Snowing like blazes out. I need to make a milk run later, but I think I will postpone the library run for a day or two.
One of the books I had out this round is the diary of a parson in late 18th C England. I love things like this - they're a fascinating look at the everyday life of the time and place. Pepys' diary is well known as being full of detail (although I must admit I didn't finish that - it was too full of details of his affairs with other women and fights with his wife and servants). Parson Woodforde is calmer, and of course rural rather than urban, but still full of detail.
We hear about his worries and annoyances over the frequency with which his brother comes home drunk, and we learn about the ubiquity and cheapness of alcohol in the era - one party where he hosts 5 others they go through madeira and port, beer, cider, and ale at dinner, and then arrac punch and port wine after supper - 8 bottles of port total for the night, beside the rest. Travelling, he records that a glass of wine at an inn is 3p, and at the parsonage he has gin and whiskey delivered by the barrel by a local smuggler, but brews his own beer and mead. He is also proud of his farm, and we see his barley, butter, and apples being sold or gifted.
We see the going rates for servants - from 2 to 10 pounds per year for live-in people (who get food, board and clothing paid for), and a shilling a day for outside hired labour (with 20 shillings in a pound).
The market town is 2 hours ride away, and they get letters and newspapers there, but people come around selling also. The cloth-peddler often gets good custom there - on one occasion he pays over three pounds to the peddler, buying gown material for his servant girls, waistcoat material for the men, and morning coat material and lining for himself.
Travelling is slow, and if you visit, you stay for a while. On the rare occasions he visits his sister and family, it takes a few days to get there, plus they usually stop in London to shop and see the sights when passing through. He is away from home for several months for such a visit, and with shopping and travelling expenses and tips, it can cost 70-80 pounds (out of his yearly tithe collection of maybe 260 pounds).
Charity, and giving money or goods, is a constant thing. From sending a piece of veal or a shilling to a sick parishioner, hosting Christmas dinner for several local old men and women, giving sixpences to beggars, to donating to a relief fund for the poor during a particularly cold winter, to giving pennies to children on Valentine's Day, his money is always going out.
Medicines are basic. Rhubarb (a purgative or laxative, I think) is as commonly mentioned or used as aspirin or tylenol nowadays. Basilicum ointment and blistering are also used, among others. On one occasion when his niece is feeling ill, the doctor recommends she drink 2 pints of wine daily.
The parsonage is thatched but apparently not insulated, as in cold weather it can be frigid. He records days where the apples freeze indoors and the chamber pots upstairs as well. And yet it is the rare day he records that he has his bed warmed or a fire in the bedroom, while noting that he slept badly because of the cold. You would think he would take a hint and warm the bed at least. I know from experience it helps!
There are the thousand and one other things that make daily life interesting as well. News of the war (England is at odds with America, France and the Dutch during this period)and the accompanying tax hikes, of local alarms (his neighbor's dog, thought to be mad, escaped and bit a number of animals and a person before being caught and killed), of special events (a concert of Handel's music in the cathedral, or rubbernecking with 5000 other people when the king and his family come to visit a local lord), and social issues (his maid is found to be pregnant, and swears to the magistrate about the father's identity, which meant the man in question would be put in jail until he paid a large fine or married the girl).
Altogether, it was a lovely wander through a bygone era!
Showing posts with label 18th century. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 18th century. Show all posts
Tuesday, 16 February 2016
Monday, 9 September 2013
Looking Forward
Last week at school, our technician (I don't know what else to call her, but she's the one who does all the day-to-day stuff like fixing the machines, feeding the cat, and taking care of plants in the greenhouse) said she felt like she had wasted half her life.
Now, I'm sure she's younger than I am, and I haven't hit the halfway mark for my biblical threescore-and-ten yet. So I asked her what she meant. And she said that most of the people she knew didn't do much after they hit 60. I'm afraid I may have snorted a bit disbelievingly, and I told her she must be hanging out with the wrong people.
Done at 60? In this day and age? Most of the people I know who are that age are more active and involved than half their juniors (and could probably run circles around me).
It's not even a modern thing, though. A lot of great ideas and inventions and books and talent have come from people who were seniors. Last week, coincidentally, I was reading a book about Mary Granville Pendarves Delaney that I came across randomly in the library. It was titled 'Mrs. Delaney (begins her life's work) at 72'.
Mrs. Delaney was born in 1700 and lived into her 80's. And when she was 72 or 73, after she had outlived two husbands and a sister, she essentially invented a form of mixed-media collage, making pictures of flowers and plants so detailed and realistic that I had to look closely at the pictures in the book to assure myself they weren't paintings. But no, they were cut from paper in little pieces and glued to a background, and a few have leaves of real plants included. She managed to make close to a thousand of them (which she called Flower Mosaicks) before her eyesight became too bad for her to continue. Plantsmen sent her specimens to copy. The mosaicks were recognized by royalty, some were presented to royals and celebrities, and she herself was mentioned in poems by some of the writers of the age. They are now collected and housed in London, and people can still see them to marvel over.
Think of it. This old lady, in the era of the American Revolution, sitting at her friend's house in Britain and doing all this detailed dissecting of flowers and fine cutting of paper to reproduce their portraits. Think of the fine, sure cutting to get the fringed petals of a passion flower or the tendrils of a pea plant, the tiny pieces required for the spots on a lily (she even cut multiples for those to get realistically raised dots).
Nope, I think our tech's got it backwards. By the time we get to 60, there'll still be a lot of possibilities for beginning.
Now, I'm sure she's younger than I am, and I haven't hit the halfway mark for my biblical threescore-and-ten yet. So I asked her what she meant. And she said that most of the people she knew didn't do much after they hit 60. I'm afraid I may have snorted a bit disbelievingly, and I told her she must be hanging out with the wrong people.
Done at 60? In this day and age? Most of the people I know who are that age are more active and involved than half their juniors (and could probably run circles around me).
It's not even a modern thing, though. A lot of great ideas and inventions and books and talent have come from people who were seniors. Last week, coincidentally, I was reading a book about Mary Granville Pendarves Delaney that I came across randomly in the library. It was titled 'Mrs. Delaney (begins her life's work) at 72'.
Mrs. Delaney was born in 1700 and lived into her 80's. And when she was 72 or 73, after she had outlived two husbands and a sister, she essentially invented a form of mixed-media collage, making pictures of flowers and plants so detailed and realistic that I had to look closely at the pictures in the book to assure myself they weren't paintings. But no, they were cut from paper in little pieces and glued to a background, and a few have leaves of real plants included. She managed to make close to a thousand of them (which she called Flower Mosaicks) before her eyesight became too bad for her to continue. Plantsmen sent her specimens to copy. The mosaicks were recognized by royalty, some were presented to royals and celebrities, and she herself was mentioned in poems by some of the writers of the age. They are now collected and housed in London, and people can still see them to marvel over.
Think of it. This old lady, in the era of the American Revolution, sitting at her friend's house in Britain and doing all this detailed dissecting of flowers and fine cutting of paper to reproduce their portraits. Think of the fine, sure cutting to get the fringed petals of a passion flower or the tendrils of a pea plant, the tiny pieces required for the spots on a lily (she even cut multiples for those to get realistically raised dots).
Nope, I think our tech's got it backwards. By the time we get to 60, there'll still be a lot of possibilities for beginning.
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Marketing in Montreal
Every year, the last weekend in August, Pointe-A-Calliere museum in Montreal helps put on a farmer's market, with local artisans, demonstrators, and re-enactors, all dressed up, with the aim of giving an 18th C. flavor to the whole thing. We try to make it down every year or two, so this past Saturday was our fix this year.
We wandered the booths, watched a shearer doing her thing with manual shears, and a cutlery maker/silversmith in wooden shoes expounding to an audience gathered around his portable stove.
Ladies and gentlemen chatted, and the soldiers gave a parade and military demonstration.
Several groups of buskers and musicians played music, and common people gossiped, shopped, or tended their market stalls.
Activities for the children included more active pastimes, but also an embroidery school, and several of the participants seemed very absorbed in their work.
And we feasted on lamb sausage, artisan cheese, truffles for dessert, and passed up fresh cider, instead trying a herb drink which proved surprisingly tasty, and more thirst-quenching than the cider would have been in the heat.
Of course a few purchases got made also. I came home with hand-woven linen washcloths, and a loaf of bread, and my mother had bread also, along with honey, and a liqueur made from a berry that's a gooseberry/blackcurrant cross.
We had planned to do some fabric shopping up St. Hubert street, but only made it to one shop before they closed. Fortunately, that one had some lovely linen, marked down by about 40%, as the store is going out of business. A few meters of drapey tan linen, and their remaining stock of fine white handkerchief-weight joined the day's purchases. All in all, it was a good day's work, I think.
We wandered the booths, watched a shearer doing her thing with manual shears, and a cutlery maker/silversmith in wooden shoes expounding to an audience gathered around his portable stove.
Ladies and gentlemen chatted, and the soldiers gave a parade and military demonstration.
Several groups of buskers and musicians played music, and common people gossiped, shopped, or tended their market stalls.
Activities for the children included more active pastimes, but also an embroidery school, and several of the participants seemed very absorbed in their work.
And we feasted on lamb sausage, artisan cheese, truffles for dessert, and passed up fresh cider, instead trying a herb drink which proved surprisingly tasty, and more thirst-quenching than the cider would have been in the heat.
Of course a few purchases got made also. I came home with hand-woven linen washcloths, and a loaf of bread, and my mother had bread also, along with honey, and a liqueur made from a berry that's a gooseberry/blackcurrant cross.
We had planned to do some fabric shopping up St. Hubert street, but only made it to one shop before they closed. Fortunately, that one had some lovely linen, marked down by about 40%, as the store is going out of business. A few meters of drapey tan linen, and their remaining stock of fine white handkerchief-weight joined the day's purchases. All in all, it was a good day's work, I think.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)