Extract From The Diary Of Agnes Hughes

 

3rd August 1580

This morning as I awoke and the sun began to rise, I gave thanks to God for his love and mercy before dressing in preparation of the day ahead. As I folded back the shutters, my bedchamber was decorated with delicate golden shafts of early light, the oiled cloths at the window preventing any view upon the quiet street below, how I dream of someday looking through a glass window. As I soaked up the warm air, I was reminded of the tenant farm of my childhood when we had animal skins at the windows. These were darker than cloth and often smelled on hot days if not prepared properly, with small windows we were destined for a dark and gloomy existence, but that was another time not to be dwelt on now.

 

I suffered a minor mishap on my descent of the old oak stairs when I tripped and spilled the contents of a piss pot. By the grace of God, it fell to the steps below and missed the hem of my favourite woollen dress, it would have taken an age to clean and dry and so I was most thankful. Unfortunately, I may have reduced the value of the contents of the pot, and the night soil men who make the collection will think me foolish for my carelessness.

 

My beloved Thomas is far from home at the Bartholomew Fair in London for the task of buying new materials for our shop. It was my responsibility today to attend to the wants of our customers. There are some in the community who are not comfortable with the daughter of a pig farmer being cast in such a prestigious role. They know not of my education at the kind hands of a mistress, who upon employing me as a house servant, gave her time to my improvement with the hope of securing a comfortable future and fruitful marriage, both of which have been my good fortune to achieve.

 

The usual tasks of the day were constant on my mind. Food preparation takes so much of my time, and as Thomas is away, I was much rushed in my bread making. Thankfully, James, our 12-year-old apprentice, is most capable of fulfilling his role within the home. He makes frequent trips to the communal well, and I am left wondering if he may have encountered a young lady who has captured his interest. I increasingly find his help invaluable as Thomas and I are left without a son on whom we can lean.

 

 

 

The fire was a constant concern as well and I am ever grateful when I find it in full flame, and I am spared the task of employing the flint and steel to re-light it. As I had a pan of pottage suspended above the flames for the evening meal, I should not have wanted to lose it to poor fire keeping.

 

I received a letter today from my dear brother John; he flourishes in his position as a chandler in Bristol. It has been nigh on 2 years since his last communication, as he has been attempting to procure the tenancy of a small shop where he may be able to start out alone. My little brother with his own business! How proud my lowly parents would have been to see both their children in such respected positions.

 

In the garden today, I was relieved to see the teasels flourishing as I have a great need to tease some wool for winter bedding. The pear tree is laden with fruit not quite ripe for picking. My patience in the matter of pears is non-existent, for as soon as they begin to ripen and fall, we are overwhelmed with many bugs wanting to share our bounty. The rosemary I planted upon the death of my beloved son Luke, smells so fragrant and I am grateful to God that he has allowed the memory of him to be so fresh, for a while I am able to forget his rapid and unpleasant death, sweating sickness be damned! At least my sweet daughter Mary is fairing well in her position in a fine house upon the Mythe.

 

The day’s business passed with little of interest to recall, and I spent the late afternoon refreshing the floors with marjoram and rue, both with their own purpose. The evening meal was uneventful and well cooked. James was most grateful and ate every mouthful with great vigour. I fear he is growing rather too fast and may soon need more nourishment than I can provide. After a little sewing (I had need to tidy up a shirt for dear Thomas which he had torn whilst chopping wood), I went to Saint Mary’s to pray for the safe return of my husband and for safe passage through the night.

 

The light is fading fast as I write this account of the most ordinary of days. The time has come to close the shutters, place the curfew on the fire, and retire to my bedchamber once more. I shall pray that the night passes uneventfully, and I wake from a trouble-free sleep, may the bugs of the night not bite and no miasma reach beyond the safe confines of my bed curtains.

 

To hear more about Agnes Hughes and experience life in her home, visit The John Moore Museum for a Living History Tour with Agnes.

 

By Angela Dunsby