Jack fell down and broke his crown

We're almost down to the Cape of Good Hope, and the weather has stayed fair for the last few days, just getting a little cooler. However, I am feeling a strange sense of loss after one of the crew fell from one of the crosstrees. He survived the fall, but took a dent on the noggin when he landed and had it not been for the willingness of our surgeon-barber to accept the assistance of an Indian physician from a trading dhow, I am afraid we would have lost him.
After the unfortunate fellow was diagnosed with bleeding into a part of the brain referred to as the Cave of Brahma by the physician, I suspect it was partly by virtue of being female that I was invited to assist in an operation to relieve pressure within his brain. Overruling the objections of his western counterpart, the physician first produced a natural sponge soaked in a pungent preparation which I learned later.¹
Despite the smell from the sponge which I held over his nose, the patient quieted noticeably and I actually had to make an effort to engage him in conversation and keep him at least semi-conscious while the physician worked with astonishing speed and dexterity, making his incision, trephining a small piece of bone and spilling bloody fluid on the deck.
As soon as he had finished suturing the wound and I was able to remove the sponge, he applied a compress made with the leaves of the Ekdandi to staunch the bleeding. Now, several days later, the patient is recovering well although he complains of a splitting headache which is apparently caused by contamination of his spinal fluid. But he is able to perform light duties, mostly swabbing and sail-mending. But he shows a marked change in personality. Where he had been one of the more exuberant members of the crew, now he is quiet and rather withdrawn and I'm not sure whether it is the result of his injury, the remedy applied, or perhaps, the anaesthesia?
During their off-hours, his shipmates try to engage him in games and songs, looking for traces of their old comrade, but it seems he may not be there any longer. However, in their efforts to kindle the cheery spark of former times, I have learned that there are shanties for:

• Hauling the halyard
• Pumping the bilge
• Winding the capstan or the windlass
• And Fo'c'sle shanties for just making whoopie in off-hours!

The example below is a good Short-drag shanty from one of the African members of the crew:

References

1. • Opium
   • Mulberry juice (from unripe berries)
   • Decoction of Mandragora root
   • Decoction of Ivy stem
   • Decoction of Hemlock stem

                    

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A Passage to India

When the director asked me if I liked curry, I should have suspected something. Apart from the routine debriefing questions, my director never asks me anything unless there's an ulterior motive of some kind. And here I am, having vowed never to risk life and limb on a wooden ship, sailing for India! We're only ten days out of Portsmouth and already I am developing a potentially lifelong aversion to salt herring. For variety we have some fresh fruit aboard, but it is strictly rationed, as is cheese and the rum which the crew gulp down like nectar but which in my opinion might serve as mouthwash.
The good thing about my growing aversion to dried fish is that I am developing a rapport with the ship's cat, very imaginatively named "Blackie". So, what else have I learned so far?

• Life at sea is damp.
• The crew aren't altogether happy about having a passenger aboard. Particularly a female passenger. But I am allowed on deck for a couple of hours each day as long as I don't distract the sailors from their duties.
• Since my (tiny - think broom-closet) cabin is relatively warm and comfortable the handful of books I brought along are relatively safe from the aforementioned damp and I have as much time for reading as I could ever want.
• In an effort to relieve the monotony of my diet, I tried a piece of hardtack. Hard is right. Even after soaking it in the soup of the day, it remains like homebaked concrete.
• Sailors are an impossibly superstitious group. I hope to write more about that later.

The best part of the voyage, in my opinion, is that the sailors are well-versed in all forms of recreation and during off-hours when more-or-less one third of the crew are off watch there is music, games and chatter to be found all over the ship. Which is to say, in an area roughly half the size of my front yard at home.
Having never been much of a knitter, I thought a lengthy voyage like this might provide me with ideal opportunity to learn and a couple of days ago I was on deck winding the yarn I bought before leaving Portsmouth when Blackie found me. The help of the ship's cat might have been enough trouble for me, but the ship's carpenter who also plays the viol saw the mischief that Blackie was threatening and struck up with the following ditty which has since been entered in my list of some of the most ribald I have ever heard!
                   

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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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In the arms of the Angels

Thank you, Sharon, for permission to share this song.

                   

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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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