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Archives for November 2020

Cecil Sharp’s Elementary and Advanced Folk Dance Certificates, 1912

November 29, 2020 By allisonmthompson Leave a Comment

Elsie J. Oxenham’s fictional heroine Rosamund Kane holds her Elementary Certificate from the English Folk Dance Society (the precursor of the EFDSS) and has possibly also passed the Advanced Cert. requirements for country dancing, if not for morris and sword. Cecil Sharp began offering these certificates of proficiency in 1912 as part of his control over the repertoire and its pedagogy, and they continued to be offered up to World War II, when Douglas Kennedy abolished them as he felt they were inhibiting participation by men in folk dancing. I have long wondered what these certifications entailed.

I am deeply indebted to Derek Schofield, former editor of English Dance & Song magazine and now the Reviews Editor for the Folk Music Journal, for uncovering the three-page pamphlet of the certification requirements of 1912. They are found in the Ralph Vaughan Williams Memorial Library, reference AS12. Derek speculates that the dances required might have changed over the years as Sharp published Books III, IV, and V of the Country Dance series.

Before we get to the requirements themselves, however, I’d like to digress a bit to discuss repertoire. I’ve been teaching English country dance for 45 years and have seen the repertoire change significantly and expand exponentially from the Sharp-based rep of the Seventies. One thing that we callers (and some dancers) have noticed is that as the repertoire has expanded, and as, in the U.S. at least, the technical standards have been relaxed, people don’t typically dance as well as they used to have to under the eagle eye of May Gadd (The Little Robin), nor do they have the knowledge of a core repertoire that people used to have. You used to be able to announce—at Pinewoods Camp English dance week at least—that the next dance would be the rather complicated dances Fandango or Newcastle or Nonesuch For Those Who Know (i.e., neither taught nor prompted) and three-quarters of those present would stand up for the dance and perform it pretty well.

For most groups or clubs now those days are gone. This is the present outcome of the age-old battle between Descriptivism (the way things (especially but not exclusively) language) currently are and Prescriptivism (the way things Ought To Be as defined by the Powers That Be). Are we going to be Inclusive (teaching generally to a low—Oops! Value judgment!—an accessible common standard and not investing effort in complicated set dances that can take quite a while to teach and master and scarcely three minutes to perform) or Exclusive (the reverse). Adding to the tension, we know that we sometimes lose dancers in our groups because they are tired of easy dances and want something with a little more meat to it! Elsie J. Oxenham was well aware of this tension between beauty and perfection versus happy-joining-in, and her characters actually explore but do not resolve the issue in a couple of the later installments—we even saw a touch of it in A25_Rosamund’s Tuckshop when one of the school girls says, in effect, that she is sick of the two-couple set dance Rufty Tufty (which was taught at her school) but ends up enjoying Corn Rigs with its jolly polka step.

The preliminary comments to the requirements indicate that you could take the exam in any of the three weeks of the Summer School at Stratford and thereafter by application. The preface indicates that the candidate had to exhibit “practical and theoretical” knowledge, although this requirement is reinforced in a heightened fashion for the Advanced Cert.   At least some of the country dances could be selected by the candidate, who had to submit her list in advance—it is unclear to what extent the examiners set the morris and sword dances, although Derek relates that he was told that the examiners would call for a set for, say, Shepherd’s Hey and tell you to dance fifth position in it.  The preface also clearly states that holding either certificate was not a test of “teaching capacity” and that a list of “approved” teachers was kept at the EFDS Office. It is also not clear that you would have been required to hold an Advanced Cert. in order to be approved to teach—in a later installment, Elsie J. Oxenham gives us a jolly teacher (and old friend from the Swiss Series) who the EFDS Secretary says is not quite up to snuff to get an advanced group ready for an examination in something complicated like Chelsea Reach, but is well-suited for leading a dance party, and that she knows all the newer dances.

Elementary Certificate Requirements, 1912

For the Elementary Certificate, you would be expected to be able to dance in any position in any of the groups of dances itemized below, starting with the country dances—are these in your wheelhouse?

     Book I                                                                                    Book II

 

 

 

 

 

 

  1. Any six dances from the Country Dance Books I and II (not more than two dances from Book 1, which were the easy, traditional longways dances). This is a total of 48 dances that you were expected to have mastered, although, again, it is not clear whether the candidate selected all the dances or whether the examiners set some.  (Click on the images above to see the list enlarged; see the dance instructions and tunes at The Round.
  2. Any six of the following 16 morris set dances (both handkerchief and short- or long-stick)Beansetting (I)             Old Woman Tossed Up (I)Laudnum Bunches (I)  Black Joke (I)

    Country Gardens (I)     Bobbing Joe (III)

    Trunkles (I)                     Shepherd’s Hey (III)

    Rigs O’Marlow (I)          Glorishears (III)

    How D’ye Do (I)             The Gallant Hussar (III)

    Blue-eyed Stranger (I)  Shooting (III)

    Maid of the Mill (I)        Brighton Camp (III)

  3.  Any one of the following three morris jigs.

Old Mother Oxford (II)     Lumps of Plum Pudding (III)     Jockie to the Fair (III)

  1. Any position of either the Kirkby Malzeard longsword dance (for six dancers) or the Flamborough Sword Dance (for eight dancers). This means six or eight unique positions in two dances of a very different style (click on the links to view them).

Note that the morris dances listed above have the volume number after each title. Cecil Sharp and Herbert MacIlwaine published the first two volumes of The Morris Book in 1907 and the third in 1910, and Sharp produced revised and expanded editions of all three a few years later. He published his three volumes of Sword Dances of Northern England from 1911 to 1913.  It was in these years that he was also producing his graded volumes of both country and morris dances—alas! I gave away my volumes of these a few years ago without examining them closely enough. I do not know if the grading was adult beginner to adult advanced or child to adult, but a dancer would at least have had a few more years to get Books I, II, and III under her belt than Book IV. But also note that the village tradition is not specified in the certification requirements above (or below)—you are expected to know it. For example, Beansetting, Laudnum, Country Gardens, Trunkles, Rigs, How D’ye Do, and Blue-eyed are all from the Headington tradition; Maid of the Mill is a linked handkerchief dance from the Ilmington tradition; Brighton Camp is from Eynsham; Lumps of Plum Pudding from the village of Bampton, and so on. You were expected to dance correctly in each style. Here’s what Elsie J. Oxenham, in a rare article printed in Every Girl’s Annual of, I believe, 1923 (my copy is undated, but she refers to having attended the Cheltenham vacation school in the prior year), has to say about the various styles; she begins by saying that each tradition has “peculiar points of its own” and continues:

Ilmington, in Warwickshire, has evolved an especially tricky, though beautiful hey or chain—“the thing with question-marks and tea-cup handles in it,” as I heard it described lately. Bampton, in Oxfordshire, has a peculiarly fascinating arm-movement, like the action of sowing seed or feeding hens—a real country movement, seen nowhere else—and gives us curious walking back-steps; also two very beautiful solo jigs. Fieldtown, in the same county, turns the back-steps into queer little hops, or sometimes into ferocious stamps, with quite a different arm-movement. Sherborne, in Gloucester, makes you move back in a weird shuffle, messes up its Morris step,  and has one really dreadful track movement; Sherborne is a brute, but a fascinating brute! Bledington, in Oxfordshire, is very original, and makes you twist your hands in the opposite way from any other village’s hands, and creates new and extraordinary jump positions in its capers; so do Fieldtown and Bampton, for that matter.
You have to concentrate on all important points like these. If you put whole-rounds into Bampton, or half-rounds into Ilmington, you get well shouted at if “Madam” [Helen Kennedy North] happens to be teaching; it is a failing of my own, so I know.
Or you keep meeting new forms of old friends. Take “Shepherd’s Hey.” You learn it as an Ilmington dance, with stick-tapping and the funny hey; presently you come across it with Bampton arm-waves and back-steps. Then you find it is also a Headington solo jig, with hand-clapping, and then it turns up as a Badby dance, with sticks again, but quite different sticks. And last of all it is a Fieldtown dance, with handkerchiefs, as in Bampton, but no other likeness, either in tune or dance, to any “Shepherd’s Hey” you have ever met before.

The above is from a writer who clearly enjoyed these dances but, despite her understanding and her clarity of description, did not feel confident enough to essay the examination. But this is the level of mastery you were clearly expected to show! And, remember, in 1912 you would have been examined by The Prophet himself, or by the imperious and critical Madam (Helen Kennedy North) or Joshua (Douglas Kennedy). Nerve-wracking!

Advanced Certificate Requirements, 1912

The requirements for the Advanced Certificate were considerably more demanding and involved a significantly greater focus on morris dancing—no wonder Rosamund has only passed the country dance portion of the Advanced Cert. and the Writing Person (one of EJO’s avatars) never attempted to obtain a certificate at all. Unlike the Elementary certification, the requirements for the Advanced one begin with the re-statement that the candidate had to possess “a practical and theoretical knowledge” of the materials listed below. This theoretical knowledge presumably means that you couldn’t just show the movements and rely on muscle memory or subtle cues from a partner—you had to intellectually know everything cold and be able to explain all the fiddly bits. At the end of this post I am going to give some questions that I think could have been on an English country dance exam, whether on paper or viva voce. They are real questions with real answers—will you be able to pass the test?

  1. Any ten dances from the Country Dance Books I and II—and again no more than two from the easy Book I.
  2. Any six morris dances from the following.

Laudnum Bunches (I)            Bobbing Joe (III)

Trunkles (I)                              Shepherd’s Hey (III)

Black Joke (I)                           Shooting (III)

Rodney (II)                               Brighton Camp (III)

  1. Any four morris dances from the following. Since these are from volume IV, they would certainly have been less familiar to the dancers, whether or not they are intrinsically more difficult.

The Cuckoo’s Nest (IV)          The Rose (IV)

Constant Billy (IV)                   Bobby and Joan (IV)

Lads A-Bunchum (IV)              Banks of the Dee (IV)

London Pride (IV)                    Dearest Dicky (IV)

Swaggering Boney (IV)           Step Back (IV)

  1. Any two morris jigs from the following.

Princess Royal (first version) (III)             Sherborne Jig (IV)

Jockie to the Fair (III)                               None so Pretty (IV)

I’ll Go and Enlist (IV)                                 Molly Oxford (IV)

  1. Any two dances from the sword dance list. Again, this is any position in these very different sword dances.  For example, the Earsdon dances is a rapper sword dance whereas Grenoside is a slow longsword dance performed with stepping in clogs.  I encourage you to click on the bolded links.

Grenoside (I)          Sleights (II)

Earsdon (II)             Flamborough (II)

 Do I think I could have passed these Certs? In my young and lissom days I danced English country dances, morris (many traditions), rapper- and long-sword (ditto), English clog, garland, Running Set, New England contras, Scottish country dances, Highland dancing, and some Vintage and historical dancing. I am confident that with a bit of swotting up on some of the less-familiar set dances—but remember, you weren’t supposed to learn from books!—I would have passed the Elementary Cert. with flying colors or possibly colours, but I would have had to study hard for the Advanced one—not so much for the country dances (that requirement is the same, although I think the performance/knowledge standards were probably higher), but for the morris and sword!

Allison’s English Country Dance Examination Questions

These are real questions, some based on the fiddly bits that I recall Genevieve Shimer (May Gadd’s successor at CDSS) and others of her generation insisting on. Not all the questions are based on the country dance books I and II!

Answer fully and completely, using a No. 2 pencil and making no stray marks on the pages.

In Prince William, describe the actions of the first couple and the second woman in the first strain of the A music of the second part of the dance. What does the second woman particularly need to remember to do?

What is the correct sequence of the hands given in the chorus figure of Rufty Tufty? Choose from:

RLRL     RLLR     LRLR      LRRL       Other

Which couple (using original numbering) initiates the progressive hey at the end of the set dance Nonesuch?

Describe/show the difference(s) between the pas de basque step and the polka step. What dance named after a member of the Royal Family uses the pas de basque step?

Mark the dances below in a round formation that number anti-clockwise rather than clock-wise.

Peppers Black         Winifred’s Knot          Sage Leaf

Mundesse           Put on thy Smock on a Monday     Jenny Pluck Pears

Describe the actions of the second chorus figure of the dance for two couples, Althea.

In which figure of Sellenger’s Round do dancers raise their arms, and why?

The second time the lines of four form in Newcastle, which way are they facing? Across the hall or up and down it?

Filed Under: Abbey Girls, Uncategorized Tagged With: Cecil Sharp, Elsie J. Oxenham, English folk dance, folk dance certificate, Morris Dance, sword dances

Elsie J. Oxenham and A25_Rosamund’s Tuck-Shop; A School Story

November 22, 2020 By allisonmthompson Leave a Comment

There is a lot to unpack in this installment! As I discussed early on, the current group of postings in this blog relate to Elsie Oxenham’s Abbey Girl series and in particular to the folk-dancing scenes found therein. While many of EJO’s readers apparently find/found folk-dancing after reading the books, I came to her works from the world of folk dance and want to share her vision and her depictions—especially of Cecil Sharp and his teachers —with my folk-dance friends. After the last five or six installments that bore the subtitles “a romance of the Abbey Girls” and contained little or no dancing, we are now, at least briefly, back in the dance world. Rosamund will show us how a “certificated” teacher instructs.

As I also mentioned early on, I initially read these books completely out of order—not even realizing that there was an order—as they were shipped to me by the amazing Monica Godfrey, who wrote the article in the EFDSS magazine that inspired me to reach out to her to find out more about these mysterious Abbey Girls. And this installment, A25_Rosamund’s Tuck-Shop, with its significant subtitle, “A School Story,” was one that initially made my eyes roll back into my head. It starts off in a typically discursive way, with one girl in a bit of an inexplicable jam, who then meets up with other school pals, all of whom have names, nicknames, alternative nicknames, and so on until the brain bubbles and swells and one must call faintly for Jeeves to bring a restorative and a cold towel to tie around one’s head.

But perseverance (and multiple re-readings) pays off and I think I can now parse this for you or at least ease you over the early and confusing chapters. We will skip introducing most of the girls; just be aware that there is a younger group of rather wild girls, and an older group that includes Rhoda and her friends Tamzine and Sonny.

And here props to Elsie Oxenham, that consummate long-arc story plotter and re-purposer of characters! In 1909 she had published her fourth book, what was then a one-off tale titled The Girl Who Wouldn’t Make Friends. It told the story of Robertina Brent, left an estate in Wales called Plas Quellyn, by her god-father, painter Robert Quellyn, an admirer of her mother’s. Robert had unofficially adopted a friend’s orphan daughter, Gwyneth Morgan, but failed to make provision for her in his will. Deprived of her beloved Plas Quellyn, Gwyneth won’t make friends with Robin, until they are reconciled and become adopted sisters at the end of the story. Their conflict, which they relate to Rhoda hoping to help her in her dilemma, is not dissimilar to hers, though she refuses to acknowledge it. But what is more interesting to me is the slow and subtle interweaving of Robin into the Abbey series. We had a hint of it in the last installment: Sir Ivor Quellyn refers to the Welsh pictures of a distant cousin, that same Robert Quellyn, and to the heiress and estate. We’ll have occasional further hints of Robin and her estate until her story concludes in A32_Robins in the Abbey. It seems unlikely to me that when EJO published The Girl Who Wouldn’t Make Friends in 1909 she knew that she would repurpose Robin (although we can’t know for sure and there are other clear signs of careful, long-term plot planning), but having created her, she puts her to good use and brings her back. What fun it is to encounter old friends again!

A25_Rosamund’s Tuck-Shop was published in 1937 and takes place in September through October of 1930. It is a satisfying installment, showing Rosamund in fine form as a compassionate lover, sister, and friend. It also shows her as an excellent English folk dance teacher!

Plot Synopsis (Contains Spoilers)

Lady Rhoda Kane is mourning the recent death in a motorcycle accident of her younger brother, Geoff, the sixteen-year-old Earl of Kentisbury. The new Earl, also named Geoffrey, is the semi-invalid younger brother of Rhoda’s deceased father. His health has improved since he became engaged to a young girl whom Rhoda and her mother do not know but whom they hate. The new heir-presumptive is this girl’s baby half-brother, and Rhoda hates him, too.  They feel that a distant cousin, Bill Kane the sailor and his younger sister Rosalie, have been skipped over—like Mrs. Bennet, they do not seem to understand how the rules of entail and succession work. Lady Verriton had also been looking forward to acting as the head of the family during Geoff’s minority, and resents the young future countess and the fact that she, Lady Verriton, and her daughter will be turned out of the castle upon the Earl’s marriage. Rhoda has the additional chip on her shoulder that she herself is dark and petite, not tall and fair like all the others in the Kentisbury family.

—Now here Lady Rhoda and her mother are being just plain ridiculous! There are centuries of precedence that the Dowager and her daughters, younger sons, etc. are bounced out of the ancestral home as soon as the current Earl or Duke or whomever marries. It’s rather like the peaceful transition of power between one American President and the President-Elect! You don’t get to stay in the White House forever!

But Rhoda and Lady Verriton are unreasonably thinking that Bill, whom they know and love, and who often visited the estate when he was growing up, should have had the title, or should at least be next in line for it. They seem indifferent if not actively antagonistic to the new Earl, the invalid whom apparently no one paid much attention to until he got engaged and his fiancée took him to see new doctors who improved his health. Their animus is reserved for that nameless young gold-digger (as they think of her) and her wretched baby brother. The kindest thing one can say about Rhoda is that she and her mother are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder over the relatively recent death of their father/husband, respectively, and the very recent and tragic death of the teenaged Earl. The Careful Reader, who was not I until about the third re-reading, will have picked up that the boy was willful and stubborn and wouldn’t have made a particularly good Earl in any case. But that’s neither here nor there in this episode. —

Lady Verriton leaves the country to visit her sister and Lady Rhoda and her distant cousin Rosalie (Bill’s sister; she has no title) go to attend Wood End school, which is designed for girls who don’t want to go on to college, but whose future lies in running their husbands’ estates. They need to be able to direct and supervise the servants and outdoor staff. The curriculum is hands-on-learning of things like the insides of a motor car, basic veterinary skills, how to run a Women’s Institute meeting, and lots of gardening and other outdoor work, as well as French, which well-brought up young women are supposed to be fluent in. The uniform is like those of the Women’s Land Army of World War I—” …khaki breeches like those the land-girls had during the war and smocks [emphasis added].’” Which war is not specified—of course, WWII had not occurred either in real time nor Abbey Time—in fact the series ends before the war begins. But depending on when you read this installment, you might be forgiven for thinking the uniform was that of the Land Girls of WWII.

—Elsewhere EJO refers to the Wood End uniform as being a “smock” over the breeches and boots, and some illustrators (and I) took this to be a traditional shepherd’s type of smock below, as translated to the left. In the cover illustrations at the top of this post you’ll see the smock concept on the right, along with the stout gloves needed for pruning roses.

However, a loose billowy smock gets in your way if you are bending over hoeing or weeding. In fact the Land Army uniform was a long, belted jacket with lots of useful pockets and various colored arm-bands and hat-badges to show different lengths or service and accomplishments. The U.S. and Australia also instituted Women’s Land Armies or the equivalent, in order both to free up men for service and to increase home production of agricultural and, later, mechanical products. Here’s a good website devoted the Women’s Land Army, founded in January 1917 and disbanded in November, 1919. Here’s a website with more information. 

Below and especially to the right is the uniform: keys are slouch hat, breeches, high boots or short boots with puttees, and a coat that protects other garments.

Mandatory Credit: Photo by Historia/Shutterstock (9820224a)
The Agricola Outfit – Strong Serviceable Well Cut and Becoming – Idea For Women Workers On the Land and Available From the Cleveland Manufacturing Company. Advertisement in the Sphere, 27 April 1918
Overalls For Women Workers, Ww1, 1918

 

 

Cousins Rhoda and Rosalie quickly make friends, including Robin Brent and Gwyneth Quellyn of The Girl Who Wouldn’t Make Friends, and Rhoda is reunited with Sonia (“Sonny”) Raymond, who is Joan Shirley Raymond’s husband’s niece. Near the school is a cottage with two halves: the Squirrel is a tea-shop and the Rose sells hand-made craft items. Both places are out of bounds for the school girls. They are allowed to visit the school tuckshop (Americans: closest analogy is ice cream parlor or candy store), run by pretty young Gail Alwyn. Due to her youth Gail has a little trouble keeping order; the left-hand image above shows her (flowered overall) telling two of the younger girls to get down off the counter.

The girls meet their country dance instructor, a tall, fair girl named Rosamund. They assume that her last name is Abbott, as she keeps referring to her aunts who run the Squirrel tea-house, but she just wants them to call her by her first name. Rosamund is blonde, walks with grace due to her years of country dancing, and wears an enormous diamond on her left hand—the girls speculate that she must be going to marry someone important. They try to pump Gail for more intel, but she is adamant about not gossiping. Of course, she is our Rosamund Kane, but shh! don’t tell Rhoda!

One day one of the younger girls, who is out-of-bounds, spies a loom in the front room of the Rose, and tells the others. Sonia is wild to see it more closely and the girls decide to—it’s hard to believe this!—sneak downstairs in the middle of the night, go out-of-bounds —that is, impugning their honor to obey the rules—and commit a little B&E. Robin Brent tries hard to dissuade them from this bad idea. Rhoda is uneasy about the project but goes anyway as part of the group. The girls enter the cottage to see a lovely piece of white material shot with gold and silver on the loom. Gail Alwyn comes down and tells them to go home. Then Rosamund, in a jolly blue kimono and with her hair in long fair plaits, comes down to see what the noise is. Rhoda has just picked up a piece of paper that she assumes is instructions for the weaving pattern, but is actually a letter from Maidlin. Rosamund is furious and accuses Rhoda of reading her letter (a cardinal sin in Victorian England, but also she wonders if Rhoda has deduced who she is and is trying to find some dirt on the future Countess), and Rhoda denies it. After everyone calms down and cocoa is served, a teacher from the school, Lisbeth Durant, comes in; she had seen the girls leaving the school building, but it took her some time to dress and figure out where they went. She carelessly reveals Rosamund’s last name and Rhoda turns white with rage when she realizes that this jolly dance teacher is the horrid interloper. The girls leave, and the adults promise that they won’t tell the Head of School. Rosamund weeps when they leave. Rosamund has been aware all along that Rhoda hates her, and she has convinced the Head not to reveal who she is, hoping that she can get Rhoda to change her mind before she reveals her identity.

(Above: Rosamund is in a red kimono. Dark-haired Rhoda is seated and it is probably Tamzine wearing the school jacket and tie. This illustrator did not get the Land Army uniform memo! BTW, that is not my thumb.)

While her friends try to convince her to play nice, Rhoda remains adamant in her rage and dislike of Rosamund. The latter finishes the piece of material–it is for Maidlin, for her upcoming singing debut at the Queen’s Hall under the baton of Sir Ivor Llewellyn, Lady Joy Shirley Marchwood’s fiancé. The other girls come to apologize again, and Rosamund sends them back to school, urging them not to go via the commons, as a developer has cut down many trees, leaving the great top-heavy pines dangerously exposed. A storm with high winds is arriving. Rhoda also appears at the cottage and angrily confronts Rosamund. As Rhoda jerkily moves to leave the room, she bumps into the writing table and knocks ink onto the material, ruining it. Rosamund speaks harshly to Rhoda, who runs out of the cottage, sobbing.

Rosamund works to compose herself. After a while she realizes that Rhoda is not really to blame; that it was an accident and not done on purpose. She scribbles a note of apology (in pencil! Nice touch, Elsie!) and takes it up to the school, where Rhoda is not to be found. Rosamund intuits that Rhoda has run to the commons so as not to be easily discovered, and she goes after her, despite the high winds. She starts to lead Rhoda to safety, but the girl trips and, before she can recover, a large tree named Adam, falls and pins her down. Another tree, Eve, is swaying dangerously and is certain to fall soon. Rhoda urges Rosamund to flee, on her own account as well as Geoffrey’s and her brother’s, but Rosamund refuses to leave her alone. They wait for Eve to fall and Rosamund hopes that she’ll be killed outright, rather than left crippled. Here EJO shows us without telling us that Rosamund is playing up and playing the game as well as being true to the motto of the Hamlet Club. The tree does crash, but lands on the first tree. Rosamund is briefly knocked out, but the girls are safe.

Adam and Eve and the fall of the trees—man’s fall from Eden? Oxenham rarely indulges in overt religious symbolism, but this could be one of the times, although I am still puzzling over it. Oxenham liked to give her heroines a Problem to resolve—and Lady Rhoda’s is pride. Rhoda has to be humbled by Rosamund’s generosity with regard to the ruined fabric and her gallantry in staying with Rhoda in the face of danger and possible death before she can achieve peace of mind and happiness.

The gardener and other men arrive and help the girls back to the school. Rhoda apologizes profusely for ruining the dress, but Rosamund assures her that Maidlin will prefer the reconciliation to the material, as indeed she does. Rhoda becomes completely reconciled to Rosamund and also confesses to the other girls that it was she who had ruined Maidlin’s gown. Rhoda and Rosalie offer to be bridesmaids at Rosamund’s wedding.

For Folk Dancers

This installment has quite a lot on dance: both on some new dances that Rosamund teaches the girls as well as the style of teaching and some of the comments on dance style itself.

Rhoda is eager to learn the country dancing, as her local Women’s Institute does it—she has not, however, cared to join in with them because she does not want to reveal her lack of knowledge and be “hauled through” a dance by mere villagers. (Her friends laugh at her for her snobbish attitude.) Rhoda asks if the teacher knows a lot of dances: “A dreadful thing happened once in our village. The W.I. had had lessons from a school teacher, and thought they knew a lot. Then someone else took them on, and she said they were doing it all wrong. She taught them all different ways, and the poor things didn’t know where they were, or what or who was right’ (97).” She is assured that Rosamund has the headquarters’ certificate. Rosamund appears, walking lightly “with a movement which told, to anyone who understood, of years of folk-dancing” (98).

Accomplished pianist Gail plays the dulcitone for the dancing: a pretty but rather quiet and tinkly sound-ing spinet-like instrument. Rosamund thinks that it fits the dances even better than the penny whistle that Gail had wanted to play, but I’m not sure I agree with her, at least not for some dances—here’s a dulcitone.

Gail asks for a chance to dance and Rosamund assures her that she’ll play better if she does. She then tells the girls to join hands and slip clockwise—and the girls asks which way that is. (102). And this was when everyone was using analog clocks!

To start the session, Rosamund tells the girls to form two lines and Tamzine says rather scornfully that she knows what’s going to happen: “‘Lead your woman down and turn her under; skip her back and swing your partner! These things in lines are all alike’ (98)” It is clear from this comment that folk dancing has to some extent already permeated the school P.E. curriculum. Rosamund says that perhaps she’s done Haste to the Wedding or Pop Goes the Weasel (both from Sharp’s first Country Dance Book of 1909), but what they are going to do is different. Later, Rosamund tells them to form a two-couple set, Tamzine scornfully thinks it’s going to be for Rufty Tufty, which apparently she is rather sick of. These sound like comments from real girls.

Here is Rosamund teaching:

“‘Take hands-four; oh—sorry! Make small rings of two couples! Now—those with their backs to me are Ones, those facing me are Twos. You’re sure of that? Keep your same number till you reach the end of the line, then change. I’ll take care of you when you change your number. Play the tune, Gail; listen everybody! It’s ‘Christchurch Bells.’ Do you know it?’ (99)”

Rhoda says that she knows it as a song and Rosamund tells the girls that many of the dances were songs. Rosamund continues, making the girls “practice the brisk clapping and the ‘cast,’” but almost at once insisting on the movements being fitted to the music. “As soon as the girls knew what they had to do, they were urged to try it with the tune, so that the music and movements should go together in their minds. (100)” This is excellent teaching technique! I have seen far too many people teach a dance without giving any indication of the music.

Christchurch Bells is indeed a jolly little dance and a good one for beginners in that it is short and the progression very clear. It is a three-part tune, originally a round or catch, written by Oxford don Henry Aldrich in 1673 and published in 1733 in The Second Book of the Catch Club.

  1. Hark the bonny Christchurch bells, one two three four five six.

They sound so woundy great, so wondrous sweet,

And they troll so merrily, merrily.

2.  Hark the first and second bell that every day at four and ten

Cries come, come, come, come, come to prayers, and the verger troops before ye.

3.  Tingle, tingle, ting goes the small bell at nine to call the bearers home,

But the de’il a man will leave his can ‘til he hears the mighty Tom.

The song Christchurch Bells in Oxford reminds us that the city was a place of worship as well as study, and that the bells of the various churches pealed all day long to tell the hours and to call students to class and celebrants to prayer. English bells were not pitched to play a tune as in a carillon, but different-sized bells did have different tones and pitches and could be rung in changes for specific purposes. Tom is clearly a basso profundo who says it’s time to high-tail it home. (For more on bells, read Dorothy Sayers’ mystery The Nine Tailors (1934). Did Oxenham read this? Probably—in addition to her popular mysteries, Sayers also wrote on religious topics, and she would have been of interest to EJO.) The “can” referred to above is the mug of beer that some prefer to other pursuits.

Here is a delightful rendition of the catch—be sure to watch it to the very end!

Here’s the dance as interpreted by Cecil Sharp from the seventh edition (1686—thirteen years after Aldrich wrote his song; it must have already been popularly spread by word of mouth) of The Dancing Master. Phrase One: first man turns second woman by the right, then his partner by the left. Phrase Two: second man turns first woman by the left and his partner by the right. Phrase Three: all four slipping circle around in 8 steps, then two claps (own hands, partner Right, own, partner Left), and in four steps the ones cast off to second places, twos moving up. Fun and easy but with amusing potential to get mixed up on the turns—is it left-hand or right? Well, here’s what EJO has Rosamund say; the girls are having some trouble at the ends of the lines when they change numbers and Rosamund urges them to trust the couples coming at them.

Presently Rosamund called a halt. “Look here, you people! Trust the couple coming up or down the line to you. They’ve been doing it all the way; they won’t suddenly go wrong. If the second woman wants to give right hand, let her, new first man! She’s correct; don’t insist on giving her your left.” Rosamund is right! This kind of insight reminds us that Elsie Oxenham taught dancing to her Camp Fire and her Girl Guide troop.

Later one of the girls asks how many dances Rosamund knows:  she responds “120,” but that they won’t get through them all in this term (185). Rosamund is being a little dated—her answer would have been nearly correct up to 1922, which was about the time that the Oxenham family left London and presumably that EJO ceased to dance quite as often as formerly with the EFDS crowd.

The Country Dance Book I    (1909)              18 (or 20 if you count variants in this edition)

Book II                                   (1911)              30

Book III                                  (1912)              34

Book IV                                  (1916)              43

We’ll leave out Book V (1918) because it is devoted to the Kentucky Running Set. Book VI (1922) contained another 52 dances interpreted by Sharp from the Playford publications. However, the sum of the dances in the first four books is 125. (The total sum, again excluding Book V, is 177.)

However, Elsie and Rosamund are not wholly out-of-date! The dance Corn Rigs, with its polka step, comes from Sharp’s amanuensis and prominent collector in her own right, Maud Karpeles’ 1931 publication of Twelve Traditional Country Dances with pianoforte arrangements by Ralph Vaughan Williams. In a later instalment, EJO will refer to the dance Steamboat, which also comes from this publication. These dances deserve an essay of their own, which they are not going to receive at present—their importance in this story is that Oxenham, 57 in 1937 when the book was published, was still in touch with dance trends. The girls enjoy this dance and its new step:  “. . . at the end of ‘Corn Rigs’ they broke into spontaneous clapping. ‘That’s tophole! Great, that one is!’”

And now on to two dances that Rosamund teaches that I am confident that few if any Gentle Readers will have encountered (I was certainly unfamiliar with them!): Sage Leaf and Put on Thy Smock on a Monday. Both are set dances with some complexities and both have tunes that are. . . . undistinguished. Dull, in fact.

Like (and probably related to) the Boulanger that Jane Austen enjoyed about 130 years later, the Sage Leaf (fourth edition, 1670) is a dance that is probably a blast at the end of your first grown-up party, when you and the other eighteen-year-old kids are slightly tipsy on the punch that you didn’t know was as strong as all that, and there’s a cute boy who keeps looking at you. In other words, it’s a party dance. There’s lots of skipping about and then plenty of time to catch your breath. Here’s how it goes.

As many couples as will, lady standing to the gentleman’s right, join hands in a big circle and slip to the right and then to the left. Gents dance in to the center and fall back; ladies the same. Now comes the distinctive figure—let’s say there are four couples in this set.

First couple lead in to the center, fall back, and then right-hand turn. Then second couple does the same thing, then third, then fourth. Now first man turns his partner by the right-hand once and a half around, then turns the second lady by the right, then the third, then the fourth, wending his way around the ring. Then the second gentleman turns his partner thusly and then all the other ladies. Then the third gent, then the fourth the same.

Now, to change things up, that whole paragraph is repeated with the second couple starting with the leading in. Then that paragraph again for the third couple, then again for the fourth. You can see that if there are a lot of couples, there is a fair bit of standing about, which is when you get to chat with your partner. The dance concludes with everyone circling right and left back again. One pities the musicians.

(Actually, with stronger tunes to support it, I could see this dance being fun in certain situations, particularly with a community of people who are familiar and comfortable with each other—at the closing party at a dance camp/weekend or for a home-school group or something of that sort. It wouldn’t take long to teach and is very accessible.)

Put on thy Smock on a Monday is a round for three couples that doesn’t deserve to be as forgotten as it is, again probably because the tune is dull, IMO. It has the standard USA figures (up a double or slipping circle, siding, and arming) with a chorus that is led by each gentleman in turn. The chorus is not difficult, per se, but, as Rosamund notes, you have to have a good spatial sense. Think of it as the first gentleman honoring, in turn, the third lady, then the second, then his own partner. Here’s how it goes: you are in a circle, first gent, and the first lady is on your right hand and the second on your left. Join hands with these two ladies and advance in a line to the left-over lady and retire; as the 2L and 1L turn each other once around behind your back, so to speak, you turn that honored third lady three-quarters around to end facing the second lady, opening into a new line of three numbered 1L – 1G – 3L. These three advance and retire and the two ladies turn once around while the first gentleman turns the second lady three-quarters around to re-orient the line facing the first lady, numbering 3L – 1G – 2L. Advance and retire and the first gent turns his partner while the other two ladies turn each other: all end at home positions. If you keep in mind that the honored lady will always end up at the active gentleman’s right hand with the nearer other lady in his left, and that the lines are oriented in three directions, it’s not so bad! This chorus is repeated by the second gentleman after the siding, and by the third after the arming. It could be tricksy in an all-girl set! The Wood End girls call it a “dear little dance,” but they have difficulty in controlling their three-quarter turns. (It takes a fair bit of control to turn only three-quarters in the phrase of music that you could turn once around in!) Rosamund tells them that they must cultivate their sense of “design.” This is a new word for EJO—she has mentioned “pattern” before—patterns work themselves out—but “design” is probably closer to what is needed in terms of the spatial awareness for this dance.

One of the tricky points that Rosamund is aware of is that Sage Leaf, a round for five couples, is numbered anti-clockwise, whereas Put on thy Smock is numbered the more usual clockwise. I do not know why or how Sharp came up with these rules—I don’t see anything in the facsimiles to indicate it. But this kind of detail would certainly have been part of the certificate testing.

Our next episode brings Rosamund to her happy ending, but there is more drama ahead. But first, a brief detour to the world of the certificate.

Filed Under: Abbey Girls, Uncategorized Tagged With: Abbey Girls, Cecil Sharp, Elsie J. Oxenham, English folk dance, Land Army

We all want Joy!

November 15, 2020 By allisonmthompson Leave a Comment

Joy Shirley, currently the dowager Lady Marchwood and soon to be Lady Quellyn, is a challenging character for me to like, along the lines of Emma Woodhouse. Even though I am a Life Member of the Jane Austen Society of North America, for decades I had to force myself to reread Emma every few years, principally because I could not stand what I perceived as Emma’s smugness, her manipulativeness, her self-satisfaction, and her general air of complacency. Then I started teaching not-for-credit classes on Austen. I worked through all five of the other books and realized that I had to tackle Emma. I obtained the excellent Cambridge edition of the work and made myself really pay attention to the character. While I still would not go so far as to call her “faultless despite her faults,” I have grown to admire and understand her character better. She would still not be my first or second choice (or even third!) of a companion on a deserted island (that would be Mr. Knightley (he would have a pocketknife and be able to do useful things like gut fish) or Miss Morland (she would cheerfully gather coconuts to make an SOS sign on the beach, even if she didn’t know what an SOS is)), but I can like Emma in a cautious way.

I can’t quite get to this point with Joy, and it is not altogether because of her character but because of how Oxenham writes about her. Austen is, after all, an A+++ (can’t get enough pluses!) writer and Oxenham is a solid B with frequent B+ and occasional A- scenes, typically those of description of scenery or dancing. With nearly 100 books over a 60-year career, Oxenham was more prolific but less lapidary than Austen. But comparisons are odious—let’s dig more into Joy’s character and background. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Abbey Girls, Uncategorized Tagged With: Abbey Girls, Elsie J. Oxenham

Elsie J. Oxenham and A24_Joy’s New Adventure; A Romance of the Abbey Girls

November 8, 2020 By allisonmthompson Leave a Comment

Gentle Reader, like some of Mr. Collins’ delicate compliments to the ladies, this blog has been long in the making; I did not start posting until I felt that I had about 80% of each of the book’s summary and analysis written, and that process took several years. Some 80 per cents were more complete than others! Then, each week, I refine the post, which can be quite time-consuming. But this combination of long gestation and weekly challenge has given me some deeper insights into characters and actions. One character that I have had as much difficulty in liking as I did Miss Emma Woodhouse, is that of Joy Shirley, now the dowager Lady Marchwood. This installment is hers, though it is not told from her point of view, and she does not necessarily appear to advantage in it. Next week’s post—God willin’ and the crick don’t rise—will be about Joy. So now I have seven days to pull those thoughts together!

Published in 1935, A24_Joy’s New Adventure; A Romance of the Abbey Girls, is set in June through August of 1930. The word “romance” tells you that there is going to be little or no folk dancing—our focus is on different things.

Plot Synopsis (Contains Spoilers)

Sixteen-year-old Abigail Ann Alwyn, known as Gail, is on a train down to the village of Whiteways. Gail is the orphaned grand-daughter of the famous composer Frederick Alwyn, who wrote progressive music that no one—at least no Abbey Girl—likes or understands. He died recently and Gail is now the ward of the famous conductor Sir Ivor Quellyn. Without discussing it with her, Sir Ivor has sent her to the village to attend the music school for girls that Lady Joy Marchwood runs. Gail does not want to attend and does not want to be a concert pianist as her grandfather intended. She contemplates running away. At a halt, the train compartment door opens (must be the old kind where the carriages did not connect) and a tall girl with blond hair in buns over her ears bursts in and welcomes Gail. She is Rosamund Kane.

Rosamund fills Gail in on the backstory; Lady Marchwood is not old as Gail had imagined, but young, scarcely thirty, and the mother of twin girls. Her husband had been killed while on safari—Joy was in fact engaged, married, widowed, and a mother all within one year—and Lady Joy has taken to doing good works in the village with her music school and a crafts center and so on. (This is in fact one of Oxenham’s repeated visions of a cooperative community of artists and artisans all run by a benevolent queen.) She takes Gail through the Abbey, and we know that the visitor is the right sort because she responds to its beauty. Gail confesses that she does not want to go to the music school and must tell Lady Marchwood so right away, and Rosamund urges her to give it a try. She then takes Gail to see Lady Jen, whose fourth child is just three weeks old.

Jen greets them warmly and tells Rosamund that she is sorry about the news—Rosamund doesn’t know what news she is talking about. And now we hear that the prediction made at the end of the last installment has come true—the young Earl of Kentisbury has gone out on a motorbike at night after he had been forbidden to, and been killed. The new Earl is his uncle, Geoffrey the invalid, and Rosamund’s baby half-brother is now the heir presumptive. Rosamund reveals that Geoffrey wants to marry her and she would like that but hates the idea of being a Countess. She also fears that she will not be able to keep Roderick at the cottage, since he has become more important to the succession. Jen is not happy about Rosamund marrying an invalid twenty years older than herself—and here there is a veiled hint that she wants Rosamund to be able to have children—but urges her to follow her heart. Rosamund goes into the Manor to make a phone call.

Suddenly screams fill the air and Gail, followed more slowly by Jen, rushes off. A small shed is on fire. In front of it, seven-year-old Andrew Marchwood (Jen and Ken’s eldest son) is holding down a struggling seven-year old Margaret Marchwood (one of Joy’s twin daughters) so that she can’t enter the burning shed. She is screaming for Elizabeth, who is inside it.

Gail rushes into the shed, brings out the unconscious Tony Marchwood (five, and Jen’s second son) and goes back in. She brings out Elizabeth-Twin, whose hair and clothes are on fire, and beats out the flames with her hands.

The children have been playing at Camp Fire, and lit some candles inside the wood shed that was littered with wood shavings. It was (of course) the twins’ idea.  Sir Kenneth Marchwood finally says what some Readers have been thinking for quite some time, which is that the twins are brats and should be spanked and he won’t be responsible for them again. The children are uninjured, but Gail is badly burned—one finger will always be crooked and she will not be able to play music in public. Maidlin returns to the Hall from a visit to her Italian relatives and she and Gail become good friends. (In the cover illustration above, Maidlin, the Primrose Queen, is in the yellow dress and Gail, with her red-brown curls, in white.)

—Here I digress to meditate on the Marchwood twins, of whom I am not overly fond. Margaret, in particular, has a form of attention deficit disorder: she is flighty and impulsive and can’t stick to anything regular. In her grief over her loss of her husband, Joy has spoiled them terribly, and the omniscient narrator and several of the characters are aware of this. Occasionally in the series a character will call Joy out on some poor parenting technique. The twins are useful to the author because they create some kind of havoc that creates the tension or conflict that a story needs. If you are a girl visitor, beware! You are likely to suffer grievous bodily harm in protecting the brats from some predicament that they created themselves. The twins also represent the negative side of Joy, the side that used to be called the Wild Cat that Walks on its Own. And here, as I meditate, I see that EJO is also cleverly setting the twins up with their Problem—as I wrote some posts ago, each of the principal girls has a Problem that she must resolve in order to become happy. Some Problems are externally-focused, such as Jen’s coping with the loss of her parents. Rosamund’s Problem will similarly be the external one of her future marriage and what that entails. But some Problems are internal, and Maidlin and Joy have these. Maidlin is almost done solving her Problem—while still a bit over-sensitive and artistic, she is now quite capable of taking care of herself and others, and of understanding and forgiving Joy’s negative side while still loving her. So, in re-reading Joy’s New Adventure last night I noticed that EJO subtly linked the dead young Earl and the two girls lying in bed after the fire as equal cases of “disastrous self will.” Elizabeth and especially Margaret will have to learn self-control, empathy, and compassion before they reach their goal. It will be a long journey!—

Joy and Jen take care of Gail, whom they call Abbey Gail or Abbey Gale (she is hot-tempered). Meanwhile, Sir Ivor comes to visit. It is clear to Gail and Maidlin that he and Joy are interested in each other. Joy is over-excited. The over-sensitive Maidlin begins to feel neglected by Joy and uncomfortable with Ivor’s focus on her voice. Ivor raves over the improvement in her voice and says that she now sings as a woman (her voice has taken on new maturity after her growth in taking care of Biddy in France), and Joy becomes increasingly jealous and insecure about his affections. One night, upon Maid’s return from running her Camp Fire, her cloak falls off and there she is in her gown and beads and beautiful hair. Ivor is impressed and clearly admires her as a man admires a beautiful woman. Joy imperiously says: “‘Maidlin! You did it on purpose! Go to bed at once!’”

—Here I think that if I were a Girl Reader I wouldn’t really understand what was going on. What is the “it”? I don’t know if I would have noticed that it is weird that a thirty-year old woman tells a girl in her twenties to go to bed as if she were a naughty child. EJO does not write well about grown-up emotions, especially when sex is involved, not that we ever say that word! We have seen time and again that Abbey Girls are often unconscious of their feelings towards their Man until he proposes. Joy is an exception—she is excited by her feelings for Ivor and hopes that he will propose—he has taken her to see his mother; she is even looking ahead to the possibility of more children (we know this because she flushes slightly at the thought of babies)—but she is terribly jealous of Maidlin, her adopted daughter. It is not until some pages later, after this scene, when Joy runs to Jen for comfort and advice and says that Ivor had been interested in her eight years before, though she hadn’t known it, that we begin to understand this. Jen makes it clear that Joy overreacted and needs to apologize to Maid. Joy returns to the Hall and Ivor sweeps her away to propose to her. Through Gail’s eyes we are made to understand that Ivor is rather Joy-like himself; he is imperious, used to being obeyed, and somewhat blind and insensitive to other people’s feelings. Through Jen and Rosamund’s eyes we hear that Ivor might actually be a better match for Joy than Sir Andrew was; they have music in common, and Sir Andrew would have been bored with it. Joy does not go to Maidlin that night, and she and Gail leave the Hall in the early morning.

After a brief check-in with Rosamund and Biddy (and here we find out for sure that her nice Frenchman has proposed to her), the girls end up in St. Valéry in France, on the mouth of the Somme, a tidal river. Maid refers to the Battle of the Somme that took place in 1916, observing that she barely remembered the brave men and that Gail wouldn’t know about it first-hand. She is correct in Abbey Time; she was eleven in 1916 and Gail was about one.  EJO’s description of the town and the fishing boats coming in on the tide is charming and evocative—some of her best writing! She excelled at painting pictures of places and activities, such as folk-dancing.

Maidlin receives a letter of apology from Joy forwarded by Rosamond. She writes a pleasant answer. Immediately after Gail posts the letter, they receive a telegram from Rosamond to return quickly: Margaret has fallen down the well—

—Quick, Lassie! Timmy’s in the well! Go fetch the doctor!—

—and hurt her head and Joy needs her. Joy had been showing Ivor around the secret passages under the Abbey and the twins followed them and started larking about. Margaret fell into the well and Elizabeth jumped in after her, most fortunately, as there was water at the bottom of it. Elizabeth held up Margaret’s head until rescue comes. The girls race back to England. Maidlin feels that if she had been there the accident wouldn’t have happened, but both Rosamund and Gail scout that idea—it was Joy’s fault for not paying attention. All explanations are made and fences mended. Rosamund is engaged. She tells Gail that a school is moving in to the big house near the Rose and Squirrel teashop/crafts store. There is another little cottage nearby that Rosamund wishes to use as the school “tuck shop” where the students can buy sweets and ice cream. She offers Gail the position of tuck shop lady, and Gail accepts.

For Folk Dancers

Nada. But do not lose heart. The next installment will include quite a lot.

Filed Under: Abbey Girls, Uncategorized Tagged With: Abbey Girls, Camp Fire, Elsie J. Oxenham

Elsie J. Oxenham and A23_Maidlin to the Rescue; A Story of the Abbey Girls

November 1, 2020 By allisonmthompson Leave a Comment

Published in 1934, this installment takes place just before A22_Rosamund’s Victory. Like its two predecessors, Maidlin to the Rescue has the subtitle that provides the important information that this is part of the Abbey series. The book serves as an installment that shows Maidlin becoming more mature and capable. It also has the important role of introducing two teenaged girls who can be heroines for a couple of stories until the second generation grows old enough to be viable heroines.

There is no folk dancing until the last two pages.

Plot Synopsis (Contains Spoilers)

The story opens with Rachel (sixteen and a half) and Damaris (fifteen and a half) Ellerton out on the Yorkshire fells (hills) somberly discussing their plight—their aunt died suddenly several days earlier and they haven’t heard from their father, who has been in America for about eight years, in some time. They have no money and cannot go back to the school they love. Rachel is concerned that her sister needs more education, but Damaris is keen to get a job. They are presently living at a nearby farm as they can’t live alone at the family farm, Crossrigs.

They discuss selling the farm, but can’t bear to let it go out of the family. They talk about their wealthy cousin, Madalena di Ravarati, who has never written to them or visited them. The more impetuous Rachel thinks that she looks down on them, although Damaris suggests that perhaps she doesn’t know about their existence, as they arrived at the farm after she had left. They recall that their aunt had been recently visited by a Miss Baldry, who was opening a tea shop halfway up the mountain and who had mentioned that she needed help. They determine to run away and work for her rather than have cousin Maidlin take pity on them.

With Rachel in the lead, they write a rather nasty note to their cousin which in effect says that they are poor but don’t want her help in any way—however if she wishes to buy or rent the farm she may and their father will pay her back when he returns. They also write to the lawyer and the woman that they are staying with that they have gone to get a job.

They drag themselves up the mountain, wearing their “fell-running” shorts, and arrive at dawn, finding Miss Baldry’s house to be much smaller and dingier than Rachel’s imagination had painted. She feeds them and agrees to take them in on trial. Damaris laughingly says that the place should be called “Hiker’s Halt,” and Miss Baldry agrees and says that she wants the girls to wear their shorts when waiting on customers. This distresses Rachel very much. With the hard physical work and Miss Baldry’s unpleasant personality, both girls are soon very unhappy and realize that they have made a mistake, but don’t know what to do about it. As they move their things in, a paper containing Madalena’s address fluttered out of Rachel’s Bible and she replaces it under Miss Baldry’s eagle eye.

At the Abbey, Maidlin is very surprised to receive a telegram from a lawyer saying that the girls had run away. What girls? She questions her Aunt Ann Watson, who is sick in bed with bronchitis and a kind of depression, with something on her mind, and Ann finally confesses that, a year after Maidlin left the farm, her younger brother brought his daughters there to live while he went back to America to seek his fortune. She was anxious to keep Maidlin in the better social atmosphere of the Abbey and the Hall, so she said nothing about the changes in the family. Ann also reveals that, before she died, her estranged sister on the farm sent her word that the father was dead and that there was no money. Maidlin is stunned to realize that she has relatives on her mother’s side other than Aunt Ann. She then receives the girls’ rather horrible letter and tells Jen that she must go to help them. But where are they?

In the meantime, Miss Baldry, aware that the girls dislike her and that she has mismanaged them and they might run away, copies Maidlin’s address from the paper in the Bible and writes to her. She is hoping for a reward. Maidlin receives the letter and discusses it with Jen and here we get some strange and conflicting responses.  “Oh, the rotter!” they say of Miss Baldry, figuring that she must have obtained the address by going through the girls’ things (just not done, my dear!) and that she is giving them away behind their backs (jolly bad form!). However, in the next breath Jen points out that it will make it easier to find them! And to our modern eyes, Miss Baldry is doing the right thing in informing a relative of the minor children’s whereabouts.

Lady Jen Marchwood, leaving her husband at home to worry over the babies and croup (no one has had it yet, but he worries anyway), escorts Maidlin to Yorkshire, driven by Henderson the chauffeur, even though his wife is expecting a baby (isn’t there an under-chauffeur?). They stop at the Halt several times, not revealing who they are, and find the girls to be delightful. On one visit a group of ten hikers show up and Jen laughingly refers to herself and Maidlin as the Brown and Primrose Queens but does not reveal their real names. The pair pitch in to cut bread and make sandwiches.

The next day, Jen hears that the baby does have croup, and races home on the train. Maidlin goes to the Halt and reveals who she is and that she hadn’t known of the girls’ existence. She has quite a tantrum of angry sobbing about the nastiness of the letter, and it convinces Rachel and Damaris that they have made a mistake. They agree to go with her and Maidlin gives Miss Baldry ten pounds. The cousins are reconciled and Maid suggests that Rachel could train to be her secretary now that Biddy is married to her Frenchman, and that Damaris might learn to keep bees on the farm.

For Folk Dancers

Virtually nothing. The day after the girls all arrive back at Abinger Hall it is the Marchwood twins’ sixth birthday. At the party they dance Brighton Camp, Haste to the Wedding, Galopede (all easy dances suitable for children) and the singing game A-hunting we will go. They conclude with Sellenger’s Round, with the twins in the center, gravely bobbing curtseys to the dancers.

 

Filed Under: Uncategorized

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