Category: Uncategorized

History- Love It, Hate It

French troops at Talavera by Hippolyte Belange

I’ve always wanted to be an author but I never dreamed of writing historical fiction. High school and college history teachers focused on memorizing dates. Having a good memory, I aced the tests and promptly forgot all the meaningless data. Then I discovered Regency romance and mystery and social history. I was hooked. Seeing how people lived and why things happened tickled my brain like amorphous dates and events never did.

The General's hat, Talavera

The excerpt from my wip, Mayhem and Mudlarks, is an example of how I used a story about a general’s hat from the Peninsular Wars.

“Lord Major Kenyon Randall Jamieson ushered Sherry into his small office at Whitehall, pointing out a chair in front a well-worn desk of indeterminate wood, before seating himself.

            “I thought you had no friends alive here?” Sherry pulled his chair closer to the lamp on the desk and sat.

            “I did not, until John Beckett, the undersecretary, read a recounting of my exploits in Talavera with the 29th Regiment.” Major pulled a bottle and two glasses out of a drawer.

            Sherry nodded a yes. “The battle that solidified your role and started mine as an exploring officer’”

            Major poured a substantial quaff of amber liquid in each glass and handed one to Sherry. “Or made my superiors afraid of ever sending me into battle again, especially after I told the story of the two officers who had their hats blown away by a cannon ball flying overhead.”

            “Lieutenant Duguid wasn’t too happy to return the only hat recovered to its rightful owner.”

            “I’m not sure that hat belonged to General Stewart. But rank has its privileges.” Major raised his glass in salute. “Now he war is over but the fears of rebellion on the home front have all the politicians and career civil servants yanking out their hair. They have no knowledge of real intrigue. Hence men such as ourselves have increased in value.”    

            “But I refuse to spy on my fellow Englishmen.” Sherry sipped on his whiskey to drown the sour taste in his mouth. He had been approached to do so on his return to London after Napoleon was safely ensconced at Elba…

        check out britishbattles.com

Old Clothes for Sale

When researching or collecting clothing from by-gone days, it is easier to find apparel of the upper classes. This is simply because the poor and working class wore their garments out, seldom leaving more than rags behind.

Cities in Europe had markets for second hand clothing from at least the 16th century on. London had markets in Petticoat and Rosemary Lanes that carried gently used items, especially frock coats and great coats, as well as extremely worn clothing. Houndsditch market specialized in threadbare attire for the poor. These markets were characterized by writers of the time as boisterous at best and crime ridden at worst. Some claimed most of the clothing for sale was stolen.

By mid-century, the journalist and reformer, Henry Mayhew described London street markets:

Some of the wares are spread on the ground, on wrappers, or pieces of matting or carpet; and some, as the pots, are occasionally placed on straw. The cotton prints are often heaped on the ground, where are also ranges or heaps of boots and shoes, and piles of old clothes, or hats or umbrellas. Other trades place their goods on stalls or barrows, or over an old chair or clothes-horse. And amidst all this motley display the buyers and sellers smoke, and shout, and doze, and bargain, and wrangle, and eat, and drink tea and coffee, and sometimes beer”.

Campfield Market Manchester

The featured drawing is by Rowlandson of the Rag Fair at Rosemary Lane.

Calaveras Literarias: The Swamp

Denizens of the Swamp

Lindsey

I’m sweating for money.

Campaign is dead broke

Fox news let me whine.

But the South’s becoming woke.

 

Haunted look in my eyes

Tells the tale of my demise.

Sucking up to the Trumpster,

The act McCain would despise.

 

I’m glad John went before me

At my wake, he’d make no appearance.

Hang with the sick get the sickness,

That’s simple social science.

 

Susan

I’m concerned to death about

A woman’s right to choose.

But a battle with Trump’s twitter

Is a brawl I’d surely lose.

 

I’m concerned to death about

Pre-existing conditions.

But my donors say no,

That means tax additions.

 

I’m concerned to death about

The pandemic-vs-Trump

But I’m just too darn tired

To admit that he’s a chump.

 

Bill

Give me death

If I can’t have theocracy.

Don’t substitute it

With some shabby democracy

 

Trump can be king

Of the US of A

But I will be

God of the whole DOJ

 

When covid stops my earthly toil

Far right my spirit leans.

Engraved on my tombstone:

The ends justify the means.

 

Calaveras literarias: a poetry  form that is popular in Mexico during Día de los Muertos. These poems can be satirical or critical or just poke fun at the foibles of humankind. Initially they made fun of death itself, but later began to target political figures, government officials, and other celebrities.

Photo KrystianPiatek@krystian_piatek  on unsplash.com

The Octopus and the Diver

 

She hid in the depths of the sea, only emerging from her den of shells after he visited her many times, proving his trustworthiness. Dropping camouflage for her natural red, she aimed one eye at his two. Looking deep into his single heart, she revealed a taste of her three.

Becky Kjelstrom

art by Zo Razafindramamba at unsplash