Rooting for Ancestors

William and Mary Barrett Dyer, 400 years later

2011-09-05T17:03:00.000-07:00

I've opened a new website specifically for William and Mary Barrett Dyer (<--- click that text to go there), which carries articles about the Dyers and their culture of the 17th century. You'll find articles about Mary's "monster" child, something fishy about Admiral William Dyer, Mary's stand for freedom of conscience, why they named one of their children "Mahershallalhashbaz," and other unusual subjects surrounding the Dyers.

Most of the articles will come from me, but a number of people have agreed to write guest posts in their areas of knowledge, such as: boating and small-craft travel in Narragansett and Massachusetts Bays; commentary on Isaac Walton's Compleat Angler book published in the Dyers' time; history of religious freedom and the legacy of Roger Williams; soap-making and other handicrafts of the time; etc. Basically, items about the everyday life experienced by William and Mary Dyer and their community.

You're welcome to visit the site, bookmark it, become a follower, and comment on the posts. Here's the full address: http://marybarrettdyer.blogspot.com.

The real roots of our ancestors

2011-08-03T13:49:00.000-07:00

Thanks to social media and ourmutual friends and interests, I was introduced to the works of artistMartin Williamson. Martin hasgraciously agreed to allow the reproduction of his beautiful paintings in this Rootingfor Ancestors blog. What follows each image I’ve chosen is hisdescription of the painting, and my commentary as it relates to genealogyresearch. At the end of the post, I’ll provide contact links for Martin, andlink you to his online gallery.

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BoltonCastle, Wensleydale, Yorkshire

Martin: Bolton Castle, Wensleydale.
This imposing castle was built between 1378 and1399 by Richard le Scrope, 1st Baron Scrope of Bolton.What is quite staggering is the fact that the castle has never been sold and isstill in the ownership of the descendants of the Scrope family. The massiveouter walls of this very well-preserved site dominate the hamlet of CastleBolton that lies at its feet. In its dominating position overlooking thevalley, the castle is now a well-established major tourist attraction in thearea. Painted on location. Pen, brush and ink with wax resist. 22" x 15"

St. Oswald's Chapel at Castle Bolton

Christy: The Scrope family were Normans who lived in Herefordshiredecades before the Norman invasion in 1066. Richard’s Castle, near Ludlow, was built about1048-1050, and was their administrative center for the Welsh border area. Fourgenerations and about 75-80 years later, my branch of Scropes moved toYorkshire, to Flotmanby Manor south of Scarborough.Another three generations lived at Flotmanby and all were buried at Wensley Church. Finally, there is mention ofBolton, Yorkshire, with Sir William Scrope, 1259-1312.He is the father of (LordHenry) Scropeof Bolton and (SirGeoffrey) Scropeof Masham (14 miles away), both branches of which are my ancestorsbecause their descendants married as second cousins twice removed. Henry Scrope, 1271-1336,married Margaret de Ros(see Helmsley Castle in this article). Their son Richard Scrope was 1^stBaron Scrope, Treasurer, Keeper of Great Seal, and Lord Chancellor until 1382, underRichard II. Richard Scrope was the builder of Bolton Castle, and thegrandfather of another RichardScrope, who married MargaretNeville, daughter of MargaretStafford and RalphNeville, 1^st earl of Westmorland. Bolton Castle’ssubsequent history may be found at the link below.

More info: http://www.boltoncastle.co.uk/metadot/index.pl

HelmsleyCastle, north Yorkshire

Martin: Helmsley Castle from North Gate

This medieval castle ruin islocated in the market town of Helmsley, North Yorkshire.Originally it was built in wood around 1120. Now in the care of English Heritage.Painted on the spot. Mixed media. 15"x 11"

Christy: Helmsley Castle was begun byWalter d’Espec (“the Woodpecker”), a prominent military and judicial figure inthe reign of Henry I. Walter also founded Kirkham Priory and Rievaulx Abbey. Becausehe was childless, upon his death Helmsley passed to his sister Adeline d’Espec and herhusband’s hands, the powerful de Ros (Roos) family, who were barons, the progenitors ofScottish and English royalty, ancestors of the Neville family, and wereTemplars and Crusaders. The castle was improved by the de Ros’s succeedinggenerations, and was “slighted” (destroyed) by Parliamentary forces in England’s CivilWar.

More info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helmsley_Castle

Peveril Castle,Castleton, Derbyshire

Martin: Peveril Castle, Derbyshire.
The imposing ruins of PeverilCastle overlook the village of Castletonin the Derbyshire Peak District. The keep was built by Henry II in 1176, making the castle one ofthe earliest Norman fortresses in England. Now in the care of EnglishHeritage. Mixed media. 15" x 22"

Christy: The earliest-known ancestor of the Peverel name, William Peverel the Elder,born 1043 in York,came from a long line of Welsh people on his father’s side, and a Saxon mother.His patrimony seems to have survived the Norman Conquest, which is quiteunusual for Welsh or Saxon landowners, so one might suppose that he fought onthe Norman side at Hastings and thereafter. His grandson WilliamPeverel the Younger committed the poisoning murder of Ranulph de Gernon, earl of Chester and hadhis lands seized by Henry II; and his granddaughter Margaret Peverel b. 1114, married into the de Ferrers family, earlsof Derby. Margaret's tomb effigy still exists at the gatehouse chapel for Merevale Abbey inWarwickshire. Margaret Peverel Ferrers’ son William Ferrers, 3^rd earl of Derby, rebelled against Henry II and in 1155 losthis title and claim to the lands of Peverel. Two hundred years later, thatWilliam’s eighth-generation descendant was Mary de Ferrers. Ralph Neville, secondearl of Westmorland (son of RalphNeville the first earl and Margaret Stafford, married Mary de Ferrers, granddaughter of Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt, anddaughter of Joan Beaufortand Robert de Ferrers.It’s all quite complicated, but I had to work in the Ralph Neville name to pumpmy blog hits—aren’t I shameless!

More info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peveril_Castle

Middleham Castle,Wensleydale, Yorkshire

Martin: Middleham Castle.

Middleham Castle inWensleydale, North Yorkshire, was built in1190 and was once the home of Richard III. The extensive site includes amassive Norman keep surrounded by a curtain wall. The ruins are now in the careof English Heritage. Painted on location.Pen, brush and ink with wax resist. 22" x 15"

Christy: RobertFitzralph 3^rd Lordof Middleham and Spennithorne, 1110-1185, has a long line of ancestors back to the ninth century and beyond. Genealogy sites list his death as 1185, butevery site also says that Robert Fitzralph built the castle of Middleham“commencing in 1190”—apparently fiveyears after his death. (This looks like a job for the History Police,unless you attribute the work to his wife, Helewisa de Glanville and their young son.) Robert also founded Beauchief Abbey in Sheffield—luckily, though, while he was still alive! Hisand his son’s (RanulfFitzrobert) tomb effigies were dug from the rubble of nearby CoverhamAbbey and their photo is contained in the header of this blog. Robert Fitzralphis the great-great grandfather of Ralph Neville, 1^st earl Westmorland (Ralph Neville again?? He gets the most hitson this site!).

More info: http://www.middlehamonline.com/Middleham%20Castle.htm

More info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middleham_Castle

Clifford’s Tower, York Castle, Yorkshire

Martin: Clifford'sTower, York.
Clifford's Tower is actually the remains of the13th century keep of York Castle, sat on top of amotte, or defensible mound. The keep is of unusual design, being quatrefoil inplan (four overlapping circles) and is the only example of this kind in England. Todayit is a well-known and instantly-recognizable tourist attraction, oftenphotographed in the spring with the motte ablaze with daffodils and the Towerset against a clear blue sky. I have portrayed the Tower rather differently,perhaps hinting at its more brutal past: the name 'Clifford's Tower' comes fromRoger de Clifford who was hanged there in 1322. Clifford's Tower is now in the care of EnglishHeritage. Pen, ink, wax resist and chalk.15" x 22"

Christy: Roger, second Lord Clifford, who was hanged in 1322 byHugh Despenser the Younger, was my “uncle,” so all Roger’s ancestors are alsomine. His sister, Idoine de Clifford,was born c 1300, married Henryde Percy, 2nd Lord of Alnwick, 1st Earl Northumberland, and died 24 Aug1365. Clifford’s Tower is the keep for York Castle,which was a royal fortress established by William I, and rebuilt in stone by Henry III.

More info: http://www.cliffordstower.com/

More info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/York_Castle

DolwyddelanCastle, north Wales

Martin: Dolwyddelan Castlenear Betws-y-coed.

This is s very striking ruincommanding a wonderful position on top of a ridge with stunning panoramicviews. Dolwyddelan stands alone in a country of castles as it was built about1210 by the Welsh princes, not by English or Norman forces. Painted on the spotin mixed media.

Christy: Dolwyddelan Castlewas a native Welsh castle located near Conwy. It was built between 1210 and1240 by Llywelyn the Great ap Iorweth, Prince ofGwynedd and North Wales. The Welsh castlefunctioned as a fortress. On January 18, 1283, it was captured by Edward I of England (“Longshanks”) inhis conquest of Wales.The castle was then modified and strengthened for occupation by an Englishgarrison.

More info: http://www.castlewales.com/dolw.html

More info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolwyddelan_Castle

Chirk Castle, Wales

Martin: Chirk Castle.
Completed in 1310, Chirk Castleis the last Welsh castle from the reign of Edward I still lived in today. Builtby Roger Mortimer, Justice of North Wales for Edward I, the castle commands aprime position overlooking the Ceiriog valley. The castle was sold for 5,000pounds to Sir Thomas Myddelton in 1595. Sir Thomas's descendants continue tolive in part of the castle today, although the National Trust now care for theproperty. Mixed media on 230gsm paper.14.5" x 10.5"

Christy: Some reports say that Roger Mortimer (one of many “RogerMortimer” fathers, sons, and cousins) built the castle of Chirkon land he had been granted in 1282. That Roger died during lifetime imprisonment inthe Tower of London in 1326, and his grandson John Mortimer signed over hisrights to Chirk Castle to his cousin Roger Mortimer 2^nd earl ofMarch (brother of my ancestor Isabella Mortimer Fitzalan), in 1359. Another version has it that Roger Mortimer 1^stEarl of March (rebel against Edward II and one of the regents to Edward III before Roger’s execution in1330) built the castle in 1295 as part of the Edwardian chain of Welsh castles.

More info: http://www.castlewales.com/chirk.html

More info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chirk_Castle

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Thank you again, Martin, for beingso agreeable about sharing your fine art. Readers, if you enjoy his paintings,please observe international copyright laws and contact him for permission toreproduce the images—or perhaps to enquire about purchasing a print, orcommissioning a canvas depicting your ancestors’ landscapes or edifices.Remember: images ©Martin Williamson 2011. Thisis the link tohis contact information. Martin welcomes friends to his Facebook pages, and you'll find that link in his website.

I've selected a few of Martin's churches to feature at another time, which connect with ancestors or their burials. Are you interested? What do you think of this blog post? Leave a comment below!

Celtic Britain travel journal part iv

2011-07-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

BritainTRAVEL JOURNAL--part 4 (England tour extension)

Monday, July 2, 2001, Kensington, London
Good thing I don'tgamble. I didn't find any tombs or stones. Please! They must have thousands ofgraves around there, at York Minster. Where were they moved? Are they coveredby a plaza?
Well, let's do itchronologically. As a group, we hiked through the medieval streets to the Yorvik Viking Museum. It was probablyclose to two miles, some of it uphill. I fell behind, and stopped for a publicrestroom, so I was separated from the group, very early on. The museum was amulti-media presentation, a ride through a real archaeology dig, populated byanimatronic humans and animals. It was dated ca 975 AD. The fossils and findswere interesting.

I'd heard (well,overheard) about a York Castle museum in the giftshop, so I inquired. It was three blocks more, which I walked, of course."It's only a five-minute walk," was the response everywhere I went.When the castle (Clifford's Tower) came in sight, I totally blew off the museumidea! I climbed steep concrete stairs up the motte, the keep's bank, paid a £2admission, and was in the bailey of my ancestors' castle. Eventually, I climbedthe steep and uneven spiral steps up a tower, to get to the top battlements. Ihad a stranger take my picture up there on the battlements, with the Minster inthe background. He didn't seem to know English, but he could press the properbutton on the camera! The man was tall and Nordic looking. The castle was builtby Henry III and named Clifford's Tower (I have Cliffords, Marcher lords, backthere, too). By the time I got down all those steps, there was no way I couldwalk the 1.5+ miles back to York Minster, where everyone else was, so I calleda taxi from a nearby hotel desk.
I got into a group tourafter photographing the carved stone statues of my ancestors from William I toEdward III. I visited the crypt in hopes of finding tombs, but it was actuallyRoman remains and the Norman foundations of the existing gothic cathedral. Iwalked the half mile back to the hotel and waiting bus.
We drove for five hoursto Central London, with me in the jumpseattaking pictures, again, and here I am!
A tour guide met us androde along for 90 minutes while pointing out sites I've read about for years.The guide reminded me, in a subtle way, of a person I loved very much, for along time.

Tuesday, July 3, 2001, Kensington
It's 90 degrees in thishotel room, with no fan. The window opens eight inches at the bottom. Nobreeze. This sucks. Actually, it was hot all day. This was the day our tourgroup split. Some went walking and shopping; others took a city sightseeingtour. All who were flying back today met at 1 p.m. to shuttle to Heathrow. ButI wouldn't know about that.
I was on the sightseeingdouble-decker bus. Included was a 50-minute cruise on the Thames.That was a cool and breezy oasis in the warm day. I had a fish-n-salad(substituted for chips) at an outdoor restaurant in a small park on theEmbankment, and listened to a live jazz band and watched pigeons. The pigeons knowwhen diners are finishing up, and start flying in closer, like short, fatvultures.
I shopped for an hour inthe very hot Picadilly Circus area, and at Victoria Station. I got back to thetour bus and saw another loop or two of London.I was making my way back to Kensington, where my bags were stowed at theHilton, but the traffic out to the West Endwas gridlocked. Took two hours to crawl from Baker Street station out to Holland Park. I was the last person on the bus,and I told them I'd walk the last two blocks, which thrilled them. Would havebeen another 30 minutes in the bus! Then I waited a further 90 minutes, 'til8:30 p.m., to call a taxi, so I wouldn't have to pay to sit in traffic on thetransfer to my hotel reservation in South Kensington.I was hot and gritty from the bus rides, my feet are sore and swollen. FinallyI got here, to the Kensington Edwardian, and had to schlep my own bags to thetop floor, via the lift. It's now 11 p.m. and still 90 degrees in here. I'vehad a cold shower, and begged for a fan, but it's unavailable. I've got a wethand towel over my shoulders.

Wednesday, July 4, 2001, Kensington
Right. My patrioticAmerican-versus-British revolutionary act, this Independence Day, was to get myhotel room changed. Told the manageress, very politely and quietly, that a 90degree room and bad mattress left me in agony, that my attempt at makeup hadmelted off, that I needed better accommodation and a fan, and that theirtwo lifts were not working, and I wasn't willing to climb up five floors in anairless stairwell to boot. They moved me to a first floor (actually mezzanine)corner room with cross ventilation, and brought a fan. It's still not exactlycool, but 15 degrees off, plus moving air helps a lot. I was finally on my wayat 10:30.

I have to walk about halfa mile plus a block, to get to the Tube at Gloucester Road Station. So I'm hotand footsore before I'm started. I got off the airless train at WestminsterStation, and came up right at the Thames River, with Boudicca'smonument above me. Big Ben was ringing Westminster Chimes (natch) at 11, as Iwalked to the Abbey church.
Tons of people had thesame idea as I did, and Westminster Abbey was very crowded. I rented the audioguide and made my way through all the side chapels. Thousands of monuments,graves, wall plaques, floor stones, etc., honoring the dead. I was touched byone eighteenth century monument to a young woman. It extolled her Christianvirtues in beautiful prose, and actually made me wish to have known her. Nowthat's good writing! Eventually, I got around to the back sides of theancestors' graves around the chancel, and close to the Edward the Confessorshrine. I caught glimpses of the sides of the effigies, but the place touristscould stand was much lower than even the bottom of the sarcophagi. Also astrict policy on photos (as in, NONE), but no books or postcard photos have pixof what I want: overhead shots of the burial effigies of my forebears. Thechancel was roped off, so no access to the sarcophagi that way unless I was anon-staff Anglican priest.
I stopped several timesto rest my excruciatingly painful feet. At 12:30, I took Anglican Communion inthe far west part of the nave. The prayers and parts of the Protestant"mass" were really beautiful. I visited the undercroft and museum(cool: I'd read about the undercroft treasury/exchequer in Sharon Kay Penmanbooks), the bookshop, and the evensong service. Only no song! Just prayers.They only sing every other Wednesday, and I was there a week too early or aweek too late.
I stopped at a restaurantfor tomato basil soup, and bought grapes and a bottle of milk in the GloucesterRd Tube station, and walked by the McDonalds and Texas Lone Star Grill, BurgerKing and Starbucks.
Hotel room is much coolerthan starving-artist garret of last night. Wrote postcards this evening.
I keep wondering, Could Ibe more tired? And then I answer myself, Yes, I'm more tired and in more painthan the last time I asked myself that question.

Thursday, July 5, 2001, Kensington
Oh, my burning and achingankle stubs. Have worn off original, God-given feet issued at birth. It's sohot and humid, too! OK, enough groaning.
Walked through hot, damphaze to Tube station, rode Picadilly line to Great Russell Square. Then it was atleast three-quarters of a mile to the British Museum.(Another "five-minute walk.") Must say, however, that anyone I askfor directions, including Tube personnel, are very helpful and friendly,despite that Five-Minute Walk they keep telling me.
Anyway, at the British Museum, I walked up the front, outsidestairs. Then after buying my special exhibit ticket, up two more flights to theCleopatra show. This is six stories so far, if you're keeping track, not evencounting the many flights in the Tube stations. After seeing Cleo-baby, JuliusCaesar, Octavian Augustus, Marc Antony, and lots of naked Egyptians, I had toleave the blessedly air-conditioned exhibit. Probably the only a/c in the British Isles.
I had to go down fourstories to get to the other halls, and then up four stories plus a long gallerywalk, to the Celtic and Roman Britain displays. I was following directions inthe Visitor Guide. It was hot and airless in the display rooms, and no benchesor chairs to sit on, either. A security guard let me have his chair and fan forabout 20 minutes until my soaking wet hair dried off, and my body temperaturecame back to normal. Have I mentioned that nothing in Britain is air conditioned? (Oh, Ihave. Sorry.) My makeup had of course melted before I got halfway to the Tube,and my hair was dripping with perspiration.
But for all my aches andpains and fever, it was worth the effort. I saw so many artifacts I'd seen inhistory or art books. In fact, every time I saw something amazing and beautifulin a picture, the photo credit always said, "The British Museum." Sohere I was, seeing Lindow (peat bog) Man, Sutton Hoo mask, Rosetta Stone,Easter Island Head guy, Elgin marbles, Cleopatra, Ramses II, the Ram in theThicket, mummified people and cats, Assyrian winged beasts, etc. So impressive.
I had lunch in the nicerestaurant: cran-blueberry sparkling mineral water on ice, and strawberrieswith clotted cream. Took Tylenol several times to little effect. After begginga warden, I was shown the well-hidden and discreet lifts! They'd been holdingout on me.
At 5 p.m., I changed intomy gold metallic top and black jacket I'd been carrying in my bag, and walked afew painful blocks to a bus stop. Caught one to the Strand,and then tanked up on bottled water and skim milk from a market, then a mochafrappucino at Starbucks. Man, I was dehydrated after all the heat,perspiration, walking, stair climbing, etc. Finally, though, I was feelingbetter (probably the caffeine and sugar). I walked around the corner to the Lyceum Theatre and picked up myticket to the show, Lion King. (Up stairs, down stairs, up stairs once more.) Ishared a box in the baroque theater with a Kentucky university student. When the showstarted, an actor in full costume came into our box, and I involuntarilywhispered, "All right!" So he bent down and kissed me on the lips! Aspotlight was shown on him, and he started singing across the theater to hiscounterpart in the opposite box. It was over in a minute, and the show startedon the stage. The choreography of the dancers, dancer/puppeteers, and peoplewho played scenery (trees and grass) was very creative and so beautiful.Genius, really, to conceive of it.
After the three-hourshow, I was told to walk for "five minutes" to Charing Cross Stationfor the Tube. Wrong station, but I did snap a photo of Eleanor of Castile'sEleanor Cross, recreated after Civil War dismantling. (Yes, Eleanor's another ancestor.) After another Five Minute Walk (sure,sure), I got to the Embankment or Strand Station, whatever. There had been arain shower during the show, but now it was cleared off, cooler, and there werepuddles. Took the Tube back toward the hotel, and walked here again. I can'twrite this without dozing off again and again.

Friday, July 6, 2001, Kensington
I'm actually writingFriday's entry on Saturday morning, but DEAL WITH IT. I'll write as if it'sstill Friday:
By 8:45 a.m., I set outfor the Tube station, took the subway as far as it went, at Ealing Broadway,then bought a £3.40 round-trip train ticket via Sloughto Windsor/Eton station. Walked up the slight hill to the castle ticket office,and was there at 10:40. Then I hiked up a steeper hill, around the castle keep,then down the hill to the castle's lower ward to watch the changing of theguard at 11. No short cuts in England.The fife and drum band was good, but there sure was a lot of fuss andceremonial slapping of guns and stomping! Took half an hour, too. Guy stuff. Ifthey were women, they'd do it faster, more efficiently, and there'd be moremusic and no stomping.
Scoped out the St. George's Chapel, wheresome of the English royalty were buried. None of mine, however. One of theexterior gargoyles or grotesques was a cow. Go figure.

Much of Windsor Castlewas built by successive generations of my ancestors, so I was eager to see it.We weren't allowed in the oldest part, the round tower, and the privateapartments, of course. Still, it was gratifying to see the Norman Gate, thestonework of the walls, the hilltop view of Berkshire, and — kind of bizarre —747s taking off from Heathrow, over the Norman round tower. What would Henry Ior any of them have thought of UFOs in their view of the sky? Demons? Angels?
Then I climbed back upthe hill to the entrance to the State Apartments. I climbed lots of shallowsteps. The first couple of large chambers were very crowded with tourists. Therooms were lined with lit glass cases of 200-300 year-old china. One that Iliked very much was a set of wild flowers, a different flower on each piece. My20 year-old flower pattern mixture back home seems like such good tastenow!
The next rooms, upanother flight, were martial in nature. Lots of spears and armor and swords.Couple of spare crowns, too, from Thailand(King Mongkut of Anna and the King presented gold crown looking likeThai temple to Queen Victoria), and one from Ethiopia.There were notations that certain items were "taken" at the Battle ofWherever. (In the name of the British Empire,I demand that you hand over your ancestral lands, keys to the treasure, yourgovernment, etc., at once.) There were jeweled swords and daggers, covered inemeralds, rubies, maybe diamonds.
Then we continued throughdining and reception rooms, bed chambers and "closets," etc. Iexpected to see great art, and I really did. The three faces of Charles I (so asculptor in Italy had an almost 3D model), the Holbein paintings of Henry VIIIand Elizabeth I, Rembrandt self-portrait, fresco ceilings, huge tapestries,sculptured busts, silver furniture, gold-leaf woodwork, etc. The carpets wewalked on were tourist ones, and the lanes were roped. The carpets the Queenand guests walk on are huge room-size Persian ones. (I think BernardBrandstater's carpet, maybe one-eighth the size, but still really large, took sevenyears to weave and knot.)
Finally, one of the laststate rooms was the Knights of the Garter guard room. I was limping and hurtingbadly despite the Tylenol at 11:30 a.m., so I asked a guard if there was abench or chair to sit on for a few minutes, "obviously not thethrone," I laughed. He brought a red side chair for me and I massaged myfoot through the sandal.
When I did make it to thethrone, in blue velvet over polished dark carved wood, the appliqued embroiderysaid "E III R 1350." Hello, grandfather! Edward III, whose 6'8"steel sword I'd seen in St. George'sChapel earlier in the day, founded the Knights of the Garter. No pictures wereallowed, but I had my camera around my neck. I put it on wide angle, and fromtummy-level, I aimed in the general direction and snapped a coupleavailable-light photos when the guards were far away.
Well, there was a lotmore walking and hiking. I went to an Internet café for half an hour, hopingfor a cold drink, but the cooler had just been stocked with room-temperaturepop. Forget it! Checked my e-mail, though. Got directions for the inevitableFive Minute Walk down to the Thames River for a £4, 35-minutecruise. That was nice: although we didn't see anything important, it was goodto sit and enjoy the cool river breeze, and watch swans and blue dragonflies. Apiece of fried fish (no chips) and a 15-minute walk of pain brought meback up the hill to the train station. Two trains and two subways later, I wasback here at the hotel. That half-mile walk hurts more every time!

Saturday, July 7,2001, overArctic Circle, maybe
I'm miserable. Not asmiserable as the screaming toddler only 8 feet away. Not as comfortable as theidiot teenager who sits in front of me, reclining his seat into my space. I'mso sick of being pressed on every side and bumped on the aisle. My knees hurt,my head hurts. Had an argument with the bloody teen's mother, who said if Ididn't like it I could call the flight attendant. So I did. She asked him tomove up and he did, microscopically. We boarded the plane before 4 p.m., for4:35 takeoff, but didn't take off 'til nearly 6:45. When my seatmate, aDanish-born Egyptian, came back from his walk, I got up to let him in and OOPS—jolted the teen's seat back.
You'd never know it by mymood now, but I actually had a pleasant morning. Woke around 6, and finishedorganizing my bags. Then walked to the Tube and took two different subways pluswalked about 2 blocks, to get to St. Paul'sCathedral, in the City of London.Got there at 8:07; unfortunately, Communion mass started at 8:00. A deaconshowed me to a seat in a chapel to the rear left of the nave. There were onlyabout six of us there, but the priest and a robed helper read the prayers fromthe missal, leading up to Communion. We took the bread (papery wafers) and asip of wine from the chalice, kneeling at the rail. Ow. Then I stayed andprayed silently in the large nave, under the famous and massive dome, for about30 minutes.
About 9 a.m., they letthe tourists in, and I tailed along on a guided tour. Aside from the goldceiling mosaics, the fact that Charles and Diana married there 20 years agothis month, the beautiful architecture, etc., I guess the thing that wasimportant to remember was: During the WWII London Blitz, men risked their livesto save God's house. I'd rationalize, myself, that God lives in my temple, me,not one made by human hands. But these men saw beyond themselves, to thegreater community and the symbol of hope that St. Paul's was to them. They'd go up the roofduring bombing raids, and if something fell and didn't explode, they'd pick itup and heave it away. I think just the east chancel was destroyed, and ofcourse was rebuilt after the war. That was my Saturday morning in London. It was bothinspiring and instructive.
After a couple photos onthe plaza outside St. Paul's,I walked and Tubed and walked again back to my hotel. Checked out. Waited forthe Heathrow transfer van. When the driver got there, he pulled down a seat forme, and its metal bar fell on my right toes. "OW!" I yelledinvoluntarily at the other 14 passengers, then apologized for my outburst. Butmy face must have shown the pain, because a British lady said, "You'reputting a brave face on it, dear." If by brave, you mean strained andwhite.
I walked a lot in theairport terminal, was not impressed by duty-free prices, and then got on thisexcruciatingly crowded Air New Zealand jumbojet. Doesn't feel at all jumbo. In fact, they should take out a row of seats atthe back of every section, and install treadmills and exercise bikes, and signpeople up for 5 or 10 minutes each. It is unconscionable that they cram 450people in here elbow to elbow, with nowhere to walk except to the tiny toiletsand back. We'll be on this plane for 13 hours. They did call for a physicianover the speakers, but I don't know what for. Probably for the nervousbreakdown of a passenger crammed between a sleeping seatmate and a beveragecart. Oh! That was me! Sorry.
I've read countless pagesof the sequel to Bridget Jones's Diary (very funny), and am worried thatI'll run out of book before I run out of plane. I mean, it's been seven hoursalready, and we're only over the Labrador Sea.Not even Canadayet.
Somewhere over Wyoming, 3 a.m. Londontime, 7 p.m. LA time.
Managed to doze betweenscreaming baby bouts and sore knee. Foot swollen, not recognizable as humanappendage. If this flight was on time, we'd be flying over the Colorado River right now. My seatmate was leaning on myshoulder to sleep, and I was hanging into the aisle with a back ache. The creware serving hot sandwiches that smell of ham and spinach quiche. I guess theydon't know if it's dinner or breakfast, either. Combined with slightturbulence, makes me queasy. Finished the book two hours ago. Now what do I do?It's the same in-flight movie they showed three weeks ago on my way to London.
St. George, Utah, 8:39 p.m. LA time — Almost there. So exhausted. Beenawake now, 24 hours. The sun's finally gone down. This day was almost 31 hours.
LAX airportinternational terminal, arrivals, 11 p.m. — My "friend" Mr. P was supposedto be here about 9:00 to pick me up. We did get in 90 minutes late, but I'dbuilt that into the pickup time. I was out at the curb, and no Mr. P. I startedtrying to call by 10:25, but no luck, as I don't have the correct number forhim and the phone is in his girlfriend's name, and I'm pretty much brain deadso can't remember her surname. Finally called collect to Richard Tinker in Yucaipa, and he's coming to rescue me. Probably be hereafter midnight.
Sunday, July 8,2001, Redlands, CA
10:15 a.m. So good to behome. Richard and Colleen dropped me and luggage at about 1:40 this morning. Igreeted the cats and was in bed by 2:20. (Had been awake more than 28 hours.)Cats plastered themselves to me. Major purring.
Back and front yards havehuge weeds. The peaches are nearly ripe, and have more tomatoes and squash.Today I do laundry (first time in 3 weeks), get groceries, and check mail.Mundane ending for great trip, but I can live with it.
Saturday, July 14,2001, Redlands
Worked every day thisweek, and when I'd get home in evening, all I could manage was to feed cats,have a bowl of soup, and a little bit of pasting photos into album, but had tosleep by 9 p.m.. That is so not me. Afraid I spaced the pastor's sermon as I could barely stay awake. At Cross Cultureservice, we had many technical problems owing to absence of several key teammembers. While they worked on solutions, I took a mic and told of my Lindisfarne experience, when God spoke to me. They"amen-ed" heartily. This afternoon I slept three hours. I think thisis the end of the jet lag, though. My body is back on Pacific Time.
Been gluing pix intoscrapbook. At it for a week, but have barely made a dent.

Random observations

Sheep and cattle and horses in Britain are happy, contentcritters. Ours must be stressed to stand in muck in feedlots. Here, they grazeand wander and ruminate, and nap actually stretched out in the sun.
Music: most shops have music playing.Really annoying techno-pop, mostly. In Starbucks on the Strand in London, I heard (the firstand only time) British superstar Sting. Found a couple CDs of his in PicadillyCircus that aren't available in US. Heard jazz in the park on the day I went onthe London City Tour and Thames cruise.
Clothes: would pay any money for alaundromat. Nothing. Michelle and I went through half a bottle of Febrezefabric deodorant spray! People here dress the same as in the US. No special trend that I cansee. Love to see men in Shetland sweaters!
Tans: the Brits are known for theirpasty white complexions. Yet I've got a tan since I came here. Every park youpass, there are many people sitting on beach towels or blankets, just sittingand doing nothing. No urge to be productive during lunch or break. Just gooutside and SIT.
Food smells: Dublinand Edinburghsmelled divine. Until you realize that the smell is malting barley, destinedfor whiskey! Oh, man, everywhere I went, the barley smell was there. Icraved a good barley stew, but never found one. I think I also enjoyed thesmells of bar food in Dublin.If you could get past the vile cigarette smoke, the fast-food or bar pickupstuff smelled wonderful. But oh, the barley — it's enough to drive one todrink!
The telly: Hey, no problem with saying theF-word or showing uncut R-rated movies on regular broadcast TV. The prime-timehas soaps, game shows, etc. They have BBC 1 and 2 morning news, and also a GoodMorning news/chat thing. One station was sports-only. And it was Wimbledon time. I watched a two-part detective show thatI suppose will turn up on PBS Mystery, soon. Looked in vain for a "Britishcomedy," but maybe they're not on in the season or time of evening that Iwatched. Hardly any commercials, and never during a show, but they were prettyfunny. The hotels only have five or six channels. It was funny to see 500year-old stone buildings with 18-inch satellite dishes mounted on the sides.
Exercise: I deserve a huge medal (ala thosewrestling belt buckles) for all my walking and stair climbing. When I ask fordirections, the people say, "Oh, that's just a Five Minute Walk."Maybe for them! But I was fooled every time. What a sucker I am. I trudgedmiles, every day. Stairs everywhere, always. No escalators, either.
I'm proud that I've doneso much, though. I kept going even when the young and fit 20-somethings weredragging. When the group was climbing up to Durham Cathedral, although I wastired, I wasn't out of breath. When I asked to stop for a moment to rest, everyoneelse stopped, too — not out of pity for me, but because they were also beat!With all the exercise, one needs hydration. I haven't seen one drinkingfountain or water dispenser anywhere, but plenty of people haul sports bottlesaround. They seem to prefer mineral water to "still" spring water.However, it finally occurred to me that spring water and mineral water weresynonymous. The drink coolers are set at about 55 degrees, I think, becausestuff is just barely cool, never cold. Never ice!
Restaurants: Do these people ever eat at home,or cook? Every block has many restaurants and pubs and deli-type shops. Thesupermarkets aren't really very super. Everyone must shop a little each day andcarry it on the Tube. No station wagons or mini-vans backed up to a Costcoloading dock! Even the lower-priced restaurants use tablecloths and clothnapkins, and serve the meal in leisurely courses. Wish I could have mytea/coffee with my meal instead of after. When I ask, they seemsurprised! The servers don't come around very often, and that's a plus. Asidefrom "the frozen kind" of fried fish, which was perfect, the otherfish-minus-chips I've bought had skin on, which was gross! So I ate the toplayer, but threw away the skin and attached batter. I also bought sandwiches ora pasty, and soups, and once just ordered strawberries with clotted cream. I'malways on the run (almost literally) so I don't want anything to slow me down.What kind of foods on the menu? (Not saying I ate these, just that they wereavailable.) Pork (sausage, bacon, ham), seafood (salmon, shrimp, tuna), beefand lamb practically non-existent because of hoof-and-mouth disease outbreak,eggs (fried, poached, scrambled), various cheeses, beverages (hot tea andcoffee after meal, wines, hardly ever water and never glasses of milk or icedtea, cola and other sodas), breads (baking-powder biscuits, croissants, scones,sliced white and brown and rye bread, pita), breakfast cereals (Special K,Cornflakes, muesli that looked like lawnmower outflow, oatmeal), vegetables(potatoes, carrots, zucchini, etc.), fruits (melon, strawberries, blueberries,kiwi, same as at home), dessert (almond or Bakewell tart, strawberry/ rhubarbpie, strawberries and unsweetened cream, ice cream, trifle, etc.). Thevegetarian offerings weren't very good. No meat analogs. Either eat strangevegetable medleys in pasta or buried under crumbs, or go for the cheese/eggthing.
Flowers: The foxglove and lobelia and irisflags and many other flowers are blooming wild, everywhere. In the cities, Isee buckets and buckets of cello-wrapped arrangements. They'd be $15-20arrangements in the US.Lots of people buy flowers, men and women, and carry them with the shopping.Home, presumably.
Ancestral ties: Early on, I sensed that my tourmates wouldn't share my fascination with the ancient and medieval history of Great Britain,nor in such a personal way. How many times could I crow, "My ancestor,King So and So, built this castle or commissioned this cathedral." (But hedid!) Well, it slipped out a few times, but I decided to keep most of it tomyself. There were many, many times when I COULD have said something about theancestors! The docents at Windsor/St. George's Chapel, Durham Cathedral, etc.,though, were pretty excited to talk about (really, really) old times with me.They were interested that a descendent of the Angevins and Plantagenets wouldbe living in California.I suppose I have lots of distant cousins all over the US, andprobably many of the Commonwealth countries, but one doesn't really think ofit. You think of the current Royal Family as being the only realdescendants that count! Dorothy and Robert knew of ancestral ties in Ireland, andJohn and Carl are of Welsh descent, so I wasn't the only one feeling the senseof deep roots.
Alone in a crowd: Even though I was part of a22-person group, somehow I managed to be alone in most places — alone tomeditate, pray in the holy places, appreciate the quiet or the memory ofsomeone's loved one encapsulated on a tombstone. Maybe this was anti-social,but while others were figuring out where to go and what to do and how to do ittogether, I just took off and got started! While others were getting ready toexplore Bath, Iwas on the tour bus, then exploring the abbey church during organ rehearsal,and then dipping fingers in the hot pool. At Edinburghon Saturday afternoon, I did my own exploring, and at Iona,while the group walked to the abbey, I was hiring a bike. At York I was entirely alone. How slippery ofme. But it's hard to pray, or soak in beauty when you're surrounded by others.I suppose it could be considered selfish, but I doubt anyone paid their bucksto be entertained by me, anyway!

Celtic Britain travel journal part III

2011-07-30T12:56:00.000-07:00

Celtic BritainTRAVEL JOURNAL--part 3 (Scotland, Northumberland, Durham, York)

Wednesday, June 28,2001, latenight, Edinburgh, Scotland!!!
We drove out of the Irishferryboat and onto Scottish soil, port of Stranmaer, at around 7p.m. We drove about three hours, and passed through Ayrshire ("Haste yeback," said the road signs at the village borders), Strathclyde, Midlothian, and whatever we're in now. Irregular fieldsof hay and barley, and the odd potato farm. Cattle, a palomino horse or two,sheep, a donkey. Views of the sea off to our left, with a sugarloaf mountainisland out there. All beautiful, the whole way. The buildings don't seem as oldas the Irish ones, though.
Since it's summer timeand we're far north latitude, the sun goes down really late, after 10 p.m. Wegot to Edinburghwhile there was still fairly bright twilight, after 10.
Oh, man, you can see the Edinburgh Castle across the street from our hotelon Princes Street.The tour mates were squealing with delight at our posh surroundings andaddress. Although our hotel faces the Royal Mile and the Walter Scott Memorial, etc.,our room faces an alley and fire escape stairs!
After getting our bagsinto the room, six of us went out for a walk, and bought super-cheap paperbackbooks at a nearby store which closed at midnight. Back at the hotel aftermidnight, I did laundry in the bathtub, and hung it on the heated towel bars todry. I've fallen asleep multiple times trying to finish this entry.

Thursday, June 29, 2001, Edinburgh
Today was great all day,but I had my really special moments before noon.

Cobbled plaza at Edinburgh Castle, Firth of Forth

After the hotelbreakfast, we were taken to Holyrood Castle, which wasunfortunately closed as of today, to prepare security for the Royal Family'svisit on Sunday night. Holyrood was famous for its later occupants, Mary Queenof Scots, etc., but was started by David I, my ancestor, to memorialize hismother, St. Margaret, as the guest house for the nearby Holyrood Abbey, now inruins. We drove through the medieval streets, up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle. We bought admission for £7.50,took a 30-minute guided tour, and then at leisure, we toured the crown jewelsand Stone of Scone ("skoon")exhibit. My ancestors sat on that stone to be consecrated or crowned king, fromKenneth MacAlpin in the 800s, to 1299, when my ancestor Edward I of England swiped it and carried it off to Westminster. Then everymonarch since has sat above it. Just a sandstone rock, but it's seen a lot ofroyal arse. Oh, sorry, revered ancestral spirits.
Then I went to St.Margaret's Chapel, a barrel-vaulted little stone building, whitewashed inside,with small stained glass windows of St. Margaret and St. Columba (1800s). Therewere fresh flowers in the roped-off chancel. I could almost pray to thesainted ancestor, as millions have believed is right. As it is, I thanked Godpersonally, with no mediator, for allowing me to visit this place I've wantedto see for 20 years. It was a moving experience, and I was able to block out,for a minute, all the other tourists.
Our bus took us away at 1p.m., after the cannon was fired as a time keeper for the harbor. Walking fromthe hotel, I took 13 rolls of film for processing, got a sandwich in adepartment store café, took a narrated bus tour of Edinburgh, and shopped or browsed near thehotel. My feet are soooo bruised from walking the cobbles and the pavements.Ow, ow, ow. I wanted to shop in the touristy places in the Royal Mile, and seethe mews and closes, but just couldn't. Too painful!
Our tour-mate Dolores hasa single room on the seventh floor of the hotel, with a balcony that faces thewhole west front of Royal Mile. Edinburgh Castle is lit withfloodlights, and there was a break in the clouds so you could see the half moonshining over the castle. Took a picture of that.

Friday, June 29, 2001, Edinburgh
What a long day. We hadto be ready for the day and on the bus at 6:20 a.m. We drove about four hoursnorthwest of Edinburgh to the west coast port of Oban. We were the last group to catchthe ocean ferry to Craignure, Mull. Our busdrove off the ferry there, and we went another hour, the length of the island,to a passenger ferry at Fionnport, which took us a mile or two across thestrait to Iona. While everyone else walked tothe abbey, I rented a bike and got up there that way. With my knees to mychest, I chugged up the path. It was my first time on a real bike (not thestationary kind) in some years. Pretty fun! I parked it on the shoulder outsidethe several churches, and prayed at the altars.
I stopped first at aruined stone church, and saw some ancient unmarked grave stones that might havebeen monks, priests, or my MacAlpin ancestors (or not), then rode along theblacktop path to the newer church down the road. I looked all over the churchesand graveyard for the ancient kings of Scotland said to be buried there.There were some uncarved or eroded tombs that looked ancient, but no modernplaque to identify.

The day, which had beendrizzly on the drive and first ferry trip, cleared up miraculously while wewere on Iona. Two hours later, afterunmitigated gorgeosity (breeze, puffy clouds, warm and bright sun) just when itwas time to head back, a few drops from a squall started hitting, but notreally raining. It was exhilarating to ride the bike lickety-split downhill,into the teeth of the wind! Wheeeee.
I stayed out on the ferrydeck again, and watched a castle, a lighthouse, and sailboats pass my view.Donna and a cute kid (with an even cuter father) were feeding shortbread to aseagull as he floated in the boat's slipstream.
We reversed the ferriesand bus rides, along the same roads to Edinburgh,and were back by 9:30. I walked to Hard Rock Café and had soup, came back here,and then Michelle and Jimmie and I went to an Internet shop three blocks away,to do two hours of e-mail and web surfing. In case you're keeping track, it'snow 2 a.m. Saturday.
My impressions now:Everything is as green, or greener than, the Emerald Isle. On the morningdrive, it was raining in places and misty drizzle in others. As we drovethrough Perthand Crieff, and into the highlands, we saw much heavier runoff than we couldaccount for by rain. Must have been pouring at the mountain tops! We sawhundreds, maybe thousands, of considerable brooks and waterfalls. They'd justappear at the top of the crag, and within a few feet, were strong enough to beseen for miles. Inevitably, the creeks and waterfalls became burns and flowedinto the lochs. A couple of really large and beautiful ones were Lochearn andLochawe. Near the latter, at about the mid-journey point (if you count the longdrive on Mull Island) was the mountain, Ben Cruachan.My map says 1100 feet (must be meters); the guidebooks say 3600+. Coming fromthe mountainous US southwest, I wasn't expecting it to look like much. But Iwas impressed! It's all basalt covered in greenery, with shreds of mist for acrown, and waterfalls for a necklace. Puffs embroidered on its finery werethousands of sheep and lambs.
The first ferry ride, webarely drove on, and the boat took off. It was a bit rainy at first, but soonit was just damp and cold. Didn't keep me off the decks!
The island of Mullwas 40 minutes off the mainland, and looked similar. This time, we had only asingle lane, and we had to pull over for oncoming cars. The sheep and lambswalked through downed fences and grazed or ruminated on the shoulder or even onthe road. We saw highland cattle, which look like a devolved, retrograde breed.They're a pretty red color, with horns, and their hair is all shaggy, withbangs on their foreheads. Really interesting! Yak-ish. At the end of Mull is abroken-off island with two volcanic humps, Iona.
As the legend goes, St.Columcille/Columba came to this wild place, maybe on a day like today, with 12disciples, to found a monastery. When the guys decided this was tooascetic, treeless and rocky, and suggested going home, the future saint toldthem to burn the ships. The conquistador Cortez in 1519 did the same thing, andI used to think: what a waste of good transport, and how cruel. But the StevenCurtis Chapman song analogizes it to the Christian experience: we've come toofar to turn back now, our goal is still in front of us, Satan may block ourpaths, but we still have a victorious leader, Jesus.

Saturday, June 30, 2001, Edinburgh
It was so sweet to sleep'til almost 9 a.m. The bus took us to the Adventist church in the Royal Mile,where our group took over the service. I played Brother James' Air foroffertory (it is Scottish!), and O Love that Wilt Not Let Me Gofor a piano solo. To precede the solo, I explained that the tune is called St.Margaret, and here we were a few blocks from St. Margaret's memorial chapel at Edinburgh Castle. I said I'd play to God's glory,and to my ancestress' memory. Kit, Robert, Donna, Nancy, Dorothy, and John alsocontributed heavily to the service. There was a three year-old girl there whowas so beautiful I could barely keep my eyes off her. She belonged to theorganist, Audrey. After the service, Audrey and granddaughter took me up to thebalcony to let me play the old pipe organ. The keys were stiff and uneven tothe touch, and the pedals seemed spaced slightly different than modern ones.The "presets" were three sets of levers you pushed with your foot,which unstopped certain voices. When Audrey played the prelude, though, it wasbeautiful, so she's found a way to overcome, maybe even exploit, the handicapsof the old instrument.
The church members serveda delicious lunch in their basement. The soup was pea and mint! I'm not sure ifI would choose that one again, but it was delicious for the once. I sat withsome Scottish ladies for lunch, and we chatted about their grown children andgrandchildren. At 2:30, we were taken back to our hotel, as our Scottish"sistern" and brethren waved from the front steps of the church.
In the afternoon, Iwalked all the way to, and on, the Royal Mile. I poked my head in the closesand listened to a piper. Tried to get into St. Giles' Cathedral, but it wasclosed. I had a pint milk carton to discard, but could find no trash, so Italked to a policeman. "Your city is really beautiful and clean, but Idon't understand how that's possible when there are no rubbish bins for blocksaround!" He smilingly responded that today was the Opening of Parliament, andthe Queen was coming tomorrow night… "Ah! No trash cans for securityreasons," I said, and he nodded.
I was at the entrance tothe Castle by about 5:30, but took a taxi back to the hotel because I wasmeeting Dorothy to taxi up to the bagpipe concert. However, she'd discoveredthere was no seating available, and we'd have to stand for a couple hours, soshe decided to miss the concert. Michelle and James, those youngwhippersnappers who had walked as much as I had and seemed just as exhausted,taxied with me instead.
The concert started at8:00, and we were there at 7 to get a good place. A security guard saw meleaning on my cane, and brought me his chair from the guard shack! So I got tosit, which was a blessing. (I'd never have made it back to the hotel later, otherwise.)We heard the rehearsals behind the castle walls, the pipes and the militaryband. Even though a bit muted by the thick stone walls and distance, it wasbeautiful. When they emerged from the gate and crossed the bridge, you'd getgoosebumps even if there wasn't an extremely frigid wind off the Firth ofForth/North Sea. (And there was.) What is it about bagpipes?
Instead of taking a taxiback, I strolled with Robert and Janet back down the mountain with its curvingcanyons of old buildings. We stopped for supper in a café. I hadbroccoli/asparagus soup. It tasted great, but it was pureed or strained, so nochunks. Then we continued our long walk back to the hotel.
After a long, hot footsoaking in the tub, bedtime.

Sunday, July 1, 2001, 11:30 a.m., Holy Island, Lindisfarne, England
What a bucolic spot. I'msitting on a grassy bank at the harbor. To my right are two boats, keels up,with double doors at this end. Either they're boat houses or sheds forequipment. Three fishermen just walked by, and in their Yorkshireor Northumbrian accents, said, "It was six feet long." The guyschuckled, and one said on a gust of wind, "Yeah, right, and 150 pounds forsure." Fish stories.
There's a blond retrieverrunning around with a big doggie smile, and he met up with two friendly beagleswho bayed happily at him and wagged tails all around. There are sheep in apasture behind me. They were grazing quietly, but suddenly started doing thebaa-thing and moving en masse. There are some pretty sea birds who spotted mylunch bag and are squawking angrily at me. One flies over, and you see anexpectancy of chips or bread crusts in his beady eyes. Sorry. I have crackers,but I'm not sharing!
We drove south from Edinburgh this morning, along the coast route, with the North Sea on our left. What pretty country. Fields withred poppies, barley, or grazing sheep. Hilltop farmsteads. I was sitting in thejumpseat, as I've often done on this trip, snapping pictures out the front andleft windows. We stopped at the Scotland/England border to take photos, but bythen it was too late to see if we'd passed over Hadrian's Wall, because it was behind us. I never saw a sign for it, somaybe it doesn't reach the North Sea coast.Saw the sign for Thirsk, James Herriot's headquarters, and expected to seesteep hills and deep valleys like the AllCreatures movie and TV show. However, it was just a gently rollinglandscape.
Later: Here in Lindisfarne, I bought a piece of fish (no chips) from a vendor in aroach coach. This guy could have been a Herriot character if he' been born 70years ago! I asked where he was from, and he answered mostly monosyllabically, Yorkshire. Had he always lived around here? Yes. Do youhave tartar sauce? No. Brown sauce. (Tasted like barbecue plus ranch.) Whatkind of fish is in the filet? (Cod? Perch? Whitefish?) He opened the freezerand brought out an 8 x 12" box. "This kind," he said, and returned itto the freezer. So, the UKversion of Gorton's or Mrs. Paul's. (Unless they drop a net and the boxes floatup from the deep.) Oh, well, it was crispy and delicious. Best I've had inyears. I took my paper plate of fish up the road to the little village,munching all the way.

Found the museum to lookat the Lindisfarne Gospels on a computer (because the real thing is in theBritish Library in London),but decided to buy the CD rather than take time to look at it on theircomputer. Walked on to the priory, and paid admission to the museum and ruins.The apse was a semi-circle in which St. Cuthbert was probably buried at one time.I sat for awhile in the chancel, built in a semi-circle, on a block of stone,enjoying the perfect day: not too hot or cold, fluffy cumulus clouds in a pureblue sky, birds fluttering between the arches of the crossing, and the sunspotlighting me from a gothic stone arch. A golden moment. I was sitting at theplace where the high altar had been for 700 years, and bare stone had been foranother 600 years since. Then I heard God speak to my heart: "Presentyourself as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God — this is yourspiritual act of worship." This moment was very powerful for me, there inthat quiet and holy place. God spoke. I was a living sacrifice on the stonealtar of a holy place.
The puffy clouds scuddedby peacefully, but it was nearly time to go. Back through the museum and giftshop, I found Lisa looking for gifts for Dorothy and John, in appreciation fromthe group. She'd picked out an assortment, and asked my opinion for the finaldecision. I thought John would like the Chi-Ro illumination because of theGreek letters that begin Christ's name. Dorothy had told me months before thather house, like mine, is all in blue and white, so I thought the blueCeltic-design plate would be a nice choice for her. Apparently, Dorothy andJohn had already been in this shop, and had salivated after the very thingsthat we decided upon, but we didn't know that until later!
When the bus got underwayat 2:30 p.m., the causeway was still wet, and the tidal flats still held a lotof water. We just got to the island in the nick of time this morning, and thenwe had three and a half hours to relax before we could leave. Time and tideswait for no one. How profound. Wish I'd made that up. I'd have been as famousas the guy who really did make it up. Born too late, I was. Oh, yeah, and in aland-locked desert city. So I doubt I would have thought of it anyway.

Durham and Yorkshire — About an hour or more down theroad, we hit Durham.The coach wasn't allowed in the medieval, twisty streets, and had to park atthe bottom of the very considerable hill. We started walking: up a hill, upstairs, up a small street, across a square, up a curvy street, up and up, andfinally, there was the gigantic cathedral. Just massive. We got a tour from asoft-spoken woman who showed us the tomb of St. Cuthbert, the nine chapels oraltars, took us into the chancel, and explained about the Caen limestone in the Neville Screen. HUH????
Neville, you say? I knewthe Lords Raby (Nevilles) were buried at important sites around Northumberlandand Yorkshire, and I remember there wereseveral Ralph Nevilles, Lord Raby. I told our docent/steward that I wasdescended from Nevilles and Percys and Ros, etc., and she got very interestedthat this American chick knew the ancient names and places. She's amedievalist, and lived in Alnwick Castle one summer, shesaid. That's a Percy place, and some are buried near there. (We'd passed theturnoff in our bus, and I only got a picture of the Alnwick sign.) The docentsaid that there were two Neville tombs in the cathedral, and then showed themto me while the rest of the group went with the guide. Photography isprohibited, and there were no postcards or guidebooks with pictures of thetombs. I asked if I could make a donation as I did at St. David's in Wales,but apparently, that too is out of the question. The docent whispered that shecould just disappear and I could snap the picture, and if the verger camearound, she could appear to scold me. So I got my shot and no one noticedanyway. Yea! I did buy postcards of the chancel and the Neville Screen, though.
We then hiked backdownhill, over cobbled streets. Those things kill my feet. I can see howthey'd be good traction in rain or snow, though. Janet and Robert had boughtMcDonald's ice cream sundaes for the whole busload. Really hit the spot. Howdid they haul 23 cups of ice cream all the way to the bus?

11 p.m., York, Yorkshire, England — Wow. Ancient city walls. York Minster. Funnystreets like Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate. Cobbles, bricks, stone buildings andsidewalks. Our hotel room looks right out at the north city wall. We had thegroup dinner tonight, and presented the gifts to Dorothy and John, who werethrilled with the choices. The hotel restaurant served this great soup, and Iasked if I could just have another serving of soup instead of the entrée. Theylooked at me strangely, but said okay. Crazy American, only eating thepotato/leek soup.
Even though sore andtired from all the walking already today, I convinced Michelle and James to gowalking into the old city, only a block away through the Monkbar Gate. We sawthe east face of the Minster, the largest medieval building in the UK,then we walked down a few streets looking for a convenience market. Nothing butpubs after 10 p.m. on a Sunday night. Finally found a roach coach with bottledspring water. Then we turned to come back, and we'd gone really far! Maybe amile each way. And we were tired to begin with. Now I ache. Probably willtomorrow, too. I just BET I'll find more graves or mentions. My families ruled York for hundreds ofyears.
All the blue blood in myveins is throbbing in my feet and knees and hips. Must soak and medicate!

Read on to Celtic Britain part 4.

Celtic Britain travel journal II

2011-07-30T12:19:00.000-07:00

Celtic BritainTRAVEL JOURNAL--part 2 (Wales and Ireland)

Friday, June 22, 2001, 10:40 p.m., Dublin, Ireland
It's still twilight, evenat this hour. We reached the hotel an hour ago, and I've been out to find anATM. I just insert my Bank of America debit card, input the PIN, and out comes£50 Irish money. Such a deal, and so much easier than money changers orordering currency at the bank at home.

Market cross, Welsh flag, St. David's in background

Today began with packingup, riding the bus across South Wales(Glamorgan), through rolling hills with bazillions of sheep and milk cattle.The hedgerows, which line every road, were very often tall enough to block mytaking photos. There would have been vistas in the soft haze, with gentle greenslopes dotted with sheep, hedgerows of shaggy blackberry vines and ferns, stonewalls with lobelia and foxglove growing from the gaps, and occasionally, as wecame close to the coast, half a horizon of deep blue Irish Sea. We dipped below the sea cliffs several times, and foundinlets with sailboats standing on their double keels in the mud — maybe 20-30of them. Perhaps with the new moon, the tide is exceptionally low. We drovewest from Newport, past Swansea,through Carmarthen (missed the castle), through Haverford West (wanted toinvestigate castle ruin, but no time), past St. Brides Bay to St.David's in Dyfdd.
St. David is the patronsaint of Wales.He was an apostle to my wild Welsh ancestors, and turned them from druidism toChristianity. We had an hour to hustle down a steep street, stairs, anothersteep path, and then into the cathedral. (About half the group took the wrongstreet, and ended up at St. Non's church, in honor of St. David's mother.Oops.) It was very interesting where I went! I read some churchyard andinterior grave stones. Every grave faces east, as does the chancel. Again, Iprayed at the high altar, as several (or many) ancestors must have done. Ifound the sarcophagus of Edmund Tudor (brother of Henry VII), who was a firstor second cousin to my ancestors. And I found the ossuary of St. David. I hadto hurry up the steep walk, the stairs, and the steep street to get back to themeeting point, but the coach wasn't back yet, so I had a cup of coffee withDolores in a shop. (This British coffee needs a lot of milk, I've found. Thetea is better.)

"Family butcher." YIKES!!

We headed northeast toFishguard, another Newport,through Cardigan, Abermeron, and Aberystwyth (after which a hymn is named). Itook a photo through the trees and bushes, of the church there. Must be somechurch or town, if they named the hymn after it. Somewhere around there, weentered Powys. It was pretty country already, but now we found more forest andgradually higher and more rugged volcanic mountains. It was, incredibly, a moreintense green. The forests thickened, and it was easy to image the Welshpatriots materializing to fight the conquering English, then melting back intothe forest. When we passed Machynlleth, we started up a glacial valley.
I could imagine my Welshpeople building those rock fences, carrying water, hunting deer, racing horsesby the river, singing and harping by the fire in winter, and tending sheep. Ifelt such a bond with these anonymous Welsh people from hundreds of years ago.It's not like I share any of their experience or their DNA after all thesegenerations of dilution. It's that, as I learn about their lives, who theywere, what they felt and how they reacted, I take in part of their spirit andthey grow and live inside me. It's a mysterious feeling, this Circle of Life. Idon't believe in Fate. I'm not pre-destined to believe or act in a way that myforebears did. But I choose, willfully, to be a hardworking, independent,educated, opinionated, free spirit who also (paradoxically) knows when conservatismmight be warranted.
This quick drive throughWales, even though we didn't have one minute to drive slowly past a place ofinterest (like standing stones at Portmeirion and Carnarvon, or even CarnarvonCastle), was still an epic journey. We were hurrying to catch our 6:30 p.m.Holyhead, Anglesey, ferry to Dun Laoghaire, Ireland.
We drove up in a lather,almost, at 6:20. We drove the bus right into the huge ship. It was a hydrofoilor catamaran, I think, and we did about 50 mph across the Irish Sea. Beautiful weather, with a warm, strong sun and chilly windoff the water. In less than two hours, we'd crossed the water and drove offinto the agriculture inspection. There has been a foot and mouth diseaseoutbreak in Britain and Europe, and we were walked across disinfectant mats andthe bus was sprayed around and under, with disinfectant (so now we really werein a lather!) at the Irish port. Our Dublinhotel room is downtown, and there are thousands of young people in the streetsthis Friday night, drinking and smoking.
I must sleep!!!!

Saturday, June 23, 2001, 5:30 p.m., Dublin
Well, no need to comeback here any time soon, unless they pass a smoking ban. Everyone smokes vile cigarettes, nonstop it seems. Thehotel corridors and lifts and especially the lobby by the ubiquitous bar — all just reek. My throat and eyes burn with it. Makes menauseous, too. Need to break out the inhaler. The streets are absolutely jammedwith young people. They're not carrying shopping, just walking and wandering. Idon't see the attraction of standing packed into a smoky bar (too jammed to getserved), not able to talk to your date because of the loud music. The foodsmells here are great, though.
We were bused to theDublin SDA church for study and worship. The pastor suggested I try the pianobefore the service, to get the feel. So I played a few lines of a hymn to warmup. The pianist came over and fussed with hymnals on top of the studio piano,and looked very cross that I was on HER piano bench. I hastened to get off the bench, andtold her, no, I wasn't playing for the hymns, I was just warming up. She satdown and played for song service, and once she put her foot down on the damperpedal, that foot never lifted for the next 10 minutes.
I'd say the church wouldfit 70. With our 22 people, they had to bring in seven extra chairs. I played BrotherJames' Air (The Twenty-third Psalm), and tour member Donna played herpsaltery, doing The Water is Wide. The pastor had to leave for his otherdistrict church, so a woman preached. Who knows on what: I was sofighting jet lag.
After church and changingclothes, I bought some food at a convenience market for lunch, then joined thegroup for a narrated tour of Dublinon our coach. We were set down at Trinity College to see the Bookof Kells on display. In an environmentally controlled case in a dark room, Isaw this 1200-year-old book of Gospels, drawn on vellum. I liked the humorinserted into the fanciful illuminations. The artists couldn't have known theirwork would be seen and admired and even revered after 1200 years! If I believedmy work would be worth that much so far down the line, how much more exactingwould be my labors! How much more care and thought would go into the planning!
As I exited the exhibit,my stomach was cramping, and I was overcome by more vile smoke coming in theopen door of the gift shop. I was sick in the gift shop store-room bathroom.Then after that, I had to walk 3-4 blocks through the crowds, past MollyMalone's cockles and mussels, before I could get back to my room and puff onthe albuterol.
11:30 p.m.: The noise inthe street below is increasing exponentially, as the people get more blotto.There's nothing but bar after pub after licensed establishment after nightclubout in Temple Bar, which is the district this hotel is in. After I got backfrom seeing the Book of Kells, I took a 45-minute nap, then went to the tourgroup dinner in a private room over a pub. The group told a bit of who theywere and how they came to be on the trip. After supper, tea was served. Kit andCherrie confused the paper packets in the serving dish, and instead usedpackets of salt and pepper in their tea. The waiters must have rolled on thefloor laughing. I walked around Temple Bar and over to the River Liffey, whereI stood for a while on the bridge to get some air before returning here. Nowthere's a British comedy show on TV: short takes of comedy sketches. Fasterpaced than Saturday Night Live, but still ensemble based.

Sunday, June 24, 2001, 11 p.m., Cork, Ireland
Ow. I'm sitting on thenarrow edge of the bathtub, soaking my feet in the hottest water I can bear.

Wicklow Mtns near Glendalough

Today was a good one. Weleft beautiful but stinky-smoky Dublin!A couple hours' drive south are the Wicklow Mountains. Really prettycountry. I could barely stay awake on the drive, but I'm forcing myself not tomiss a thing. (Some of the tour members are sleeping through the whole trip, itseems. They wake when the bus stops. But we're always in the bus!)
Our first stop was theGlendalough Abbey ruins, and the lakes where naked women tried to seduce St.Kevin. (He pushed one off his hermit's ledge, and she died from the fall ordrowned, I'm not sure.) The ruins of a very old scriptorium and church werevery pretty. I planned to visit the lower lake, but tripped on a stone in thepath, and fell. So instead I went back to the visitor center to wash up andbandage my palm. We had a group lunch at the Glendalough restaurant (somebizarre veggie medley, not good), and shopped for 10 minutes.
We then bused through theWicklow Gap (a glacial valley and mountain pass). After a lifetime of seeingpictures of ruins (abbeys, churches, monasteries, houses, castles, and keeps),it's almost not amazing to see so many of them for myself. Through thetrees, I glimpse a Norman square church tower, or gothic spires. Sometimes the900 year-old keep is attached to a 400 year-old house, or a house that was oncea crofter's shed is now a cottage or sheep shed. The longer buildings wereprobably a stable at one end and home at the other.
Our next stop was theRock of Cashel, a 13^th century abbey and castle, and one of St.Patrick's missionary sites. The weather is still gorgeous, and we climb aroundin the sun and wind. The views are incredible, and with the long, long days,the sun is still quite high at 6 p.m..
After two more hours ofdriving, we came to Cork,near the bottom of the island. We got our rooms (nice hotel — quiet, view ofquiet river, no smoky pubs in sight!), then most of us took off walking andexploring. Mind you, this was after 9 p.m. on a Sunday! Only one shop was open,a convenience store which had Internet terminals, £1 per 20 minutes. Janet andRobert and I checked all our e-mail accounts and answered several notes. Nexttime, I'll send messages to Brian, Jan J., Jan K., Nancy, etc.
Janet and Robert and Igot iced drinks at McDonalds and came back to get ready for tomorrow.

Monday, June 26, 2001, 10 p.m., Limerick, Ireland
I'm sitting in the hotelcourtyard (I think close to Shannon Airport), maybe threemiles from King John's Castle on the River Shannon. (Evil King John, who wasforced to sign the Magna Carta by his barons, some of whom are my ancestors,was also a forebear of mine.) We probably can't go see it, because it's notCeltic (it's English/Norman), and it would really screw up our packeditinerary. We always seem to hit the hotels after 8 p.m., long after the townshops close at 6, and we leave town again at 9 a.m., before the places open! Iasked Dr. Jones if we might visit the castle first thing tomorrow, and he saidhe'd ask around for consensus. So maybe.

Today was anothergorgeous day. We left Cork at 9 and went 8 kmsto Blarney Castle. I skipped the 120 steps andhanging upside down to kiss a dirty rock (yes, the famous Blarney Stone), andwent with most others to shop at the factory outlet. Got gifts for Dad andSusanne, a teal wool ruana for me, had my photo taken by Christy's Pub, and then we bused across the south of Irelandto the Dingle Peninsula.
We saw bogs, lakes, lotsof sheep and cattle (no goats, hmmm…), stone fences, Norman and gothic churches both ruined andrestored. I noticed some stone outbuildings had ancient shapes still evident incross section, then they were altered to have added height or different roofline.Across the valleys, we could see the remains of round towers or the skeletonsof castles. Everywhere are stone fences, running around irregularly shapedpastures or hayfields, lining the roads, running up hillsides, shoring up steepplaces. I asked if the rocks were quarried, or just gathered and stacked afterbeing left by glaciers. The answer is the latter. So our Celtic ancestorscarted rocks around, cleared fields, built fences and walls, in addition toevery other survival skill and leisure arts. We made a restroom stop at Inch Beach,a pretty bay. The women’s restroom was out of TP entirely. Catalino had tosteal a roll of tissue from the men's room to help out the desperate women whowould otherwise have had to wait 'til the next stop.
We lunched at Dingle, afishing village/tourist trap. Actually, it was really pretty, and I had theopportunity to run up the hill to the first supermarket I've seen in thiscountry. I bought spring water, crackers and milk, and film.
After lunch, we found astone beehive hut, the Gallarus Oratory, from 1400 years ago. We swarmed aroundand took photos and heard about monastic life and the copying of manuscripts.Penny took a picture of me "pulling" out a stone from the dry masonryfoundation. Sort of like pulling the bottom can of soup on the shelf. Me? TheUgly Tourist?
Back on the bus, I had topresent my paper on Celtic-era musical instruments, reading into the microphoneas we bumped along. I skipped over whole portions of the paper, and no oneprotested, so maybe they were all asleep. Then I unloaded the copies I'dbrought, for their notebook collection. Dr. Comm said she thought "thegods would smile kindly" on me when it's time for a grade.
Then we drove and droveand drove, and came to Limerick, as I said, about8:00. We drove past the castle and I snapped one or two through the window.Some of us went next door to the restaurant for dinner. I just had a hotchocolate, and a slice of rye bread. I tried to write this entry in the hotelcourtyard, but 15 people came out to be sociable, so I put it away 'til now.

Tuesday, June 27, 2001, Navan, Ireland (50 miles northwest of Dublin)
It was drizzling andovercast this morning when we went down to breakfast. It's really nice, evenso. Although we couldn't take time for the castle tour, we at least stopped atKing John's castle for some pix. I shared some stories about Bad King John withsome of our tour members.

Clonfert

Our first visit was toClonfert Cathedral, a rather small stone church in the countryside near theRiver Shannon. It's a Protestant Church of Ireland site, and I doubt it getsmuch business, since 90% of the Republic of Ireland is Catholic.(I'm sure there are a few atheists and Hindus and Muslims, evangelicals, andthe odd Adventist, among the 10%.) Anyway, the tiny Romanesque church entry isprobably from around 1000 years ago to judge by the barrel arches, but1200-1400 years ago to judge by the carvings. Little disembodied heads of stonedecorated the round arch. That's actually a holdover from the pagan Celts decoratingtheir camps or forts with enemies' heads. The power of the slain warrior istransferred to the victor with the taking of the head. Inside the church, wefound birds flying around, a locked pipe organ (very, very old), stonecarvings, and Celtic symbolism, as well as modern benches for worshipers, andbig electric space heaters stored in the back. The church is associated withSt. Brendan the Navigator (he may have visited Iceland,Greenland, and Canada),and it's believed he's buried there. At the chancel entrance is carved amermaid holding a Gospel book in her hand. The bishop's chair had a carvedpanel of Brendan with seaweed and fishes. I was impressed that at some time,the church was rebuilt bigger and higher, but retained the original Celtic art.
I've seen barns andhouses built up that way. I've also seen city walls melt into castle walls,with bricked-up window or door arches. I could visualize a window in a row ofwindows, with lean-to buildings or sheds behind the stone wall, as probablyshop counters on market day.

Clonmacnoise Abbey

Anyway, next stop wasClonmacnoise Abbey, with Celtic high crosses and ruined churches, and hundredsof tomb stones. It was a very impressive sight on a hill above River Shannon.The Whispering Arch was interesting, and the clusters of stone churches, ruinedfor centuries, were pretty. Our docent/guide was very entertaining, and had thebest Irish accent I've heard so far. (Whatever that means, I'm sure she'd say.However, I think she'd be perfect for a Maeve Binchy novel.) The drizzle hadstopped, but the chilly wind whipped around. Still no complaints on theweather. It's what makes Irelandthe Emerald Isle, and its lack thereof is what makes the desert southwest sobrown and scorched this time of year.
Well, back on the bus weclimbed for another couple hours. We passed more cattle than sheep, quite a fewNorman churches, maybe five or seven castle keeps, and some unidentifiable butromantic stone remains. One was a couple of walls, a tower broken in half thevertical way, and vines softened all the edges. Sheep grazed right in thebailey. At one River Shannon crossing, I saw a low, fat, round castle keep in the"front yard" of a modern house. SUVs were parked next to the keep.
Our final destination wasthe visitor center for Newgrange Barrow, a Neolithic barrow built long beforethe pyramids, out on a high hill by the River Boyne. Apparently, you have tohave reservations a couple years in advance, for a group, and we were too latein the day to be able to hike around the barrow. But at the interpretationcenter, we viewed an A/V presentation, and went into a hallway with cast stonereplicated from the real barrow, which is on the hill across the Boyne, about a mile away. The rocks inside were big slabsof stone laid in a spiraling corbel, dry masonry method, at the end of a longpassage of even more upright slabs. Then rocks and gravel and finally earthwere heaped over it. White quartz rock from the Wicklow Mountains,maybe 60-70 miles south as the crow flies, was hauled to face the sides of thishuge monument. Since Neolithic people couldn't do a lot of flying, theyor their beasts of burden had to drag the rocks over hill and dale, aroundlakes and bogs, and through rivers and streams. If I was a Neolithic woman, I'dfeel compelled to tell my death-obsessed priest, "Sorry. I don't do rocks.This religion needs to get a life!" And then he'd probably sacrifice me atthe front door of the barrow. Still better than hauling rocks, I say.
Now we're back at thehotel in Navan, having had dinner.

Wednesday, June 28,2001
We left Navan for nearbyKells (as in Book Of), which was a monastic town where St. Columba/Columcillelived. We went through the interpretive center, seeing a video and a very nicemuseum. All the exhibits were replicas, but we couldn't tell the difference,anyway.

We bused north to Newly,and over the Mourne Mountain range into Northern Ireland. There was nocheckpoint on our side, but the Garda (Republic of Irelandpolice) had one on the southbound side. They must be pickier about who getsinto the Republic than the Northern Ireland folks are. There's been violence in Belfast the last week,after a long time of relative ease. Gasoline bombs had been thrown at police.
We didn't go straightthere: we went to Downpatrick, which was a really good choice. They had abeautifully designed multimedia presentation at the visitors' center. Patrick, ifone believes what is written by him (I do) and about him (well, some), was anapostle to the Irish. He seemed to have a real understanding of God's grace.The video, as good as an IMAX, showed aerial shots of the places Patrickministered. On the way out, I bought an incredibly beautiful stained glassgoblet with Celtic designs for £37, about $54 US. It would be $200 at a U.S.studio, I'm sure. They'll ship it to me.
Then we drove north a bitmore to Belfast.It was just a busy, late-afternoon day like any other. We saw a Sinn Feinoffice and political poster, but no demonstrations. Just uniformed boys inshort pants, walking home from school.
Our driver Charlie foundthe docks, and before they allowed our bus to drive onto the ferry, a securityofficer boarded and looked at each of us, and glanced over our suitcases in thehold of the bus. He didn't smile or act friendly, and I'm sure we all lookedfairly solemn, as well. We treated it as a security point at an airport. Wedrove onto the ferry, and all of us went up to the passenger deck. It wasinteresting that Ireland andScotland are so close at theBelfast-Stranraer beeline, that you can see both countries from the middle ofthe Irish Sea.

Be sure to read on to Celtic Britain Travel Journal Part 3 (Scotland, north England)

Celtic Britain travel journal I

2011-07-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

Celtic BritainTRAVEL JOURNAL--part 1

Monday, June 18,2001 —3:30 p.m., Los Angeles
Just settled onto the AirNew Zealand 747 for the 11+ hour flight to Heathrow. Far from getting a CelticBritain preview, a video is playing of sub-tropical New Zealand (thatched Maori houses,tree ferns, placid lagoons at sunset. Well, well — there's Uluru, Ayars Rock.They go to Oz, too.)
So we're on a plane fromthe Antipodes, bound for the"Podes?"
9:50 p.m. LA time — We'vepassed over Newfoundland and are closing in onthe southern tip of Greenland. For hours,we've been traveling with the — well, I thought it was sunset — to ourleft. But the sun just rose out of the "sunset." The video map showsthat we've passed Godthab, Greenland.I'm on a center section aisle seat, so all I see is sky, not land or sea. It'sthe time of summer solstice, and I believe we're a few degrees south of the Arctic Circle.

Tuesday, June 19,2001, 3:00a.m. LA time, 11 a.m. Greenwich time, LONDON!!!
We're off the plane, andon a bus/coach at Heathrow, waiting for the entire party to rendezvous. LaSierra zombies, all. I did verify with the coach driver that it's now Tuesdaythe 19^th. Gives new meaning to the hymn, "No More Night."

"Ah!" I saidwhen I stepped off the 747 threshold. "I'm returning to the land myancestors left nearly 400 years ago. Breathe deeply of the air!" Far frombeing a Londonpea soup fog, or the bracing salt air of an island, I choked on a lung full ofdiesel and jet fumes.
The coach driver neededMY map to find today's stops. Uh-oh. That's not a good sign. My map is 15 yearsold, but is well marked for all the places I want to see someday. Or on thistrip.
The tree-lined motorway,gently rolling hills, farm buildings, townhouse developments — hmmm… I suspectwe flew around the perimeter of the U.S.,and have been put down in Maryland or Virginia. Just drovepast a brewery delivery truck. Driver could have been Evil Twin of Lance Tyler.Must tell him in next e-mail.
We drove through forestsof pine, hay fields, and green sheep paddocks. (Not for green sheep, thepaddocks are green.) We saw small Quonset huts all over a field, and uponcloser inspection, we found hogs on every doorstep!
All of a sudden, on abroad hill, there was Stonehenge! (I paid£3.50 for admission.) The weather was perfect: breezy, cool, and the cloudswere breaking up. We only had 20 minutes at this place of wonder, so I rushedaround the path. Stonehenge is an awesomemonument, but based on the (probably doctored) photos, it looked a bit squat inperson. Still incredible. I wish we'd had a couple of hours there.
Bus took off for Salisbury immediately. Wesaw many barrows on the hills surrounding Stonehenge,and I was looking for other earthworks. I watched hilltops for evidence ofdigging, which would indicate a hill fort. We drove into the narrow medievalstreets of Salisbury.Still two-way vehicle traffic. We were given 90 minutes to see the cathedralclose and get lunch. I spent 85 minutes there, looking at every effigy andmemorial. (William Longespee/Longsword's effigy adorns the center aisle of the nave.) The carved stone everywhere was amazing, and I appreciate it so muchmore for having read Edward Rutherford's Sarum. I stopped in the TrinityChapel (top of the chancel) and prayed for a few minutes. Many of my Angevinand Plantagenet royal ancestors did the same, I'm sure, though with varieddegrees of devotion.
Then we went to OldSarum, which is an immense hill fort. The ditch and steep bank were dug out andbuilt up by people living here a thousand years before Abraham. What was thisgeneration of monument builders, who built the pyramids of the Middle East and Central America, who dug ramparts of earth, moved sarsenstones scores and hundreds of miles — all with stone, wood, and boneimplements?

This sense of historywith every footstep and every glance at the countryside, just makes me feel sotiny and humble. No griping about jet lag or burning feet. (Yet.) These peoplecouldn't take an ibuprofen after placing a lintel over a Stonehenge pillar, orsit in a jacuzzi after digging and building (with hands) a hill which wouldtake most of a year for earthmovers and engineers to get accomplished. How didthe Old Ones know to carve a knob on top of the pillar, to securely notch thelintel to the gateway? Who were these visionaries and engineers and slave driversthe ones buried in the barrows? No, I suspect the barrow tombs were only for royalty or priests.
It was at least atwo-hour bus ride from Devon north to Avon, but at last (though I could nothelp dozing for five minutes at a time after 40 hours with no sleep), I saw apass in the rolling downs, which would be the south bank of the Severn Valley.We crossed a very long and modern toll bridge, over a muddy "river"that was really a sound or bay, and arrived in Cymru, the Land of the People.My people! My Celtic ancestors moved here when Jerusalem was rebuilt after its Babyloniancaptivity. Our hotel is the NewportHilton. We had a group supper, where Dr. John Jones, one of our two directors,dryly said that after the meal, we should check out the south Wales night clubs. I'm sureeveryone did the same as I: showered for the first time in 40 hours, and sleptfor the first time in about 44-48 hours. (Don't count the nodding on the bus: Iwas forcing myself to stay at least semi-conscious so as not to miss a thing.Many of the tour mates gave up the fight, however!)
I slept for 6 hours andam now awake at 4 a.m. I'm sleepy enough to get another couple hours in beforebreakfast, though.

Wednesday, June 20,2001, 3p.m., Newport,Wales

We started the morningwith a buffet breakfast. Then we bused to Glastonburyto see the abbey and cathedral ruins. The weather was perfect: 70, breezy,sunny. I prayed at the grassy place where the high altar would have been, nearthe end of the nave, before the chancel. I stood in the same place as my royalancestors had done.
As we drove out of Glastonbury, we could seethe Tor and its tower on a nearby hill. Some of our group climbed it while therest visited the Abbey. A few miles later, I noticed a hill-fort. They havebanks or terraces to give them an irregular profile. I've noticed 5 or 6 ofthem so far.
I keep noticing square Norman towers every fewmiles. Sometimes there's a church, but not always, if the church burned or felldown. The towers seem to last, though.

Longleat House: this isthe 16^th century manor house of the Marquess of Bath. Grounds byCapability Brown: very natural meadows and lake. But Capability would freak atthe asphalt car and bus park, and the safari rides, gift shop, and ice creamshops. On the house tour, we saw huge paintings and beautiful furniture,although the gigantic windows were all shaded or shuttered so as not to fade ordamage the art treasures. The docents let me take a lift upstairs when they sawmy cane, and kept asking if I was all right. I was halfway down the grandstaircase on my way out, when I heart a docent ask if anyone wanted to play thegrand piano. Suddenly, stairs held no terror for me, and I shot up the steps,offering, "I'll play." I did an improv of "The Water isWide." (Yes, same as I sang in the glow-worm cave at Waitomo, New Zealand.)The ice cream shop had banana and Rolo flavors, so I had an exotic cone forlunch. Penny Shell and I sat on a shaded bench and ate our cones while I rubbedmy sore foot. Then we were off to Bath.
I've wanted to see Bath since I first heardof it as a child. Roman mosaics. Magical hot springs. We were let out of our coach by the Avon River,and while others decided what to see first, or who would group with others, Iwas out the door, down the street, and paying for a guided city tour! I was theonly one on the double-deck bus, so the tour guide just told it all to me. Bath has narrow, curvingstreets lined with Edwardian-era tan limestone tenements. I don't mean thatthey were a slum. Just every one alike. Thousands, all alike! I went first tothe abbey church, and read a few memorial carvings in the floor. The carvingsall face east, same as Salisbury,so I believe it's so that at the Resurrection, the bodies will all come upfacing Jesus? The organist was practicing, and it still sounded great.
Found the Adventistchurch, literally in the shadow of the abbey church. About as small as agarage. Left my LSU business card in the letter slot, for the pastor to find atprayer meeting that evening.
Then I went to the RomanBath and museum. It was very interesting and lived up to all but one dream: tosoak my aching feet or dangle them in a hot spring pool. The archaeologicalsociety could have a spa concession, like 50p or £1 to let you unshoe, and rollup your pants legs, and dunk! Walking up and down stairs, and across stoneblocks, and concrete — aieeeee, my feet.
Searched desperately fora sandwich shop for supper, since I'd only had the cone for lunch. They roll upthe sidewalks at 6, though, and it was 6:15 when I was needing sustenance and atall drink. Finally found a tuna salad to go, after hobbling back and forth onthe cobblestones, and then I made it back to the coach for the 90-minute tripback to the hotel.
It's 9:35 p.m. here in Wales,and the sun is just now setting and it's getting chilly out here in the hotelcourtyard. There's a fountain splashing, and the birds are singing. Maybe I'llgo in and soak my feet in a hot bath: the porcelain tub and tap water. Tomorrowis New Moon and summer solstice, here in neo-druid headquarters. There'ssupposed to be a world-wide voluntary "rolling blackout" to make people awareof and encourage participation in energy conservation. Jay Leno will do hisshow in candlelight tomorrow night.

Thursday, June 21,2001, 7p.m., Cornwall
We're rolling across themoors of Devon and Cornwall.The sun is still high in the western sky, with two and a half hours ofbenevolent smiles left in this longest day of the year. Back in my hometown of Phoenix, there's no reasonto celebrate the long, blasting hot day, when the earth is closest to the sun andtilted toward Old Sol at the same time. And who thought up Midsummer's Eve,when there are still three-plus months of hellish heat to go? Dang! But here inBritain,I can at last understand reveling in the perfect day. There are sheep andcattle on every hillside, either grazing, ruminating, or shamelessly stretchedout for a snooze. Clear sky, green grass, fields of red poppies, the occasionalpuffy cloud…. Very nice.

We left Newport,Wales,and took small, narrow lanes to get to Cerne Abbas in Dorsetshire to see theChalk Giant. (I think our driver would have got there 45-60 minutes earlier ifhe knew where he's going, and drove faster. We are the slowest vehicle on theroad.) The Giant is a warrior with a 120-foot-long war club, and (let's not gothere for the length!) an erect penis, cavorting on a hillside in Dorset. He could be Celtic and Iron Age, orHercules/Helios ca 275 AD, or an 18^th century invention.
We poked our way throughthe rural valleys and across moors. Dorset and Devon were part of the kingdom of Wessex, where Alfred the Great (myancestor) ruled. I read aloud parts of a chapter on Alfred and his Welsh(Celtic) teacher. After more sheep, more cattle, a drive through the southerntown of Bridgport,we headed northwest past (oh, yes) more sheep, cattle, and moors. Not onesingle part was ugly or blighted—it was all beautiful. I suggested we stop fora cream tea, since this place has a world-famous reputation for clotted cream,so we started looking for a tea room. We stopped at Camelford Bridge,the site of King Arthur's last battle, where he was killed by Mordred. Wewalked 300 yards (seemed a lot farther, though) down a gravel path to thefamous bridge, and then had Cornish cream tea at the little tea room. Two smallscones, clotted cream, jam, and a pot of tea. Very nice.

About 7 miles more, andwe were in Tintagel, a clifftop village. The castle there, actually built byReginald, illegitimate son of Henry I, is supposedly Arthur's birthplace,although why anyone would be born on a cliff 600 years before the castle wasbuilt, is beyond me! The existing ruins are on a wild crag of coastline. I paida pound to ride a Land Rover down to the base of the castle stairs, but therewas no way I was traipsing up or down hundreds of steps. I stayed by the littlestream/waterfall above the cove, with its booming surf, and took some picturesof Kit and Penny and various seabirds. Just before our time was up, I bought abeef pasty, a world-famous Cornish specialty. I even influenced several othersto try pasties. We boarded the bus for the three-hour trip back to Newport. We pasty-eaterssampled the huge pies after 9:30, and everyone really liked them.

See Celtic Britain Travel Journal Part 2 in this blog. (Coming up: Ireland)

Celtic Britain--my first tour of the UK

2011-07-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

I wrote this article in July 2001, upon my return from a university tour of England, Wales, Ireland, Northern Ireland, and Scotland. This was the first of four (so far) extended trips to the UK. A joint effort of the English and religion departments, the tour members prepared research papers beforehand, and presented them to the "class" during extended coach trips. This article was published in La Sierra Today magazine in December 2001. There was also a travel journal, which I'll publish to this blog separately.

The Celtic cross, with its circle behind the cross beams, symbolizes the eternity of God.

May those who love us, love us,

And those who don't love us,

May God turn their hearts;

And if He doesn't turn their hearts

May he turn their ankles

So we'll know them by their limping.

(old Celtic blessing)

I admit, I limped. A lot. But I have a note from my doctor, so don’t tattle to my pastor. (Besides, she’s seen me with my walking stick.) There were times I felt like roadkill, after a long day of pounding the cobblestones or dragging up six flights of un-air-conditioned stairs to get to the Celtic Britain display in the British Museum. The castles or cathedrals we visited were always at the hill’s crown (for defensive purposes), often surrounded by an ancient stone wall (and we had to leave the bus at the bottom of the mount). But no one did it to me: it was my choice. And my clothes are much looser after all that exercise, so who’s complaining?

The trip was a class for some, and business for several others. So I probably shouldn’t mention that it was fun. The IRS or the academic vice president might take exception to our claims.

The Celtic Britain tour group visited a church in Dublin, Ireland.

The Celtic Britain 2001 tour, June 18 to July 3, was offered for academic credit in both religion and English departments. Students researched and wrote papers before the trip, and presented them from the jump seat at the front of the coach. Non-academic tour members were educated right along with the students. There were twenty-two tour members, including directors Dorothy Minchin Comm, PhD, professor of English, and John Jones, PhD, professor and dean of the School of Religion.

We were an eclectic bunch: retired medical missionaries, university grad students, the two directors of the LSU Women’s Resource Center, elementary school teachers, nurses, an actor, musicians, history buffs. Seasoned travelers and first-timers. One had hardly been out of her small town, and was terrified of her first trip on a ferry across the Irish Sea. Soon she was savoring the sea air, something like Funny Girl singing, "Don’t rain on my parade," thanks to the helpful and encouraging attitude of her new friends. Some of us stayed grouped together in twos or threes, others ran out the door alone.

Kit Watts and Penny Shell enjoyed the summer solstice at Tintagel, Cornwall.

We visited places we’d read about all our lives, from books or magazines on history, art, culture, and religion. Stonehenge was our first stop, and the thirteenth-century Salisbury Cathedral was our second. The architecture of cathedrals, castles, and Neolithic hillforts were equally stunning. We went to sites as diverse as southeastern England, Cornwall, Wales, Republic of Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland, and back into central England. In Wales, we found a stone circle in a traffic roundabout.

Our mission was to walk in the footsteps of the Celtic saints, David of Wales, Bridget, Patrick, Ciaran, Columcille/Columba, Brendan the Navigator, Cuthbert, and many others. Those footsteps included the monasteries at Clonfert and Clonmacnoise, Glastonbury, Iona and Lindisfarne, Downpatrick, and Glendalough, as well as the tiny 1600 year-old drymasonry oratory of Gallarus. The saints, of course, have many miraculous and (frankly too-fabulous) legendary feats attributed to them. In fact, they were pioneer missionaries to the pagan Celtic and Saxon settlers in the British Isles. They fearlessly risked their lives to preach the Gospel to some very wild, sometimes savage pagans!

1600-year-old Gallarus Oratory, Dingle, Ireland.

We saw the original Book of Kells (illuminated Gospels) in Dublin, and a Magna Carta in Salisbury. We walked through stone cells where the Gospels were laboriously copied and illuminated with fanciful animals and Celtic Christian symbols. What would be the quality of our work, if we thought that it would be scrutinized and appreciated 1200 years from now? La Sierra Today in a climate-controlled Plexiglass box, with hundreds of pilgrims lined up daily to pay their £4 admission ticket? I wish!

We found the tiny Adventist church, literally in the shadow of the large Bath Abbey. We worshiped with fellow believers in churches in Dublin and Edinburgh. Members of the tour took parts of the services there, giving prayer or special music, and even the sermon. We had devotions on the coach, rolling across the green, sheep-dotted moors of Cornwall, past the Norman keeps and church towers of Wales, and the medieval city walls of Ireland. I committed myself to silently praying before the altar of every church or cathedral or abbey that we visited.

"Wear British Wool: 40 Million Sheep Can't Be Wrong," said a bumper sticker. Island of Iona, off the west coast of Scotland.

Chi-Ro carpet page from Book of Kells

Those were the high points of my experience, really. It’s hard to choose which place was more beautiful or perfect than the last. The 1500 year-old Clonfert cathedral was tiny and dark, with birds flying in the rafters above, and electric space heaters stored in the vestry. Glastonbury was immense, but roofed in blue sky and carpeted in grass. My ancestors prayed and took Communion 840 years ago, in that place, when it stood in all its glory. St. Margaret’s Chapel, a tiny barrel-vaulted chapel on the rock at Edinburgh Castle, was dedicated to Queen Margaret by her son and my ancestor, David I of Scotland. Two generations of my Neville ancestors were interred at Durham Cathedral, the largest medieval building in Britain. I took Communion at Westminster Abbey, where other ancestors were crowned or buried; and at St. Paul’s, a monument to God’s glory. Holy places, all, for more than a millennium. Hard to fathom, when you’re native to the American Southwest, really only habitable since the advent of air conditioning.

But my favorite place was the tiny, tidal island of Lindisfarne, off the North Yorkshire coast. The coach drove across the causeway scant minutes before the tide stranded us on the island for more than three hours. The rest of the group were scattered around the castle, town, and museum, and I was alone in the priory church. Again, it was green grass below and blue sky above. The afternoon sun shone through glassless windows, as I sat to rest on a low stone wall at the center of the chancel, and thanked God for bringing me to this sacred place. In my spirit, I heard, "Present yourself as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God. This is your spiritual act of worship." I knew it was God speaking, but why here, and why that text from Romans? I realized I was sitting at the very place where the stone altar had been placed in 600 AD. How many opportunities does one have in a lifetime, to be sacrificed on a stone altar? Thanks be to God, we are living sacrifices!

The trip was a religious experience for all of us, at some points. Who could not be impressed by the dedication of the pioneer missionaries and saints? Who could not hear God in the organ of a colossal cathedral or the peace of an ancient churchyard on Iona? Who could fail to see His handiwork in a brilliant rainbow shining over a Scottish loch? Who could miss the symbolism of a white dove perched on the stone arch of a ruined abbey?

But one could not ignore the anticipatory shiver as the bagpipers marched through the gates at Edinburgh Castle, the thrill of the chill wind and stray rain drops in your hair as you coasted on a rented bike down a hillside, or the growling stomach when it was overdue for that Cornish pasty you promised it three hours ago. Answering your email from an Internet café in Cork, Ireland, has a certain boast built in ("I’m in Ireland, and you’re not"), even if you try to sound humble!

You could find your own joys and shivers and introspective moments, even plenty of Kodak moments, on other trips offered by La Sierra University. This year [2001], the University sponsored trips to South America, South Africa, the Mediterranean, the Holy Land. Modern Languages sent students to Paris and Central America. In 2002, LSU President Lawrence T. Geraty, director of the Madaba Plains Project, will lead an archaeological dig in Jordan. (I’m planning on that one!) And there will be others, as well. How about China and Asia? You’ll learn as much from your own and fellow students’ experiences as you do from the professors who are expert in their fields.

Glendalough, Republic of Ireland

The trips are not cheap, but neither are the memories. My scrapbook weighs 20 pounds! And if you start saving and sacrificing now for next year, you could do it. Sure, on the trip you’ll have to wear the same few outfits over and over, drench them with Febreze fabric deodorizer, and wash them in the hotel bathtub. You’ll try new and sometimes bizarre dishes in restaurants. You’ll be crammed into a jet plane, and wish vainly that your bus could stop and let you have a still picture for once, instead of madly dashing to meet the ferry. You could ride a real bike, not the stationary kind. Your bags will be sniffed by dogs and maybe even some stern-looking security agents. You will put significant mileage on those athletic shoes, so put gel inserts in them. Take your ATM card to draw foreign currency there. Be sure to take your walking stick, no matter where you go or how fit you are. After I walked two miles to arrive at all those stairs at Clifford’s Tower in York, my knees were jelly, and I still had miles to go that day!

I’m afraid those modern Britons knew me by my limping, but it wasn’t my unloving attitude. (It was my 1982 accident.) This was a journey I’ve wanted to make since I was a teenager, and that was several dog-years ago. I can hardly wait for Jordan in July 2002. Maybe Israel or St. Paul’s journeys the year after. There are still blank pages in my passport, and I can buy new tips for my walking stick!

Here are the four sections of the Celtic Britain travel journal:

http://rootingforancestors.blogspot.com/2011/07/celtic-britain-travel-journal-i.html

http://rootingforancestors.blogspot.com/2011/07/celtic-britain-travel-journal-ii.html

http://rootingforancestors.blogspot.com/2011/07/celtic-britain-travel-journal-part-iii.html

http://rootingforancestors.blogspot.com/2011/07/celtic-britain-travel-journal-part-iv.html

Pirates in your face! Helen Hollick guest post

2011-07-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

Helen Hollick, author

I am honored to present to my readers a guest article by historical fiction author Helen Hollick. She’s a prolific writer in the history/historical fiction genre I enjoy most, and I’ve come to enjoy her acquaintance with Facebook and email exchanges. I have her Harold the King/I Am the Chosen King book on Kindle for PC and am fascinated by her portrayal of that ancestor.

Hollick’s Sea Witch Voyages series of books is being republished by SilverWood Books, and I was excited to discover another tie to my (and your, if you found Spotswood in a search) ancestors. She’s written pirate novels that features our pirate-stalking ancestor, Governor Alexander Spotswood of Virginia, as one of her characters. I’ll let Helen explain from here. See my further note at the end of her article and discover an opportunity to win a book from Helen.

Bring It Close: pirates in your face!

by Helen Hollick

Hello. I’m probably more well known in the US for my serious historical fiction novels – The Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy, Forever Queen, and I am the Chosen King (titled A Hollow Crown and Harold the King here in the UK). Indeed I was most thrilled a few weeks ago to discover that Forever Queen had made it into the USA Today Bestseller list.

I also write a series of historical adventure fantasy – the Sea Witch Voyages. I describe these as a typical sailor’s yarn, a blend of Sharpe, Hornblower, James Bond and Indiana Jones – with a dash of Jack Sparrow!

They are meant as light-hearted entertainment (fun for me to write and for readers to enjoy). I suppose they are more supernatural than fantasy, for although the female lead, Tiola Oldstaff (pronounced Te-ola Oldstaff) is a white witch, I think of her Craft more as the Force in Star Wars, not Harry Potter wizardry. My main character, Captain Jesamiah Acorne, is a charmer of a rogue. Handsome, brave, bold, quick to laugh, formidable when angry; one for the ladies – a pirate! In the first three Voyages – Sea Witch, Pirate Code and Bring It Close, he finds himself in all sorts of scrapes, from almost being killed by his jealous half brother, to spying on the Spanish and having a desperate run-in with Edward Teach – Blackbeard himself. Trouble follows Jesamiah like a ship’s wake! I’m writing a fourth in the series, Ripples in the Sand.

Lt Col Alexander Spotswood

It was very interesting hearing from Christy – and being invited onto this Blog - because she is a ninth-generation direct descendent of Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Spotswood, who was Governor of Virginia from 1710-1722.

The Governor’s father, Dr. Robert Spotswood, was surgeon to the British military post in Tangiers, Morocco; his grandfather, Sir Robert Spotswood, a Privy Councillor to King Charles I, was executed by Cromwell’s Parliamentarians during the English Civil War. Governor Spotswood’s great-grandfather John Spottiswoode was the Archbishop of Scotland and Chancellor to King Charles I, and is buried in Westminster Abbey. [See Westminster Abbey’s page on John Spottiswoode: http://www.westminster-abbey.org/our-history/people/john-spottiswood.] Alexander Spotswood not only had his own illustrious lineage, but his wife’s goes back to Norman and Scottish royalty and nobility.

Spotsylvania County, Virginia, is named after the Governor (“sylvan” being Latin for “wood”), and anyone who has visited Colonial Williamsburg will know that he was responsible for the building of the stunning Governor’s Palace.

Alexander Spotswood was an exciting and adventurous person by the sound of it: leading an expedition to the Blue Ridge Mountains (the first Colonials to travel so far inland) negotiating peace with the Iroquois Indians, and introducing a standard consistency for the quality of exported tobacco – which led to Virginia tobacco being the best in the world.

As far as my novels are concerned, Governor Spotswood was also responsible for the capture and execution of Edward Teach – the notorious pirate, Blackbeard.

Pirates were a menace to the entire Caribbean, Carolina and Virginia. Around 1715-1722, there were probably several thousand pirates lurking in the Atlantic and Caribbean, intent on taking a Prize (or two, or three, or four…) A ‘Prize’ was literally anything of value that the pirates could easily lay their hands on and sell for a profit, or use for themselves. Normally it was the cargo they were after – tobacco, rum, molasses, timber – gold and silver of course. They were not especially good sailors, and took poor care of their ships – why bother with the hard work of keeping a vessel “ship-shape” when it was far easier to capture another and take that instead?

Few pirates actually had piles of treasure packed into chests – and sadly there seems to be no evidence that they actually buried it! Most pirates made straight for the nearest port, Nassau, Tortuga, Port Royal, and spent their ill-gotten gains on rum and women.

Blackbeard was a particular menace, a thoroughly nasty piece of work. He blockaded Charleston Harbour and held the Governor’s young son to ransom until he got what he wanted. Gold? Jewels? No – medical supplies, particularly very expensive mercury.

Blackbeard's head posted: Photo: http://shoutaboutcarolina.com/index.php/2010/08/most-famous-pirates-ships-legends-historic-photos/

Why mercury? Well it was thought of as a cure for a disease that pirates (indeed most sailors) were riddled with: syphilis. Blackbeard was probably suffering from this sexually transmitted disease – all the more awful, then, to learn that later that year (1718) he decided to “settle down” in North Carolina at Bath Town and marry the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Only his idea of ‘settling’ was to outwardly make it seem that he was an honest man, while secretly plundering every merchant ship that hailed within site of the Ocracoke and Pamlico River, claiming the cargo for himself and splitting the profits with the Governor of North Carolina. And the girl he married, Mary Ormond? She was his fourteenth wife, was sixteen years of age, and on their wedding night he forced her to prostitute herself with his crew. Gang rape, we would call it now.

Colonial Williamsburg capitol

Williamsburg gaol

Blackbeard being a menace to the Chesapeake and threatening the stability of the Virginia Tobacco Trade, Governor Spotswood decided to put an end to the foul Edward Teach. Technically, he was outside his jurisdiction, for North Carolina was not his domain, but he hired the use of two Royal Navy sloops and under the command of Lt. Maynard, sent them off to finish Blackbeard once and for all. We know the outcome of the desperate fight in the shallows of the Ocracoke because Maynard kept a meticulous logbook – and the records of the trials of the captured crew remain in Williamsburg to this day. Blackbeard was killed in the fight – although it took a lot to finish him off, while the captured crew were tried in the Capitol Building Court Room in Williamsburg and hanged.

So what has all this to do with my books?

Well, Bring It Close, the Third Voyage centres around those historical facts. Arrested for piracy after an indiscretion with an old flame, Jesamiah is held prisoner in Williamsburg’s gaol. After his trial he is coerced into helping Spotswood make an end of Blackbeard – which suits Jesamiah because he, too, is keen to be rid of the man, who has threatened to kill him. Another worry – Jesamiah’s beloved Tiola is in Bath Town, where Blackbeard resides.

Governor's Palace by Alexander Spotswood

I have visited Williamsburg twice to research the facts behind the story – every bit of each scene set there is accurate, well apart from the involvement of Jesamiah! I investigated the gaol, the court room, the palace – and the route Jesamiah was taken on from Gaol to Palace.

By entwining the real facts of history with an imaginary story of Jesamiah’s adventures – and blending in the supernatural storyline of the ghost of Jesamiah’s father and Tiola’s knowledge that Blackbeard has sold his soul to the devil, the result is, I hope, a cracking good adventure story.

And who is to say that it was not Jesamiah who planned that attack on Blackbeard? You will not find his name in Maynard’s logbook, but then, Jesamiah made it quite plain that he did not want to be mentioned…

That’s why I love writing this sort of fiction – who knows what is true, and what isn’t?

You are welcome to visit my website, join me on Facebook, or come aboard the Sea Witch page .

___________________

Thank you so much, Helen. What fun to discover details about what made our ancestors tick—and what made them ticked-off (could it be, um, pirates??). I hope our blog readers will take this opportunity to discover your books and enjoy the adventures of fiction—and the real-life people who went before us. To find and purchase Helen Hollick’s books or e-books, visit her website, www.helenhollick.net.

Now, about that book giveaway contest: Helen is running a competition for fans of her Sea Witch Facebook page to win a copy of one of her books (all new “likes” welcome), but I have been told where this particular treasure trove of the competition page is located! If you decide to enter, Good Luck! Here it is: http://helen-myguests.blogspot.com/p/competition-page.html.

Please note the expiration date of the contest, though this article will stay up far longer.

Tomb effigies

2011-07-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

King John's tomb effigy in Worcester Cathedral, England, with Christy in 2004

Church Monuments

by George Herbert, minister and poet, 1593-1633

While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust

Visceral tomb of Eleanor of Castile, Lincoln Cathedral

My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at jet and marble put for signs,

Euphemia de Clavering, 1269-1329, mother of Sir Ralph Neville II (1291-1367)

To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent, that when thou shalt grow fat

Tomb chest of Yaroslav the Wise (978-1054), Prince of Novgorod and Kiev, in St. Sophia Cathedral at Kiev, Ukraine

And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,

That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.

Floor brass of John Foljambe, Lord of Tideswell and Wormhill, d. 4 August, 1358, Cathedral of St. John in the Peaks, Derby

Effigy of Richard "Strongbow" de Clare (1130-1176), Dublin, Ireland

The Little Ice Age, 1300-1800

2011-06-15T22:46:00.000-07:00


The Fur Cloak, by Rubens, about 1636-1639.

Is history repeating itself? (Again?) Is there global cooling in our future? Scientists are predicting a period of less solar activity. See Associated Press article following.

Our ancestors survived conditions with considerably less resources than we have available. There was no central heating in their homes and shops, of course, and fuel (peat, coal, and wood) was just as expensive, or more so, as the fuels we consume today. Most people just couldn’t afford the luxury of warmth in winter. They didn’t change clothes or bathe much, especially in cold weather when they’d have to haul and heat water. They shared beds near a kitchen hearth, too. We who need our personal space would never survive that lifestyle!

This is just my observation from studying genealogy, not backed up with statistics, but it looks like family size burgeoned during the global temperature dip of the 16^th and 17^th centuries: maybe the long, freezing nights were not all that boring! Certainly, a number of family members of William and Mary Barrett Dyer had birthdays in September through December. So what really happened during the deep freezes back in January, February, and March?

The Little Ice Age, from about 1317-1800, began with catastrophic floods, crop failure, and domestic animal deaths (which brought on economic depression), harsh winters—and starvation. Epidemics raged unchecked, and millions died in the bubonic plague outbreak in 1348-1350. Because so many laborers (peasants tied to the land, who owed service to their landlords) died, cathedral and castle building ground to a halt for years.

The extended Bartholomew family of Burley, early 1600s,

with their seven surviving children.

Two sons emigrated to colonial Massachusetts.

The family are not among my ancestors.

Of course our ancestors knew nothing about it, but they experienced the effects of a plunge in sunspot activity in the 1600s, which corresponded with the coldest years of the Little Ice Age. Specifically during Mary Dyer’s lifetime, 1611-1660, there was the time of famines, waves of bubonic plague across Europe, the Thirty Years War, the Great Migration to America, the English Civil War, and the explosion of African slave trade to the Americas and Europe.

Iceland’s ports were ice-bound by miles for several years, and trade and passenger shipping from Europe was forced far south to avoid sea ice. Boston Harbor (sea water) froze over for two to three miles out, hard enough to walk on, for two weeks at a time.

Journal of Governor John Winthrop—January 1638: “About thirty persons of Boston going out in a fair day to Spectacle Island to cut wood, (the town being in great want thereof,) the next night the wind rose so high at N.E. with snow, and after at N.W. for two days, and then it froze so hard, as the bay was all frozen up, save a little channel. In this twelve of them gate to the Governor’s Garden [an island], and seven more were carried in the ice in a small skiff out at Broad Sound, and kept among Brewster’s Rocks, without food or fire, two days, and then the wind forbearing, they gate to Pullin Point, to a little house there of Mr. Aspenwall’s. Three of them got home the next day over the ice, but their hands and feet frozen. Some lost their fingers and toes, and one died. The rest went from Spectacle Island to the main, but two of them fell into the ice, yet recovered again. In this extremity of weather, a small pinnace was cast away upon Long Island [in Boston Harbor] by Natascott, but the men were saved and came home upon the ice.”

The Little Ice Age “peaked” in Mary Barrett Dyer’s lifetime—the coldest years in many centuries were those she spent in colonial America. This graph shows the severity of winters in Europe and North America from 1000-2000 AD. The absolute coldest period, 1600-1675, coincides with William and Mary Dyer’s life spans.

More on the Dyers:
Mary Dyer and freedom of conscience: http://bit.ly/kuTf4K
Article on Mary Dyer’s individualism against orthodoxy and the established church: http://bit.ly/ivWJbO
For a timeline on William and Mary Dyer’s life together, see my post here.
To learn more about the Dyers’ life, join her Facebook friends.

The Dyers lived in Boston from 1635 to the spring of 1638, then co-founded Portsmouth, Rhode Island, about 60 miles away. One year later, they co-founded the city of Newport, Rhode Island, where they developed a large farm and the seaport.

When Mary Dyer was making a winter trip back to America after several years in England, her ship diverted to Barbados because of severe storms. From a letter written in Barbados on Feb 25, 1657: “A ship came in hither, which was going to New England, but the storms were so violent that they were forced to come hither, [until] the winter there was nearly over. In this ship were two Friends, Anne Burden of Bristol, and one Mary Dyer from London; both lived in New England formerly, and were members cast out of their [Puritan] churches. Mary goes to her husband who lives upon Rhode Island...”

A NASA website says, “During the coldest part of the Little Ice Age, from 1645 to 1715, there is believed to have been a decrease in the total energy output from the Sun, as indicated by little or no sunspot activity. Known as the Maunder Minimum, astronomers of the time observed only about 50 sunspots for a 30-year period as opposed to a more typical 40-50,000 spots. The Sun normally shows signs of variability, such as its eleven-year sunspot cycle. Within that time, it goes from a minimum to a maximum period of activity represented by a peak in sunspots and flare activity.”

More from NASA: “Between the mid-1600s and the early 1700s the Earth’s surface temperatures in the Northern Hemisphere appear to have been at or near their lowest values of the last millennium. European winter temperatures over that time period were reduced by 1.8 to 2.7 degrees Fahrenheit (1-1.5 Celsius). This cool down is evident through derived temperature readings from tree rings and ice cores, and in historical temperature records, as gathered by the University of Massachusetts-Amherst and the University of Virginia.”

http://media2.abc15.com//photo/2011/06/15/sun_20110615082730_320_240.JPG

A Solar and Heliospheric Observatory image shows Region 486 that unleashed a record flare (lower left) November 18, 2003 on the sun. The spot itself cannot yet be seen but large, hot, gas-filled loops above this region are visible.
Photographer: Getty Images.

Goodnight sun: Scientists predict sunspots might disappear for years

By: Associated Press

Update as of June 15, 2011

WASHINGTON - The sun is heading into an unusual and extended hibernation, scientists predict. Around 2020, sunspots may disappear for years, maybe decades.

But scientists say it is nothing to worry about. Solar storm activity has little to do with life-giving light and warmth from the sun. The effects from a calmer sun are mostly good.

There’d be fewer disruptions of satellites and power systems. And it might mean a little less increase in global warming. It’s happened before, but not for a couple centuries.

“The solar cycle is maybe going into hiatus, sort of like a summertime TV show,” said National Solar Observatory associate director Frank Hill, the lead author of a scientific presentation at a solar physics conference in New Mexico.

Scientists don’t know why the sun is going quiet. But all the signs are there. Hill and colleagues based their prediction on three changes in the sun spotted by scientific teams: Weakening sunspots, fewer streams spewing from the poles of the sun’s corona and a disappearing solar jet stream.

Those three cues show, “there’s a good possibility that the sun could be going into some sort of state from which it takes a long time to recover,” said Richard Altrock, an astrophysicist at the Air Force Research Laboratory and study co-author.

The prediction is specifically aimed at the solar cycle starting in 2020. Experts say the sun has already been unusually quiet for about four years with few sunspots -- higher magnetic areas that appear as dark spots.

The enormous magnetic field of the sun dictates the solar cycle, which includes sunspots, solar wind and ejection of fast-moving particles that sometimes hit Earth. Every 22 years, the sun’s magnetic field switches north and south, creating an 11-year sunspot cycle. At peak times, like 2001, there are sunspots every day and more frequent solar flares and storms that could disrupt satellites.

Earlier this month, David Hathaway, NASA’s top solar storm scientist, predicted that the current cycle, which started around 2009, will be the weakest in a century. Hathaway is not part of Tuesday’s [June 14, 2011] prediction.

Altrock also thinks the current cycle won’t have much solar activity. He tracks streamers from the solar corona, the sun’s outer atmosphere seen during eclipses. The streamers normally get busy around the sun’s poles a few years before peak solar storm activity. That “rush to the poles” would have happened by now, but it hasn’t and there’s no sign of it yet. That also means the cycle after that is uncertain, he said.

Matt Penn of the National Solar Observatory, another study co-author, said sunspot magnetic fields have been steadily decreasing in strength since 1998. If they continue on the current pace, their magnetic fields will be too weak to become spots as of 2022 or so, he said.

Jet streams on the sun’s surface and below are also early indicators of solar storm activity, and they haven’t formed yet for the 2020 cycle. That indicates that there will be little or delayed activity in that cycle, said Hill, who tracks jet streams.

“People shouldn’t be scared of this,” said David McComas, a scientist at the Southwest Research Institute in San Antonio, who wasn’t part of the team. “This is about the magnetic field and the ionized gas coming out of the sun. It’s a reduction in that, not the light and the heat.”

So sunspot reduction is to blame?

There are questions about what this means for Earth’s climate. Three times in the past the regular 11-year solar cycle has gone on an extended vacation -- at the same time as cool periods on Earth.

OK, maybe not

Skeptics of man-made global warming from the burning of fossil fuels have often pointed to solar radiation as a possible cause of a warming Earth, but they are in the minority among scientists. The Earth has warmed as solar activity has decreased.

Andrew Weaver, a climate scientist at the University of Victoria, said there could be small temperature effects, but they are far weaker than the strength of man-made global warming from carbon dioxide and methane. He noted that in 2010, when solar activity was mostly absent, Earth tied for its hottest year in more than a century of record-keeping.

Hill and colleagues wouldn’t discuss the effects of a quiet sun on temperature or global warming.

“If our predictions are true, we’ll have a wonderful experiment that will determine whether the sun has any effect on global warming,” Hill said.

Mary Dyer and freedom of conscience

2011-06-01T23:58:00.000-07:00

“It is not the glorious battlements, the painted windows, the crouching gargoyles that support a building, but the stones that lie unseen in or upon the earth. It is often those who are despised and trampled on that bear up the weight of a whole nation.” ~John Owen, English Puritan minister, 1616–1683.

June 1, 1660 was a landmark date in American history. Its relation to civil rights guaranteed by the US Constitution's Bill of Rights should be noted, specifically the 1st Amendment regarding freedom of religion (to worship or not, as your own conscience dictates), and freedom of speech and assembly.

Mary Barrett Dyer, hanged in Boston on June 1, 1660, was martyred for liberty of conscience that Americans enjoy under the Constitution's Bill of Rights. Other countries have modeled their constitutions and rights on those of the United States, so these liberties have become global.

In 2010, on the 350th anniversary of Mary Dyer’s martyrdom, there was no mention of her in newspapers or online. No events in Boston, Rhode Island, or Washington, DC. No political or religious movements made mention of the sacrifice of the only female religious martyr in America.

Torture and persecution

In the late 1650s, Quakers had been persecuted for their nonconformism by having their tongues bored with a hot awl; men and women were stripped bare to the waist and flogged with up to 30 strokes of the thrice-knotted lash, to add more injury to each stroke; they had their ears either nailed to a post, or sliced off altogether; without a trial, they were thrown in earthen-floored jail cells, sometimes for months, with no candle or heat in New England’s harsh winters; prisoners were beaten several times a week. Even non-Quakers whose consciences were pricked by this harsh treatment were jailed, whipped, heavily fined, and disfranchised (lost their civil rights and vote) for harboring or sympathizing publicly with Quakers.

Contrary to popular opinion in genealogy sites, Mary Barrett Dyer wasn't hanged “for the crime of being a Quaker.” It wasn’t a crime to be a Quaker! However, they didn’t attend Puritan worship or teaching services or pay required tithes, didn’t keep the Sabbath holy, and criticized the government leaders for their cruelty. Mary Dyer provoked her own trials and execution for what we'd call civil disobedience, by repeatedly defying the totalitarian Puritan regime headed by Massachusetts Governor John Endecott. The Massachusetts Bay founders believed that religious error or dissent from their dogma was treasonable.

Endecott, a religious zealot, had a checkered past, leaving an illegitimate son in England before he emigrated to Salem, Massachusetts in 1629; treasonably cutting the “idolatrous” cross from the British flag; a Massachusetts committee reported in 1634 “that they apprehend [Endecott] had offended therein many ways, in rashness, uncharitableness, indiscretion and exceeding the limits of his calling;” acting in ways that endangered the patent that was their title to land in New England; creating a mint in Boston that made unauthorized—and therefore counterfeit—coins with a 1652 imprint for 30 years (so if the English government confiscated the minting, Boston could claim the coins were all from 1652 when they had little oversight during the English political upheaval); and punishing his indentured servant girl with 32 lash-stripes and public humiliation for fornication, bearing a child out of wedlock, and insistently naming his son as the predatory father (which, of course, would make John Endecott the father of a rapist and grandfather of a lowly servant’s bastard—can’t have that!).

The colony and later state of Rhode Island was founded by Roger Williams in the 1630s as a haven for freedom of conscience, and that’s where Mary and her husband and children made their home after being ejected from Massachusetts in 1637 over a religious matter prosecuted by the church state. Mary studied Quaker beliefs in England for several years, and returned to Boston only to be thrown into jail for 10 weeks with no notice to her husband in nearby Rhode Island.

Though Mary could have lived out her life in safety, she believed she was called by God to try the bloody religious laws of Connecticut and Massachusetts, and she boldly entered their territory to both preach, and support her Friends in the faith by visiting them in prison.

Prepared to die

Her letters written from Boston prison to Governor Endecott, her actions, and her statements at trial demonstrate to us that she willingly sacrificed her life to stop the torture and persecution of people who were obeying the voice of God in their hearts. She wrote, “Be not found Fighters against God, but let my Counsel and Request be accepted with you, To repeal all such Laws, that the Truth and Servants of the Lord, may have free Passage among you and you be kept from shedding innocent Blood…My life is not accepted, neither availeth me, in Comparison of the Lives and Liberty of the Truth and Servants of the Living God… yet nevertheless, with wicked Hands have you put two of them to Death, which makes me to feel, that the Mercies of the Wicked is Cruelty. I rather choose to die than to live, as from you, as Guilty of their innocent Blood… Therefore I leave these Lines with you, appealing to the faithful and true Witness of God, which is One in all Consciences, before whom we must all appear; with whom I shall eternally rest, in Everlasting Joy and Peace, whether you will hear or forebear: With him is my Reward, with whom to live is my Joy, and to die is my Gain.”

Knowing that there was a death sentence hanging over her, she deliberately avoided her husband who would have stopped her, and returned to Boston, where she was arrested and jailed. She was convicted and condemned on May 31, 1660, and was hanged the next day, on June 1.

The shock over Mary Dyer’s death crossed the Atlantic immediately, and King Charles II put an end to the New England death penalty for religious practice, requiring that capital cases be tried in England. Public outrage in New England over Mary’s death actually consolidated sympathy for Quakers, Baptists, Jews, and others who refused to conform to Puritanism. Even some of the New England Puritans demonstrated their opposition to the harsh treatment of people of conscience, and suffered imprisonment, banishment, confiscation of property, and heavy fines. A number of those who’d suffered persecution converted to the Quaker faith. Gradually, the torture and persecution slowed.

William Dyer’s name appears on the 1663 royal charter granting rights of freedom of religion to Rhode Island colony. He and several others had worked closely with Dr. John Clarke of Newport, the architect of the document, to preserve the separation of church and state, and promote the freedom of conscience. One hundred thirty years later, the concept became concrete in the US Constitution's Bill of Rights, Amendment I.

Article on Mary Dyer’s individualism against orthodoxy and the established church: http://rootingforancestors.blogspot.com/#ixzz1O67URZcQ

For a timeline on William and Mary Dyer's life together, see my post here.

To learn more about the Dyers' life, join her Facebook friends.

Memorial to military ancestors

2011-05-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

Considering that practically every medieval male ancestor of name was a knight, baron, earl, prince, or king, it was inevitable that they'd be military-minded. Below are a few representatives of hundreds of warrior ancestors!

Also, I've included a few more-recent pictures of direct ancestors. Their captions explain their names and roles in making history.

Andrew Anson, 1913-1999, my maternal grandfather. US Navy, WW II, Pacific theater.

Leonard Robinson, 1886-1975, paternal grandfather, US Army, WW I in France.

George Washington Stewart Anson, maternal great-great-grandfather, 1830-1891, Union Army, United States Civil War.

Colonel Augustine Moore, Sr., 7x grandfather, ~1685-1743. Born Yorkshire, died Chelsea Plantation, Virginia.

My 9x-grandfather, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Spottswood, 1676-1740, royally-appointed Governor of Virginia 1710-1722. Spotsylvania County is named after this man. He commissioned the capture and execution of Blackbeard the Pirate, Edward Teach. His father, Dr. Robert Spottswood, was the surgeon to the British military post in Tangiers; his grandfather Sir Robert Spottswood, a royalist, was executed by Parliamentarians after his capture at the Battle of Philipaugh in England's Civil War; and his great-grandfather John Spottiswoode was the Archbishop of Scotland.

Photo by Christy K. Robinson

Catherine Mortimer, Countess, and her husband Thomas Beauchamp, 1314-1369, 3rd Earl of Warwick, Knight of the Garter. Thomas died at Calais of either typhoid fever, or from being poisoned by Humphrey de Bohun VII (not my ancestor--probably an uncle or cousin).

Photo by Christy K. Robinson

William Longespee "Longsword," 1176-1226. Earl of Salisbury, illegitimate son of Henry II, Duke of Anjou and Normandy, and King of England, and Ida de Tosny (mistress of Henry II, later wife of Roger Bigod, 2nd Earl of Norfolk). William Longespee's ancestor through great-grandmother Sybil de Chaworth and his father King Henry II, was William I "Longespee" of Normandy, 2nd Duke of Normandy, ~900-942. William's tomb is at Salisbury Cathedral in the center aisle of the nave.

Photo by Christy K. Robinson

Humphrey de Bohun (VIII of that name), Earl of Hereford and Essex, 1276-1322. "[The 4th Earl of] Hereford led the fight on the bridge [Boroughbridge], but he and his men were caught in the arrow fire. Then one of de Harclay's pikemen, concealed beneath the bridge, thrust upwards between the planks and skewered the Earl of Hereford through the anus, twisting the head of the iron pike into his intestines. His dying screams turned the advance into a panic."

Humphrey de Bohun's effigy (and probably remains) are at Exeter Cathedral in the South Choir aisle.

Photo by Christy K. Robinson

Margaret Peverel and husband Robert de Ferrers, 2nd Earl of Derby, 1100~1159. He founded Merevale Abbey in Warwickshire during the civil war between Empress Matilda and King Stephen. The effigies are in the gatehouse chapel of that abbey.

John Marshal's iron anvil, a guest post by Elizabeth Chadwick

2011-04-17T16:44:00.000-07:00

Today, my blog has been elevated from blogosphere to stratosphere by the literary contribution of one of my absolutely-favorite authors, Elizabeth Chadwick. She supplied several of the photos, too. The bold and highlighted names in the article are those of my ancestors—and probably yours, or you wouldn’t have found this article in a search!

John FitzGilbert Marshal is 32 generations removed from me. The Marshal clan married to the families of, and were “in-laws” of de Clare, Llewellyn Prince of Wales, John King of England, Quincy, Bigod, Tosny, Ferrers, de Braose, de Bohun, Salisbury, Gloucester, FitzWalter, Mortimer, de Lacy, Percy, Neville—to name a few. Take us back to the twelfth century, please, Elizabeth!

John FitzGilbert Marshal's iron anvil

Guest author Elizabeth Chadwick

Guest post by Elizabeth Chadwick

Many thanks to Christy for inviting me along to talk on her blog.

I want to tell you about a mediaeval nobleman called John Marshal. His fourth son, William, is justly famous among medievalists and those in the know, for being the greatest knight of the Middle Ages and with a reputation that still resonates today.

John Marshal’s reputation has considerably less burnish than his illustrious son’s and has suffered at the hands of modern novelists and due to a mindset among modern readers that frequently does not allow for the rules and realities of life in the difficult mid-12th century. To understand John Marshal, his deeds, dilemmas, and decisions, one needs to view him through the lens of that period, and only then does the living, breathing man emerge with energetic clarity.

Professor David Crouch, historian and senior authority on the Marshals in the academic community, says of John Marshal:

“John Marshal was a formidable model for his son: astute, politically powerful, and easy companion in the Royal Chambers, and a called warrior in the field… He was no coarse bandit and played the great game of politics with talent and perception… John Marshal was a definitive man of standing in his son's eyes.”

John FitzGilbert Marshal was probably born in the southwest of England, most likely Wiltshire or Berkshire around the year 1105. His father was a Marshal at the court of King Henry I and we know his name was Gilbert Giffard. The appellation is a fairly common Norman one, meaning ‘chubby cheeks.’ John's younger brother William, entered holy orders and had the living of the church of Cheddar in Somerset. He went on to become chancellor to the Empress Matilda. If there were other siblings they have not come down to us in history. We also don't know the name of John Marshal's mother, although some genealogy sites suggest that she was a de Venoix and perhaps called Heloise. Venoix is very close to Caen in the Calvados region of Normandy where many of William the Conqueror's followers came from. There was also a royal marshal called Robert de Venoix, so it can be speculated that the families by association of work, formed a closer bond through marriage. I must stress that John’s maternal parentage is open to debate and not hard fact.

Gilbert the Marshal had estates provided for him to live off what he performed his duties at court. These included Tidworth in Wiltshire and Nettlecome in Somerset. The family had estates in Devon and possessed seven and a half knights’ fees for scattered estates held for various landlords including the Dean of Glastonbury. Hamstead, now Hampstead Marshall in Berkshire, was also probably a holding. There is a 13th-century mention of the marshal’s right to Hamstead and the Grange at Speen for services of the Marshal’s Rod. Speen lies just outside Newbury on an area of strategically valuable high land overlooking the modern town.

The Marshal family were of minor nobility but ambitious to change that. There were middle-ranking royal civil servants on the make. The Marshal’s duties were numerous, and since John followed his father into the position, he must have learned the ropes from an early age. The word Marshal comes from Marescallus, meaning ‘Horse Slave,’ and at one time they had been stable hands under the control of the Constable's department. Although the office rose from these humble beginnings, the marshal’s work was much concerned with horses and transport and keeping order. The marshals had their own department at court and there were several of them although with a Master Marshal in charge of all. This was a somewhat fluid position when John was growing up and there was a certain amount of jockeying for position within the ranks.

The marshal’s duties included seeing that the stables were properly run and supplied and providing harness and mounts for those in need of them. The job also involved dealing with the kennels and the mews. It was the marshal’s task to provide carts for transport when the court was on the move. He had to find lodging for the household and keep order at the court. As a symbol of the latter office, he carried the Marshal’s Rod – a kind of ceremonial stick or mace and still in evidence today with the title of ‘Black Rod’ and said mace being held by the officer in charge of the ushers of the Houses of Parliament. In the 12th century, the Marshal had to ensure that the ‘verge’ was observed. A verge was a personal space between the king and any supplicant. Take a step too far and the Marshal’s rod would make sure you knew you had transgressed! The Marshal was in charge of the ushers who saw to it that only desirables got in to see the king. They were the club bouncers of their day so to speak. We know that two of John’s ushers were called Gilbert Bonhomme and Ralf. Another aspect of the job was dealing with the ‘ladies of the night’ who serviced the court. The Marshal had to keep the working girls in line and regulate their activities. There were fines for unruly behaviour, and one suspects that this was an area where backhanders and insider dealing frequently went on.

The Marshal also had to sit at the exchequer. It was his task to take responsibility for anyone who couldn’t pay their debts, and his department maintained the debtor’s prison. Being in there would cost a sheriff or a bailiff half a mark for every night they were in custody. On top of this he kept the tallies of all the wages owed to the King’s troops when in the field and saw that they were paid, for which he was entitled to a portion of that wage bill. Perks of the job included being entitled to every black and white horse taken on a battle campaign! Each time a noble’s son was knighted at court, the marshal was entitled to a payment of a palfrey or a saddle. The Master Marshal’s daily wage was two shillings and he was entitled to bread, wine and candles whilst working at court. There were also ‘backhander’ perks from barons higher up the food chain who thought that a bit of glad-handing in the form of grants of land was useful in order to keep the king’s marshal sweet.

When John was in his mid-twenties, he and his father had to fight for their right to be the Master Marshals of the court. Two of the other Marshals, Robert de Venoix and William de Hastings were claiming the post, but John and his father were successful in their petition, which probably took the form of a trial by combat. John’s father died around 1129 or 1130 and John inherited his position at court, although he had to pay 40 marks for the privilege. This included the office of ‘avener’ or provider of provender. To inherit his lands, he had to pay the death duty of £22 13s and 4d. Some time over the next few years, he married an heiress of modest worth with lands adjoining his own Wiltshire and Berkshire interests. She was called Aline Pipard and her main estate was at Clyffe Pypard in Wiltshire, not so far from John's own territories. It was a good solid match, although not a spectacular one.


Ludgershall Castle, a holding of John Marshal's. Photo courtesy of E. Chadwick.

Aline bore John two sons – Walter and Gilbert. In 1135 King Henry I died and the country was thrown into turmoil as two claimants jostled for the crown – Henry’s daughter Matilda, and her cousin, Stephen. Initially, John swore fealty to Stephen and was granted the castles of Ludgershall and the town and castle of Marlborough in Wiltshire in reward. Stephen’s generosity gave John a strong power base and made him formidable in the Kennet Valley and northeast Wiltshire.

In 1139, the Empress Matilda came to England and made her bid to take the crown from Stephen. For whatever reason, Stephen suspected John Marshal of duplicity and besieged him at Marlborough. My personal opinion is that John had fallen foul of the factions at court who thought he had been receiving too many favours, and felt that he should be put in his place. He had no strong affinities at Stephen’s court and a man isolated was a man who could be picked off and brought down. I think John jumped before he was pushed (off the mortal coil). Speculation aside, what is known is that John swore for the Empress and adhered to her cause for the rest of the Civil War. His brother William joined her entourage as her chancellor and remained with her until at least 1151. Unfortunately for John, the Empress’s attempt to regain the throne was not plain sailing and to cut a long story short, she lost her advantage and while besieging the Bishop of Winchester at his palace of Wolvesely, she was almost captured. John was a few miles out of Winchester, dealing with a supply problem, when he heard that the troops of William D’Ypres, a Flemish mercenary in the pay of Stephen’s queen, were coming down the Andover road straight for him. If D’Ypres managed to break through, John knew that Winchester would be encircled and the Empress captured. John made his stand at Wherwell where there was a ford over the river Teste beside a Benedictine nunnery that had been founded by an Anglo Saxon queen in the late 10th century.

River Teste at Wherwell. Photo courtesy of E. Chadwick.

John fought for as long as he could, but with D’Ypres’ numbers too great to withstand, he retreated into the nunnery and barricaded himself in. D’Ypres knew he couldn’t leave a man like John Marshal to create mayhem in his rear, so he ordered the nunnery to be burned along with the men inside it. There was mayhem and chaos. Some of the troops fled the burning church only to meet their end on the edges of the mercenary’s swords. John barricaded himself in the tower with another knight and refused to come out. When his companion feared for their lives and wanted to surrender, John told him that he would kill him with his own hands if he mentioned that word again. They stayed put, but John paid the price when molten lead from the church roof landed on his face and burned out his eye. Once D’Ypres’ force had moved on, John staggered from the church with his companion, and the two of them made their way to safety. This must have been something of a feat because that safety was 25 miles away at Marlborough; they were on foot, and John had suffered a terrible facial injury.

Nevertheless, they made it and once recovered, John set out to recoup and regroup. Modern novelists and readers studying this detail sometimes dismiss John’s actions as those of a lunatic adrenaline junkie, but I don't believe that is the case at all. Like a commander in World War II ordered to hold a particular bridge against the enemy in dire circumstances, he did so. He did his duty; he did what he had to do despite the terrible odds against him, and that to me is a man who knows what his word of honour is worth and what doing your duty really means.

Model of Sarum/Salisbury in the 12th century.

John’s most powerful neighbour in the region was Walter of Salisbury, hereditary sheriff of Salisbury (nowadays called Old Sarum). Walter himself came from a paternal Anglo Saxon line that had survived the Norman Conquest. When Walter died, his son William succeeded him, but died not long after the battle of Wilton in 1143. The second son, Patrick, became lord of Salisbury and he supported Stephen. Looking to curtail his forceful neighbour in the Kennet valley, Patrick took up arms against John. John ably defended himself, although he had fewer resources than Patrick, and even if often on the back foot, it was never defeat. Eventually Robert Earl of Gloucester, the Empress’s brother and chief general, stepped between the men. He offered Patrick an earldom if he would come over to the Empress and he suggested that John divorce his wife and marry Patrick’s sister to make peace between them. The men agreed and sometime between 1144 and 1145, John Marshal annulled his marriage to Aline and took Sybilla FitzWalter to wife. Aline was remarried to Gloucester’s uncle, a widower called Philip de Gay or de Gai. On the surface, John’s action may seem harsh, but again, that’s to judge him by the standards of our day, not the 12th century. By doing what he did, he turned a ‘you will lose’ situation into a ‘you might win’ one and stabilised life for himself and his dependents. Aline was not disparaged by her remarriage, and his sons retained their inheritance.

John and Sybilla swiftly began a second family. It is perhaps telling that he only had two sons by his first wife in the course of fifteen years and six (and perhaps seven) offspring with Sybilla over the same period. The first was born within a year of the marriage and christened John for his father. The second, destined for fame and legend was William, born in either 1146 or 1147. We know for certain there were two daughters, Sybilla and Marguerite, and two more sons, Ancel and Henry. Henry went on to become bishop of Exeter and was probably born after Henry II had gained the throne. Ancel became a household knight in the service of his cousin, Rotrou, Count of Perche. Around the time that John married Sybilla, Sybilla’s sister Hawise married Robert de Dreux, brother of Louis VII of France [first husband of Eleanor of Aquitaine], thus making a distant connection between the Marshals and French royalty.

In England, the fighting continued and the Empress’s position grew more desperate as her adherents either gave up or died. She lost her stalwart supporter Miles of Gloucester when he was accidentally shot by one of his own men whilst out hunting. Her half-brother Robert of Gloucester died, and her close friend and supporter Brian FitzCount retired to a monastery. The Empress herself departed England in 1148 and did not return, but her son Henry was waiting in the wings and growing up fast.

For John Marshal the period covered by the late 1140’s up to 1153 was a continuing dark time when he was involved in a war of slow grinding attrition. His lands were burned and ravaged by Eustace, the son of King Stephen and the best that John could manage was to grit his teeth and endure – which he did. He was known as a man of great cunning, a builder of castles ‘designed with wondrous skill’ and a man well able to attract men to his banner. Although a generous benefactor to the Church, he was still vilified by certain bishops and clergy. He was excommunicated for raiding church lands and forcing the church to answer in his secular court. He also made the church’s tenants build his castles for him, which did not go down well. (Gesta Stephani). John seems to have taken the excommunication stoically and to have treated it as a hazard of the job, so to speak. John’s relationship with the Church was not all bad-feeling and acrimony. He was, in fact, a generous patron. He donated his house and lands in Winchester on Jewry Street to Troarn Abbey in 1148. He gave lands at his manor of Rockley to the Templars and he was a benefactor of Bradenstoke Priory [Christy’s photos and description at link], where he was eventually to be buried.

Marlborough Down near Rockley. Photo courtesy of E. Chadwick.

At some point in the early 1150s John built a castle at Newbury. The whereabouts of this place is now unknown and there has been much speculation as to where it was. As far as I’m concerned, the answer is staring everyone in the face. It’s at Speen, on high ground overlooking various strategic roads. The bishop of Salisbury was known to have a house here, and as we gave already seen in the paragraph above: ‘He built castles designed with wondrous skill, in the places that best suited him; the lands and possessions of the churches he brought under his own lordship, driving out the owners whatever order they might belong to.’ Wherever the castle is, John fortified a position in the Newbury area and held it for the Empress. In the summer of 1152 King Stephen besieged it on his way to try and take Wallingford. With Brian FitzCount out of the reckoning, having taken the cowl, John Marshal was the Angevins’ last hope to protect Wallingford from Stephen’s advance.

The first assault battered John’s troops badly, but they didn’t give in. Stephen didn’t want to sit down to besiege it. I suspect he knew how hard John Marshal could stand and that he would sell the castle very dearly. John in his turn knew he was in a dire situation and couldn’t hold out for much longer. He didn’t have the men and supplies necessary. He asked Stephen for time to gain honourable permission from the Empress to surrender the castle. Stephen agreed, but told John that he must provide hostages and pledges for his good word. John agreed to do so and handed over as one of them, his small son William, who would have been around five or six years old.

Norman helm belonging to E. Chadwick.

With the time he had been given, John set about stuffing his keep to the rafters with men and supplies. Why did he do this when he could have yielded? I suspect it was because he was buying time for Wallingford and for Henry FitzEmpress. Each day that he stood, was a day gained for the Angevin cause. John Marshal hadn’t backed down at Wherwell, where his stand had allowed the Empress to escape. He hadn’t backed down before the superior strength of Patrick of Salisbury, and he wasn’t going to back down now, even if it meant gambling with his son’s life.

Stephen duly came on the appointed day to demand the surrender of the castle and John refused him and told him he would fight. When threatened with the execution of little William by hanging, John uttered those by now infamous words. ‘Il dist ken e li chaleit de l’enfant, quer encore aveit les enclumes e les marteals dunt forgereit de plus beals’ (He said that he did not care about the child, since he still had the anvils and hammers to produce even finer ones.)

Callous father? Cool brinkman gambling with his son’s life? A man caught between a rock and a hard place and doing what he must to safeguard others? It becomes a tough call, but I will say that there is far more going on under the surface than a cursory glance informs, and that it is vital for anyone studying this incident to read it through the lens of medieval mindset. It’s not what’s on top that matters here, but what’s underneath.

Stephen could not bring himself to hang the boy, although for a time William was the plaything and victim of the royal camp, as he was also threatened with being flung from a catapult and squashed whilst strapped to a hurdle intended to attack the castle gate. This is often not mentioned in the various secondary source narratives concerning the incident. From what I have garnered elsewhere, young squires and captive sons were frequently subjected to such torments – rather like the traditional ‘punishment details’ for youths at public school. Stephen took William into his household and John Marshal’s son seems to have settled well in his new life. He was happy and confident enough despite his ordeal to want to play a game with King Stephen, involving jousting with plaintain leaves. One wonders how such a chirpy, confident, secure little boy could have been born of such supposed parental indifference. A servant was sent to keep an eye on William, ‘because his family had great fears that he would come to harm’ (Histoire de Guillaume le Mareschal) but was caught in the act and chased away.

An anvil. One can see clearly what John Marshal MIGHT have been punning at!

Another point to note is to wonder whether those words were ever actually said, or if it was the poet, writing the Histoire de Guillaume le Mareschal, 80 years later, who used them as a dramatic motif. The anvils and hammers were symbols of a marshal and there were existing medieval stories involving tales of children being threatened with death unless the father cut off his own testicles. Not so John Marshal. He still had his intact! So the reference to ‘anvils and hammers’ may well be a motif for John’s cool, daring, virility and occupation, rather than proof that he actually ever said the words. We will never know. If he did, it was clever punning on various pertinent symbols that everyone understood in his day. [See photo.]

John’s castle at Newbury eventually fell to Stephen, but John had managed to buy that extra time for Wallingford. Stephen moved up to invest the latter and Henry came from Normandy to oppose him. Eventually a treaty was agreed whereby Stephen would keep the throne in his lifetime and Henry would inherit it on his death. Although there were a few more skirmishes, the long civil war was in essence over.

Stephen died in 1154 and Henry FitzEmpress, at the age of twenty-one, became King of England. Life slowly settled down. It is likely that John’s final son Henry was born at this time and named for the new power in the country. Henry set about restoring order. All adulterine castles were to be destroyed, and I suspect this is what happened to Newbury. Certainly there is no trace of it today. Henry also took several castles back into his own power, including Marlborough. John was allowed to keep the manors of Wexcombe and Cherhill that Stephen had granted him, but only for his lifetime; it was not to be a hereditary right. John continued to serve Henry as his master marshal, but the King had his own new men to promote and John was of the ‘old regime.’ Many of the gains made in the period of the war were lost, but John had still played his hand well, and while his fortunes diminished, he nevertheless had created a fine platform from which his offspring could leap to greatness.

William Marshal's effigy at Temple Church, London. Photo courtesy of E. Chadwick.

Bradenstoke Priory "church" at place where altar and tombs would have been, looking west.
Photo by Christy K. Robinson.

William did so in spectacular fashion, going on to become Earl of Pembroke and regent of England. Henry Marshal, as aforementioned, was to become bishop of Exeter. More distant descendants of John Marshal include Robert the Bruce, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth I, George Washington and Winston Churchill. John died in 1165, around the age of 60, which is as much as we know about his demise, although it may be telling that he made a grant to Bradenstoke Priory of half of the township of Easton, in the presence of his wife, two of earl Patrick’s chaplains, his chamberlain Osbert and Ralph the Physician. Was the physician there because he just happened to be handy and a man of learning, or was he there because of medical difficulties? John was buried at Bradenstoke Priory, the foundation of his marital relatives the Earls of Salisbury. His tomb and Sybilla’s have been lost, but their bones rest somewhere beneath the grass and tumbled stones of the priory ruins.

I can say without a doubt and from personal experience that their spirits live on and John’s is a particularly vibrant one still!

Select bibliography:

THE CARTULARY OF BRADENSTOKE PRIORY Edited by Vera C.M. London. Wiltshire Record Society 1979

DIALOGUS DE SCACCARIO. The Course of the Exchequeur and CONSTITUTIO DOMUS REGIS. The Establishment of the King's Household. Edited and translated by the late Charles Johnson. Clarendon Press Oxford. POD ISBN 0198222688
WILLIAM MARSHAL. Court Career & Chivalry in the Angevin Empire 1147-1219 by David Crouch. Longman 1990 ISBN 0582037867

WILLIAM MARSHAL. Knight Errant, Baron and Regent of England By Sidney Painter. John Hopkins Press 1967

HISTORY OF WILLIAM MARSHAL VOL 1. Text and Translation (11. 1-10031) ed. by A.J. Holden with English translations by S.Gregory and D. Crouch. Anglo Norman Text Society ISBN 0905474422

HISTORY OF WILLIAM MARSHAL VOL II ed by A.J. Holden with English translation by S. Gregory and D. Crouch. Anglo Norman Text Society occasional publications series 5 2004. ISBN 0905474457

HISTORY OF WILLIAM MARSHAL VOL III ed by A.J. Holden. Historical notes by D. Crouch. Anglo Norman Text Society 2006 ISBN 0905474481

WILLIAM MARSHAL EARL OF PEMBROKE By Catherine A. Armstrong. Seneschal Press 2006 ISBN 978169530385

THE BIGOD EARLS OF NORFOLK IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY By Marc Morris. Boydell 2005. ISBN 1843831643

__________________

Thank you so much, Elizabeth. As I continue to research and write my own historical novel of the 17th century, I have you and Sharon Kay Penman to thank for setting such astronomically-high standards for research methods, literary skill, and really, creating the vast and hungry market for intelligently-written historical fiction. (It’s both daunting and enervating to make my bid to be your colleague!)

MORE on Elizabeth Chadwick and her historical novels, blogs, research methods, and links to Facebook and Twitter: http://www.elizabethchadwick.com/index.php

A Place Beyond Courage, a novel by Elizabeth Chadwick, tells the vibrant, heart-pounding story of John FitzGilbert Marshal. If he weren't my grandfather times 30 or so, I'd say Elizabeth's portrayal of John makes him rather "hot." Haha!

The Greatest Knight and The Scarlet Lion, also by Elizabeth Chadwick, are two stand-alone novels on the life of John Marshal’s son, William Marshal.

If you haven’t read her books, get thee to a bookstore now (online or bricks and mortar) and get started! To Defy a King is now selling in Costco, too. I mean, please, how easy can it be, people?

Coming soon: guest post from author Elizabeth Chadwick

2011-03-07T16:58:00.000-07:00

Coming soon: a guest post by one of my favorite authors, Elizabeth Chadwick. On a blog tour, she’s promoting the March 2011 US release of her book To Defy A King, the story of Maud/Matilda/Mahelt Marshal, daughter (and third-born) of William Marshal (my ancestor).

Mahelt is not my ancestor, but she is closely related. She was the sister of Isabella and Eva Marshal, and sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, aunt, or niece to Llewellyn Prince of Wales, John King of England, and the families of Quincy, Bigod, Tosny, Ferrers, de Clare, de Braose, and de Bohun. (Many others, too, that I’m not descended from.)

Have you noticed the effigy photos in my blog header? The two upright effigies are at Coverham, Yorkshire. They represent Robert and Ranulf, lords of Middleham, Yorkshire a handful of miles away. Ranulf makes a few appearances in To Defy a King, being the brother-in-law of Mahelt's first husband, Hugh Bigod. Robert and Ranulf, father and son, were ancestors of the Nevilles, who get most of the hits in my blog stats!

If you’re interested in the heart and soul of who our shared ancestors were, as I am, you’d be wise to collect Elizabeth’s historical novels. I’ve read all but one or two, and let me tell you, she can’t write a page without mentioning the people from whom I sprang! She’s no medieval name-dropper, but a solid researcher, historical re-enactor, and best of all, an exciting, award-winning novelist. I’m writing a novel on ancestor Mary Barrett Dyer (1611-1660), and I aspire to both the scholarship and artistry of Elizabeth Chadwick.

So stay tuned: Elizabeth’s blog post will appear here very soon.

Below is my list of connections within the William Marshal and Isabel de Clare brood. I’ve highlighted the individuals who are my direct ancestors. To summarize, two of their children were my ancestors, but most of their children were married to those who would become my ancestors in other, later, marriages. Medieval mating—wow, who knew?

Children of William Marshal & Isabel de Clare:

1. William Marshal, 2nd Earl of Pembroke (~1190-April 6 1231), married (1) Alice de Betun, daughter of Earl of Albemarle; (2) April 23 1224 Eleanor Plantagenet, daughter of King John of England

2. Richard Marshal, 3rd Earl of Pembroke (>1190-April 16 1234), married Gervase le Dinant.

3. Maud /Mahelt /Matilda Marshal (1192-March 27, 1248), married (1) Hugh Bigod, 3rd Earl of Norfolk (son of my ancestors Roger Bigod and Ida de Tosny); (2) William de Warenne, 6th Earl of Surrey by whom Maud had a son and daughter, Isabelle de Warrenne, who married Hugh d’Aubigny/Albini (they had no children). Hugh was the brother of my ancestor, Isabella d’Aubigny/Albini (married to John Fitzalan, earl of Arundel after Hugh d’Aubigny died); Maud married (3) Walter de Dunstanville.

4. Gilbert Marshal, 4th Earl of Pembroke (d. June 27 1241), married (1) Margaret of Scotland, daughter of King William I of Scotland; (2) Maud de Lanvaley

5. Walter Marshal, 5th Earl of Pembroke (>1198 - November 1245), married Margaret de Quincy, daughter of Hugh de Kevelioc, 3rd Earl of Chester. They had no children. But Margaret married her brother-in-law, William de Ferrers, and I am descended from them.

6. Anselm Marshal, 6th Earl of Pembroke (d. December 22 1245), married Maud de Bohun, daughter of Humphrey de Bohun, 2nd Earl of Hereford.

7. Isabella Marshal (October 9 1200 - January 17 1240), married (1) Gilbert de Clare, 5th Earl of Hertford, October 9 1217. Gilbert de Clare Earl of Gloucester was son of Sir Richard FitzRoger de Clare Earl of Hertford and Amicia FitzRobert Countess of Gloucester. Isabella married (2) Richard of Cornwall Plantagenet Earl of Cornwall, son of John King of England and Isabella Taillefer d'Angoulême, 13 Mar 1231 Fawley Church, Buckinghamshire, England; Isabella died 15 Jan 1240 Berkhamsted Castle, Hertfordshire, England, at age 39; buried after 15 Jan 1240 Beaulieu Abbey, Hampshire, England.

8. Sibyl (or Sybilla) Marshal, married William de Ferrers, 5th Earl of Derby. Sibilla (d ante 1238) married, before 1219, William de Ferrers, earl of Derby, and they had seven daughters, though I'm descended from NONE of them! (Sheesh, what are the odds?) These daughters were: Agnes (d1290) who married William de Vesci of Alnwick; Isabel (d1260) who married Gilbert Basset of Wycombe; Maud (d 1299) who married Simon de Kyme of Sotby; Sybil (d 1173/4) who married Franco de Bohun of Midhurst; Joan (d1268) who married John de Mohun of Dunster; Agatha (d1306) who married Hugh de Mortimer of Chelmarsh; and Eleanor (d1274) who married William de Vaux. Sibilla died after 1238. William de Ferrers (d. 1254) then married Margaret de Quincy (widow of William Marshal above) in or after 1238, from whom I am descended.

9. Eva Marshal married William de Braose, Lord of Abergavenny, son of Reginald de Braose, before 1219. They had four daughters, and William de Braose was hanged by Llywelyn ap Iorwerth in 1230. William was accused of having dallied with Llywelyn’s wife Joan, bastard of King John. Eve’s and de Braose’s daughters were: Maud/Matilda (d1301) who married Roger de Mortimer of Wigmore; Isabel who married (1229) David (d1246), son of Llywelyn ap Iorwerth; Eve (d1255) who married William de Cantelou; and Eleanor (d c 1250) who married Humphrey VI de Bohun earl of Hereford.

10. Joan (or Joanna) Marshal, married Warin de Montchensy, Lord Swanscombe.

Pillar of Eliseg: Archaeologists dig beneath 9th Century monument

2010-07-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

UPDATE TO THIS STORY, SEPTEMBER 2011: http://www.medievalists.net/2011/09/05/archaeologists-examine-the-pillar-of-eliseg/

BBC News story July 19, 2010

Pillar of Eliseg: Archaeologists dig beneath 9th Century monument

The Pillar of Eliseg was moved to the site of a burial mound in the 18th Century

Archaeologists start excavations on a suspected ancient burial site to try to understand the significance of a Llangollen landmark on which it stands.
But the team will have to work carefully because the 9th Century Pillar of Eliseg, a Cadw-protected ancient monument, stands directly on top of the barrow - burial mound - and the archaeologists can't disturb it.
Medieval archaeology Professor Nancy Edwards, from Bangor University, says it is the first time the site has been dug since 1773 when, it is believed, a skeleton was unearthed.
"We are trying to date the barrow in its broader archaeological context," she said, as the site could date back to the Bronze Age.
The history behind the monument and why it was erected on the mound is not yet understood.

The earliest known picture of the pillar, dated 1797, courtesy Llangollen Museum

However, separate work has been carried out to try to decipher original and additional faded inscriptions by experts from the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Wales (RCAHMW).
It was originally a cross made to commemorate an early medieval leader, Eliseg (or Elisedd).
Today, only the shaft of the cross remains and its inscription, which was already almost illegible when the antiquary Edward Lhuyd tried to transcribe it in 1696, has disappeared.
Some of the 18th Century inscription added to the cross by Trevor Lloyd of Trevor Hall, who then owned the land, has since been discerned by the experts, but that didn't reveal any more about its history.
Joining Prof Edwards on-site for the dig will be colleagues from the University of Chester and with help from Llangollen Museum.
The plan is to open one small trench within the barrow and three others in close proximity within the field which is owned by a private landowner.
Dai Morgan Evans, visiting professor in archaeology at Chester University, is looking forward to the dig.

Valle Crucis Abbey

Abbey and the Holy Grail legends

He told the Leader newspaper that Trevor Lloyd, the 17th Century landowner, could have added to the inscription to imply he was related to the Welsh king named on the inscription and those in the burial below.
During the dig, David Crane and Sue Evans from Llangollen Museum plan to give daily updates via the museum's Facebook page, along with members of the dig team.
And the public will be allowed on-site during an open day (31 July), between 11am-3pm.

*******************
This is how I connect to Welsh princes:
…Cynan, King of Powys
…Salyf Sarff Cedau
…Mael Mynan
…Beli
…Gwallawg
…Eliseg
…Brochwel II of Powys
…Cadel II, Prince of Powys, ruled 804-829
…Cadel III, Prince of Powys m. daughter of Howel
…Uriel, son of Elidur, son of Roderick Melwynog King of Gwynedd, (Uriel m. Nest daughter of Cadel III)
Mervyn Verch, Prince of Gwynedd
…Rhodri Mawr ap Mervyn m. Angharad

                                                                 /Llywarch Ap Elidir
                                                             /Dwywg Ap Llywarch
                                                     /Gwair Ap Dwywg
                                             /Tegid Ap Gwair
                                     /Alewyn Ap Tegid
                             /Sandde Ap Alewyn
                     /Elidir Ap Sandde
             /Gwriad "Of Man" Ap Elidir b: 0738 d: 0825
     /Mervyn Frych "the Freckl" Ap Gwriad b: 0764
     |       |               /Brochwell II Ap Elisse (Eliseg) Eliseg was gggf of Rhodri
     |       |       /Cadell II Ap Brodwell b: ? 0725 d: ABT 0809
     |      \Nest Verch Cadell b: 0742
Rhodri Mawr "The Great" Ap Mervyn b: 0789 d: 0878
     |                               /Cadwalladr "The Great" Ap Cadwallon b: 0615
     |                       /Idwal Iwrch Ap Cadwaladr b: ABT 0664
     |               /Rhodri Molwynog Ap Idwal b: 0690
     |               |       \Agatha de Bretagne b: ABT 0685
     |       /Cynan Dindaethwy Ap Rhodri b: 0745
     \Esyllt Verch Cynan b: 0770
             \Matilda of Flint

…Anarawd ap Rhodri
…Idwal Foel ap Anarawd (Idwal the Bald)
…Meurig
…Idwal
…Iago, Prince of Gwynedd
…Cynan ap Iago m. Ragnaillt, the daughter of Olaf of Dublin, son of King Sigtrygg Silkbeard and a member of the Hiberno-Norse dynasty.
…Gruffydd ap Cynan, King of Gwynedd, m. Angharad ferch Owain, was the daughter of
…Owain ab Edwin
…Owain Gwynedd, king of Gwynedd, m. Gwladys (Gladys) ferch Llywarch
…Iorwerth Drwyndwn m. Marared ferch Madog
…Llywelyn ab Iorwerth, the Great, Prince of Wales, 1173-1240, m. Joan, Lady of Wales/Joan Plantagenet, daughter of King John and Isabella of Angouleme

both of Llywelyn's daughters are my ancestors:
1. Elen ferch Llywelyn (c.1207–1253) married Sir Robert de Quincy
2. Gwladus Ddu (c.1206–1251), m. Ralph de Mortimer of Wigmore and had several sons

I descend through both Elen and Gwladus, and possibly other children of Llywelyn. Many of his children married into Marcher families who were my ancestors.

Another link to Eliseg's Pillar: http://www.castlewales.com/eliseg.html

The establishment vs the individual: Mary Barrett Dyer, hanged June 1, 1660

2010-06-01T00:00:00.001-07:00

CRIME AND CONVIVIALITY: THE SOCIAL SPACE OF "The sentence was passed upon you; you must return to the prison and there remain until tomorrow at nine o'clock; then from thence you must go to the gallows, and there be hanged till you are dead." ~Gov John Endicott, Massachusetts Bay Colony--said to Mary Barrett Dyer, my ancestor, May 31, 1660, 350 years ago.

And on June 1, 1660, Mary was taken from the jailhouse to the gallows on Boston Common. So that the large crowd of onlookers would not be able to hear her voice, drummers accompanied the militia as she walked the mile to the gallows where she died.

_____________

Mary Dyer was banished from Boston for her religious beliefs, but kept returning under conviction that she must speak what God revealed to her. The first occasion was as an Antinomian in 1638. The Puritans who governed Massachusetts Bay Colony were themselves refugees from the Anglican repression of Calvinism. They believed that civil and religious government were one fabric, and based their civil laws upon the Ten Commandments. They believed also that they were special and chosen of God, and that their piety and strict adherence to the Law proved to each other and to God that they were, indeed, predestined for eternal salvation.

This may seem foreign to contemporary Protestants and evangelicals who believe that salvation is only by God’s gift—grace—to anyone and everyone who accepts the gift. But there are many people and groups today who say that yes, they’re saved by grace, but because they love the Lord who saves them, they must “prove” their love by keeping the law of the Old Testament. They misunderstand Jesus’ statement, “If you love me, keep my commands,” because it’s taken out of context. Jesus’ command (not the Ten Commandments) in that context is simply to love one another as he loves us.

Antinomians believed that the Bible’s entire Old Testament law (nomos in Greek) was made null and void when Jesus died on the cross. There was no distinction between the ceremonial regulations (sacrifices and rituals, clean/unclean activities and foods) and the moral law (Ten Commandments). Nomos meant the entire kit and caboodle.

As believers in Jesus, Christians are no longer under the covenant of keeping the Law, Antinomians believed.

“For sin shall not be master over you, for you are not under law but under grace.” Romans 6:14

“But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code.” Romans 7:6

“Through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.” Romans 8:2

“By calling this covenant "new," he has made the first one obsolete; and what is obsolete and aging will soon disappear.” Hebrews 8:13

So if we don’t keep the old Law any more, are we free to participate in chaos, and do as we please, hurting ourselves and others? No, says Paul the apostle. Now we are accountable directly to God himself, subject to the new Law he writes on our minds and hearts (conscience). We have lists in the New Testament of behaviors and attitudes which will keep us from intimacy with God, and keep us from entering his kingdom: murder, fornication and adultery (sex outside marriage), theft, lying, gossip and slander, dishonoring our parents, greed, drunkenness, and others.

“For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord; I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts [direct revelation or Inner Light]: and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people: And they shall not teach every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for all shall know me, from the least to the greatest [there goes the theory of the Elect]. For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more.” Hebrews 8:10-12

Here is where Mary Dyer and other Antinomians based their beliefs that the old Law was obsolete and useless, and the new Law was personally and directly revealed to them by the Holy Spirit. In later years, when Mary espoused the Quaker beliefs, direct revelation was called the Inner Light.

But back to the Puritans: If you destroy the foundation of their belief, the Law, there is nothing left to hold onto, because faith in God’s grace is not enough security. You just cannot have people running around doing as they please, excusing themselves by saying that God told them to do this or that. There needs to be a structure! There’s nothing that distinguishes the law-keepers from the Catholic or apostate-Protestant herds. The entire multibillion-dollar institution crashes. The worldwide "we're the exclusive Remnant/Elect of God, and only we will be saved" thing is gone. They can't handle it spiritually, emotionally, or intellectually. They also can’t handle it financially. The Massachusetts Bay Colony was a business venture, chartered by King Charles I.

I understand, in a way. When you've believed wholeheartedly in God’s will, that this promise or this distinctive is a special gift to you, it's part of your very fabric. Pull some threads or cut a hole, and it's not salvageable. It’s too difficult, and maybe even too late in life, to start all over and learn everything new, especially when you’ve been “right.” How does one hold one's head up with constituents, parishioners, faith adherents? There’s no putting new wine into an old wineskin or patching a cotton tear with wool. What about prophesied end-time events? We’ve been denying ourselves and living a hard life, and these unworthy people get to waltz into heaven while we trudge there? What about judgment (who flies and who fries)? What if we stop observing a law-decreed Sabbath on Saturday or Sunday--and start trusting in God for complete rest from our strivings and a sabbath-rest that blesses us today and every day? What will distinguish us, the Remnant and the Elect, from the unwashed and uncouth? We’d have to go out of business, retrain every pastor, retool every institution from preschool through university and seminary, and worst of all, change the minds and hearts of those who have believed what they were taught for generations. It’s unthinkable!

Puritans were so sure they were “right” that there was no room for dissent. (This from reformers and dissenters to the Church of England!) There was no agreeing to disagree. There was only consensus—agreeing to agree. And if, after being shown your errors in theology and behavior, you didn’t agree, you’d be punished. The church/state government, and all of society, was in danger of collapse if people just did and believed as they wanted.

In 1637-38, Mary and William Dyer and 75 other families followed Anne Hutchinson in the Antinomian Controversy, and were disfellowshipped (excommunicated or disfranchised) from the Puritan congregations of Boston.

They moved to Rhode Island and founded two communities, Portsmouth and Newport, under extremely primitive conditions. They built homes and planted farms and worshiped according to conscience. Four years later, Massachusetts Governor Winthrop sent a manuscript to England that was published as a lurid and vicious description of Mary’s stillborn anencephalic baby, and Anne Hutchinson's hydatidiform mole pregnancy, and called them monsters, proof of their heresy in 1637-38. (It was a Winthrop PR campaign to show his awesomeness and worthiness to be the governor of the colony.)

In 1652, Mary traveled back to England and stayed for five years. She followed the doctrines of George Fox, founder of the Quaker (Religious Society of Friends) movement, and sailed back to Rhode Island via Boston Harbor in 1657. She and her friends were arrested from shipboard and taken to prison, where they stayed for several months. Their crime: being Quakers, when the colony, now governed by John Endicott, had ruled that Quakers would be imprisoned and banished—after having been dragged behind a wagon and scourged, and losing their ears. One of Mary’s shipmates, a woman, was stripped to the waist and scourged, and another was sent back to England, but Mary was released to her husband in Rhode Island as a professional courtesy because he was a government official—and not a Quaker.

Mary returned to Massachusetts in 1658 to visit her imprisoned Quaker friends and was expelled. She preached in New Haven, Connecticut, and was arrested and expelled from that colony. In 1659, she learned that two Quaker men had been imprisoned in Boston, and she walked through the forest on Indian trails to visit and comfort them in prison. She was arrested again, and tried in Governor Endicott’s court. Mary was convicted and actually sent to the gallows. Her friends were hanged before she was placed in the noose with a cloth over her face—but was reprieved on condition she would not return to Boston. She actually seemed disappointed in the reprieve and "rescue" by her husband and eldest son, as she was protesting religious repression and willing to die with her Quaker colleagues. She was admonished not to return upon pain of death.

After six months of preaching to the Indians and Quakers of Long Island and Connecticut, she went back to Boston without telling her husband or six children who lived in Rhode Island. Her Quaker brothers and sisters were being tortured and their property confiscated. She went directly to the jail and asked to speak to the prisoners. She was arrested, jailed for more than a month, convicted again, and hanged on June 1, 1660.

Why did Mary seem to have a death wish? She had a husband who loved her, and six children, aged 10 to 25, yet she didn’t stay with them very much during the two years before her execution, and after her five-year absence in England.

Analyzing her beliefs and letters, Mary Dyer seemed to have the biblical book of Hebrews written on her heart. This passage jumped out at me today as I was researching this post. I’ve bolded the phrases that apply to Mary, and you can see how closely they align with her actions just before her arrests, imprisonments, and execution.

“Remember those earlier days after you had received the light [direct revelation of God, or the Quaker “Inner Light”] when you stood your ground in a great contest in the face of suffering. Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those who were so treated. You sympathized with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions. So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” Hebrews 10:32-36

Mary joyfully accepted her martyrdom, believing that her death would so shock the system that Endicott and his court would have to back down from their repression. She died so that others could live and worship in freedom of conscience. She did not die in vain.

The dedication on Mary's statue in Boston says "WITNESS FOR RELIGIOUS FREEDOM." Mary died for the basic human right to worship and express her religious beliefs as she felt called by God to do. She was the only woman hanged for religious beliefs, and only one more Quaker man was hanged after her, because of outcry in both New England and

Britain

over their persecution and executions.

Massachusetts Bay Colony, like many business, political, and religious organizations, was dedicated to control of the institution (self preservation), the church, and its people en masse. Mary understood that Jesus came as a man to relate to and save the individual. She and the others died for one of the principles America holds most dear: the liberty of the individual to follow conscience.

For a timeline on William and Mary Dyer's life together, see my post here.
Mary Dyer and Freedom of Conscience

To learn more about the Dyers' life, join her Facebook friends.

News article from Washington Examiner, 6-1-2010 here
Nothing in the Boston newspapers about Mary Dyer on the 350th anniversary.

Medieval News article: Charlemagne's grave

2010-05-19T10:56:00.000-07:00

http://medievalnews.blogspot.com/2010/05/grave-of-charlemagne-remains-mystery.html
This article copied and pasted from the Medieval News page above. Charlemagne was ancestor to many European rulers and nobility, and is my ancestor, as well.

Archaeologists searching for the burial place of Charlemagne have failed to find any evidence that the body of the Carolingian emperor was placed in the atrium of Aachen Cathedral.

Andreas Schaub has led a team of archeologists for over three years in an attempt to find the exact spot within the cathedral where the medieval ruler was buried on the 28th January 814. But the dig within the atrium of the 8th century cathedral has only turned up material dating back to the 13th century.

There have been several archaeological investigations of the cathedral. Andreas Schaub noted that "since the 1980s, the theory persisted that the grave is in the atrium." With this news, focus on the whereabouts of Charlemagne will turn to the Cathedral's Court.

Charlemagne was buried in Aachen on the same day he died. Although the Carolingian emperor had previously made it known that he was to be buried near Paris, his court officials decided to bury him in Aachen because of the difficulty in transporting his body in cold weather.

The body of Charlemagne has had an eventful existence since his death. In the year 1000, Otto III had Charlemagne's vault opened. The Chronicle of Novalesia records how Otto and one of his courtiers saw when they entered the vault:

"So we went in to Charles. He did not lie, as the dead otherwise do, but sat as if he were living. He was crowned with a golden crown and held in his gloved hands a sceptre; the fingernails had penetrated through the gloves and stuck out. Above him was a canopy of limestone and marble. Entering, we broke through this. Upon our entrance, a strong smell struck us. Kneeling, we gave Emperor Charles our homage, and put in order the damage that had been done. Emperor Charles had not lost any of his members to decay, except only the tip of his nose. Emperor Otto replaced this with gold, took a tooth from Charles’s mouth, walled up the entrance to the chamber, and withdrew again."

In 1165, Emperor Frederick Barbarossa again opened the vault and placed the remains in a sculptured sarcophagus made of Parian marble, said to have been the one in which Augustus Caesar was buried. The bones lay in this until 1215, when Frederick II had them put in a casket of gold and silver. A vellum codex found interred with him was removed.

There have been eight theories about the burial place of the Carolingian ruler. "We have definitely ruled out five of these with the recent excavations," explained Cathedral architect Helmut Maintz. "But there are fortunately a few theories left, so I am not hopeless."

Sources: Earth Times, Spiegel

Ralph Stafford: Knight, Baron, Kidnapper, Earl, Warrior, Statesman, Plague Survivor

2010-03-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

This man would not have been my ancestor if he hadn't been a kidnapper. People joke that their ancestors may include horse thieves, but this man stole a human being. A teenage girl.

Ralph de Stafford’s genealogy is known back to about 945 in Normandy, and from Ralph to me there are 23 generations. His family owned many estates in Staffordshire after the Conquest, and his sixth great-grandfather built the first Stafford Castle before his death in 1088.

Through his son and heir Hugh Stafford, Ralph is the grandfather of Margaret Stafford Neville, countess Westmoreland, first wife of Ralph Neville; Ralph de Stafford’s Neville great-grandchildren married Scrope, Ferrers, and Percy families, among others. Margaret’s son Ralph Neville was heir to Neville titles, although most of the lands and money went to his mother-in-law, Joan Beaufort, and her children by John of Gaunt.

But the way Ralph Stafford got his heir is the most interesting thing about him!

…1301-24 September, born in Stafford, to Edmund, First Baron Stafford and his wife Margaret Bassett.
…1308-Ralph succeeded his father as Lord Stafford. His mother Margaret remarried to Thomas Pype.
…1314-1321-The Great Famine strikes northwestern Europe, killing more than 10 percent of the population. Typhoid and anthrax plagues sweep Europe in the next decades.
…1315? Along with his brothers and stepfather, Ralph joined the retinue of Ralph, 2nd Lord Bassett (his mother’s brother.)
…1326/27-Ralph married Katherine Hastang, daughter of Sir John Hastang of Chebsey, Staffordshire & his wife Eve. Katherine Hastang is my “cousin” because she’s descended from Mortimer, de Braose, and Llewellyn. http://fabpedigree.com/s043/f662009.htm Presumably she died in childbirth, as I find no mention of annulment of their marriage, and Ralph literally “takes” a new wife less than 10 years later.
Ralph Stafford and Katherine Hastang had two daughters:
…….Margaret Stafford, married Sir John of Bramshall (or Wickham) de Stafford, Knt. (Margaret Stafford-Stafford?)
…….Joan Stafford, married Sir Nicholas de Beke, Knt.
…1327- Ralph supports plot to overthrow Roger Mortimer and Queen Isabella’s regency of England. This gains support from Edward III. (Ralph and Roger will be co-grandparents in about 50 years!)
…1327- Ralph made Knight banneret, a higher rank than knight bachelor, and was fighting Scots shortly afterward.

Stafford Castle in 1100

…1332-Ralph was a commissioner of the peace in Staffordshire and had served abroad on royal business, accompanying Hugh d’Audley, ambassador to France. Four years to the Big Event.
…1332- Ralph commanded archers at the Battle of Dupplin Moor on 11 Aug 1332 and on three further Scottish campaigns.
…1336-Calendar of Patent Rolls 1334-1338, p. 283. “28 February 1336: Commission to Robert de Bousser and Adam de Everyngham to find by inquisition in the county of Essex what persons broke the close of Hugh de Audele at Thaxstede, carried away his goods and abducted Margaret his daughter; and to certify the king fully of the whole matter.”
Hugh d’Audley was not aware at that time who had abducted his daughter. It seems he didn’t find out until at least June of that year.
…1336- 6 July: Calendar of Patent Rolls 1334-1338, p. 98: The like [commission of oyer et terminer] to Richard de Wylughby, Thomas de Loveyne, Thomas Gobyon and Robert de Jedeworth, in the counties of Cambridge and Essex, on complaint by Hugh Daudele that Ralph de Stafford, Ralph son of Ralph Basset [cousin], William Corbet, John de Seyntper, Richard de Stafford [brother], John de Draycote, John de Stafford, Humphrey Hastang, James de Pype, Roger Mychel, James de Warden, Richard de Merton, Geoffrey Byroun, John Larcher, Simon de Boseworth, Robert de Rashale, Richard de Hastang, William de Hastang, John de Stafford, 'squier,' and others, broke his close at Thaxtede, carried away his goods, abducted Margaret his daughter and heir, then in his custody, and married her against his will.”
The Pypes were his step-brothers or half-brothers. Bassets were his mother’s relatives. Hastangs were his in-laws by his first wife. This raid must have been carefully planned to include more than 20 people, and to succeed in objective! I wonder if there were other potential brides considered and rejected before Ralph settled on Margaret d’Audley. Margaret had a large inheritance, and was the great-granddaughter of Edward I through her mother, Margaret de Clare (Gaveston).
…1336- Ralph married “against [her father's] will” (but what was her will?) the heiress Margaret d’Audley, aged between 14 and 18, but probably about 14 or 15 at the time of her abduction. Ralph was 34 years old, 20 years older than his kidnapped bride, and 11 years younger than his new father-in-law, Hugh d’Audley. Hugh and Margaret protested the kidnapping and marriage, but Edward III allowed it to stand, and created Hugh first Earl of Gloucester as appeasement to Hugh’s “wrath,” as some writers have called it. It seemed to be Hugh’s lifetime ambition to get his wife’s de Clare inheritance brought back to his holdings, and this was his way in. It also meant he got back what Hugh Dispenser the Younger had usurped about 15 years before.
Since Margaret d’Audley, an heiress, was so “old” to be still single, I wonder if Ralph Stafford had made an offer for Hugh’s daughter and been refused because Ralph wasn’t offering a Gloucester property in the deal, or if Ralph just swooped in when he found an opportunity. Hmmm…
…1336-November. First of five (or six or nine) children with Margaret is born, Joan Stafford (1336-1397). Oddly, Ralph named two daughters Joan! Apparently, Ralph wasted no time or opportunity to consummate the forced marriage and get his bride pregnant, because she was already four or five months gone when the complaint was issued in early July. Joan Stafford married 1: John Cherleton (B. Powis); married 2: Gilbert Talbot (3° B. Talbot) before 16 Nov 1379.
…1337-their son Ralph born (1337-1347). As a child, Ralph was contracted to marry the daughter of Henry of Grosmont, but Ralph Jr. died at about age 10.
…1337- summoned to Parliament by Writ as the 2nd Baron Stafford from 1337 to 1350.
…1338-Daughter Katherine born (1338-1361), married Sir John de Sutton, Knt., Baron of Dudley, Staffs.
…1338-Ralph accompanied Edward III to France in 1338 as an advisor.
…1340-Daughter Beatrice born (1340-1415), Married 1: Maurice Fitzmaurice Fitzgerald (2° E. Desmond) 1350; Married 2: Thomas De Ros (5º B. Ros of Hamlake) 1 Jan 1357/58.
…1341-Ralph appointed Steward of the Royal Household.
…1344-Son Hugh Stafford born (1344-1386), married Philippa Beauchamp, daughter of Thomas Beauchamp, earl of Warwick, and Katherine Mortimer.

Philippa Beauchamp was granddaughter of Roger Mortimer, 1st Earl of March, who her father-in-law Ralph Stafford helped to overthrow from regency, and was eventually executed horribly for treason. Hugh and Philippa's child was Margaret Stafford, who married Ralph Neville, 1st earl Westmorland. Margaret Stafford and Ralph Neville were second cousins, as both were descended from siblings Hugh d'Audley and Alice d'Audley.
…1345-Ralph resigned as Steward of the Royal Household, and became Seneschal of Aquitaine.
…1346-Ralph participated in the English victory at the Battle of Crecy. Further battles included the battle of Auberoche, the siege of Aiguillon, from where he escaped prior to its lifting, a raid on Barfleur and the English victory at the Battle of Crecy, on 26 August 1346.
…1347, November-Hugh d’Audley, earl of Gloucester, Ralph’s father-in-law, dies, dramatically increasing Stafford’s considerable wealth from his existing lands and war prizes and ransoms.
…1348-Ralph de Stafford invested as Knight of the Garter, founding member.
…1348-1350-Bubonic plague pandemic kills half to three-quarters of the population of England, alters economy forever.
…1350-5 March, Ralph created Earl of Stafford. Becomes the king's lieutenant in Gascony.
…1350 or 1351-Margaret d’Audley, Baroness Audley, Countess Stafford, dies, probably from childbirth, aged about 32 or 33; is buried with her parents at Tonbridge Priory in Essex.
“Radulphus comes Stafford et dominus de Tonebrugge” donated property to Cold Norton Priory, for the soul of “Margaretæ uxoris nostræ” [Margaret his wife], by undated charter witnessed by “Hugone de Stafford filioet hærede nostro [son and heir], Ricardo de Stafford fratre nostro [brother], Johanne de Peyto consanguineo nostro…” http://bit.ly/jAEW4a
…1361- Stafford continued to command troops and act as a royal envoy, both in France and in Ireland in 1361, accompanying Lionel of Antwerp to try and restore English control.
…1372-31 August, Ralph died at Tunbridge Castle, buried at nearby Tonbridge Priory.

Joanna, Countess of Hereford: short genealogy, no descendants

2009-09-14T22:58:00.000-07:00

Joanna de Kilpeck de Bohun, Countess of Hereford, was not my ancestor. She’s the ancestor of no one, having died without issue. But she has a beautiful tomb effigy in the Lady Chapel at Hereford Cathedral, so I have decided to resurrect her in 2009. Joanna would have known Hereford Cathedral as the Church of St. Mary the Virgin and St. Ethelbert the King.

Her father, Alan Plukenet, died in 1299 after a career as a knight and baron who fought for King Henry III at Evesham. On his lands at Kilpeck, a village and castle with a Romanesque church, Alan drained wetlands and created the parish of Allensmore. Alan was a benefactor of Abbey Dore, and was interred there.

His son and heir, also Alan Plukenet, was summoned to Parliament. Edward I granted the second Alan a charter to hold a market in Kilpeck, about 8 miles from Hereford. When Alan died in about 1315, his heir was his sister Joanna. She did homage to King Edward II and had livery of Kilpeck and the Plukenet/Plunkett holdings in the 19th year of Edward II, or 1326.

Several sources say that Joanna was the wife of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Hereford. Another, www.herefordwebpages.co.uk, says that she was married to William de Bohun, Earl of Northampton. The source of the family list below Wikipedia cites Edward de Bohun marrying “Joan Plokenet,” but he wasn’t the Earl of Hereford.

[BREAKING NEWS--Be sure to read Terry's comments below this article for his research (and corrections) for the Plunkett family.]

There are far too many Humphrey de Bohuns for comfort, so here is a family list with all the Humphreys in bold (with my ancestors Eleanor and Agnes in red). The father, Humphrey VIII (1276-1322), was Earl of Essex and Hereford. Children of Humphrey de Bohun VIII and Elizabeth of Rhuddlan (daughter of Edward I) were as follows:

.....i. Edmund de Bohun.
.....ii. Hugh de Bohun; born circa 1303; died 1305.
.....iii. Humphrey de Bohun; born 1304; died in infancy 10 Sep 1304.
.....iv. Margaret de Bohun; born before 1 Feb 1304 Tynemouth, Northumberland; died 1311.
.....v. Alianore/Eleanor de Bohun; born 17 Oct 1304; married John de Bromwich; married Sir James le Boteler Earl of Ormond, son of Edmund le Boteler Earl of Carrick (styled) and Joan FitzGerald, 1327, Alianore and James were parents of my ancestor James II Earl of Ormond (Ireland); married Thomas de Dagworth, Lord Dagworth, son of John de Dagworth and Alice FitzWarin, before 20 Apr 1344; died 7 Oct 1363 at age 58. (James II, Earl of Ormond, eventually was granted Kilpeck Castle in Herefordshire!)
.....vi. Mary de Bohun, twin of Humphrey; born 1305; died in infancy 1305.
.....vii. Humphrey de Bohun; born 20 Oct 1305 Pleshy Castle, Essex; died 1310. Age 5 at death.
.....viii. John de Bohun Earl of Hereford & Essex; born 23 Nov 1306 St. Clements, Oxfordshire; married Margaret Basset, daughter of Sir Ralph Basset V Lord Basset of Drayton and Hawise (Basset), after 1308; married Alice Fitzalan, daughter of Sir Edmund Fitzalan Earl of Arundel and Alice de Warenne, 8 Mar 1325; died 20 Jan 1335 Kirkby-Thore, Westmorland, at age 28; buried after 20 Jan 1335 Stratford Abbey, London. He was also known as John de Bohun.
.....ix. Edward de Bohun; born 1307 of England.
.....x. Humphrey de Bohun IX Earl of Hereford; born 6 Dec 1309 at Caldecot, Northampton; died 15 Oct 1361 at age 51. He was buried at Walden Abbey in Essex.
.....xi. Margaret de Bohun; born 3 Apr 1311 of Caldecot, Northamptonshire; married Sir Hugh de Courtenay III Earl of Devon, son of Sir Hugh de Courtenay II Earl of Devon and Agnes de St. John, 11 Aug 1325; died 16 Dec 1391 Exeter, Devonshire, England, at age 80. Buried in Exeter Cathedral with lovely effigies—I have a photo.
.....xii. Edward de Bohun; born 1312 of Caldecot, Northampton; married Joan Plokenet??; married Margaret de Ros; died 1334. If Edward married Joanna Plukenet, he’d have died three years before her and could not have married Margaret. Furthermore, he was not the Earl of Hereford, but Joanna was the Countess of Hereford. It can’t be Edward!
.....xiii. Sir William de Bohun, Earl of Northampton.
.....xiv. Aeneas (Agnes) de Bohun; born 1314 of Caldecot, Northampton, England; married (at age 10) as his first wife, Sir Robert de Ferrers 2nd Baron Ferrers of Wemme, son of Sir John de Ferrers Lord Ferrers of Chartley and Hawyse de Muscegros; died 1343 of childbirth. Robert de Ferrers was born on 25 Mar 1309 in Chartley, Staffordshire, England. He died on 28 Aug 1350/1351. He married Aeneas/Agnes de Bohun on 21 Nov 1324 in Caldecot, Northamptonshire, England.
.....xv. Isabel, born 1316, died. Her mother Elizabeth died shortly after childbirth, and they were buried together in Westminster Abbey.

So Humphrey VIII, out of his 15 children, named three of them Humphrey, hoping his heir would carry on the family tradition of Humphrey de Bohun names. The first child died in infancy; the second at age 5, and finally, the Humphrey who stuck around to inherit the titles died at age 51. However, I can find no wife or children for Humphrey IX and I know that Joanna de Kilpeck died without issue, so I will assume that Humphrey IX and Joanna were the pair. When Joanna died in 1337, she was the Countess of Hereford. The references to Joanna in Hereford Cathedral say that she was the wife of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Hereford. So that’s what we’ll go with.

Wikipedia says that

“Humphrey de Bohun, 6th Earl of Hereford, 5th Earl of Essex (6 December 1309 – 15 October 1361) was a Lord High Constable of England. He was born to Humphrey de Bohun, 4th Earl of Hereford and Elizabeth Plantagenet and [he was] a younger brother of John de Bohun, 5th Earl of Hereford. He succeeded his elder brother as Earl of Hereford and Essex upon his death on 20 January 1336. He also succeeded John as the Lord High Constable of England, the seventh highest office of the State. [NO MENTION OF HIS WIFE BECAUSE HE HAD NO CHILDREN?] After his death in Pleshey, Essex he was buried in Friars Augustine, London. The Earldoms of Hereford and Essex were passed to his nephew, Humphrey de Bohun, 7th Earl of Hereford, the son of his younger brother William de Bohun, 1st Earl of Northampton, who predeceased him.”

What I can find of Joanna is only about her bequest and her remains—nothing of her life. She must have been born before 1299 when her father died. She made her last charter in October 1337, and died late that year. She may have had cancer or heart disease, because she seemed to know that she was not long for the world. She made gifts shortly before she died.

One reference says:

In the easternmost bay on this side is the tomb of Joanna de Bohun, Countess of Hereford, 1327. To quote from Dean Merewether: " The effigy of the lady, there can be scarcely a doubt, represents ' Johanna de Bohun, Domina de Kilpec.' She was the sister and heiress of Alan Plonknett or Plugenet of Kilpec, in the county of Hereford, a name distinguished in the annals of his times; and of his possessions, his sister doing her homage, had livery 19 Edward II. [1326]
"In 1327 Johanna de Bohun gave to the Dean and Chapter of Hereford, the church of Lugwardyne, with the chapels of Llangarren, St. Waynards and Henthland, with all the small chapels belonging to them, which donation was confirmed by the king by the procurement and diligence of Thomas de Chandos, Archdeacon of Hereford; and the Bishop of Hereford further confirmed it to the Dean and Chapter by deed, dated Lugwas, 22nd July, 1331 (ex Regist. MS. Thomae Chorleton, Epi.): And afterwards the Bishop, Dean and Chapter appropriated the revenues of it to the service peculiar to the Virgin Mary, ' because in other churches in England the Mother of God had better and more serious service, but in the Church of Hereford the Ladye's sustenance for her prieste was so thinne and small, that out of their respect they .add this, by their deeds, dated in the Chapter at Hereford, April toth, 1333.' (Harl. MS. 6726, fol. 109.)
" Johanna de Bohoun died without issue, 1 Edward III., 1337, the donation of Lugwardyne being perhaps her dying bequest. On the 17th of October in that year, she constituted form de Badesshawe, her attorney, to give possession to the Dean and Chapter of an acre of land in Lugwardine, and the advowson of the church with the chapels pertaining to it. This instrument was dated at Bisseleye, and her seal was appended, of which a sketch is preserved by Taylor, in whose possession this document appears to have been in 1655, and a transcript of it will be found Harl. MS. 6868, f. 77 (see also 6726, f. 109, which last has been printed in Shaw's Topographer, 1. 280).
"In the tower is preserved the patent 1 Edward III, pro Ecclesia de Lug-warden cum capellis donandis a Johanna de Bohun ad inveniendum 8 capellanos et 2 diaconos appropri- anda (Tanner's Notitia Monast.').
"The circumstances above mentioned appear sufficiently to explain why the memorial of Johanna de Bohoun is found in the Lady Chapel, to which especially she had been a benefactress. They also explain the original ornaments of this tomb, the painting which was to be seen not many years since under the arch in which the effigy lies, now unfortunately concealed by a coat of plaster, of which sufficient has been removed to prove that Gough's description of the original state of the painting is correct. He says, 'The Virgin is represented sitting, crowned with a nimbus; a lady habited in a mantle and wimple kneeling on an embroidered cushion offers to her a church built in the form of a cross, with a central spire—and behind the lady kneel eleven or twelve religious, chanting a gorge deployee after the foremost, who holds up a book, on which are seen musical notes and "salve sea parens.' Fleur-de-lys are painted about both within and without this arch, and on the spandrils two shields; on the left, a bend cotised between twelve Lioncels (Bohun); and on the right, Ermines, a bend indented, Gules.' This description was published 1786.
"By this painting there can be no doubt that the donation of the church of Lugwardine was represented, the eleven or twelve vociferous choristers were the eight chaplains and two deacons mentioned in the patent, who were set apart for the peculiar service of the Lady Chapel, and provided for from the pious bequest of Johanna de Bohoun. The two shields mentioned by Gough are still discernible, that on the dexter side bearing the arms of Bohun, Azure a bend, Argent between two cotises, and six lions rampant, or. —The other, Ermines, a bend indented, (or fusily) Gules, which were the bearings of Plugenet, derived perhaps originally from the earlier Barons of Kilpec, and still borne by the family of Pye in Herefordshire, whose descent is traced to the same source. In the list of obits observed in Hereford Cathedral, Johanna is called the Lady Kilpeck, and out of Lugwardine was paid yearly for her obit forty pence."
The effigy of Joanna de Bohun is also valuable as a specimen of costume. Its curious decoration of human heads is also noteworthy.

About those “human heads” on the arch. I wonder if, as was sometimes done, one of the heads represented Isabella of France, Queen of England, wife of King Edward II. Edward II was the uncle of Joanna’s husband Humphrey IX, Earl of Hereford.

Just wondering!

Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of London, June 11, 1846 describes the opened tomb:

The Dean of Hereford, F.S.A., communicated a notice of the burial-place of Joanna de Bohun, on the north side of the Lady Chapel, at Hereford Cathedral, recently disclosed to view during the progress of the restoration of that decayed fabric. In an arched recess in the wall is seen a recumbent effigy, under which a wooden coffin had been deposited in a grave, half the depth of which only was below the level of the chapel. The lid had been covered with linen of fine texture, upon which had been sewn three large crosses pates, and eight smaller ones, formed of white satin: three similar crosses appeared also on each side of the coffin, and four large iron rings at each side and end. The remains had been wrapped in cloth, apparently woollen, fastened with strong packthread: the bones were much decayed, as is usually the case in interments in the Cathedral; but the flowing hair remained perfect, detached from the cranium, like a wig. It was of a yellowish red colour, and so profuse in quantity, that the prevalent notion of the growth of the hair after death, which, as the Dean remarked, had been entertained by him from previous observations, appeared to be confirmed. This lady had been heiress of Kilpec, in Herefordshire, and espoused one of the Bohun family; in the year 1327, she gave the church of Lugwardine, with the chapels of Llan-garrew, St. Waynard's, and Hentland, to the Dean and Chapter of Hereford ; and this donation was subsequently applied to the service of the Blessed Virgin, for which, previously, no sufficient provision had been made in the church of Hereford. It appears by the Obits, that she died in the same year, 1 Edward III [1337]. The foundations and circular apse of the original chapel, succeeded by the beautiful specimen of early English architecture, to which her bequest contributed, had recently been brought to light; the Dean remarked that, in the ante-chapel of this portion of the Cathedral, certain details partaking of Norman character appeared, which are not to be traced in the parts more eastward; and these last, as he supposed, had been constructed subsequently to the gift of the lady of Kilpec.

Joanna’s tomb was covered for several hundred years, and the painting of her presenting the Lugwardine church to Our Lady was covered by white plaster. It was only relatively recently that restorers have repainted her effigy and tomb arch in reds, blues, and gold.

All we know of Joanna is that she was the childless Countess of Hereford, a benefactress of the cathedral in the early 14th century, and that she had masses of yellowish-red hair. If she’d had descendants, we’d know much more about her. But her donations to the Church surely had impact in her lifetime, and could be a lesson to us today. Even the poorest of us have possessions to spare. Take them to a charity shop! You never know what your gifts do to help others, but the same God that Joanna served still honors that faith, and will multiply your donations miraculously.

My "star" letter to BRITISH ARCHAEOLOGY magazine

2009-08-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

In response to an article by Mick Aston about unlocked churches in Anglesey, Wales, I wrote a letter to the editor of British Archaeology, one of the archaeology magazines to which I subscribe. My letter was published in 2007.

Locked out – Star letter

Christy K Robinson

In Anglesey Revisited (Nov/Dec 2006) Mick Aston wrote that "there is much of interest in many of the churches on Anglesey, as elsewhere in Britain". Amen to that. He continued, "Sometimes the churches are not open to travellers". Last September I put 3,500 miles on a hired car, zipping around England and Wales between cathedrals, ruined abbeys, and medieval parish churches, looking for stone tomb effigies of my ancestors (my third such trip). Some churches were open, and I left a few pounds in the offering box as thanks. Then, inexplicably, I was unable to enter others in which I was assured by internet research that my ancestors "resided". It was heartbreaking to be a few feet away from my goal and not able to enter.

At Merevale Abbey near Atherstone, Warks, the manor owner dug up a key and the farm manager's wife let me in to visit my de Ferrers ancestors. At Coverham Abbey in Yorkshire, the property owners allowed me walking access to their beautiful farm, and took a photo of me between my 12th century ancestors' effigies. At Tutbury, Staffordshire, an octogenarian tending her husband's grave not only found a key to the church, but had me in for tea: the quintessential English "thing" this American will long remember. It lessened the sting that one snippy secretary refused admittance to let me take exterior photos of my ancestral castle during business hours on a weekday.

Mr. Aston concluded his article by saying that the "wealth of history, sculpture, architecture and archaeology to be seen in our parish churches makes them an important part of the cultural tourist industry". In a couple years I'll have enough savings to return (the dollar-to-pound exchange is brutal). Like California's "Governorator" Schwarzenegger says, "I'll be back" – investing in your economy via airline and train fares, accommodations, car hire and petrol, admission fees, purchasing books and antique china, and leaving my vat/gst money there, too. By all means, keep those churches unlocked.

Christy K Robinson, Redlands, California

PS As the editor of a 30,000-circulation Christian ministry magazine, I salute Mike Pitts's chutzpah in publishing the interesting assortment of letters in the Nov/Dec issue.

http://www.britarch.ac.uk/ba/ba96/letters.shtml

"I see dead people!"

2009-08-17T19:55:00.000-07:00

I collect photos of ancestral effigies. Some, but by no means all, are posted in an online album. And I have compiled a list of burial places for hundreds of ancestors. I’ve even visited many of the burial places in England, Scotland, Ukraine, and Paris. There are scores of locations I’ve yet to visit.

What is an effigy? Dictionary.com says, “a representation or image, esp. sculptured, as on a monument.”

The medieval effigy gave words to the deceased, which even an illiterate audience could read: the stone image showed the social status, religious piety, power, and beauty that the deceased would have at the Resurrection, as well as a bit of history in the accompanying heraldic insignia: which noble families contributed to the genealogy, status, dignitas, and wealth of the deceased. Effigies were, like the pyramids of Egypt, meant to be eternal memorials to the memory of the deceased. Their depictions were specified in wills.

Realism in depicting the deceased came in a big way during the reign of Edward III and Philippa (latter half of the 14th century), but there was a wonderful art patronage during Henry III’s reign a hundred years earlier, so some effigies may bear resemblance to the person who’s buried there. In royal personages, there was an attempt at realism in the facial features of the tomb effigy, while the body and clothing were idealized as the warrior, the pious, the literate. There are several paintings, bosses, and sculptures of Eleanor of Aquitaine, that show a beautiful woman with an oval face. Taken on the whole (if you squint), you can get an idea of her looks. Similar story with Edward II’s wife Isabella of France.

I like the sweetness of the clasped hands of Katherine Mortimer and Thomas Beauchamp, Countess and Earl of Warwick, at the church of St. Mary there. (Katherine was daughter of Roger Mortimer, first Earl of March.)

The effigies I’ve observed are now bare stone, but many of them would have been richly painted in blue, red, and gold. The ones of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, in France, have been restored to colorful glory.

Ralph Neville, 1st Earl Westmorland, is the central figure of an effigy grouping at Staindrop church at Raby, Durham. His first and second wives (Margaret Stafford and Joan Beaufort, both of whom are my ancestors) are buried elsewhere, but are depicted in alabaster with Ralph at Staindrop. The women look the same in features, dress, and age, although Margaret died at age 32 and Joan at age 61. I’m not sure of the date of the sculptures, but Ralph’s wife Joan Beaufort died in 1440. The alabaster was said to have come from John of Gaunt’s quarries, so perhaps they were made during the life of Joan, youngest daughter of John of Gaunt.

In non-royal effigies, I’ve read (somewhere) that effigies were roughed out by masons at a quarry, then finished and “personalized” to order. Most effigies have no resemblance to the deceased, but are depicted in clothing or armor of their generation. The women appear to be in their 20s (and might have been if they died in childbirth), and the men in their 40s. However, at Arundel’s FitzAlan Chapel, there’s a grotesque effigy of a decomposed body, some sort of super-pious reminder that humans are inherently evil and destined for hell.

Many images portray the person with open eyes fixed upon a prayer book, an image of saint, angel, or crucifix; or with the body turned slightly toward the altar. All recumbent effigies (and indeed the bodies buried there) have their feet toward the east end of the church, reportedly because at the Second Coming of Christ, the body would arise facing the Lord. Some effigies show a relaxed body with crossed legs and feet resting on a pillow, a lion, or a lap dog. Others depict knights in battle armor, hands on sword pommels.

On some tombs, there are small figures carved at the base. These are “weepers,” showing their loss with hunched bodies or hands covering their faces, but much more, they indicated the noble ancestry or the virility of the deceased. Sometimes the weepers depicted the children of the deceased, as with 13th-century Ralph Neville and Alice d’Audley at Durham, or with the 16th-century Eyre memorials at St. Thomas Church in Salisbury. In clerical instances, the weepers represented their noble connections and/or ecclesiastical authority.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of effigies were destroyed when abbeys and priory churches were destroyed at the Dissolution in the 1530s. After the removal of precious art and furniture, the lead roofs were melted for recycling, the churches were burned, and the dressed stones removed to build other structures. Even more tombs were destroyed or vandalized by parliamentary forces in the English Civil War, including those of my ancestors in Lincoln and Durham Cathedrals.

Although I’ve found ancestral effigies in small gatehouse chapels and huge cathedrals, my favorite effigies were those of the Lords of Middleham, Robert fitzRanulf and his father Ranulf fitzRobert, at Coverham Abbey in Yorkshire (see my blog header). The effigies were discovered in the wreckage of the Dissolution, and now stand as garden art on private property. Ranulf and Robert were ancestors of the powerful Neville family from whom I (and millions of others) descend.

When you see the effigy, say a prayer or “think good thoughts” if you’re so inclined. That was the purpose of an effigy -- that onlookers would remember the importance or influence of a life; that the pile of dust inside the tomb was once beloved of mother or father, children or spouse. While they lived, they patronized religious houses (providing charity to the poor and dying). They were mighty in battle or political influence. When these people lived, they paid for masses and prayers in perpetuity, hoping to be relieved and redeemed from purgatory or hell. Who knows how long (or if) these prayers continued. But some of us like to pay our respects and wonder, just a little, what the living years felt like for the people resting under the effigies.

Further information on medieval effigies:

Medieval death: ritual and representation, by Paul Binski

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http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/154521/death-mask
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http://www.hunterian.gla.ac.uk/archive/deathmask/intro.html

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http://books.google.com/books?id=LoLlvnRPY_sC&pg=PA15&lpg=PA15&dq=medieval+effigies,+death+mask&source=bl&ots=l2-Nbzc2CC&sig=ENYwXdWoPEDu2Mg22nCEwIdRD5Y&hl=en&ei=GCSESoGVCo64MKab9OkE&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=9#v=onepage&q=medieval%20effigies%2C%20death%20mask&f=false