on the premises, in Master Garrett's workshop on a small straw pallet over the lumber store and it was only days after starting here that I was awoken by a brilliant light shining into the lumber store. Of course, I thought I had overslept and was about to hear the Master's opinion of my work ethic, so as quickly as I could, I scrambled into doublet and hose but halfway down the ladder the light shifted and disappeared as if someone had passed by with a brilliant lantern. Of course, in the year of our Lord 1583 electric light is unknown, so I was puzzled and alarmed. I shinned back up the ladder and into my sleeping loft where I tried several times to strike a light with tinder and flint in hope of lighting a candle, but achieving flame from flint sparks is a tricky business at the best of times, and something I have never mastered.
Perhaps because of my nocturnal surprise I woke earlier than usual, and remembering what happened before I fell back asleep, I was out into the workshop as soon as possible to check that all was in order; none of the tools or workpieces were disturbed, and nothing taken, so after a breakfast of honeycakes and hazelnuts I stepped outside to look around the shop. What I found was three indentations pressed into the dirt almost four inches making a triangular pattern, and this in soil packed hard enough that even wagon wheels scarcely mark the surface unless there has been a good rain first.
Peter, the apprentice was the first to arrive for work and after taking a brief look at the impressions, crossed himself and looked at me: "Mark my words, this will not sit well with Master Garrett!".
Sure enough when Master Garrett arrived he gazed at the marks for a few minutes. "Have either of you stepped inside the triangle?"
Once he had satisfied himself that neither of us had done more than look from a safe distance, he ordered me to ask whether Doctor Dee would examine the site, and gave me directions to the Doctor's house. The door was answered by the Doctor's manservant who sent me back bearing the message that the Doctor was with a gentleman but would attend Master Garrett in the first hour after noon.
After that, work in the shop proceeded with an uneasy quietness making the morning seem longer than ever, but as promised Doctor Dee arrived, with another professional-looking man, both of them wearing their black doctoral robes, and close-fitting black caps. The Doctor was immediately recognizable by his long, neatly brushed pointy beard and took Master Garrett first to examine the marks. After a while, Peter and I made excuses to step outside the workshop and Doctor Dee requested a pitcher of water.
Watching the Doctor pour a little water onto the ground between marks was one of the most surprising things I have ever seen: the water sat, forming a small puddle. A little more water a short way outside the pattern was quickly absorbed, making sticky mud of the dry soil. Without being able to stay and learn more I was dismissed inside, and a few minutes later was joined once more by Peter but it was not until Master White, miller, came to arrange the fitting of new axles to one of his carts that Master Garrett joined us once more.

This song didn't make it into the printed archive until the eighteenth century, but I couldn't resist the temptation to slip it in here!

References

1. Beltane Fire
2. Away with the Fairies

                   

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The Moth and The Flame

Eventually getting me into the workshop of Dr.John Dee was a major triumph for the laboratory team. Getting me back again in the same shape was a significant achievement for me as well!
For reasons I still don't understand, departure took three attempts and when I did finally go, I found myself in some ill-defined green-lit fog of a space. Through the green fog I could make out perhaps eighteen feet away from me two men, one in late middle-age, and the other younger. The older one ordered me to state my name and given the circumstances I wasn't about to identify myself, so blurted out "Podhoffinog". Armed with this information, the older man spoke an incantation in a language I had never heard before, including the name I gave, and I found myself back in the laboratory with a shocking headache.
After that attempt there was a debriefing at which I agreed to be sent to alternative coordinates in the village of Shene in Surrey, to the west of London. The assignment started with more of a bump than usual, and perhaps I should have taken the hint; in the event, it proved more difficult than ever before to inveigle myself into the household of my subject. It didn't occur to me until some time after my return and debrief that Dr.Dee's protective wards must have been both effectual, and powerful.
My first opportunity in the village came in the misfortune of Willy Barlowe, no longer able to work with the village wheelwright as a result of a severe scald from the steam chest. The job is ideal for me since it involves working with wood and occasional visits to the smithy for tires to be fitted, and while Master Garrett, the wheelwright, and his apprentice do most of the work, I act as the extra pair of hands, helping to carry the baulks of elm for the nave (hub) of a new wheel, sweeping the floor, and after poor Willy's example, I approach the steam chest with a good measure of caution when refilling the cauldron or stoking the fire.
To watch Master Garrett work, holding a spoke on the shaving horse, shaping each part with a razor-edged drawknife to match its sisters perfectly, or mortising the nave to receive the spokes is delightful but I can't spend as much time as I would like watching; Master Garrett expects work from his employees and his tongue is as sharp as his spokeshave! The good part is that he whistles habitually as he works, and this little delight is one of the songs I learned while working around him:

References

Check out this site for some pictures of a modern wheelwrighting workshop.
                    

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