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

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].

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

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].

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

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].

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].

He dances his troubles away

(Thursday, February 24th, 1600) When I spoke with Master Kemp at the inn in Burntwood he told me, though if it were me, I would certainly have made more of a complaint of it, that he had strained his hip as he left Romford. But he decided it would not be worth the trouble of consulting a surgeon. Having pulled my own shoulder slightly (I should have accepted help with my saddlebags) I feel the same way: the most likely treatment would be either leeching or bleeding and a rub with something that smells like horse liniment and probably contains most of the same ingredients. I do feel, though, that if anyone has cause to complain, it is poor Will. The market crowds combined with sightseers both from London, and North Essex were so thick when he reached Burntwood (these days the name has slipped to Brentwood) that he had difficulty making his way to an inn. I managed to find a 21st century picture of the Bell where we stopped in Ingerstone (Ingatestone), which is a comfortable stopping-place, if not very large. I'm just thankful we managed to get a room to ourselves. Most of the travellers are sleeping two or three to a bed tonight. I sometimes think the horses are more comfortable down in the stables than we are, crammed in like peas in a pod. While I was talking to Will, he told me that the town sheriff arrested a pair of cutpurses who followed us all the way from London. Right now, they are as he put it, "enjoying the hospitality of the town", and I wouldn't care to bet on a rosy future for them unless, and this is very unlikely, they can claim "benefit of clergy". The penalty for misdemeanors is commonly corporal punishment, and most felonies are capital offences. In Kemp's own words, he foresees them dancing a lively Trenchmore in the Burntwood pillory to the rhythm of the cat-o'-nine tails. From his description, I think they might be the types of villains commonly known as dummerers: when first captured, they pretended to be dumb and deaf, and might have succeeded, but the sheriff knows a few tricks himself. The events of the day have brought home to me in a horribly real way what a brutal age this can be: although I had put it out of my mind, on our way out of London we passed the Bear Pit where the yelping and growling that accompanied the cheering told the story of a bear baiting in progress. I thought that Master Kemp would remain in Burntwood, resting his injured hip, which is why I recommended we make the most of the daylight, riding for Ingatestone, but to my surprise, even though it is now dark outside, bitterly cold and snowing half-heartedly the commotion outside heralds the arrival of Will Kemp, purveyor of the best bel-shangles and tril-lilles between Sion and Mount Surrey, together with the hardy folk determined to follow him on his jig. Having made something of a friend in Tom Slye, I pay for a hot supper for himself and Will Kemp, and ask Tom's help in transcribing another morris which helps to take my mind off the sorry thoughts that have occupied my mind for most of the 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].

References

Justice in Kemp's Time Crime in the Tudor era

Resting in Romford

(Monday, February 21st, 1600)
"Over here! I've settled with the innkeeper so we're good for a couple of days, which should be long enough. Now, let me introduce you to Master Tom Slye; this is the fellow who is playing the pipe and tabor for Master Kemp on his journey." It's nice to be back in the warmth of an inn. Before you got here, Tom was telling me how within a quarter-mile of the town, a gentleman on horseback offered Will to ride the little distance remaining while Tom had to make his own way on foot, in the frosty moonlight. At least Master Kemp was kind enough to stand him a hot pie when he arrived at the Red Lion (later renamed the Golden Lion ). Nobody seems to know where Master Kemp is right now. My guess is he's probably flaked out on a lumpy bed somewhere in the inn, and I think he deserves his rest: according to Tom, most of the Londoners who followed him as far as Mile End expected him to give up his jig before he ever reached Mile End, or at least stop there for cakes and cream (which is what most of the spectators did after braving the cold). Before you got here Tom was explaining to me the peculiar fingerings for his pipe which is played with only three fingers, the pinkie supporting it, yet it can play through more than an octave. His other hand is free to beat the small tabor which hangs from his pipe arm when he plays. The pipe is surprisingly long, longer than a tenor recorder, but not particularly demanding of breath, which makes it an ideal instrument for someone walking and playing. Since supper time is still a little while off, and I have a penny in my purse, I think it not unreasonable to ask Master Slye if he would entertain us with a jig, and for my pennyworth we have the Fox and Geese: a traditional Morris tune, and one that he has already played several times on the journey.

X:123
T:Fox and Geese
M:6/8
L:1/8
R:jig
Z:Brian Martin Winterbourn Downs Morris (rcvd Jan 2003)
K:G
G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG GAB | A2G FED | G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG c2B | AGF G3 ::
F2G AFD | F2G ABc | d2B d2B | dBG dBG | F2G AFD | F2G ABc | dBG c2B | AGF G3 :|

Of course, like most musicians, one tune leads to another, and by the time our host comes to ask what fare we might choose for supper, Tom has played more than a handful of dances and other tunes to the delight of the guests who have danced merrily. In the opinion of the innkeeper, Tom has earned his supper, and chooses from the meals offered by the kitchen tonight a coney with a pudding boiled in his belly, a little better than his usual fare, I think. To boyle a Cony with a Pudding in his Belly. Take your Cony and fley him, & leave on the eares and wash it faire, and take grated Bread, sweete Suet minced fiine, corance and some fine hearbs, Peneriall; winter savery; percely, Spinage or beets, sweet margeram, and chop your hearbs fine, and season it with Cloves, Mace and Sugar, a little creame and salt and yolks of Egs, and Dates minst fine. Then mingle all your stuf togither, and put it in your Rabets belly and sowe it up with a thred, for the broth take mutton broth when it is boyled a little, and put it in a pot wheras your Rabet may lye long waies in it, and let your broth boile or ever you put it in, then put in Gooceberies or els Grapes, corance and sweet Butter, Vergious, Salt, grated bread and Sugar a little, and when it is boyled, lay it in a dish with Sops. And so serve it in.

References

Pipe and Tabor A book of Cookrye

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

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].

A Nine Days Wonder!

Even with a warm travelling cloak, on days like this I miss comforts like central heating. And the settle near the fireplace is already occupied so we will have to make do with one of the less conspicuous tables in the corner.

"Potboy? Two halves of mulled cider, if you please, for me and my companion here. And I fancy we shall have an ounce of Virginia tobacco if you have any." I chose this seat for us, so that we can eavesdrop on the conversation between Master Kemp (the fellow with the ruddy complexion) and Master Pinchbeck (pale face, straggly hair. Nice suede jacket though.)

Did you hear that? I love it when we can be in at the beginning of something like this! He just wagered with Kemp that he wouldn't jig from London to Norwich!

OK, by way of introduction, Will Kemp enjoys quite a reputation as a clown, and has done several seasons with the various theaters of London which is probably how Pinchbeck knows him. Before he went solo he was in the service of the Earl of Leicester for a while, which seems to be how he began building the network of contacts that brought him to London.

While I love Kemp's sense of humor, I find his keen observation a little daunting, so personally I would prefer to keep a little distance between us, but watch him, particularly if there's a dog in the vicinity. He can turn anything into business.

To conclude their wager, Pinchbeck and Kemp raise a toast and Kemp's tongue sticks to his mug! His expression goes through shock, desperation, and a sort of forlorn hope as he gestures to the landlord to indicate his plight. The landlord of course doesn't believe it (and neither do most of his customers who have turned to watch the spectacle. When one of the gentlemen present steps up with a poniard bared and offers (with a broad wink) to free master Kemp's tongue, Kemp adds gestures and some raucous protests to the facial expressions. Considering the business afterward, I think it must have lasted about five minutes until he managed to communicate to the landlord that a pinch of nutmeg might free his tongue, if he could be recompensed for his inconvenience with another drink.

Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, from Will Kemp's own written account of his Nine Daies Wonder;

To the true ennobled Lady, and his most bountifull Mistris, Mistris Anne Fitton, Mayde of Honour to the most sacred Royall Queene Elizabeth.

HONORABLE Mistris in the waine of my litle wit, I am forst to desire your protection, else euery Ballad-singer will proclaime me bankrupt of honesty. A sort of mad fellows seeing me merrily dispos'd in a Morrice, haue so bepainted mee in print since my gambols began from London to Norwich, that (hauing but an ill face before) I shall appeare to the world without a face, if your fayre hand wipe not away their foule coulors. One hath written Kemps farewell to the tune of Kery, mery, Buffe: another his desperate daungers in his late trauaile: the third his entertainement to New-Market; which towne I came neuer neere by the length of halfe the heath. Some sweare in a Trenchmore I haue trode a good way to winne the world: many say many thinges that were neuer thought. But in a word your poore seruant offers the truth of his progresse and profit to your honorable view, receiue it I beseech you, such as it is, rude and plaine, for I know your pure iudgement, lookes as soone to see beauty in a Blackamoore, or heare smooth speech from a Stammerer, as to finde any thing, but blunt mirth in a Morrice dauncer, especially such a one as Will Kemp, that hath spent his life in mad Iigges and merry iestes. Three reasons moooue mee to make publik this iourney, one to reproue lying fooles I neuer knew: the other to co[m]mend louing friends, which by the way I daily found: the third to shew my duety to your honorable selfe, whose fauours (among other bountifull friends) makes me (dispight of this sad world) iudge my hart Corke, & my heeles feathers, so that me thinkes I could flye to Rome (at least hop to Rome, as the olde Prouerb is) with a mortar on my head. In which light conceite I lowly begge pardon and leaue, for my Tabrer strikes his huntsup, I must to Norvvich: Imagine Noble Mistris, I am now setting from my Lord Mayors, the houre about seauen, the morning gloomy, the company many, my hart merry. Your worthy Ladiships most vnworthy seruant,

William Kemp.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps References

Kemp's Nine Daies Wonder, by Will Kemp

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].