The weather this Christmas has been unseasonably mild. We still had a few brave roses nodding doubtfully, and little sprigs of campanula poscharskyana still clinging to life in the front tubs.
I lit the fire on Christmas Day, not because we needed it, but just because Christmas without a fire seems all wrong. So we sat round feeling uncomfortably warm!
Francis Kilvert, a young curate lodging at Ashbrook House, Clyro, during the 19th century, was not so lucky.
I lit the fire on Christmas Day, not because we needed it, but just because Christmas without a fire seems all wrong. So we sat round feeling uncomfortably warm!
Francis Kilvert, a young curate lodging at Ashbrook House, Clyro, during the 19th century, was not so lucky.
Rev. Francis Kilvert This is his diary entry for Christmas Day 1870:
'Sunday, Christmas Day
As I lay awake praying in the early morning I thought I heard a sound of distant bells. It was an intense frost.
I sat down in my bath upon a sheet of thick ice which broke in the middle into large pieces whilst sharp points and jagged edges stuck all round the sides of the tub like chevaux de frise, [spiked defensive structures] not particularly comforting to the naked thighs and loins, for the keen ice cut like broken glass. The ice water stung and scorched like fire. I had to collect the floating pieces of ice and pile them on a chair before I could use the sponge in my hands for it was a mass of ice.
The morning was most brilliant. Walked to the Sunday School with Gibbins and the road sparkled with millions of rainbows, the seven colours gleaming in every glittering point of hoar frost. The Church was very cold in spite of two roaring stove fires.'
'Sunday, Christmas Day
As I lay awake praying in the early morning I thought I heard a sound of distant bells. It was an intense frost.
I sat down in my bath upon a sheet of thick ice which broke in the middle into large pieces whilst sharp points and jagged edges stuck all round the sides of the tub like chevaux de frise, [spiked defensive structures] not particularly comforting to the naked thighs and loins, for the keen ice cut like broken glass. The ice water stung and scorched like fire. I had to collect the floating pieces of ice and pile them on a chair before I could use the sponge in my hands for it was a mass of ice.
The morning was most brilliant. Walked to the Sunday School with Gibbins and the road sparkled with millions of rainbows, the seven colours gleaming in every glittering point of hoar frost. The Church was very cold in spite of two roaring stove fires.'
Read more about Francis Kilvert and his Diary here: http://www.smr.herefordshire.gov.uk/guest_authors/Francis%20Kilvert
2 comments:
Oh wow you love your historical "ephemera" don't you? I like the picc of St Swithin overleaf... if only I wasn't so PC-illiterate I'd print that one out and stick it on me window. Here's wishing you a happy new year. I found your blog btw via a comment on another linked to another linked to mine...
Thanks so much for your encouragement, gledwood. Happy New Year!
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