This week, we finally managed to install our new (not new ) item of furniture - a mid-18th Century grandfather clock. It's not bright and shiny like more modern ones, but a dark oak with a warm patina which the beeswax polish is drawing out. In order to set it up, we had to do a certain amount of research - how to hang the pendulum, where the weight went on the endless chain - and it got me thinking... where and when did certain divisions of time come from? The time periods which I have written either had household clocks or didn't, I have not written novels from the time of their invention. Clocks have been around for a long time, and the obsession with measuring time in an ordered fashion dates back to at least the ancient Sumerians. It was they who established a circular reading of time and, I imagine, the sixty seconds/minutes came about as much because it was an easy way to divide a circle as anything else. But it wasn't until much later that the precision of seconds ...
This week is the local music festival. This has meant that all writing endeavours have gone on hold while I work at my day job. But it did get me thinking about music in my historical fiction...
Music always plays a role in my books, whether it is Robert MacBeath's love of Jacobite songs, or the magic of The Fool's music as he serenades Edith to sleep. Loving stories on the edge of myth, it is easy to understand why music was deemed to be magical.
“Would you sing to me?” she begged, snatching his wrist as he moved towards the door. “Please. I have had no music since I was locked in here.”The fool paused and nodded as he pulled his hand free from hers. “What song would you have, Lady de Bois?”
“One to help me sleep safely.”
The fool’s eyebrows rose, and he gave a slight laugh. “The magic is in the singing, not the hearing. I can’t protect you with a song.”
“Did you sing to her?” Edith asked, her eyes imploring an answer. “You must have believed in their power then.”
“Yes, I sang to her.” He watched as she sat in the chair before he began singing a gentle lullaby. Edith could not recognise any of the words, she was not even sure there were any words, only a tune which carried her consciousness away.
“I have arrived unannounced and unexpected, Lady Barrington. It is I who should ask forgiveness of you.” He took in her looks now as he bowed his head, for she was in no way the wife he had expected his friend to have, yet at once Peters’ objections became clear. She had jet black hair that was fastened up in a thick red ribbon. Her eyes were exactly as Portland had described them, for they were like two stars in the midnight of her black face. She wore a pair of beautiful pearl earrings that only made her perfect smile more radiant. All the while that he took this in, she watched his gaze, trying to gauge what he was thinking.
“I am not what you expected, Lieutenant Fotherby. I can see that in your face.”
“Perhaps not,” Portland whispered in a tone that could have given the two words a hundred meanings.
“I confess,” Fotherby began as he stepped forward, taking her hand and bowing so low to kiss it. “My prejudices did not anticipate such a revelation. But all the same I am as spellbound as your husband by the image before me.”
Lady Barrington laughed as she looked across at her husband. “Lieutenant Fotherby, you are all the things Philip said you were. I am very pleased to have you as a guest.”
“Thank you, Lady Barrington. But tell me, do you prefer Mr Mozart’s work to that of Mr Haydn? For I find Haydn far more to my liking.”
“But I love Haydn!” she replied happily. “Indeed, last year I attended a concert he gave here in London. Only I find Mozart’s music so much harder to play that I am determined to conquer it.”
(The Year We Lived)
Of course, one of the most legendary musicians in history is not remembered for his music at all, but for the affect his music had. I am utterly fascinated by the lack of knowledge and the firm determination to solve the riddle of The Pied Piper of Hamelin. This remains open to so many interpretations and ideas. And the really interesting thing is: all of them can be proved right. It is not a case of eliminating the wrong answers so much as trying to resolve which one seems the "most right"! It's little surprise, then, that the Pied Piper appears in one of my short stories (which can be read for free HERE), and brushes shoulders with a number of others.
In more recent history, it is easy (for easy, read: doable) to research many of the events surrounding famous musicians. In Beneath Black Clouds and White, I slotted in a reference to Haydn's performance in London as a throwaway remark. Why? Well, partly because I had managed to find the exact time and date of the performance and felt rather proud of the fact(!), but also because it says a great deal about the two characters who were discussing the topic.
“You must forgive me, Lieutenant Fotherby. I have struggled with Mr Mozart’s sonata for so long, I was adamant that I should conquer it today.”“I have arrived unannounced and unexpected, Lady Barrington. It is I who should ask forgiveness of you.” He took in her looks now as he bowed his head, for she was in no way the wife he had expected his friend to have, yet at once Peters’ objections became clear. She had jet black hair that was fastened up in a thick red ribbon. Her eyes were exactly as Portland had described them, for they were like two stars in the midnight of her black face. She wore a pair of beautiful pearl earrings that only made her perfect smile more radiant. All the while that he took this in, she watched his gaze, trying to gauge what he was thinking.
“I am not what you expected, Lieutenant Fotherby. I can see that in your face.”
“Perhaps not,” Portland whispered in a tone that could have given the two words a hundred meanings.
“I confess,” Fotherby began as he stepped forward, taking her hand and bowing so low to kiss it. “My prejudices did not anticipate such a revelation. But all the same I am as spellbound as your husband by the image before me.”
Lady Barrington laughed as she looked across at her husband. “Lieutenant Fotherby, you are all the things Philip said you were. I am very pleased to have you as a guest.”
“Thank you, Lady Barrington. But tell me, do you prefer Mr Mozart’s work to that of Mr Haydn? For I find Haydn far more to my liking.”
“But I love Haydn!” she replied happily. “Indeed, last year I attended a concert he gave here in London. Only I find Mozart’s music so much harder to play that I am determined to conquer it.”
(Beneath Black Clouds and White)
In this, I also got the chance to put my own opinions onto my characters - always fun!
But researching music can also be a very tricky one - not least when you delve into the realm of folk songs. Many of the songs which we instantly associate with a certain time were, in fact, written years after the event. Several of the songs I had wanted to have Robert MacBeath singing in Caledon, were not written until the late eighteenth century, fifty years on from when he would be sitting there singing them! I might have got away with him making up a few but, being a stickler, I had to know I had got the research right.
And the list goes on... Whether it's songs or instruments or the social role it played, music sneaks into each of my writings. After all, they do say you should write what you know.
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