Esa inghean Donnchaidh was one of the first people I met in the SCA and a dear friend, so I was thrilled when I heard that she was going to receive her Laurel. While I unfortunately was unable to attend the glorious event, I was able to contribute in a small way by writing an introduction to court for her. This was then translated into Scots Gaelic by Naran Noyon, who heralded her entry for her elevation.
The evening star rises, heralds last light of the day. Sun strikes wave-washed islands, inflames sanguine Brodgar, Stanness, and sleeping Maeshowe. See striding forth from stones’ heart broch-builder’s blood-borne kindred, a sea-eyed advocate and true-tongued teacher, scholar of Caithness and the womb’s ways, the esteemed and beloved Esa inghean Donnchaidh.
Scots Gaelic Translation
One of the faults in my education is my lack of Scots Gaelic, so this translation was wonderfully done by by Naran Noyon. The text below is not his final version, and any transcription errors are mine; I hope to update this post soon with the final version that also includes the correct diacritics. As a translator myself, it was exciting to have someone translate my words, and I hope to hear more about his translation choices.
Reul an Fheasgair ag eirigh, A gairm solas mu dheireadh dh’en latha, Buailidh grian eileanan air am fliuchadh le tonnan, ‘Cuir teine ri Brodgar fuilteach , Staness ‘s Maeshowe nan cadal, Faic Ise, A tighinn gu dana a-mach a cridhe chlachach, Fior nighean Bhroch-togalaiche. Bean-tagraidh le suilean-mhara, Tidsear na fior theanga, Ban-Eolaiche Ghallaibh ‘s Doighean machlaig, Gaolach, Urramaichte. Esa Ingean Donnchaidh.
I was extremely excited when Kolfinna Valravn asked me to write the text for Valgard av Mors’ Laurel scroll, and even more excited when I found out she was basing it on the Franks Casket (full details here!). I knew that Mors is an amazing smith (making the Franks Casket, with its depiction of Wayland the Smith, even more appropriate), but she had a few additional suggestions: skulls are good, and make it metal. In addition, the space we had was quite tiny, which I love – I love space constraints that require me to write something perfect for the individual in as few words as possible. Since we were in my happy home of Anglian artifacts, I of course had to write alliterative verse; since I had been reading more alliterative verse in the last few months, I had a much better sense of where I could bend the constraints of the form in the process. Once I latched on to an opening phrase and a few specific images, the poem sprung almost fully-formed, only needing some minor editing and adjusting to make sure the flow was as perfect as possible.
I was quite excited when Lady Esa inghean Donnchaid announced the Atlantian Persona Development Challenge, as I love challenges that give people an opportunity to expand their in-depth historical knowledge while creating things! You can read more about the challenge itself here, as well as see the displays as people complete items.
The challenge itself spans the spring-to-fall reign (April 2 to October 1) and requires that four objects be completed over the time. While the idea is to display at four events (two Coronations, Crown, and Pennsic), the projects can be works-in-progress until the final event.
For this challenge, I am focusing on my 7th-century Northumbrian Anglian persona. I have recently been doing a research deep-dive into Anglian garb, so I hope to use this as an opportunity to expand my wardrobe in a more accurate manner.
This page is my landing page for my entries. Below, you will find a description of each item I plan, with regularly updated pictures and links to longer posts (once they exist!).
Item 1: Winingas
Winingas, or leg wraps, are commonly seen in Migration-era Scandinavian men’s outfits (“Viking”) as well as later Saxon men’s garb (11th century). While there is little physical evidence regarding any leg coverings in 7th-century England, men must have covered their legs with something, and winingas are as likely as anything. There’s also a possibility that women wore winingas under long skirts in cold weather. While I primarily do women’s garb, I do have plans to make a masculine kit, and winingas will be useful in cold weather for either.
For weaving, I plan to use the Romney fleece that I processed in 2019 and spun in 2020. In 2020, I dyed half of the yarn with indigo (which is chemically indistinguishable from woad). I plan to use the undyed as the warp and the dyed as the weft. For weaving, this blog post may end up being quite useful.
Item 2: Ring Pouch
I made a ring pouch for my fate garb, but it doesn’t go with most of my garments. For this, I would like to model the pouch off historical ones that had a leather outside and weft-faced lining.
Item 3: Dress
In my Anglian garb deep-dive, I’ve been hypothesizing several different dress constructions. I plan to make one for this project.
Item 4: TBD
I have several ideas for my final item, but I will reveal that as I progress on the other items.
In the middle of 2020, I began work on an appliquéd banner of my arms, using a large scrap of green wool (from Ysabeau’s cloak) and scraps of gold and white silk. I handsewed the tube to fit around a hanging rod, wove the strap for hanging out of silk, started embroidering the lozenges for my device, and then… let it languish for a year.
After regarding the banner for a long time, I realized I’d made the base too big for regular usage. Mostly, I was annoyed that I couldn’t hang it well on a door (way too big) and that, for most of the year, the pole was smashing into the doorjamb. I also had the opportunity to see several other people’s banners, which gave me a better sense of what worked (and that my original was incredibly large). I also used several people’s banners to decorate shared space, so I had a better sense for what strap configurations worked (or didn’t).
So, I cut the background down, fixed the tube, cut down the rod, and sanded small divots into the rod for the strap. While I previously had just tied on the strap, this time I sewed it down, with both a wide hanging loop and two smaller loops that could be attached to something else (versatility!). Then, I set down to complete the rest of the embroidery and applique. The lozenges were split-stitch embroidered with faux-silver thread in a knotwork pattern of my design. The horse’s design was adapted from a horse on the Sutton Hoo helmet, embroidered with a combination of satin and chain stitch. The horse and the lozenges were made of one layer of silk and one layer of linen for stability separate from the base, and then sewn on after.
And, because I’m extra, I covered up the applique stitches with chain stitch embroidery on the reverse/wrong side.
While the banner isn’t perfect (it definitely needs a lot of steaming and hanging to stretch out some of the wrinkles!), I’m glad that it’s done, and I’m looking forward to displaying it in 2022.
This is the story of the Five Calamities of Fiffaru, the Disaster Lyre.
In 2019, my friend Mattheus Dupuy showed up to a local practice with a Germanic lyre. He let me noodle on it, and I instantly fell in love. After letting me borrow his lyre for a bit, he offered to help me build an Oberflacht lyre using instructions from Michael J. King — my first woodworking project! In a day of woodworking, we managed to get the crosspiece cut, the body shaped, and over half of the soundbox hollowed out. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, the router slipped and cut a large curve in the back before we noticed. This was the First Calamity. After talking about hollowing the whole thing out and slapping on a backpiece, we broke for the day.
The lyre sat in my garage for nearly two years. With the plague marching the lands, I didn’t have access to the tools to finish it, and over winter I didn’t have a warm space to work on it, either. Then warm weather hit, vaccinations were imminent, and I felt the need to get this sucker done. I had an electrical drill, a coping saw, and pure stubbornness. I had neither a workbench nor wisdom. Despite this, over a weekend I managed to get the majority of the body cut out via strategic drilling and very difficult sawing. Unfortunately, as I started to hollow closer to the lyre’s arms, the lyre cracked where the two arms met. This was the Second Calamity.
I decided to peg and glue the headpiece when this happened, to provide stability (since I didn’t have a proper dowel to peg it with, I sliced up an old bamboo knitting needle). I spent a long time trying to find the best glue for the job, but I couldn’t find any recommendations, so I settled on standard wood glue. After finishing the headpiece, I glued the break, clamped it all tightly, and left it for a week or so.
Because I had limited tools and the structure had already been compromised, I decided to simply even out the hollowing and not even attempt to make the front and back boards flush with the frame.
I used wood glue to attach the soundboards, pressed the whole thing with some handweights, and let it dry.
Around this time is when I discovered the Third Calamity: mismatched holes. I had planned for a six-string lyre. Mattheus gifted me a bridge of bog oak for six strings, as well as a horn tailpiece, which I drilled for six strings. But I did my math wrong, and drilled only five holes in the headpiece, with no space to cram in a sixth. Luckily, I could skip one slot on the bridge, and I was able to fit a seventh hole on the tailpiece so that the strings could still be roughly equally-spaced. Thus, the lyre became a pentatonic lyre by accident.
This was not the only issue involving the pegs. I didn’t drill the whole way through, as I didn’t want them to be visible from the back; however, I made some of the pegs too shallow, and the leftmost one in particular had trouble going in. So, I decided to deepen some of the holes — and promptly went through the back on the leftmost. I managed to not do that on the other four, but this was still the Fourth Calamity.
Before stringing, I wanted to apply a finish. However, I couldn’t find any reccomendations for a finish that were newbie-friendly and non-combustible (hi, linseed oil!), so I decided to just use a mix of mineral oil and beeswax, which I already had on hand for wooden chopping boards.
Finally, it was time for stringing! I had purchased a bunch of guitar string sets, so I chose the best selection of nylon strings from those. I was a little at a loss for how to attach the tailpiece, but other lyres I had used employed either fishing line, fake sinew, or plastic-wrapped wire. I had some of the latter available, so I strung it up, but upon tensioning the strings this snapped, being sliced through by the horn tailpiece (the Fifth Calamity). I tried a few fixes, then took some files to the holes and smoothed them out. I no longer trusted the wire, though, so I wrapped part of the tailpiece holes with silk thread and fingerloop braided a tie. It held.
By this point, I had decided to name the lyre Fiffaru, which translates to Five Calamities (from fifand fær, which pluralizes to faru). Despite being the Disaster Lyre, it sounds pretty good! While I don’t have a performance video of this, please enjoy the first recorded noodling upon it:
Overall, I’m quite proud of Fiffaru, and its name is rather tongue-in-cheek. This was my first woodworking project, and my first instrument! At the end, I have a pretty beautiful instrument that sounds nice and will hold up well as it’s dragged to events, and because of the calamities I now have a dedicated pentatonic lyre. It’s an overall win!
Finally, in addition to the plans from Michael J. King, I found a few additional websites useful:
When Hakon hábrok was placed on vigil to consider joining the Order of the Chivalry, I joined the Worthies to speak as a member of the populace. I was deeply honored to be asked to deliver this speech, and since Hakon is also a bard, I had to give it in verse. The verse itself is fairly loose Old English alliterative verse; I played with both line-length and alliterative structure to best suit the message.
From Ealawynn Maeru, alias Ela –
Gracious greetings, guests and friends.
Peers do plead their pieces of wisdom,
but I proclaim proudly for the populace.
What should the chivalry show us in deeds?
What weighs more worthy than wielding arms,
swift swords swinging ably,
all adversaries overwhelmed in battle?
No – a knight must be more—
prowess is purely part of the whole.
So what should the chivalry show us in deeds?
Listen, with silent lips and unlocked ears.
Contemplate, consider, and consult counsel;
weigh wisdom and wield caution.
Ignore self-interest; favor insight—
then speak, and lead.
This calling of chivalry is an arduous quest.
Many folk fail this formidable task.
But Hakon hábrok holds these!
Contemplation, counsel, consideration, and discernment:
if these uncommon attributes are the essence of chivalry,
then I call Hákon hábrok “knight.”
Elevate him to that order promptly.
The populace praises it as proper and just.
When I found out that Iselda de Narbonne was going to receive her Laurel, I may have demanded to make her mantle. I don’t know. It’s all a little fuzzy.
Due to life, the timeline on construction got a little tight, so the foundation seams were all machine sewn. However, every single visible stitch was hand-sewn, and the applique and beads were done entirely by hand. The fabric and thread is 100% silk. Every fabric used is a two-tone that shimmers when in motion, some more subtly than others. The pearls are glass Swarovski pearls.
I was asked to say something about the mantle as it was presented to her, but initially all I could think of was “A badass bard deserves a badass mantle, and I hope this makes you cry.” However, inspiration struck two nights beforehand, so I wrote her a poem that I read:
From sweet soil sprouts the laurel,
But limbs and leaves with labor grow
dewy drupes. Devotion and time
Furnished fruits fair to the ear,
Foliate and flourishing, brought forth
Verdant voices in choral concordance.
Now a mantle marks the mastership attained
Proclaims to peers: perceive this Laurel
with seeds of song to sow and nourish.
Amang ic seowede nihtlang ic sticode me foroft.
Æt þære wæfersyne wundormentles, þīn wopdropum ic ahope.
The last two lines, in Old English, translate directly to “While I sewed through the night, I stabbed myself often. At the spectacle of the wonder-mantle, I hope for your tears.” In other words, “I hope it makes you cry.”