Upping and Downing
Sam has only just started his diary, and it looks like another Civil War is already about to kick off…
Do you believe in omens? Because if so, January might make you wish you didn’t. On the very first day, my poor wife burnt her hand while dressing the turkey.
Within a week, all in our household were sick, Parliament had fallen out about whether elections should be free, and there was nothing to eat in our house but cheese.
We were well by the following Sunday, but then I attended an Anglican service at Mr Mossom’s house. There, a strange Doctor made a very good sermon. He spoke as if he knew things about the future, such as Charles II restoring the English throne. Could it possibly be?
General Monck is certainly pushing for that, and was marching down to meet the army of Lord Lambert as the year began. And maybe the good Doctor is right, since news returned quickly that Lambert’s army had deserted him.
Nevertheless, my wife and I began the year preparing for Civil War – that is, stocking up with as much wine as possible, made easier by my Lord and cousin Mountagu sending me a dozen bottles.
Ah, but that my Lord’s gift had arrived before I purchased my own, as I spent many of my days this month rushing across the city in pursuit of those who owed me money – whilst also evading those to whom I am owing.
In fact, I tallied up the other day: I have 40£ to my name. That’s barely a month without work, were my Lord Downing to finally despair of my services. And that’s not an unlikely thought, given the way my master behaved this month…
For instance, early on, he was asking me to accompany him on some mission to Holland – yet before that week was out, he was gleefully telling me he hath secured me a position as one of the Clerks of the Council. I could not tell whether to thank him or no.
I did by and by, but not very heartily, for I feared that his doing of it was only to ease himself of the salary he pays me. For now, though, all he brought me was the condemnation of the other clerks – in particular Mr Cook, who believes he will be sacked to make way for me.
On the one hand, I would not wish to be a Parliamentary note-taker. Even if the salary is slightly more than that I receive from my Lord (which I doubt), Parliament is hardly a stable employer.
For example, Clerk Simons recently told me how Parliament accused his uncle Scobell of forgery for recording that, for the year 1653, “This day his Excellence the Lord General Cromwell dissolved this House.”
He should have written ‘interruption’ instead of ‘dissolved’, you see – a crime worth Tower time. And yet the policy to use the term ‘interruption’ didn’t come about until 1659.
Is it just to judge a man for past actions based on the altered laws of today? I asked my Lord Mountagu the same question, actually, in a letter I sent with his Turkish slave the other day. I have yet to receive a reply.
After all that, though, the offer of a Council clerkship had also vanished from my Lord Downing’s mind by the end of that same week. Rather, my Lord had taken to blaming me for not telling him of cancelled appointments. In truth, I had – but the porter had returned to say my Lord had not been home.
Perhaps the porter had lied, but I suspect it was more likely that my Lord just did not arise from his bed. That’s where he seems to conduct most of his business, including his meetings with me. Honestly, whatever the future government of this country, my Lord Downing is street’s away from having a central role in it.
Fortunately, life at home has been a tonic against the tensions of Parliament, work, and finances. This month included some fabulous family dinners, most notably: Twelfth Night at my cousin Stradwick’s; the day my most marvellous cousin Mrs Turner and others visited us for rabbit and card games; and, to top them all, the very fine feast my wife laid out for my family and the Pierces last Thursday.
A dish of marrow bones. A leg of mutton. A loin of veal. Three pullets and two dozen larks, all in a dish. A great tart. A neat’s tongue. A dish of anchovies. A dish of prawns, and cheese.
Ah, I am blessed with my poor wife – even if she can be exceedingly jealous at times. At one point, she sneakily followed me out of the house, angry that I was off to visit my cousin Mrs Jem for more tuition at playing cards.
Yet she and I are more often of one mind. Having indulged in some fancy new footwear this month – some buckles for me, some patins for her – we set off for a dinner at the Pierces, and were both disgusted Mr Lucy and Mrs Carrick openly calling each other husband and wife. Such ridicule of the sanctity of marriage is sickening.
Aside from my wife, though, music is my greatest love. This month I calmed my spirits by playing upon my flageolet and my lute. Although…
Just yesterday, I woke heartily singing the first song that came into my mind, that being, “Great, Good, and Just, could I but rate / My grief with thy too rigid fate” – only to suddenly realise that these were the words of Montrose’s poem, ‘On receiving news of the death of Charles I’.
And what was yesterday’s date?
30 January: the anniversary of the late King’s execution.
What was that about omens again?
Have any omens from the first month of the year given you pause for thought? Please let me know, I shall be delighted to hear from you!
Speak with you again soon – and may the Lord bless you and keep you till then!