Mouse Turds on the Cheese

(and Other Disgusting Historical Details)

I'VE spent the last two weeks in the 17th century.

My Possessed Mysteries are half historical, with a different era in each novel. That means starting historical research from scratch with each new project. Until I understand the world in which my period characters lived, I can't begin writing.

Think of it this way, human beings make lists. When we wake in the morning, we have in our minds what has to be done that day. Fridge getting a bit barren? Grocery shopping. Last pair of clean undies? Laundry. Car has less than a quarter tank? Get gas. And maybe a hope for something enjoyable when work is done--a nice meal, a walk, a movie, a good book.

Before my historical narrators open their mouths to speak, I need to know what kind of lists they wake up with. I've realized that, until now, most of my main historic characters have lived in circumstances where they depend on others to provide for them or at least, tell them where they need to be each day. For instance, in BY BLOOD POSSESSED, my protagonist is in the Confederate Army. Being a pawn moved around a  battlefield, the character can't plan for food and clothing, and needs be alert and resourceful in supplementing the meager army supplies. Which leaves the mind more free time to plot revenge.

For the fifth book, though, I'm picturing a woman living on a farm along the Chesapeake around the year 1700. What she did and didn't accomplish each day might determine in part whether or not residents of the farm survived. Her head would be filled with chores that needed to be done: daily chores like mucking out animal pens and milking cows, weekly chores like making bread, and seasonal chores like sowing the garden. Sure, I've done living history and I plant my own garden each year, but there are so many details, like butter making, that are completely foreign to my experience. And frankly, I'm having trouble getting into the head of someone who has to be that organized simply to stay alive.

So this past week, besides reading up on recipes and clothes and diaries of the period, I watched a 12 part BBC series called Tales from the Green Valley. Five historians lived on a 17th century farm on the Welsh border for a year, running it as it would have been run in 1628. This was an excellent series, filling in many of the details necessary for writing historic fiction (some of them truly gross--for example, using fermented urine as a stain remover). I highly recommend this documentary to anyone who likes history.

I now have 30 pages of notes and more questions to look up, but a believable character is emerging at last, along with the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of the period.

Peace,
Elena

Historical Eating

My Possessed mystery novels are half-historical, and feature a present-day heroine, Pat Montella, whose chief hobby is cooking. It stands to reason that Pat would eventually become fascinated with historical recipes, and that I'd have to delve more into that branch of research for each book.

In POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, Pat learns what goes into elaborate 18th century dinner parties. You have to love an era that believed in two dessert courses. Research for this involved not only studying colonial cookbooks and experimenting with recipes, but eating out at Philadelphia's City Tavern and all of Historic Williamsburg's taverns. One must suffer for one's art.

But it's not all fancy viands. Pat's latest adventure, FEAR ITSELF, takes place partially in 1933. I had to research what immigrant Italian families on the poor side of town ate in the midst of the Great Depression. My parents were my main resources here.

My dad and his brothers' did odd jobs for the macaroni factory down the street and were paid in pasta and Parmesan. Not having meat, their mother varied her tomato sauce each night--sometimes adding onions or lentils or peas, or whatever beans were on sale that week. Once in a while his dad would bring home a chicken for Sunday dinner. One chicken to feed a family of 10.

My mom's family was smaller--only 5--but also poorer. My grandmother would scramble an egg or two in tomato sauce to make a sort of lumpy stew. (My mom used to make this for me for lunch sometimes. With decent sauce and grated cheese, it's actually a great warm meal on a winter's day.) If they could get bologna, my grandmother would fry it with egg to make it go farther. My grandpop eventually got a job at a bakery. I'm guessing he brought home bread, but my mom only recalled the warm donuts.

Just this month, I found a great blog on the subject of eating through history called Four Pounds Flour. Historic gastronomist Sarah Lohman covers topics from importing in the early 19th century to the roots of the Jello shot. Once in a while, she bravely engages in culinary living history, such as eating like a poor 1877 tenement dweller for a week, or her "Drink Like A Colonial American" day.  I highly recommend this blog, especially for all you historical fiction writers out there who spend tons of time researching wardrobe, vehicles, houses, etc., but take food for granted.

Besides, food research is fun.

I think I'll have go have eggs in tomato sauce for lunch. Find the recipe on Miss Maggie's Facebook page.

Mangia,
Elena

My New Favorite Toy

If you like reading stories about crime, deception, betrayal, murder and the human nature associated with such things (and what mystery fan doesn't?), you'll find an impressive, searchable source for these tales at www.oldbaileyonline.org

That's right, Old Bailey, London's Central Criminal Court. Their archives, from 1674 through 1913, have been digitalized. On the righthand side of their home page, just drop a keyword into the search box and see what comes up.

My first search was on the word "witch." The first result, pictured above, was the proceedings for the trial of 60 year-old Jane Kent, accused of practicing witchcraft and the "Diabolick Arts" in 1682 after one man's pigs, wife and 5 year-old daughter fell ill and the little girl died. A woman who supposedly searched the prisoner swore that she had a "Teat on her back" and unusual holes behind her ears.

And that was just a random search.

You can use the Advanced Search function to find trials by, say, offence or punishment. I searched on death by burning and discovered that it was the go-to sentence in the 17th century for coin clipping (that is, shaving or clipping silver from around the edges of coins. Isaac Newton was the dude who came up with the idea of putting ridges around the rims of coins as a way to detect clipping).

I found this website from an article in Science News dealing with one of the site's creators, Tim Hitchcock of the University of Hertsfordshire. One of his analyses showed how guilty pleas soared from less than 3% to nearly one third around the year 1825. At the same time, the length of a third of the trials dropped from about 5000 words to less than 100. The concept of "plea bargaining" had been born.

If you're writing historical crime fiction that takes place in England or the Americas in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this site is an amazing primary source.

Oh, and if you're wondering, the Jury found Jane Kent not guilty. Still, I can't help but wonder if that growth on her back eventually killed her.

Peace,
Elena

FEAR ITSELF Trailer and Answers to Contest #2

Book trailers are becoming popular so I decided to make one for FEAR ITSELF.  As an advertisement, it's not Superbowl worthy, but it's short, painless, and gives you an idea what you'll find in the book.  The background tune is best described as Miss Maggie walking music (actually, the original 78 RPM version of "Brother Can You Spare A Dime.")  Enjoy!


ANSWERS TO MISS MAGGIE'S 2ND QUIZ

The answers to the second Never Fear Fear Itself Contest quiz are

1.  Sojourner Truth not only helped recruit black troops for the Union cause, but, after the Civil War, worked among freed slaves with the National Freedman's Relief Association.  Besides that she often spoke about the plight of black women, and rights for all women.  So the answer is D - All of the above.

2.  I had it pointed out to me that my wording was poor in the second question.  Joseph Rainey, of South Carolina, was the first African American elected to the House of Representatives in a general election (in 1870).  Hiram Revels was the first black man to serve in Congress, as a senator from Mississippi, but he was appointed (earlier in 1870 than Rainey served).  However,  the Mississippi legislature held an election amongst themselves to choose Revels.  Since I didn't specify "general election" in the question, I accepted both answers A and B.

3.  The Voting Rights Act of 1965 prohibited states from imposing their own voting registration qualifications, so C is the correct answer.  The reason this ended up giving more minorities the right to vote was because many states had enacted laws creating prerequisites to voting registration--such as literacy tests--to limit minority voting.

This month's winners are Suzanne Pontius and Penny Tuttle.  Questions for Contest #3 will show up right here in mid-March.  Study up on your Revolutionary War and pre-Constitution American history.

Down with tyranny, here and abroad,
Elena

Win a Free Book!

The next novel in my Possessed Mystery Series, FEAR ITSELF, will be coming out in April.  I want to celebrate by giving away a book a month between now and then, and I thought, what better way to find the most worthy fans than to let Miss Maggie give 3 of her famous history quizzes.

Miss Maggie is my protagonist's sidekick, Magnolia Shelby, a 90+ year-old retired history teacher and probably the most popular character in the series.  She even has her own fan page on Facebook (check out the link to the left of this blog).

Here's the way the contests will work:  Send your answers to first quiz below, along with your full name, to MissMaggieTests@gmail.com.  All entries who ace the quiz will be entered in a drawing to win the free signed book of their choice from the Possessed Mystery Series.  If you have all 3 books already and can't think of anyone who'd like one as a gift, don't let that stop you.  Tell me that on your entry and another prize will be selected for you.  If no one aces the quiz, the person with the best score will win the book.  Entries not selected in the first drawing will be eligible for later drawings.  I'll post another quiz in February and one in March, then we'll do a grand prize drawing in April, which will be for a hot-off-the-press signed copy of FEAR ITSELF.

Only entries sent to MissMaggieTests@gmail.com will be eligible.  Deadline for entries for the quiz below will be January 31, 2011.  Winners will be announced February 1st. 

Since my first novel, BY BLOOD POSSESSED, was set in May 1864, the Civil War is the subject of the first quiz.  Pencils ready!  (Or should I say, start your Google Search Engines?)

QUIZ 1

1.  Miss Maggie's Bell Run estate is on the southbank of the Rapidan, just downstream from Germanna Ford and upstream from Fredericksburg.  The Union Army crossed the Rapidan near here for all the following battles except which one?

a) Chancellorsville
b) Gettysburg
c) Mine Run
d) Wilderness


2.  The Commander of the Union forces for the Wilderness Campaign was

a) Meade
b) Hooker
c) Burnside
d) Grant


3.  The Confederate general in command of the 2nd Corps at the Battle of the Wilderness had the nickname

a) Stonewall
b) Marse Robert
c) Old Bald Head
d) Peter The Slow


Good luck,
Elena

THEN & NOW: Cholera & Other Lessons

The novels of my Possessed Mystery series all have 2 plots: one modern mystery and one mystery set in some era of history. The stories are somehow related and come together at the end of each book. I've been asked why I do this rather than write straight historical mysteries or straight modern-day mysteries. I've actually be penalized for doing so--I'm told that my books don't qualify for awards given to historical novels. And publishers' marketing departments hate them, because they're not like what everyone else is writing, making them difficult to categorize.

I also put ghosts in my novels, and some readers assume the second historical plot is there to accommodate the paranormal aspect of the book--to explain the ghost's background. Matter of fact, the reverse if true. The ghost is there to connect the two stories, and to help teach a little history in a way that's more fun than a recitation of dry facts.

So why go to the trouble of two stories?

Last night, PBS News reported on the Haitian cholera epidemic and how many Haitians are blaming U.N. Napalese peacekeepers, saying these foreigners brought cholera to their country. Some of their protests have turned violent.

My first thought was: Duffy's Cut.

In late June 1832, Irish immigrants, some no older than teenagers, were hired at the docks and brought to Chester County, PA, to work on the construction of the railroad. Their foreman, Phillip Duffy, was in charge of filing in a ravine between two hills so that track could be laid. 57 of them were assigned to live in a single large shanty. Within 6 weeks, all 57 were reported dead of cholera.

Three years before, a cholera pandemic had begun, probably in India. It spread west through Europe to America, reaching New York by 1832 and the Pacific by 1834. Philadelphia was hit hard the summer of 1832. Many fled the city for the surrounding countryside. At the time, no one knew cholera was caused by bacteria in contaminated water. As shown on the 1830s notice above, the disease was thought to be caused from excesses of alcohol and from eating raw vegetables and unripe fruit. In addition, to the Protestants of the Philadelphia countryside, Irish Catholics were believed, not only by nature of their assumed drinking habits, but by their very religion, to be agents of infection.

Back to the young men of Duffy's Cut. Considering their deplorable living conditions, and with a pandemic of cholera already hitting the Philadelphia area, it's no wonder that by mid-August, a few of the workers came down with the disease. The rest of the workmen left the shanty, seeking food and shelter at houses up on the hills. Reports said they were all turned away and they returned to the ravine, where it was said that they all contracted and died from the disease. Most were buried in a mass grave. The niggling loophole in this story is that cholera never kills 100% of its victims. Like any pandemic, some people have better immunity than others.

Just recently, an archeological dig in the area has unearthed the remains of several of the young Irishmen and the forensic evidence tells a different story. Many died from violence. At least one skeleton showed signs of being attacked with something like an ax. Another has what might be a bullet hole in it. The current theory now is that the inhabitants of those hills did more than turn away the Irishmen. Given their fear of the disease coupled with prejudice against Irish Catholics, its likely that the residents violently forced the men back down into the valley, and possibly murdered the survivors.

So last night, when I listened to reports of Haitians blaming foreginers for their epidemic, and getting violent about it, I see the same mix of fear and prejudice. I see a repeat of history--a lesson unlearned.

A historical story can be fascinating. A modern story touching on the same human failings gives the historical story relevance. Juxtapose the two and hopefully we learn something. That's why I do it.

By the way, I first heard of the story of Duffy's Cut through an old local legend that said the ghosts of the workmen had been seen dancing a jig on their grave. Interestingly enough, the Immaculata University prof who spearheaded the excavation did so after seeing odd lights that looked like human beings jumping around one night downhill from one of the college buildings. He didn't realize it at the time, but Duffy's Cut was located at that spot.

Peace,
Elena

Memorial Day

I posted this last year on Facebook for Memorial Day. It's just as appropriate this year. They're still haggling over the fate of the Wilderness Battlefield. We're still fighting wars.
____________________

In my first book, Pat asks Miss Maggie if she's against all the development around the Wilderness Battlefield in Virginia. Miss Maggie says she's against the very grass, because the grass grows over battlefields, heals them, and stops us from being able to picture what really happened there. We forget how awful war is and we do it again. I stole Miss Maggie's thoughts from Carl Sandburg in his poem "Grass":

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
...
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What is this place?
Where are we now?
...

Last night I heard that Walmart is building a 141,000 sq. ft. superstore right in Miss Maggie's backyard, on the Route 3 dividing line between Chancellorsville and Wilderness, right about where the rear of the union line was located. If you want to find out about this latest fiasco of greed over meaningful history and what you can do, check out www.civilwar.org/walmart08. At this point, it looks like Walmart's going to win.

Up on this side of the Mason-Dixon, we around Valley Forge have been fighting the building of a hotel and other development on top of the Continental Army's commissary site during the winter of 1777-78.

What is it that makes local officials want to give away the best of our historical sites--the places from which we and future generations have the most to learn--to money-grubbing giants who won't even have the grace to leave a few dollars of their profit in our own local economies? Why do we do this to our most sacred American places?

Maybe Sandburg's poem has another side -- maybe we WANT our history covered. Most of it isn't as pretty as we'd like. Especially the battlefields. Then again, if the grass didn't do its work, I'm betting that humankind would have given up war long ago.
_________________

Peace,
Elena

One Day at A Time

This past week I've had a heater man here fixing a leaky steam pipe and an electrician doing a much needed upgrade on my old house. I'll miss the dungeon-like ambiance my cellar used to have, but now I can actually see what I'm doing while I sort laundry. No more white blouses turned splotchy pink.

This sort of household activity doesn't lend itself to getting writing done, especially when most of my free time was spent moving furniture and stuff around so all my old two-prong outlets could be evicted.

By coincidence, though, on my World War II blog, I've began to post my Uncle Joe's diary entries from 1945. I've read the journal a few times before, but I was once again struck by how quickly a story can take shape. Just 2 or 3 sentences a day and in a little over a week, I've traveled from California to Hawaii with him, hearing about the sailors who jumped ship in port, about those who were seasick and the rough weather that caused it, about shipboard routine like painting and early morning watch, and about renting bikes for liberty at Pearl Harbor. My uncle wasn't a trained or skilled writer--he was never terribly academic, he even had to repeat a grade in school. Yet, his story is easier to read than all the novels I've started and not finished in the last five years.

So, instead of writing this week, I've been mulling over his style of storytelling and why it seems to work so well.

My uncle had the uncanny knack for evoking images and empathy in one sentence. I could picture him watching the lights of Long Beach fade in the distance as their ship sailed west, not knowing what the next battles would bring or if he'd come home again. He didn't say any of that--he didn't need to. He only said that he could see the lights for a long time. The less he says, the more the reader participates. The reader becomes a fellow traveler instead of a mere listener.

I've read other diaries, some good, some bad. The bad ones were too wordy and too self-focused. The good ones shared the same elements as Uncle Joe's writing: honest observations and an occasional opinion, almost always born of emotion rather than intellect, but not melodramatic either.

One of the best diaries I ever read and that I highly recommend is that of Elizabeth Drinker, a Philadelphia Quaker whose husband, along with other Quakers in 1777, was sent to our country's first internment camp. Her telling of that incident, and her travels to Valley Forge to plead with General Washington for her husband's release, was fascinating, but I admit becoming completely drawn into her typical family problems, too. I cried when she wrote of her daughter's death.

If anyone reading this is thinking of doing some writing but isn't sure where to begin, try keeping a journal. A paragraph a day, that's all. One day at a time. Write about things that strike you as interesting or important. Don't go off on tirades. Don't lecture. Just relate.

History is, after all, only a collection of people's stories. Add yours.

Peace,
Elena

Historical Soundbites

For Christmas, a good friend of mine gave me poster of quotations. I have a love-hate relationship with quotations.

On the hate side, I usually feel their wisdom is too glib. No situation in this complex, confusing world can be solved, or even made much better, with a few perfectly arranged words.

I also hate the lack of context. Regardless of the name under them, they all seem to exist only in the ether. But someone did say them, and that person had something definite on his or her mind at the time. For the same reason, I hate political soundbites, which are ripped from context and hurled at us during campaigns, in an effort to show the speaker in a negative light.
Probably my lifetime of being exposed to political ads is what has made me a bit suspicious of every quotation I meet.

Still, I said this was a love-hate relationship.

When I was doing Civil War research for my novel BY BLOOD POSSESSED, I read diaries and letters of the time. The historical voices of these documents gave life and authenticity to the voices I gave my characters. This helped me write period-sounding dialogue and narrative and, more importantly helped me fill the heads of my characters with period thoughts and motives.

Yet as I read, every once in a while, I was stuck by certain sentences or paragraphs that seemed to strike at the heart of the story I was writing. I began keeping a list of these quotes, at first only as a guide for myself, to keep me focused on the themes and mood of the novel.

As I got into the writing of the book and realized I'd need a way to separate the historic and present-day chapters, I hit on the idea of beginning each historic chapter with one of these quotes. I'd seen this done in other books--sometimes I had enjoyed reading quotes tacked onto chapters, sometimes I didn't. I now see that the quotes I enjoy are usually vitally linked to the story in some way, whereas the other quotes seem to be added as an afterthought--maybe simply to show off the research of the author.

I can look back now and understand what those quotes had in common. All expressed the horrors of the Civil War in a different way, many without intention. The blood-soaked violets from the battlefield that General McAllister sent home to his wife as a "relic to be prized," the picture and personal letter "out of a dead Yankees knapsack" that a Georgia soldier sent his sister as a "trophie"--these seem repulsive now (or they ought to), but at the time the writers of these words saw nothing wrong with war. They gloried in it, making it more horrible. On the other hand you had men like Lt. Colonel Horace Porter, who wrote,

"It seemed as though Christian men had turned to fiends, and hell itself had usurped the place of earth."

In HANG MY HEAD AND CRY and POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, I continued the practice of starting the historical chapters with quotes. A nice way to center myself, and to tie the books together.

Historical soundbites are very small windows--as if we're looking at the past through a funnel. Still, some can have a larger truth, beyond the context. All good quotations do. The wisdom of the words won't solve all life's problems, but they might make us think. And thinking is never a bad thing.

My favorite quote from my new poster?

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."

--- Mother Teresa

And after that, I shouldn't even need to say

Peace,
Elena

World War II blog

Just a note to let readers of this blog know that I've also begun a blog in which I'll post entries from my uncle's WWII diary that he kept in 1945.

If you're interested, or know of any WWII buffs that might be, the address is

1945chicco.blogspot.com

What You Will

"If music be the food of love, play on."
Opening line of
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night

When I was in high school, we were extremely fortunate to have an English Department that sponsored an annual trip to the Shakespeare Festival Theater in Stratford, Connecticut. I feel sorry for people who claim they never got into Shakespeare. Chances are, they never saw one of his plays performed.

Of all the plays I saw on those trips, my favorite was Twelfth Night. Of course, it helped that I had a front row seat and that Sir Toby Belch was played by Fred Gwynne (aka Herman Munster--how cool is that?). Still, Twelfth Night was also one of Shakespeare's most complex and masterful comedies. The title puzzled me, though, seeming to have nothing to do with the play.

I've read since that scholars think the play was either written as an entertainment for a Twelfth Night celebration, or that its ongoing theme--that everything is upside down, everything the opposite of what it appears--is typical of Twelfth Night revelry.

So what is Twelfth Night? Depending on local customs, it's either the eve or the night of January 6th. According to the Christian calendar, this is Epiphany, the day churches tell of the journey of the Three Wise Men who followed a star in the east until they found Jesus. The gospel is the last reading of the year in which Christ is still a small child. January 6, or the Sunday after in some churches, is the liturgical end of the Christmas season.

Until very recently, when stores and advertisers began dictating our holiday calendars, most folks kept their trees and decorations up until Epiphany. I still do. Why would I want to shorten a season that encourages "peace on earth"?

Twelfth Night used to have customs of its own. Nowadays, June is the most popular wedding time, or Valentine's Day. As I stated in POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, in the 18th century, many couples were married on Twelfth Night. And wedding or no, the biggest parties of the year were more likely to be on Twelfth Night than New Year's Eve.

Writings of the period that mention well-heeled Twelfth Night festivities speak of "groaning boards"--that is huge food buffets, usually spread with desserts and a wassail bowl. A "Twelfth Night Cake" or "King Cake" (named for the Magi) would be prepared--a large, ornate, sometimes wreath-shaped confection in which were hidden two tokens. These could be as simple as a bean and a pea, or silver coins, or even a tiny cast or carved figure of Infant Jesus. Slices of the cake were passed around. The woman and man who received the tokens in their slices were crowned king and queen of the festivities. Sometimes these offices came with added responsibilities--the man was expected to host next year's party and the woman was expected to bake the cake for it.

Now, now, the mirth comes
With the cake full of plums,
Where bean is the king of the sport here;
Beside we must know,
The pea also
Must revel as queen in the court here.
poem by Robert Herrick, 17th century

And of course, you'd have entertainment. Mummers plays were popular (especially those with mock sword fights), but so were jugglers, card playing, apple-bobbing, blindman's bluff, fiddlers and dancing.

Seems a shame we've let Twelfth Night revelry be forgotten. Not too late to throw a party this week, is it?

As for Shakespeare's title? Well, this might just be the writer in me, but I think the title he really wanted was probably rejected by his patron, so he slapped on the moniker: TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. Meaning, you don't like my title? Fine, if you think you know so much, come up with one of your own.

A great while ago the world begun,
With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.
Closing song from Twelfth Night

Peace in the New Year,
Elena

GIVE ME RUME TO RIME!

"In comes I, Old Father Christmas.
Welcome? Or welcome not?
I hope Father Christmas will never be forgot!"
I'm from the Philly area, and when somebody mentions mummers around here, we all picture big burly guys wearing pink feathers as they strut down Broad Street on New Year's Day. I mean, doesn't everyone?

Actually seasonal mummery goes back probably to the Dark Ages or earlier. The word mummer at first denoted someone who performed stories in mime while wearing a masked costume. These masquerades were immensely popular during the Renaissance all over Europe, including Harlequin in France and the Italian Comedie. In the British Isles, the art form took a life of its own. These plays were performed at the turning of all seasons, symbolically showing, say, the death and rebirth of the year, or the return of spring, or the reaping of the harvest.

A favorite Yuletide mummer plot was about a king or knight (almost always also a saint) who slays an evil beast, then is himself miraculously brought back to life. The most familiar characters were St. George and the Dragon from England, but in Cornwall, the saint might be King Petroc, and in Ireland, you might find St. Patrick fighting the Wild Worm.

The "mime" was eventually replaced by rhyme, usually in couplet. As poetry goes, this stuff isn't prime, though it tells the story, and once in a while, you'll find some decent wit as well. All mummers plays tend to have similar characters and plots, but as they evolved through the ages, each generation put their own spin on the words, with political and topical references. If the actors are ham enough, they're always entertaining. You can still find mummers plays throughout England, and in many places settled by Englishman, like Newfoundland, New Brunswick, and even in the Carribean, where mummers take to the streets on stilts.

In my novel POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, the mummers are typical of Colonial Virginia, where they may have used grain sacks for masks and substituted King George III for the Dragon. By the 18th century in America, mummers were usually working class or poor who did their best to get a charity handout from richer folk, sometimes even forcing their way into houses at gunpoint (emboldened by drink, of course--see my last blog on wassailing). This practice became so commonplace by 1800 that most American cities, like Philadelphia, passed Masquerade Acts forbidding anyone from walking the streets wearing a mask.

Things were quiet until the 1840s, when a few neighborhood leaders in Philadelphia approached the city council to ask permission to do a little mummery at Christmastime again, just to keep the tradition alive. The city finally compromised--each mummers group had to vow to keep track of their members and be responsible for their actions, and the groups would be allowed to have a parade only, and not go into people's houses. So, Philadelphia got its Mummers Clubs and New Year's Day Parade.

A Philadelphian moved to Atlanta soon after and organized his own neighborhood mummer club, and from there, someone else took the tradition to New Orleans, where it merged with the local culture's Carnivale tradition and became Mardi Gras.

"Our play is done, we must be gone.
We stay no longer here.
God grant you all, both great and small,
A happy, bright New Year."

Peace and Merry Christmas,
Elena

NOTE: I'll be taking a little hiatus from my blog through New Year, but I'll be back for Twelfth Night. Don't take that Christmas tree down too soon!

WASSAIL!

Tonight I'm going Christmas caroling at a local hospital with a group of my friends. This is our 33rd year. I only missed once, about 6 years ago, when I had the flu, but my friends came and sang for me that year. In a way, caroling for the sick is especially appropriate, once you know the roots of the tradition.

I doubt if the Vikings who invaded England a thousand years ago ever wished that island's inhabitants a "ves heill!" In Old Norse, it means "Be healthy!" or "Be whole!" Still, Middle Englishmen eventually picked up the salute, converting it to "waes haeil!"

These same early Englishmen already had a slew of rituals and superstitions designed to keep their crops healthy. Liquor-producing crops where specially prized, apples for cider in particular. With the coming of the frosts, bonfires were lit in apple orchards, dances performed around the trees, and cider applied both internally and externally (to both trees and people), to beseech any entities who might protect the trees through the winter, bring blossoms in the spring, and a good harvest the next year.

By the 13th century, the spelling "wassail" had appeared in print and was used not only as a good wish for human beings, but for their crops as well. The imperative became a noun that described the revelry in the orchards and elsewhere. Within another hundred years, the word had become a verb, meaning "to drink to the health of." In many dialects, it meant specifically to drink to your neighbors' health at year end.

Then came the discovery of the New World. Spices were brought back, many of which complimented the taste of the cider beautifully. Spices were expensive, though, and usually saved for rare occasions. Since the year-end tradition of cider drinking had already been established, the word "wassail" took on a new meaning: a special concoction of cider, spices, sugar, and baked apples, served at Yuletide. As the recipe spread down through Europe, wine and other fruits were substituted.

By the early 1600s, for those who could afford it, fashion dictated that a special, festive bowl be brought out for the custom, and so "wassail bowl" entered the language. About the same time, Yuletide revelers came to be known as "wassailers."

At first, wassailing took place in private homes and taverns, but more enterprising fellows began going door-to-door, singing and drinking to the health and prosperity of each household, preferably with punch supplied by the host, or at least, in exchange for a few coins or food. Some combined this custom with mummery--meaning they presented pantomimes or plays as well (I'll talk more about that in my blog next week).

During Victorian times, when Temperance Leagues abounded, wassailing morphed into the type of Christmas caroling we see today, done by church and school groups, and families. The practice usually has with no connection to drinking unless you're talking hot cocoa and warm sweet cider.

But we still sing the old blessings:

"God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the mistress, too.
And all the little children
That 'round the table go."

To everyone this season, be healthy, be whole.
Wassail!
Elena

Floating Islands & Pease Pudding

Being of Italian descent, I can't think of holidays--any holidays--without thinking of food. My protagonist, Pat Montella, has a similar background. In her opening scene in POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, she's stuck in traffic on her way to Williamsburg on Christmas eve, pondering how she'd normally be at one of her aunt's houses eating seven fishes or sausage, with cannolis, pizzelles, and ricotta pie for dessert. Other times in the book she mentions Sicilian advent biscottis and a family reunion with a big pork roast and tomato pie on New Year's Eve.

Pat's experiences were all taken from my experiences. So you can imagine the culture shock to both of us when I plopped her into a Christmas setting where dinner would be in the American colonial style.

In the 18th century, assuming you had the money to afford it and your religion didn’t forbid the extravagance, big dinners were enormously important to the celebration of the Yuletide. The poor ate whatever was usual for them—most likely somewhere between gruel and a pottage (a stew). Middling folk, like Mrs. Carson in the historic part of POISON, may have tried to add a few special items to the menu that time of year: mince pies (made with apples and currants unless you could afford a bit of meat too), pease pudding (peas—the last saved from the harvest --boiled, mashed and whipped with butter), a punch of some sort (probably with hard cider or wine gotten locally or made yourself). Perhaps a pheasant or wild turkey brought back from a hunt if you were lucky. Or like Mrs. Carson, you made a bit of bacon and a few squabs go as far as you could.

But much of what we know of early American meals comes from the diaries and letters of the more wealthy—men like John Adams, who once wrote in great detail about a dinner party he attended while he was a delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia. These lavish parties (at any time of year) were usually 4 courses, and not the courses (soup, salad, etc.) that we think of today. Imagine a long table set with 30, 40, 50 platters of food, arranged in perfect symmetry, each one presented with artistry. No whole turkeys in the center, no sir—the slicing would have been done in the kitchen and all sorts of edible garnishments added. And no one entree. You might have roast beef at one end, baked ham at the other, boiled beef to one side, turkey to the other, oysters, eggs, venison pie, pheasant, plus a variety of fancy vegetables (imagine beets cuts into the shapes of fishes), breads, relishes...well, you get the idea.

And that’s only the 1st course. Then came the “remove”—when guests would follow their host to another room for some sort of entertainment (a short concert or play perhaps). The servants, meantime, would remove the 1st course and reset the table for the 2nd. A different symmetry of platters, but just as many. Perhaps some of the same foods (the ham this time might be cooked with cabbage, the turkey stewed with a rich gravy) or, depending what was available, different offerings—turtle, veal, lamb, shad roe.

Another “remove” and then the first dessert course. Yes, I said the FIRST.

One cake? A couple of pies? Don’t be silly. Like the opening courses, you’d have variety. Desserts using alcohol and whipped cream were popular. Syllabubs were sort of a parfait made with cider or wine. A floating island was rounds of crusty bread, layered with jellies, floating in a bowl of liquored whipped cream. You might also have sweet omelettes (Pat helps to make one—an apple tansy, one of my favorite desserts—a link for the recipe is below), cookies and small cakes, ices (like sherbet), fresh and dried fruit (depending on the season or if you had enough money to import in wintertime), candied flowers and fruits, nuts. And naturally, dessert wines. George Washington, for instance, was very fond of Madeira.

A 3rd “remove” and another dessert course (my kind of dinner!). These parties, alternating dinner and entertainment, usually began in the afternoon and went on for many, many hours.

Even my Italian holiday feasts couldn't top them.

For the Apple Tansy recipe, go to:
http://www.elenasantangelo.com/Recipes3.htm

Buon appetito,
Elena

The Holly Bears a Berry

Since so many of us are putting up trees, wreaths and lights this week, let's talk decorations.

In POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, which takes place in Wiliamsburg, Pat is appalled to find that the house where she'll be spending the holidays doesn't have a Christmas tree. The house is decorated in the 18th century Virginia tradition. Trees are part of the 19th century tradition. (In fact, nearly all the trappings of Christmas that we now take for granted were begun by the Victorians.)

The first American tree was supposedly raised by German immigrant Charles Minnigerode who moved to Williamsburg in the 1840s, though his may have been simply the first publicized tree. The Pennsylvania Deutsch and Hessian soldiers might very well have set up trees in the 18th century, but the tradition was mostly confined to German-Americans and not popular otherwise.

The original tree legend says that in the 8th century, St. Boniface found German natives worshiping a giant oak tree. The saint cut the oak down (cutting down a thriving monument to God's creation doesn't seem very "saintly" to me, but I didn't write the story). From the stump of the fallen oak, a small fir tree grew. Were I those German pagans, I'd have thought this was a sign that the tree gods were showing their immortality, but Boniface's publicist managed to put a Christian spin on it. Somehow, through the years, the tree migrated from everyday Sunday school lesson over to an association with Christ's birth.

The Celtics had similar pre-Christian traditions concerning evergreens and other plant decorations, which is mostly the source of the British customs of the hanging of boughs and "greening" of the house. In an era not at all hygienic by our standards, when everyone was stuck behind closed doors and huddled around the fire for the cold months, some nice-aromatic pine on the mantel must have been as welcome as Febreze is today.

Remember, Christmas wasn't a major holiday in colonial America. Many people wouldn't have decorated at all. Those who did (mainly richer folk, for their dinner parties) probably used natural items like berries, pine cones, or even osage oranges. Contrary to modern Williamsburg decorations, nothing edible would have been used. No one would have wasted food. Very few people could afford to import pineapples, let alone, having gone to that expense, nailed one over the front door. A poor man would have stolen the fruit before the night was out, to feed his family.

Wreaths may have graced a few doors. The wreath dates back to ancient Persia and Rome, where crowns of leaves were made and either given as prizes or worn by high ranking members of society. Later, crowns of leaves and flowers were worn for holiday celebrations like May Day. The supposition is that, after having won a wreath or whatever, people hung them on their doors and windows to show them off. But, again, today's larger wreaths were more from Victorian traditions than earlier.

In Williamsburg in December today you'll see candles in windows and cressets (baskets of burning wood or oil or pitch) along the streets. Probably you would have seen neither in the 1700s. Candles burn faster when placed in a draft and 18th century double hungs weren't at all energy efficient. You'd place candles in the middle of the room, or next to a white wall, to get the maximum light from them. You might have placed a protected lantern in your window, if you wanted to help a stranger find your house easily in the dark. If outdoor fires were lit at all, they'd likely be close to the ground and not in raised baskets. Heat rises, and so, to certain extent, does light. And the wind is more likely to burn fuel faster if the fire is up high.

One Yule decoration that IS mentioned in colonial letters and diaries is mistletoe. They had their priorities straight.

Peace,
Elena

'Tis the Season

I was a proud cast member of The Philadelphia Revels from 1997 until our local company disbanded a few years ago. Each year in December, Revels groups all over the U.S. present wonderful shows filled with music, dance, poetry, and plays within the play, celebrating the solstice, year-end, and Yuletide traditions of different cultures and historical eras. Our local productions ranged from ancient Celtic to Medieval to Middle Eastern to Victorian, but my favorite was our Christmas in Colonial Philadelphia show. I helped to research and write bits of that script, and what I learned led me to set my 3rd novel, POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, in post-Revolutionary War Williamsburg during the Christmas season.

This month (and up through Twelfth Night) here on my blog, I figured I'd talk about some of the older, lesser-known Yuletide customs. Wouldn't hurt to remind us all that the season existed, and was just as magical, before electric lights and the Chipmunks. And even, to a small extent, before Christianity.

In the historical half of POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, readers will note that most of the Yuletide trappings are secular, revolving around food, drinking, superstitions, and giving money to those below you in station. By the latter, I mean that servants and workers were given coins by their employers and patrons. Working and poorer classes went door-to-door, wassailing and asking for money. Rich folk threw elaborate dinner parties. No one else much bothered with the season.

Before the 19th century, Christmas was a minor religious holiday. Many Christian sects didn't celebrate it at all, partly because the actual day wasn't specified in the Bible, and also, as the Puritans put it, the season promoted drinking and debauchery. (The Puritans, in fact, outlawed Christmas.) Many stores and markets were open on the 25th. At first, only Catholics held services. Protestant churches joined in after many of their congregants began attending the Catholic masses to hear the special music of the day.

One other thing is the difference in the way we define SEASON. Most Americans now think of Thanksgiving through December 25th as the Christmas season, but that's a recent development. Traditionally, the Yuletide season is December 25th through January 6th (Epiphany--the day the Magi visited Christ). Many cultures still celebrate Christmas on Epiphany, which came to be called "Old Christmas." This is also the 12th day of the Christmas season (you know, 12 drummers drumming?) and both its eve and the night of the 6th have been called Twelfth Night. I'll cover Twelfth Night customs in another blog.

Time for an eggnog break.

Peace,
Elena

CONGRESS -- Comity or Comedy?

"The recent fist fight in the United States Senate, precipitated by Senator Tillman of South Carolina, is one of the most disgraceful episodes that ever took place in the upper branch of Congress."

That's a quote from the New York Times, March 2, 1902. Senator Tillman punched his fellow South Carolina senator in the nose. What IS it with these South Carolina congressmen?

In 1850, during heated debates, Senator Foote from Mississippi nearly shot Senator Benton of Missouri while Benton was having a caustic exchange of words with Vice President Millard Fillmore. Foote was wrestled to the floor and disarmed.

You can find a fairly long list of politicians killed in duels at http://politicalgraveyard.com/death/duels.html . Congress, however, didn't pass an anti-dueling bill until 1839, after Representative Cilley of Maine was killed by Representative Graves of Kentucky. The bill was introduced by Henry Clay. Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote Cilley's graveside memorial.

In June 2004, while members of the Senate were having their photos taken on the Senate floor, Vice President Cheney and Senator Leahy had a heated argument in which Mr. Cheney gave the gentleman from Vermont instructions using the F-word as a verb. Since Senate wasn't technically in session, the rule against cursing and obscenity on the Senate floor didn't apply.

As you can see, U.S. Congressmen have been acting like small spoiled children throughout most of our history. Last week Joe Wilson of South Carolina was merely upholding a long-standing American tradition when he broke congressional decorum rules by heckling a speaker (the rule covers any speaker, not only the President). In Joe's defense: at least he was paying attention. Decorum rules also forbid the use of cell phones or personal computers while someone is speaking, yet I saw a few members texting that evening. They weren't admonished. At least, not by anyone but me.

Joe Wilson did apologize to the President, though when interviewed, he said he did it because the Republican leadership thought he should, and he's since refused to apologize to his co-workers in Congress and to his employers, the taxpayers. I'm not sensing a lot of remorse here. He broke the rules of his workplace. The rest of us would be on unemployment, or at least on probation, if we did that.

What's this got to do with my books? I write historical mysteries set in different eras of American history. Lately I've been reading the political commentary of Will Rogers (for my Great Depression Pat book) and Continental Congress transcripts of 1777 (for a Rev. War thriller). Whatever decade I'm researching, I'm finding that many members of our Congress--our employees--really haven't done good work nor acted as we'd want our employees to act. And yet we let them give themselves raises and award themselves the best benefits, at our expense. Who else would give their employees that kind of power, especially if they only do so-so work and create conflict in the workplace? Okay, maybe baseball team owners. But who else?

In the 1850s, despite the anti-dueling law, Representatives Cutting of New York and Breckinridge of Kentucky decided to settle their dispute with Western rifles at 3 p.m. seven miles outside Washington. That morning, however, they were on the House floor for a vote and accidently met face to face. After a moment of strained silence, Breckinridge said, "Cutting, give me a chew of tobacco!" Without missing a beat, Cutting pulled a plug of tobacco from his pocket and offered it to Breckinridge. That evening Breckinridge returned the favor by having Cutting over to share a bottle of wine. The duel was forgotten.

Those two could teach a lesson to both sides of the current congressional aisle.

"This country has come to feel the same when Congress is in session as when the baby gets hold of a hammer." Will Rogers

Still true today, Will.

Peace,
Elena