Hello! I’m Maureen Mackey, one of the new chairs of the Quizzing Glass blog. As my co-chair Caroline Warfield explained in her introductory post last week, the two of us will be posting frequently in the coming weeks with news and information we hope you’ll find fun and interesting.
Caroline told you a little bit about me last week, and now it’s my pleasure to introduce you to her. Here’s a mini interview I did with this prolific author, with my questions and her replies:
When did you first get hooked (and what hooked you) on the Regency era?
When my children were small, I discovered the Signet and Zebra Regencies. They were a quick read for a frantic mom. They were my secret delight and I called them “bathtub books” because I could read them while hiding, er, soaking in the tub. Along the way, I fell in love with authors like Jo Beverly, Barbara Metzger, Carla Kelly, and Mary Balogh. By the time I went to work in a public library, I had read far more than my fair share of them, and the historical romance genre was expanding. We called some of the books coming out in that era, “bent-neck novels” due to all the purple covers with the heroine bent over backward. I was delighted to share my passion with the reading public.
What is your favorite thing about the Regency – what do you like to write about?
I’m fascinated by the class structure. I find myself drawn increasingly to characters that are not of the peerage–physicians, military officers, merchants, vicars, and their families. A favorite trope is a cross-class mixed couple. In addition, as we learn more and more about historical diversity in England, I like to include that. My college degree is in history, and historical fiction–all subgenres–is my hobby horse. I like to include actual events and people in my books.
What is the weirdest or most interesting fact you’ve come across while researching a book?
I wrote a Regency novel set in Rome, just to prove to myself I could do it. It brought challenges and some interesting trivia along with them. Who was the law in Rome in 1820? (The Vatican). Did England have an ambassador? (No. They worked through Hanover’s delegation). The most amazing bit I discovered, however, was that the Jacobite heirs in 1820 (only 75 years after Culloden) were the members of the House of Savoy in Sardinia. England had reason for keeping eyes and ears in Italy.
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Caroline writes family-centered, sensual historical romance set in the Regency and Victorian eras. For more about her and her books, click on www.carolinewarfield.com
April is early spring, and usually the month for Easter, with its Hot Cross Buns and the end of Lent. The London Season usually began right around Easter.
In Scotland, April 1, Fool’s Day, was a popular holiday. “Hunting the gowk” was the name for the game in which people were sent on phony errands (gowk is a word for cuckoo bird, a symbol for fool). In England, various April dates are called ‘Cuckoo Day ‘ and some places hold ‘Cuckoo Fairs’.
From Observations on Popular Antiquities, Chiefly Illustrating the Origin of our Vulgar Customs, Ceremonies and Superstitions by John Brand, published in 1813, comes the note that “The wit chiefly consists in sending persons on what are called sleeveless errands for the History of Eve’s Mother, for Pigeon’s Milk, with similar ridiculous absurdities.” Brand notes sleeveless seems to mean something that cannot be unraveled from the phrase “to sleeve a two” meaning to unfold or unravel.
Maundy Thursday was the Thursday before Easter, which usually falls in April, but sometimes in March. The King was meant to distribute “alms” and maundy baskets to the poor—the Prince Regent had to take over these duties in his stead. The “maundy” comes from the Latin mandatum, or the Vulgate’s translation of Jesus’ words in the washing of the feet. Maundy baskets might be given to the poor with mutton, beef, and bread. An 1803 record notes four pounds of beef and four threepenny loaves in each basket. At right are Maundy coins minted in 1818 for George III, minted in silver, with values from 1d to 4d. The Maundy ceremony was typically held in Whitehall, in the Chapel Royal (what was once the Banqueting Hall, the vast hall used for ceremonies). Below is a print from the British Library of the Chapel Royal in 1811, with a staircase to a pulpit, what looks like eagles on flag, most likely captured French eagles, and what appears to be a clergyman giving a tour to a gentleman and a lady, with the gentleman in military uniform.
Of course, Easter, if it fell in April would be celebrated with Hot Cross Buns on Good Friday, and eggs—with an ancient association with spring and fertility—might be colored or decorated. Pace Eggs are hard boiled eggs with patterned shells, and are traditional made in the north of England. The orthodox Catholic churches have Paschal eggs, or eggs blessed by the priest at the end of the Paschal Vigil (the Holy Saturday before Easter Sunday).
The Easter of 1814 held special celebrations due to Napoleon’s abdication on April 6. As noted in John Ashton’s Social England Under the Regency, “Easter Monday fell on the 11th of April, and on that day London was brilliantly illuminated, very much better than usual; but then lights and transparencies had only been, hitherto, used for Victories—this was for Peace, which was welcomed by all with heartfelt thankfulness. The Duchess of Oldenburgh, at the Pulteney Hotel, had ‘Thanks be to God’ in variegated lamps. The Duke of Northumberland wreathed the head of his immortal lion with laurels; the statue of King Charles I. close by, was covered with laurels. Carlton House had its pillars entwined with lamps, the entablature marked out with them. On the parapet were six large stars; in the centre were the Arms of France supported by the figure of Fame with laurels, under which was Louis XVIII. A pedestal of fire supported two large stars: on the left, were Russia and Austria; on the right, Prussia and England; whilst in the centre, was a bit of deliciously bad French—’Vive les Bourbons,’ all done in silver lamps.”
The portrait of Byron is dated to 1813 by Thomas Phillips, and used via Wikimedia Commons
On March 10, 1812 John Murray published George Gordon, Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Cantos I and II. Murray printed 500 quarto copies, which sold out in three days, costing 30 shillings each (that’s 1£ 10 shillings, or in the modern world about 56£, and quarto refers to printing four pages on each side of a sheet of paper, front and back, and folding the sheet twice, each time folding against the long side. Eight pages are thus printed on one sheet of paper. The person who bought the book would have it bound—either clapboard, cloth or leather—and would need to cut the pages. Or could pay 50 shillings for a bound copy.) Byron did not care for this format.
In Byron: Life and Legend Fiona MacCarthy writes, “He had disapproved of John Murray’s decision to publish Childe Harold in a large format quarto edition, calling it ‘a cursed unsaleable size’.”
Due to demand, Murray immediately came out with an octavo edition of 3,000 copies at 12 shilling (obviously, octavo refers to a book on which 16 pages are printed, and folded three times to produce eight leaves). In less than six months sales of the poem had reached 4,500 copies, and Byron noted, “I awoke one morning and found myself famous.” While a nice quote, that was not quite true.
At the age of 10, Byron had come into his title in 1798 as the sixth Baron Byron of Rochdale, and heir to Newstead Abbey in Nottinghamshire. In November 1806, he distributed his first book of poetry, Fugitive Pieces, printed at his expense. He printed 100 copies of a revised edition in January 1807 as Poems on Various Occasions, and then published another collection of poems in June, Hours of Idleness. It was rather brutally critiqued in the ‘Edinburgh Review’, and after Byron took his seat in the House of Lords in March 1809—he had turned twenty-one in January—he published 1,000 copies of the satirical poem English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers as revenge. This work was well-known, and Byron had already attracted the interest and admiration of those in the Whig party for his first speech in the House of Lords, made in February, 1812, when he spoke against the death penalty for anyone who broke loom frames—he felt he was speaking up for the Luddites in Nottinghamshire. But Childe Harold made Byron into something of a Regency “superstar.”
Byron wrote Childe Harold during his travels, which had taken him from Lisbon to Greece and on to Athens and covered from 1809 to 1811. It has been noted that the poem read something like a travelogue through the Mediterranean, and Byron himself said, “If I am a poet,…the air of Greece has made me one.”
In the spring and summer of 1812, “Bryonmania” took hold. While such a word as “Byronmania” sounds modern, it was actually coined by Annabella Milbank in 1812, long before she became Lady Byron.
March, 1812, also saw Byron launch into an affair with Lady Caroline Lamb, who had been given an advanced copy of Childe Harold and wrote to Bryon on March 9, “Childe Harold I have read your Book & cannot refrain from telling you that I think it & that all those whom I live with & whose opinions are far more worth having–think it beautiful…As this is the first letter I ever wrote without my name & could not well put it, will you promise to burn it immediately & never to mention it? If you take the trouble you may very easily find out who it is, but I shall think less well of Child(e) Harold if he tries—though the greatest wish I have is one day to see him & be acquainted with him.”
On March 25, Lord Byron went to Melbourne House at the invitation of Lady Caroline Lamb and also met Anne Isabella Milbanke. The ladies were also known respectively as Caro and Annabella. Morning waltzing practices were quite the rage, but the dance would not be accepted into Almack’s for another two years. Byron, with his club foot, could not excel at the dance and hated it. He would later write of that morning, “The first time of my seeing Miss Milbanke was at Lady ****’s. It was a fatal day; and I remember, that in going up stairs I stumbled, and remarked to Moore, who accompanied me, that it was a bad omen. I ought to have taken the warning. On entering the room, I observed a young lady more simply dressed than the rest of the assembly sitting alone on a sofa. I took her for a female companion…”
Annabella was also not impressed with Byron, and wrote in her diary, “…I went to a morning party at Lady Caroline Lamb’s, where my curiosity was much gratified by seeing Lord Byron, the object at present of universal attention. Lady C. has of course seized on him, notwithstanding the reluctance he manifests to be shackled by her… I did not seek an introduction to him, for all the women were absurdly courting him, and trying to deserve the lash of his Satire.”
Byron would start an affair with the married Lady Caro, which would last until August. Byron broke off the affair, Caro’s husband William Lamb took her off to Ireland, and when she returned in early 1813 and when Byron made it clear he would not take up with her again, she tried to slash her wrists with a broken wine glass at a ball. She had never been all that stable and would go on to create even more scandals, and then sought revenge by writing and publishing Glenarvon in 1816, which satirized Byron and others, including Lady Jersey (which ended with Caro barred from Almack’s and socially scorned). Byron would wed Annabella Milbanke in 1815—it was not a good match. After settling his debts by selling Newstead Abbey, Byron left England again in April, 1816. Byron, in a fashion, had really become his own poetic hero:
And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee;
‘Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start,
But Pride congeal’d the drop within his e’e:
Apart he stalk’d in joyless reverie,
And from his native land resolved to go,
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea;
With pleasure drugg’d he almost long’d for woe,
And e’en for change of scene would seek the shades below.
The flattering portrait of George IV by Sir Thomas Lawrence
On Wednesday, February 6, 1811, Prince George took the oath at Carton House that allowed him to become the Prince Regent.
At 48, the prince was no longer the dashing young man once dubbed “Prince Florizel” (due to his affair with the actress Mary Robinson, who had had the lead as Perdita, opposite Florizel, in Shakespear’s ‘The Winter’s Tale’). He had begun putting on weight in the late 1700s, and by 1811, years of heavy drinking and eating meant a need for corsets and face paint. (By 1797, his weight had reached 245 pounds, or 17 stone 7 pounds, and in the 1820s his corset would be sized to a 50 inch waist. Just for breakfast, it was reported he liked: ‘Two pigeons and three beefsteaks, three parts of a bottle of Mozelle, a glass of dry Champagne, two glasses of Port and a glass of Brandy’.)
The Care of King During his Illness, etc. Act had been passed by Parliament the day before the Prince took the oath, creating a limited regency (the full text of the act can be found online at: https://www.heraldica.org/topics/royalty/ukregency.htm#1811),
The London Chronicle of Wednesday, February 6 carried information on what would be called ‘the Regency Bill’ with a postscript that the Prince Regent had been sworn in at two o’clock, and the Prime Minister, Spencer Perceval, had been able to have an interview with the 72-year-old King the previous Friday. At that time, the King was well enough to understand a regency was required. The King requested no change to the ministers or government, and Queen Charlotte also noted she also required those terms to be met. The Prince Regent would not be allowed to grant peerages, or confer lifetime offices, places or pensions for a year, just in case the King recovered. The King’s care was given to Queen Charlotte. She also retained the management of his household and property and she did so until her death at Kew Palace, where the King also lived, on November 17, 1818 at 74 years of age.
In early February 1811, the King had seemed to be recovering from his latest round of bad health. His problems had begun in 1765 with depression, but became serious in 1788 with hallucinations and mental derangement, which kicked off the first regency crisis. The King’s mania and delusions continued from the summer of 1788 into 1789, and in February of that year, the Regency Bill was first introduced. However, King George III recovered and the idea of a regency was shelved, but other attacks of illness would reoccur in 1795, 1801, 1804, and 1810. The King was also going blind.
In 1811, many in Parliament hoped a regency might not be needed. As of February 2, 1811, the Queen had sent a letter to the Prince stating that the King appeared to be recovering. The Tory party worried that if Prince George took power he would reward his Whig friends with a new government—hence all the restrictions. But the Prince agreed to the restrictions, and so the act was carried forward.
Following the pattern set in 1789, without the King’s consent, the Lord Chancellor affixed the Great Seal to letters patent naming Lords Commissioners. This was irregular because only Letters Patent signed by the ruling monarch were meant to appoint Lords Commissioners or grant Royal Assent. However, because the King was incapacitated, resolutions by both Houses of Parliament approved the action and directed the Lord Chancellor to prepare the Letters Patent and affix the Great Seal. (In 1789, the King, after he recovered, had declared this had been a valid and legal action.) There was no Council of Regency set up since the Prince was both of age and heir to the throne. The Prince was required to swear his allegiance to the King, and relinquish the care of the King to the Queen, and she was given a Queen’s council.
On February 18, the Duke of Northumberland sent congratulates to the Prince, writing, ‘the goodness of your heart, & the superiority of your understanding cannot fail, sir, to ensure happiness to the people, who live under your government’. Others saw this whole thing in a less promising light, given that the Prince Regent had promised to keep the Tory party in power. Lord Moria wrote ‘it grieves me to the soul’ [about the] ‘unexplained departure from all those principals which you have so long professed’. The Prince had abandoned the Whig party.
In June of 1811, the Prince Regent held a fabulous celebration at Carlton House, said to be for the King’s Birthday. Everyone, however, knew this was the Prince celebrating being out from under his father’s power. In July, 1811, the King’s condition worsened, and by February 1812 everyone had given up on the King ever recovering his mind and health. The regency restrictions were lifted from the Prince. The Regency was now fully launched and would continue until January 29, 1820 when King George III died and the Prince Regent became George IV.
(On a side note, the London Chronicle reported that on February 5, 1811 “…the Whig Club held their first meeting of the season at the Crown and Anchor, the Duke of Norfolk in the chair”. They must have hoped the Regency would bring the Whigs to power.)
Click to enlarge this 1814 colored woodcut of the Frost Fair on the River Thames.
“Monday. Here’s a day! – The Ground covered with snow! What is to become of us? – We were to have walked out early to near Shops, & had the Carriage for the more distant. – Mr. Richard Snow is dreadfuly fond of us. I dare say he has stretched himself out at Chawton too.”
– Jane Austen, writing to Cassandra from London, March 7, 1814
The print is from the British Museum of a hand-colored woodcut dated to February 14, 1814, showing the Frost Fair held when the Thames froze between London Bridge and Blackfriars, off Three Cranes Wharf. From February 1st to the 5th or 6th when the ice began to break up, the Thames froze hard enough to support games, rides, stalls, vendors, and even temporary print shops. When the freeze ended, it did so fast, and some drowned as they fell into the waters. Ice damaged ships along the docks.
The Thames was frozen solid from January 31st to February 7th, and a frost fair was held on the river. (The Mersey and the Severn also froze, with staking and horses being ridden over the river reported at Bristol.) Heavy fog also was reported from December 26th to January 3rd with the Maidenhead coach reported as being lost on December 28th and most other traffic at a standstill, and then heavy snow set in. However, the winter of 1813/14 was not the only one to offer chilling cold, which could last well into spring.
During the 1700s, and throughout the Regency years, winters meant snow, fog, ice and sometimes freezing rains and floods. These harsh winters are now attributed to ‘The Little Ice Age’, a phrase first used by geologist François Matthes in 1939 to account for the exceptional cold that began in the 1300s and continued through the 1800s. NASA’s Earth Observatory marked three particularly cold intervals, with periods of warming between: 1650, 1770, and 1850. No exact cause is known, but possibilities include a decrease in human population due to plagues, wars and famine, ocean circulation changes, variations in the Earth’s tilt, and heightened volcanic activity.
Winter temperatures, with the cold hitting early or staying late, led to crop failures, the death of livestock, and frozen rivers not just in England but across Europe. Bad harvests and rising food prices are now linked to the social unrest of that era. Such cold in London led to more fires in hearths, and with the switch from burning wood to coal, which had begun in the 1500s, London’s fogs became known for their thickness and cold.
In An American in Regency England, Louis Simonds wrote on March 5, 1810, “It is difficult to form an idea of the kind of winter days in London, the smoke of fossil coals forms an atmosphere, perceivable for many miles, like a great round cloud attached to the earth. In the town itself, where the weather is cloudy and foggy, which is frequently the case in winter, this smoke increases the general dingy hue, and terminates the length of every street with a thick grey mist, receding as you advance.”
Perhaps the most famous volcanic impact was the eruption on April 10, 1815 of Mount Tambora (also spelled Tomboro), an island in what was then the Dutch East Indies. The ash spread globally over the next three years, and led to 1816 being called the ‘Year Without a Summer’ with reports of heavy snow on April 14th and May 12th. But that was not the only very cold winter.
The eruption of Laki, a volcano in Iceland from June 1783 to February 1784 had also led to reports in England and across Europe of a haze in the air, damage to crops, and deaths most likely due to high levels of sulphates. Bad winters hit England in 1794/95, with frosts that lasted until late March, and the most intense cold hitting in January. Heavy rain that began on February 7 that led to flooding in many parts of England. In Scotland, it was the seventh coldest winter at Edinburgh, with heavy snowfall across Scotland. Inn England, major rivers froze and snow made roads impassable. The winter of 1779/80 offered another sever winter in London and the south of England.
After several warm summers and less cold winters, England’s weather turned bad from 1807 through 1819. It was reported as often being wet in London, with eight very wet years, including in 1816 to 1821. The severe winters include the Regency years of 1813/14, 1815/16 and 1819/20. In the latter two winters, ice was reported on the Thames, but was not thick enough to walk on.
In 1807 London, daily fog was reported from December 17th to the 21st. In January 1808, bad weather led to flooding in the East Anglian marshes, with farming losses due to breaches in sea walls. February 1808 had snowstorms and frosts in the England fens. January of 1810 had ten straight days of fog.
The winter of 1815/16 was reported as even colder than in 1814, with snow reported to have fallen on Easter Sunday, the 14th of April, and then again on May 12th. Weather reports held 1819 as both a cold and wet year, and January 1820 was ranked as just outside of the list of the twenty coldest winters. On January 29, 1820, King George III died in his padded rooms at Windsor Castle, bringing the Regency years in England to a close.
The origins of caroling date far back in time, with the word ‘carol’ dating back to the Old French and the 1300s, meaning a ‘joyful song’ or to ‘dance in a ring accompanied by singers’. In ancient times, celebrations often included song and dancer, with May carols and harvest carols existing, and perhaps others we have lost. The idea of attaching songs to Christmas in terms of celebration is credited to Saint Francis of Assisi, who in the 1200s created nativity scenes with hymns and everyone invited to sing along. This idea spread throughout the 1300s, and the Anglo-Saxon toast of ‘waes hael’ (be well) gives us ‘wassailing.
Wassailers—usually those without much in a village—would serenade the better-off locals in the great and good houses who were likely to offer up food and drink, and perhaps a few coins at Christmastime. A candle in a window noted a house willing to entertain wassailers. It was considered bad luck not to reward the efforts of these traveling entertainers with food and drink, including a ‘figgy pudding’ (figgy simply means any dried fruit, and this would also be known as a plum pudding, and then as a Christmas pudding).
The Oxford Dictionary notes that one of the oldest printed carols is the ‘Boar’s Head Carol’, dating to 1521 and traditionally sung at Queen’s College, Oxford while Christmas lunch is served. In 1522, King Henry VIII published music and words for a carol called ‘Green Groweth the Holly’ (perhaps inspired by the song, ‘The Holy and the Ivy’). As with many early carols, these songs had roots in earlier pagan celebrations of Winter Solstice. The Tudors in particular enjoyed both wassailing and mummers. Twelfth Night was also a time for wassailing and mummers might arrive to offer up entertainment, usually in the form of a play with St. George, the dragon he slays, the Turkish knight, and others. Mummers might also ‘pass the hat’ for a few coins.
Wassailing celebrations could also extend to the ‘Old Twelvey’ (January 17, the date of the old Julian calendar, which was revised in 1752). The older wassailing might involve blessing the apple tress, an ancient tradition in cider-producing areas such as Devon, Kent, Herefordshire, Somerset, and Sussex.
In 1644, Oliver Cromwell outlawed public caroling, along with figgy puddings and all other ‘Popish’ Christmas celebrations, but they came back with the Restoration, which did away with all legislation passed in England between 1642 and 1660.
By the Georgian era—and the English Regency—Christmas celebrations began on St. Nicholas Day, December 6, with an exchange of gifts, and went on until Twelfth Night. While attending church service was common for many on Christmas, the idea of songs, games, feasting and fun carried throughout the Christmas celebrations.
William Holland, a parson who kept a diary from 1799 to 1818, wrote of December 25, 1799, “Cold, clear and frosty. Christmas Day, Sacrament Day at my church. Went to Aisholt in the afternoon, returned to a late dinner by myself on spratts and a fine woodcock. The kitchen was tolerably well lined with my poor neighbours, workmen &cc. Many of them staid till past ten o’clock and sang very melodiously. Sent half a crown to our Church Musicians who had serenaded the Family this cold morning at five o’clock.” (Quoted from Paupers and Pig Killers, his published diary.) Holland uses the more contemporary term—for him—of ‘musicians’,
What might these musicians or wassailers sing?
The English carol ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ dates to the 1500s, and was included in the book, Christmas with the Poets, which gives these words for a wassailing song: “Here’s to thee, old apple tree, Whence thou may’st bud, and though may’st blow! And whence though may’st bear apples enow! Hats full! Craps full! Bushel – bushel – sacks full! And my pockets full too!”
Another older carol is ‘I Saw Three Ships’, with multiple versions existing, depending on the location of the singers. ‘Deck the Halls’ comes from a Welsh song, ‘Nos Galan’. Translated from the Welsh, it has less to do with halls and more to do with love, “Oh! how soft my fair one’s bosom, fal lal lal lal lal lal la. Oh! how sweet the grove in blossom, fal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal la. Oh! how blessed are the blisses, Words of love, and mutual kisses, fal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal la.”
‘God rest you merry, Gentlemen’ dates to the 1500s, again with different words and music, all localized in England. The version most familiar to modern ears dates to the 1650s when it is printed in a book of dancing tunes. It became more popular as a Christmas carol in the Victorian era, which is true for many of the songs we know today. ‘Silent Night’ was first performed in Oberndorf, Austria as ‘Stille Nacht’ with words written in 1816 by Father Joseph Mohr and music added in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber. It would not appear in English until 1863. The music and lyrics of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ (‘Adeste Fideles’) dates to France and the early 1700s. The first published version shows up in 1760 and is translated into English in 1841. ‘While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night’, a poem by Nahum Tate, was published in Tate and Brady’s Psalter in 1702. The music is by George Frederick Handel, written in 1728, and arranged for the carol in 1812.
Charles Wesley, who wrote over 6,500 hymns, published the words for ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ (noting it should have solemn music) in 1739 in Hymns and Sacred Poems. (His opening couplet was, “Hark! how all the welkin rings / Glory to the King of Kings” with welkin meaning the sky or heaven.) In 1752, George Whitfield modified the lyrics, but the tune we know comes from Felix Mendohlsson’s 1840 ‘Vaterland, in deinen Gauen’, which was adapted to fit the Christmas carol by William Cummings.
In 1822, Davies Gilbert published Some Ancient Christmas Carols and wrote: The Editor is desirous of preserving them in their actual forms…He is anxious also to preserve them on account of the delight they afforded him in his childhood, when the festivities of Christmas Eve were anticipated by many days of preparation, and prolonged through several weeks by repetitions and remembrances.” Gilbert often lists the tunes as simply Carol I, Carol II, and so on, but he includes music as well as lyrics, such as “Hark! Hark! What news the Angels bring, Glad tidings of a new-born king.”
William Sandys, an English solicitor and a Society of Antiquaries of London fellow, published Christmas Carols Ancient and Modern in 1833. His book included ‘The First Noel’.
Handel’s Messiah oratorio, which includes the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus, was originally written for Easter performances. The first London performance was at the Theater Royal, Covent Garden on March 23, 1742. It became a regular performance there and in Bath, with the first performance in Bath on November 24, 1756. Performances in Bath often occurred either in December or around Easter, often in the New Assembly Rooms, but also in churches and other locations. It is noted as being performed for many years on Christmas Eve at the Assembly Room. The book, The Bath Messiah goes into detail about how the Herschels—William and his sister Caroline—arranged performances in Bath (she sang, and their brother played cello) in the late 1700s, before William became more interested in astronomy. Christmas Eve Messiah performances date to Venanzio Rauzzi who organized performances from 1781 to 1800, and the Bath Choral Society, which started up in 1819.
Finally, instead of song, if one was in town (London), there was always the Christmas pantomime, which opened on Boxing Day, where the famous clown Joseph Grimaldi performed at Drury Lane, or Astley’s Amphitheater offered a special Christmas spectacular.
At the end of the eighteenth century, John Cary was commissioned by the Postmaster-General to survey all the principal roads in England. He did this by walking these roads, pushing a wheel connected to a counter, which kept a tally of the number of rotations and then produced an accurate mileage.
Between 1787 and 1831, Cary put his knowledge to use and published, among other books, The New English Atlas, The Travellers’ Companion, The Universal Atlas of 1808, and Cary’s New Itinerary which had multiple editions. The maps and surveys have some of the most accurate and valuable data about the structure of the Regency world. They also provide an insight into how people traveled in the Regency.
Published in 1815, the fifth edition of Cary’s goes on to explain that it is, “an Accurate Delineation of the Great Roads, both direct and cross throughout, England and Whales, with many of the Principal Roads in Scotland, from an actual admeasurement by John Cary, made by command of his Majesty’s Postmaster General.”
There’s more detail provided at the front of the book in an “advertisement” that’s more of a preface.
The information alone on roads and distances, with fold-out maps provided, shows the practical problems that face any Regency traveler. How far is it really between London and Bath, and what roads might one take? What coaches depart from which inns, and when do they depart? How long might a trip take? Cary’s offers much more than practical information.
Cary’s divides into neat, organized sections. The man was obviously methodical. The first section lists the direct roads to London—as in all roads lead to this metropolis. The next section gives a list of principal places, or larger towns, that occur along the cross-roads. A cross-road is a road that crosses one of the direct roads into London (and many of these were built over the ancient Roman roads).
At this point, you begin to see how London-centric the Regency world really was. As someone living outside of London, it would be your goal to get to a major town, and then you could get to London. Cary, living in London, wrote his book for outward-bound Londoners, and that is how the book is organized.
The next section is a list of coach and mail departures. This includes the name of the London inn from which the coaches departed, the towns each coach passed through, the mileage, the departure time, and the arrival time. It’s an utter godsend if you have to get to Bath at a certain hour on the coach. Travelers must have poured over this information when planning trips to the seaside for bathing, or to spa towns to take the waters after an illness.
The next section lists all direct roads, as measured from key departure points in London, but this is not just a dry list of mileage. Descriptive notes are tucked into various columns to describe houses of note and distinctive sights. For example, if you’re going to Wells from London, then, “Between Bugley and Whitbourn, at about 2 m(iles) on l(eft) Longleat, Marquis of Bath; the house is a Picture of Grandure, and the Park and Pleasure Grounds are very beautiful.” This was an era in which slower travel meant taking the time to look at surroundings, and Cary’s was published in a size small enough to fit into a pocket or take with you, so you could pass the time looking up the names of sights you passed.
The next section provides a similar treatment for cross-roads, and not to be overlooked, the Packet Boat sailing days are listed for England’s various sea ports, just in case an intrepid traveler wishes to travel abroad.
Finally, Cary’s provides an index to Country Seats, or as Cary’s notes, “In this Index the Name of every resident Possessor of a Seat is given, as well as the Name of the Seat itself, wherever it has a distinctive Appellation.” This is actually a list from the 1811 returns to Parliament, as noted in the book. In the Regency, this actually would have been a much used feature, for it would allow a traveler to look up and visit various great houses and country seats. It was a time, after all, when visitors expected the great houses to always be open for show, and to be gracious in their hospitality, and so this might be part of a planned trip to stop and see the art collections or the historically important houses.
Overall, Cary’s is not a book that will give you insight into the politics of the Regency, nor into the social structure of that world. However, between its worn covers lays the description of the Regency world that can put you back into that era, just as if you were traveling the roads of England. (An 1802 edition of Cary’s New Itinerary can be found online at: https://www.google.com/books/edition/Cary_s_New_Itinerary/cg4QAAAAYAAJ?hl=en).
While we often think of “punch” these days as something non-alcoholic to serve, in Regency England punch was a drink to get you more than a little tipsy.
The first mention of punch was recorded in 1632, but the roots go much further back to wassail, and also to mulled wine or brandy (the word “mull” meaning ground, as in ground up spices you might add). In the late 1600s, Jamaican rum might be added to a punch.
Punch houses in England began to open, along with that new import coffee for coffee houses, and in 1731 John Ashley opened the London Coffee and Punch House near St. Paul’s Cathedral on Ludgate Hill. The Daily Post-Boy described it as having “…the finest and best old Arrack, Rum and French Brandy…made into Punch…” The artist Thomes Worlidge noted he enjoyed a drink in the punch house from “…a Mrs. Gaywood, their bar-keeper” since it was more common for women to serve drinks. Ashley seems to have made a success by reducing the price for punch from 8/ (8 shillings) for a quart of arrack made into punch and 6/ (6 shillings) for a punch of brandy or rum to only 6/4 (6 shillings, 4 pence). For just a glass of punch, he charged 3 to 4 and a half pence.
The word punch is believed to have come into English through the old Hindustani word paanstch meaning ‘five’, implying a large beverage concocted from five key elements – sweet, sour, alcohol, water and spice. But some hold that punch comes from puncheon, meaning either a large cask or a took for working on stone, which would come to give us punch holes, or punch a person meaning to hit someone. What all this means is that the idea of making up a punch arrived in England via sailors, and heating the drink made it a very welcome beverage to have on a cold day.
The punch bowl came into being to mix and serve the punch, and numerous satirical prints from the Regency show how a strong punch often meant excessive fun and wild behavior, with a sore head the next day.
The Boke of Housekeeping, published in 1707 by Katherine Windham gives this recipe to “make ye best punch”: “Put 1½ a pound of sugar in a quart of water, stir it well yn put in a pint of Brandy, a quarter of a pint of Lime Juice, & a nutmeg grated, yn put in yr tosts or Biskets well toasted.” It was common to add in or serve biscuits (a dry and not too sweet cookie) with punch.
John Nott published a recipe for “Punch Royal” in the 1723 The Cook’s and Confectioners’ Dictionary: Take three pints of the best brandy, as much spring-water, a pint or better of the best lime-juice, a pound of double refined sugar.
The citrus was an important part of the punch, but nutmeg was often added, although that was an expensive spice. As punch became part of the English culture, new versions came into being.
The “flip” was meant to be served hot and used brandy, sweet wine, whole egg, cream, nutmeg, and was heated with a red-hot iron (not a poker, but a specific tool called a flipdog, hottle or toddy rod. The heat added a froth to the drink and gave it a slightly burnt taste that most people liked. A hot ale flip might be made with beer, rum, and sugar, and then heated with the toddy rod.
Maria Rundell’s book Domestic Cookery gives a recipe for milk punch, a common punch in the Regency, and two other punches of the Regency were Negus and smoking bishop.
It is said that Negus got its name from Colonel Francis Negus who invented the punch prior to his death in 1732. It is made with wine, usually a dry port or sherry, citrus, sugar and nutmeg, all thinned with a little hot water.
The “smoking bishop” gets its name from the oranges used—Seville oranges, the same often used for marmalade, are preferred—which are roasted until the skin blackens, and the bishop referrers to various orders within the Catholic church. The idea is that the use of claret gives you a bishop, port a cardinal, and champagne a pope. Other variations say it is an archbishop if made with claret, a beadle if made with ginger wine and raisins, a cardinal if made with Champagne or Rhine wine, and a pope if made with burgundy. No doubt it was made to one’s own taste. The main thing was that it included oranges. Johathan Swift wrote in the 1700s: “Fine oranges well roasted with sugar and wine in a cup, they’ll make a sweet Bishop when gentlefolk sup.”
Wine also might be mulled, meaning heated, with spices added, and the more ancient drink for wassail was usually a mix of cider, ale and mead, with spices and possibly slices of crab apples.
Punch bowls were often a source of pride and showing off wealth. They might be made of Delft, or other expensive China, with a spoon for serving, and quite valuable, or it might be of silver plate. Goose egg ladles, named for the shape of the ladle, came in during the late 1700s. At inns, the punch bowl was often simply metal or of local ceramics. The glass punch bowl would start to come in around the 1830s.
Punch bowls were sometimes made to commemorate special events, and might be decorated with the names of guilds or societies that served up punch. In the 1750s, punch also began to be served from porcelain and earthenware punch-pots, which looked like very large teapots and allowed punch to be poured into cups to be served.
In the 1700s, and on into the 1800s, punch was the drink of social occasions—it was a great way to extend drink to many. At clubs, in taverns, or in punch-houses, men would “take a bowl” of punch. In the Regency, punch would be served at private balls—such as the Weston’s ball in Jane Austen’s Emma—and at public assemblies.
As noted in Georgette Heyer’s Regency World by Jennifer Kloester: “The arrack-punch served at Vauxhall Gardens was drunk by both men and women, despite a reputation for potency. It was said to have been made from the grains of the Benjamin flower mixed with rum and was freely imbibed on gala nights. Some men preferred to mix their own punch as Freddy did in Cotillion and rum punch (rum, lemon, arrack and sugar), Regent’s punch (various fruits, rum, brandy, hock, Curaçao, Madeira and champagne) and Negus (port, lemon, sugar and spices) were popular brews.” The arrack sold at Vauxhall is listed at 12/ per quart in 1823, and given that a laborer might only earn 10/ per week, that means it was quite expensive—but only the well-to-do went to Vauxhall. Beer estimates were for as little as 2d (twopence) per quart. Porter was 5 and a half pence per quart in 1819. Some establishments might serve gin, coffee, or beer for a penny a glass, but the cost of punch would vary based on how many ingredients went into it and the quality of the drink.
Making the Regent Punch (named for the Prince Regency, who was very fond of punch), which is noted as: Two bottles of Madeira, three of champagne, one of Curaçao and hock, one pint of rum, one quart of brandy, four pounds of oranges, lemons and raisins sweetened with sugar, two bottles of seltzer water. All this could be diluted with green tea, if one wished.
September 24 was the day associated with harvest in much of medieval England, and this continued into Regency era, although weather was always a factor since too much rain or an early frost can ruin a crop.
During harvest time, Corn Dollys would be crafted. By tradition the dolly held the spirit of the corn (and do remember that corn in England means any grain). The dolly would be tied in a design specific to the area, so a Yorkshire dolly would be different from one made in Shropshire. One favorite was usually a plait (or braid) of three straws that was tied into a loose knot to represent a heart. If a young man gave this to a girl and she wore it next to her heart he knew his love was reciprocated.
In September, peaches, figs, mulberries, nectarines, grapes, and early apples and pears would be ripe and ready for harvest. At the end of the month, medlar, a small, brown apple-like fruit is edible but only after it has begun to decay. The medlar has been in England since Roman times, and had a variety of uses in various dishes and in local wines. Quinces could also be harvested, but must be cooked to be edible, and if you’ve never had one, these are very tasty.
With this harvest of fruits would come time to put up stuff in jams and jellies. Grapes could be dried into raisins and currants, and plums dried into prunes. “Plum” was a term applied to almost any dried fruit. The Jane Austen Cookbook includes a recipe for “black butter” which is really a jam of just about any fruits boiled down with sugar into a reduction.
Almost every house of any size boasted a stillroom near to the garden, with racks to dry herbs and flowers, and tables on which home remedies could be made, along with perfumes, and even wine. Mead—made with honey, and seasoned with a variety of spices and/or fruits—was also a traditional beverage made by most estates, as well as by most who lived in rural areas with access to beehives. Cider from apples is still a popular local drink in England.
Nut harvest in September includes filberts and hazelnuts. Nuts—oddly enough—were often classified in with fruits. They were, after all, often served up as afters for a meal, or integrated into desserts such as cakes and biscuits.
For fish, depending on how close one lived to a shore, one might have skates, haddock, plaice, thornback, sturgeon, turbot, whitings, and mullets. For shellfish, one could have crayfish, crab, prawns, and shrimp (prawns are different from shrimp, and some folks think they are sweeter). As of September 1, oysters come back into season. They were cheep and plentiful, with many oyster houses in London. They might be used in stews, pie, put into sauces for use with pork or mutton, or to make sausage, were stuffed inside fowl, and might be roasted and the liquid produced from that might be made into a sauce to be poured over fowl. From rivers, one might get salmon, trout, flounder, pike, and eels. In general, fish were plentiful, and were not considered a luxury item—oh, how times have changed.
The warmer weather brings cauliflower, which always seems to take forever to grow), peas, carrots, beans of all types, artichokes. Quite a number of New World vegetables had become staples in England by the 1800s. This included potatoes, pumpkins, and corn, but these were not adopted by everyone—the innovators would love these, but traditionalist would not. While tomatoes were considered by some as “ornamentals” (or poisonous) others did integrate them into meals (the acid in a tomato will actually leach out the lead from a pewter plate, so they actually could be deadly for the lower class or those clinging to the old ways of metal plates).
For meats, beef and pork were staples that could be had year-round, with the meat being salted, hung to dry, or otherwise cured so that it could be stored. Mutton was another staple, but can be a fatty and tough meat, which is why it often ends up in stews.
Venison was something eaten in September, if you could get it, along with wild rabbit. Jane Austen and Food notes, “Prior to the eighteenth century the keeping of deer implied that the owner had been granted the right to ‘empark’ land for that purpose by his sovereign. There was no park without deer, and ‘Park’ is an ancient place name—as in Godmersham Park or Mansfield Park—carried that significance.”
Ham would be available, and many houses might cure their own pork, with pigs being raised for ham, being raised to be large, as in to produce a ham of up to fifty pounds in weight. Tongue was popular with almost everyone, along with trotters (pig’s feet), and brawn—the face of the pig. ‘Souse’ is noted as a pickled version of brawn, preserved with brine, wine, ale and verjuice, which is from the pressing of unripe English grapes.
Turtle was considered a meat and was extremely popular, but only available in certain seasons, and so mock-turtle was often served instead, made with calf’s head.
Potted meat was a common method for preservation. It involved cooking the meat (or fish), chopping it up, adding spices, and storing it in a small jar with a layer of fat over the top since clarified butter won’t spoil. It was an excellent way to serve up cold meat.
Most estates—and farms—had chickens, geese, capon, pea fowl, guinea hens, and even turkey. A goose was considered best in September, and Michaelmas Day, on September 29, was considered the day for goose. It was said that “Who eats goose on Michael’s day, shan’t money lack his debts to pay.”
Michaelmas Day, celebrates the feast of Saint Michael the Archangel and patron saint of the sea, of ships and boatmen, of horses and horsemen. Michaelmas was one of the main Quarter Days or Lady Days, the time when bills and wages might be paid, and also the time for Mop Fairs, when servants and laborers would hire themselves out again for the next year’s work. The name comes from maids would carry a small mop to denote their position—a shepherd had wool, a gardener carried flowers and so on.
Bartholomew Fair from Ackerman’s Microcosm of London, British Museum.September also brought a season of fairs with “raree-shows, traveling menageries, moveable theaters, conjurors, tumblers…pye-men, and all sorts of foods to be had including gingerbread…sweetmeats and pastery” and “fried or rather frizzled sausage.” The harvest fairs usually meant a good time, often getting out of hand, as drink would flow freely. Fairs might be patronized by all classes, all there to have a good time, see the shows, watch races and other contests, and even buy a few trickets.
What would become the infamous Bartholmew’s Fair near London was held in September and History Today reports that “Attractions when Wordsworth went in 1815 included albinos and Red Indians, ventriloquists, waxworks, and a learned pig which, blindfolded, could tell the time to the minute and pick out any specified card in a pack.”
In the UK, August 12 is commonly known as ‘the Glorious Twelfth’ due to its being the start of grouse shooting season, which then leads on into other shooting seasons. This was as true in the Regency era as it is today in England, for August is when those who could—or who can today—fled London’s heat (and the stench of the Thames) for the countryside.
In Britain, ‘hunting’ is considered the proper term for hunting with hounds, as in a fox hunt. Deer hunting is more correctly called deer stalking, and ‘shooting’ applies specifically to shooting game birds. This is why you have George Underhill in his book A Century of English Fox Hunting noting: “In olden days it was the theory, and, I may add, the rule, that the months of September and October should be devoted to shooting, and that hunting commenced on the first Monday in November.” (Hunting meant fox hunting, and cub hunting would start up in late September or early October with drag hunts to train young fox hounds.)
Every era boasts its own cast of colorful characters – of people we wish we could have met, if for nothing else than their fascinating audacity. If Regency London could have nominated only one person for that role, it surely would have been Theodore Hook.
The son of a composer, his precocious nature and scathing wit began to win him admirers at a young age. At 16 years old, he co-authored with his father a successful comic opera. He continued writing prolifically, producing 38 novels, multiple operas and comic plays, and various journalistic publications.
So, yes, the most infamous character of the Regency era was, of course, a writer. We should all swell with pride.
May Day by Johann Peter Neef (1753-1796)“On Monday last at Cheriton, near Alresford, the usual pastime of Maying commenced, where a Maypole was erected in commemoration of the day, and in the afternoon the sons and daughters of May, dressed in a very appropriate manner for the occasion, accompanied by a band of music, proceeded to a commodious bower, composed of green boughs, garlands of flowers, &c. erected for dancing; it was attended by upwards of 50 couple of the most respectable people in the neighbourhood, till the evening.” – Hampshire Chronicle, 8 May 1815
It’s May, when the weather warms, flowers bloom, and—according to Sir Thomas Malory in Le Morte d’Arthur—“…it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May.” (Which is where the lyrics of the song in the musical Camelot gets the phrase.)
Celebrations of May date far back in time. The ancient Celts marked May 1 as Beltane and the start of the near year, and bonfires were lit—a celebration still held in parts of Ireland and Wales. Ancient Greek celebrated with a May-wreath, while the Roman festival of Floralia (for the goddess Flora), was held in late April and early May. May brings to England the time of year when fresh fruits and vegetables reappear in abundance and, with green being symbolic of life and renewal, it was a time to eat just about any herbs or salads made of greens.
The traditions in England often involved dances around a maypole—which dates back in records to the 14th century—that would be decorated with flowers. (In 1644, the Puritan Parliament of England banned maypoles as being far too pagan, but Charles II restored the tradition—not that it had really fallen from favor in the rural countryside). A May King and Queen might be crowned, and girls would dress in white and put flowers in their hair. Morris dancers, decked out in green and white with flowers on their hats and bells tied to their legs, would also be out to celebrate, and milk maids would dance, sometimes with decorated milk or ale pails on their heads. Pantomimes might be performed, with stories of Robin Hood and Maid Marion being very popular characters.
Around 1770 and through to the early 1900s, Jack in Green or Jack o’ the Green—a man dressed in a wicker frame decorated to look like a tree—became a popular character, and the milk maids—and sometimes the chimney sweeps of London—would dance around him. The tradition has deeper roots in the mythic Green Man who appears carved into many early churches with his face made of leaves and branches.
May Day was also when fairs might be held in many parts of England. London’s now posh area of Mayfair got it’s name from an annual fair that took place in what had once been a muddy, rural monastery (near the River Tyburn swamps). The May Fair was held at Great Brookfield (now part of Curzon Street and Shepherd Market) from May 1 to May 14, with the last fair held in 1764. Fairs offered plays, jugglers, fencers, bare-knuckle fighting, women’s foot races, eating contests, and rather a lot of bad, drunken behavior. The Grosvenor family acquired the land through marriage and by 1720, the wealthy moved from Soho and Whitehall into these fashionable “West End” addresses.
While London’s May Fair became a memory, fairs across England persisted as a place for shops to set up to sell cattle, horses and other livestock, for business to be conducted, crafts sold, and entertainment offered, and May offered good weather and a reason to get together.
In medieval times on through to the Industrial Revolution that changed the agricultural world, May Day was a day of rest and celebrations. Hawthorn branches were one of the favorites for its pretty white flowers and associations to bringing in luck, but sycamore, birch, and rowan trees were also used, with flowers plucked from anything that bloomed. Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language by John Jamieson in 1808 describes some of the May Day customs that persisted into the Regency era in Scotland, which he noted were beginning to die out. (The Victorians came along and revived the traditions, however.)
Other customs that carried into the late 1700s and early 1800s included collecting May dew from grass and hedges to bring luck, beauty, clear away any spots, and even heal sickness. In parts of England, May Day would be the day to choose a bride, or hire a new servant (it was one of the main Quarter Days), or even take a community walk over the common paths that, by ancient rules, had to be kept open so long as one person walked them once a year. May baskets of flowers also became a popular gift to leave on the doorsteps of friends, relatives and loved ones.
Well dressing was another ancient custom—mostly in Derbyshire and Staffordshire—of tying floral garlands or colorful ribbons to wells and springs. In north England, the day for pranks fell on May 1 when May Goslings—typically young men—might swap shop signs or play jokes on others, but the jests had to stop by midday. In Oxford, on May Day, a tradition dating back to Tudor days is still held, when the Hymnus Eucharisticus is sung from the top of Magdalen Tower, along with the madrigal, Now is the Month of Maying. Crowds would gather—and still do—on Madalen Bridge and in boats on the River Cherwell—a tributary of the Thames—to listen to the choir and hear prayers led by the Dean of Divinity. The village of Randwick, Gloucestershire, from the 14th century until the late 19th century—when it was banned for too much drunken trouble (and later revived in 1970)—held the Randwick Wap, when three wheels of cheese were decorated, carried to the village churchyard, rolled three times around the church, and then taken to the village green to be shared.
(On a side note, the phrase “mayday” meaning distress has nothing to do with May Day. It originated in the 1920s when a English radioman though it sounded a lot like the French word m’aider, meaning “help me.”)
While May Day traditions carried on into the English Regency period, they started to fall to the side as the Industrial Revolution and the Enclosure Acts pushed people from the countryside to the cities. However, Victorians—with their fondness for the past—revived most of the traditions, as did many modern villages, bringing back the joy of spring flowers, dancing and the delight of the return of warm weather—an idea time to bring a little romance into your life.
Ah, spring is here—Bridgerton has returned for season two, and we’ll have bonnets (don’t you love the blue velvet hop hat worn by the heroine, Kate Sharma?) to renew the year. Or so goes the tradition.
The origins of the tradition are lost in time, but springtime has always been the season of renewal, plus in spring the flowers start to bloom, bringing in ideas of decorating the house—and ourselves. While flowers in the hair is a charming idea, going to church meant a head covering. In the most ancient of traditions (flaunt it if you got it), time to put on the new clothes to show you can afford such things.
Of course, if you can’t afford entirely new, you refurbish (as did Samuel Pepys who wrote about ‘having my old black suit new furbished’ for Easter). New ribbons and flowers, and presto—a new bonnet. The Morris dancers—not to be outdone—would also trim their hats with spring flowers for Easter. The ladies also insisted that new clothes, and a new bonnet, would bring good luck (and look good).
With Lent over, Easter is also a good time to put on the bright, spring clothes, decorate a hat with silk or real flowers, and head off to a place where one can see and be seen. While the height of popularity for Easter bonnets would actually come in the 1870s, the Regency was still a time when bonnets were the crowning glory for many a woman.
You can help revive this wonderful tradition by making your own Regency Easter bonnet (or you can also buy a knockoff of the Kate Sharma blue hat, and decorate it as you wish).
The London season—a time of balls, riding in Hyde Park, and otherwise socializing in Regency England. But when was the Season?
There’s actually no official dates for when things started or ended. In general, those with a political interest—or who wished to vote on issues—would be in London for Parliament’s season. The dates Parliament might meet were anywhere from November on through to June or July. In summer, London became both hot and the Thames stank of sewage. Everyone who could fled London for the countryside and stayed there for autumn hunting, fishing, and shooting. Some years push Parliament’s session dates to January, or even to February, as in 1816—a year with terrible weather.
In 1816, snow was reported as falling on Easter Sunday (which fell on April 14) in London, and in general, a London spring could be wet and cold.
Easter—or just before—was often the time to head to London. Between 1800 and 1820, most dates for Easter fell in April (the earliest being April 1 in 1804 and April 2 in 1809), but in 1806, 1812 and 1818, Easter fell in March.
The weather and roads would have improved by March, and London’s social scene would be starting. While May and June seem to be the most active months to judge by reports in newspapers of the periods, grand balls were not unknown in March.
On March 18, 1801, the Marquis and Marchioness of Abercorn held a ball at their London townhouse in Grosvenor Square, and then held another ball on March 24, 1801—a busy social couple.
Lady Anne Jane Gore, Marchioness of Abercorn, 3rd wife of the 1st Marquis (d. 1827) ca. 1800, New Orleans Museum of Art.
The Morning Post reported “The Marchioness of Abercorn’s first entertainment since her marriage was a splendid Ball, on Wednesday evening, at the family residence in Grosvenor-square…The following distinguished personages formed a part of the assemblage, amounting to upwards of three hundred, present at the Ball: The Prince of Orange, Prince William of Gloucester, Dukes: Gloucester, Cumberland, Bourbon, and Somerset, Duchesses: Montrose, Bolton, Gordon and Somerset…”
The ball started at 11 PM, and it was noted that “In the dining-room were placed six round tables, for parties of twelve; in the eating room below, seven tables for the same number; and, in the parlour, a long table for sixty. At half after one o’clock supper was announced; it was a hot supper, and served up in plate and china of great beauty; the dishes, ornaments, &c. displayed great taste. No frame work was used, but branched lights, in magnificent silver candlesticks, supplied their place. Turtle soup was generally introduced, and French beans and asparagus were among the novelties of the season.”
Dancing began again at half past two in the morning and went on until a quarter past five.
The second ball hit a big of a snag in that in mid March, The Morning Chronicle carried the announcement from the Lord Chamberlain of official mourning for her Royal Highness Philippina Charlotte, Duchess Dowager of Brunswick—and a granddaughter of George I—between the 19th of March and the 30th of April. However, the Prince of Wales did attend that second ball. During official Court mourning, the nobility were expected to follow deep mourning, mourning, then half mourning dress, and to be less frivolous. But if a ball was planned, with invitations sent, a ball must be held.
March also might be a time for the Queen’s Drawing room and presentation at court.
The Times reported on the Queen’s Drawing room that was held on March 8, 1810, with presentations of Lady George Beresford by the Countess of Arran, Miss Harriet Thornton by her mother, Mrs Thornton, Lady Charlotte Graham by her mother, the Duchess of Montrose, Mr Roust Broughton by his father, Lady Mary Sackville by her mother, the Duchess of Dorset, the two Misses Wellesley Pole by their mother, Mrs Pole, Mr Villiers upon his return from Portugal, and Major-General Sir Stapleton Cotton on his return from Portugal and on coming to his title.
In March, balls might be planned, wardrobes needed to be refreshed, invitations would be going out, and the mad whirl could continue on through to June and into early July.
In August and September, those with country estates would be looking to head there for shooting, fishing, and then fox hunting would start up in late October or November, with the first hard frost. The following spring, the social scene would begin again.
In Regency England, the quarter days were important events on the calendar. Rents were due, school terms started, and servants might be paid and hired. In England, these four dates fell on: Lady Day or March 25, Midsummer or June 24, Michaelmas or September 29, and Christmas Day.
In Scotland, an older calendar held the quarter days to be Candlemas or February 2, May Day on May 1, Lammas or August 1, and All Hallows on November 1. In England, these would become known as the cross-quarter days.
The older calendar for Scotland came from the Celtic year, which held that winter ended February 1. The feast day was named Imbolc (which literally means “in milk”). Ewes began to lamb and lactate, and life and light returned. This was the celebration of Brigid, the Light-Bringer. Even today, this feast day is known in Gaelic as Là Fhèill Brìghde. Continue reading “St. Bridget’s Day, Candlemas and Quarter Days”→
The origins of the word ‘Hogmanay’ are uncertain, with some saying it traces to old Norse, others to old Gaelic, and yet others think it traces to old French. In any case, the Scottish celebration of the last day of December—or the start of the new year—dates back to at least the 1600s. However, some think the customs go back even further to the Vikings. The word first appears in print in the 1600, and Scotland adopted January 1 as the start of the new year when it switched from the Julian calendar, which had the new year beginning on March 25. England would not make this switch until 1752.
On 5 November 1605, Guy (or Guido) Fawkes was arrested while guarding kegs of gunpowder placed below Parliament. Was this really a Catholic plot, or was it a frame job to lay blame on the Catholics? Either way, it would become a day in England to celebrate with bonfires and rowdy behavior the discovery of the plot and Parliament’s surviving.
‘The Fairs’ or ‘Guy Fawkes’ – a print by Rowney & Forster, 1820–1822, from Yale Centre for British Art
Bidding opened on July 2nd for the 2021 RFW online auction! More than 100 donations are offered, and your final bid is your final price, as the generous donors have agreed to pay for shipping. The selection of research books is the best ever. In addition to books donated by our members, about 30 books in the auction were donated by Gail Burch, who wrote Regencies under the pen name Maggie MacKeever. Nine authors who’ve been Rita and/or Vivian finalists will be donating critiques. Other author services include a strategy session on marketing with a marketing expert, book coaching, and a cover design.
A Brand New Day –
The Many Facets of Regency Fiction
July 22 – 24, 2021
The Board of Directors of Regency Fiction Writers invites you to join us for our Annual Conference and Soirée on July 22-24, 2021.
This year’s conference spans three days with twelve workshops focused on historical, marketing, craft, and, diversity topics. Registration will close at 11:59 pm EDT on July 15th!
We’d also appreciate it if you shared this information (click on any of the sharing icons below or on the main conference page!) with other writers of Regency fiction. We welcome any and all genres and sub-genres set in the extended Regency period of England (1780 to 1840).
Regency Fiction Writers’ Virtual Conference will be live via Zoom and will be recorded for future use so you can take a break if you need to or come back and revisit a session or event at a later date. Please note that one session will not be recorded per presenter’s choice.
We’re disappointed that we won’t be meeting in person, but the most important issue is everyone’s safety and wellness and that of our families and friends. It will make the next in-person event all the sweeter!
We hope you’ll join us this July!
Full Registration ends on July 15th!
The main 2021 Virtual Conference page has many more details and the link to registration form is at the very bottom!
If you have any problems or questions, please contact me at conferencechair [at] thebeaumonde [dot] com.
Best wishes,
Ann Chaney
Conference Chair
2021 Regency Fiction Writers Virtual Conference
