Sending you Good Wishes and many thanks for following "The Victorian Times"!
Cheerio,
Rosa
December 24, 2011
Happy Holidays!
Salutations Gentle Readers,
Sending you Good Wishes and many thanks for following "The Victorian Times"!
Cheerio,
Rosa
Sending you Good Wishes and many thanks for following "The Victorian Times"!
Cheerio,
Rosa
December 12, 2011
Lenore & Archibald's First Christmas Pudding
written by Rosa Morgan Lockwood
"Let me see," she said, studying the items before her. "There's the sultanas and suet and black treacle; I'm certain this will be the best pudding ever. And when Archibald comes home for his mid-day luncheon, I shall have him stir it in the black cauldron for good luck, just as all of our family members did when I was a lass. From east to west, he'll stir, in honor of the Magi's journey.
"I shall put in a silver sixpence to ensure wealth for the coming year, a wishbone for good luck, a thimble for thrift, and an anchor for safe harbor. Then I shall wrap it in cheesecloth and hang it for weeks from a hook in the inglenook.
"Then like mother's hearty pudding, I shall poke a sprig of holly in it's top and alight it with port!" 
"What in heavens are you doing here?" she cried, as she took a seat, lest she faint straightaway.
With the teapot set to boil, Lenore bustled around the kitchen excitedly. This would be her's and Archibald's first Christmas together, and she was intent on creating memories they would cherish forever. Pinning back her curls and tying on her bib apron, she began preparations for Stir up Sunday. She had already gathered the makings for the requisite Christmas Pudding; thirteen ingredients, one for Christ and twelve for his apostles. It was a time honored receipt, handed down from mother to daughter, and one she was a bit in a tizzy to master.
"Let me see," she said, studying the items before her. "There's the sultanas and suet and black treacle; I'm certain this will be the best pudding ever. And when Archibald comes home for his mid-day luncheon, I shall have him stir it in the black cauldron for good luck, just as all of our family members did when I was a lass. From east to west, he'll stir, in honor of the Magi's journey.
"I shall put in a silver sixpence to ensure wealth for the coming year, a wishbone for good luck, a thimble for thrift, and an anchor for safe harbor. Then I shall wrap it in cheesecloth and hang it for weeks from a hook in the inglenook.
"Then like mother's hearty pudding, I shall poke a sprig of holly in it's top and alight it with port!"
At this point in her narrative, Lenore danced around the room with abandon, imagining the delight and pride on her husband's face, when the very man appeared unexpectedly in the doorway.
"What in heavens are you doing here?" she cried, as she took a seat, lest she faint straightaway.Beaming with affection for his darling wife, Archibald asked with amusement, "Is that anyway to greet your love, who you've not set eyes upon for at least three hours?"
"I'm sorry," she swooned, as he came near. "I just didn't expect you so early, my darling."
Breathing in her essence, with their lips nearly touching, he said, "I heard you talking about the Christmas pudding. It sounds brilliant, save for the port at the end. Mother always used brandy to alight it."
Like a slap to her face, Lenore recoiled and shrieked like a harpy, "Your mother? Brandy?" With his innocent suggestion, tears pricked her eyes and all her tender daydreams evaporated. It would take much cooing and bended knee for the bewildered husband to make amends. Rest assured, Lenore and Archibald's first Christmas pudding would most definitely be blazing with port not brandy.
Like a slap to her face, Lenore recoiled and shrieked like a harpy, "Your mother? Brandy?" With his innocent suggestion, tears pricked her eyes and all her tender daydreams evaporated. It would take much cooing and bended knee for the bewildered husband to make amends. Rest assured, Lenore and Archibald's first Christmas pudding would most definitely be blazing with port not brandy.
November 28, 2011
Zazel "The Human Cannonball"
written by Rosa Morgan
My name is Rossa Matilda Richter, but do call me by my professional name, Zazel. Being the first human cannonball, I would enjoy ever so much the opportunity to recall my maiden performance at the vernal age of fourteen.
It happened on April 2, 1877 at the newly opened Royal Aquarium. With its glass roof, palm trees, and fountains, the Aquarium was fashioned after the Crystal Palace, and was intended to hold highbrow lectures and art exhibits. However, working class gents didn't fancy spending their hard earned pence on such dubious fare, and so the developers turned to more entertaining venues. That's when I came into the picture.
Scheduled to appear after the dancing bears and hypnotists, I found my knees knocking so terribly, I considered backing out of the whole shebang. To my rescue came William Hunt, better known as The Great Farini. It was he, who designed the devilish cannon and who convinced me of its safety. I had trained long hours for that moment; calisthenics to strengthen my legs, and a strict diet to maintain my weight, lest our precise mathematical computations of thrust and matter be thrown off course. And so, with the crowd cheering crazily in anticipation, I lowered myself into the cold black hole of that cannon, whispered a curt Hail Mary, and faced possible death head on.
The brief moments I stood there with body rigid and mind intensely focused, felt an eternity. Though I knew gunpowder was to be used for dramatic effect only, elastic springs being the impetus for propelling me, I was still quite startled by the fantastic explosion that resounded in my ears and the indescribable affect of finding myself actually flying through the air at a height of thirty feet. Though my aerial escapade lasted only a few seconds, the thrill of it was intoxicating, and when I landed safely in the net, I was fully prepared to do it all over again.
( Zazel went on to work with P.T. Barnum, but retired after breaking her back in a fall. Out of 50 human cannonballs, 30 have died, mostly from missing the net.)
My name is Rossa Matilda Richter, but do call me by my professional name, Zazel. Being the first human cannonball, I would enjoy ever so much the opportunity to recall my maiden performance at the vernal age of fourteen.
It happened on April 2, 1877 at the newly opened Royal Aquarium. With its glass roof, palm trees, and fountains, the Aquarium was fashioned after the Crystal Palace, and was intended to hold highbrow lectures and art exhibits. However, working class gents didn't fancy spending their hard earned pence on such dubious fare, and so the developers turned to more entertaining venues. That's when I came into the picture.
Scheduled to appear after the dancing bears and hypnotists, I found my knees knocking so terribly, I considered backing out of the whole shebang. To my rescue came William Hunt, better known as The Great Farini. It was he, who designed the devilish cannon and who convinced me of its safety. I had trained long hours for that moment; calisthenics to strengthen my legs, and a strict diet to maintain my weight, lest our precise mathematical computations of thrust and matter be thrown off course. And so, with the crowd cheering crazily in anticipation, I lowered myself into the cold black hole of that cannon, whispered a curt Hail Mary, and faced possible death head on.
The brief moments I stood there with body rigid and mind intensely focused, felt an eternity. Though I knew gunpowder was to be used for dramatic effect only, elastic springs being the impetus for propelling me, I was still quite startled by the fantastic explosion that resounded in my ears and the indescribable affect of finding myself actually flying through the air at a height of thirty feet. Though my aerial escapade lasted only a few seconds, the thrill of it was intoxicating, and when I landed safely in the net, I was fully prepared to do it all over again.( Zazel went on to work with P.T. Barnum, but retired after breaking her back in a fall. Out of 50 human cannonballs, 30 have died, mostly from missing the net.)
November 14, 2011
Thaddeus Turkey at Thanksgiving
written by Rosa Morgan Lockwood
Thanksgiving Day became an American national holiday in 1863, and much of the activity of the day is centered around the meal. From it's early days, the menu has not altered from its roast turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, potatoes and pumpkin pie. I shall present the following vintage Thanksgiving images with perhaps an altered interpretation from their original intent; ever mindful that poor Mr. Turkey wants to enjoy the day too.
My name is Thaddeus Turkey, and there was a time when I was thought of as a great noble bird, even considered by Benjamin Franklin to be a representative of America. In the beginning, I was a wild animal; eating, mating, and flying freely through the forest.
One day, while contentedly foraging for breakfast, I was startled by the appearance of two little boys. They were ever so kind to me, offering sweet bits, I dare not refuse.
To my astonishment, I found a rope soon tied round my neck and I their unwilling captive. From that day forth, Iwas subjected to forms of humiliation, too embarrassing to elaborate upon.
Having lived amongst people for nearly a year, there came a chilly morning when one of my companions was gathered up and unceremoniously slaughtered. That very night, the whole family feasted on the unfortunate fellow, stuffing his innards with bread and apples.
Henceforth, I set out to be a most unpleasant farm animal, chasing the children till they cried out in fear, and gobbling at ungodly hours to everyone's dismay.
A full year passed and it was soon another chilly morning when one of the boys came to the coop with his sharpened ax. There was no doubt the murderous glimmer in his eyes was directed towards me, and I was intent on evading his plans.
Lo and behold, it was my good fortune that Miss Charity arrived on the scene in her corncob automobile, and with a gobble gobble gobble, we turned our tail feathers and drove away from those, who so single-mindedly wanted to rob us of our lives. That dreadful day turned into my most cherished, for my love and I came upon a justice of the peace, and an impromptu wedding was performed. I, too, shall celebrate Thanksgiving Day, giving thanks for my life and happiness.
Benjamin Franklin's Letter to his Daughter
“I am on this account not displeased that the Figure (representative of our country) is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America . . . He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on.”
Thanksgiving Day became an American national holiday in 1863, and much of the activity of the day is centered around the meal. From it's early days, the menu has not altered from its roast turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, potatoes and pumpkin pie. I shall present the following vintage Thanksgiving images with perhaps an altered interpretation from their original intent; ever mindful that poor Mr. Turkey wants to enjoy the day too.
My name is Thaddeus Turkey, and there was a time when I was thought of as a great noble bird, even considered by Benjamin Franklin to be a representative of America. In the beginning, I was a wild animal; eating, mating, and flying freely through the forest.
One day, while contentedly foraging for breakfast, I was startled by the appearance of two little boys. They were ever so kind to me, offering sweet bits, I dare not refuse.
To my astonishment, I found a rope soon tied round my neck and I their unwilling captive. From that day forth, Iwas subjected to forms of humiliation, too embarrassing to elaborate upon.
Having lived amongst people for nearly a year, there came a chilly morning when one of my companions was gathered up and unceremoniously slaughtered. That very night, the whole family feasted on the unfortunate fellow, stuffing his innards with bread and apples.
Henceforth, I set out to be a most unpleasant farm animal, chasing the children till they cried out in fear, and gobbling at ungodly hours to everyone's dismay.
A full year passed and it was soon another chilly morning when one of the boys came to the coop with his sharpened ax. There was no doubt the murderous glimmer in his eyes was directed towards me, and I was intent on evading his plans.
Lo and behold, it was my good fortune that Miss Charity arrived on the scene in her corncob automobile, and with a gobble gobble gobble, we turned our tail feathers and drove away from those, who so single-mindedly wanted to rob us of our lives. That dreadful day turned into my most cherished, for my love and I came upon a justice of the peace, and an impromptu wedding was performed. I, too, shall celebrate Thanksgiving Day, giving thanks for my life and happiness.Benjamin Franklin's Letter to his Daughter
“I am on this account not displeased that the Figure (representative of our country) is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America . . . He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on.”
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