Over the past year, I've been fortunate enough to have not one, but two jobs doing what I love -- working in and around museums. And not just employed , but employed with a little bit of free time on the side to use for fun projects (Centennial Dress!), to develop and research my love of museums and living history and hopefully grow my practice as an educator.
I've started following a lot of really wonderful blogs this year -- blogs about costuming, about museum practice, and quite a few about living history. But there's one blog that absolutely blows my mind away every time they post something new.
The lovely gentlemen (well-deserved the word!) of The HMS Acasta take both living history and blogging to a new high. They make me want to live up to the appellation 'living historian.' It seems like every week they have well-thought out, beautifully executed content that not only advocates for their group and their work, but is also incredibly instructive and interesting. (They had me doing geometry several weeks ago. For fun. FOR REAL.)
Well, friends I am not much for naval math, although I did try and teach myself advanced geometry for a math project in college to understand navigation on a globe, which should give you some idea of how much I love reading about the Navy. I am also (unfortunately, in this case) not a male, which, geographic issues aside, rules me out from joining their reenactment group. But several weeks ago they announced a new project -- The Mail Packet. It is supposed to be a series of letters from their followers to various members of the crew.
Well, a male mathematician I may not be, but I can CERTAINLY be a letter-writer. I read several books on women and the Navy, lost myself in Persuasion for a day, contemplated my bookshelf of Hornblower novels and what Lady Barbara would do, and finally sat down to write.
So, without much further ado, my early 19th century self has written these fine gentlemen a letter. I leave it here.
Captain Freymann –
Your letters home have enjoyed a great deal of circulation around the neighborhood, and the general society hereabouts is quite in raptures at the skill of yourself and your crew in the varied arts of letter-writing. Your exercise with the flag-hoists was thought very clever -- such small perfect pictures! --even for those of us without a Popham’s close to hand, and the basic geometrics of navigation were enough to put even the most devoted of shore-bound mathematicians through their paces. One wonders how you gentlemen ever make it home with such instruments at your disposal! I suppose, like all other pursuits, it is one that requires a great deal of practice to perfect.
You must think me very forward to write this, being that I am of no particular relation to you. Suffice it to say that I am an admirer of general writing practice, and a firm supporter of the advancement of the art of naval warfare, and in both of these matters you and your crew have garnered my unstinting praise. Your own letters have been both instructive and entertaining, and I mean only to repay the compliment.
I imagine, in this season of the year in which so many family gatherings are the usual practice, that you and your crew must, feel a little longing to be at home. I cannot claim to have any especial knowledge of how the New Year is rung in at sea (though several estimable naval gentlemen of my acquaintance, Captains Wentworth and Aubrey, are attempting to rectify the matter) but I am sure that you must have some hint of merriment aboard.
There was some suggestion in this neighborhood of first-footing, but as fair-faced dark haired young men are thin on the ground in this part of the country at present, we have kept the old tradition here of waiting up for the first chime of the clock at midnight to let the old year out and the new year in, and that shall have to suffice. The chimes of our clock seem long indeed when the door is open – I fully wished the new year would hurry up and get inside before Papa and all the rest caught a chill! After we had waited out all twelve chimes, the door was shut tightly, all our luck for the new year locked in, and Mama’s punch liberally distributed to one and all for a toast. I imagine there was a little laughter and a good deal of singing that dreadful Scotch air after that, but I went to bed shortly after the punch. Did any of your young gentlemen stay up to bring the New Year in? I cannot see ships having front doors, but you must have a custom of some kind.
Today being rather cold, the cutting and fitting of a new dress will keep me inside – though I must endeavor to be quiet about it. It is near past ten, and most of the rest of the household has not yet risen – too much punch at last nights’ festivities, I should think. I shall not trouble you with the rest of the day's plans, as they are not likely to be of much interest to you, and my letter grows long without them. How I should hate to have you squinting over a crossed-over page for them! Let me then close. All the best of luck to you and your crew this season, or fair weather and plenty of prizes, however you should reckon it.
I am,
your humble neighbor,
Mariah Gray
For more about the tradition of firstfooting, traditional English New Year's Eve revels, the tradition of singing "that dreadful Scotch air", or the crossed-over letter, click through the links!
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