The Kat Basket

(Wednesday, March 15th, 1600)

After spending Tuesday in the village of Hingham, Will Kemp set out on the final stage of his journey to Norwich this morning. With five boisterous young men running alongside, we make it through Barford Bridge, until we are within sight of the city. And within sight, and hearing of the astonishing crowds that have turned out, even on a working day, to welcome Master Kemp.
I think Will is wise to take the advice offered by George Sprat to take his gelding and ride to lodgings which have been offered a stone's throw from St.Giles's gate; to try to dance through the crush would be almost impossible, not to mention physically dangerous!
In the evening, talking to drinkers in the White Lion tavern I learn that Will has been advised by Master Roger Wiler, Mayor of the city, to delay dancing into the city until Saturday (March 25th) by which time many nobles, and other wealthy patrons will have had time to visit the city to witness the spectacle (and of course, spend their money!). In the meantime, Will and his company are offered the hospitality of the city.
For myself, I manage to turn a small profit on three dozen pairs of fine woolen stockings that I bought before leaving London; enough to cover my travelling expenses and the remaining costs of my stay here in Norwich if I live frugally. And I have, besides, some letters entrusted for delivery which I hope will gain me a few more pennies.
(Saturday, March 25th, 1600)
The weather has improved noticeably since Will began his astonishing dance, and this morning, by ten O'clock, having returned to St.Giles's gate to resume his progress the air is mild and the sky has cleared after an early shower. And this time, to combat the press of the crowds Mayor Wiler has appointed Wifflers to make room for Kemp to dance forward.
At St.Stephen's gate, Thomas Gilbert recites a short poem of his own composition to welcome Master Kemp to the city:

W        With hart, and hand, among the rest,
E       Especially you welcome are :
L       Long looked for, as welcome guest,
C       Come now at last you be from farre.
O       Of many within the Citty sure,
M       Many good wishes you haue had.
E       Each one did pray you might indure,
W       VVith courage good the match you made.
I       Intend they did with gladsome hearts,
L       Like your well vvillers, you to meete :
K       Know you also they'l doe their parts,
E       Eyther in field or house to greete
M       More you then any with you came,
P       Procur'd thereto with trump and fame.

And before I leave for my own time once more, I am able to buy a printed copy for a farthing, perhaps from one of the same ballad-sellers who will later give Will such grief by publishing sorry slanders, suggesting quite unfairly that he cheated on his wager in various ways.
We were just past the market place (and believe me, even in the twenty-first century, that's something to see!) when Will had the misfortune to land on the hem of a young woman's petticoat. Naturally, she jumped, trying to get out of his way, and something broke, leaving her blushing crimson in bodice and shift while a gang of boys (why do cities always have these ruffians?) made off with her fallen skirts.
By St.John's churchyard Will leapt over the churchyard wall, apparently thinking to take a shortcut to the Mayor's house, but it seems at that point, his overseer, George Sprat lost sight of him, which I suppose gave rise to many of the slanders against poor Will.
At this point, let me thank you, my patient friend, for your patience in going with us through frost, mud and pressing crowds, and refer you once more to Will Kemp's own account of his dance, where in closing, he offers some advice concerning good management of business.

Kemp's Jigg

And with Mr.Dowland's jaunty "Kemp's Jigg" I bid you adieu, at least for now.

References

For a map of Norwich

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Friday, March 13th, 1600)

In order not to be conspicuous, I can't carry a personal wristwatch in this century. But I can get away with a pendant watch on a necklace. Whoever was occupying the room next to mine at the Bell Inn for the last couple of days was suffering with a very bad chest infection; coughing and wheezing all night and most of the day when I was there. And the inn staff were often bringing hot soup and strong-smelling home remedies to the room. While I haven't been able to get much sleep, I've managed. But I feel worse for the poor soul in the next room. According to my pendant watch at about four thirty this morning one of the inn staff woke me banging on his door, and it turned out that he had finally succumbed to his illness.

After that, I couldn't really sleep - too much coming and going; a priest administering a final blessing, the constable of the town making certain that no mischief had been done, and two men from the almshouses to collect the body.

One of the good things about an inn is that it never sleeps. For the next couple of hours I sat in the snug nursing a mug of mulled cider before breakfasting on oatmeal with cream and a drop of honey. And for once, Master Kemp didn't leave me behind. Although I should admit I was still brushing down Leto and had to make haste to saddle her.

By mid-morning we had reached the village of Rockland where Master Kemp intends to rest awhile, generously standing a round of drinks for all in the party. But forasmuch as he would like to speak to the innkeeper, Master Garner would not see us until he had put off his workaday clothes for his armour! When he finally honored us with his presence he made Master Kemp such a welcome as I don't think I have seen anywhere else, nor do I expect to, as Will himself later remembered it: "Going down on his knees he blessed the hour that any of the Queens well-wishers or friends would vouchsafe to come within his house." (Personally, I think he was a little overawed firstly by Will's reputation which had preceded him by some days, and secondly by a visit from a gentleman from London, no less. Someone who had entertained Her Majesty!)

Yet again, someone who has heard tell of Kemp's epic journey chooses to keep company with him in his dance, but like so many before him, Trojan that he is, Master Garner lays down in the way, red-faced and puffing before we have gone two furlongs from the village.
And once more, the road, such as it is, is so muddy, wet and sticky, that I am obliged to dismount for fear of Leto losing her footing.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Friday, March 10th, 1600)

During our stay in St.Edmundsbury I have had opportunity to ask around, and found that Moyse's Hall is currently the home of the King family, local merchants. From Mistress Woodgate, one of the family servants, I learn that the house was, as I thought, originally the home of a Jewish financier who dedicated the hall on the first floor for use as a synagogue, although later part of the building was used as a tavern before being bought by the King family.

Since Will Kemp planned to stay a few more days in Bury St. Edmunds, I had time to follow up my ambition to trace the town walls. Of course there are places where it was difficult or impossible to follow the path of the walls, but in many places the knapped flint walls are still standing at least partially. And the houses don't reach all the way to the wall; in many places there are small meadows with sheep or blanketed horses huddling against the snow and munching from bundles of hay on both sides of the wall.

In the course of my exploration I took a few minutes to ask one of the shepherds about the tedious business of stone-picking and he told me that the flints grow underground during the winter, so that every year there are more stones to be picked!

Once again, undeterred by the frosty dark, Will Kemp sets out at 7a.m., jigging with unbelievable stamina past conyers heath*, and through the villages of Timworth and Ingham where an enterprising carter has stationed a wagon beside the road for curious villagers to cheer him onward, and by 10 o'clock we reach the enthusiastic crowds at the edge of the small market town of Thetford!

Since the assizes are in progress the town is packed and Sir Edwin Rich of Mulbarton, in deep crimson velvet hat and cloak greets Will personally from horseback, welcoming him to the town, and inviting him to accept the hospitality of his manor.

I feel obliged to write in support of Master Kemp that though he has been succoured in diverse places, he has remained true to his cause in taking up his jig at whatever place he left off. And it has been encouraging to see the generosity that has been offered to him by men of all stations appointed by God.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Saturday, March 4th, 1600)

It's my birthday! I've already celebrated my birthday this year in my native time, so am tempted to have a second birthday back here. However, Will Kemp keeps up a cracking pace; even Tom Slye has admitted that sometimes he has trouble keeping up, and he's been a taberer these past fifteen years, five of them with Will.

Since Will has been staying with the Colts family, I have touched base with Master Slye, and am ready for once, when Will sets out before dawn, in the frosty March air. Master Colts' fool is accompanying Will in his dance as a good-sized crowd, some of whom must have been up as early as five a.m. trot along after.

It seems quite a detour to me, but Will Kemp has chosen to make his way through the village of Clare making a visit to the widow Everet.

Since I am not invited to visit I take the time to talk to some of the village folk who know Mistress Everet and their accounts are uniformly full of praise: a woman full of charity and virtue, quiet, devout, modest and well-spoken. I learn from them, that in his time, her husband was a Yeoman, a farmer who owned and worked his own land, which explains her comparative wealth.

By the time we reach the outskirts of St.Edmundsbury the lowering sky has started to snow lightly: tiny tingling flakes that catch in my eyelashes and hair. And my fingers are numbly grasping the reins, scarcely feeling inside my gloves. And the crowds here are busier than anywhere we have visited so far. I learn later, that Sir John Popham, the Lord Chief Justice of the realm was entering the town at the same time, by another route and as the crowds cleared a path for the honorable gentleman, most of them made haste to gawp as Will Kemp danced and frolicked his way into the town, being forced to pause seven times before he could reach the Angel Inn opposite the abandoned abbey.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Wednesday, March 1st, 1600)

I continue to be taken by surprise by Will Kemp's eagerness to get going. Being somewhat of a late riser (around 7pm) on these chilly mornings, the other tavern guests are usually finishing their breakfast or making horses ready by the time I get to the table. This morning master Kemp set out nearly an hour before, borrowing a horse to ride the three miles he danced previously and continue, so I will have some way to make up.

I finally catch up with Will in Sudbury, the first of the Suffolk market towns which we will pass through but I have no idea where he is. Usually it's a pretty fair bet that if I head for the nearest excited crowd, Will is either in the middle, or somebody can tell me where to look but today a wagon has lost a wheel and there is no shortage of bystanders with advice on how to raise the wagon, repair the axle and take care of the horses!

I am alerted by a ringing "Heigh Ho! Master Kemp!" as Will sets out to leave the town for Bury, and along with the rest of the throng I run for the edge of the marketplace to see a large and hearty-looking fellow with a ruddy complexion stripping off a butcher's apron announce boldly that he would count it an honor if he might keep Will company in a morris as far as Saint Edmundsbury. Will, of course, is always glad of a companion in his epic dance and the pair set out together. I choose to follow them, leading Cherry, my mare.

We have covered barely three-quarters of a mile by my reckoning when master Cobbold, for such is his name, calls a halt, panting, drenched with sweat, and crimson in the face.

He seems a tad embarrassed to admit that Will's energy is uncommon, and though he might be offered a hundred pounds (more than a year's income) he would not make the distance.

To add insult to the poor fellow's embarrassment one of our fellow-travellers, a red-haired young woman, taunts him as a "faint-hearted lout"! saying that if she had begun to dance she would go at least a mile if it killed her. Which raised as much of a laugh from the group as any of Will's quips might have.

And so it was that Will's "Maid Marian" borrowed a set of bells (fortunately for us, Tom Slye was carrying an extra set), kilted up her skirt, and danced with determination to Melford.

After slaking our thirsts we parted company, "Maid Marian" (Mistress Martyn) to a nearby farm, and Master Kemp, with his company, to the home of Master Colts, who would not suffer him to stay at a common inn. And I took my weary limbs to sleep at the Swann Inn, but I couldn't get this particular morris tune out of my mind. For some reason it seemed to suit Mistress Martyn.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

Acknowledgements

Please visit the Kentwell Hall page to learn more about re-enactments at this historic building, not far from Long Melford, Suffolk, England.

Having arrived late in Chelmsford, I caught up the day's events over breakfast with Will Kemp the next morning (Saturday). To summarise:

Sir Thomas Mildmay met him at the gates of his estate, where he graciously received a pair of garters from Master Kemp.

When Will finally made it through the crush to the Saracen's Head he was too weary to dance further, so tossed a few gags from the window for the crowds gathered below.

After breakfast, Will set out, but only made three miles of the road toward Braintree before turning back. I think he had overestimated his stamina and needed more time to recover.

During the stopover in Chelmsford a young lady of fourteen obtained permission from her parents to dance a Morris (or three). The innkeeper was good enough to clear a large dining room, and the pair danced for almost an hour, with bells jingling, and handkerchiefs waving merrily.

(Monday, February 28th, 1600)

When I got up this morning I found that Master Kemp had already accepted a ride with a gentleman setting out in the moonlight a little after 6am, shortcutting the distance he had danced previously.

The road between Chelmsford and Braintree left a lot to be desired: on either side of the road thick brambles and other undergrowth sealed the edges of the forest and the road itself was a well-trodden mire. Ruts, potholes, puddles and mud all the way. At times I was obliged to dismount my horse for fear of losing her footing, and by the time we caught up with Tom Slye and Will Kemp, we were all thoroughly muddy.

Before we caught up though, I saw a couple of equally damp and muddy lads making their way down the Great Waltham road. I found out later that these two game fellows had essayed to keep Master Kemp company in his dance, thinking it a small thing to dance a few miles from one town to the other, but they soon found the mud too much for them. After one of them fell into a huge puddle that Will managed to jump almost completely, he compared them to a couple of frogs, each trying to pull the other out of the mud!

X:87
T:Glorisher (Leapfrog)
M:6/8
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Field Town (Finstock)
O:English
R:Jig
%P:A.(AB)$^2$.(AC)$^2$
P:A.(AB)2.(AC)2
K:G
Q:C3=100
P:A
d/2c/2 | BAG GFG  | ABA  D2 (3E/2F/2G/2    | ABA  Adc  | BcA  GAB |
     cde de=f | def  g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc  BcA  | G>AG G2  ||
P:B
z      | e2 d dAB | cdc  cAB               | cde  edc  | GAG  FED |
     G2 g gfg | G2 g g2 g/2f/2         | edc  B>cA | G>AG G2  ||
P:C
z      | e3   d3  | d A2 B3                | c2 d c3   | c A2 B3  | c2 d e3 |
(2ed(2cB | (2AB G3 | (2FE D3 | G3   g3 | (2gf g3 |
     G3   g3  | g3-  g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc  B>cA | G>AG G2  ||
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Friday, February 25th, 1600)

I would be the first to admit that I'm not a terribly good horse rider, and about a mile after leaving Ingatestone, I finally realized that my horse was favoring her right hind leg. Dismounting, I found that she had thrown a shoe, and while it wouldn't be a big problem on these dirt roads, in the long term it could lead to painful damage to her hoof, and the livery stable would certainly demand compensation from me when I change horses.

That was how I came to detour to Margaretting, the nearest village with a smithy. When I got there, three old men were sitting on logs in the shade of the barn end of the smithy while a "simple" lad busied himself chasing birds from the field beside the smithy. I asked the old fellows if the smith was also a farrier, and they laughed at me:

"No farrier, he. But a smith's no use in a village like this without he knows shoeing."

When the smith steps out of the workshop he calls to the lad chasing the birds and I watch in fascination as the boy gentles the horse almost as if they spoke the same language, while the smith sizes up the hoof that needs shoeing.

This is a fascinating process: first the surface of the hoof is pared with a sharp knife, and some dirt picked from the frog. I continue to watch patiently as the smith presses a hot metal shoe against the hoof making clouds of foul-smelling smoke, but my horse stands as calmly and patiently with her minder as if she were in her home stable. It takes a couple of returns to the ringing anvil inside the workshop to adjust the fit of the shoe and finally the smith twists off the protruding ends of the nails, rasping them flush to the wall of the hoof. The whole process has taken a little over an hour, not including time spent waiting.

When I get to the Saracen's Head at Chelmsford, it's late, it's cold, and I'm tired. But for once, I have a chance to talk to Will Kemp himself.

I ask Will Kemp what kind of jokes he uses, when he's not clowning. Of course, as he points out, most of the jokes he speaks on stage are written for him by the playwright, but

"I asked a painter of likenesses once 'how is it that your paintings are so fair, yet your children are so ugly?' 'Master Kemp' quoth he, 'I paint by day, but beget by night!'",

"John Nokes was driving his cart not far from here, and about noon, stopped to rest awhile. While he slept, thieves took his team, so that when he woke he exclaimed 'either I have lost my horses, or I have found a cart!'",

"What is't that a noble gentleman values so, that he wraps it in a silk kerchief, and keeps about him, yet a common beggar tosses away?"

When I admit to being stymied, he informs me "it is but the snot of their noses!"

Something about the way he tells it has me chuckling, and before I can regain my composure, he asks me if I would lend him my kerchief?

I pass it to him (it is clean, by the way) and he proceeds to stuff it into one nostril, then to my surprise (and mild disgust) draws it out of the other.

Before I can ask him to return it, he inserts it into the other nostril, sneezes a great sneeze, crosses his eyes, and proceeds to draw my kerchief from his right ear!

When Tom Slye his taberer joins us with a round of drinks, Will's eye catches a couple of wooden buckets standing in a corner, where the potboy left them after cleaning. Feigning drunk, he staggers across and trips on an imaginary uneven flagstone, landing with each foot in a bucket. Then quickwitted Tom (who presumably has had plenty of experience of Will's humor) strikes up yet another morris, and Will clumps the buckets to the tune of Bean Setting, a scene which puts me in mind of Gene Kelly's impeccable choreography in the 1949 musical, On The Town.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

References

Humor in Kemp's Day
To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

(Thursday, February 24th, 1600)
When I spoke with Master Kemp at the inn in Burntwood he told me, though if it were me, I would certainly have made more of a complaint of it, that he had strained his hip as he left Romford. But he decided it would not be worth the trouble of consulting a surgeon.
Having pulled my own shoulder slightly (I should have accepted help with my saddlebags) I feel the same way: the most likely treatment would be either leeching or bleeding and a rub with something that smells like horse liniment and probably contains most of the same ingredients.
I do feel, though, that if anyone has cause to complain, it is poor Will. The market crowds combined with sightseers both from London, and North Essex were so thick when he reached Burntwood (these days the name has slipped to Brentwood) that he had difficulty making his way to an inn.
I managed to find a 21st century picture of the Bell where we stopped in Ingerstone (Ingatestone), which is a comfortable stopping-place, if not very large. I'm just thankful we managed to get a room to ourselves. Most of the travellers are sleeping two or three to a bed tonight. I sometimes think the horses are more comfortable down in the stables than we are, crammed in like peas in a pod.
While I was talking to Will, he told me that the town sheriff arrested a pair of cutpurses who followed us all the way from London. Right now, they are as he put it, "enjoying the hospitality of the town", and I wouldn't care to bet on a rosy future for them unless, and this is very unlikely, they can claim "benefit of clergy". The penalty for misdemeanors is commonly corporal punishment, and most felonies are capital offences.
In Kemp's own words, he foresees them dancing a lively Trenchmore in the Burntwood pillory to the rhythm of the cat-o'-nine tails. From his description, I think they might be the types of villains commonly known as dummerers: when first captured, they pretended to be dumb and deaf, and might have succeeded, but the sheriff knows a few tricks himself.
The events of the day have brought home to me in a horribly real way what a brutal age this can be: although I had put it out of my mind, on our way out of London we passed the Bear Pit where the yelping and growling that accompanied the cheering told the story of a bear baiting in progress.
I thought that Master Kemp would remain in Burntwood, resting his injured hip, which is why I recommended we make the most of the daylight, riding for Ingatestone, but to my surprise, even though it is now dark outside, bitterly cold and snowing half-heartedly the commotion outside heralds the arrival of Will Kemp, purveyor of the best bel-shangles and tril-lilles between Sion and Mount Surrey, together with the hardy folk determined to follow him on his jig.
Having made something of a friend in Tom Slye, I pay for a hot supper for himself and Will Kemp, and ask Tom's help in transcribing another morris which helps to take my mind off the sorry thoughts that have occupied my mind for most of the day.


To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

References

Justice in Kemp's Time
Crime in the Tudor era

(Monday, February 21st, 1600)
"Over here! I've settled with the innkeeper so we're good for a couple of days, which should be long enough. Now, let me introduce you to Master Tom Slye; this is the fellow who is playing the pipe and tabor for Master Kemp on his journey."
It's nice to be back in the warmth of an inn. Before you got here, Tom was telling me how within a quarter-mile of the town, a gentleman on horseback offered Will to ride the little distance remaining while Tom had to make his own way on foot, in the frosty moonlight. At least Master Kemp was kind enough to stand him a hot pie when he arrived at the Red Lion (later renamed the Golden Lion ).
Nobody seems to know where Master Kemp is right now. My guess is he's probably flaked out on a lumpy bed somewhere in the inn, and I think he deserves his rest: according to Tom, most of the Londoners who followed him as far as Mile End expected him to give up his jig before he ever reached Mile End, or at least stop there for cakes and cream (which is what most of the spectators did after braving the cold).
Before you got here Tom was explaining to me the peculiar fingerings for his pipe which is played with only three fingers, the pinkie supporting it, yet it can play through more than an octave. His other hand is free to beat the small tabor which hangs from his pipe arm when he plays.
The pipe is surprisingly long, longer than a tenor recorder, but not particularly demanding of breath, which makes it an ideal instrument for someone walking and playing.
Since supper time is still a little while off, and I have a penny in my purse, I think it not unreasonable to ask Master Slye if he would entertain us with a jig, and for my pennyworth we have the Fox and Geese: a traditional Morris tune, and one that he has already played several times on the journey.

X:123
T:Fox and Geese
M:6/8
L:1/8
R:jig
Z:Brian Martin Winterbourn Downs Morris (rcvd Jan 2003)
K:G
G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG GAB | A2G FED | G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG c2B | AGF G3 ::
F2G AFD | F2G ABc | d2B d2B | dBG dBG | F2G AFD | F2G ABc | dBG c2B | AGF G3 :|

Of course, like most musicians, one tune leads to another, and by the time our host comes to ask what fare we might choose for supper, Tom has played more than a handful of dances and other tunes to the delight of the guests who have danced merrily. In the opinion of the innkeeper, Tom has earned his supper, and chooses from the meals offered by the kitchen tonight a coney with a pudding boiled in his belly, a little better than his usual fare, I think.
To boyle a Cony with a Pudding in his Belly.
Take your Cony and fley him, & leave on the eares and wash it faire, and take grated Bread, sweete Suet minced fiine, corance and some fine hearbs, Peneriall; winter savery; percely, Spinage or beets, sweet margeram, and chop your hearbs fine, and season it with Cloves, Mace and Sugar, a little creame and salt and yolks of Egs, and Dates minst fine.  Then mingle all your stuf togither, and put it in your Rabets belly and sowe it up with a thred, for the broth take mutton broth when it is boyled a little, and put it in a pot wheras your Rabet may lye long waies in it, and let your broth boile or ever you put it in, then put in Gooceberies or els Grapes, corance and sweet Butter, Vergious, Salt, grated bread and Sugar a little, and when it is boyled, lay it in a dish with Sops.  And so serve it in.

References

Pipe and Tabor
A book of Cookrye

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

Even with a warm travelling cloak, on days like this I miss comforts like central heating. And the settle near the fireplace is already occupied so we will have to make do with one of the less conspicuous tables in the corner.

"Potboy? Two halves of mulled cider, if you please, for me and my companion here. And I fancy we shall have an ounce of Virginia tobacco if you have any." I chose this seat for us, so that we can eavesdrop on the conversation between Master Kemp (the fellow with the ruddy complexion) and Master Pinchbeck (pale face, straggly hair. Nice suede jacket though.)

Did you hear that? I love it when we can be in at the beginning of something like this! He just wagered with Kemp that he wouldn't jig from London to Norwich!

OK, by way of introduction, Will Kemp enjoys quite a reputation as a clown, and has done several seasons with the various theaters of London which is probably how Pinchbeck knows him. Before he went solo he was in the service of the Earl of Leicester for a while, which seems to be how he began building the network of contacts that brought him to London.

While I love Kemp's sense of humor, I find his keen observation a little daunting, so personally I would prefer to keep a little distance between us, but watch him, particularly if there's a dog in the vicinity. He can turn anything into business.

To conclude their wager, Pinchbeck and Kemp raise a toast and Kemp's tongue sticks to his mug! His expression goes through shock, desperation, and a sort of forlorn hope as he gestures to the landlord to indicate his plight. The landlord of course doesn't believe it (and neither do most of his customers who have turned to watch the spectacle. When one of the gentlemen present steps up with a poniard bared and offers (with a broad wink) to free master Kemp's tongue, Kemp adds gestures and some raucous protests to the facial expressions. Considering the business afterward, I think it must have lasted about five minutes until he managed to communicate to the landlord that a pinch of nutmeg might free his tongue, if he could be recompensed for his inconvenience with another drink.

Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, from Will Kemp's own written account of his Nine Daies Wonder;

To the true ennobled Lady, and his most bountifull Mistris, Mistris Anne Fitton, Mayde of Honour to the most sacred Royall Queene Elizabeth.

HONORABLE Mistris in the waine of my litle wit, I am forst to desire your protection, else euery Ballad-singer will proclaime me bankrupt of honesty. A sort of mad fellows seeing me merrily dispos'd in a Morrice, haue so bepainted mee in print since my gambols began from London to Norwich, that (hauing but an ill face before) I shall appeare to the world without a face, if your fayre hand wipe not away their foule coulors. One hath written Kemps farewell to the tune of Kery, mery, Buffe: another his desperate daungers in his late trauaile: the third his entertainement to New-Market; which towne I came neuer neere by the length of halfe the heath. Some sweare in a Trenchmore I haue trode a good way to winne the world: many say many thinges that were neuer thought. But in a word your poore seruant offers the truth of his progresse and profit to your honorable view, receiue it I beseech you, such as it is, rude and plaine, for I know your pure iudgement, lookes as soone to see beauty in a Blackamoore, or heare smooth speech from a Stammerer, as to finde any thing, but blunt mirth in a Morrice dauncer, especially such a one as Will Kemp, that hath spent his life in mad Iigges and merry iestes. Three reasons moooue mee to make publik this iourney, one to reproue lying fooles I neuer knew: the other to co[m]mend louing friends, which by the way I daily found: the third to shew my duety to your honorable selfe, whose fauours (among other bountifull friends) makes me (dispight of this sad world) iudge my hart Corke, & my heeles feathers, so that me thinkes I could flye to Rome (at least hop to Rome, as the olde Prouerb is) with a mortar on my head. In which light conceite I lowly begge pardon and leaue, for my Tabrer strikes his huntsup, I must to Norvvich: Imagine Noble Mistris, I am now setting from my Lord Mayors, the houre about seauen, the morning gloomy, the company many, my hart merry. Your worthy Ladiships most
vnworthy seruant,

William Kemp.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps
References

Kemp's Nine Daies Wonder, by Will Kemp

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

References

• euphemisms for "drunk"
• tulip mania - what happened?
  

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

A few days before leaving on my latest expedition I met with my director who advised me that she was planning a longer-term investigation in the Netherlands around the Sixteenth to Seventeenth centuries.

Of course, I was immediately interested, having been there when the pilgrims were preparing to leave for America, and the director suggested that I might be a good choice for someone to look for a vacant property that could be bought to use as a base for operations.

One of the places that was recommended to me was a windmill. The miller had become disabled recently as the result of an accident and his wife, who had become his caregiver, had expressed an interest in selling the mill as a going concern.

When I got there the miller himself was sitting under an apple tree in a wheelchair; literally a chair which had been adapted by mounting it on a low cart. The extent of his injuries was quite apparent; he was missing his right leg from the knee down, and all of his right arm. He admitted that his injuries had been caused by the mill machinery, but he also admitted that he had been foolish enough to try to carry out a running repair when he was drunk, that should have been done when the mill was idle.

Although he is clearly in some pain, he insists on showing me through the mill itself, with the help of his wife. He asks me if I have considered running the mill myself, pointing out that he has added several labor-saving devices all of which are powered from the mill's main drive shaft. The devices include an ingenious harnessing of the power to operate sack hoists which can be used to lift heavy weights both inside and outside the mill, and a boulter, for sifting flour to produce a finer grade. Of course, the mill also makes use of several simple machines such as ropes and pulleys for lifting, screws to regulate the grain feed, and levers on the weighing scales.

My own thinking is that, for the rather high one thousand nine hundred and fifty guilders asking price, we could not only have a useful base of operations in this time, but a very important source of much-needed income in local coin.

Before committing to a deal it seems sensible to ask the miller about the craft of milling. If there is one thing that I have learned in my travels (and my colleagues agree) it is that there are very few occupations in this age that don't involve some knowledge of specialized skills. The miller chuckles and tells me that when he started learning, all his master would tell him was that he needed to know how to "whistle up the wind" on a calm day! However, there are some things that are worth knowing and he doesn't mind teaching me. For example, whenever you have to make a part for machinery that will be exposed to water on a regular basis, use elm rather than oak, for elm will outlast oak when immersed in water and both are roughly equally hard for durability.

It is as we are descending to the exit door that I hear something scrabbling on the stairs behind us, and turn around just in time to see a very-well-fed mouse skitter down the wall and into a crevice. Despite being startled by the mouse, I am reminded of a favorite song from my own younger days: (also in Dutch)

X:73                          % number
T:A Mouse lived in a windmill
M:3/4
O:http://www.mudcat.org/thread.CFM?threadID=10434
Q:1/4=160
P:ABABABA
K:G
P:A VERSE
^A6 |"G" B2 d2 DD |"C" E2 G2 G2 |"F" A2c2C2 |"Bb" D4 D2 |"Eb" G2^A2^A,^A, |
w:A mouse lived in a wind-mill in old Am-ster-dam, A wind-mill with a
"Ab" C2 ^D2 ^D2 |"D" D2 F2 A2 |"G" G2 B3 ^A |B2 d2 D2 |"C" E2 G2 G2 |"F" A c3 C2 |
w:mouse in and he was-n't grous-in'. He sang eve-ry morn-ing, "How luc-ky I
"Bb" D6 |"Eb" G2 ^A2 ^A,^A, |"Ab" C2 ^D2 ^D2 |"D" D2 F2 A2| "G" G6 ||
w:am, Liv-ing in a wind-mill in old Am-ster-dam!"
P:B CHORUS
G6 |-G2 B2 d2| "C" e6 | c6 |"G" d2 B2 G2 | D6 |"D" c2 A2 F2 | D4 e2 |"G" d5 ^c |
w:I_ saw a mouse! Where? There on the stair! Where on the stair? Right there! A
d^c d2 ^d2 |"C" e6 | c6 |"G" d2 B2 G2 | D2 e2 d2 |"A" ^c2 ^cA ^c2 |"D" c2 A2 F2 |
w:lit-tle mouse with clogs on. Well I de-clare! Go-ing clip-clip-pe-ty-clop on the
"G" G2 DEGB | A2 G2 A2 | G6 |]
w:stair! * * * * * * Oh yeah!
W:
W:This mouse, he got lonesome, he took him a wife
W:A windmill with mice in, it’s hardly surprisin’
W:She sang every morning “How lucky I am
W:Living in a windmill in old Amsterdam”
W:
W:(Chorus)
W:
W:First they had triplets and then they had quins
W:A windmill with quins in, triplets and twins in
W:They sang every morning “How lucky we are
W:Living in a windmill in Amsterdam – ya”
W:
W:(Chorus)
W:
W:The daughters got married and so did the sons
W:The windmill had christenings when no one was listening
W:They all sang in chorus “How lucky we am
W:Living in a windmill in old Amsterdam”
W:
W:(Chorus)
W:
W:A mouse lived in a windmill, so snug and so nice
W:There’s nobody there now but a whole load of mice
W:
W:EEN MUIS IN EEN MOLEN IN MOOI AMSTERDAM
W:
W:Er was eens een muisje in mooi Amsterdam
W:Dat zat in een molen heel stiekem verscholen
W:Hij zong elke morgen: 'Wat is het toch fijn
W:Een muis in een molen in Mokum te zijn'
W:
W:REFREIN: Ik zag een muis. Waar?
W:Daar op de trap. Waar op de trap?
W:Nou, daar!
W:Een kleine muis op klompjes
W:Nee, 't is geen grap
W:'t Ging van klipklipperdieklap op de trap
W:Oh ja!
W:
W:Het muisje was eenzaam en zocht naar een vrouw
W:En 'Piep' zei de muis in het voorhuis, 'ik trouw'
W:Dus zongen ze samen 'Wat is het toch fijn
W:Een muis in een molen in Mokum te zijn'. REFREIN
W:
W:Ma Muis kreeg een vijfling, en allen gezond
W:Dus aten de muisjes beschuitjes met muisjes
W:En iedereen zong toen 'Wat is het toch fijn
W:Een muis in een molen in Mokum te zijn'. REFREIN
W:
W:De muizenfamilie werd vreselijk groot
W:De molenaar vluchtte, hij was als de dood
W:Voor de muizen die zongen ' Wat is het toch fijn
W:Een muis in een molen in Mokum te zijn. REFREIN
W:
W:De muizen die hebben het fijn naar hun zin
W:De molen staat leeg want geen mens durft er in...
W:Ieeeee!

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

Of course, by the time we are on the ground outside the mill once more, two of the mill cats are snoozing in the sun. Blissfully ignorant of the juicy meal they might have had.

I accept a certain amount of risk as an occupational hazard of travelling in time, so I suppose I have to accept the consequences when I find myself in the middle of a hazardous situation, although to be honest, it doesn't happen very often.
One of the easiest ways I've found to infiltrate myself into a time and place is to join a travelling party early in the day as they prepare to set out. Of course, that also means I am accepting the same risk as my fellow-travellers, of being intercepted and robbed on the road, and in May of 1721 my complacency about the potential risk was confronted with the reality in the middle of Epping Forest, miles from the nearest village.
It took me a few minutes to realize what was happening when we were ordered to disembark from the coach in which we were travelling. A number of possible causes for our unscheduled halt ran through my mind:

• One of the horses had been lamed? (during the ride one of my companions told me how a couple of years ago, the Essex Gang, led by Mr.Turpin, sowed the road with caltrops, laming the horses of an express team in a most cruel manner).
  
  
• A wheel had come off the coach? (unlikely, the coach would probably have tipped)
• A fallen tree blocking the road?

When I saw the masked horseman pointing a flintlock pistol I got the shock of my adventurous life. One of the most notorious highwaymen of the period is "Dick" Turpin, originally an Essex lad, who served his apprenticeship as a butcher and has become notorious for his daring and violent robberies. He has already outlived the Essex Gang with whom he allied for a while; apparently his cavalier disregard for hazard was more than they felt their lives justified.
But it seems my concerns were not altogether justified; our interrogator's manners were very much those of a gentleman, assisting myself and an older lady in dismounting from the coach (not the easiest maneuver in a hoopskirt), and while he would not spare any coin or jewelry, at least he apologized to us for inconveniencing us so rudely.
X:1
T:Air XX, March in Rinaldo with Drums and Trumpets % title
T:Adapted by John Gay for The Beggar's Opera
C:                           % composer
O:http://www.gutenberg.org/files/25063/25063-h/music/air_XX.pdf % origin.