The slippers were, however, made of real rabbits.
(Humor supplied by Jim Tedford.)
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Random Fact Abouth Anhlo Saxon England #71
The slippers were, however, made of real rabbits.
(Humor supplied by Jim Tedford.)
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Ten of the Many Wonderful Things about Jim Tedford
 |
| Jim Tedford andMacDhui the Duck (a Cat) |
- He really loves MacDhui the Duck (a Cat), who loves him too, and loves all other cats.
- He gives his middle-aged wife cool things like a longsword for Mother's Day and a viking ship model and a castle model and a war ax for Christmas.
- He will hear no criticism whatsoever of his wife's writing.
- Nevertheless he will proof her lousy typing and is willing to help with the medieval-novels.com which involves hours of data entry.
- He has come to love Celtic music and listens to her Celtic radio station a lot.
- He is not threatened by the fact she likes to read and plans to write gay romance novels.
- He understands when she wants to move tables at a restaurant because they seated us by a family with noisy rotten little kids.
- He understands about his wife's engagement to an orange tabby cat named Mr. Hata.
- He likes to cook and do housework, yet is in no way whipped not thinks he is.
- He is the single cleverest and funniest person I know.
And I love him dearly.
Nan Hawthorne
What I Wanted for Christmas
About two years ago I posted what I wanted for Christmas. I just ran across the article and was interested to see what I got, and what I didn't!
What I Want for Christmas
22 December 2008
For a holiday gift I would like:
A chance to do my Celtic music show on Internet radio again.
That very Christmas my husband got me a radio station, so now I have 24/7 Celtic music on Radio Dé Danann!A chance to do my Celtic music show on Internet radio again.
A cottage in the Wicklow Mountains and the funds to get there and back.
That is still on the list in 2010.
An ashwood shield of Anglo Saxon design.
Unlimited ideas on what to write about in my blog.
The snow on the ground in the Seattle area to melt.
Nicholas de Fleury to stop being so depressing.
You see, I hadn't yet met Francis Crawford...
For my novel An Involuntary King to be made into a movie.
Better hurry up.. my chosen cast is aging rapidly!
Well, I am getting well into the range of impossibility, so I should stop there I think.
Not bad, though, eh?
Hope your holiday season is warm and full of love!
Friday, December 24, 2010
O The Holly Bears a Berry
Performed by The Chieftains with lead vocal by one of my favorite singers, Kevin Conneff.
A Very Warm and Loving Holiday to You All from Us at Booking History and Radio De Danaan Music of the Pan Celtic World www.radiodedanann.com !
A Very Warm and Loving Holiday to You All from Us at Booking History and Radio De Danaan Music of the Pan Celtic World www.radiodedanann.com !
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Wexford Carol - Irish Christmas Song
A Very Warm and Loving Holiday to You All from Us at Booking History and Radio De Danaan Music of the Pan Celtic World www.radiodedanann.com !
Monday, December 20, 2010
Ring Out Those Solstice Bells
In honor of Nan and Jim's 29th anniversary.
A Very Warm and Loving Holiday to You All from Us at Booking History and Radio De Danaan Music of the Pan Celtic World www.radiodedanann.com !
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Bring Us In Good Ale
www.
Bring Us In Good Ale
Chorus:
Bring us in good ale, good ale, and bring us in good ale,
For our blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran,
Nor bring us in no white bread, for therein is no grain,
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no beef, for there is many bones,
But bring us in good ale, for that go'th down at once.
And bring, etc.
Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat,
But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that.
And bring, etc.
Bring us in no mutton, for that is passing lean,
Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clean.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no eggs, for there are many shells,
But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs,
Nor bring us in no pig's flesh for that will make us bears.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no puddings, for therein is all God's good,
Nor bring us in no venison, that is not for our blood.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no capon's flesh, for that is often dear,
Nor bring us in no duck's flesh, for they slobber in the mere (mire)
But bring, etc.
From Chapell, Popular Music of the Olden Time
Song from about 1460.
Chorus:
Bring us in good ale, good ale, and bring us in good ale,
For our blessed Lady's sake, bring us in good ale.
Bring us in no brown bread, for that is made of bran,
Nor bring us in no white bread, for therein is no grain,
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no beef, for there is many bones,
But bring us in good ale, for that go'th down at once.
And bring, etc.
Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fat,
But bring us in good ale, and give us enough of that.
And bring, etc.
Bring us in no mutton, for that is passing lean,
Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clean.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no eggs, for there are many shells,
But bring us in good ale, and give us nothing else.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no butter, for therein are many hairs,
Nor bring us in no pig's flesh for that will make us bears.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no puddings, for therein is all God's good,
Nor bring us in no venison, that is not for our blood.
But bring, etc.
Bring us in no capon's flesh, for that is often dear,
Nor bring us in no duck's flesh, for they slobber in the mere (mire)
But bring, etc.
From Chapell, Popular Music of the Olden Time
Song from about 1460.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Nativitiy at the Grange: A Story
The following story was originally published for the Speak Its Name Advent Calendar. It is part of a work in progress, Alehouse Tales, which is due for publication in late spring. Be sure to check out all the advent calendar offerings.. they are simply wonderful, and everyday you can enter for a giveaway of books and other goodies. To keep up with Hawthorne's books see http://www.nanhawthorne.com/
Nativity at the Grange
St. Mary’s Grange, Wessex, 984 AD
Last Nativity I allowed myself to stray abroad in the direction of the Grange, hoping for an invitation to spend this holy festival with Godwine and Aelfraed. The snow was thick on the fields, so I chanced that these two men would use the excuse of hard travel to remain by themselves rather than attend mid-winter mass in the town. I am afraid my claim of wandering in the storm was belied by the cask of Leofwen’s good ale that I offered to Godwine as, God be praised, he ushered me to the spot nearest the fire.
“But will not Goodwife Leofwen miss you and your music for the festival days, O’Quill?” Aelfraed asked as his partner took the cask to broach it and pour ale in three bowls. Aelfraed went to the fire pit and took a poker and placed it in the coals to heat.
“Aye, she will, but I knew the good lay brothers here would not mind a lonely Irishman taking advantage of their good cheer for one night. Something tells me there is much love in this cottage and in the dooryard.”
The two men looked at me astounded. I quickly added, so as not to discomfit them, “You two take such good care of your animals and crops.” I tried not to smile as their faces relaxed. Their secret was safe with me, and by so speaking I believe I revealed that I knew it but that was as far as my knowledge would travel.
Aelfraed took the poker from the fire as Godwine welcomed my visit fulsomely. The tip of the poker in each bowl warmed the ale, and as I took my first sip I noticed that the brother had added some festive spices. I toasted him with a raised bowl. “Nollaig Shona Duit!” I said.
Aelfraed took a seat on one of the other stools and asked me, “Is that how you say ‘Glad Geola’ in your language?”
While the taller lay brother took the third stool and sat, I replied, “Aye, as close to as matters. But I have heard few people here use the word ‘Yule’ or ‘Geola’ for the feast day.”
Aelfraed offered the explanation. “That is the old Saxon word for the mid-winter solstice, when the sun ceases its descent in the southern sky and begins its journey to mid-summer. It is a heathen celebration. We of the Church call it Nativity. How do you observe the holy day in Eire?””
I told them that as the Christian Church had long flourished in Eire, even when England was all but barbarous, that the old rites remained only in some remote regions, mostly in Connaught far to the west. Still we Irish know a good thing when we find it, so many of the traditions remain from those days before enlightenment and are redesigned to fit later knowledge.”
“It is the same for us, I think, for the people certainly do not spend the Nativity on their knees in frigid churches here either.” Godwine’s eyes sparkled as he smiled at his friend. There is much feasting, as you know, and both children and grown men and women play at games like leapfrog and blind man’s bluff. A very popular pastime is a communal bath, where men, women and children flock to old Roman thermae in the town to talk, eat, drink, and make merry all together in the hot scented water.”
I knew what he said was true, for I discovered the delights of this pastime in the past couple of years that I have been at Wintonceaster. Though the humid air in the bath is not good for my harp, I like to play it first and thereafter share some of the songs of my own countrymen.
“Are you permitted the pleasure of the communal bath?” I hazarded.
The two men looked at each other and laughed. “Oh no, good sir, our abbess would be most displeased to see even her lay servants participate in what she calls such immorality and licentiousness!” Godwine replied with emphasis.
“What about when you are here alone?” I pursued.
More subdued, Aelfraed told me, “We do not have a tub large enough, so in winter we simply bathe as best we can by the fire. “
“But in summer we can go to the pond and swim with the ducks!” his partner said happily.
We sat in companionable silence for some time, enjoying the spiced ale and the hot fire. Then Godwine stood and reached for our bowls. “My dear,” he addressed Aelfraed, why do you not go and see to the comfort of the animals and I shall set out bread and soup for our supper?”
“Get your cloak, O’Quill, and come with me,” Aelfraed said, getting up and heading to where his own simple cloak hung on a nail.
I followed him out into the blowing snow and across the small dooryard to the byre. It was warm inside for the animals are warm blooded and heat the space with their breath and their dung. I saw how the donkey, the few sheep and the chickens and ducks crowded up to the lay brother as he reached into bins against the wall for their food. I myself went to the donkey and greeted him, “Well met, Master Baalam,” I said. He pushed up his nose to snuffle my hair. When I reached to stroke his neck he moved his head so he could root in my hand. “Nay, venerable fellow, I am not the one with your supper.”
Aelfraed chuckled as he brought over a bag of the donkey’s food and fitted it over his nose and mouth and looped over his ears.
“Hmmm,” I considered, “I wonder if I could make a wineskin that would fit on me like that.”
“Would that not get in the way of singing?” the lay brother asked, and then went on in a merry tone, “Or whatever it is you do with the pretty women?” I looked at him and saw him wink.
Just as we went back out of the byre I heard him call to the animals, “Never fear, we will be back with you tonight for your Nativity Mass.” I looked at him curiously, but his face was covered with the sides of his deep cowl so I could not see if he was laughing at me.
The meal was simple, hot and nourishing, with a soup of stored vegetables and whole grain. We ate big hunks of brown coarse bread but with the crown of some thick honey from the grange’s hives. At their bidding, I took up my harp and sang songs of the season in both Gaelic and English. Then Aelfraed said, “It is late enough, my dears. Shall we go celebrate the birth of our Lord?”
I thought, “Now this is when I will see what he meant before. We took up our cloaks, and Godwine fetched the wooden cross from the wall. We went out into the night to see the clouds had cleared and the stars were so sharply bright it almost hurt the eyes. It was more bitterly cold. The warmth of the byre was even more noticeable after the chill blast.
I knew immediately what the plan was, for Godwine and Aelfraed busied themselves getting everything in order for some sort of ritual. One hung the cross on the wall on a nail provided for the purpose. The other, who had brought a small horn lantern, set it on a table he pulled to the space between where each animal was housed. I took a seat on a manger, taking note of the fact that Jesu lay in just such a rude bed. I listened quietly as the two men spoke in Latin over the table.
“Do you do this often?” I asked when they had finished and taken a stool each.
“Where more fitting to celebrate the Nativity than with our beasts?” Godwine beamed with happiness.
I glanced around at these beasts. Baalam the donkey stood with his head over the gate of his stall. The sheep huddled together, some standing and some with their legs tucked under themselves for warmth. The ducks gathered in their nesting boxes and the chickens roosted all snuggled up together. I saw the cat they called Duckie slip in through the side of the roost and come over to jump into Aelfraed’s lap for a long chin scratch.
The two men began to sing the mass in Latin. They were not priests, nor even monks, but just lay brothers but they sang the mass with all the devotion and joy of a choir in the great Minster. Their eyes shown as they shared the music with the creatures that resided in the byre. I picked out the melodies of the many chants on my harp.
I took care to act as though I was sound asleep and snoring before my two hosts crawled under the blankets on their own palette. I wanted to afford them the privacy of a shared moment, something I knew they must live out here, isolated from their fellow men, in order to have without rebuke. I was rewarded by over hearing the sound of contentment in their goodnights and thought I heard a quiet sigh at the conclusion of a kiss as they hunkered down for warmth.
Indeed God is Love whenever such love is present, whether for one’s fellow man, the beasts, or someone whose heart you hold dear.
(c) 2010 Nan Hawthorne
 |
| Anglo Saxon farmstead |
St. Mary’s Grange, Wessex, 984 AD
Last Nativity I allowed myself to stray abroad in the direction of the Grange, hoping for an invitation to spend this holy festival with Godwine and Aelfraed. The snow was thick on the fields, so I chanced that these two men would use the excuse of hard travel to remain by themselves rather than attend mid-winter mass in the town. I am afraid my claim of wandering in the storm was belied by the cask of Leofwen’s good ale that I offered to Godwine as, God be praised, he ushered me to the spot nearest the fire.
“But will not Goodwife Leofwen miss you and your music for the festival days, O’Quill?” Aelfraed asked as his partner took the cask to broach it and pour ale in three bowls. Aelfraed went to the fire pit and took a poker and placed it in the coals to heat.
“Aye, she will, but I knew the good lay brothers here would not mind a lonely Irishman taking advantage of their good cheer for one night. Something tells me there is much love in this cottage and in the dooryard.”
The two men looked at me astounded. I quickly added, so as not to discomfit them, “You two take such good care of your animals and crops.” I tried not to smile as their faces relaxed. Their secret was safe with me, and by so speaking I believe I revealed that I knew it but that was as far as my knowledge would travel.
Aelfraed took the poker from the fire as Godwine welcomed my visit fulsomely. The tip of the poker in each bowl warmed the ale, and as I took my first sip I noticed that the brother had added some festive spices. I toasted him with a raised bowl. “Nollaig Shona Duit!” I said.
Aelfraed took a seat on one of the other stools and asked me, “Is that how you say ‘Glad Geola’ in your language?”
While the taller lay brother took the third stool and sat, I replied, “Aye, as close to as matters. But I have heard few people here use the word ‘Yule’ or ‘Geola’ for the feast day.”
Aelfraed offered the explanation. “That is the old Saxon word for the mid-winter solstice, when the sun ceases its descent in the southern sky and begins its journey to mid-summer. It is a heathen celebration. We of the Church call it Nativity. How do you observe the holy day in Eire?””
I told them that as the Christian Church had long flourished in Eire, even when England was all but barbarous, that the old rites remained only in some remote regions, mostly in Connaught far to the west. Still we Irish know a good thing when we find it, so many of the traditions remain from those days before enlightenment and are redesigned to fit later knowledge.”
“It is the same for us, I think, for the people certainly do not spend the Nativity on their knees in frigid churches here either.” Godwine’s eyes sparkled as he smiled at his friend. There is much feasting, as you know, and both children and grown men and women play at games like leapfrog and blind man’s bluff. A very popular pastime is a communal bath, where men, women and children flock to old Roman thermae in the town to talk, eat, drink, and make merry all together in the hot scented water.”
I knew what he said was true, for I discovered the delights of this pastime in the past couple of years that I have been at Wintonceaster. Though the humid air in the bath is not good for my harp, I like to play it first and thereafter share some of the songs of my own countrymen.
“Are you permitted the pleasure of the communal bath?” I hazarded.
The two men looked at each other and laughed. “Oh no, good sir, our abbess would be most displeased to see even her lay servants participate in what she calls such immorality and licentiousness!” Godwine replied with emphasis.
“What about when you are here alone?” I pursued.
More subdued, Aelfraed told me, “We do not have a tub large enough, so in winter we simply bathe as best we can by the fire. “
“But in summer we can go to the pond and swim with the ducks!” his partner said happily.
We sat in companionable silence for some time, enjoying the spiced ale and the hot fire. Then Godwine stood and reached for our bowls. “My dear,” he addressed Aelfraed, why do you not go and see to the comfort of the animals and I shall set out bread and soup for our supper?”
“Get your cloak, O’Quill, and come with me,” Aelfraed said, getting up and heading to where his own simple cloak hung on a nail.
I followed him out into the blowing snow and across the small dooryard to the byre. It was warm inside for the animals are warm blooded and heat the space with their breath and their dung. I saw how the donkey, the few sheep and the chickens and ducks crowded up to the lay brother as he reached into bins against the wall for their food. I myself went to the donkey and greeted him, “Well met, Master Baalam,” I said. He pushed up his nose to snuffle my hair. When I reached to stroke his neck he moved his head so he could root in my hand. “Nay, venerable fellow, I am not the one with your supper.”
Aelfraed chuckled as he brought over a bag of the donkey’s food and fitted it over his nose and mouth and looped over his ears.
“Hmmm,” I considered, “I wonder if I could make a wineskin that would fit on me like that.”
“Would that not get in the way of singing?” the lay brother asked, and then went on in a merry tone, “Or whatever it is you do with the pretty women?” I looked at him and saw him wink.
Just as we went back out of the byre I heard him call to the animals, “Never fear, we will be back with you tonight for your Nativity Mass.” I looked at him curiously, but his face was covered with the sides of his deep cowl so I could not see if he was laughing at me.
The meal was simple, hot and nourishing, with a soup of stored vegetables and whole grain. We ate big hunks of brown coarse bread but with the crown of some thick honey from the grange’s hives. At their bidding, I took up my harp and sang songs of the season in both Gaelic and English. Then Aelfraed said, “It is late enough, my dears. Shall we go celebrate the birth of our Lord?”
I thought, “Now this is when I will see what he meant before. We took up our cloaks, and Godwine fetched the wooden cross from the wall. We went out into the night to see the clouds had cleared and the stars were so sharply bright it almost hurt the eyes. It was more bitterly cold. The warmth of the byre was even more noticeable after the chill blast.
I knew immediately what the plan was, for Godwine and Aelfraed busied themselves getting everything in order for some sort of ritual. One hung the cross on the wall on a nail provided for the purpose. The other, who had brought a small horn lantern, set it on a table he pulled to the space between where each animal was housed. I took a seat on a manger, taking note of the fact that Jesu lay in just such a rude bed. I listened quietly as the two men spoke in Latin over the table.
“Do you do this often?” I asked when they had finished and taken a stool each.
“Where more fitting to celebrate the Nativity than with our beasts?” Godwine beamed with happiness.
I glanced around at these beasts. Baalam the donkey stood with his head over the gate of his stall. The sheep huddled together, some standing and some with their legs tucked under themselves for warmth. The ducks gathered in their nesting boxes and the chickens roosted all snuggled up together. I saw the cat they called Duckie slip in through the side of the roost and come over to jump into Aelfraed’s lap for a long chin scratch.
The two men began to sing the mass in Latin. They were not priests, nor even monks, but just lay brothers but they sang the mass with all the devotion and joy of a choir in the great Minster. Their eyes shown as they shared the music with the creatures that resided in the byre. I picked out the melodies of the many chants on my harp.
I took care to act as though I was sound asleep and snoring before my two hosts crawled under the blankets on their own palette. I wanted to afford them the privacy of a shared moment, something I knew they must live out here, isolated from their fellow men, in order to have without rebuke. I was rewarded by over hearing the sound of contentment in their goodnights and thought I heard a quiet sigh at the conclusion of a kiss as they hunkered down for warmth.
Indeed God is Love whenever such love is present, whether for one’s fellow man, the beasts, or someone whose heart you hold dear.
(c) 2010 Nan Hawthorne
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Burning Issues in Historical Fiction: Watch Your Language!
Leave your response at the Burning Issues in Historical Fiction Facebook page:
Burning Issue #5: Watch your Language
And please pass this along to your colleagues, discussion groups, and so forth.
Also always looking for topics you'd like to see discussed.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
A Tribute to Irish History Yarn Painting
This and more yarn paintings dealing with history and books at my Flickr account.
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