In Memoriam - Duke Sir Andrew of Seldom Rest
Michael L Squires
I thought it appropriate to use his own words to describe himself;
these are taken from his place in the Chapel of Midrealm Chivalry at
www.midrealm.org.
Yours in service,
Alan Culross
-----------------------------------------------
My first event was at the Knighting of Sir
Thorvald inn Grimmi. My first combat upon the
Lists was against this noble Knight on that
same day. Three blows was all it took, I swung
at him (blocked), he hit me and I hit the
ground.
Resume':
5th Knight of the Middle Kingdom
5th, 7th and 25th (?) King of the Middle Kingdom
5th Pelican of the Middle Kingdom
Created the first Kingdom Laws
Created the first Middle Kingdom Exchequer
Created the first Middle Kingdom Pelican
Created the office of Dragon Signet
King of the Middle at PW I, PW II and PW XI
Earl Marshall of the Middle Kingdom x 2
Created the "Authorization" process
Second Marshall of the SCA
Created the office of Chirurgeon
Authorized the Kingdom of Ansteorra to develop
fencing in the SCA and lots of other stuff,
mostly in Ohio, but who's counting?
The number of my squires and other retainers who
have been recognized as Peers of one kind or
another are legion. They have impressed me
greatly and make the above resume' as nothing.
The Knights amongst them are:
Sir Barfionn de Tahhe
Sir Talymar gan y Lewydd
Sir Valydon Sallyforth
Sir Knarlic Wulfhereson (Drachenwald)
Sir William the Finn (Meridies)
Sir Loric Sylvestris (Meridies)
Sir Cormac O"Sullivan (Calontir)
Sir David de Kunstenaar (Man at Arms)
-------------------------------------------------
Alan Culross, KSCA, OP
Mike Squires
Diane Hare / Hibrida Longhair
Mistress Hibrida Longhair
=====
Nessmuk
Andrew was the first the King I ever had encountered up close on a personal
level. He drove all night from ohio to our first event. A little event in the
middle of nowhere hosted by group of people who were new to the sca.
At that event he met my parents who were very skeptical of the SCA and people
I was keeping company with. He sat in our living room taking time to answer
every question put forth by them.
The thing struck me about Anderw was he had time for everyone. Talking to new
people was as important to him as hanging out with the peers. Even when he was
war king I had seen him take time out of his busy schedule to talk with
people. To honestly inquire how they were getting along and if there was
anything he could do.
For me he will always be a leader among kings and a friend.
My father when I was little said to me that respect is something earned not
granted. We grant respect upon those who wear a crown in the SCA.
For me Andrew was a person who earned the respect that went with the office.
"Since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you shall not, I'll gently
rise and softly call, good night, and joy be with you all."
To Andrew I raise my glass I bid you good sleep.
Dale
Sean Patrick McCartain AOA
House Mendicus (beggars guild)
House Forkbeard
Canton in the Valley of the Walls
David Friedman
a mundane automobile accident.
A group of us drove up from the midwest to the first event of Castel
Rouge, in Winnipeg. Our transportation was an ancient airport limousine
(I think) of Andrew's named Fatty Lumpkin; roughly a station wagon
scaled up by twenty percent or so.
It was night, Anne was driving, Andrew was sleeping or resting on the
bench seat that was back to back with the front seat, when a wheel came
off. We were moving at freeway speeds--say sixty miles an hour. Andrew
got up, reached around both sides of his wife to grab the wheel. The car
made a 180 degree spin, and he drove it, backwards, onto the grass
margin of the highway, where it came to a stop. Nobody was hurt.
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
James Koch
Lansing, Michigan) by Andy in Fatty Lumpkin. Seven of us left East 30th
Street in Cleveland at 3:00pm in a primer black Dodge van purchased that
very day by Ozmandias The Superfluous. Ozzie weighed 400+ pounds and
couldn't drive since he couldn't fit behind the wheel. So several of us
took turns as chauffer. We filled the van with gas, then noticed half
of it had leaked out on the pavement. There was a hole about half way
down the side of the tank. We drove back to the print shop on East 30th
Street (where we had originally gathered) to obtain plastic jugs for a
couple of spare gallons. Then the van wouldn't start. We opened the
hood and discovered, to our surprise, a 454 hemi engine. Someone left
to get us jumper cables. I walked up the street to buy us all a bucket
of chicken for dinner. When we left for the second time, a passing
driver told us our brake and running lights were out. We stopped at a
gas station for fuses which we installed. We drove to the far West Side
to pick up the founder of the Cleftlands, Jamie Fox (remember him
Cariadoc?). At Jamie's residence, Ozzie realized he had left behind a
gift he intended to give to Yang (at whose house we were to be crashing
that evening). So we drove all the way back to the CWRU campus on the
far East side to retrieve it. By the time we finally left Cleveland it
was nearly midnight! We drove West on the Ohio Turnpike and discovered
the heater didn't work. Fortunately the temperature that evening was in
the twenties and we had seven bodies to generate heat. The speedometer
didn't work, but we seemed to be doing about 60 when the battery charge
meter crossed the little line from D to C. On the turnpike we were
stopped by the kindly Ohio Highway Patrol who informed us that one of
our tail lights was out. A lamp this time and not a fuse. We
eventually drove into Detroit about 4:00am looking for gas and the
engine conked out. So six of us pushed the van through downtown Detroit
looking for an open service station. We finally found one, bought gas,
spare lamps, and obtained a jump. We were on our way again toward Ann
Arbor. Suddenly out of nowhere a Michigan Highway Patrol car pulled up
along side of us with its lights all flashing and a big booming voice
was heard which said (and I remember the exact words to this very day)
"PULL OVER! YOU ARE ON FIRE!". Sure enough, when we glanced out the
back window it looked as though our van was rocket powered. We pulled
over and stopped and all of us got out in record time leaving the spare
gallons of gas behind. The police sprayed down the flames with a fire
extinguisher. While they were doing this I glance up the road and saw
the Ann Arbor city limits sign not 50 yards away. A tow truck arrived
at dawn. Ozzie and Jamie rode up front, while the other five of us
jumped on back. We were driven to Yang's house frozen to the bone. We
went in and I lay on the couch exhausted. As I closed my eyes I heard
several people hurrying down the stairs. It was Cyprian Of The Wheel,
Yang and his wife. So no sleep for us. It was time to get up and leave
for the event. Yang's group couldn't take us all. So he phoned Andrew
who agreed to divert to Ann Arbor to pick us up. Ozzie stayed behind
with his van, newly christened "The Blunderbus". Andy arrived in Fatty
Lumpkin a few hours later. Now this was a truly awesome vehicle. It
was an airport lomosine which Andy had Road Warriorized by welding on
racks and such. So Jamie and I climbed in back with Duchess Anne,
Ronnie (screaming baby), and a couple of Seldom Rest retainers. We
departed for East Lansing, with me squatting in a corner watching the
pavement zipping past at about 75mph+ through a large hole in the
floor. Upon arriving outside a huge gymnasium on the Michigan State
campus, Andy calmly glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Hang on,
the brakes are out again". Suddenly we were off the pavement and up on
the tree lawn with Andy downshifting. We rolled back onto the street
and Fatty Lumpkin came to a stop at the curb. I had arrived at my first
SCA event.
>
Over the past few years I saw "Da Duke" only rarely, but always looked
forward to sitting down with him at Baron Wars to exchange stories of
the good old days. I miss him already. This is our second loss in two
years at Baron Wars! Two losses too many.
>
Jim Koch (Gladius The Alchemist)
Sally Burnell
Michael L Squires <mi...@steel.ucs.indiana.edu> wrote in message
news:9dko1f$lu3$1...@flotsam.uits.indiana.edu...
> Duke Sir Andrew (Andy Holly) passed from this world last night.
May he find a calm port in the storm. He will be sorely missed by those of
us who were privileged to call him "friend".
Rest well, Your Grace.
~THLady Saradwen Ariandalen
Marche of Gwyntarian
(Akron/Kent, OH)
Midrealm
A. Reed Mihaloew
Michael L Squires wrote:
>
> Duke Sir Andrew (Andy Holly) passed from this world last night.
>
> I thought it appropriate to use his own words to describe himself;
> these are taken from his place in the Chapel of Midrealm Chivalry at
> www.midrealm.org.
>
> Yours in service,
>
> Alan Culross
>
> -----------------------------------------------
> [Amazing resume snipped]
Duke Andrew and I did not always get along. [I suspect the
understatement police will be knocking at my door shortly!] I can't
deny that he had a profound (and positive) effect on my early days in
the SCA. He was (among other things) the godfather of the March of the
Winged Hills, Dayton, Ohio, (of which I was founding seneschal in the
late 70's), taught me many things about SCA combat (I fought with Seldom
Rest in my first fighting Pennsic, VIII) and was a great support to SCA
activities in the SW Ohio area. Besides, he was the source for a *very*
large number of "Duke Andy Stories", and I *do* love to tell stories...
For his SCA contributions, I salute him and his memory...
Rolin
Powers
Nobody has mentioned the important part---Andy was a blacksmith!
I first met him at an event in Ansteorra when he asked to borrow my forge
to make a tentstake puller (early 80's)
I well remember asking him to look after my forge at the Middle's Melee in
the Marsh two years ago so I could visit the privy only to find him smithing
from his wheelchair when I got back!
Tonight I'll ring the anvil for you Andy to help you find your way home.
wilelm the smith
--
Best Regards,
W.Thomas Powers
Janet Davis
went to my first SCA event in the Barony of the Flame (Dec. 1973?). It was
at that event that Yang the Nauseating announced that he was expanding the
Dark Hoarde from a few individuals in the Ann Arbor area to a household all
over the Known World. As this household was usually opposed to the regular
Kingdom governance and "the way things are always done" in general, there
was much feeling that this could break up the SCA. Andrew was gruff and
crusty towards them and seemed like the party-pooping "adult" but he didn't
do anything to force a real spilt, despite sometimes strong personal
provocation. I think privately he got along better with the Hoarde than he
let on, but the tension made for some very interesting courts.
Almost the last time I saw Andrew was at Pennsic 24 (I think). After Great
Court, he hosted a party of Jurassic Peers that I attended with Earl Sir
Bearengaer. He had a large comfortable pavillion (dry too, as naturally it
was pouring rain) and the stories flowed even more freely the the liquor.
Andrew was happy and in his element, surrounded by people who respected his
history. We talked to him about camping with him the next year, but it was
not to be, as his life started to fall apart in the next several months and
was never really right again.
Old age is a bitch.
Leah Janette (by the way, if anyone knows an e-mail
address for Robert Aspirin, he might want to know about this, even if the
SCA was a long time ago for him.)
David Friedman
w...@nds10758.cb.lucent.com (Powers) wrote:
> Tonight I'll ring the anvil for you Andy to help you find your way home.
Yesterday I was giving some very initial instruction to a new fighter
(no armor), explaining basic blows. She was striking, I was blocking
with Quicksilver, my great sword. I've had Quicksilver for a long time.
Her cross was made by Andy.
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
Eibhlin4
Gladius),was among the first stories I was told as a newcomer to the SCA. In
the decade since,I had the good fortune to meet and talk with him. He will be
sadly missed.
I just spoke to his mundane nephew,Doug,a good friend of mine,who lives and
works here in the Lorain,OH area.If anyone wishes to pass along their
condolences,stories or good thoughts,please feel free to send them to me. I
will print them out and deliver them to Doug.He has always appreciated the way
scadians care for each other.
Rest in peace,Andrew.
Eibhlin nic Bhroccain
Eibh...@aol.com
Chris and Elisabeth Zakes
mi...@steel.ucs.indiana.edu (Michael L Squires) to write:
>Duke Sir Andrew (Andy Holly) passed from this world last night.
I never met Duke Andrew. I had him pointed out to me once, across the
field at Pennsic; that's as close as we ever got. Nevertheless, he had
a profound effect on my life in the SCA.
In March of AS XI, when he was Society Marshal, he issued a ban on
"kendo, wrestling, fencing and archery at human targets." At that
time, I was working on the beginnings of organized rapier fighting in
the part of Atenveldt that would eventually become Ansteorra. We
traded some letters back and forth, and a couple of months later he
published what were, as far as I know, the first set of SCA-wide rules
for rapier fighting.
He didn't have to do this. At that time there were probably no more
than a few dozen rapier fighters scattered around the edges of the
SCA; we had *no* rules, *no* armor requirements *no* formal
organization and only a couple of clues about how period-style rapier
fighting was supposed to be done. We could have been brushed aside
with impunity.
Nevertheless, he didn't react with the stereotypical "stick jock"
response, he read and responded to my (and other people's) letters and
took the first small steps toward making rapier fighting a legitimate
part of the SCA.
There are several thousand rapier fighters across the Known World
today who owe him a toast of thanks.
-Tivar Moondragon
Ansteorra
Raven
| Andrew was gruff and crusty towards [the Dark Horde] and seemed like the
| party-pooping "adult" but he didn't do anything to force a real split,
| despite sometimes strong personal provocation. I think privately he got
| along better with the Horde than he let on, but the tension made for some
| very interesting courts.
In fact he was named Horde Friend (I believe he was the first person so
named), and chaired the Horde's first Khuraltai.
The dragonfly has flown away.
Rest in peace, Seldom Rest.
--
___________________________________________________,__________________________
Y Gwir yn erbyn y Byd <ra...@solaria.sol.net> An Fhirinne in aghaidh an tSaoil
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
James Koch
>
> Almost the last time I saw Andrew was at Pennsic 24 (I think). After Great
> Court, he hosted a party of Jurassic Peers that I attended with Earl Sir
> Bearengaer. He had a large comfortable pavillion (dry too, as naturally it
> was pouring rain) and the stories flowed even more freely the the liquor.
>
>
As to the stories at the jusassic party, I remember it being relatively
dry that evening as we discussed Pennsics 1, 2, and 3. It wasn't until
we started retelling stories from Pennsic 4 that it started to really
pour rain. As we moved on to Pennsic 5 and subsequent events the rain
let up. By the time I left, the rain had stopped and the moon was
appearing from between the clouds.
>
Your mention of the jurassic party brought to mind another bit of trivia
concerning Duke Andrew. At the party I told Andy that I was the first
person to merchant at Pennsic. At Pennsic 2 I dragged a picnic table to
the edge of the battlefield and set out and sold several freon can
helmets and a number of daggers I had made. Andy responded that I may
have been the first one to set up a spot to merchant, but he was the
first to actually sell at Pennsic. At Pennsic 1 he had brought along a
roll of foam to pad helms. One of the Eastern fighters needed padding
and Andy sold him some. So that is another first for him.
David Friedman
James Koch <alc...@en.com> wrote:
> Andy responded that I may
> have been the first one to set up a spot to merchant, but he was the
> first to actually sell at Pennsic.
I may have been the first to buy--mercenaries with mead for Pennsic 1.
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
James Koch
>
You were royally ripped off. Yang and the Horde would have gladly
fought for you free of charge against their hated arch enemies the
Northwoods chivalry.
James Koch
Andrew versus the giant. At Pennsic 2 we fought a level field castle
defense battle. At that time the midrealm was outnumbered about 3 to 1
by the East. The Mid was inside a castle built of upended picnic tables
tied together. A wide door was left open at the front which the Mid was
to defend. Fortunately for us, most of the Eastern fighters looked to
be only a little over five feet tall. There was one exception, a huge
towering giant named Lord El. Lord El carried a great round shield he
called "Wall". It just so happened that I had brought along a pavise I
had made out of an old privy door. It was three pine boards wide with
cross boards at the bottom, top, and middle. I had cut it down to a
length of about four feet and had installed a barn door handle
horizontally about a foot down from the top. As we formed a shield wall
across the door of the fort, Duke Andrew stopped me and told me to kneel
with my pavise directly in front of him in the center of our line. It
was Andrew who christened my shield "Door". The Eastern army charged
with Lord El at their center. I leaned forward with all my strength,
but never even got to swing my sword. They hit us with a terrible
impact and I was slammed flat on the ground unable to move. Lord El had
run straight up my shield and he and Duke Andrew were fighting like a
couple of Titans above me. The East charged twice, and both times I was
slammed to the ground by the impact. Somehow our line never broke and
Andrew finally pummelled Lord El into submission. By the third charge I
had relinquished my shield to another and had moved to the edge of the
opening where I could actually swing my sword. In all my years since
fighting in Pennsics I have never felt an impact like that at Pennsic 2
when the two great giants fought! >
Jim Koch (Gladius The Alchemist) "You had to be dumber than a rock to
take on Da Duke."
David Friedman
James Koch <alc...@en.com> wrote:
> Somehow our line never broke and
> Andrew finally pummelled Lord El into submission.
Lord El's a mountain of a man,
No knight so tall in your hall stands,
With strength to move his giant's height
And will and skill enough to fight.
Yet I think a sword of Seldom Rest
Dividing him below the crest
About the level of the eyes
Could cut El down to Andrew's size.
(from verses delivered to the King of the Middle at 12th night before
Pennsic 1)
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
David Friedman
James Koch <alc...@en.com> wrote:
> David Friedman wrote:
> >
> > In article <3b0333d0$0$62151$4c5e...@news.erinet.com>,
> > James Koch <alc...@en.com> wrote:
> >
> > > Andy responded that I may
> > > have been the first one to set up a spot to merchant, but he was the
> > > first to actually sell at Pennsic.
> >
> > I may have been the first to buy--mercenaries with mead for Pennsic 1.
> > --
> > David/Cariadoc
> > http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
> >
> >
> Cariadoc,
> >
> You were royally ripped off. Yang and the Horde would have gladly
> fought for you free of charge against their hated arch enemies the
> Northwoods chivalry.
They weren't the mercenaries I bought.
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
James Koch
away ages ago. If it has somehow survived I'd recognize it in a
minute. After that battle tt had Lord El's huge boot print dented into
the soft pine.
Purple Kat
white, a keyhole counterchanged" (I think that's how you describe it)
He would joke that it was a "Purple Peephole Heater".
Is this the same Andrew??
Katheryne
On 13 May 2001 01:29:19 GMT, mi...@steel.ucs.indiana.edu (Michael L
Robin Carroll-Mann
Purple Kat wrote:
> I know of a person called Andrew - His devise is "Per pale purple and
> white, a keyhole counterchanged" (I think that's how you describe it)
> He would joke that it was a "Purple Peephole Heater".
>
> Is this the same Andrew??
>
> Katheryne
--
Lady Brighid ni Chiarain (mka Robin Carroll-Mann)
Barony of Settmour Swamp, East
To email me, remove the fish from my address
James Koch
> understatement police will be knocking at my door shortly!]
>
>
Show me someone who always got along with Duke Andrew and you will have
found someone who wasn't really close to the man. There is no denying
the fact that Andrew was the proverbial 800 pound gorilla and left
plenty of collateral damage along his trail. I'll not elaborate. But
he could be a diplomat when necessary. I remember the events leading up
to Pennsic 4. Duke Andrew then lived in Cincinnati and the event was to
take place at a 450 acre dairy farm owned by Frank Spencer and located
about 20 miles from Cleveland. The Cleftlands was hosting the event,
and Osmandias The Superfluous, a fellow whose name I cannot remember,
and I, were doing the actual autocrating. However, Osmandias "Ozzie" at
the time was not well liked by many in the Midrealm (a really gross
understatement). I'll not elaborate. So a deal was struck. Duke Andrew
agreed to be the nominal autocrat. The event was to start on Thursday
of Labor Day weekend 1975 and run through Monday. I was siteocrat and
among my duties was the task of gravelling the 1/4 mile main road from
the Macadam highway back to the woods where we would be camping. Frank
Spencer set Tuesday morning as the time for this and agreed to drive the
tractor. I organized a small crew. On Tuesday morning at dawn I
received a phone call from Ozzie. He said something really bad had
happened. I immediately thought that Frank (72 with a bad heart) must
have died, but couldn't bring myself to say it. I instead said "Frank's
son has talked him into refusing to let us use the site". Ozzie said
"Worse". I said "Frank is dead". Ozzie said "Correct". Ozzie
explained that he had just received a call from Frank's daughter and she
implied that we would have to cancel our camp out. Ozzie asked me to go
out to the farm to see if I could convince the Spencers to let us hold
the event. I told Ozzie that I was not up to the task, but had to go
out to the farm anyway to meet a member of my crew whom I could not
reach by phone. I promised that I would at least speak with Frank's
children regarding the matter. So I hopped on my motorcycle and rode
out to Geauga County. When I pulled into the drive the porch was
covered with relatives and neighbors. I dismounted and walked up to
speak with Frank's son. I told him we were all very sorry to hear about
his father who had often let us shoot on his farm. He said something
like "It's too bad about your camp out this weekend". I replied that
people were already on the road, it was too late to cancel, and that we
were therefore still planning on holding it. That was about the extent
of our conversation. Eventually my crewmember showed up and we left.
As I pulled out of the drive the first rain began to fall. I eventually
stopped at a local ski resort which during the summer had several stores
and a sandwich shop. My crew mwmber and I had brunch and for the first
time ever I had coffee which has been an addiction of mine ever since.
When I got home I phoned Ozzie at work and informed him that the family
seemed to have decided against us using the farm. Ozzie called Duke
Andrew who flew into Cleveland with two of his squires. They stayed at
an apartment I had been house sitting on the Case Western Reserve campus
and ate and drank everything in the refrigerator. They also ran up a
$165.00 phone bill (in 1975 dollars)! The next day Ozzie, Duke Andrew,
and a local lawyer drove out to Frank Spencer's funeral. They took
along a black powder pistol we had bought to award to Frank. This was
given to his son, an avid shooter. Fortunately Ozzie had paid Frank a
$100.00 deposit on the rental of the property and we had a cancelled
check. That made our contract binding. Somehow Duke Andrew managed to
talk the Spencer family into letting us use the farm, the well at the
house, and all the necessary equipment including the tractor. Ozzie and
I certainly couldn't have accomplished as much.
David Friedman
James Koch <alc...@en.com> wrote:
> Somehow Duke Andrew managed to
> talk the Spencer family into letting us use the farm, the well at the
> house, and all the necessary equipment including the tractor.
I remember that tractor. At the end of the event, Andy and I were
helping pull cars out. He was driving the tractor, I was hooking on the
chains.
When I turned it into a story later, the tractor was a team of horses,
and when the horses couldn't get a wagon out of the mud, Andy would get
down and pull it out himself.
A strong man, Andrew was.
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
Purple Kat
I wanted to make sure before I did anything stupid.
Katheryne
Sally Burnell
the Society, I remember hearing many of them, from His Grace and from others
who at the time I considered to be "old timers". I learned a great deal of
Midrealm history from hearing old tales at post-revels and around campfires,
and it would seem that this is a forgotten art form.
It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the earth.
There have been a few in these recent days who've achieved a sort of
legendary status, but they are a rare breed anymore. And I have to wonder
why that is.....................
~THLady Saradwen Ariandalen
SCA member since September, 1977
Brian M. Scott
<sbur...@raex.com> wrote:
[...]
>It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the earth.
>There have been a few in these recent days who've achieved a sort of
>legendary status, but they are a rare breed anymore. And I have to wonder
>why that is.....................
Easy: more people, bigger Society, fewer big, obvious things being
done for the first time, etc.
Talan
Ted Eisenstein
> It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the earth.
No, they are not. Cariadoc still walks, as does (I believe) Paul of
Bellatrix. And I firmly believe that not all legends were created back
in the far distant mists of time; we can still make legends today, for that
is the stuff that good post-revel stories are made from.
Alban
Wilson Heydt
Out here we call them "dinosaurs" (Paul isn't one, by the way).
Frederick of Holland has the longest fighting career I know of.
Diana Paxson show up occasionally.
--
Hal Ravn Hal Heydt
Mists, Mists, West Albany, CA
"They didn't call him Erik Bloodaxe because he was good with children."
--National Geograhic, May 2000
Diane Hare / Hibrida Longhair
> It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the earth.
> There have been a few in these recent days who've achieved a sort of
> legendary status, but they are a rare breed anymore. And I have to wonder
> why that is.....................
I'd credit modern communication.
Hibrida Longhair
Heather Rose Jones
>
> In article <B72DED9B.5704%al...@socket.net>,
> Ted Eisenstein <al...@socket.net> wrote:
> >
> >
> >> It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the earth.
> >No, they are not. Cariadoc still walks, as does (I believe) Paul of
> >Bellatrix. And I firmly believe that not all legends were created back
> >in the far distant mists of time; we can still make legends today, for that
> >is the stuff that good post-revel stories are made from.
>
> Out here we call them "dinosaurs" (Paul isn't one, by the way).
> Frederick of Holland has the longest fighting career I know of.
> Diana Paxson show up occasionally.
"Dinosaurs" are different from "Legends" -- one is a dinosaur by the
passive virtue of having attended the First Tournament, one becomes a
legend by active achievement. While some dinosaurs are also legends,
the categories are entirely independent of each other.
Tangwystyl
--
*********
Heather Rose Jones
hrj...@socrates.berkeley.edu
*********
Morgan Wolf
Sally Burnell wrote in message <3b085717$0$18891$ac96...@news.raex.com>...
(SNIP lots of nice stuff about Duke Andrew)
>It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the earth.
>There have been a few in these recent days who've achieved a sort of
>legendary status, but they are a rare breed anymore. And I have to wonder
>why that is.....................
>
>~THLady Saradwen Ariandalen
>SCA member since September, 1977
>Marche of Gwyntarian
>(Akron/Kent, OH)
>Midrealm
>
>
Consider two things, if you will-
1- Legends are , always have been, and always will be reare things, because
it is the accomplishment of rare and difficult things that makes them a
Legend. If Legends were commonplace, they wouldn't be so impressive.
2- Legends are a regional thing; I know very little of Duke Andrew, and
never met him, but Duke Brion Tarragon, multi-king of Atenveldt and now the
East, is a personal friend. While many around the Knowne World have heard
"Dannu stories", many Artemisians know him personally.
Of course, I could be wrong.
Morgan Wolf
Cymru am Byth
Lee
James Koch wrote:
>
>.... Somehow Duke Andrew managed to
> talk the Spencer family into letting us use the farm, the well at the
> house, and all the necessary equipment including the tractor. Ozzie and
> I certainly couldn't have accomplished as much.
> >
> Jim Koch (Gladius The Alchemist)
I don't think I saw Andrew anywhere but on that tractor the
entire war. He must have almost his entire waking time
helping people get into or out of the site.
Foscadh
Sally Burnell
> >It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the
earth.
> >There have been a few in these recent days who've achieved a sort of
> >legendary status, but they are a rare breed anymore. And I have to wonder
> >why that is.....................
>
> Easy: more people, bigger Society, fewer big, obvious things being
> done for the first time, etc.
Excellent point, Master Talan! In this day in age, it would seem (and this
is merely my humble perception, mind you!), that those who achieve Legend
status are those who pass from us too soon, like Jafar and Osis, for
example.
There are Living Legends, like Cariadoc, Bellatrix, Frederick of Holland and
others, who still walk amongst us, but the younger generations don't know
their stories like we did back when I first joined the SCA nearly 24 years
ago now.
But perhaps to use a modern day analogy, it's a bit like hearing my mother
and grandparents speak of the Depression and World War II. It all seemed so
distant and far away from me that I simply couldn't relate.
Perhaps this is what the younger generations are experiencing when they hear
us grizzled old timers speak fondly of people from 30+ years ago now. To
them, it's merely "ancient history". Maybe that's why those old tales aren't
told anymore.
Time marches on................................
THLady Saradwen Ariandalen
Jan and David
grand if everyone wrote down their stories and passed them on - both orally
and in writing. We are losing a lot of history as each year passes. We
need the stories of Andrew, of El, of Bearkiller, of Moonwolf, of Caridoc
etc. Where are the storytellers? Why aren't they telling stories and
teaching them to others? Where are the little booklets that tell the
stories and histories of the Middle, the East, the West etc?
Bridget N'Gara Campbell
Proprietress of the Vulgar Demon Inn
Ealdomerian Enclave, Providence of Tree Girt Sea
"Memories are the only real treasures a man has."
"Off the Wall at Callahan's "
"Sally Burnell" <sbur...@raex.com> wrote in message
news:3b09cec3$0$12826$ac96...@news.raex.com...
David Friedman
"Jan and David" <bri...@mindspring.com> wrote:
> Where are the storytellers?
At the bardic circles, of course.
--
David/Cariadoc
http://www.best.com/~ddfr/Medieval/Medieval.html
Mayfair13a
really think about it I have heard them everywhere. From Master Brendan ap
Morgan in his living room. From Master Aldwin Longwalker at Burger & Brew
after many a fighter practice. How many car rides to how many events? How
many revels? I can't even say. I never had the pleasure of meeting or knowing
about the late Duke Andrew. I can only say that I am sorry I never got to meet
him. You all have been the storytellers here on the Rialto. You carry his
story. I love the stories because I love the SCA. I am interested in hearing
these names & their stories. It is all ultimately tied in with what we do here
in the society. We look to Peers as models. We become squires, apprentices,
proteges, & students. We strive for excellence. As new players we look to our
local leaders for inspiration. It is simply the begining of the path. (I hope
I don't sound like a nutbar!) Eventually the road becomes broader & we see the
ones who stand forth within the entire Kingdom. Then we look beyond that to
the Society. Then another leap is made. These legendary folk (weather they
wish it or no) are the pinnacle for us. Hearing of their accomplishments,
failures, etc. connects us. I for one feel awe when I see Diana Listmaker (I
rode in a wagon w/her at 30 year;)) ,or shaking the hand of Fredrick of Holland
(I got to do that too:)) or for that matter stand in line for showers at
Pennsic talking with the nicest man, only to have my girlfriend whisper to me
after he left that that was the fabled Cariadoc. How cool is that...
I enjoy these stories, I love the romance of them & as long as I play I always
will.
Cheers!
Pasha/Artemisia
james rich
"Jan and David" <bri...@mindspring.com> wrote in message
news:9ecntv$3io$1...@slb6.atl.mindspring.net...
> We seem to be short of storytellers in these modern days. Wouldn't it be
> grand if everyone wrote down their stories and passed them on - both
orally
> and in writing. We are losing a lot of history as each year passes. We
> need the stories of Andrew, of El, of Bearkiller, of Moonwolf, of
Caridoc
> etc. Where are the storytellers? Why aren't they telling stories and
> teaching them to others? Where are the little booklets that tell the
> stories and histories of the Middle, the East, the West etc?
Our Baron, Finn Normannson, is a wonderful storyteller. I remember as a raw
newbie being entranced by his tales of the SCA, as he told stories that he
had personally known of, and also SCA Urban Legends, which he would describe
as "if it didn't happen, it should have." I could listen for hours on end.
For several years he graced our newsletter with these stories, but in recent
months mundanity has interfered. I guess we need to encourage him to resume
this wonderful pastime.
AElfwenna
"Learn from the mistakes of others. You won't live long enough to make them
all yourself."
james rich
"Mayfair13a" <mayfa...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20010522042726...@ng-fg1.aol.com...
Amen!
AElfwenna
"Learn from the mistakes of others. You won't live long enough to make them
all yourself."
>
> Cheers!
>
> Pasha/Artemisia
Wilson Heydt
In article <9ecntv$3io$1...@slb6.atl.mindspring.net>,
Jan and David <bri...@mindspring.com> wrote:
>We seem to be short of storytellers in these modern days. Wouldn't it be
>grand if everyone wrote down their stories and passed them on - both orally
>and in writing. We are losing a lot of history as each year passes. ...
Hirsch von Henford compiled a history of the first 13 years of the
West for that very reason. He got goin in earnest in a year in
which we lost 3 or 4 founding or early members.
The history is on line (you can probably find it through the West's
web site). Use the site to get hold of Hirsch, as he is now making
CDs that contain the history and selling them for $10 to raise funds
for his SCA theatrical troupe (they've been invited to a US national
meeting of Comedia dell'Arte groups).
James Koch
>
> I don't think I saw Andrew anywhere but on that tractor the
> entire war. He must have almost his entire waking time
> helping people get into or out of the site.
>
> Foscadh
>
>
tent trying to keep dry. My only memory of that big blue British
Leyland tractor was when it got stuck all the way down to its rear axle
in mud. A bunch of us dug, pried, and wedged it out using lumber and
timbers. I do remember Andrew though on Sunday afternoon when he got up
on the farm wagon with Yosef's quarterstaff to announce that the
remainder of the event had been cancelled. He sort of reminded me of
Charleton Heston (The President) playing Moses. The mass exodus started
immediately with everyone trying to get out before dark. Of course we
trudged out on foot with whatever we could carry since it was no longer
possible to get cars back to the camping area. What a sight! Hundreds
of people marching across the pasture in the pouring rain with their
belongings on their backs. I dumped everything in my car trunk, but
found my pole cannon would not fit. Rather than rearrange things, I
simply grabbed an axe and chopped off the haft. Later, it took us two
weeks to clean up the site. We found large quantities of abandoned
property. Mostly beer and booze, and a few perfectly good tents. What
a mess!
Craig Levin
>grand if everyone wrote down their stories and passed them on - both orally
>and in writing. We are losing a lot of history as each year passes. We
>need the stories of Andrew, of El, of Bearkiller, of Moonwolf, of Caridoc
>etc. Where are the storytellers? Why aren't they telling stories and
>teaching them to others? Where are the little booklets that tell the
>stories and histories of the Middle, the East, the West etc?
As far as the Midrealm goes, Baron Folo sells some nifty
histories. He also has a collection of "no crap, there I was"
tales centered around real Midrealmers, and a fictional group
called Dragonspire. See: http://www.folump.com
Pedro
--
http://pages.ripco.net/~clevin/index.html
cle...@rci.ripco.com
Craig Levin
Heather Rose Jones
>
> Brian M. Scott <sc...@math.csuohio.edu> wrote in message
>
> > >It would seem, then, that gone are the days when legends walked the
> earth.
> > >There have been a few in these recent days who've achieved a sort of
> > >legendary status, but they are a rare breed anymore. And I have to wonder
> > >why that is.....................
> >
> > Easy: more people, bigger Society, fewer big, obvious things being
> > done for the first time, etc.
>
> Excellent point, Master Talan! In this day in age, it would seem (and this
> is merely my humble perception, mind you!), that those who achieve Legend
> status are those who pass from us too soon, like Jafar and Osis, for
> example.
If I were being cynical, I might note that it's a lot easier to deify
the dead -- they're less likely to do those inconveniently human and
fallible things that get in the way of deification. Dying makes it easy
to forget a person's humanity and turn them into an ideal icon. And
since it isn't appropriate to speak ill of the dead, the human flaws
and failings they demonstrated when alive can get scrubbed off of the
legend fairly quickly after death. I don't say this to comment on any
particular individual, just the process.
Sally Burnell
news:9ecntv$3io$1...@slb6.atl.mindspring.net...
> We seem to be short of storytellers in these modern days. Wouldn't it be
> grand if everyone wrote down their stories and passed them on - both
orally
> and in writing. We are losing a lot of history as each year passes. We
> need the stories of Andrew, of El, of Bearkiller, of Moonwolf, of
Caridoc
> etc. Where are the storytellers? Why aren't they telling stories and
> teaching them to others? Where are the little booklets that tell the
> stories and histories of the Middle, the East, the West etc?
Ah, Bearkiller! Now THERE'S someone I remember meeting many, many years ago
now. I was at my first Border Raids and I honestly cannot seem to remember
how I came to meet Bearkiller, but I remember this HUGE paw being extended
toward me with this wonderfully distinctive "Suth'n" drawl, "Hah! Ah'm Dewk
Sir Jawn the Barkiller! Pleased t'meet yew, m'Lady!"
I knew right then and there why he was called "Bearkiller"! There's another
one of those "Larger Than Life" characters who is not only physically LARGE,
but has charisma enough for ten people! I've never forgotten meeting such a
wonderfully colourful man! I was thrilled and delighted to meet one of the
Living Legends That Walk The Knowne World!
Sally Burnell
news:tgl0lrr...@corp.supernews.com...
> Our Baron, Finn Normannson, is a wonderful storyteller. I remember as a
raw
> newbie being entranced by his tales of the SCA, as he told stories that he
> had personally known of, and also SCA Urban Legends, which he would
describe
> as "if it didn't happen, it should have." I could listen for hours on
end.
> For several years he graced our newsletter with these stories, but in
recent
> months mundanity has interfered. I guess we need to encourage him to
resume
> this wonderful pastime.
Oh, I remember well those stories that while possibly apocryphal, still were
great campfire/post-revel tales that we all told back then. There was the
"Hells Angels Meet The SCA" story, the "Punk Meets SCAdian on the Chicago
Loop" story, the "Viking Wants Much Meat" story, the "USS Nimitz and the
Russian Trawler" story and many, many more that I grew up on in the SCA.
They were a heck of a lot of fun, even if they may not have necessarily been
true.
We've got our own "local legends", too, like the famous House Asgaard
stories from those early days in Cleftlands (Hint, Hint, Gladius!!!) here in
the Midrealm! Those are wonderfully wacky and funny and I used to love
hearing them! Oh, and one that, sadly, Duke Andrew used to tell which was
really wacky, too, "Jamie Foxx and the Garbage Truck", which I think he was
the only one who knew the REAL version of that story! His Grace had some
marvelously funny stories he used to tell us around evening campfires. I'll
always have the best memories of his storytelling - he was a real natural
and could keep you enthralled for hours with his tales! I will miss that a
lot!!
Y'know, a lot of those old tales may have stopped being told because they
mostly involved the SCA in its earliest days and when we were all sort of
collectively seen as a bunch of wackos who dress funny and call each other
weird names and hit each other with big sticks. I know that the SCA has, for
years now, been on a bent to be taken seriously by academia, but I don't
think such an aim should've cost us our sense of humour and our ability to
laugh at ourselves. The fact that we've lost that in recent years is a sort
of sad reflection of where we've come to and how we've evolved.
Maybe it's time to laugh once more. After all, it's healthy and it's good
for the soul. And maybe the SCA needs a good dose of laughter from time to
time to clear away the cobwebs of political foo that tends to leave messes
behind in its wake.
So c'mon, everybody, let's hear a good funny story! I'm
waiting...............<sitting in front of a nice, warm, crackling virtual
campfire>
Let the Rialto Bardic Circle begin!
John Husvar
<lotsa snippage>
> Y'know, a lot of those old tales may have stopped being told because they
> mostly involved the SCA in its earliest days and when we were all sort of
> collectively seen as a bunch of wackos who dress funny and call each other
> weird names and hit each other with big sticks. I know that the SCA has,
for
> years now, been on a bent to be taken seriously by academia, but I don't
> think such an aim should've cost us our sense of humour and our ability to
> laugh at ourselves. The fact that we've lost that in recent years is a
sort
> of sad reflection of where we've come to and how we've evolved.
>
> Maybe it's time to laugh once more. After all, it's healthy and it's good
> for the soul. And maybe the SCA needs a good dose of laughter from time to
> time to clear away the cobwebs of political foo that tends to leave messes
> behind in its wake.
>
> So c'mon, everybody, let's hear a good funny story! I'm
> waiting...............<sitting in front of a nice, warm, crackling virtual
> campfire>
>
> Let the Rialto Bardic Circle begin!
Hear, hear!
What first attracted me to the SCA, long before I actually joined, was its
reputed balance between historical accuracy and whimsy. Hearing all the
NSTIW stories and of its origination at a backyard theme party, led me to
think it was the kind of organization I could learn to love -- and I have.
As a working artisan and as a member, I have nothing but the highest respect
for those who achieve great authenticity. Their accomplishments in their
arts and sciences challenge me in my work and encourage me. I try to learn
from them whenever possible. If Wilelm, for example, stops by my forge at
Pennsic or does a demo at an event, and shows me a more accurate item or
technique, I bloody well watch, listen, and learn. He's been there, done
that, and likely forged the needles for sewing the T-shirt.
Likewise, when some old duke who has brass hats he hasn't even worn yet
relates tales of some of the silly things that have happened, I listen. For
therein lays the history of SCA and a large part of the joy of belonging to
it.
I _want_ to experience both aspects. Most of the authenticity "mavens" know
whereof they speak and, really, very few "snark." Every one I've met has
been polite and helpful, willing to share knowledge and experience. Even the
very rare few who have seemed "snarky" have shared valuable information.
Maybe they were just having an off day.
Ah, well, enough on and off-topic rambling for one day.
SCA is serious business: It's just that sometimes we seem to be serious
about being silly, too.
Johan the Cripple
Michael L Squires
>Shameless plug...
>
>In article <9ecntv$3io$1...@slb6.atl.mindspring.net>,
>
>West for that very reason. He got goin in earnest in a year in
>which we lost 3 or 4 founding or early members.
Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
crisis of Michael of Boarshaven. It's well worth reading, and helps
explain why the Middle differs from other kingdoms.
Alan
Powers
Not to deify perhaps and well aware of the human flaws but I remember a
time so long ago I still would watch the fighting at tournies!
There was an up and comming young fighter in Ansteorra named Inman, he
had just recently won his *first* crown tourney and many folk thought
that he might go far. He and I were standing at the list field edge
watching a bout where one of the fighters was a tad too gung-ho, he
would land a good blow and then land several more even as the other
fellow was already down. As this had happened a couple of times Inman
started muttering "someone should talk to that guy", "someone better
have a talk with that guy" finally after an egregious example (two blows
thrown *after* the other fighter was already down IIRC) Inman suddenly said
"I'm Crown Prince! I'm going to talk to him!" he took the fighter aside
for a private chat, I don't know what he said but that fighter was the
epitome of a clean fighter for the rest of the tourney...
Later; during one of his reigns (he did go on to do pretty well!) we had
a nasty run in with veiled accusations that I had to dig up a kingdom
officer to refute; but I still remember him taking a stand and accepting
one of the responsibilities as the leading fighter in the kingdom.
I also remember him wrestling Sir Sif in the ring while she was Queen,
(after receiving permission to lay hands on the royal person of course!)
Thomas, once know as "the beggar" of The Middle, Ansteorra, Calontir, and
Meridies
--
Best Regards,
W.Thomas Powers
ED Wilson
It is well known His Grace is a degenerate fisherman, and called me to
autocrat the tourney because our site had a good fishing hole. The only time
we saw him other than court on Sat night and my everpresent coffee pot, was
Inman making another cast into that fishing hole.
Good man
Whitebeard,,,fka One Eye
Powers wrote in message <9egmh7$j...@nntpa.cb.lucent.com>...
Dave&Megan
Michael L Squires
Dave&Megan <danh...@home.com> wrote:
>Is it online?
>
>
>> Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
Not as far as I know; he sells it for a reasonable price through
Folump Enterprises. He also has a nice collection of early Middle
Kingdom home movies, including some 8mm sound, of the Midrealm at
Pennsic I, II, and some of Boarshaven's reign.
Alan
James Koch
>
> We've got our own "local legends", too, like the famous House Asgaard
> stories from those early days in Cleftlands (Hint, Hint, Gladius!!!) here in
> the Midrealm! Those are wonderfully wacky and funny and I used to love
> hearing them! Oh, and one that, sadly, Duke Andrew used to tell which was
> really wacky, too, "Jamie Foxx and the Garbage Truck", which I think he was
> the only one who knew the REAL version of that story! His Grace had some
> marvelously funny stories he used to tell us around evening campfires. I'll
> always have the best memories of his storytelling - he was a real natural
> and could keep you enthralled for hours with his tales! I will miss that a
> lot!!
>
>
>
Now that you mention it, I do remember Andrew once relating an incident
involving Jamie Foxx and a garbage truck, but I just can't seem to
remember any of the specifics. There was one exchange though between
Duke Andrew and Jamie Foxx which I remember perfectly. Jamie was a real
dumpster diver. There was a sun room at Asgard at the South end of the
house with two sets of double doors on either side of the living room
fireplace. As soon as folks had moved in, Jamie took over this space
and began filling it floor to ceiling with all sorts of ratan, freon
cans, street signs, fabric, dirty ripped foam cushions, carpet, lumber,
scrap metal, pipes, broken furniture, and any other trash he could drag
in off the streets of Cleveland. I was once trapped on the CWRU campus
by a late winter blizzard and spent the night on the living room couch
in front of that big old fireplace. Before dawn, all of the available
logs had burned down to embers and the room grew quite cold. I ventured
out onto the porch and gathered up all the loose lumber I could find and
heaped it on the fire. I also broke up a really ugly living room chair
which I burned. No one ever noticed that it was missing. It was one of
Jamie's finds. Jamie's idea of garb was unique to say the least. Even
by the nascent standards of 1972. He wore old combat boots, a plaid
(Catholic girl's school) skirt, a toy Batman utility belt, a silver
blouse with a fishscale print, and in colder weather, a quilted or fur
(hippy) vest. His body armor consisted entirely of carpeting and duct
tape topped with an unpainted freon can helm. Later he added an old
pleated red vinyl car seat cover. This he fashioned by cutting a hole
in its center for his head. He then belted the resulting tabard around
his waist. His finest effort I might add! At Pennsic One I was
standing with Duke Andrew when Jamie walked by only a few feet away.
Andrew glanced at Jamie and shook his head with a look of astonishment
and called out "Jamie, that better not be the seat cover from my
truck!". Jamie scowled and just kept on walking.
Maureen O'Brien
>Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
>crisis of Michael of Boarshaven. It's well worth reading, and helps
>explain why the Middle differs from other kingdoms.
Why is this kingdom different from all other kingdoms? <g>
Btw, I agree that Folo's histories are excellent. They answered all
sorts of questions I didn't even know to ask, and explained the
background behind many an old song.
Maureen
JE Anderson
"Maureen O'Brien" <mob...@dnaco.net> wrote in message
news:3B0DBEF1...@dnaco.net...
> Alan said:
> >Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
> >crisis of Michael of Boarshaven. It's well worth reading, and helps
> >explain why the Middle differs from other kingdoms.
>
> Why is this kingdom different from all other kingdoms? <g>
I hear a song in my head:
One of these kingdoms is not like the others
One of these kingdoms just isn't the same......
Welcome to SCA Street <grin>
sorry
Eirika
Steven H. Mesnick
> >Hirsch von Henford compiled a history of the first 13 years of the
> >West for that very reason.
> Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
> crisis of Michael of Boarshaven. It's well worth reading, and helps
> explain why the Middle differs from other kingdoms.
And one finds these histories WHERE?
--
============ Baron Steffan ap Kennydd ================
Silverwing's Laws: http://pobox.com/~steffan/laws.html
Are you on the Rolls Ethereal? You should be!
http://www.waks.org/rolls
Michael L Squires
Steven H. Mesnick <ste...@pobox.com> wrote:
>
>> >Hirsch von Henford compiled a history of the first 13 years of the
>> >West for that very reason.
>
>> Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
>> crisis of Michael of Boarshaven. It's well worth reading, and helps
>> explain why the Middle differs from other kingdoms.
>
>And one finds these histories WHERE?
Baron Folo sells them from Folump Enterprises; I got my copy from him
at an event. I'm not sure they are still in print.
Alan
Steven H. Mesnick
> >> Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm
>
> Baron Folo sells them from Folump Enterprises
I was wondering if they were webbed. Okay, Folump publications are
usually on sale at Pennsic. I'll keep an eye open for them there.
Thanks.
Brian M. Scott
<ste...@pobox.com> wrote:
>> >Hirsch von Henford compiled a history of the first 13 years of the
>> >West for that very reason.
>> Folo has composed a similar history of the Midrealm, through the
>> crisis of Michael of Boarshaven. It's well worth reading, and helps
>> explain why the Middle differs from other kingdoms.
>And one finds these histories WHERE?
I haven't been in a few years, but I imagine that he still sells them
at Pennsic.
Talan
Rowanwald Central
truly beautiful site. Most of us newbies were in awe of the big man. I
remember seeing him and Duke Michael of Bedford practising fighting on a
green hill at the edge of the lake. The air was very still - you could see
the two dukes and an small audience, which if you looked closely enough, you
could tell were Michael's squires. There was this one maniac-voice laugh
that kept floating across the water... it was Michael. He was laughing every
time Inman landed a blow and glowing like a schoolboy with a new baseball.
Every once in a while, the two would take a break and Michael could be heard
telling his squires, "Watch this. Watch it carefully - this man a FIGHTER!"
and then he'd laugh again.
Later that day, I met Inman myself. He was sitting far from the crowd on
the viewing bench looking over the lake. It seemed his shoulders were
drooping, so I stopped setting up the Hall long enough to ask our guest if
he was OK... He made an odd motion with his hands as I approached - he was
hiding a coke can. I asked him if he needed a mug, and it was as if the sun
came out - he'd forgotten his and wouldn't drink his beverage in front of
everyone while it was in that can...
Rosine
Powers
>that kept floating across the water... it was Michael. He was laughing every
>time Inman landed a blow and glowing like a schoolboy with a new baseball.
>Every once in a while, the two would take a break and Michael could be heard
>telling his squires, "Watch this. Watch it carefully - this man a FIGHTER!"
>and then he'd laugh again.
Two renowned fighters, fighting for the love of the "art"; no entrenched
egos or worries about winning to "prove" themselves superior. Like a
spring in the desert of "sport fighting"...
Thomas
Powers
It was Pennsic XXIIII and it was hot; so hot that the idea of working with
the 9 pound sledge over a yellow hot piece of iron lacked it's customary
savor during the day and night fell quickly after dusk cooled us off.
Yet we still did manage to work in some forging, pattern welding, bronze
casting, iron smelting,...just not as much as we would have liked and a lot
more sweat dripping from our facial features than we did like!
Be that as it may, one evening a lady came into our camp and professed
a desire to forge a caltrop--just because she liked the word and had
need of one for a special purpose. Now a caltrop is an
anti-personel/anti-equine item basically composed of four iron points
arranged so that no matter how it landed 1 point was always up and
available for stepping on. (She also mentioned being bothered
by folk from the camp behind her's cutting through her camp disturbing
her repose...) But we wouldn't suspect so charming and gracious a lady
of even envisioning such a medieval method of dealing with a modern
problem....Well we're smiths; so we did suspect and even offered advice
on empirical methods of checking a caltrop out...
Well the first one did not fare too well due to a 3 smith mixed
scrap pile---who would have thought that that strap stock would be
high carbon? When the smith-on-duty cooled off part of the proto-caltrop
to allow our guest to work on another section, the first hammer blow
resulted in the dreaded *plink* of a piece of hardened steel becoming
2 or more pieces. It now being some time past full dark we regretfully
called it quits.
Another blazing day went by and in the gloaming the Caltroptressr once again
found our camp and asked the two tired smiths on hand, (we had been working
during the hot hours), for another go. We were hot and tired and dryed
out so we had to say "Of Course!"; but this time would be real, this would
be proper no more mild steel and coal and a London pattern anvil.
This time it would be wrought iron and charcoal and a stake anvil!
And so the epic began, (the Kaltropschmidtenlied). Our guest quickly
mastered the basics of forging wrought iron, (work it *HOT* especially
in the lower grades such as we were using), and we could relax and talk
and offer suggestions. The difficulty she ran into was her training
as a silversmith had fostered the habit of choking way up on a hammer
and being gentle with the metal. This has a tendency to result in the
lack of hair on the knuckles due to close proximity with glowing iron
and an almost infinite number of heats required to shape a more
recalcitraint material. Working by the light of the forge fire and
the glowing metal itself adds another complication to the process.
The heats occured but I remembered to forget asking about knuckle hair
*never* rile the person with the glowing iron and the hammer!
All went well and the lady and her caltrop were escorted to her camp
around 12:45 am. In daylight we discovered that the web had been
a bit too long and a bit too cold, (work it *hot*, you want the
iron silicates semi-molten!), when the twist had been done and
the caltrop had a tear in the web; but caltrops were supposed to be
quick and dirty and cheap since to use them you threw them away!
This caltrop was quite within the usable, (though my chiergeon friends
didn't mention any caltrop calamaties amongst the myriad of foot
failures at the war...) and fit well with her special purpose of
entering the open A&S catagory of Metal--Martial...part of her personal
goal of entering something in *EVERY* category of the Pennsic A&S!
wilelm the smith
Dorothy J Heydt
Kingdom, a ten-day camping event in the Sierra foothills. The
incident actually involved an empty gas tank in the privy-pumping
truck, an empty gas line to the auxiliary tank, a carburetor with
nothing but fumes to run on, a cupful of gasoline, a lighted
cigarette, a bucket of privy-cleaning solution and a fire
extinguisher wielded by the Kingdom Constable, Balin the Hunter;
but I retrofitted the technology for SCA purposes.
The Day the Honeywagon Caught Fire
(Tune: The Bastard King of England)
'T was on a lovely afternoon, it was the third of May,
The honeywagon came to town to haul the slops away.
A worthy deed, a noble act; we felt no fear of ill,
Until the wagon foundered at the bottom of the hill.
Chorus:
There's people running along the road:
The dear Lord send it don't explode!
Help! Help! The honeywagon's burning!
Now the driver of this wagon was a simple sort of lad:
The job don't take a lot of brains, and that was what he had.
The master'd thought it fitting to entrust a brawny fool
With the wagon, and the load it bore, and also with the mule.
The mule had missed his dinner, and he wouldn't stir a pace
Till the driver got his nosebag out and hung it from his face.
So quickly and so eagerly the mule chowed down his grain,
That he got a fearful belly-ache, and foundered once again.
The fool piped up, "No problem, I know how to make him start:
I'll hit him in the belly, which will quickly make him fart,
And then he'll feel much better!" and he reached up underneath,
Forgetting that his smoking pipe was clenched between his teeth.
Now men of wisdom tell us there are gases that will burn,
And some of these were gushing from the poor old critter's stern.
What happened when the gases met the glowing pipe was dire,
For tail, and reins, and harness, and the wagon-tree caught fire.
Now Asher, who was watching, and who told me all this tale,
Though a mighty man and valiant, felt his heart begin to quail.
"O Mithras, Zeus, or Jesus," so he prayed as off he ran,
"Just make that wagon not explode, and I promise I'm your man!"
The fool picked up a tankard from a table standing by,
And threw it on the wagon, where the flames were rising high.
To put it out, he thought, a pint of beer would do just fine--
But God forgive him, what he thought was beer was brandywine.
Our folk stepped back in terror, for the danger was not small:
That wagon, if it went, would make mud puppies of them all.
When all was dark and smoky as the pit of hell's latrine,
Then valiant MASTER BALIN HUNTER came upon the scene!
The Constables, by Balin trained, keep water pails on hand;
And Balin threw them lavishly on every burning brand.
The fire went out and sputtered, in clouds of water cool,
And a sigh went up from every man, and likewise from the mule.
So they cleaned up all the water, and the harness they did mend,
And applied a soothing lotion to the mule's afflicted end.
Then pail in hand our Balin walked the wagon up and down
Till, every privy empty, he saw it out of town.
Now the danger's been averted, and the privies they are clean,
All thanks to Master Balin, who was handy on the scene.
We're singing praise to Balin that the wagon did not burn,
And Asher's raising grateful prayers To Whom It May Concern.
There's people running along the road:
The dear Lord send it don't explode!
Help! Help! The honeywagon's burning!
Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin Dorothy J. Heydt
Mists/Mists/West Albany, California
PRO DEO ET REGE djh...@kithrup.com
http://www.kithrup.com/~djheydt
EXCMairi
>that kept floating across the water... it was Michael. He was laughing every
>time Inman landed a blow and glowing like a schoolboy with a new baseball.
Duke Morguhn Sheridan, now King of AEthelmearc, has a similar maniacal laugh
that comes out of his helmet. I remember in particular being in front of him in
a shield wall at Pennsic, fighting with a plain white shield, he was fighting
spear behind me. A royal type of some kind was across the wall, shouting "kill
the guy in the white shield" every time I fouled an incoming spear. Morguhn
just kept giggling away, especially when I finall died and took off my helmet,
to shake out my curls in the enemies' "general direction"!
Mairi
Stefan li Rous
This tale is in the P-stories-msg file in the PENNSIC section of
the Florilegium from when Wilelm told the story here previously, many
years ago.
If you like this story, there is another by Wilelm in the same wonderful,
storytelling way of his in the same section as:
P-tale-MWIFO-art (23K) 8/26/96 Making Wrought Iron from Ore at Pennsic 24.
In article <9elnmu$q...@nntpb.cb.lucent.com>, w...@nds10758.cb.lucent.com
(Powers) wrote:
> It was Pennsic XXIIII and it was hot; so hot that the idea of working with
> the 9 pound sledge over a yellow hot piece of iron lacked it's customary
> savor during the day and night fell quickly after dusk cooled us off.
> Yet we still did manage to work in some forging, pattern welding, bronze
> casting, iron smelting,...just not as much as we would have liked and a lot
> more sweat dripping from our facial features than we did like!
> wilelm the smith
>
> --
> Best Regards,
>
> W.Thomas Powers
--
THL Stefan li Rous Mark S. Harris
Barony of Bryn Gwlad Austin, TX
Ansteorra ste...@texas.net
*** Check out Stefan's Florilegium files at:
http://www.florilegium.org ***
Powers
It's background for my annual Pennsic rant trying to get folks to *DO* things
at the war and stop expecting other people to entertain them...I threw this
one in early since someone asked for tales...
wilelm who finished the hot work on a viking cookpot last night (It held
a gallon about 3 rounds of forgework ago...now it has the nice inward curve
at the lip...)
Stefan li Rous
(Powers) wrote:
> Well; I re-release both stories as we come toward Pennsic time each year.
> It's background for my annual Pennsic rant trying to get folks to *DO* things
> at the war and stop expecting other people to entertain them...I threw this
> one in early since someone asked for tales...
Okay. I guess I'm not enough of a regular here to realize you've been
doing that each year. However, the reason you mention is one of the
reasons your stories are now in the Florilegium.
I'd love to have more of yours or anyone elses of this caliber. I will
be looking for these if I can find the rest of this thread.
Stefan
> wilelm who finished the hot work on a viking cookpot last night (It held
> a gallon about 3 rounds of forgework ago...now it has the nice inward curve
> at the lip...)
> --
> Best Regards,
>
> W.Thomas Powers
~^V^~
I note that Her Excellency was probably one of the quickest studies in swinging
a hammer at hot iron that I've ever had the pleasure to work with, too. She
made Wilhem and I look like veritable gods. All we had to do was wheel her in
and out of the hole and she quite did the rest.
Flaxy
Powers
accepted as an iron thrall and had the gaul to write up the experience...
Making Wrought Iron from Ore; A Pennsic XXIIII Tale
Section the first: "The Prepertario"
It was Pennsic XXIIII and it was hot; but sometimes a smith's gotta do
what a smith's gotta do and no smith will take notice of a little heat
until some passerby remarks that they seem to be on fire. And heat or
no heat we had planned to smelt wrought iron from ore using the direct
process and we were going to do it!
The basic requirements for smelting ore are Fuel, Furnace, Ore and Air.
We had the last two covered since my campmates had, of course, brought
iron ore--(from an abandoned Civil War era mine; *no*no* the local post
period one not the english post period one...); didn't your group bring
ore too? And with 2-3 forges in camp we had plenty of Air handling equipment.
That left the Fuel and the Furnace. Now throughout the medieval and
renaissance periods Wrought Iron was smelted using charcoal as a fuel,
(first commercial use of coke was by Abraham Darby at Coalbrookdale
over 100 years after our period). In fact the term coal and collier
used to refer to charcoal specifically and you used terms like "sea coal"
or "earth coal" to refer the rock variety. Unfortunately an iron furnace
uses quite a bit of charcoal--check out the laws enacted to regulate the
number of iron forges--(term used for a smelter in period) to prevent
deforestation in period times! Also briquets just don't work. Luckily we
knew of a collier who lived close enough that we could hitch up the wain
in the morning and return by early afternoon with a load of *real* charcoal.
So with the lady of my household driving the team with her baby and a friend
in front and me bumping along in back we traveled to the colliery and
bought 3,0,24 hundredweights of coal (360 pounds) and admired the old
ironwork at the colliery. Then with a stop or two to nurse the child we
returned to Pennsic with me lounging on stacks of 40 pound sacks full
of sharp cornered charcoal chunks. It wasn't comfortable but it was
*cool*!
Having spent most of the day cooled by the breezes of a wain with the
horses well whipped up; I was giving some thought of doing some pattern
welding--a hot task well suited to reducing me to the level of abject misery
experienced by those staked out on the Serengetti plain. But it was not to
be; we were still lacking the furnace for our iron smelting and so I was
pressed into the clay gang and sent to labour in the lowlands, (in the
creek actually) where the location of "the good clay vein" was a closely
guarded secret--so closely guarded that we spend quite a bit of time
finding it all over again everytime we want to use it.
Now two years ago when we had last done an iron run, the creek had been low
and we pulled a cart through it to the clay area. This year the creek was
high taunting us with its wealth as it meandered along the hot parched
Pennsic lands and the cart was no longer; but we did have a wain to carry the
clay up the hill and a large bucket to carry the loads of clay to the wain.
So we started slogging through the muddy water having great fun finding
the hidden holes and tree limbs as we searched for the elusive
"good clay" along the banks of the creek. Finally we found it! In a bank
overgrown with bushes, about a foot under water, right below a camp!
Our band of sturdy, but derranged, desperados numbered but four; my houselord,
a large smith on loan from the Royal camp, his lady and myself. We quickly
assigned roles. One person stood on the bushes holding them back from the
workface, while the other two groveled in the mud with their hands digging
out clay, their noses just inches from the muddy water. The lady managed the
collection bucket. When the bucket was full it was walked back to the wain
dumped and returned and all non-managerial jobs rotated. It is said that
unless you are the lead dog, the view is always the same and I guess our
bucketteer grew bored for as I was groveling for clay I was surprised by
a sort of tidal bore of cold muddy water assaulting my nether regions.
With a cry not a bit like "Mine Goat is Hummell!" I tried to levitate
and found to my dismay that I had not achieved enlightenment. Turning
I saw a highly amused lady---now I was always told not to throw mud at
ladies and especially not at ladies dressed in white with a burly smith
quite a bit larger than myself as their guardian; so with much grumbling
I returned to work and plotted my revenge.
During all of this, the people who were camped on the shore were in a state
of confusion as to who these bedlamites brawling in the brook were and
what should be done with them. Finally they asked what were doing.
Always ready to be helpful we explained that we were "sapping their bank
and did XXX remember to bring the waterproof fuse?"; "No, really we are
collecting mud for the interkingdom mudslinging contest." "Actually it is for
mud wrestling at YYY's party----be sure to come and enter!" Having finally
produced an explanation they looked likely to believe we left well enough
alone and left it at that.
Having filled the bucket one last time, (and having suffered several more
"waterings"); we started back toward the wain, the bucket and crew in the
fore. Suddenly a there was a freak occurrence of water and terrain and a large
wave seemed to engulf the lady from behind, much to the amusement of the
other workers....be that as it may we shared the back end of the wain with
the clay and had a lively debate on which of the passer-by we passed by
could profit from the sudden arrival of a handful of lovely high grade
clay. (what was most amusing was the folk in clean dry *nice* garb who
asked to share our conveyance without noticing that we were soaking wet,
covered with mud and sitting with several hundred pounds of wet clay---
too much sun probably...). Arriving back at camp the clay was dumped
in the traditional clay location and we proceeded on toward clean water,
clean clothes, and a core temperature quite a bit higher than we had been
experiencing. Meanwhile the furnace crew chopped straw, mixed it with the
clay and built a fine furnace. (Not a trivial task but one that magically
occurred whilst I was elsewhere.)
Continued in Part the twoth: Pennsic Tales---What hath we Wrought Iron(?)
wilelm the smith
Powers
"What Hath We Wrought Iron(?)"
being Section the Twoth "Add Finitum"
It was Pennsic XXIIII and it was hot; during the quiet hours, 11am to 7pm,
you could hear fighters out on the serengetti spontaneously combust. But
to a blacksmith heat is a tool used to change things, we were studiously
using it to turn gatoraide from a foul concoction into a quite nice tiple
for the most part. Be that as it may we proceeded with our plans to
make Wrought Iron from Ore, (low-tech).
Having lingered in the ritual ablutions required by all those who
participate in the mysterious rites of the Clay Fetchers Guild, (the sinister
lefts can only be hinted at). I returned to camp to find the furnace base
already in place and the clay/straw mixture being allowed to dry a bit
before the tower was built on it. It being a wonderful Pennsic for resting
we decided to rest awhile.
The next day I was constrained by other tasks to leave camp until later
in the day. Upon my return I was amazed by the squat clay and straw edifice
rearing up fully four feet in the center of our camp, its stalwart sides
inscribed with many a strange and mysterious inscription, such as: The
Friends of Weyland Society and others of like import and might. Since
this was a "flame powered device" and we were trying to fulfill the
letter of the Pennsic Laws, a screw cap had been carefully inset into the
top rim of the furnace! (we also had about 1 fire extinguisher per
camp member including several ABC ones of moderate size. Unlike Benvenuto
Cellini we were not willing to trade our habitation for a good pour)
In the furnace a slow fire glowed-speeding its change from a soft mass of
clay and straw into the hard furnace that would resist thousands of degrees
and safely contain the glowing semi-liquid mass of ore and slag we hoped
to create. Taking over the furnace sitting I carefully clayed over the
side door and filled in the cracks where the tueyre would be. I also
added my name and fingerprints to the others destined for immortality.
As the furnace dried out we built the fire up and started adding charcoal
to the flames. When our ironmaster saw that the clay inside the furnace
was starting to glow she made the fateful decision "Let's go for it".
The blower's long vent tube was quickly thrust into the tueyre and clayed
in place. A bench previously made in camp from scrap wood, its legs turned
on the spring pole lathe was positioned closeby and the first of the
blower gang started cranking the blower with a steady regular rhythm.
The blower would be cranked constantly now until the run was over.
With considerable foresight we had imported an expert to examine our
ore and decide if it needed roasting. Unfortunately the answer was yes;
so out came the cans and the ore was cycled through a warming can set on
top of the furnace and then into the roasting can on one of the forges
where it would be heated until it glowed a dull red. Then it would be added
to the furnace, the ironmaster carefully adding layers of charcoal and ore.
When the roasting can was empty it was refilled from the warming can and
the warming can from the ore bucket. Night had fallen but we had plenty of
light from the swirling blue flames that danced over the furnace showing
that a reducing atmosphere was present and hopefully our dull brown dirt
was being changed into bright metal.
The ore still had some surprises for us though; as it heated in the roaster
it would sometimes pop with a report like that of a firecracker and the lid
would resound with the impact of the shards making us jump.
As we settled into a routine the traditional iron-making rites were
done. We cooked sausages over our wonder-cooker---"40 degF to 2000 degF in
30 seconds" One exploded off the "Pennsic XX memorial brat fork" and fell
into the fiery furnace. With great presence of mind our ironmaster fished
it out of the fiery furnace, brushed of the glowing bits and passed it
around for consumption--not bad, hardly crunchy at all!
Still more time passed the blower making a constant background noise
punctuated by the solid thuds of the punkin pole being thrust into
the top of the furnace to makes sure that the charge settled evenly
and to set the sparks soaring into air above the fire. Now was when
we serenaded the furnace with polish, german and spanish songs, followed
by a spirited rendition of "The Shooting of Dan's Guru" by a peer
who will remain nameless as long as those weekly cheques don't bounce....
For a while our camp was graced with the presence of a person on vigil
taking out some quiet time and cranking the blower. Charcoal-Ore-Charcoal,
Charcoal-Ore-Charcoal, cranking of the blower, thuds of the punking pole,
flames and sparks dancing higher and lower--on, on into the night.
Finally our ironmaster stopped adding ore and we ran on just adding charcoal
and then, still cranking the blower, letting the fire burn down. When it
was about 1/2 of the way down the furnace the command came, "stop cranking".
The run was over. Now the furnace would be allowed to slowly cool and
in the morning we would gather round to fish out a bloom if we were lucky
and try to figure out what went wrong if we were not.
Now if you believe that, I have the location of a vein of magic pennsic
clay I can sell you. Its been handed down through our campsite for *years*
and if word leaks out that I am offering to you for the low price of
1995 hundred dollars in easy weekly payments.........
As soon as *we* cooled down a bit, made the pilgrimage to the facilities,
replenished our fluids and basically allowed the furnace temperature to
drop below that needed to solidify a bloom, we were yanking the tueyre out
and trying to fish out likely chunks of slag/bloom. The furnace was still
glowing inside and the heat it threw out would make a small dome tent on the
serengetti at mid-afternoon look positively like the nord Nordmark winter.
Tongs and forge rakes flashed; the welding gauntlets were called for and the
punkin pole was wielded once again as piece after piece was pried from the
walls or raked from the glowing coals left in the furnace to the tune of
shouts and chortles or the iron crew. The best, (most likely), were
carefully set aside for closer examination in the morning and the rest was
raked inside a fire brick wall. At last, having ensured the safety of the
camp while we slept, we stumbled to our beds while visions of wrought iron
danced in our heads.
Morning gradually insuinated itself into our shaded camp and started chipping
away at my all too short slumbers. However when I staggered into the
fire-zone of the camp, dragging my right arm behind me, (guess who was
on the blower-team last night!), the ironmaster was there before me,
hunkered down and grading the results of the run. Several nice pieces
had already been hit on the hand crank grinder and showed bright metal
under their slaggy coat. We had succeeded! Starting with brown "dirt"
we had smelted wrought iron using the direct process and a furnace that
would not have looked out of place in many archeological digs of early
period ironworks!
And so with the happy iron makers slumped around the furnace looking
at each other and grinning insanely we take our leave of this storied
place and.....
(cue in song--"This iron and no other was made by ourselves, we'd
pawn our own plasma to.....").
BTW the next step is to reheat the blooms to welding temperature and
consolidate them by gentle hammering to drive out most of the slag.
Folding and welding repeatedly will refine the wrought iron until it
is ready to use in the blacksmiths forge. My plans are to do a blister
steel run using some wrought and forge a pattern welded knife from
blister steel and "homemade" iron. It won't be a fancy blade, just
something an early smith might carry as a use knife.
wilelm the smith who tries to make something every pennsic
Marian Rosenberg
M'lord,
Where is your camp?
After having read these stories (and some of your others) I would really
really like to come by and see you do some of these incredible things
with metal. I'd even be willing to do unskilled grunt work if that be
the cost of watching someone smith.
-M
JE Anderson
you allow pitiful, sadeyed non-smiths to take a crack at something
simple????? ;-)
Eirika
"Marian Rosenberg" <Mar...@TheRosenbergFamilies.Net> wrote in message
news:3B17AA28...@TheRosenbergFamilies.Net...
Powers
>you allow pitiful, sadeyed non-smiths to take a crack at something
>simple????? ;-)
>
>Eirika
Given time and energy you would be welcome to forge a bit---dragon headed
tent stake is pretty fast and easy...
Otherwise, look for the simple Penannular Brooch Class I teach (not on the
official class list until I get to Pennsic and work out my schedule).
wilelm the smith