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English Winter Fare

Nov29

In the still largely agrarian world of the early 1800’s, autumn and winter became a time to relax after harvest. Gentry and yeoman alike could take advantage of old feasting customs that had long ago mingled with the Christian holidays.

In autumn, Parliament opened again and some of society returned to London. St. Michael’s and All Angel Day, or Michaelmas, at the end of September, marked the end of a quarter year. The Celtic calendar also wove itself into English holidays, with one of the main events on November 1 becoming All Saints Day or All Hallows and October 31 therefore set as All Hallows Eve. It should be noted that Saman (also Samana, Shamhain, and Samhain) a minor Celtic guardian of herds, and so important to a herding society, played a part in the celebrations, but modern lore has turned him into an ancient god of death and mixed up several Celtic customs along with imported Christian beliefs to give us Halloween.

October was a month when land owners ate pheasant, partridge, duck and grouse. Fish for meals included perch, halibut, carp, gudgeons, and shell fish. Poachers also looked to snared hares for their pot. Beans were still fresh, and the fruits of summer gave way to pears, apples, nuts and the last harvest of grapes.

On November 5 bonfires burned in mockery of Guy Fawkes and memory of the Gunpowder Plot to blow up Parliament. The Feast of St. Martin, or Martinmas, fell on November 11, and St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland, had his day on November 30. St. Andrew’s day also marked the beginning of Advent to celebrate the four weeks before Christmas. In November, the landed gentry still dined on wild foul as well as domestic poultry—which was now getting a bit old and aged (meaning tough and needing sauces to make the meat palatable). They also had beef, venison and pork with their meals. Fish could still be caught and served, and winter vegetables graced the dining room, including: carrots, turnips, parsnips, potatoes, leeks, cabbage, celery and lettuces. With November, walnuts and chestnuts came into season.

More celebrations lead to Christmas Eve when the Lord of Misrule danced and the Mummers traveled to perform their pantomimes. Then came Christmas Day, and Boxing Day on December 26, which was St. Stephen’s Day. Boxing Day did not get its name from gift boxes, for the exchange of gifts was a German custom still new to Regency England. Instead, Boxing Day got its name from the older tradition of it being a day in which pleadings could be placed in a box for a judge to privately review. In December, besides beef and mutton to eat, pork and venison were served. Goose was cooked for more than just the Christmas meal, and there would be turkey, pigeons, chicken, snipes, woodcock, larks, guinea-foul, widgeons and grouse to eat. Cod, turbot, soul, sturgeon and eels joined the list of fish in season. Forced asparagus added a delicacy to the usual winter vegetables. Stored apples, pears and preserved summer fruit appeared on the better, richer tables. Mince pies made from mincemeat, which has no meat in it, were another traditional fare, with the tradition being that everyone in the household should stir, for luck, the mix of dried fruit and spices before it was baked.

Households also celebrated not just according to the season, but also to the customs of the area. In the Regency, local customs in the countryside might well hold to the old ways.

Under the Kissing BoughFor one of my books, Under the Kissing Bough, I needed a Christmas wedding and customs that suited the countryside around London. In ancient days, a Christmas wedding would have been impossible for the English Church held a “closed season” on marriages from Advent in late November until St. Hilary’s Day in January. The Church of England gave up such a ban during Cromwell’s era, even though the Roman Catholic Church continued its enforcement. Oddly enough a custom I expected to be ancient—that of the bride having “something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in her shoe”—turned out to be a Victorian invention.

For Christmas customs, I relied on those that have carried down through the ages: the Yule log from Viking winter solstice celebrations (which gives us Yule Tide celebrations), the ancient Saxon decorations of holy and ivy, and the Celtic use of mistletoe on holy days, which transformed itself into a kissing bough. Carolers might well travel from house to house, offering song in exchange for a wassail bowl—a hot, spiced or mulled drink, another tradition left over from the Norse Vikings.

The holidays were a time of games as well, and the game of Snapdragon is a very old one. It’s played by placing raisins in a broad, shallow bowl, pouring brandy over them and setting the brandy on fire. Players then must show their courage by reaching through the spirit-flames to snatch up raisins. And the game even comes with its own song:

Here comes the flaming bowl,
Don’t he mean to take his toll,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!
Take care you don’t take too much,
Be not greedy in your clutch,
Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Celebrations continued to mix tradition and religion when the Twelfth Night feast arrived on January 5, which combine the Roman Saturnalia with the Feast of the Epiphany, when the three wise men were said to have paid tribute to the Baby Jesus. Deep in winter, there was still plenty of game to eat. Beside those wild and tame birds available in December, lobster came into season in January, as did crayfish, flounder, plaice, smelts, whiting, prawns, oysters and crab. Broccoli made a welcome change from the other winter vegetables, as did cress, herbs, cucumbers, beets and spinach. Preserved fruits would be running low in all but houses with large orchards, and stored apples and pears would have to serve guests until the expensive force strawberries of February appeared.

For the Celtic year, winter ended February 1 with the celebration of Imbolc or Oimelc. This is the time when ewes begin to lamb and lactate for their offspring, and life begins to return. For the ancient Celts, this was the celebration for Brigid (also Brigit, Brighid or Bride), the Light-Bringer, one of the main Celtic goddesses. She was strong enough to survive and be transformed by early Catholics into Saint Bridget, who was celebrated, along with the Virgin Mary, on February 2, Candlemas Day.

Another ancient tradition, this one of law, was to ignore leap year days—February 29 did not exist. This became the day when the world could be out-of-order. Tradition held that St. Bridget complained to St. Patrick about women having to wait so long for proposals, and Patrick answered that women could propose on Leap Day. In Scotland, their tradition added on that any man who declined a proposal in a leap year must pay a fine, which could be anything from a fine silk dress to a kiss given to the disappointed female.

St. David’s Day the Welsh patron saint came on March 1, and tradition held that all good Welshmen should wear a leak—a vegetable readily available from winter fare. March also brought Lent, and in Shropshire and Herefordshire, Simnel Cakes made with saffron were made for the season.

With March 21, the spring officially arrived, but for most of England, it would still be some time before warm weather and spring flowers arrived, and even longer until the return of the lush abundance of summer fruit and foods.

It’s Not Just a Point of View

Nov18

Let’s start with a disclaimer—I am not a POV purist. I’m probably going to sound like one, but really I’m fine with viewpoint shifts in a story, so long as they work. But I think most folks use the “I’m not a purist” line as an excuse not to master POV technique. And a lot of folks just don’t know why they need strong POV control in a story.

Back before my first book sold, I was lucky enough to get Jo Beverley as a judge in a contest (she writes historical romance and if you have not read her work, go and buy her books—she’s good). She stressed one comment—master your POV and you’ll sell. She was right. Back then, I had something I see a lot from journeyman writers—floating POV.

Floating POV is when the viewpoint is sort of third person and sort of omniscient. It’s sort of in one character, but sort of not. This can show up in first person, too, where it’s sort of first person, but sort of omniscient, so don’t think you’re immune there. However, it is less likely to show up in first person, which is one of the big advantages to using it. The big problem with floating POV is that it leaves the reader floating above and out of the story, too—the reader ends up emotionally detached. It’s weak writing.

Deep POV, the opposite of floating POV, is about reader immersion. And by deep, I mean viewpoint that is locked within a character. This means locked right behind that character’s eyes and within that character’s head and emotions. Deep POV can be locked in first person or third person, but it is locked tight. When you lock POV like this, it’s very tough to shift—both because you as the author start rolling along with the character, and each shift is a place to lose the reader. With deep POV you naturally tend to want to put viewpoint shifts at chapter breaks or major scene shifts instead of putting these viewpoint changes within a scene.

All transitions in a story are slippery places—chapter shifts, scene shifts and viewpoint shifts are the places where a reader can pause, slip out of the story and put the book down. Put enough of shifts into a scene, or too many fast shifting scenes before the reader is deep in a story, and you can see how POV purists end up having a good point—you’re better off being a purist than someone who changes POV so much that it pushes the reader out of the story.

Like any other writing technique, POV control is about mastering the technique. That’s an advantage a POV purist has because that person has nailed this part of the craft. And if you don’t practice a discipline, if you’re always loose with your POV, you won’t learn how to control your story (or the reader’s attention).

Coming from a background where I’ve dabbled in the other arts—music, painting, dance—I’m a believer in solid technique as a foundation. The stronger your technical skills, the more you can let them run on auto-pilot and focus on the fun stuff. When I played violin, every practice started with a half hour of scales. Only then could I dive into the music and have it come out sweet. Scales both limbered up my skills and improved my technique. A writer doesn’t really have the equivalent of musical scales, but we can still practice technique.

To improve my control of POV and my technical skills, I set myself the following disciplines.

First book I sold, I kept to one character’s viewpoint per chapter. This became the technical exercise in the book. If I needed to cover another character’s emotions in a scene, the following chapter could go back a bit in time to do that scene from that character. But I was a POV Nazi for myself and kept to one character’s POV in each chapter. This deepened my characterization and the emotion in the scenes. It gave me the control I needed—but I still have to go back to this practice at times (yes, those skills you don’t practice get rusty).

Next thing was to write more in first person. I still do this. While I like third person for the flexibility it gives of putting the viewpoints of a lot of characters into a story, I’ll still use first person to write a scene. After the scene is written, if the story is all in third person I’ll shift the first person scene into third person. First person helps me get into my characters and also works a lot like those musical scales to keep my technical skills sharp. It also gives me more emotional bang in my scene, and keeps me honest about my viewpoint control (it’s so easy to think you’re doing this well when you’re not—I always say there’s the story in your head, the story on the page, and the story in the reader’s head, and these don’t always match).

The last discipline is to always ask—do I need to shift viewpoint? (Hint: “Because I feel like it” is never a good enough answer.) Viewpoint shifts need to be treated like any other part of the story—they need a lot of good reasons to be in the story, or they need to be left out. That which does not improve a story will detract. If I have three good reasons to need a viewpoint shift—including the best one, which is that another person in the scene now has more emotionally at stake in the scene—only then will I look at crafting a shift.

Granted, sometimes the instinct to shift viewpoints is one you need to listen to. Writer instincts need to be developed and used. But sometimes this is also justification for a lazy habit that you need to pound out of your writing. This is where you have to be able to look at your writing and know that the scene works—it’s giving you the emotion you need, so don’t touch it. Or you have to apply the discipline to rewrite it and keep the reader within the viewpoint of the key character in that scene so the reader gets every ounce of emotion from that scene.

When you have to make a viewpoint transition, you want to use some technique to smooth this (it’s like a baton hand-off in a relay race, and if you fumble this, the reader can trip right out of your story). But that’s the subject for another day, and for the POV workshop that I teach (shameless plug there, but if you don’t take this workshop, at least pick up Orson Scott Card’s book, Characters & Viewpoint to grab some good tips).

I won’t tell you, “Master POV and you’ll sell.” You may have other writing or story issues to address. But I will say that mastering immersive POV—the ability to put your reader into the story and keep the reader there, the ability to control viewpoint so well that it the craft is transparent to the reader—is key to becoming a great storyteller.

At least, that’s my point of view.

 

(First published as a guest blog at the FFnP RWA Blogspot.)

Writing Resources

Oct31

I’ve been doing a workshop on research, which led to my digging out some old notes on useful writing books.  This is the short list of the books that have taught me so very much about writing–these are the books I still have on my shelf, the ones I go back to for a refresher course. These books may speak to you, or may not, but if you find one good piece of advice and some entertainment, these will have served you well, too.

Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott — some instructions on writing and life, the perfect inspiration book

The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron — a workshop on how to unblock any blocks

The Courage to Write, Ralph Keys — one of the best books ever written on writing

A Manual Of Writer’s Tricks, David L. Carroll — a great idea generator

Characters & Viewpoint, Orson Scott Card — How to invent, construct and animate vivid, credible characters and choose the best eyes through which to view the events of your short story or novel

Creating Characters, Dwight Swain — great advice for beginners and for experienced writers

Techniques of the Selling Writer, Dwight Swain — teaches the bones of story structure

Story, Rober McKee — get the CD, or take his workshop, the book is so dense it’s very heavy going, but there’s a tone of great story structure basics here

Write Away: One Novelist’s Approach to Fiction and the Writing Life, Elizabeth George — Fabulous book, but will be more useful for an experienced writer to take her writing to the next step

On Writing, Stephen King — simple clear advice on keeping writing simple, clear and powerful

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, Renni Browne & Dave King–a book I still keep right beside by desk and these days every writer needs to learn how to edit her work.

How to Write Romances, Phyllis Taylor Pianka — the basics of the genre

The Art of Fiction, John Gardener — wonderful writing about writing

Food Glorious Food

Sep30

The wonderful thing about food is that it’s as much fun to read about it and write about it as to actually indulge–well, almost as much fun.  And the joy of writing a historical novel is the meals–breakfast, nuncheon, tea (but not High Tea unless you’ve a Victorian setting or a lower class who must make do with this for their dinner), dinner and supper were and still are the main eating occasions in England.

Meals often provide a social structure for life. However, as noted in The Jane Austen Cookbook, “In the late eighteenth century, at the time of Jane Austen’s birth, it was necessary to make the best possible use of the hours of daylight….candles, wood and coal were quite as expensive comparatively speaking as gas, oil and electricity and far more liable to be in short supply or to run out altogether during hard winters.”

What this meant was a different structure to meals.

To start the day, breakfast came around ten o’clock–well after most had risen and started their day.  The Regency morning then went on through the afternoon, with morning calls being paid.  In London, five o’clock was the fashionable ‘morning’ hour to parade.  And so serving a breakfast party might well occur sometime between one and five o’clock in the afternoon.

During morning calls, light refreshments might be taken.  Ladies might have a ‘nuncheon’ but the notion of lunch did not exist.  Also, the lush high tea now served at most swank London hotels actually originated as a working class dinner, and was perfected by the Edwardians into an art form, but was not a Regency meal.

Dinner in the Regency came at three or four o’clock in the country.  In London, the fashionable dined between five and eight, before going out for the evening.

This left room for a supper to be served–as either a supper-tray that might be brought into a country drawing room, or as a buffet that would be served at a ball.  Such a supper would be served around eleven.  Again, in London, this supper could be served as late as nearly dawn.

From the Georgian era to the Regency the method for serving dinner changed.  “…as soon as they walked into the dining-room they saw before them a table already covered with separate dishes of every kind of food…” states The Jane Austen Cookbook.  The idea was that with all courses laid on the table, those dining would choose which dishes to eat, taking from the dishes nearest.  It was polite to offer a dish around.  Food in History notes, “It was a custom that was more than troublesome; it also required a degree of self-assertion.  The shy or ignorant guest limited not only his own menu but also that of everyone else at the table.  Indeed, one young divinity student ruined his future prospects when, invited to dine by an archbishop who was due to examine him in the scriptures, he found before him a dish of ruffs and reeves, wild birds that (although he was too inexperienced to know it) were a rare delicacy.  Out of sheer modesty the clerical tyro confined himself exclusively to the dish before him….”

This style of serving dinner was known as service à la française.  During the Regency this was replaced by service à la russe in which the dishes were set on a sideboard and then handed around by servants.

Maggie Black and Deirdre Le Faye in The Jane Austen Cookbook provide this menu for a meal recorded in Mrs. Philip Lybbe Powys’ diary of some of the dishes she served, as hostess for her brother-in-law the Dean of Canterbury, for Prince William of Gloucester.  Fourteen sat down to a meal in August, 1798, that included:

Salmon
Trout
Soles

Fricandó of Veal
Raised Giblet Pie

Vegetable Pudding

Chickens
Ham

Muffin Pudding

Curry of Rabbits
Preserve of Olives

Soup
Haunch of Venison

Open Tart Syllabub
Raised Jelly

Three Sweetbreads, Larded

Maccaroni
Buttered Lobster

Peas
Potatoes

Basket of Pastry
Custards

Goose

Society meals were also being influenced at this time by the French chefs who had fled the revolution in their own country, and who had become a fashionable necessity in London.

Food in History gives this account of the dinner held by the Prince Regency at the Bright Pavilion, with his chef Carême in command on January 15, 1817:

“It began with four soups:

Le potage à la Monglas – creamy brown soup made with foie gras, truffles, mushrooms and Madeira

La garbure aux choux – country-style vegetable broth with shredded cabbage

Le potage d’orge perlé à la Cracy – a delicate pink puree of pearl barley and carrots

Le potage de poissons à la russe – ‘Russian-style’ fish soup, probably made from sturgeon

The soups were ‘removed’ with four fish dishes:

La matelote au vin de Bordeaux – a light stew of freshwater fish cooked in wine from Bordeaux

Les truites au blue à la provençal – lightly-cooked trout with a tomato and garlic sauce

Le turbot à l’anglaise aux homards, poached turbot with lobster sauce

La grosse anguille à la régence – a large fat eel, richly sauced, garnished with quenelles, truffles and cocks’ combs

The fish dishes were followed (the trout and turbot remaining on the table, the matelote and eels being taken away) by four grosses pieces or pieces de resistance:

Le jambon à la broche au Madére – spit-roasted ham with Maderia sauce

L’oie braiése aux racines glacées – braised goose with glazed root vegetables

Les poulards à la Perigueux – truffled roast chicken

Le rond de veau à la royale – round of veal, enrobed in a creamy sauce, finished with truffle purée and various garnishes

These grosses pieces (and the turbot and the trout) were flanked by no less than thirty-six entrée…”

Reay Tannahil, author of Food in History, gives a sampling of the various entrée, which includes macaroni and grated cheese, pheasant, rabbit, and other dishes, all with lush descriptions of rich sauces.  He adds that this was considered only the first course.

He also describes the set pieces brought in made of sugar icing and molded into such things as ‘The ruin of the Turkish mosque’, as well as the other entremets (between serving items) and the assiettes volantes, such as the five chocolate soufflé.

As stated earlier, while no one was expected to sample every dish on the table, the description makes it instantly understandable why the Prince Regent had run to fat.

The menus also reflect dishes familiar to any modern table–macaroni and cheese, trout with a tomato and garlic sauce, spit-roasted ham.

For a more simple family meal, Maria Rundell’s Domestic Cookery of 1814 gives this menu:

Crimp Cod

Salad
Gooseberry Pudding
Jerusalem Artichokes

Leg of Mutton

Crimp Cod is the simplest of recipes.  The directions are to take a cod and, “Boil, broil, or fry.”

For a salad, this is not what might be found in any modern American restaurant.  Instead, for Mrs. Rundell’s French Salad, “Chop three anchovies, a shalot, and some parsley, small; put into a bowl with two table-spoons-full of vinegar, one of oil, a little mustard, and salt.  When mixed well, add by degrees some cold roast or boiled meat in very thin slices; put in a few at a time; not exceeding two or three inches long.  Shake them in the seasoning, and then put more; cover the bowl close, and let the salad be prepared three hours before it is to be eaten.  Garnish with parsley and a few slices of the fat.”

Gooseberry pudding is a baked dish.  “Stew gooseberries in a jar over a hot hearth, or in a sauce pan of water till the will pulp.  Take a pint of the juice pressed through a coarse sieve, and beat it with three yolks and whites of eggs beaten and strained, one ounce and half of butter; sweeten it well, and put a crust around the dish.  A few crumbs of roll should be mixed with the above to give a little consistence, or four ounces of Naples biscuits.

(If you actually wish to try making this dish, you may want to start with gooseberry jelly, if you can find it.  For a ‘few crumbs of roll, think of this as something like a bath bun–a sweet roll.  Or for biscuit, think English cookie–something sweet to crumble into this.)

Jerusalem Artichokes offer another simple recipe in that they, “Must be taken up the moment they are done, or they will be too soft.  They may be boiled plain, or served with white fricassee sauce.”  Otherwise, prepare them as you would any artichoke, taking off a few outside leaves and cutting off the stalk (I also like to cut off the tips, but that’s optional).

For Leg of Mutton, Mrs. Rundell’s recommendation is, “If roasted, serve with onion or currant-jelly sauce; if boiled, with caper-sauce and vegetables.”  (Personally, I would swap in lamb for the mutton and opt for roasting it.  My grandmother who came from Yorkshire insisted on boiling all meat, and nearly made vegetarians out of all of her sons.)

And now I think I’ll go off and get something to eat.

Show and Tell

Jul18

This August, I’m doing the “Show and Tell: An Interactive Workshop” online for the FFnP Chapter of RWA, so it seemed time for blatant promotion and to post tips for this.  The “show don’t tell” advice I understand but it sometimes chaps my hide a bit since telling can be a way useful tool for a writer and if folks are struggling to show everything they don’t get around to leaning how to do strong narrative.  That’s too useful a tool for a writer to ignore.  The way I figure it, these are two things you need in your toolbox–same way a carpenter needs both a screwdriver and a hammer.  Hammers really are great for pounding things home–but there are times you need the finesse of a screwdriver to just tighten things up.  Means a writer needs to learn how to both show and tell–and you need to learn when each of these works best for your story. 

Now, about those tips….

Showing:

  • means convening the character in action and words.
  • takes more words because the goal is to create a picture and feeling in the reader’s mind with only words.
  • takes vivid descriptions that reveal the characters emotions to the reader.
  • requires good visualization by the writer.
  • is strongest when you use as many of the five senses as possible: smell, touch, taste, sight, hearing.
  • is the continual search for how to reveal what your character feels and how that character displays (or doesn’t display) those feelings.

 Telling:

  •  means conveying exact meaning to the reader; it is, literally, telling the reader information.
  •  compresses word count (useful in short stories and a synopsis).
  •  alerts the reader that the information, or the character, is relatively unimportant.
  •  can smooth transition in time, distance, or viewpoint.
  •  can establish a mood or setting when you do not wish to do this in any character’s viewpoint.
  •  is the continual search for fresh ways to give your reader information the reader must have.

To know if you’re telling vs. showing, look for “clue” words that tip you off when you may be telling more than showing, such as was, were, are, to be (as in, The sun was hot.).

If the telling is done in a character’s viewpoint, it is really showing us how a character sees the world.

If dialogue is about plot exposition, it is really telling a plot point to the reader—this is why exposition in dialogue usually falls flat and leaden (use dialogue to show more how a character is feeling).

Use of deep viewpoint allows the reader to ‘discover’ your characters through showing that inner person.

A character’s actions always speak louder to the reader than any thoughts or narrative about that character; actions reveal true character—you can tell a reader a character is brave, but if you show that person acting like a coward the reader will believe the action, not the telling.

To better show a character, give your characters mannerisms (physical and verbal habits) that reveal their inner person.

In general, if you have a character thinking something, put that thought into dialogue. 

Most people respond to any motivating stimulus (something happening) in this order FEELING, BETRAYING ACTION, THOUGHT, DELIBERATE ACTION (GESTURE/SPEECH), so that’s how you want to structure scenes, so that a character feels something, acts on that feeling, then says something.

The main except to the above response order comes when training or instinct kicks in action before all else. 

Less can be more (in both show and tell)–what you leave out is often more important than what you include. (Just don’t be obscure.)

Words and sentences and paragraphs that do not add anything actually detract from what is there–the end result is to weaken the good stuff.

Multiple edits are your friend; it’s not necessary to get everything in one pass.  Make one edit about dialogue, the next edit about punching the narrative (telling), the next edit about adding more showing details, etc..

Showing and telling do not have to be absolutes; use more show than tell in a dramatic scene, or use more tell than show in a transition.  Part of the choice about how much of each you have is your style, and part is the effect you want to have on the reader.

For the rest…well, you’ll just have to take the workshop.

The Regency Post — A Pity We’ve Lost Letters

May29

From an article published in The Beau Monde’s Quizzing Glass newsletter…

Posting a letter in Regency England was not as simple as walking down to the local post office and dropping off a stamped letter.  Prior to January 10, 1840, stamps did not exist.  Inked hand stamps applied to the letter indicated such information as whether it had been sent POSTPAID, UNPAID, PAID AT (city), PENNY POST, TOOLATE, 1dDUE or FREE, or what post office had collected the letter and what mileage it would cover.  The ‘letter box’ itself only came into use after 1794, and did not become compulsory until after 1811.  (The box consisted of a slit in the wall of the receiving house, which opened into a locked box.  Private boxes could be hired in some towns for as little as 1/2d per letter to 4d per letter.)

The letter itself differed from its modern form.  The letter usually comprised a single sheet (sometimes folded once in the middle to make a booklet-like page).  This was folded in thirds, then the ends were folded together, with one end tucked inside another.  Hot wax dripped onto the joining ends sealed the letter.  The address or direction would be written on the front and rarely went beyond Name, Town (or house name), County– occasionally, in London, a street might be indicated.

To save money, correspondents often wrote down the page, then turned it and wrote across their previous writing– thrifty souls would turn it yet again and write diagonally across everything else, producing a nearly illegible mess.  This was called crossing and recrossing one’s lines.  The postmaster receiving the letter would write on the envelope the postage due by whoever received the letter.

‘Posting a letter’ in the country meant sending it from one post town to another, where it could be collected.  After 1784, country areas had three deliveries and two collections, with deliveries sent out from London by horse messenger to the receiving houses.  The messenger then brought back any letters going to London.

Post offices operated as parcel depots, poste restante address (or post office boxes), and usually carried on some other business, such as serving as an inn.  Enterprising postmasters could and did charge for local delivery to non-post towns, villages, and even manor houses.

From 1801- 1808, England had numerous private posts to carry letters between towns and manor houses.  Rates could vary from 1/2d to 1d or more for delivery.  From 1808 on, local delivery standardized at 1d per letter and post towns began to use the stamp P.P. for Penny Post.  The private posts, however, tended to be notoriously slow and unreliable.  Postmasters often went bankrupt, ending their service.  Those to whom speed carried more importance than money kept to the old practice of sending letters via servants, by the Common Carriers or by private courier.

On Monday August 2, 1784, the Post began to change when John Palmer’s first Mail Coach left the Rummer Tavern in Bristol at four o’clock PM, carrying the mail and four passengers (which later became seven passenger, with four inside).  Palmer had long advocated postal reform and expansion.  Increases in commerce, industry and population demanded it.  After his friend William Pitt became Prime Minister, Palmer got authority to try his reform ideas.

Palmer’s Mail Coach reached Bath at five-twenty PM, and arrived in London at the Swan with Two Necks well before eight o’clock the next morning to deliver mail to the Chief Post Office in Lombard Street.  The coach had traveled 119 miles in under sixteen hours, an incredible feat.  Palmer received public acclaim and bureaucratic stone-walling, including a record of criticism which ran to three volumes of copperplate.  However, Palmer’s Mail Coaches began to take hold.

By 1811, approximately 220 mail coaches ran on regular schedules from London to various major cities.  These coaches used the post roads and cross post (post roads that did not pass through London), which could support the light, fast coaches.  The Post Office continued its custom of farming out the job of postmaster, and letters still had to make their own way between post towns.  Coffee houses, inns along these routes, and even carriage makers, held contracts to provide both horses at each stage, coaches and coachmen.

Coach hire rates were based on mileage, and varied from 2d to 4d per double-mile of the journey.  Mail coaches had the advantages of not having to pay tolls, which could be worth as much as six pounds to the contractor.  (In 1813, Parliament repealed the toll exemption for mail coaches with more than two wheels in Scotland and imposed a 1/2d tax letters carried in Scotland to compensate the carriers.)

The Post Office did use its own, scarlet-liveried employees as guards.  These men had to read and write to fill out their time sheets (Way-bills).  Each carried a timepiece set each evening before leaving the Chief Post Office at eight PM.  As compensation for sounding the horn at toll gates, seeing the mail safely to its destination and carrying out the unpleasant task of reporting the misbehavior of any sub-contracted coachmen, guards earned an excellent wage– half a guinea a week, plus sick pay and pension.  Tips were allowed and could average as much as 2/- a passenger.  As the Chief Superintendent of Mail from 1792 to 1817, Mr. Hasker also allowed his guards to carry personal goods and newspapers, provided this did not interfere with the mails.

Until the mid 1800’s, when rail began to take over, mail continued to be carried by Mail Coach on the best roads between major cities.  In rural areas, post went by cart, horseback and even by foot.  Private Penny Posts often tried to undercut the General Postal rates.  In 1805 when the minimum rate between post towns became 4d, the private post and some postmasters began an illegal Twopence Post, charging only 2d to carry a letter between two nearby post towns.  This was not fully resolved in all counties until 1840 and the standardized 1d stamp.

1784 GENERAL POSTAL RATES

Rate are “Single Letter”, “Double Letter”, “Triple Letter” or “1 oz”

The d stands for “denarius” which means a penny, and comes from the Latin the Romans left behind; shillings are written out with a slash as in 1/ (1 shilling) or 1/2 (1 shilling and 2 pence).

Not exceeding 1 Post Stage                  2d    4d    6d    8d

1 – 2 Post Stages                                        3d    6d    9d    1/-

Above 2 Post Stages up to 80 mi      4d    8d    1/-   1/4

80 – 150 miles                                           5d    10d   1/3   1/8

Above 150 miles                                      6d    1/-   1/6   2/-

From/to London, to/from Edinburgh & to/from Dumfries, Cockburnspeth & intermediate places between them and Edinburgh

7d    1/2   1/9   2/4

1801 GENERAL POSTAL RATES

Not exceeding 15 miles                       3d    6d    9d    1/-

15 – 30 miles                                            4d    8d    1/-   1/4

30 – 50 miles                                            5d    10d   1/3   1/8

50 – 80 miles                                           6d    1/-   1/6   2/-

80 – 120 miles                                         7d    1/2   1/9   2/4

120 – 170 miles                                       8d    1/4   2/-   2/8

170 – 230 miles                                       9d    1/6   2/3   3/-

230 – 300 miles                                      10d   1/8   2/6   3/4

every 100 miles thereafter                 +1d   +2d   +3d   +4d

1805 GENERAL POSTAL RATES

Not exceeding 15 miles                      4d    8d    1/-   1/4

15 – 30 miles                                            5d    10d   1/3   1/8

30 – 50 miles                                           6d    1/-   1/6   2/-

50 – 80 miles                                           7d    1/2   1/9   2/4

80 – 120 miles                                         8d    1/4   2/-   2/8

120 – 170 miles                                     9d    1/6   2/3   3/-

170 – 230 miles                                   10d   1/8   2/6   3/4

230 – 300 miles                                   11d   1/10  2/9   3/8

every 100 miles thereafter           +1d   +2d   +3d   +4d

1812 GENERAL POSTAL RATES  (new mileage divisions)

Not exceeding 15 miles                     4d    8d    1/-   1/4

15 – 20 miles                                          5d    10d   1/3   1/8

20 – 30 miles                                         6d    1/-   1/6   2/-

30 – 50 miles                                         7d    1/2   1/9   2/4

50 – 80 miles                                          8d    1/4   2/-   2/8

80 – 120 miles                                       9d    1/6   2/3   3/-

120 – 170 miles                                  10d   1/8   2/6   3/4

170 – 230 miles                                  11d   1/10  2/9   3/8

230 – 300 miles                                     1/-   2/-   3/-   4/-

every 100 miles thereafter            +1d   +2d   +3d   +4d

THE LONDON POST

London had had its own General Post with local delivery since 1635 when Charles I opened the Royal Mail.  In 1680, William Dockwra began his private Penny Post, named for the penny charge to mail any letter up to a pound.  Two years later, the government took over and continued operation of the Penny Post.  It comprised the cities of London and Westminster and the Borough of Southwark, covering letters received and delivered within ten miles, while the General Post serviced both London and the country side.

From 1680 to 1794, letters for London’s General Post had to be prepaid 1d.  This relaxed after 1794, with the condition that letters put into the Penny Post for delivery by the General Post still had to be prepaid.  Letters from the General Post for Penny Post delivery were charged 1d on delivery, plus the General Post charge.  In 1794, Parliament also lowered the weight limit to four ounces for any 1d letter.

The General Post and Penny Post remained separate organizations with their own letter carriers and receiving houses (a large number of which happened to be stationers’ shops).  The only point of exchange came at the Chief Post Office.

In 1792, Parliament gave letter carriers for the General Post uniforms of scarlet coats with blue lapels, a blue waistcoat and a tall hat with a golden band.  Walking back from a delivery, the carrier rang a large hand bell to indicate he could collect letters for an extra charge of 1d postage.  The letters went into the slit of a locked pouch for delivery to the Chief Post Office.

In 1794, London’s five post offices (Lime street, Westminster, St. Pauls, Temple and Bishopsgate) became two:  the Chief Office in Abchurch Lane, Lombard Street, and the Westminster Office in Gerrand Street, Soho.  All London mail now passed through the Chief Office.  In addition, service expanded to cover the seven rides surrounding London:  Mortlake, Woolwich, Woodford, Edmonton, Finchley, Brentford and Mitcham.

London post offered six collections (at 8, 10 and 12 AM; 2, 5 and 8 PM) and daily deliveries.  The clerk stamped letters received after seven o’clock PM with that time or a TOO LATE stamp, for the window closed at seven forty-five so that mail could be shorted and bagged by eight for the last collection.  The Chief Office charged an extra sixpence for such letters, with other receiving offices setting their own fee.  Letters received at the Chief Office on Lombard Street on Sunday were sorted and posted on Monday as there were no Sunday deliveries.

From the Post Office on Lombard Street, the blue and orange Mail Coaches departed every evening at eight.  Passengers assembled at various inns throughout London for departure at half past seven.  The coaches then stopped in Lombard Street to collect the mail and the guard, and departed London at eight PM.  Lombard Street became so congested that by 1795 the six Western Road coaches began to leave from the Gloucester Coffee House in Piccadilly at eight-thirty, with the guard and mail traveling to this point from the Post Office.

In 1812, Cary’s Itinerary listed 37 inns with stage and mail coach departures.  By 1815, this grew to 44, with inns having as few as 3 or as many as 35 coaches departing.  In 1815 alone, of the 20 coaches leaving the Angel Inn, St. Clement’s, Strand in London, five are daily post coaches and four are daily Royal Mail coaches.

The Bull and Mouth, Bull and Mouth Street, boasted the record of having thirty-five coaches departing, including the Royal Mail to Edinburgh, while the Swan with Two Necks, Lad Lane, listed the original Bath and Bristol coach, the Royal Mail to Bath, the Brighton Post Coach, and the Prince Regent coach to Dover and Paris.

POSTAL RATES – LONDON 1794  1801  1805 – 1831

Within Town Area                                      1d    1d    2d

Town to Country, or within Country 2d    2d    3d

Country to Town                                       1d    2d    3d

Town to General Post                              1d    1d    2d

Country area to General Post              1d    1d    2d

General Post delivered by P.P. in town     free  free  free

General Post delivered in Country    free  1d    2d

THE FRANKING SYSTEM

Since the post office’s beginning, its revenues went to the crown, which held the right to grant the privilege of signing a letter and having it posted for free.  This practice, known as franking, extended to both Houses of Parliament and certain officials.

In 1764, postal revenues were given to Parliament in return for the crown being able to submit a Civil List to award honors.  Thereafter, Parliament authorized Free Franking.  Letters were stamped FREE when franked.  Nearly everyone abused the privilege.  Most considered a stack of signed blank sheets from a Member of Parliament’s to be a common present after a short visit.  Franks could also be issued, by law, by certain public offices both in London and abroad.

To curb abuse, Parliament made forgery of franks a felony, punishable by transportation for seven years.  As of 1784, reforms required all franked letters to have the signature, as well as the place and date of posting written at the top by the person franking it.  Limits on the numbers of letters that could be franked were imposed, but how could a lowly postmaster tell an undersecretary not to frank more than ten letters a year?

During these years, 1780’s to early 1800’s, it became a hobby among some well-bred ladies to collect franking signatures from letters.  Rather the Regency equivalent of collecting autographs.  Some ladies strove for a broad collection, while others specialized in particular friends, MPs or relatives.

Prior to 1836, newspapers– and some other printed material such as charity letters and educational materials– could be also franked for free postage to postmasters by the six Clerks of the Road.  A tax of 4d had been imposed to cover the cost to handle newspapers.  However, publishers were not shy about franking their own newspapers.  Booksellers, after Parliament imposed higher postage rates in 1711, also wrote the names of Members of Parliament for free postage, with the approval of the postal Surveyors appointed in 1715, who administered function and facilities of the postal roads.

In addition to franking, from 1795, Parliament granted privileged rates to those serving in the Army, Navy and Militia, with no letter charged a rate higher than 1d.  Over the year, this extended to every branch of military service, including, in 1815, the soldiers and seamen employed by the East India Company.

While privileged rates continued for the armed services, all free franking was abolished with the introduction of the penny postage stamp in 1840, which marked the beginning of the modern post office as we know it.

REFERENCES

The Postal History of Great Britain and Ireland (1980), R.M Willcocks & B. Jay  ISBN: 0-9502797

English Provincial Posts (1633-1840) (1978), Brian Austen  ISBN:  0-85033-266-4

England’s Postal History to 1840 (1975), R.M. Willcocks   ISBN: 0-9502797-1-4

British Postal Rates, 1635 to 1839, O.R. Sanford and Denis Salt   ISBN: 0-85377-021-2, The Postal History Society

United Kingdom Letter Rates 1657-1900 Inland & Overseas, C. Tabeart  ISBN:0-905222-58-X

Cary’s New Itinerary Great Roads (1815), John Cary

A More Expeditious Conveyance: A History of the Royal Mails (1984), Bevan Rider   ISBN: 0-85131-394-9

Voice

Jan13

With a workshop pending (one I’m giving, not taking), I’ve been thinking about what to say–what can be taught, what can’t.  And that leads me to thinking about ‘voice’ since that is where we’ll be starting.

A writer’s voice is one of those ‘you know it’s good when you read it, but it’s difficult to verbalize’ things.  But I’m a writer, verbalizing is what I do.  So it’s worth tackling.  Also this seems good timing for the topic–American Idol is starting a new season (maybe the last what with Paula gone and Simon heading out the door, and it’s tempting to wonder if he’s missing that love/hate thing with Paula or just exhausted–how does anyone sit through that many auditions in one lifetime?).

(Confession time–I’ve voted only once…well, okay, twice.  For David Cook. Yeah, they suckered me into thinking other David had the lead, and I fell for it. And boy was I so happy Adam Lambert did not win and get saddled with that awful ‘idol must sing song’ they had.  Sometimes second is a good place to be.)

Anyway, Idol does one thing brilliantly–they show how easy it is to have a bad voice.  Maybe it’s nerves.  Or song choice.  Or simple delusion.  But they show how the “that’s a good voice” is not always subjective–there are folks who can’t sing worth a damn, and that’s painfully clear.  Same goes for writers–there are folks who can’t write worth a damn.

Maybe it’s nerves.  Or story choice.  Or simple delusion.  And I do think that nerves figure into a large part of a bad writing–folks tend to cramp up or go all stiff when faced with a blank page.)  But while you can fix nerves–build confidence, acquire technique, do breathing exercises–and you can fix story choice with better ones, there’s not much that can be done for delusions.  And you can’t really teach someone to have ‘a voice’. 

Now, you can point in the direction for a writer to look to that voice.  And there are techniques to develop voice–plain old writing helps more than anything.  But it’s still something that every writer must find for herself–or himself. Voice comes from experience, education, upbringing. It comes from what you read, and personal taste.  It’s shaped, just as an artist’s eye, or a singer’s voice, is shaped by teachers, mentors, and by what you taken in and put on the page.  There are so many things that go into making ‘a voice’ that it’s no wonder it can’t really be taught.

But I wonder if we’d have more really good writers if a few more teachers at least tried to tackle this?  Or if a few more writers went out looking for their voice, or spent time developing voice?  I know that when you take on a physical skill–riding horses, or dancing–you always want to look at the teacher’s style because that’s going to be your style, too.  You imprint like a duckling on the instructor–that old ‘monkey see, monkey do.’  And maybe that’s the core issue–writers are generally too busy writing to do much teaching.  Either that or they don’t have the credentials, or those who teach writing have been to college and have taken courses, but they haven’t been in the wilderness looking for their voice either–so what they pass along is a lot like BBC-mid-Atlantic don’t get in the way voice.  Which, come to think of it, is at least an okay voice.

So maybe this is something every writer has to find on her own, sort of a rite of passage (and I’ll resist the obvious pun). And the question then becomes–how can you give someone better sign pointers along that path?

Winter Fare

Nov25

From an article published with the RWA’s Regency Chapter, The Beau Monde:

In the still largely agrarian world of the early 1800’s, fall and winter became a time to relax after harvest.  Gentry and yeoman alike could take advantage of old feasting customs that had long ago mingled with the Christian holidays.

In Fall, Parliament opened again and society returned to London.  St. Michael’s and All Angel Day, or Michaelmas, at the end of September, marked the end of a quarter year.  The end of the Celtic year itself fell on October 31, and the ancient celebration for the Celtic god Saman (also Samhain) became All Hallows Eve.  October was a month when land owners ate pheasant, partridge, duck and grouse.  Fish for meals included perch, halibut, carp, gudgeons, and shellfish.  And poachers also looked to snared hares for their pot.  Beans were still fresh, and the fruits of summer gave way to pears, apples, nuts and the last harvest of grapes.

On November 5 bonfires burned in mockery of Guy Fawkes and memory of the Gunpowder Plot to blow up Parliament.  The Feast of St. Martin, or Martinmas, fell on November 11, and St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland, had his day on November 30.  St. Andrew’s day also marked the beginning of Advent to celebrate the four weeks before Christmas.  In November, the landed gentry still dined on wildfowl as well as domestic poultry–which was now getting a bit old and aged.  They also had beef, venison and pork with their meals.  Fish could still be caught and served, and winter vegetables graced the dining room, including: carrots, turnips, parsnips, potatoes, leeks, cabbage, celery and lettuces.  With November, walnuts and chestnuts came into season.

More celebrations lead to Christmas Eve when the Lord of Misrule danced and the Mummers traveled to perform their pantomimes.  Then came Christmas Day, and Boxing Day on December 26, which was St. Stephen’s Day.  Boxing Day did not get its name from gift boxes, for the exchange of gifts was a German custom still new to Regency England.  Instead, Boxing Day got its name from the older tradition of it being a day in which pleadings could be placed in a box for a judge to privately review.  In December, besides beef and mutton to eat, pork and venison were served.  Goose was cooked for more than just the Christmas meal, and there would be turkey, pigeons, chicken, snipe, woodcock, larks, guinea-foul, widgeon and grouse to eat.  Cod, turbot, soul, sturgeon and eels joined the list of fish in season.  Forced asparagus added a delicacy to the usual winter vegetables.  Stored apples, pears and preserved summer fruit appeared on the better, richer tables.

Finally, celebrations mixed tradition and religion when the Twelfth Night feast arrived on January 5, which combined the Roman Saturnalia with the Feast of the Epiphany, when the three wise men were said to have paid tribute to the Baby Jesus.  Deep in winter, there was still plenty of game to eat.  Beside those wild and tame birds available in December, lobster came into season in January, as did crayfish, flounder, plaice, smelts, whiting, prawns, oysters and crab.  Broccoli made a welcome change from the other winter vegetables, as did cress, herbs, cucumbers, beets and spinach.  Preserved fruits would be running low in all but houses with large orchards, and stored apples and pears would have to serve guests until the expensive forced strawberries of February appeared.

New Online Workshop

Oct1

Monday the “Storytelling Techniques” for writers online workshop starts for NEORWA — that’s North East Ohio Romance Writers of America for the acryonym challenged (and boy is that a mouthfull).

New workshops are always interesting–there’s always a moment of ‘what the hell was I thinking.’ Coupled with the certainty that I will not have enough material to fill a day, let alone several (that never happens, but it always seems all too possible). Add in a dash of wondering why I though I had something to say, and it’s the usual insecurities showing up. I’m convinced these are not just writer neuroses, but writers just happen to write about them (being writers and all). And its just that edge of fear–of performance–that makes it interesting.

I also happen to like teaching. But online classes are odd.

Face-to-face instruction leans heavily on an exchange of the excitment of ideas–on contact. Online that doesn’t exist–and wry humor can bite you on the ass in text form. But the storytelling technique has me excited–it’s something that I’m not sure all that many folks really think about, or study, or take apart. And it’s vital to a good story. Which leads me to my favorite part of workshops–I know I’m going to learn things.

It’s going to be a challenge to figure out what I think–and do. Plus I get the good excuse to look at some other storytellers to pull apart their stuff to see if I can find the ticking heart. Comes of too much of my youth doing jigsaw puzzles, I suspect, which is a useless but soothing hobby. I would have been happy in this life digging up shards of things and fitting them together–puzzles are great training for that. But its not bad to pull apart craft and fit it back together again. It keeps me interested.

Storytelling Workshop

Sep6

The storytelling thoughts have turned into an October workshop for Northeast Ohio RWA — wonderful how the Internet makes this possible.

We’re going to cover more than writing craft, and actually take a look at what makes a good story because you can have poor or just okay writing, but still have a great story that grabs readers and sells its way into published book and movie deals. So how does a storyteller spin a good yarn on the page?

This workshop covers storytelling techniques writers can use, including:

Words/Voice Mechanics
1.Voice: choice of language
2.Clarity, clarity, clarity
3.Making it non-monotonous

Your Characters
1.Stage presence
2.Believability
3.Letting the reader play too: non-verbal communication

Basic Structure
1.Pulling the reader in: clear and engaging openings
2.Pacing — sequence of events
3.Ending has a sense of closure

Innovation
1.Unique or creative use of language
2.Presenting the sequence of events
3.The meaning of the story artfully expressed or suggested

It should be a fun time, and it’s all new to me, too, so I expect to discover a few thing–the joy of a good class is that the teacher can learn as much as she teaches.