You’re A What? A Leapling?

Leapling. It sounds like a creature from a fantasy novel — I’m thinking a cross between Gollem and the Marshwiggle from CS Lewis’ Narnia. However, this is the fabulous-sounding name given to those born on February 29th. So, happy birthday to all leaplings of this world, and others!

The concept of the leap year is interesting, and I wondered how it worked in Tudor times, because I knew their New Year began on March 25th. The Tudors used the Julian calendar (Julius Caesar being the man who calculated the leap year), which dictated every year divisible by 4 would be a leap year.

And so, here are some Henrican-Tudor dates that occured in a leap year (I’m sure I missed quite a few, but I just picked these from the top of my head!):

• 1504: death of Mary I’s grandmother, Isabella of Castile
• 1512: England declared war on France
• 1516: birth of Mary I, death of Mary’s grandfather Ferdinand of Aragon
• 1528: the sweating sickness sweeps England and Anne Boleyn falls ill
• 1536: death of Catherine of Aragon, execution of Anne Boleyn
• 1540: Henry VIII married Anne of Cleves and Katheryn Howard; Thomas Cromwell was executed
• 1544: Mary and Elizabeth were restored to the succession

Caesar miscalculated by only 11 minutes, but by the sixteenth century the calendar was inaccurate by 10 days. A new calendar was opted by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582 which put things back on track, but because of the Protestant reign of Elizabeth I, England did not adopt the Gregorian calendar until 1752. Our calendar is Gregorian.

I just love learning new things.

Happy birthday to you, if you are a leapling!

~~~

Sorry this post is a bit late. A neighbour’s horse was loose, which means 1) everyone has to check it isn’t their horse and 2) once they realize it isn’t their horse, everyone in a five kilometer radius feels compelled to help (or rather, flock together uselessly while the first responders take care of it). Weather doesn’t matter. -20 C. Brr!

• The Elizabethan Calendar
• Leap Year

A Bear of a Dog

Every morning, he boarded the ferry from Dartmouth to Kings Wharf for a day like every other. When he got toHalifax, he traveled the streets and took his regular place at the tavern on Argyle Street, where he was served free beer. When he was done his day he took the 1:00 a.m. ferry back to Dartmouth. Not such an unusual night for an unemployed man, but Newf was a dog. 

The era in which Newf lived was that of the mid-1950s, when memories of the Second World War were still fresh in people’s minds; when people were keeping busy to avoid remembering the recent past; before Halifax turned into a modern city, back when people still said hello to strangers. 

Newf was the size of a bear, as many remember, black, eyes as big as half-dollars, and a friendly face to a lonesome person needing company. He was “owned” — for no one really owned Newf — by my great-grandfather Harold Stroud and his family. 

Newf minded his own business. When he roamed Halifax, if someone tagged along, he didn’t mind. If no one followed him, that was okay, too. He seemed like a solitary being, and didn’t often have much to say.

During his time with the Strouds, he pulled their children around in the harbor in Burnside. He memorized the route of my grandfather’s furniture truck and waited to be picked up and taken home, apparently tired from his day in the city.

The behavior of this Newfoundland dog was peculiar. He was a world traveler, a pet, a companion, and a mascot. If Newf was there, then all was normal in our bizarre world. He was the first one on the ferry in the morning, and legend was that he never missed a trip. 

Many of the men working on the ferry remember wondering what Newf would do if he ever missed a boat trip. Where would he go? But it never came to that, for Newf was one of those [lucky] type of beings with internal clocks.

One day as a few sailors from the ferry followed Newf around town, a shore patrol officer stepped out. He told them that they had to keep their dog on a leash. They laughed, for two reasons: one, no one could ever own Newf; and two, it would take a tow-rope rather than a leash for that dog. One of these sailors eventually wrote an article about the adventures of Newf.

 This huge Newfoundlander led two lives: living as a pet with the Strouds; and then he’d disappear for days at a time. No one was sure where he was during these binges of freedom, but he always came back eventually. I’m sure a few regarded him as an unruly teenager, set to go his own way, but never able to go too, too far.

 Then, one day Newf missed the ferry trip. A few of the sailors asked around, but no one had seen him. Some disregarded it; habits have to change, after all, especially for a dog. Others were unsettled. It was a disconcerting thing to miss the bear-sized dog. It had been awhile since my great-grandfather had seen Newf too. Many assumed he had found a new forte in anew city, with a new female cocker spaniel. Perhaps he had moved on. Maybe their teenager grew up at last.

The man who wrote the news article about Newf asked around occasionally, but no one had seen him. Then, someone told him that Newf had died. This loveable beast of a dog was given a military funeral, staged by the sea cadets at the HMCS Shearwater. They told the man that he was buried on the base.

There’s a picture of my great-grandfather with a massive black dog standing eye-to-eye with him, its paws on his shoulders. My sister and I grew up asking again and again about the fantastical story of Newf; we still never tire to hear of him. It almost seems made up, but Newf is something of a family celebrity, something told around the candlelit kitchen table during a snowstorm.

[NOTE: 29/02/12 The photo might not be showing up, but if you click on it, it should. ]

I have a feeling Newf will show up in my writings often, a friendly cameo in the world of Cillin and that dratted nameless girl I mentioned earlier. Master Locksley is a supporting character, and his young son Bear is actually named after the bear-like dog that often lodges in their home:

When Master Locksley crossed the threshold of his home, he was immediately bowled over by a massive black and giggling blur. Chubby fingers tangled themselves around the fabric of his shirt while a pink tongue eagerly swept all areas of bare skin.

“Papa!” the squirmy child shouted. It took Master Locksley a moment to distinguish his son from his dog, though the latter was twice as big as the former.

“Did you really miss me that much?” the locksmith gasped, kissing both boy and canine.

“It was all I could do to stop Newf from following you to the King’s City,” his wife answered. “Bear was threatening to ride him there; I nearly tied them both up in the yard.” Marian ducked down to rescue her husband from the 170-pound dog and six-year-old son. 

 

 

Anne Boleyn at the Academy Awards

“Ready?” Henry asked his wife.

“Of course,” said Anne. She took his large, warm hand and the pair stepped out of their limo onto the red carpet. A thousand bulbs flashed and popped and the crowd screamed hysterically at the beautiful couple. Anne, stunning in a black lacy McQueen number shot through with hints of emerald, owned the audience with her captivating black eyes and flirty grin. Henry was dashing in a dark blue tux, a bit bear-like, but definitely handsome. They nearly caused a riot with their beauty.

Nat Dormer, who played Anne Boleyn in 'The Tudors,' is a perfect and enchanting Anne.

“Oh, Anne. You look stunning!” Angelina had towed Brad over by the hand and now brushed kisses on Anne and Henry’s cheeks. “How are you?”

Anne twisted her mouth a bit ruefully. “I’m fine. How are you two?”

“Exhausted between all these award shows and running the kids around.” Angie put her hand on Anne’s forearm and laughed a bit. “Being a mother is tiring. And, speaking of which, how’s little Elizabeth?”

“She’s great. A miniature genius, she is,” Henry said abruptly.

“But let’s not talk about our kids anymore! We’re at the Oscars!” Brad grinned easily. He pulled his skinny wife closer to him. “Again.”

Henry also wrapped his arm around his thin wife. “Again,” he agreed, like it was a regular Sunday night.

“Oh, there’s George! Let’s go say hi.” Angelina tugged her husband away again, this time beelining for Clooney and whatever new girlfriend he came up with this year.

Anne, though a winning smile remained on her face, whispered, “If they say one more thing about their…their bus-load of children –”

“I’ll send them to the Tower,” Henry finished. Anne rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” she said. “The show is about to start, and we still haven’t spoken to any reporters. We need some positive press after that TMZ story about you and old Catherine.” Anne began walking elegantly towards Ben Mulroney and stepped on Henry’s foot when he didn’t move. He was staring at a suspicious line of four women with nametags. Jane Seymour, Anne Cleves, Kitty Howard, Kate Parr. His brow creased. Did he know those women?

“Of course not, Henry dear. I’m your wife. I’m the only one you’ve ever taken to the Oscars.” Anne plucked a remote from her clutch, hit a button, and watched with satisfaction as the four women vanished. “Now, I think Benny from Canada wants to talk with us.”

~~~

Well, Anne was always a bit of a show-stealer, and I couldn’t resist. But can’t you imagine Henry and Anne, desperate for a son, meeting with Brangelina, who have a ‘bus-load’ of kids? Awkward. Can’t you imagine seductive, elegant Anne perched on the arm of the imposing and majestic pre-obese Henry Tudor surrounded by celebs and flashing cameras? I can. And can’t you imagine Anne decked out in McQueen?? BECAUSE I CAN!

It’s always Anne in the movies. I’ve never seen a movie starring Cat of Aragon, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Kitty Howard, or Kate Parr as the lead. Yes, C.o.A and J.S. usually play supporting roles, but not the others. Shows like The Six Wives of Henry VIII and The Tudors do try to make each wife shine, but let’s face it. In The Tudors, Anne starred in 21 episodes, Cat of Aragon in 18, Jane in 10, Anne of Cleves in 5, Kitty Howard in 6, and Kate Parr in 5.

One of my personal favourite movies, Anne of the Thousand Days (1969), turned out to be a good friend of Oscar despite many negative reviews. It won an Academy Award for Best Costume Design and was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Leading Actor (Richard Burton), Best Leading Actress (Geneviève Bujold — a French Canadian!), Best Supporting Actor (Anthony Quayle), Best Art Direction-Set Decoration, Best Music, & Best Sound.

Happy 84th Oscar Night! Will you be watching? And will you be imagining sixteenth-century women walking the red carpet? ‘Cause I will be.

Also, Susan Bordo will be releasing her book on Anne Boleyn in pop culture, The Creation of Anne Boleyn, next year. I am very excited!

Another Nursery Rhyme

[Warning. Longer post than intended.]

Divorced, beheaded, died

Divorced, beheaded, survived.

This nursery rhyme depicts the fate of each of Henry VIII’s wives; ironically it is usually only by their fate they are remembered. Just to give ya’ll a brief run-down of the six women who were married to ‘Bluff King Hal’…

Catherine of Aragon: 1486-1536

This pious, intelligent little woman was married briefly to Arthur Tudor in October 1501 before his death shortly after. She married his younger brother Henry in 1509 when she was 23 and he was 17. She suffered several miscarriages, stillborns, and children who died shortly after birth (take little Prince Henry, alive for 52 days), was strong in her faith, her love for her surviving daughter Mary, and her love and devotion to her husband. Daughter of the Spanish Kings Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, sister of Juana the Mad, and aunt of Emperor Charles V, Catherine was a princess by birth and by actions. When Henry began his campaign to divorce her, Catherine caused him a rather impressive six-year headache. She was only one of two of Henry’s wives to serve as regent while he was at war. Her daughter would one day become Mary I, or “Bloody Mary.”

Anne Boleyn: c.1501-1536

Witty, fiery, temperamental, intelligent Anne Boleyn was educated under Margaret of Austria and served two Queens of France. She caught the king’s eye when she returned to England to serve Catherine of Aragon, sometime after her sister Mary’s affair with him in the early 1520s. After six years of courtship, Anne and Henry married in secret in 1533, and Anne gave birth to a baby girl on September 7^th. Anne was also highly passionate about the Reform of the Church, and she can be pinned down to the woman responsible for England’s break from Rome. Her pregnancies in 1534 and 1536 both ended in miscarriage, and her argumentative, jealous ways were beginning to wear on her husband, who was starting to pay attention to lady-in-waiting Jane Seymour. Anne was executed on fabricated charges of adultery, incest, and treason on 19 May 1536. Five men were executed in association with her, including her younger brother George. Her daughter became Elizabeth I, or “Gloriana.”

Jane Seymour: c.1508-1537

Not much is known about the pale, prim woman whom Holbein captures on canvas. Quiet, pious, thought to be leaning towards the ‘old religion,’ many people believe her to be the polar opposite of her flighty predecessor Anne. Probably educated and intelligent, Jane was much loved by Henry, and her brothers Edward and Thomas became prominent men in the court. She gave birth in 1537 to the long-awaited male heir, but died shortly after. Her son became the boy-king Edward VI.

 Anne of Cleves: 1515-1557

Educated differently than her predecessors but still intelligent, innocent, and ultimately self-preserving, Anne of Cleves make up Wife No. 4 of the list. Despite having gone down in history as ‘the Flander’s mare’ and the ‘ugly wife,’ modern society generally agrees that Holbein’s portrait of her is the most flattering of the six wives. After the death of Jane Seymour, Henry was persuaded by his man Thomas Cromwell (the figure given credit to the destruction of Anne Boleyn) to marry one of the sisters of the Duke of Cleves, therefore making a Protestant alliance against the Catholic Spain. Holbein was sent to paint the sisters, Anna and Amelia, and became enamoured by the portrait of the elder, Anna. She was sent for and Henry was anxious to meet his 24-year-old bride, but when she finally arrived in England everything fell apart. Henry, the romantic buffoon that he was, decided to sneak up upon Anna in a guise as so many courtly romantic figures did. Unfortunately, Anne, who couldn’t speak a stitch of English at the time, didn’t recognize him (he was disguised, after all!) and ignored the strange man trying to embrace her. It went downhill from there. After a lavish wedding, Henry declared he couldn’t consummate his marriage because his wife just didn’t excite him, but quickly defended his manhood saying he felt he could ‘do so with other women.’ Anyway, Anne readily agreed to an annulment and accepted the title of ‘the King’s beloved sister.’ She was given manors and money and was the highest woman in England save for the King’s wife and his daughters. Anne lived to see her ex-stepdaughter Mary become Queen and rode with Elizabeth in the procession.

Katheryn Howard: c.1521-1542

Polite, energetic, generous, and a bit naïve, this cousin of Anne Boleyn also made her mark on the King. She served Anne of Cleves and quickly caught the King’s eye, steering away from her crush Thomas Culpepper. Katheryn was married to Henry only six weeks after the annulment of his marriage with Anne and quickly became the apple of his eye. His “Rose Without a Thorn” however, had some secrets. After her past and promiscuous life was exposed, the young queen and her lady were sent to block on 13 February 1542. Read my post on Katheryn here.

 Katherine Parr: 1512-1548

Highly intelligent with a passion for the Religious Reform, Katherine was already twice-widowed when she married Henry in July of 1543. She saw her marriage to the King as an act of duty, not necessarily love, and an opportunity to further the Reform. A mother to his two younger children,Elizabeth and Edward, and a friend to his elder daughter Mary, Katherine is often known as the ‘survivor.’ Religious conservatives sought to end her radical ways and was nearly arrested; she endured, however, to become to first English queen to have a book published under her own name. After the King’s death in January of 1547, Katherine and Elizabeth moved to Chelsea where the Queen Dowager lived with her new husband Tom Seymour (brother to Wife No. 3). The remainder of her life was not exceptionally happy, though. Tom was rumoured to have been unfaithful with his own stepdaughter, 13-year-old Elizabeth. Katherine’s behaviour became strange when she joined her husband to his romps in Elizabeth’s bedroom, holding her down while he tickled Anne Boleyn’s daughter. Katherine died on 7 September 1548 after contracting puerperal fever while giving birth to a daughter Mary. It’s not known what happened to little Mary Seymour, but Tom Seymour was executed in January 1549 after attempting to marry Elizabeth. As David Starkey puts it, “Perhaps marriage to Henry had been the better part after all.”

 There is a lot of favouriting and bashing happening with Tudor fans and the wives, especially between Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Insults have been thrown, pathetic hate-Facebook pages have been started, and malice brewed. Why? These women have been gone for nearly 500 years and none of them directly caused the fate of another. I dislike when people pick a ‘favourite’ of the wives — they were people, not colours!

I can understand, however, finding some wives more interesting than the others. For me, the interest from greatest to least goes: Anne Boleyn, Anne of Cleves, Catherine of Aragon, Katheryn Howard, Katherine Parr, and Jane Seymour. Some of it is the personality they’ve left behind, or the legacy, or the end. I do respect each of these brave women and hope others can respect their memories as well.

Further reading:

• Six Wives: The Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey, 2003
• The Six Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser, 1992 
• The Anne Boleyn Files also has bios of the wives

OH, and guess what? Claire Ridgway, author of the Anne Boleyn Files, will be guest posting on March 6th as part of her virtual book tour. Don’t miss it!

The Name of the Game

It’s hard, finding the perfect name. For a kid, for a pet, for a toy, for a character — choosing names is difficult. And when it comes to naming your characters, it has to be perfect because it has to match his/her personality. It’s likely the first thing the reader will encounter. A golden — or not — first impression.

I have several ways to beat this, some mundane and others plain fun. It doesn’t always work, and a character’s name can always change if you find a better suited one, but it’s usually productive and at least enjoyable.

Start a dictionary. Begin with names that are commonplace but not too boring, like Madeleine or Spencer, and add any favourites that pop into your head as you stare at the word processor. You should end up with a fairly long list. Now comes the fun part.

After watching a movie on the weekend, take the time to watch the credits. About halfway through the names and nicknames start to get interesting; ”Bear” or “Thunder” might scroll by. And don’t miss the opportunity for last names! Write ‘em down, remember ‘em, save ‘em for later.

Sporting events. I personally don’t watch many of these, but during the Olympics I’ll sit in front of the TV and watch downhill skiing or something and scribble down my favourite names. Maelle was a stand-out for me at Vancouver 2010. Other favourites often were athletes from China, Japan, Korea, and Switzerland: Arisa, Naleryia, Yulia.

French-English dictionary. If you’re looking for a name that fits a character’s personality, look up some adjectives. Sad? Mal. Read? Lire. Pretty? Jolie. And on and on. Sometimes I get caught up in it, imagining characters to go with these names.

Phone book. These are good for last names especially, for obvious reasons.

Maps! I LOVE reading maps. They are simply stuffed with spectacular names! Caspian and Tasman (seas) are personal favourites, but I won’t ruin your map-reading fun.

Get a baby naming book. Your mom might have one, or a friend might. They come complete with meaning, origins, variations, nicknames, and celebrity namesakes. It’s also cute to see the owner have notes scrawled in the margins and names circled or underlined. And don’t think these names are all ordinary: how about Avice, Iolanthe, or Semele? Very elvish feeling, no?

And perhaps the most fun of all is making up something completely original. Mixing two or three names to make one, or experimenting with random sounds and letters to get something you like. I’ve combined Amelia with Jenny to get Jenilia, and Talia with Anna to get Talianna. I’ve concocted Arrasae (pronounced Air-uh-say) through random lettering. See how fun this is?

I once created an entire character based on the last half of the word penicillin. Cillin was a bookbinder who worked in King Ilex’s castle as a bookbinder: two children, not married, dry humour. Unfortunately I haven’t put him to good use yet, but he is a cool guy to have hanging around in my head.

Personally, I find it’s easier to build a character around a name rather than find a name for a character who already exists. Currently I have a nameless girl — who belongs to the same world as Cillin — wandering around with no purpose. She has a background and a cast of marvelous supporting characters, but until I find her a name she’ll continue to sit around and get dusty because I can’t do anything with her.

Time to dig out a map.

Sing a Song of Sixpence…

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing,

Oh wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the King!

The King was in his counting house,

Counting out his money,

The Queen was in the parlour

Eating bread and honey;

The maid was in the garden

Hanging out the clothes

When down came a blackbird and

Pecked off her nose!

There was such a commotion

That little Jenny wren

Flew down into the garden and

Put it on again!

This slightly morbid but catchy nursery rhyme has been around at least since the eighteenth century. Often I find myself humming it under my breath while sketching or making a sandwich. It drives my sister crazy, but this only gives me more incentive to sing it.

The origins of it are interesting. Many think it refers to Henry VIII, Catherine of Aragon, and Anne Boleyn. The king ‘in his counting house’ referring the dissolution of the monasteries, while Queen Catherine was ‘eating bread and honey’ like a good little wife. The maid — Anne — was ‘hanging out the clothes’ in service to the Queen when her nose was pecked off! This could be in reference to Henry swooping down and taking her love, marrying her, and eventually taking her virginity. Of course, with poor Catherine shoved aside and the public’s dislike of Anne, as well as his eventual gal pal Jane Seymour*, Henry and his man Thomas Cromwell were forced to put Anne away. Putting the ‘nose’ back on was, I guess, divorcing her, bastardizing her daughter, and chopping her head off.

I wonder what big toughie Cromwell would think of being immortalized in a children’s rhyme as ‘little Jenny wren’?

Also, some cooks did put live birds in their pies as a surprise, so when it was opened they would fly away. Odd, but interesting.

*Later this week I’ll do a quick telling of the story of The Six Wives, just so no one is completely lost!

Happy Birthday to the Anne Boleyn Files

A ‘most happy’ 3rd birthday to The Anne Boleyn Files!

I stumbled upon The AB Files nearly two years ago after my first contact with Tudor history (a commercial for the Showtime series The Tudors). I was overwhelmed with all the information and the fact that it all came from one person, but I began to learn the ropes of sixteenth-century obsession, mainly thanks to Claire’s wonderful articles.

Being inducted into the history-loving world is a little scary, especially at first. If you’re like me and eager to learn everything at once, you’d run to the library and borrow every 400-plus page book with the word ‘Tudor’ in it. I was completely bamboozled. The writers of these books usually don’t take into account the slightly-mushy mind of the newbie. Who was this Chapuys guy? Does he have a first name? Henry VIII was married to three women named ‘Katherine’? How do I know which one they’re talking about?

I might have dropped Tudor history if it wasn’t for Claire and The AB Files. Her concise, easy-to-read, clever, super-referenced articles were my saving point. I learned that Eustace Chapuys was the ambassador for Emperor Charles V, who was nephew to Henry VIII’s first wife Catherine of Aragon. I learned the different spellings and stories to distinguish Catherine of Aragon, Katheryn Howard, and Katherine Parr (Wives No.1, 5, and 6 respectively), and much much more.

So if you’re into Tudor history and aren’t ready to handle the big books (which are wonderful once you’ve learned the essentials), check out The AB Files and indulge in some sixteenth-century bliss.

Claire also runs the Elizabeth Files and the History Files, and her book The Anne Boleyn Collection was released on Amazon today! Congratulations, Claire, and thank you for saving my love of the Tudors and our lovely Anne. I’ll be ordering The Collection very soon!

PS: This theme is called ‘Thirteen.’ I like it so far; it’s a bit more ‘grumbly’ but still readable. Any thoughts on it?

Blogging Identity Crisis and Local Art Show

Though I might not always know what to do or what to say, I’ve never lost that unique sense of myself. I know who I am and who I want to be. So it’s with utter bamboozlement and a little sadness that I admit to having a slight Blogging Identity Crisis.

It’s hard balancing all the things I want to talk about. I want to tell you about the colour of Anne Boleyn’s hair and the twelve different uses of dragon’s blood. I want to write about expressing one’s self through unusual clothing and the divine art of Pretend and the sincerity trees exude when you hug them.

Those are all very diverse things. Are they too diverse for one blog? Will they bore people?

While I can probably handle the content (after all, it is my blog, and I suppose people will grumble always), I’m most leery about the Theme. When you make a blog, you pick one of 170 themes. This is called ‘Chateau.’ I chose it because I thought it was haunting and beautiful and I enjoyed the default header picture.

But is it ‘grumbly’ enough? If the things I’m writing here are grumble-worthy and the Theme isn’t, then what am I saying? While Chateau is pretty, it’s not what I’m trying to imply to readers. It’s sophisticated, perhaps too much so for Let Them Grumble. It’s clean and neat — unlike nearly everything I do.

So over the next week or two I think I’ll be test-driving some other, more grumbly Themes. Albeo, perhaps? Or Matala? We’ll see. I’ll find it.

On a completely different note, the 4-H members of Colchester and Halifax East-Hants are pleased to invite you to an art and crafts show and sale!

The show will take place at the Winding River Art Gallery above the gift shop at Mastodon Ridge in Stewiacke.

The youth will be displaying photography, paintings, drawings, sculptures, rug hooking, jewelry, and much more!

Please join us for our OPENING NIGHT RECEPTION Friday, February 17th, 7pm – 9pm. Meet the artists and enjoy complimentary snacks and refreshments. And, yours truly will be doing a reading.

The Show will continue Saturday, Feb. 18th and Sunday, Feb. 19th, 10am – 5pm.

Not only is this a great opportunity to see some amazing work, but also to learn a bit more about 4-Hers. There is more to us than cows and rubber boots! I highly recommend any youth (between the ages of 9 and 21) join your local club next year; it’s a great program and I’ve learned wonders from it. You don’t need to show an animal — you can do Photography, Crafts, Scrapbooking, Heritage, Sewing, and tons more! Animal projects include Dairy, Light Horse, Rabbit and Cavi (Guinea Pig), Waterfowl, Poultry, Goat, and Sheep!

Anyway, spread the word about the local Art Show and hope to see you there! 

Helpful links:

• 4-H Nova Scotia
• Shu-Mil 4-H CLUB Facebook Page
• What are the 12 uses of dragon’s blood?

Happy Pan-Universal Be Who You Are Day!

Valentine’s Day has rolled around again. Personally, I don’t get it. Murder some helpless flowers and give them to your sweetheart? It just seems like extra pressure for people who have a significant other. “Don’t forget to buy me a sickly-sweet card and some expensive chocolates, sweetie!”

I mean, the story of the original Valentine was pretty cute. A guy named Valentine — a priest, maybe? — was sentenced to death and while in prison wrote a letter to his sweetheart, signing it “Your Valentine.” I’m not sure where I heard this at, because Wikipedia doesn’t seem to know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, the currently established holiday seperates the lonely from the happy. It tells you to be pretty, eat chocolate, be desirable, spend money on Hallmark cards, and kill flowers. You know what? Wear a plaid shirt with a polka dot tank top and ramble about sixteenth-century executions (basically a regular Tuesday for me; I’m such a romantic.)

When I read Kristin Cashore’s blog post declaring today PAN-UNIVERSAL BE WHO YOU ARE DAY, I was enthralled. It gives single and un-romantic people something else to celebrate. This is the chance for people who might be shy about who they are, or people who don’t know who they are, or people who might want to change who they are to announce themselves to the world. Not only this version of ourselves, but also alternate versions!

So here, I might wear a fascinator or a plaid-and-polka-dot ensemble and in another dimension I  suddenly become a tattoo artist who plays bass in a rock band (though I’m pretty sure all versions of me are distinctly un-musical). Whatever matches my fancy and shows the world who I really am, I’ll wear or say or do or write it. Because today is Pan-Universal Be Who You Are Day!

~~~

Meet Andrej Pejic, a male model sweeping up top-notch designers; as either a man or a woman.

Andrej Pejic, being who HE is.

Modelling everything from wedding dresses to chic street wear, at first look you wouldn’t even guess Andrej was anything other than a beautiful young woman. In an article Andrej says

“But now I’m comfortable in my skin, and for my look to be celebrated is great. My look is very personal to me. When I started experimenting, it was a personal decision because I was unhappy. It wasn’t something I did for attention.”

If that isn’t being who you are, then I don’t know what is. Let them grumble.

Happy Pan-Universal Be Who Are Day!

 

Another Teenage Queen Loses her Head

[Last Tudor-related post of the week. Promise.]

Katheryn* Howard was a bubbly, generous girl raised by her step-grandmother the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk in a dormitory-esque setting. The Duchess was responsible for several children and the household she ran was similar to that of an informal school. The size of the household — over a hundred people at Lambeth — seems to have allowed the hormone-riddled teenagers to essentially do as they pleased.

After flirting then ditching her music teacher, Henry Mannox,  in 1538 Katheryn set her eyes on Francis Dereham. Dereham was a member of the Duchess’ household and seems to have swept Katheryn off her feet. They began calling each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ and their relationship was probably — if not undoubtedly — consummated. If they believed they were married, or as good as, there was nothing wrong with behaving as such. At least, until Mannox became jealous and tipped off the Duchess of her step-granddaughter’s promiscuity. Duchess Agnes was not impressed when she found Katheryn and Dereham ‘embracing’ and flew into a rage, hitting nearly everyone in the room.

Though Dereham was better born than Mannox, it still wasn’t a great match for a girl descended from Edward I, no matter Katheryn’s feelings for him. Incidentally, they cooled while Dereham was in Ireland and she was transferred closer to court, where she met the dashing Thomas Culpepper in 1539.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), while attending on Queen Anne of Cleves, the King fell in love with her.

So, out with Henry VIII’s fourth wife and in with the fifth.

As historian David Starkey puts it, her husband was not the stuff dreams are made of. Henry, at forty-eight, was no longer the lean golden-haired prince of 1509. Balding, overweight with a stinking ulcer on his thigh and with a horrible marital history, Katheryn apparently put some spring back into His Majesty’s step. He was hopelessly in love with the teenage cousin of his second wife, showering her in gifts and jewels.

Katheryn, who had grown up considerly poor, was probably quite happy other than

A miniature identified as Katheryn Howard.

the fact that she was married to a man more than twice her age. She maintained a friendly relationship with Anne of Cleves; after dinner the two regal ladies danced together while the King retired to his chambers. I once read somewhere — probably online – that Katheryn Howard and Anne of Cleves had a lesbian affair.  I don’t believe so and I’ve read no reasonable proof, just as I don’t believe George Boleyn and Mark Smeaton were lovers.

Anyway, Katheryn continued to enjoy her queen-hood, though her husband often had to restrain her from lavishing valuable gifts at everyone she knew. Joan Bulmer, who lived with Katheryn at Lambeth, was inducted as one the new Queen’s ladies-in-waiting and Dereham himself begged his way into becoming her gentleman usher.

Though the King and Queen…met…often, there was no sign of a Duke of York to accompany Jane Seymour’s (Wife No. 3) son Edward in the nursery, despite Katheryn coming from an extremely fertile family. And Henry often spent days in his chambers nursing his swollen legs and decreeing that his wife not be allowed to see him.

Perhaps these days alone reminded Katheryn of her admiration for Thomas Culpepper. Culpepper was in his late twenties, charming, and highly favoured by the King. Historian Antonia Fraser compares him to a young Duke of Suffolk: a ladies’ man who would climb high in royal favour. The Queen, about nineteen now, bestowed upon Culpepper treasured gifts, met secretly at night, and in April of 1541 wrote him a terribly spelt yet passionate love letter.

The fall of Katheryn Howard was a swift, tragic chain of events beginning in early

Tamzin Merchant as Katheryn Howard.

November. Mary Hall, who served in the Duchess’ household at the same time as Katheryn, told her brother of the late-night meetings Katheryn enjoyed with Mannox and Dereham. Her brother then told Archbishop Cranmer, who told the King, who was a little disbelieving but insecure enough to let questioning ensue.

Mannox admitted to flirtation but nothing as horrible as a full-fledged affair. Dereham admitted that he had been pre-contracted to the Queen and of their consummated relationship. Neither of these were a crime. However, Dereham told his interrogators (and torturers?) that ‘Culpepper had succeeded him in the Queen’s affections.’ Jane Boleyn Viscountess Rochford (sister-in-law and wife of Anne and George Boleyn) was also a part of this tale. She, as maid-of-honour, had been the go-between for Katheryn and Culpepper and had encouraged her mistress in persuing the dangerous relationship. Katheryn nervously but continuously maintained her innocence.

On December 1, Dereham and Culpepper were found guilty of treason. On the 10th they were executed, Culpepper by axe but Dereham by a full traitor’s death.

Katheryn was transferred to the Tower of London on 10 February with some resistance. After an Act of Attainder (which spared Henry the grief of signing another wife’s death warrant) was passed on the 11th, Katheryn Howard and Jane Rochford were legally dead. The poor girl was notified on the 12th that she was to die the following day.

Katheryn asked for the block to be brought to her, so she could practise how to place her neck upon it.

On Monday the 13th, Katheryn climbed the scaffold steps, spoke of her sins, love for and goodliness of the King, and called upon God for mercy. She knelt and placed her neck on the block as practised, and her head was struck off.

She might have not reached her twentieth birthday.**

~~~

*The spelling of Katheryn’s name is basically a personal preference. It has been spelt Katherine, Catherine, Katheryn, Kathryn, and Katharine. Many people spell it with a ‘y’ to discern her from Catherine of Aragon and Katherine Parr, or otherwise call her ‘Kitty.’

**The birthdate of Katheryn Howard is unknown, but can be pinned down around 1521-1525, making her between seventeen and twenty-one at the time of her execution.

Further reading:

• The Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser
• Six Wives: the Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey
• A Tudor Tradegy: the Life and Times of Catherine Howard by Lacey Baldwin Smith