Part 4: Sewing Chronicles of Lady Lizbeth, Secret Diary of a Time Traveling Maid

This is a continuation of a serial story from this art journal. 

Have you missed the other parts?  

CLICK THE following links TO CATCHUP ON THE STORY

Part 1: The Bloggers Apologia

Part2: The Linen Purse

Part 3: By Chance, A Meeting

Part4: Comyn Interestes

Speake not to men outside of your ken,

Lest they forgete theyre place,

And lead ye to thoughts

Unbecoming in a maid.

But take up thy work.

A needle well-placed in a piece of fruite

Has ofte distracted me from thoughts ill-suited to a ladye.

Pithy Sayings of Lady Margaret Hoby

The man plucked a semblance of a bass run on the lute. I wondered if the guy worked this gallery regularly. A sneaky look from under my lashes told me that his name was ‘William Sainsbury’. Talk about a classic British name! It sounded like one the re-enactors made up for their character names at the Elizabethan Springtyme Feste back home. Come to think of it, his name-

“Are you a musician then?”

The guy certainly knew how to get me going. It wasn’t long before he’d heard a fair amount of the story of my career, hobbies, education, family life and what I was doing in London for the summer. Any opportunity to do all the talking makes me TOTALLY happy. I suppose I’m not the first person who gets a kick out of having a member of the opposite sex hang on their every word.

I got so caught up in discussing my interest in music, sewing, antique instruments and fabrics with William, that the voice booming over the announcement system to inform us that the museum was closing in fifteen minutes almost made my drop my iPad.

Quickly he drew a business card out of his pocket. “I’d love to hear more about your plans for the summer. Maybe even-”

I was studying the red thread work on the small case, from which he’d taken the museum card. “Hey I know the woman who made that!”

The embroidery on the little receptacle was a characteristic pattern, and one that I’d seen many times. My sister’s best friend, Jacquie Fitzcannon, had originally designed the pattern of pansies that meandered around a background of diamonds. They sold quite well at her booth. I reached out and stopped the hand that was putting the card-holder back in his pocket.

“Have you been to the springtime feste? Well you must have been! When were you in California?”

“I worked there this year,” he laughed. “demonstrating sheep sheering and cheese making. Jacquie traded me that case in turn for ten pounds of unripened cheddar.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t meet you there. I was playing in the strolling musicians group. Are you going back next year?”

An odd tremor seemed to cross his face. I realized later that he had ignored my question.

“I tell you what, there’s a pub just around the corner called “Her Grace’s Garters”. A lot of the staff goes after work. That researcher who specializes in blackwork embroidery goes quite often. Do you want to join us?”

The guy was obviously safe, not only did he work for the V&A, he knew Jacquie well enough to trade cheddar for embroidery.

Was there really ever any question of my NOT showing up at The Garters?

* * *

Time Travel: Discover Your Career of the Future (or the Past)

Time Portal: Another Way to Spin Through Time

Click on the illustration above to try a spin with this portal

The Old Rose Cathedral Window 

of Durnsmuir Haugh

Most of yon stained glass winders were taken down in Cromwell's Time.
But there was somethin' about this yer 'un that did foil even the most determined of them Reformers.
They do say as three different Roundheads tried to take her down, and all three died in the trying.
It was a woman who convinced 'em to just leave her be.
The Red Rose of Durnsmuir, folks 'round here call her.


The womenfolk 'round here do say the Red Rose, she's got powers.
Codswallop sez I, tis just an old Rose winder, 
         pretty though she may be when the light shines through her panes,
       especially so on the night of a neaps tide.


And though sometimes when those days do come when there's bare a tick o' difference betwtixt the ebb and flow,
I do think I see the old Red Rose spinning with the wind,
And then, well I just puts that down to the ale at the Swallow and Dove, and I go home by 'tother road.

Time Travelers Spotted?

I don't know their story, but I'm pretty sure this pair aren't totally twenty-first century.

Click on the illustration above to check out these time-travellers yourself.

Spotted while walking past Queen Wilhemina's Windmill in Golden Gate Park this afternoon.

Part 3:Sewing Chronicles of Lady Lizbeth, Secret Diary of a Time Traveling Maid

This is a continuation of a serial story from this art journal. 

Have you missed the other parts?  

CLICK THE following links TO CATCHUP ON THE STORY

Part 1: The Bloggers Apologia

Part2: The Linen Purse

Part 3: By Chance, A Meeting

If a lady aspires to virtuous standing ,

She should attend well to her work,

And leave idle contemplation,

And distractions, such as the desire for precious objects

         or the attractions of comely men 

To the vulgar.

Keep your eyes on your needles, ladies

And your hands on your work.

Pithy Sayings of Lady Margaret Hoby

* * *

When I had told my older sister where I was headed for the summer, the first words out of her mouth were to warn me about the men I’d meet there. According to Prissy, they’d be after me in droves the minute they cast their eyes my way. If only the world thought as much of us as do our ever-loving families! Then again, if it did then restaurant staff would be reminding us to eat our broccoli,and supervisors would check to see that we flossed when we got to work. So maybe it’s just as well that we’re not quite so important as our siblings and parents find us.

“I know how you react to men with accents! Just remember that British men can be terribly controlling,” Prissy reminded me. “And I should know.”

My sister had been married to a one-time citizen of Britain for ten years before she washed her hands of him. I don’t recall that my erstwhile brother-in-law had been particularly controlling, if anything, Prissy was the more controlling of the two. I ascribed their lack of marital stamina to severe political differences, but kept my opinion to myself.

“I don’t have the time, or energy to get married,” I assured her. I’m going to spend the summer sewing, practicing Bartok on the piano, and getting in some sightseeing. I’ve got a new contract starting in four months, that’s not even enough time to jump into the dating pool, never mind locating some man I find appealing enough to want to propose to.

* * *

I had been caught up in my admiration of a series of life-sized mosaics on the landing, when I first passed the gallery guide-attendant. I’d been vaguely conscious of the leggy copper-haired lad’s bountiful smile and cheerful salutation, but museum folk are paid to be gracious after all. Caught up in the tapestries, blackwork embroidery and gilt stitchery as I was, I knew that the young man passed through the hall a few times. But, frankly, I thought he was interested in a couple of boisterous American college girls over near the Renaissance instrument collection.

I became more aware of that giggling pair as they began to struggle into some farthingales they’d discovered in the interactive Daily-Renaissance-LIfe costume-area. The young women began to dissolve into helpless laughter as they commenced photographing each other and composing humorous subtitles to go along with the visuals of their now-expanded figures, that they then texted back home to the U.S.  Seeing that no one else was around, I put aside photographing and sketching sewing design ideas on my ipad, and offered my services as a photographer for a sisterly portrait of the two.

“I think we should call this one ‘our new school uniforms’, the taller of the pair gurgled.

“Are you ladies doing study-abroad then?”

“We’re just here for a summer program at UCL.”

The tall form of the guide moved back out of the tapestry niche about the time the students moved on to stare dutifully at the Raphael tapestry cartoons, and I decided I had probably studied every square centimeter of the embroidered purse and headed over to check out the instruments.

The gallery-guide-guy moved over to hover beneath a collection of reproduction lutes hanging in an artful arrangement from the ceiling, as I transferred my lust for beautiful ancient items to a virginal that, the information plaque indicated, was believed to have really, actually, maybe, been played by the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth the First herself.

I looked up from my careful examination of an inlaid bird on the spinet’s case, to find that he was watching me, in a rather obvious manner. I began to wonder if I fit some musical terrorist profile, and considered moving on to study a bass viol in the corner, when he broke the ice by pulling down one of the lutes and plucking out a brief interrogative three note melody.

“So, are you interested in a be-farthingaled photo of yourself for your friends back home?” 

Was the kid flirting with me, I wondered? Then, I decided it was simply a part of the stock patter to chat up solitary travelers.

I gave him the sort of middling-interested smile I reserved for the occasional cocktail party, and shook my head.

“Do you play?”

I looked at him more carefully now. There were lines around his eyes. Though he was built like a young man, he wasn’t as young as I’d first thought.  “What gave me away?”

“Your left hand was shaping chords, when you were examining the keyboard.”

He had a distractingly attractive lock of golden-red hair that wouldn’t stay put. I tried not to stare. “I was trying to remember how to play ‘Smoke on the Water’, but I forgot to bring along one of those kind of picks Queen Elizabeth would have used,” I responded. I hoped my attempt at humor wouldn’t fall flat.

The lock of hair swayed gently when he laughed “I think you mean a plectra. And by the way, I’m pretty sure the Queen’s Grace was a bigger fan of ‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida’.”

* * *

To Be Continued

Just Like My Nan Made: On my mind...

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Just Like My Nan Made: On my mind...

Please click on the illustration above for more tasty details

Entry for  http://justlikemynanmade.blogspot.com/

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Rather Make My Own

Entry for  http://justlikemynanmade.blogspot.com/

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