Tag Archives: The Public

After Battle Road

14 Sunday Apr 2013

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Nooning on the field at Hartwell Tavern

Nooning on the field at Hartwell Tavern

In short: we enjoyed it, and yet we didn’t. Battle Road is the kind of event where those of us who come from Rhode Island and are on the fringes of the organization are not fully integrated into the event. Mr S  fielded in the morning, but the Young Mr could not, again, though he had been told at inspection that something would be found for him to do. He recovered pretty well, but there is a lot of waiting.

So lovely!

So lovely!

I was very grateful to have friends, new members of the Regiment, to chat with while we waited and watched the action. When you can’t participate, it’s fun to pick out your friends in the columns marching past. Sorry, no photos: authenticity standards.

Afterwards, we had lunch, and saw more friends. That gown is a copy of one in the Newport Historical Society. It has robings and front lacing–what an amazing artifact! I would love to get my fingers on the original’s front to find out how many layers there are.

At this point, though, my claustrophobia began to kick in. In the photo of my friend and her daughter you can see tourists taking photos of the Young Mr (by his buttons you shall know him) and Brian Jean of the 2nd Helpings.

The line to see Hartwell Tavern snaked through the yard, and the road was getting full of people, and dogs, and bicycles. We fled.

This is often my view. Good thing I'm tall.

This is often my view if I want space to breathe. Good thing I’m tall.

We slipped up to the MMNHP Visitors Center (flush toilets!) and watched the presentation on April 19, 1775.  When we walked out of the theatre, the ranger said, “Welcome to chaos.”  The Center was packed full of people, all talking, many pushing: we found a way through the crowd and snuck up to the National Heritage Museum (more flush toilets and a Coke machine!), which had a nice map exhibit. I had some ideas at the time about mixing maps and objects in a thematic exhibition, and vaguely, they remain.

I'm usually looking for where the arrow is pointing: The Kid.

I’m usually tracking the animal the arrow is pointing to: The Kid.

Here’s where the not-so-great part started for me. At Tower Park, I got left alone on the public side of the rope line. (We rode up with Brian, so my ‘getting around and doing things’ options were pretty limited.) To be a living exhibition with one other person is good; to be a living exhibition with a normally-dressed companion is bearable; to be alone is annoying.

Hands to yourselves, people, please. Also, those are my friends and family out there on the field, and I would like to see them, too.

I had a moment at Tower Park where I thought, Really, the hell with the public. This kind of reenacting is not for me; I’ll stick to something more personal, something for reenactors/living historians alone. But what I think I really wanted was a friend or a larger zone of personal space–you’d think petticoats and a cloak would help, but they don’t–a way for people to understand No Touching. Also, I like to be able to keep My Kid in view to manage my anxiety levels. Superstitious Mother Tricks…

The Brown Gown, which I do actually like

The Brown Gown, which I do actually like, 12 hours on

I was a lot crankier about it last night, which was probably the result of being rather tired (getting up at 5 to lace yourself into a new gown after a week of insomniac-style sleep and intense work is not how most folks start “vacation”), hungry, and cold (it settled inside my stays mid-morning and I will feel it for a while to come).

Will I do it all again? Yes. Will I try to make better afternoon plans? Yes…though I’m not sure yet what they will be.

Petticoat Burns

05 Tuesday Feb 2013

Posted by in History, Living History, Reenacting

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Per Hillstrom, Kitchen Scene

You know this site, right? History Myths Debunked examines the stories about the past many like to think are true, and Death By Petticoat is one of the favorites. Here it is on an English site catering to reenactors. There’s a variation I’d never heard, about wetting petticoat hems to keep them from engulfing the wearer in flames. (OK, mild exaggeration: to keep the petticoat from igniting fully, thus… hat tip to Back Country Maiden for pointing this out.)

As someone who just finished mending a petticoat, you’d think I’d leap at the chance to drench my hem in water to prevent future mending episodes, but not so. For one thing, in the house or in the camp, that’s water I had to haul or cause to have hauled, and I’m not wasting it. Wet the hems and what’s next? Caked lumps of ash, mud, and.or other filth. No thanks.

High-tech historical cooking

High-tech historical cooking

The burns I got in my dress were acquired at the end of the day when we were hearth cooking and were practically in the fireplace ourselves. That is where you must be if you wish to stir the sauce until it thickens, and there was the hoisting of roast in its pan a couple of times, and general playing with fire in pursuit of food. My ca. 1799 dress is longer than my 1770s petticoats and gowns, and the extra inch or two probably contributed to the burns. But I wasn’t engulfed by flames, because the damn thing is wool. Self-extinguishing wool, worn with linen and wool petticoats and a linen apron. not going to go up in flames. Also not going to get dipped in water–and wouldn’t that result in steam and hence scalded shins?

I don’t know where these rumours start, but they could have started with a cynical curator joking with house tour guides who failed to get the joke. Not that I know anything about a story of about Providence kitten named Georgie in honor of George Washington’s visit to a large brick house on a hill .

Fort Lee Surrealism

19 Monday Nov 2012

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Surreal: that was the word for the morning at Monument Park. The RI Reg’t walked over the park instead of parading with the troops, because one of our members has not been well, and did not think he could keep up with the parade. It was odd to follow the reenactors in 18th century clothing under power lines and past high rise apartment buildings shouldering out old frame homes, but the surrealism really kicked in at the park.

Describing sniper fire in WWII to salsa music

There it became multi-sensory when the ceremony’s organizers turned on the music. It wasn’t exactly merengue, and it wasn’t exactly salsa…then the soundtrack switched to updated Big Band hits and finally landed on a strange, over-the-top, quasi-operatic version of “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

So when you look at the photos on flickr, play some salsa or an album you might have ordered at 2 AM from a TV ad, and think about standing in 40F/4C weather eavesdropping on politicians talking about inching closer to universal health, and the lessons of Hurricane Sandy for high-rise dwellers, while squeezing up next to you for a photo op.

Later, at Fort Lee Historic Park, the artillery demonstration was loud and satisfying, but we got behind schedule and to the oddness of the morning was added rushing. It was capped off at the end by the order to fix bayonets, which led to bayonets being caught in branches.

Bayonets fixed, Capt. Becker takes measure of the trees

Finally, for me, the day nearly foundered when I pulled my phone out of pocket at the end of the event to check the time, and saw my boss had been texting me all afternoon over a non-crisis. Part of why I love re-enacting and living history so much is that it takes me so far away from myself and from my daily existence. It’s related (slightly) to my work, but to be so far away in place and time and effort is a delight. I can’t just throw the phone away or not take it along: I am supposed to be on call, all the time…but it’s history, not a hospital, and if budgets change, so should expectations.

The Public: Not Quite the Enemy

17 Monday Sep 2012

Posted by in Events, History, Museums, Reenacting

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Ah, the public. We’re not really much without them—we need an audience, don’t we? Living history practitioners/costumed interpreters/re-enactors are all looking for an audience. We like to tell people about the past, so we need the public. Sometimes, though, the public is a trifle confounding.

In one weekend, I heard or heard about the following questions or comments:

Are you Jane Austen? (This from a 10-year-old girl in a grocery store, so it’s actually score one to the girl for knowing Jane and getting the dress period right, and one to Dana, who answered with grace.)

Look, it’s the Pilgrims!

Gosh they must have been hot back then. I guess they had to adapt, but they must have been awfully hot, even if they didn’t know any better.

Why is it like it used to be in here? (My favorite!)

Did children chase chickens back then?

What are you chopping all that wood for?

Oh, look, the fire’s on!

I thought you’d all look pretty like the ladies on British TV. [i]

There was also a group that trouped in and just stared. Stared. Hard. I couldn’t manage to say anything, though Vicky and Johanna did an excellent job explaining what we were doing. By the time it was my turn, they’d stared in silence for several long minutes and it was just too weird to say anything.

So, what to do? Not much, I think, but to join and support your local history organization to encourage history education for all. And for those of us on the receiving end? Take a break, eat a snack, stay fresh, and park the snark. Wait until the tour has left the building to react.

I had only one not-great experience. A child came behind my quilting frame, popped on my bonnet, and left the room while I asked several times, “May I have my bonnet back, please?” Her mother turned to me and said, “We thought this was interactive!” Well, yes, but that is my personal bonnet. So the lesson for me is hide my bonnet better, and for the public? It never hurts to ask if you can try on the item sitting next to the interpreter, or to touch the things they’re clearly working with. And never touch an interpreter or re-enactor unless invited to. Yes, it has happened.

Manners transcend centuries: please and thank you always work.

[i] This is similar to what a guide at work said the first time I did a program in period dress, wearing a linen gown. “I guess they were more comely at Colonial Williamsburg than in New England.” I am not a fancy lady. But not comely? Well, maybe I’m built for speed.

Partners in Crime

10 Sunday Jun 2012

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Mr. S in his 6-hour coat

Ah, partnerships. They don’t always work the way either partner thinks they will, and one always has more power than the other. Suffice it to say that my partner, who is also my husband, did me a solid and came down to Water Fire’s Gaspee Project last night. The Regimental Captain and his family did, too, and for that I am truly grateful.

The Gaspee affair really was a crime: it was an act of revolt by Rhode Island citizens against the Crown, but Lieutenant Dudingston saw the evasion by the Hannah as a crime, and it was—her captain was supposed to submit to boarding and inspection. The raid on the grounded Gaspee and the wounding of Dudingston was also certainly a crime.

I didn’t take any photos at Water Fire last night, but plenty of people wanted their photo taken with me in my crazy bonnet.

People love that bonnet

One man confessed to me that I reminded him of his childhood trips to Steppingstone Stables [sic] and the two white-footed Clydesdales, Big Tom and Big Jerry, that pulled the wagon.  I didn’t think I was that big…but what he meant was that seeing me dressed up “old-timey” reminded him of other times and of the past, and helped him connect to something beyond his immediate moment. I think he’d had a good time down at the new Sabin’s Tavern, but he had a moment that made him reflect on something that gave him pleasure, and that’s a good thing.