Love Everlasting, Part 1 ~ A Regency Short Story by Laurie Alice Eakes

categories: Free stories, Recommended Reading, Regency Romance, Romance

Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.
Ephesians 4:31–32, kjv

The last place Arabella Barr expected to encounter Major Gareth Reynard was at a Falmouth hiring fair. Three years ago, she would have rejoiced to see his tall, lithe figure striding toward her through a throng, but not there. Not while carrying the tools of her trade along with dozens of other hopeful men and women in need of work, parading past what were mostly the butlers and housekeepers of ladies and gentlemen in need of servants. Yet there she stood, a wooden spoon and a copper pot gleaming in her hand, a mere shade or two brighter than her own ruddy locks. And there he strolled, a glass of lemonade in his hand, and a stout, middle-aged woman in black gown and frilled white cap at his side.

Arabella saw him too late to escape, even if eluding his notice were an option. She could not get hired if she ducked behind the copper pan, or the woman beside her, who was twice her width and half a head taller. And she needed someone to hire her. She had spent nearly every farthing she possessed to remove herself to this remote corner of England in an effort to avoid persons who once called her friend or, at the least, social equal. No employment by the end of the fair meant no roof over her head that night and precious little to eat. So why, oh, why, was he in Cornwall instead of with his regiment in Belgium with half the ton? Why oh why had she not fled somewhere like the Hebrides to find work away from the peers who now shunned her as though she would contaminate them with a mere glimpse of her?

The answer to her decision was simple—a Scots household that could afford a cook would not hire an English one. The reason for Major Reynard’s presence at the Falmouth hiring fair baffled Arabella into immobility of body and thought, as he drew close enough to speak to her.

“Arabella—Miss Barr.” He was not inflicted with immobility. His blue eyes sparkled as though sunshine blessed the warm summer day. His lips, the lower one enticing with its cleft in the middle, curved into a smile. “Here you are at last.”

Apparently paralyzed from the ability to emit speech, Arabella’s mouth remained closed. Not a word formed in her head to move to her tongue, even if those words could force their way past her lips.

“I never thought I’d find you.” Major Reynard was speaking again, though her ears seemed to have lost their ability to understand English, for his syllables made not sense to her. “But now that I have—“

“Sir,” The housekeeper-looking woman beside him interrupted, “begging your pardon, and I don’t recommend you hire this one. She’s too young and too pretty.”

“I’m not interested in hiring her.” Major Reynard reached a hand toward Arabella. “Please, my dear—“

Like a shock from one of those electrifying machines, the words “my dear” shot through Arabella and spurred her into action. She flung up her pot like a shield and fixed him with a glare. “If you have no intention of hiring me, then step aside so someone else can.”

“Arabella, my dear—“

“I am not your dear, or have you forgotten that you jilted me three years ago?” She spun on her broken-down heel and stalked through the crowd to another corner of the grounds.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him bend his head toward the housekeeper as though speaking earnestly, confidentially. Arabella could only guess at the words, as she could see neither Major Reynard’s nor the housekeeper’s faces, nor hear their voices above the tumult of cries of, “Will you pay for this,” from maids wielding dust mops, and “Hot pies. Get your hot pies here,” from piemen carrying their trays above their heads.

“She nearly ruined my career three years ago, Mrs. Housekeeper.” The major would be saying. Or if he was in a humor to be kind, “Or rather, her father did. I’ve been looking for her to—“

Why he had found her “at last” Arabella couldn’t imagine. He had left the country with his regiment the first week the banns for their nuptials had been called instead of staying in England for the wedding. And Arabella had fled London with little more than the clothes on her back and ring—

A-ha! The ring. He wanted the ring back. No doubt he had found another heiress to bestow the betrothal band upon and couldn’t afford to buy another such bauble on a major’s pay.

Arabella raised her left hand to examine the bare finger. She had sold the ring to hold body and soul together until she convinced someone to hire a cook barely into her twenties.

She lowered her hand to see another housekeeper was bearing down upon her like a hawk on a mouse. “References?” The word was a fox’s yip.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tucking the pot and spoon under one arm, Arabella drew two folded papers from her reticule. “I’ve been creating pastries since I was ten years of age and advanced to sauces and roasting meats when I was fifteen.”

Because she begged the cook in her father’s house to teach her on lonely days when she couldn’t spend her lonely hours riding..

“As you see—“

“Why did you leave your previous employer?” the housekeeper interrupted her.

“Their London chef decided he wanted a spell in their country house.”

And she had seen Major Reynard’s name on the guest list for an upcoming houseparty. The Featherstones had been kind to her. She didn’t wish to embarrass them with her true identity emerging while guests from the haut-ton filled their house.

“As you see from my references, my work was more than satisfactory. I, um—“ She forgot what she intended to say, for she spied the major striding toward her through the crowd without his housekeeper this time. I’m good.” She finished with a lameness that would convince no one to hire her.

But the housekeeper was reading her references with care.

“She might have written those herself.” Major Reynard’s rich timbre rolled over her ears like a drayman’s wagon now, though once upon a time, it had sent shivers of delight racing through her. “She has a fine hand.”

“I don’t. I mean, I didn’t. That is to say. . .” Arabella’s voice trailed off as the potential employer thrust the letters back.

“You look too young.” She trundled off to a stout woman with a dented tin pot.

“How could you?” Tears stung Arabella’s eyes. She blinked them back and thrust the handle of her wooden spoon into Major Reynard’s neatly tied cravat. “She was giving me serious consideration and now-now you’ve ruined it. But what should I expect from you other than to to ruin my life?”

“You don’t need to be working like a common servant now that I have finally located you.” He reached for her arm.

She jerked away. “You are giving all the potential employers a wrong impression of me.”

“Miss Barr, I am trying to talk to you.”

“And what you are doing is creating a scene.”

A circle of silent onlookers surrounded them.

“We can’t talk here, Ara—Miss Barr.” The major took her elbow. “I have a private parlor in the inn and my housekeeper will chaperone.”

She tucked pot, spoon, and the bag with her measly belongings behind her back. “The time for talking to me was three years ago. But, you couldn’t flee fast enough from so much as a fare-the-well.” Tears stung her eyes, clogged her throat, and she stepped backward before he noticed.

And stepped on someone’s foot.

“Yow, ye broke me toe.” The cry sounded more like the yowl of a cat defending its territory than a young woman.

The blow she dealt Arabella on the side of her head with the handle of a broom felt more like a truncheon. She gasped and staggered. Her pot flew in one direction, her spoon in another. The pot knocked the brushes from the hand of a chimney sweep, and a stray dog snatched up the spoon and darted through the crowd as though he had captured a meaty bone.

Major Reynard captured Arabella by her arms. “Are you all right? Shall I catch that woman and lay an information against her for assaulting her?”

“My spoon. My pot.” Arabella shrieked her dismay. “I need them. I—“ She yanked free and darted after the sweep with her pot. She couldn’t afford a new one. She wouldn’t have that one if she hadn’t slipped it out of the house ahead of the bailiffs come to collect all the Barrs’ worldly possessions.

But the sweep was small as his kind was wont to be, and the fair crowded. He vanished from her sight before she ran a dozen yards.

And she had just lost her reticule. One cord of her bag still dangled over her sleeve from where a cutpurse had taken advantage of the chaos and run off with the last of her worldly wealth—two shillings and a happens.

She stared at the frayed string and wished the maid had wielded the broom a little harder. If she had been knocked unconscious, she could wake up to discover this was all a nightmare. But she was already awake and this was not a nightmare. Stark reality told her she was now bereft of the tools of her trade, her references, and a paltry sum of money, but enough for a pie.

How she would adore a pie. Though the crust would likely be tough and greasy, not her own flaky pastry light enough to blow away with a puff of air, sustenance of any kind would help ease the gnawing emptiness inside her, an emptiness caused by a lack of nourishment for the past two days, and a hollow place in her chest once filled by her love for a dashing cavalry officer.

That cavalry officer reached her side and simply held out his elbow for her to take as though they promenaded through a garden party at a country house and not through a malodorous throng. He wore the buckskin breeches and top boots of the country gentleman rather than his uniform, and yet he was no less dashing. Chiseled features, broad shoulders, and narrow hips did that for a man when he was also confident to the point of arrogance, expecting all to move from his path and do his bidding despite his position of the third son of a modestly prosperous baronet.

Resigned to the notion that she should at least get a meal from his wish to speak to her, Arabella was no different than those around him. She took his elbow and allowed him to lead her through a throng that parted like a joint beneath a cleaver

Half way across the green, he stopped and held out his hand. “I will carry your bag.”

She gave it to him. That was easier than arguing. He took it with the tensed muscles of someone who expected a heavy burden. At the lightness of the bag, little more than a drawstring sack like an over-sized reticule, he took half a minute to gaze down at her, his dark blue eyes registering an expression she chose to believe was pity.

“I expected more,” he said.

“What more could I have after three years on the run?”

“But why—“ He shook his head and resumed walking, his stride long, his footfalls striking the ground hard enough for her to feel them through his arm.

“That damage your conscience?” she taunted. “If you have one.”

“Arabella, please don’t.” He didn’t say what he didn’t want from her—as if he hadn’t said that loudly and clearly three years earlier—for the reached the inn.

The tap and coffeerooms bulged with sweating, shouting humanity on either side of the entryway. The Major shouldered his way through the swarm and up a flight of steps to a room at the top of the steps. He knocked and the housekeeper opened the portal to show a plainly furnished room with a table and chairs, a sideboard and desk, an oasis in the desert.

“Mrs. Polglaze,” Reynard said, “did you order some dinner?”

“I did, sir, and there’s warm water in the next room if Miss Barr wishes to freshen herself up a mite.” She bestowed a kindly look upon Arabella. “Shall I show you the way?”

She showed Arabella to an adjoining room. Warm water and soap, though harsh, restored some of her dignity. A comb for her tumbled hair helped even more. The smell of meat pies and other savory dishes brought into the parlor by an inn servant nearly restored her to a shred of the confidence that had gotten her out of London and into a paying position before she starved to death.

Then she strolled into the parlor and faced Major Gareth Reynard in enough quiet and privacy for them to speak for the first time since he slipped out of her life. The fragrance of the meal gagged her. Her knees grew so weak she clutched the back of a chair to stop herself from dropping to her knees on the floorboards. Only her pride gave her the strength to look the major in the eyes.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“Your forgiveness.” He gripped the back of his own chair. He had removed his gloves prior to eating, and his knuckles shone as white as hers. “And to tell you why I did what I did. To explain. . . Explain. . .”

Arabella made herself laugh. “You think you can explain away leaving me at the altar or as near as it doesn’t matter?”

“Not explain away, but—“

“Thank you, sirrah, and your actions gave me all the explanation I have needed for the past three years and continue to need. You promised me everlasting love, but vanished into the arms of the war the day after the constable hauled my father off to Newgate Prison.”

Part 2 of Love Everlasting can be read here.

So what do you think? Is any excuse good enough to explain the major jilting his fiancee practically at the altar? Regardless, how can Arabella forgive him? Could you forgive a man who left you at the altar in an hour of desperate need or any other time?

Originally posted 2014-07-07 05:30:00.

22
Aug
2024

A Jane Austen Barbeque

categories: History

Vanessa here,

Vegans, Vegetarians, and PETA look away from this post.

As we get ready to celebrate the 4th of July, our nation’s Independence Day, we should take the time to thank a service man or veteran for their duty, for choosing to protect America so we might enjoy freedom and wonderfully barbequed hamburgers and hot dogs.

The English during our period of the Regency were not particularly joyous of America’s Independence. They still brooded over their loss in our Revolutionary War and impressed our men into service to fight their other wars, but I digress.

Yet, we can still trace our love of fire roasted meats to them.

Fire roasting was (and is) common around the world and a forerunner to our barbecue cooking method. From cooking meat in a hot pit in the ground to using wooden frames to hold the meat, people of all cultures and all nations figured out fire-cooked meat was yummy. The English were quite serious and well regarded for their meat cooking.

Pehr Kalm, a traveler to England on his way to America (1748) noted:
“Roast meat, Stek, is the Englishman’s delice and principal dish. It is not however always roasted, Stekt, to the same hardness as with us in Sweden. The English roasts, stekarne, are particularly remarkable for two things.

All English meat, whether it is of Ox, Calf, Sheep, or Swine, has a fatness and a delicious taste,either because of the excellent pasture, betet, which consist of such nourishing and sweet-scented kinds of hay as there are in this country, where the cultivation of meadows has been brought to such high perfection, or some way of fattening the cattle known to the butchers alone, or, for some other reason.
The Englishmen understand almost better than any other people the art of properly roasting a joint, konsten, at val steka en stek, which also is not to be wondered at ; because the art of cooking as practised by most Englishmen does not extend much beyond roast beef and plum pudding, stek.”

We can thank John Walker, an English chemist who in 1826 invented the friction match. He took a stick of wood and dipped it in a paste formed from potassium chlorate and sulfur to make a match that lit when struck on an abrasive surface. As you light up the coals tomorrow, think John Walker, unless you own one of those fancy auto-lighting-gas grills or a lighter.

One thing I am glad did not become the norm is the Turnspit Dog. Look at the picture below and see the dog on the circular track pinned to the wall. No, your eyes are working properly. The doggie is hung up like kitchen pots or a ladle, just another kitchen utensil aiding the cooking of foods in an English kitchen.

Can you imagine? “Cook, is the meat done?”

“No milord, Lassie has another mile to go.”

Turnspit dogs were short animals trained to run on a treadmill like cage so that spit meat cooked evenly. These kitchen helpers were small, low-bodied creatures with short front legs. They often had grey and white fur or reddish brown.

The dogs, commonly called Kitchen dogs, Turnspit dogs or Vernepator Cur were very sturdy and capable of turning the spit wheel for hours. Now that is some serious cooking if you have to train pets to help. Lucky for us and the greater good, this practice died off by the late 1850’s.

So light up those grills tomorrow, be thankful of our independence, and give a special patty to your pet pouch. Happy Fourth of July.

Source: Kalm’s Account of His Visit to England, 1758 http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924028059693/cu31924028059693_djvu.txt

Originally posted 2014-07-03 10:00:00.

21
Aug
2024

Lighting Up the Night By Regina Scott

categories: entertainment, History

So glad to be back at Regency Reflections. Is that the bang of fireworks I hear in celebration? Sometimes it seems as if our neighborhood has returned to the Revolutionary War right before the Fourth of July there are so many sizzles, pops, and whistles!

Regency lords and ladies were no strangers to fireworks. The fire masters (the equivalent of today’s pyrotechnical engineers) performed their duties for public events like coronations and military victories as well as private events like balls and routs.

A fire-master was originally a commissioned officer in the artillery who ordered the instructions and directions for making fireworks, whether for military purposes such as rockets or for celebration. Each firework consisted of one or more tubes of paper of various diameters filled with different types of flammable powder and connected to a quick match or a slower burning fuse. Rockets might have a stick at the end to help steady the flight. How hot the fire burned, the direction in which it burned, and the diameter of the opening through which it shot all affected the size, shape, duration, and color of the firework.

People didn’t seem to tire of fireworks, no matter how many times they saw the bright lights. Talented fire masters were in great demand. Of course, the displays had their down sides as well. In large crowds, there was the apparent danger of pieces of the rockets in particular falling back to the ground and striking people on the head or shoulder. Sparks could also burn as they fell. Perhaps to help prevent such calamities, some events were held near a body of water like a river or ornamental pond. The Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens had some amazing displays along the Thames.

Emboldened by their acclaim, however, the fire masters became more and more creative over the years. Until the middle of the nineteenth century, most of the fireworks were orange or white. In the 1830s, fire masters discovered that burning metallic salts with potassium chlorate would give them many more colors to play with. Fireworks were affixed to wooden frames to spell out words or illuminate scenes. Others burst in the sky like stars, hissed and wove about like serpents in the air, or showered sparks down on amazed onlookers like hot rain. Musicians composed odes that could accompany the displays. Architects and engineers built revolving machines that could light up or shoot out fireworks at various angles. Even one of the Prince Regent’s favorite architects, John Nash, built a machine to house such displays.

Today, fireworks light up the night sky at sporting events, fairs and concerts, and civic events. But we owe much of our delight to the creativity and ingenuity those early fire masters.

Regina

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Though she hasn’t found a way to make her hero a fire master yet, Regina Scott has penned 27 stories set in Regency England. Her most recent novel, The Husband Campaign, was released in April 2014 from Love Inspired Historical. You can learn more about her at her website at www.reginascott.com or catch up with her online at www.facebook.com/authorreginascott.

Camy here: Thanks so much, Regina, for our guest post today!

Originally posted 2014-06-30 05:00:59.

21
Aug
2024

Review of The Babe and the Baron by Carola Dunn, Traditional Regency

categories: History

Laurie Alice here,

Since I discovered traditional Regencies, I have counted Carola Dunn as one of my favorite authors in this genre. So imagine my thrill when I ended up on a Regency fan list with Ms. Dunn. When I decided to review another traditional Regency as a Throw-back Thursday post, I contacted Ms. Dunn and asked her which one of her wonderful books she would like me to review. She suggested The Babe and The Baron which, to my delight, had slipped below my radar.

I say to my delight because finding a Carola Dunn book I hadn’t read is like finding a forgotten box of chocolates in the cupboard. In addition, she told me an amusing story about this book.

Soon after she began to write it, her publisher, Walker Publishing, canceled their traditional Regency line. Two years passed before this book finally saw the light of day under the Kensington Zebra imprint. Poor Laura remained pregnant for two years. “She did not,” MS. Dunn assured me, “give birth to an elephant.”

Laura’s scapegrace husband dies while celebrating the fact that she is expecting their first child, leaving her penniless. Gareth, Lord Wyckham, a distant cousin of Laura’s husband, learns that she is now penniless and offers her a home along with a host of other relatives living under his roof. Gareth is a wonderful hero—kind, responsible, enjoying a bit of fun, so not stodgy. He is also a wee bit overprotective of Laura and her condition.

Laura, however, has been used to being independent since her scandalous marriage to her late spouse, and chafes at the hovering, all the while she is falling in love with her relative by marriage. With tact and dignity, she slips into the household routine, taking children and elderly relations in hand and wanting to discover why Gareth is so overly protective of her, a near stranger.

As typical of one of Ms. Dunn’s books, this traditional Regency is written with detail to character and interplay with the hero and heroine, as well as the cast of others important in their lives. Each individual has a unique role to play in the development of the characters, the romance, and the story itself.

If you haven’t read this delightful tale yet, it is available in electronic formats, along with other Regency romances by Carola Dunn. She now writes wonderful mysteries also worth reading.

Originally posted 2014-06-26 09:00:00.

20
Aug
2024

Ring Bell For Service ~ The Prevalency of the Regency Bell Pull

categories: History

Kristi here.

How many times have you read of the hero or heroine of a Regency novel ringing the bell for the servant? Did they really do that? Were bell pulls as common as we think they were?

The answer is a somewhat complicated yes and no.

Bells have long been used to summon servants, though during the Regency the idea of summoning them from anywhere in the house was still fairly new.

Staff Call Bells in a line — Staff Call Bells via Wikimedia Commons

From the time the small handbell was invented, people have used them to summon servants waiting in the hall or across the room. Simple systems that connected a room to a nearby antechamber were documented during the first decade of the eighteenth century. The idea of a house-wide network of bells wasn’t introduced for another 35 years.

Though the actual creation of the full house servant bell system is debated, the first known advertisement for such a system was in 1744. It worked via a series of copper wires, springs, and pulleys to pass the vibration caused by pulling the cord to the bell in the servants’ area.

With more than 60 years from the introduction of the bell pull to the onset of the Regency, modern thinking would assume the system would be nearly ubiquitous. In places such as Mayfair, where most houses were built after 1750, the bell systems probably were very prevalent.

Jane Austen mentions ringing for servants in Pride and Prejudice when she tells Kitty to ring for Hill. Though we don’t know if this referred to the simpler “pulley bell” of the early 1700s or the household bells of the mid-1700s, it does show that bell systems were not confined to only the fashionable and trendy areas of England.

Bigger houses required more bells. Click the picture for an article on indicator boxes and bells after the introduction of electric systems.

But what about the old country houses? Some of the sprawling estates our aristocratic heroes and heroines call home were built centuries before the introduction of a bell system. Since many of these families also maintained residences in town, it’s hard to imagine them forgoing the luxury and privacy of the bells when they adjourned to the country.

The answer was pipes and tubes.

Older homes could be fitted with a network of pipes and tubes that acted as conduits for all the bell mechanisms. Plumbers (who were also busy retrofitting homes with the newfangled indoor plumbing) and chimney sweeps often began second careers and bell-hangers.

This wasn’t done everywhere, however, because some houses that installed and external bell (the first doorbells) sometimes places a sign above the pull telling visitors what to do.

Another issue with these spring-based bell systems was maintenance. Getting to a disconnected wire or pulley within the network of refitted tubes could be extremely difficult.

As the bell systems became more and more prevalent in the country homes, the indicator boards advanced. Some would utilize different sizes and tones of bells to allow servants to better hear which room was summoning them. Others created elaborate sets of flaps and labels to let servants see which person had rung.

In the 1840s, electric bell systems began to appear. This limited the amount of cumbersome maintenance and allowed for much more elaborate indicator boards. People of the Regency, however, wouldn’t have seen these as electricity was still little more than a novelty.

The bells were likely a bittersweet invention for servants. While the installation of a bell system meant that a footman didn’t have to stand in the hall for hours awaiting instruction, it also meant that whenever a bell was rung, the servant had to run up the stairs to get the instruction and then back down to see to the request. Over time the addition of speaking tubes and in-house telephones provided more direct communication, but those weren’t to grace English homes until well after the Regency period.

Originally posted 2014-06-23 05:00:00.

20
Aug
2024

Men’s Regency Hair Styles, by Susan Karsten

categories: Fashion, Hairstyles, History

Hi, Susan Karsten here!

Grecian influence held sway over the men’s hairstyles (as it did for women as well). Short hair prevailed for men during the Regency. Many wore their hair natural, parts were not popular. But the fashionable set wore one of the following hairstyles.

Windswept:

Brutus: As popularized by Beau Brummel

Titus:

Coup au Vent: This modern hairdresser is doing a style that is very close to what my research describes!

Cherubin:

Which one’s your favorite? Are they what you’d imagined?

Originally posted 2014-06-19 10:00:00.

19
Aug
2024

Heat? What heat? ~ How RR Authors Handle the Summer Swelter

categories: History

It’s summer. Maybe not officially for another couple of weeks, but you wouldn’t know that from where I’m sitting – sweltering in the deep south of the US.

So I asked the Regency Reflections authors what they did to beat the heat.

Ruth Axtell:
Heat? What heat? I live in downeast Maine. We’re lucky if it ever hits 80 in the summer.

Before you grumble, just think about how much snow she has to dig through in the winter…

Thermometer on the wall — via Wikimedia Commons

Camy Tang:
Iced tea! I make Muscat or Momo tea (extra strong) from Lupiciausa.com and then chill in the fridge or pour over ice, and I make a sugar syrup rather than just using dry sugar, because it seems to make it taste better. Then a squirt of a lime wedge and I’m set!

Laurie Alice Eakes:
I stay inside as much as possible and drink lots of lemon water. Standard water with lots of ice and a wedge of lemon or lime.

Susan Karsten:
I enjoy jumping off our boat (clad in swimsuit) — we usually boat on the deepest, coldest lake in our state, and the water is super-refreshing.

Kristi Ann Hunter:
Air conditioning. If the kids want to play outside, they’d better do it before 11AM because I’m not stepping outside without a darn good reason after that. Ironically my desk sits against an AC vent so I’m usually working with a blanket over my legs, but I’m not about to turn it off.

What about you? Is it hot where you are? What do you do to stay comfy and cool in the summer?

Originally posted 2014-06-16 05:00:00.

19
Aug
2024

Summer Fun: Children’s Games in Regency England

categories: History

Kristi here. With school out for the summer, my house is once again full of kids all day. Some of the games they come up with are interesting to say the least. Its the nature of children to find ways to entertain themselves and it was no different during the Regency.

Like all kids, children during the Regency had loads of energy. Games involving jumping across, over, and on things were popular, particularly with boys. Although they went by different names, children played many of the games we enjoy today such as tug o’ war (called English and French), tag (known as Touch during the 19th century), and good old foot-racing (often reffered to as a Steeplechase since the steeple or church was frequently the finish line).

Other games have retained their names over the years. Leap-frog, Follow the Leader, and Hop-skotch haven’t changed much over the years, and were played in pretty much the same way they are today.

While not quite as prevalent as they used to be, kids still play with marbles, tops, kites, and balls, toys that have been around for centuries and relived the boredom of many youngsters of the regency era.

If you’ve ever seen a group of kids playing with a hula hoop, you eventually saw one of them rolling the hoop across the ground. Rolling hoops was a prevalent game during the early 19th century as well. Many travelers documented seeing children using sticks to keep a metal or wooden hoop rolling across the ground.

Golf has been around for centuries, but did you know that an early version of lawn hockey also existed? It was played with a ball and cudgels or bats, so the curved hockey stick we now know wasn’t part of it.

Other games bore a startling resemblance to games we know today. A game called Bounders was played very much like baseball except there were five bases and one could get runners out by hitting them with the ball. I think parents everywhere will agree that we’re glad those rules changed. A combination of baseball and dodgeball is a scary prospect.

Despite the advancement in technology and the changes in culture, kids are still kids and there’s something comforting in that. The similarities in people’s nature is one of the things that makes reading historical novels interesting. Seeing those natures in a different era can sometimes help us understand ourselves even more.

What are other areas that you see a similarity in human natures across eras?

Originally posted 2014-06-12 05:00:00.

18
Aug
2024

Blow Wind Blow

categories: History

Vanessa here,

When reading Regencies, I love getting into the environment, learning about the land, flowers, etc. I even love being immersed in the weather.

Weather Vanessa? Really?

Now some might look at weather as just a scenery element, purring at the way the moonlight beams in the hero’s eyes or the soft bounce of sun reflecting in the heroine’s hair. Yet, weather can be a force to reckon, a third character changing the course of events.

Haven’t you read about the snows of the yuletide keeping the family in the country as opposed to rushing back to London or the occasional rainstorm trapping the hero and heroine. You may have even read about 1816, the year with no summer.

Yet, England like most places, experienced much more. For an upcoming novella project, I began looking for windstorms that savaged my Regency World.

After much research, I came across two events: March 4, 1818 and April 26, 1818. The gale of March 4 raged all over England but it also knocked over several buildings in London. The tornado of April 26 focused on the southern coast.

The Gale of March 4

The gale raged on the 4^th, 7^th and the 8^th. The gale was more likely an offshoot of a coastal hurricane, but its reach was massive. Moreover, the respite in between the 4^th and the 7^th fooled people into thinking the worst was over.

Here are some quotes on the event:

“Storm across southern Britain caused considerable damage around Nottingham, uprooting trees, blowing slates off roofs etc. At Leicester and Mansfield … the storm was very violent, and attended with similar effects to those experienced in this town”.

A Douglas paper of March 5th, that year, says : — “We have not for many years witnessed so tremendous a storm as last night struck terror into every bosom and, carried havoc and devastation in its train.”

“It had been thundering ; and lightning and blowing strong for several days previously, and consequently the harbour at Douglas was crowded with shipping of all sizes. On Wednesday, the 4th, the wind stood at sou’-west, but at night it suddenly veered to sou’-east, and then blew a hurricane. Scarcely a vessel in the port escaped.”

“Neither cable nor post resisted the storm the very posts in the quay were dragged cut.”

“A brig, Samuel, of Whitehaven, entered the harbour, and, driven by the gale, crashed into the other vessels. Then ensued crashing and smashing and fearful confusion — masts and bowsprits snapped, bows and sterns stove in, bulwarks smashed. Two boats were actually sunk; no lives lost, but many persons were injured. The quays were crowded with people, and everyone who had a lantern brought it to the quayside.”

Hurricane of 1824

The Devon and Dorset coasts endured a savaging hurricane November 22 through the 23^rd. Floodwaters were over 2 meters (6.5 feet).

http://www.southampton.ac.uk/~imw/chestorm.htm

In Hertfordshire, a tornado (offshoot from the hurricane) was described as “a white whirling cone uprooted many trees and unroofed houses.”

A naval officer at Sidmouth at the time said, “The wind was stronger than the West Indian hurricanes. The noise of the wind was like incessant Thunder, but there was something in it still more aweful and supernatural. It seemed to rage so perfectly without control – so wild and free that nothing I ever heard before could be at all compared to it.”

Others reported, “The noise of the wind was remarkable and that it howled or roared in the great gusts. Chimneys were blown down and stone church buildings were damaged. Roofs of shops were carried away. The unusual force of the rain and hail broke a huge number of windows.”

“At 6 am on Tuesday 23rd, the time of the overwash at Chiswell, a heavy stack of chimneys was blown down, killing the Reverend H.J. Richman and his wife.”

Some other accounts of damage are: