This room is directly on the other side of the Ballroom and is the Supper Room. Look at the carpet, apparently it is a copy of the carpet that would have originally been made in England, they made it in narrow strips and then sewed it together. Looks way to modern and complicated for the time…
When you buy your entry ticket you also get a town map and a programme of what special talks or features were on for the day so you can be in a certain place at a certain time. We headed for the common…
On the Common an uprising was igniting, the villagers cache of gunpowder had been stolen, they blamed it on the loyalists (those loyal to the crown) and an angry outcry went up and a call to arms to storm the Governor’s mansion to demand some answers.
The character’s were so good, they did their bit and you watched from whatever vantage was available…
‘Locals’ were interspersed throughout the crowd of tourists, watching the uprising and commenting on what was being said, it was very well done.
Off they marched followed by the watching crowd, ‘To the Governors Mansion’!
You can go into any of the shops along the main street and some are selling their wares, they are actually selling equivalents of what they would have back in the day. When we entered Rosie couldn’t believe the array of goods for sale and asked what he would have sold…he said everything in here….from china tea sets, maple syrup, baskets, toys, lollies in jars, wine, old style clothing….the shop keeper serves the customers, but he is also playing his role, the town is very interactive, you speak to these people and ask questions and he answers them.
Doesn’t The Operator look dashing in his jaunty tri corn….matches his eyes. This one he would wear to the ball where he would show off his dance moves in the minuet.
Rosie asked how often the ships came in from England with goods to sell? The shopkeeper said it was erratic, but at least a couple of merchant ships a month were coming in, he had not had one for the last two months and stocks were getting a little low. The foodstuffs were regular but the fancygoods like cloth, ribbon and ladies accoutrement’s went very quickly as the English ladies did not like the coarse Virginia cotton to wear. Everything was sold on account, and written up in the store ledger, most of the account holders were plantation owners or business people who got paid twice a year when crops were harvested and that’s when accounts were settled.
There was a cobbler actually making shoes…
Beautiful gardens behind every house and a garden centre of sorts selling anything from wooden handmade rakes and brooms to wasp catchers. They also sold heritage plants and flowers from the time period….Rosie wants the wheelbarrow…
The Magistrate was at the courthouse today passing judgement on a few misdemeanours, we went inside to watch the proceedings of which there were three locals on trial today. Once again brilliantly acted and the rules of the day left no mistake who was in charge.
The wig maker was the most amusing and interesting occupant of Williamsburg! She made and maintained all of the hairpieces for the local dignitaries. No one of any standing had their own hair, it was all cut off and the ladies wore mob caps around the house when in private and had at least 4 wigs for differing social occasions.
As it was the evening of the ball at the Governor’s mansion the ladies had their hair in to be washed with lux soap, styled and trimmed with colours of their gowns. The wigmaker was a busy lady who didnt tolerate fools (which most of the nobility were, according to her…) Rosie was taking special interest in the amazing range and style of the mens wigs, which were all white and needed to be powdered. The type of mens hair piece you wore dictated your rank in society…..an engineers wig was terribly curly, row after row of curls…..not a good look Operator.
For those gentlemen that could not afford a whole head of hair there were pieces which had holes in the crown, like a bald spot…..your hat covered the hole and you hoped you didnt have to take your hat off….You know the poem…’Yankee Doodle went to town riding on a pony, stuck a feather in his cap and called it Macaroni’. A Yankee Doodle was the youngest son of the aristocracy, he wasnt going to inherit or have to go to University, he had an allowance, not many brains and normally went to Europe on an OE and then flounced around whoring and gambling…he wore a macaroni wig, with small curls just like its namesake, macaroni seen in Italy. Rosie was getting hungry and The Operator was getting thirsty, time for a stop and a visit to one of the Olde English Taverns in the Village.
The footpaths were dust and the street was littered with horse poo as the carriages ferried the tourists around, it was hot and humid and you really did pity those ladies in long skirts and fitted bodices who still looked so cool, calm and collected. This was one of the best museums Rosie and The Operator have ever been too, the fact that it was living and interactive was fantastic and an added bonus.
