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“Mothering Sunday” –Perhaps Not What You Think?

Mothering-Sunday-BannerIf you assumed that the British holiday of “Mothering Sunday” (this coming Sunday) is the equivalent of the American “Mother’s Day”, only celebrated two months sooner, you’d be making a historical mistake that even lots of Brits make. While it may be mostly true today, that was not always so. Mothering Sunday as observed in Regency times, and centuries before, sprang from both religious and more practical concerns. Did it still have anything to do with honoring mothers? If it didn’t, where does the name come from? Read on, my friends.

Mothering Sunday is always celebrated on the fourth Sunday in Lent. That should tell you it’s rooted in Christian tradition, unlike the secular American holiday. Depending on what sources you consult, some claim the early Christians co-opted the Roman celebration in March that honored mothers and the Mother Goddess Cybele, and in its place established Mothering Sunday to be a time of devotion to Mother Mary, the virgin mother of Jesus Christ. Madonna by memling4 priestess_cybele

The timing worked well. Early Christians were no dummies, and giving everyone a little break in the middle of the long 40-day fast of Lent no doubt increased the chances that people would stick with the disciplines expected of them. In some places, this mid-Lent Sunday was called “Refreshment Sunday”, or “Sunday of the Five Loaves”.

But as with anything that old, there are multiple roots entwined with these beginnings, and very little documentation. This particular Sunday was also known as Laetare Sunday in the pre-Reformation times. As Christianity and the proliferation of churches spread during the medieval period, the distinction was made between smaller parish churches (known as “daughter” churches) and the major cathedrals in each diocese (the “mother” churches). Important sacraments, such as baptisms, were done at the “mother” churches, presided over by bishops, rather than the local parish priest. On Laetare or Mothering Sunday, families were expected to gather together to make the pilgrimage to their “mother’ church to honor Mary and their own baptisms.

Mothering Sunday-Victorian Church

Victorian children bring flowers to church to honor the Virgin Mary.

Since most children were put to work by the age of ten, many lived away from home, serving as apprentices or learning to be domestic servants. A half-day holiday was often not long enough for them to be able to return home, so once a year, on Mothering Sunday, they would be given a full day holiday to visit their families and go to their “mother” churches. That they might pick flowers on the way and perhaps bring small gifts to their mothers is easy enough to believe. Mothering_Sunday2

The first known dated written reference to Mothering Sunday is from 1644, when a royal officer from Essex was visiting Worcester and reported that “…all the children and godchildren meet at the head and chief of the family and have a feast.”

Special foods like simnel cake became associated with Mothering Sunday. (In some places it was called Simnel Sunday!) Kind of like the holiday itself, simnel cake is a mixture of things, part fruitcake and part pastry, both boiled like a pudding and baked like a cake. It may have a hard outer crust, and may be coated and decorated with almond paste (11 marzipan balls represent the Apostles minus Judas). Simnel Cake-classic  An early reference to it being brought as a gift for “mothering” also dates from the early 17th century. It was usually served with “braggot” (hot spiced ale) or “frumenty” (a spiced drink made from boiled wheat), depending on location.

Simnel Cake-pc

After the Reformation, and increasingly up to the Regency period, the emphasis for Mothering Sunday focused far less on the church-going and far more on the day for apprentices and servants to be given time off to visit their families. Imagine how important that day would have been to them, if they could only see their families once a year!

The observation of the holiday declined during the later 19th and early 20th centuries as other kinds of employment became more common. Mothering Sunday had about died out by WWI. But the United States had created Mother’s Day in 1913, and other countries adopted the idea.

Christopher Howse, writing for The Telegraph (2013), says “the revival of Mothering Sunday must be attributed to Constance Smith (1878-1938), and she was inspired in 1913 by reading a newspaper report of Anna Jarvis’s campaign in America. …Under the pen-name C. Penswick Smith she published a booklet The Revival of Mothering Sunday in 1920.” Smith did not want the day to be connected to any one Christian denomination and pushed the revival through secular organizations such as scout groups. Howse adds, ‘“By 1938,’ wrote Cordelia Moyse, the modern historian of the Mothers’ Union, ‘it was claimed that Mothering Sunday was celebrated in every parish in Britain and in every country of the Empire.’” Transformed into a modern holiday! Has it become less meaningful?

Do you live near your parents? How often are you able to visit your family? Do you believe “absence makes the heart grow fonder” or would you stay close if you could? Did you already know this history of Mothering Sunday?

Cranford & the Social Aspects of Needlework

A lavender sachet with an embroidered rabbit

A lavender sachet with a rabbit, embroidered by the author

I thought for today’s post, I’d elaborate a little on my February post about needlework, and talk about the social aspects of needlework. As any crafter knows, there is an immense satisfaction in gifting your work to your friends and family (especially when they actually appreciate handmade things). I love giving handmade blankets and softies to the children of my friends, and among the women of my grandmother’s generation, embroidered handkerchiefs were popular presents.

Like today, needlework often served as a means to strengthen (female) relationships in the Regency era. And in 19th-century literature this is nowhere better reflected than in Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford stories. They were first published in the early 1850s, but most of them are set at a much earlier date, in the 1830s and 40s, and the genteel, yet impoverished ladies of Cranford maintain rules of etiquette that are remnants from even earlier decades.

With Cranford, Gaskell entered a contemporary debate about whether women were able to form and maintain true friendships with members of their sex. As female friendships and female communities form such an important part of the Cranford stories, it perhaps not surprising that we are granted a much more detailed glimpse at the domestic life and work of women than in other literary works of the time.

In the village of Cranford it is the little kindnesses that help to maintain and strengthen the community, and those kindnesses often take the form of handmade things or homemade remedies. In Chapter 2, the narrator tells us:

I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments and small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves that were gathered ere they fell to make into a potpourri for someone who had no garden; the little bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of some town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some invalid.  Things that many would despise, and actions which it seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were all attended to in Cranford.

The women in Cranford keep in touch with absent friends by writing letters, and needlework plays an important role in forming new friendships and deepening existing ones. Thus,

Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy on the strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting stitches […].

And similarly, the relationship between Miss Pole and Mary, the narrator, who is only an occasional visitor to Cranford, deepens thanks to crochet:

There was Miss Pole, who was becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been once in knitting, and the burden of whose letter was something like, “But don’t you forget the white worsted at Flint’s” of the old song; for at the end of every sentence of news came a fresh direction as to some crochet commission which I was to execute for her.

As a result of those crochet commissions, Miss Pole invites Mary to stay with her at the beginning of Chatepr 3, and again, needlework is featured prominently:

There was all the more time for me to hear old-world stories from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I making my father’s shirts.  I always took a quantity of plain sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not read much, or walk much, I found it a capital time to get through my work.

When Peter, Miss Matty’s long-lost brother, returns to Cranford towards the end of the collection, he brings with him a beautiful Indian muslin gown. But because Miss Matty has grown too old for such finery, the gown is reserved for Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter and thus becomes yet another means to strengthen the cross-generational bonds. This gives us a glimpse of how fabric could become imbued with love and kinship. In Miss Weeton: Journal of a Governess 1811-1825 we find a letter from Ellen Weeton to her daughter, where she describes the bundle of fabrics she is sending along with the letter to be made into a patchwork quilt:

Print for patchwork is sold  by weight, in small bits such as I have sent you. I purchased it at Prescot market […] The piece of patchwork is out of an old Quilt I made above 20  years ago […] The Hexagon  in the middle was a shred of our best bed hangings; they were Chintz, from the West Indies, which my father brought home with him from one of his voyages.

As we can see, fabric was not only repurposed and passed down in the family, it could also become the carrier of family stories and histories – a process that will be no doubt familiar to many modern quilters!

And that was it from me for this month. When I post the next time, in March, I’ll have some big news to share with you, involving, among other things that cute red-haired woman below. 🙂

And now, let’s hear it from you: Do you have any kind of handmade item that is part of your family history or reminds you of a dear friend?

Red-haired woman, digital art by Sandra Schwab

War & Peace

Bizarrely shown on three cable channels, A&E, Lifetime, and History, the BBC’s  adaptation of War and Peace seems to have come and gone without much notice. And it deserves a lot of attention because this is one of the most dazzling series I’ve ever seen.

Here’s one reason why it’s so brilliant:

I had never read it before but was blown away with what a wonderful story it is. I thought it would be daunting and oppressive, but you just love the characters. It feels modern and fresh – funny and sexy, even. It’s mostly about these exciting young people on the threshold of their lives… really it’s the most fun I’ve had since Pride and Prejudice.

That’s Andrew Davies, who wrote the screenplay for the 1995 P&P and who tackled Tolstoy’s huge masterpiece, which tells the story of three interwoven families plus a zillion secondary characters, against the backdrop of the Napoleonic wars. More from this interview with him and the cast from Harpers Bazaar.

Everything about this is superb–the acting: it stars a lot of familiar faces, such as Lily James as Natasha who was pretty much wasted in Downton Abbey, and was great (but not as great as in this passionately nuanced role) in P&P&Z; Edward Norton, Jim Broadbent, Stephen Rea, Paul Dano, Gillian Anderson, and many more. There’s a list here at bbc.co.uk where the actors talk about their characters.

borodinoIt was filmed on location in Russia, Lithuania and Latvia, with lots of extras. There were extraordinary battle scenes (lots of blood), and a military advisor who’d seen action advised on these, so they had an amazing documentary sort of feel.

paul danoThe retreat from Moscow was  horrific and harrowing.

p039wyrg And the clothes, oh lordy the clothes (because if you visit this blog you know it all comes down to the clothes).  Since we’re on the subject of warfare, I’ve never seen such splendid uniforms, embroidered, gilded, tasseled, and their wearers bursting with testosterone.

g.andersonOne of the few costume fails was the designer’s attempt to express Gillian Anderson wearing an ooh la la French number. Really? Could the costume historians among us chime in? Because somehow, oh, I don’t know, I think this looks more high school prom than anything else. One shoulder?!!

Most of the clothes were gorgeous. War-_-Peace-lily_3539884b

 

To really get an idea of the clothes, and the quality of the production, you can see some selected scenes (but the longer clips can’t be viewed in the US) on the BBC’ s site:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p039wcdk/clips

You can take a quiz on your knowledge of the background of the book (I’m sad to say I failed miserably. Well, I did read it last in high school and that was a long, long time ago):

http://www.bbc.co.uk/guides/zw7cj6f

And here’s a truly swoonworthy excerpt of Natasha and Andrei (James Norton) dancing. He has truly humungous epaulettes.

Have you seen it? What did you think?

A cover for non-devotional activity

St John the Baptist, Inglesham. Box pews. Photo by Chris Gunns.

I had never heard of box pews until I started writing the Lively St. Lemeston series! However, they were much more common in England during the Regency than bench-style pews. Wikipedia explains:

Box pews provided privacy and allowed the family to sit together. In the 17th century they could include windows, curtains, tables and even fireplaces, and were treated as personal property that could be willed to legatees. Sometimes the paneling was so high it was difficult to see out, and the privacy was used as a cover for non-devotional activity….By the eighteenth century it became normal to install formal box pews instead of random personal constructions. This provided a more classic line to the church, although Sir Christopher Wren objected to pews in his churches. With the mid-19th century church reforms, box pews were generally swept away and replaced by bench pews. However a number of examples still remain in various churches throughout the United Kingdom.

Part of the church reforms involved changing how clergymen were paid—fees from renting pews provided a good chunk of their salaries previously, so they resisted replacing them with more efficient seating.

Here’s what box pews look like with people sitting in them:

St. Mary, Stelling Minnis, Kent. Photo by John Salmon.

Now, I assumed that these blocked your view of the rest of the congregation but that you could still see the pastor in his raised pulpit. But then I became very confused, because I discovered that the pulpits in Anglican churches of this period were usually not at the front of the church near the altar, but about half-way down the aisle! Did some box pews face backwards? Then how did people see when stuff happened at the altar…?

Apparently this is because I’ve only been to synagogues and Catholic churches. Someone (Ros Clarke, was it you?) explained to me that Anglican church services of the 18th and early 19th century de-emphasized the altar to separate themselves from Catholics. Anglican ministers are not priests! They are just the first among equal congregants. And you’re not even supposed to look at the vicar!

So yeah. Apparently part of the whole we’re-really-really-not-Catholic thing in Georgian Church of England services is that instead of having beautiful services full of pomp, you are supposed to stare at the wall so you don’t get distracted from pure spiritual thoughts. The box pew is actually designed to block your view. (As well as keep the heat in, obviously.) And indeed, they don’t all face the pulpit. Look, in this Rowlandson drawing you can clearly see that the pews in this Church face both directions, some towards and some away from the pulpit, and few people are looking at the preacher.

“Syntax Preaching,” 1813. Click to see it bigger. [source]


Of course, the pastor could still see you, which presumably motivated you to not goof off too obviously.

Box pews were such an inefficient use of space (every pew-renting or -owning family got their own and no one else could sit in it even if that family didn’t come to church that week) that in many churches, most of the congregation (the poor people) had to stand up in galleries built partway up on either side of the church. (While I found photos of Georgian-built church galleries equipped with bench-pews, I suspect these were in the minority at the time, but have a higher rate of survival because they are still usable today.)

For example, you can see the box pews and galleries in this early 19th century illustration of St. Mary’s in Horsham, then see the same church in this 1864 photograph, and then how it looks today after extensive renovations, with new pews and the galleries removed.

More images:

Hogarth print showing church seating (and standing)

St. Martin in the Field,” Rowlandson.

I also found this eighteenth century English evangelical church that was built backwards—the box pews for rich folk were on the second story and actually have their own separate entrances, while the poor people sat in benches on the ground floor.

(By the way, both my Lively St. Lemeston books are currently deep-discounted on Amazon: Sweet Disorder is 99¢ and True Pretenses is $1.99!)

Do you attend religious services? What kind of seating do you prefer?

An Afro-Russian Nobleman

February is Black History Month so I thought I’d go with the obvious theme. While I know a lot of you are familiar with the Chevalier Saint-Georges (champion fencer, friend of the Prince Regent, Marie Antoinette’s music teacher, forgotten composer [thanks to Napoleon banning his music!]), I thought Abram Petrovich Gannibal might be unknown. He certainly was to me until the brilliant Twitter account @medievalpoc introduced me to him.

Петровское__Бюст_А_П__Ганнибала

Abram Gannibal, bust in Petrovskoe.

 

Gannibal was kidnapped from what is now Camaroon when he was about seven and given as a gift to Peter the Great. The zar took a shine to him, noting his intelligence, and essentially made him his page. The boy was raised in the royal household and accompanied the zar on military campaigns. He was sent to Mez to be educated, spoke several languages, and was part of the intelligentsia in Paris in the early 1700s (supposedly, Voltarie himself called Gannibal “the dark star of the Enlightenment”).

elephant

Russian medal adorned with Avraham Hannibal’s coat of arms

Eventually became a powerful member of the Russian court under Peter’s daughter Elizabeth and was made a major-general in her army. He was given estates (complete with serfs) and raised to the nobility. He was married twice, once very unhappily to a Greek woman and then later to a woman from the nobility of Scandinavia and Germany. The second marriage was extremely happy, and produced ten children, from whom some very surprising people are descended: Most famously, Aleksandr Pushkin! Yes, that Pushkin. But many British aristocrats are also Gannibal’s descendants, including the wife of the 6th Duke of Westminster, the wife of the 5th Duke of Abercorn, and the current Marquesss of Milford Haven.

Gannibal_I_A

School of Dmitry Grigorievich Levitzky Portrait of Ivan Abramovich Gannibal (1735-1801) Gannibal’s son.

And of course this is really where my brain started ticking. I have a character in my current series who is based on the Chevalier Saint-Georges. His heroine’s race was determined entirely by which model showed up at the cover shoot. And the model who showed up first was black. I’d been toying with the idea of basing her on Belle, but this just seemed sooooo much cooler. A black, French fencing champion and the granddaughter of an Afro-Russian nobleman? Say it with me: OOOOOOH, YEEEAAAAAH.

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