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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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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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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At the Sign of the Crumhorn, in Hart Lane

The most obvious thing about arriving in London in 1533 is the skyline. As soon as we get out of these tiny crowded alleys do you see what's missing? Where the dome of St.Paul's cathedral will one day dominate the skyline, right now, there is a towering spire.
Needless to say, I haven't been idle. In fact, I managed to get a short-term job helping in the shop of Master Joäo Dias, selling musical instruments which are made in his own workshop. I've been hoping, ever since I started researching, that my collection of songs would prove helpful someday.
Now the really exciting bit, for me anyway, is that yesterday a gentleman came into the shop to ask about buying a chest of shawms, and to have the nut replaced on his lute. Nothing too remarkable in all that, but while trying out a couple of instruments he explained that he is one of the court musicians, retained by the King, and needs his lute to play for a banquet in a couple of days time.
The guest of honor is Jean de Dinteville, his excellency, the ambassador of France. You probably know him from Hans Holbein's painting which the Victorians tagged with the title “The Ambassadors” with its curious distorted skull dominating the foreground.
Anyway, in the course of assisting our customer yesterday, he asked me if I would help him reach a decision by playing a duet, with me on tenor shawm, and him on alto, which is how I learned this number:

Turns out, it's by His Majesty no less! So I asked the customer if he knew this number?

Sure enough, he did indeed, it being a well-known tune.
While we were jamming, another gentleman strolled into the showroom and waited until the previous customer had left before asking me if he could speak with Master Dios. As soon as he saw the newcomer, Master Dios smiled broadly and greeted him "Shalom aleichem!" with a hug, taking him to the back of the building.
When the two men returned to the showroom, I ventured a cautious "Baruch haba!"
Both men looked at each other, then the newcomer introduced himself to me as Master Luis Lopes, button maker, and a friend to the new Christians of Portugal, and invited me to join with God's people for worship in a few days time.
I thanked him for his very hospitable offer but declined on the grounds that I was planning to leave for the continent within a few days (more or less true). Expressing regret that I wasn't able to stay longer, he asked me at least to send a letter and tell him of my fortunes when things were more settled.

London, then

To help get your bearings, there's a segmented map of London in the time of Henry VIII, here.
    

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