First Light

I was getting ready to leave at what I consider an early hour of the morning, although even at five o'clock there are a few intrepid souls already at work. Making my way into the Place du Saint-Sernin I found myself drawn by the haunting beauty of a girl singing where the walls of the Place produce an acoustic almost like a concert-hall. The words, “O quam mirabilis est” — “Oh what a miracle this is!”

She sang like a lark, apparently just enjoying the quiet morning air, and I loitered just inside the square to listen, waiting until her song wwas finished before crossing to greet her. I suppose I should not have been surprised to learn that she was the oldest daughter of Herr Grüneberg; that her family had lived in Bad Sobernheim for five generations becoming one of the wealthiest farming families. In the hope of learning more I invited Traudi and her father to share breakfast with me in the tavern and over the meal, I learned more about the hazards of den Weg des heiligen Jakobus.
The first hazard as you climb into the Pyrenean mountains, so Sigismund tells me, is the packs of wolves in the high forests which prey on lone pilgrims, and it was because of these that the hôpital at Roncesvalles was established. And it wasn't so long ago, that the souls of pilgrims were at risk from the pernicious teachings of the Cathar heretics who sought refuge in the mountains.
On the east of Lorca is the bitter river the local people call the Salado. There are wicked men who wait beside the river for unsuspecting pilgrims and encourage them to water their horses there. When the horses fall dead, these rogues skin them before their carcases have even cooled!
Once you pass over the mountains into Spain, do not eat their beef, pork, shad, eel or tench for they will almost certainly make you sick. (Spanish tummy? I wondered that such a thing has been known for such a long time) The Porma and the Sil are good rivers of sweet water, flowing through verdant and pleasant lands. A few miles from Santiago our party halted and we bathed in the waters of the Miño, a river surely blessed by God, stripping off even our underclothes.
Sigismund was so keen to tell me of the adventures they had been through, and the things they had learned along the road that our meal was done before ever I had a chance to ask Traudi about the song she was singing earlier. Before the poor girl had a chance to utter a word Sigismund told me with a note of pride in his voice that she had learned the song as a pupil, one of the few females admitted to the school run by the Benedictines at Disibodenberg.

References

                    

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Those boots were made for walking

Whan that Aprille with hise shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,¹
and bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth²
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye³
That slepen al the nyght with open eye,—
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages,—
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;⁴
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Checklist

1. April has quenched the drought of March
2. Gentle breezes have replaced the howling gales of the equinox
3. The Dawn Chorus has resumed rehearsals
4. Wanderlust takes hold once more

As you might guess from the checklist, my first, very ambitious thought was to make the pilgrimage, at least part of the way, for myself, to Santiago de Compostela. But the suggestion was vetoed very firmly citing the risk of exposure as a reason. Any physical risks I might take are part and parcel of the lives of the people around me, but the danger of being exposed as someone with ‘supernatural’ connections for the duration of quite a long pilgrimage would place my life in danger unjustifiably. I may not be able to make the pilgrimage immediately, but I intend to find some way to overcome any potential obstacles in due course somehow.
For the folks who live in the era, I can hardly blame them for wanting to go on vacation once the weather starts to improve: three months of cold, damp, and preserved food has certainly done it for me in the past. In my case though, I am looking further afield than Caunterbury; I figured if I can establish myself at Toulouse, long-since established as a popular rendezvous for pilgrim groups crossing Europe, there should be some good pickings for a seller of pilgrim memorabilia. Yes, even in the 13th century, there is a flourishing trade in souvenirs. And if you're rich enough, and have the right connections, you might even be able to buy one of St.James’ actual fingerbones (current estimates suggest that he had between thirty-five and forty fingers on each hand!)
As a first stage, before heading towards Toulouse I made the acquaintance of some of the craftsmen of L'Isle Jourdain, where I obtained a workable stock of rosary beads, small carved wooden figurines and some carved bone icons. Thus prepared I made my way to the Cathédrale Saint-Etienne in Toulouse to set up my stall. Describing my adventure in such bald terms belies the competitive nature of the vendors already there, and I was obliged to display my stock at the furthest edges of the market.
Identifying the pilgrims returning is simplified in many cases by the scallop shells which they wear fastened to their hats or breasts, although in a few cases, they are equally identifiable by the evidence of miracles which they proudly display to anyone who shows the slightest curiosity: I obtained the following song from an older man who was keen to show me his well-worn crutch, explaining that for many years he had been lame as the result of an accident, but now, not only could he walk, but as he eagerly demonstrated, he could dance once more!

Herr Grüneberg, as he identifies himself to me, knows many of these pilgrim songs which have even been set down in written form by King Alfonso X, ‘The Wise’ of Spain.
                   

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Shave and a haircut, two bits

One of the reasons I love what I do is the unmitigated delight of being surprised by music; whether it's a workman whistling a tune I've never heard before, a party celebrating a wedding, or grieving family mourning a bereavement, every now and then, the music just bursts out in a spontaneous expression of our humanity no matter where, or when, in the world we live.
Throwing in my lot with Jacob Smollett and his granddaughter Amelia, on their way down to Wilmington delivering farm produce to Bencher's chandler has been enjoyable, but not particularly profitable. Old Mr.Smollett has admitted to knowing several songs which he has no intention of teaching young Amelia and Amelia has taught me a couple of interesting, but generally unremarkable schoolyard songs.
While Jacob fine-tuned the details of his deal with Captain Bencher, Amelia and I watched the longshoremen shouldering and carrying barrels, bales, and crates up the gangplanks to the Caroline. For a while, Amelia was held spellbound by the noise and smoke of a steam-powered derrick working further down the quay but the quay is a working environment, with heavy loads, strong men, and powerful machinery at work, and I was able to deter her from trying to get a closer look.
Lunch break for the longshoremen doesn't happen at 12 noon sharp; these men work until the ship is loaded or unloaded, one or two men taking a break at a time, as needed under the watchful eye of the bo'sun. By three o'clock the Caroline's cargo had all been loaded and the ship was only waiting on the harbour pilot and the tide.
With an hour or so before they would be needed again, a small group of stevedores had settled themselves on a stack of woolen bales and formed an impromptu choir. What surprised me was that these men (three negroes and two white men) were improvising what I would have termed barbershop harmony and their performance was in no way blemished by the occasional discord:

The youngest member of the group had a question about rhythm:
“Perfesser, yes'day you tole me you can write music down, on paper, same as writin' on paper? kin you show me how?”
“Well now, young Amos, let's take a real simple example – ‘shave an' a haircut; two bits’, I would write that like this:”
And taking a pencil and a scrap of paper from his pocket he jotted down the following sample:

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... and New York

Has anyone told you, you look like a penguin? Seriously, you look very dashing. Are you ready to hit the street? I think I could fall in love with the Chrysler Royal that you hired for our runabout! I was thinking that drinks before the show wouldn't be an option and of course, we wouldn't want to risk getting on the wrong side of the law, but I had a word with the desk clerk earlier and he hinted in the broadest terms that Fifth Avenue is a very hospitable area for folks like us from out of town.
When I was checking the paper earlier, I saw that Jerome Kern's Show Boat is playing at the Ziegfeld Theater, and if they don't have any seats there, Merry-Go-Round is playing at the Sam Harris Theater.

At this point, I need several aspirin and a shot of java to facilitate the proper recollection of the events of last evening. Show Boat was wonderful. I love live theater and now my head is full of songs like “After The Ball”, “Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man” and “Ole Man River” (although I would have liked to see Paul Robeson in the role, I have to say that Jules Bledsoe was very good). And I apologize sincerely for complaining (I remember that part very clearly) about not taking the breezer; after ankling into “Jumpin’” Jack Jones’ Jazz Joint we both would have been a danger to traffic. Are you sure we weren't a danger to the cab that took us home? Did I do anything frightfully embarrassing? I really don't remember.
What I do remember was the hopped-up kids in the place. And I don't mean just the babies, I'm sure I saw flappers, dappers, and Methuselah himself putting away the coffin-varnish. I couldn't have imagined such a mix; from dewdroppers to face-stretchers. If they weren't getting a wiggle on they were sinking the juice like it was going out of style! And maybe it's the product of my gin-soaked imagination, but I remember the band being hot stuff, they were rocking the dive with their jive! Was it my imagination again, or did they have a negro up there tooting that horn? It's details like that that make me realize how far we have come even if we still have a long way to go.

References

Get hip to the jive with a little help.
And stay out of the way of the ladies of the Manhattan Women's Christian Temperance Union!
And when you visit the watering-hole, make sure you know where the other back door is. Better leave your soda in a hurry than wait all night in the cooler to talk to the beak in the morning.
                    

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Morning Raaga

Thank you, my faithful companion, for coming with me on this voyage. The Taoists have a proverb that The journey is the reward, and it certainly seems to have been the attitude of Dispatch in sending us here: barely forty-eight hours since we docked at the small fishing village of Munambam, and already I am getting a ping to warn me that the elastic is being stretched. When I say docked, what I should say is that the ship anchored offshore in the Arabian Sea and we were permitted to go ashore at Munambam.

The first thing I appreciated about Munambam was the variation in diet made possible by our brief stop: bananas! fresh, ripe bananas which must surely be proof that God loves us! Even in a small fishing village like this, there are brilliant colors everywhere, and here and there, small shrines piled with offerings from the faithful. So far, I have seen several shrines to the elephant-headed Ganesha as well as the universal presence of the Buddha.
With the captain's permission to spend the night in the village at the tiny inn to wait for the village market today, I was too excited to sleep much and the constant chattering of the monkeys from the jungle around the village, and the songs of the night birds populated my thoughts with vivid images of ancient temples and mossy stones beside quiet streams. When the sky was just beginning to lighten, I caught the strains of a sitar somewhere nearby and it was then that I left my bed to go in search of the music.
The old man I found, accompanied by his son and nephew, was introduced to me as Baladhi after perhaps three hours of almost hypnotic improvisation repeating the same underlying theme until the music ceased and the spell broke. It is to Baladhi, and Haresh that I am indebted for the following morning raagas, which I hope I have transcribed (more or less) correctly allowing for the differences between the western scale, and Indian thaat. As explained to me briefly, Indian music not only employs more complex rhythmic devices (taals) than can be easily represented in western notation, but much more subtle divisions of the thaat.

The village market was a surprisingly variegated event; a travelling silversmith set up a small workshop with anvil and forge repairing jewelry and selling beautiful work set with turquoise stones and red coral. The local farmers bring yams, peppers, goats and chickens for sale, and buy fish, and a merchant has a stall selling bolts of cotton.
I hope that at some point it will be possible for me to return to India and explore the culture more thoroughly; it seems nonsensical that despite the technology that makes it possible for me to traverse time and space, the constraints of the project do not permit me to linger even though I can return almost to the same instant from which I departed. Being a mere mortal however, I have a limited number of years available to me, no matter how I use them, so perhaps should take care to spend them carefully!

References

If you're interested in Taoist proverbs, there's a small but concentrated collection of them here.

Gaiye Ganapati; (Real Player) a song in praise of Lord Ganesh
Performed by Chandrakantha Courtney.

                   

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Gloriana!

Some things never change: for a really good show, Londoners will always be ready to camp out on the streets overnight making sure they get a good view point. Despite the snow and the damp of the streets, little huddles of hopeful sightseers have set up braziers and the vendors of hot pies, roast chestnuts and soup have all been doing a brisk trade. And it's not mere chance that the coronation is to take place on Sunday, January 15th, 1599. The date was selected by Doctor John Dee as the date for which the astrological configuration would be most positive.
As I have been informed by various London natives, the first stage in ascending to the throne was for the princess to occupy the Tower of London, going by river from Hatfield in the state barge on Friday. And when I think about it, it makes sense. Since it was built the Tower has been the castle of the rulers of London.

Yesterday the crowds were treated to their first close view of their queen-to-be; along the planned route of the Royal Progress to Westminster the Guilds of the City of London presented a series of pageants: at Fenchurch the princess was welcomed on behalf of the City. At Fenchurch Street were three ceremonial arches, and above the greatest of them, figures representing Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Queen Elizabeth's late mother. And surmounting them all, a figure representing Queen Elizabeth herself. At the top end of Cheapside, the queen graciously received from the city a purse of a thousand gold marks, giving a short speech of thanks.
And what was I doing with all this merriment going on? well, for once I had a chance to peddle broadside ballads myself, the bestseller of the hour being this:

References

The coronation of Queen Elizabeth in detail.
Snapshots of the divers pageants that greeted the princess
                   

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Do you see what I see? Do you hear what I hear?

A cold clear night, stars twinkle above. I can make out the shape of Orion the hunter near the horizon, and the Great Bear, riding high. And as I watch, a figure materialises, like a man outlined in fire, or a shower of gold dust, up there outshining the stars. He's so beautiful, I've never seen anyone like him!
His voice... well I know it's a cliché but his voice is loud and clear, the best way I can describe it is like the sound of a trumpet Glory to God in the highest! And on Earth, peace, good will to men. And before I know it the sky is full of these radiant beings, the stars barely visible. And the music! Oh, the music of their singing!
As they faded from view I was such a mix of emotions; I felt so little, so insignificant, and shameful, as if I had been in the presence of someone who knew the worst things I had ever done, yet at the same time I was so full of joy, I wanted to laugh and cry, and love and be loved. It was some minutes before I realised that my eyes were streaming with tears and my knees were numb on the cold hard ground.

Whatever you believe, whatever faith you keep, let me wish you a very Happy Christmas. And know this, something is coming; something wonderful!
                    

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The Absolute Monarch

The picture I had of Bluff King Hal before starting this assignment was, I suspect, fairly typical; on the one hand the epitome of a renaissance man, athletic, artistic and gallant, on the other hand, a ruthless bluebeard who used up women in his quest for a male heir. As I learn more from the Grass Roots level, I can't help thinking that in a later age, he would probably be described, albeit quietly and far from court, as a Gunboat Diplomat.
Since I began working at the Black Swan Inn, in Greenwich, we have had the first snowfall of the winter and in addition to my usual round of scrubbing barrels and floors (not always with the same brush) I have been helping fetch faggots to kindle the fires which not only heat the rooms, but water for brewing and laundry, and the stoves for cooking. And among the stories which I have been hearing from the guests, is the good fortune that Will Somers has found.
The way I heard it, on his way back to his property in Isham, in the county of Northamptonshire, Master Fermor attended the King delivering letters and news from France and Italy gathered during a business trip. His fool Will Somers accompanied him to the court where he immediately attracted the attention of the King with his bold wit. The King and Queen Catherine were walking in the palace garden discussing developments in Europe with Richard Fermor and Henry mentioned his hope that Catherine would soon present him with a prince. At this point, Will Somers addressed the queen;
Look to thy husband, Kate, lest he cozen thee; provide civil oranges enough, or he'll have a lemon shortly

For the following song suggested by the sight of me nailing sprigs of holly and mistletoe to the rafters, I am indebted to Benjamin Comys, one of the itinerant immigrant musicians who often entertains at court. I have his assurance that this was indeed composed by his majesty who plays very well upon the harp, though I wouldn't recommend that Queen Catherine put too much faith in the sentiment expressed.

Arranged by Taco Walstra.

References

An introduction to reading lute tablature
                    

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Dancing for Joy

Is it really you? I didn't recognise you with your hood up. Has anybody ever told you you've got nice legs? Anyway, what can I get you to drink?

When I bring your mulled cider I'll point out a couple of members of the party travelling with Master Fermor, merchant. He's come all the way from Calais and among the party is a sharp-witted fellow whose company I think you might enjoy. The story I heard is that plague has been spreading through southern France, and Master Fermor wanted to get out before it began heading north.

The thuggish looking fellow with the gorilla brow and the shaved head is actually not as rough as he seems. In fact he's quite the wit; he's asked me to have a word with the band at the far end of the room, which I intend to do as soon as I don't have my hands full of tankards and thirsty customers wanting their drinks. And by the way, the choice of fish pies isn't bad but I wouldn't recommend their stargazy pie unless you're planning to share with Scrattleclaws, the inn cat! And I should warn you, she doesn't wait to be asked, if she likes the look of what you eat, she'll be in your lap before you've even smelt it.
Sam Boteler doesn't generally approve of the staff joining the dancing, but the punters seem happy enough tonight and Sam himself is sick and can't stray far from the privy so I took the chance to join in a round dance for a while and one of Master Fermor's men was being utterly merciless, exaggerating the movements and mannerisms of anyone who caught his eye!

References

Lady Eleanor Cleavely's dissertation on the Fool in King Lear
More on the history of this carol.
                   

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