So . . . what better way to combine all these interests than by holding medieval banquets in my house to which all my chums were invited?
I thought about that question long and hard and eventually came to realise that I didn't know a better way.
So . . . I decided to combine all these interests by holding medieval banquets in my house to which etc etc etc!
THE PREQUEL BANQUETS
The pictures above are the only two surviving of the first such banquet - well dinner really, it wasn't that grand. There were eight of us in total and the location was our dining room in a three bedroom semi in Beechwood Drive, Thorpe St Andrew in Norwich, about 1992. I cant be precise about the date but it was well before I joined the Norwich and Norfolk Mediaeval Association and began a long involvement in re-enactment.
I cant remember what was on the menu either, nor can I remember much of what went on but it whetted my appetite to be able to do more. I had made up some flimsy decorative shields and hung off the walls, covered up some modern furniture with blankets and used candlelight to camouflage the rest.
In 1994 we moved house to Turnham Green, Dussindale, also Thorpe St Andrew, to the house which would eventually contain the banqueting hall proper. The next banquet was a bit more involved (although it was still held in a dining room) because word had got out round the neighbourhood and pitched battles were fought in order to gain entrance
Jolly good job I had such a large garden eh?
Anyway we anticipated an evening of much mirth and goodly discourse supported by mountains of authentic food and oceans of assorted alcohol. We were not to be disappointed.
I have, by the way, been told a million times not to exaggerate
The figure second left in purple is Richard, otherwise known as Dick, and Dick features in his own little story a bit later on in this narrative at a subsequent banquet. And yes, in the foreground of the picture on the right amongst the pewter goblets, earthenware pitchers, and brass candlesticks, there IS a real human head, eyes agog, staring up at the ceiling with an apple stuck in its mouth.
Here's a close-up
It belonged - still does too - to elder son Aaron. Aaron has a sense of humour. I know not whence it comes.
This particular banquet was an excellent vehicle for the cooking, eating, drinking and socialising (see introduction above) but it was nonetheless held before I had the idea of creating a "Banquet Book", thus these pictures were taken without any accompanying record of what the recipes were, what jolly japes took place, and so on. That would come with the later conversion of the garage to a banqueting hall.
So let us take the opportunity whilst we yet may to enjoy a few snaps of a relatively civilized evening. Civilized evenings were not to last.
No names, no pack drill - the innocent must be protected
The black Gothic arches in the background are painted onto the reverse of rolls of wallpaper and sellotaped into position to cover up modern French windows at the back of the room. Tablecloths are blankets so spillages (inevitable) presented no problem and most of the tableware came from junk, sorry, I mean antique shops.
No I dont - JUNK shops. Buy things nobody else wants and they're cheap. Brilliant!!
The first blog in this series outlines why and how we converted the garage. Once that had been completed I decided to record all sorts of details about each of the banquets we would hold.
So I did.
They follow!
THE INAUGURAL BANQUETS
LET THE FEASTING BEGIN !!
On Saturday 11th August 2001 the first of two inaugural banquets was held to celebrate the conversion. We decided on two because there were several close friends we wanted to invite but couldn't fit them all in at once.
The menu was:
Chicken and green herb pottage with rastons
Chicken and green herb pottage with rastons
Cheese-baked mushrooms
Salted lemon lamb
Honey-glazed root vegetables
Ember tart
Candied peel and marchpane sweetmeats
Salmon poached in white wine served on a bed of fennel
Mushroom pasties
Roasted beef with grated fresh horseradish and a pine nut/parsley sauce
Marinated anchovies
Honey nut conserve
Lenten slices
Hedgehogs with a sage and lemon wine syrup sauce
French and Welsh cheeses
Mead, ale wine and cider
At this very first banquet the precedent was set that guests had to come expecting to have to work for their food, each having to provide some sort of entertainmant for the others. This requirement went out with the invitations so everybody knew what to expect and had time to prepare. Without exception and throughout the time that the banquets were held, every guest entered into the spirit of the occasion and some fantastic evenings ensued. For example, at this event one couple had to write a short story involving the Pope, a harlot, a bowl of cherries, a herd of deer and three tons of dried fish. Funnier than it sounds.
Live medieval music was provided by David and Valerie Marshall, musicians known to many, many re-enactors. When he initially heard about the project Dave had somewhat rashly said "Yeah, right, if you do that we'll come and play for free".
Rash because he said it in front of witnesses.
He was ever a man of his word however and both he and his wife Valerie provided (forgive the food pun) the icing on the cake. Superb.
David and Valerie
........ and doing what they did best.......
Andy and Anne, long-time friends. Andy and I met in 1973, both employed by Barclays Bank at the time
Ian and Jackie, Ian and I were work colleagues
Dear ol' Mum. She was eighty-odd here (and by that I mean she was eighty and very odd). Eventually passsed away at the age of 92 having had a lifelong interest in history. And tomfoolery.
Me, accompanied by a ventriloquist's dummy. To remove any lingering doubt, the dummy is on the left.
You may well be wondering why I have a ventriloquist's dummy on my lap. David and Valerie told me they would be bringing another guest - his brother - which I thought was a bit off, but as it turned out it they brought what you see above.
A view down the table before the pottage bowls were removed. I found out by bitter experience that if you are cooking, serving, clearing, introducing the entertainments and drinking - especially drinking - all at the same event, then get any photos early if you want decent ones!
The second inaugural banquet was three weeks later, just enough time to have finished the washing up!
The menu:
Braised leek, fennel and ginger soup with rastons
Roasted lemon chicken
Ember tart
Green salat
dalmon poached in mead
Marchpane and candied fruit sweetmeats
Pork in egerdouce sauce
Mixed fruit pye with carob cream
Cheese castle
My original intention with the Banquet Book, from which the contents of this series of blogs are taken, was simply to record menus, guests and pictures. The evnts which took place on the night of this second banquet however deserve some sort of record in their own right, especially the antics of one Richard Wolsey Esq., which feature a little later.
So strongly do they feature, and so great was the impact upon guests, neighbours and passing dogwalkers out in the street, that they have been entitled "Dick at Large" and they have a short section all to themselves.
The evening began in a civilized fashion - actually ALL the banquets began in a civilized fashion - but rapidly deteriorated to a level that almost beggars polite description.
You will note the appearance of salted lemon lamb on the previous banquet menu and roasted lemon chicken on this. The roasting, indeed the salting also, are not difficult to achieve satisfactorily. It is possible to distribute both heat and salt evenly and delicately.
Less so with lemon.
Sometimes the lemon juice is somewhat patchy in its distribution. Which sometimes results in unsuspecting diners eating a morsel of meat with rather more lemon on it than they had anticipated. The above picture shows the innocent wide-eyed amusement on some guests' faces at the oh-so-comical predicament in which John Coles found himself.
The below picture shows John Coles himself, with the predicament apparent in his facial expression, clenched teeth and strained neck muscles.
A touch too piquant perchance?
My, how we chortled . . . . .
The evening wore on and appreciation was shown in the time-honored traditional fashion of audiences everywhere at the wit, humour and general repartee on offer, particularly Noel O'Halloran's ten verse epic poesy concerning the inadvisability of eating horse dung.
The afore-mentioned Richard Wolsey came with his wife Amanda. He was suffering from a variety of 'orrible diseases - and that's 'Orrible with a capital "O" - which he put down to having been spat on by a witch when he was a much younger peasant. Indeed, this was the story he had prepared as his entertainment offering and most entertaining it was too.
It was however nowhere near as entertaining as what took place very shortly after he had finished telling it. This is how he and Amanda looked at the beginning of the evening
She is perfect, he is pox- and pestilence-ridden.
He was to become rapidly alcohol ridden too
But that's another story.
In fact it's the next section !
DICK AT LARGE
Dick began his tale (witch, spit, target, see above) a spellbinding narrative which had some guests quite literally laughing into their eating bowls so hard they were likely to lose their headgear.
I produce as evidence of this, Exhibit One, the following photograph
With the benefit of hindsight, Dick's eyes give a bit of a clue to his worsening condition too.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing however and it was apparent to no-one that evening, that time, round that table, that Dick had decided that that which had gone in fairly rapidly needed to come out - rather more rapidly. Dick was feeling a trifle "delicate".
In fact he was totally sloshed, so much so that he decided he would leave the room, which was a good idea. Less good, although amazingly entertaining, was his garbled, dribbled, mumbled, and occasionally giggled, decision to leave by the window.
We didn't have the heart to restrain the fellow, plus we could all recognise a free floorshow when we saw one developing, and so we shuffled out of the way of the window to permit his unhindered fenestrated extramuralisation.
Yes, we let him climb out of the window. This was not a particularly quick process, which was handy as it allowed me time to get my camera ready by taking it outside so as to snap whatever was to take place.
First, Dick peered out of the window assessing the drop
The above picture, taken from a different angle as I am a very enthusiastic and creative photographer, again shows Dick but this time a touch closer. Close enough to see that he is just beginning to suffer . . . . . .
He didnt suffer long. He was sick in the gutter. BUT he was well-mannered enough to be sick in the gutter on the other side of the road!
Wasn't that considerate!
You will notice that the question finishes with an exclamation mark rather than a question mark.
That is because the question is entirely rhetorical.
I am loathe to leave Dick sitting on the pavement feeling unwell. I would love to include a picture of Dick smiling.
Good Lord! Look at this
The next one! The next one!
There. Dick is happy now. Dick is smiling. But Dick isn't standing up. Dick can't stand up. Dick didn't stand up for a considerable period of time either.
Silly ol' Dick ........... heh heh heh
Meanwhile, inside around the banqueting table, the fun continued
On the left, match the saint to the pilgrim badge. On the right, bury your face somewhere warm. Decisions, decisions.
Fear not, gentle reader, the provider of the warm place is Della, wife of the face buryer, so although we possibly pushed the boundaries of decorum a smidgeon that night, nothing was too outrageous.
"Outrageous" did nonetheless arrive and can be found by simply referring to any - and I mean ANY - of the later banquets in this series!
Thus ended the second inaugural banquet. Dick found his way home.......
....... and I swapped the ventriloquist's dummy for a far more convivial horn of mead.
There is a postscript to this. The following late afternoon I was in the front garden pottering about, having admired the pile of dried vomit clinging to the kerbstones on the opposite side of the road like some awful termite mound when my neighbour, actually the chap whose house fronted said kerbstones, came outside and also decided to potter about. He complained about the disgraceful behaviour of the yobbish drunken football fans who had spewed in the road and on the footpath following the match the night before. There had been a televised match of some importance the night before - I can't remember which - and he put the mess on the highway down to them.
"Yes yes" I said "Dreadful behaviour. Football fans, Yobs. Absolute yobs. Tut tut............"
He will only know the truth if he reads this.
For Banquets 3, 4 and 5 travel onwards and upwards to
