Wet Raglan pt 6 in which we go to court...

The late afternoon, for me, wrapped up with preparing for court. In a way, it was easy, since I've managed several elevations. It felt a bit odd, though, organising my own - isn't someone supposed to fix this for me? But in the end, I think I got a ceremony that suited, and that was visually striking, in line with my own fondness of good court.

I opted for the 'four peers speak' style of ceremony - partly because I quite like it, partly because it's familiar to most attendees. 

The speakers were Master Floris and Mistress Hannah, together, for Pelicans; Sir Alaric for knights; Mistress Nerissa for Laurels; and Countess Elsa cameleopard (in a letter read by HG Alessandra Melusine) for order of the Rose. 

To this I added two further letters: one from my own Pelican, Brand Thorwaldsson black5sugars, read by Master Etienne, and one from my friend Dame Sarra Graeham, who introduced me to the Society. 

Sanzmerci herault nusbacher read Sarra's letter (Lynette knows Sarra from Ealdormere) and L did her best Sarra Graeham impression, aiming to recreate Sarra's thoughtful inflection and timing. 

I asked TRM to name me Dame Genevieve, as I'm fond of the style 'Dame', over 'Mistress'. It's a popular style in Ealdormere, where most of my favourite women peers were so named, including Enid and Sarra.

As I'm not a martial peer, I also asked to swear fealty not on the sword but on my own herald's staff, given to me by Vitus and Eleanora last year, made by Lord Vrank: it's a caduceus, as befits a messenger, and Vrank made one each for Robert and me when we were made Heralds extraordinary.

Some clothing-staging bits, in which best laid plans go pear-shaped (as they say here) 

I felt it was important to wear white at an elevation, as the knights used to wear a plain white gown after their ritual vigil and bath.

I started a new white front-laced gown in silk and linen, very simple lines. But the silk I had required interlining, because it didn't have enough body for a very fitted garment. This required basically cutting out two gowns and sewing them together as one, plus cutting and sewing a bodice lining for more support.

I had finished the machine sewing and was starting the hand-finishing...and realised after an hour of the hands sewing that I didn't have enough hours remaining before the event to finish. It's still hanging in my doorway, waiting for attention.

I don't do all-nighters for sewing. My R. elbow has started complaining (the hand that holds my sewing steady), and it's aggravated by handsewing and knitting. I'll have to be more picky about what I hand-sew in future.

SO: I wore a white undertunic I already owned, and made a 3/4 length cyclas (sleeveless overgown) in very light white wool - had to piece the hem to get the length I wanted, and brought it, unfinished to the event. I managed to tack the neckline facing one afternoon, and edith_hedingham and kirieldp sat in the encampment and did the final hemming half an hour before court. That, plus wimple, veil, coronet and heraldic cloak was the final elevation outfit.  The veil was silk, very floaty, and really did billow in the breeze.

 badgersandjam called it my 'novitiate outfit', which was apt, though that part of the effect was unintentional - what I wanted was modest, white and female clothing. I didn't even try it on together til I was dressing for court, and found the cyclas is a close fit; if I want to wear it again it will need side slits.

It felt a bit cobbled-together to me, but Robert said it looked great: simple, elegant, like a 13th c statue. :-)

Another couple of pics from badgersandjam: me in court, reading in a scroll, and Robert, being his handsome self.

I've always liked the effect in coronations of taking off one's personal arms (rolling up banners, setting aside shields) in favour of the regional arms, and then resuming them on stepping down. I also liked katherine kerr's (from Lochac) notion of approaching the Crown in her shift only, bareheaded and barefoot...but I wasn't quite so brave.

So as a display of stripping off I approached the throne with coronet and cloak, and then took them off, so it was just me, in white, before the crown.

The kingdom Pelican cloak used for most elevations is deep blue velvet, with the Pelican on the back, and the breast. Robert said the effect was excellent dramatic theatre - a white figure receiving the Marian blue cloak. So that's in keeping with my taste for good court.

It's hard to go wrong with the backdrop, really.  

not back in the saddle, possibly giving up on the (daily) saddle

Back to commuting cares in the big smoke.

The paralympics are on, and we're once more being asked by TfL to collectively reconsider our commutes. Kids are back in school next week, or very soon, and the usual rush hour crush will return. 

In this light you'd think I'd be leaping back onto my bike.... but no, I'm struggling to get up the enthusiasm. Why?

There's a lot going for a part-cycle commute - it's cheaper, it's invigorating, it's same time-spend as a walking+Tube commute. But I find myself dragging.

Part of the answer is the path of least resistance. I biked because it was easier than wrestling potentially serious delays by Tube and avoiding crowds. 

But from where I am, it doesn't look like anything like the volume of traffic and visitors are involved in this second event, so there's not the same pressure to change my route.

Part of the answer is my energy levels; I managed the hour on the bike daily, but at the expense of doing anything constructive most evenings. I felt tapped out, and didn't want to do much but sloth on the sofa, even with my creative pre-Raglan deadlines pressing. 

Part of it is - I miss running, and I feel I can't both cycle commute to work, and run at lunchtime. 

I ran yesterday at lunch for the first time in weeks, and man, have I missed it. I miss the midday break outdoors, I miss feeling pushed by running (in a way I'm not pushed by cycling) I miss stretching afterward. Running, even my short distances, and my slow times, makes me deeply happy, and feel centred and calm.

Shooting my bow also creates that deep sense of centred happiness, where I find myself just grinning like a goon, for feeling so completely, exquisitely content and 'right' in my place.

I beam at every passing archer, who is grumbling and moaning in their typicaly ways. (Sent off a note to ask about rejoining London Archers this AM.)

It's a rare feeling, really, and I need it.

So as virtuous as it might be, for all sorts of reasons, I'm back on foot and on the Tube for my daily commute for the autumn. 

I'm likely also flogging on the cheap folding bike, as an unsuccessful experiment for me, and sticking with the old trusty 10 speed of my yoof.

Wet Raglan pt 7 with, you guessed it, more fencing

Saturday court had been long - combining principality and kingdom business - and making up for past courts where scrolls could not be distributed in the rain. Our evening was still ahead, with our light supper and dancing; the musicians had gathered in our encampment and practiced over the afternoon. I never tire of listening to musicians warm up, because I know how hard I find playing, and am glad that there are folk who delight in making music as much as I delight in dancing.

But frankly...I was beat. I changed out of the novitiate outfit, put on a wool tunic, and went and watched dancing for awhile. And in the end, I went to be reasonably early.

Sunday was the Big Day of Fencing, with two more provost, and three prefect challenges to complete. I watched the wrap up of the individual skills challenges for the provosts in the fountain court, but it began to rain (surprise) and the fencers retreated to the undercroft, where they set up the half-hour all comers challenge area. 

It seemed heavy going - fencing as continuously as possible, for half an hour, in the semidarkness (no candles wanted in the undercroft), with rain outside and repeated shouts of 'NEXT!' and 'EDGE!' or 'CENTRE!' to get the challengers or their opponents to start in the middle of the fighting area. I got a stool for Gabriel our timekeeper, and water for everyone. 

I was impressed by both challengers - I hadn't got to fight HE Pol or HE Anna for their challenges, and was glad to contribute to this one, for Lord Duncan Chaucer, and Lady Gwenllian. There was an exellent pool of combatants to draw on - from newly-authorised, to Dragon's steel.

Seeing this challenge enacted made it, to me, much more achieveable, and I'm now thinking of aiming for a provost challenge for next year's Raglan. 

The afternoon was the prefect challenges, for Dom Duarte goncalves, Master Cernac, and Visc Eirik. I armed up for cut and thrust, so I could meet Cernac in this form as many times as possible - it meant I felt a bit clumsy fighting the others, and couldn't change weapons easily (my steel gauntlets were lovingly repurposed by my sweetie from a pair by Lord Duncan McLeod in Caldrithig - but they're not easy to take on or off) but I decided I'd not fuss about trying out different forms, just stick to sword and dagger. 

They were distributed around the fountain court, and we formed an orderly queue (of course!) to fight them. The marshals rotated them round the court, so everyone stood in sun (which had now emerged, making the whole venue steamy) or shade as was available. 

Again - it was heavy going. I felt pushed, as well as the challengers, because I rarely fight for anything like an hour at a time. I took a wicked, wickedly sturdy blow from Cernac's two-handed sword on my L leg; we both paused, and he said, ah, not wearing armour there are you? The next bout with him he made a point of taking my right leg, with a much more moderate blow.

While it no longer hurts all the time, it's made better padding/protection to my delicate thighs more of a priority, at least against two-handed weapons.

I was as relieved as any to mark the end of the challenge. I could hardly drink enough at the end.

TRM had watched this latter part of the challenge and then held court that the participants could be honoured and the new challengers announced as successful provosts and prefects.

It was a fine moment to also award arms to the youngest fencer, who had authorised at Raglan just a few days earlier - Etienne explained he'd fought long and hard that young men of great enthusiasm and violence might also join the combat on the field. :-)

He had similar welcomes for his fellow prefects, explaining he'd long fought with Cernac, til they had discovered the SCA; he'd long fought with goncalves (5 hours a day, 3 days a week, at one point), til they discovered the seneschallate, and were able to put their energies into new venues.  

Etienne had taken apart his own prefect braid, to put one strand in each new prefect's braid, thus creating a lineage to his own. A very gracious gesture.

That day's beer felt heartily well earned, for me.

Other fine bits of Raglan, not just the rain and fencing

Archery

One super aspect for me at Raglan was coaching shooting with two young archers, nusbacher's eldest A. and Floris and Hannah's eldest E. 

Both were attentive and careful, and seemed to really enjoy the shooting even with rain. A persisted in shooting even in a downpour that soaked her through, and her efforts were rewarded - she had a group of 4 arrows that you could circle with your thumb and forefinger, and thus TRM named her their archery champion. Pretty cool.

Apparently E had gotten the shooting bug at Double Wars this year. After a quiet morning of shooting with me, Floris and Hannah went offsite to get their daughter equipment of her own at the nearest pro shop. Whenever I saw her off the range, she was shooting her toy bow with plunger arrows (usually at her brother), so she's clearly got archery on the brain. 

The great Syllabbubb

edith_hedingham wanted to test a medieval recipe for syllabub (a mix of white wine and heavy cream, whipped) whereby you whip the cream by pouring it into a bowl from a great height - like two storeys. Really!

My sweetie took this experimental archeology into hand, and after duly practicing pouring with water, poured two pints of whipping cream into a bowl filled with a bottle of white wine.  from the top of the bridge (linked to aryanhwy's LJ for the photo).

And good gall-dang, doesn't it work brilliantly!

It appears that the pouring the cream off the bridge into wine aerates the cream and sets it in bubbles, so you end up with a huge alcoholic froth on top and a boozy beverage underneath.

jpgsawyer spooned some into his tall pass-glass, and we took turns getting silly frothy moustaches. It was better than any milkshake. 

Gracie the greyhound, the perfect pavilion accessory

Gracie belongs to nusbacher, and has been part of the household less than a year. She's a retired runner, and has the sweetest temperment imaginable. She seems very happy to be towed around by excited kids, and isn't bothered by outbreaks of love and fuss. Though being nourished on what nusbacher called biologically appropriate raw food (BARF), Gracie actually seemd to prefer her duck mince heated through and cooked for her, and was not above snarfing crunchy bacon rinds on offer.

She looked perfect, flopped as only greyhounds can with their whole bodies, snoozing outside our pavilion.

She had to move for awhile during one day, when the nice CADW staffer came by to ask if we could please move her delicious snack (a half a sheep's head) out of sight - apparently it was a bit too medieval for some visitors' tastes.

Gracie's one failing was assuming that everyone would be as delighted to meet her as she was to meet them - including the castle cat, Tibbs. Tibbs has taken over the role from the much loved Edward and Beatrice, castle cats, welcome wagons and mighty bacon-hunters of past years. She's kept company by Black Meg (all black, unsurprisingly), and the two of them are much more low-key than either Edward or Beatrice were, though apparently excellent mole-hunters.

Tibbs was profoundly unimpressed by G's assumption, and gave G's face and ear some serious swatting, resulting in anxious swabbing of Gracie's head by worried little girls. The cat, with its bottle-brush tail retained, sat with its back to us, tail extended, behind a fence marked PRIVATE. It was as close to '*** off' as a cat can get.