A Regency Road Reference

So often when writing a novel set in the Regency, a writer has to rely on references that come second, third, or even fourth-hand. We read diaries and letters that are often edited by children and grandchildren—meaning the children mention the scandal and decry it, but the grandchildren simply want to moralize or white-wash events. We scan biographies--some brilliant and some shabby beyond belief. And we read books written about the Regency. But sometimes a novelist needs more.

When writing about characters that live in the Regency, I’ve often needed to get into those character's heads. We need to see how they lived. We need first-hand experience. I've been known to read by candlelight—truly an eye-straining experience—brandish a sword, which came into handy in several novels, and even try a pen and ink to see what it's really like.

One book that offers a first-hand experience into the Regency is Cary's New Itinerary.

At the end of the eighteenth century, John Cary was commissioned by the Postmaster-General to survey all the principal roads in England. He did this by walking these roads, pushing a wheel connected to a counter, which kept a tally of the number of rotations and then produced an accurate mileage.

Between 1787 and 1831, Cary put his knowledge to use and published, among other books, the New English Atlas, The Travellers' Companion, the Universal Atlas of 1808, and Cary's New Itinerary. The maps and surveys have some of the most accurate and valuable data about the structure of the Regency world. They also provide an insight into how people traveled in the Regency. It was a terrific book that helped with my novella Border Bride, which had an elopement to Scotland, and several other stories ended up with travelers, and I needed the details to bring life into the books.

Published in 1815, the fifth edition of Cary's which I own goes on to explain that it is, "an Accurate Delineation of the Great Roads, both direct and cross throughout, England and Whales, with many of the Principal Roads in Scotland, from an actual admeasurement by John Cary, made by command of his Majesty's Postmaster General."

There's more detail provided at the front of the book in an ‘advertisement’ that's really more of a preface.

The information alone on roads and distances, with fold-out maps provided, has helped me sort out the practical problems that face any Regency writer—such as, how far is it really between London and Bath? And what roads might one take? However, Cary's offers much more.

Cary's divides into neat, organized sections. The man was obviously methodical. The first section lists the direct roads to London—as in all roads lead to this metropolis. The next section gives a list of principal places—i.e., larger towns, that occur along the cross-roads. A cross-road is a road that crosses one of the direct roads into London. At this point, you begin to see how London-centric this world really was. As someone living outside of London, it would be your goal to get to a major town, and then you could get to London. Cary, living in London, wrote his book for outward-bound Londoners, and that is how the book is organized.

The next section is as important to a Regency writer as it would have been to someone traveling in the Regency—it is a list of coach and mail departures. This includes the name of the London inn from which the coaches departed, the towns each coach passed through, the mileage, the departure time, and the arrival time. It's an utter godsend if you have to get your heroine to Bath at a certain hour on the coach. I can also picture Regency Londoners pouring over this information, planning short trips to the seaside, or to watering towns.

The next section lists all direct roads, as measured from key departure points in London, but this is not just a dry list of mileage. Descriptive notes are tucked into various columns to describe houses of note and distinctive sights. For example, if you're going to Wells from London, then, "Between Bugley and Whitbourn, at about 2 m(iles) on l(eft) Longleat, Marquis of Bath; the house is a Picture of Grandure, and the Park and Pleasure Grounds are very beautiful." This was an era in which slower travel meant taking the time to look at surroundings.

Another section provides a similar treatment for cross-roads, and not to be overlooked, Packet Boat sailing days are listed for England's various sea ports, just in case an intrepid traveler whishes to travel abroad.

Finally, Cary's provides an index to Country Seats, or as Cary's notes, "In this Index the Name of every resident Possessor of a Seat is given, as well as the Name of the Seat itself, wherever it has a distinctive Appellation." This is actually a list from the 1811 returns to Parliament, as noted in the book. In the Regency, this actually would have been a much used feature, for it would allow a traveler to look up and visit various great houses and country seats. It was a time, after all, when visitors expected the great houses to always be open for show, and to be gracious in their hospitality.

Overall, Cary's is not a book that will give you insight into the politics of the Regency, nor into the social structure of that world. However, between its worn covers lays the description of the Regency world that can put you back into that era, just as if you were traveling the roads of England.

The Art of Letter Writing in Regency England, Part II

After finishing the second book in my Widow’s Club series, I wanted to share my research on letters, letter writing, and the post during the Regency. My characters wrote a lot of letters (as did most gentlemen and ladies of the Regency) Since I wanted to share some of the more interesting things I found out about the art of letter writing during the era, I devised a short series of posts on this topic, and this month I’m focusing on quill pens.

Quill pens were the only writing implement available during the Regency era. Steel nib pens don’t arrive on the scene until the 1830s, so quills were necessary for writing not only letters but novels and other documents as well. The most popular bird feathers for quills were the swan, the crow, and the goose. Swan quills made a very broad stroke; crow feather quills made a very fine line and were often used by ladies who wanted to write an elegant hand in their letters. But goose quills were by far the most popular feathers for making quills. If you want to learn how the very long process of making a quill was accomplished, please see Kathryn Kane’s article “The Quill—The Regency Pen” for all the details. Suffice it here to say that one goose could produce 20 quills per year. With quills being the sole source of pens, most of the quills used in England during the Regency were imported from the Norse countries of Norway and Iceland, from The Netherlands, Germany, Poland and Russia. After the protracted processing, the quills were sold in stationer’s shops in lots of twenty-five or fifty. As the nibs wore down, the writer had to re-cut the quill with their own pen knife. Once it had been cut sufficiently up the barb, it was discarded and a fresh quill taken up. Jane Austen penned her novels with a goose quill, as did other Regency writers such as Charlotte and Emily Bronte. And while I wouldn’t suggest writing anything substantial with one now (even though I do write my first drafts long hand now even I, a hard core historian, would not attempt to pen my novels this way), I may just try letter writing with a pen—by candlelight—to give me that certain connection to my period, to go deeper into the experiences of my hero and heroine, and revel once more in the world of the past.

Treasure Houses of England: Harewood

Harewood House in Yorkshire

© Cheryl Bolen

HISTORY

The history of Harewood goes back to ancient times, and structures date from the 12th (Harwood Castle) and 14th centuries (Gawthorpe Hall). Remnants of the castle remain on the estate, and excavation work is now being done on Gawthorpe Hall which was demolished in the 1770s when construction on Harewood House was completed.

In 1739 the Harewood and Gawthorpe estates were purchased by Henry Lascelles, who had made a large fortune in the West Indies sugar trade.  Following his death in1753, his son Edwin took possession of Harewood.  Construction on Harewood House began 1759 by a who’s who of 18th century builders and designers: builder John Carr, interior designer and architect Robert Adam, landscape architect Capability Brown, and furniture maker Thomas Chippendale.  Edwin Lascelles supervised the construction himself. The house became habitable in 1771 although work continued throughout the 1770s.

When Edwin Lascelles died in 1795, the estate went to his cousin who was made Earl of Harewood, and the house has remained in the family ever since. In 1843 the third Earl employed Charles Barry, architect of the Houses of Parliament. Barry was asked to heighten  the wings of the house, to alter the front and rear facades, and to create a new formal garden on the south side of the building.  He also remodeled  a number of rooms.  Since then, the basic structure of the house has remained intact.

The 6th Earl was married to Princess Mary, Princess Royal, daughter of George V and the aunt of Queen Elizabeth. Princess Mary lived at Harewood for 35 years and died there in 1965.

Today the house is still the family seat of the Lascelles family. David Lascelles is the 8th Earl. The house and grounds have been transferred into a trust ownership structure under the management of the Harewood House Trust. Harewood House is listed as one of the 10 Treasure Houses of England.

HOUSE

Built by John Carr of York, furnished by master furniture-maker Thomas Chippendale, with interiors by the celebrated Robert Adam, in the setting of one of Capability Brown's finest landscape, it is not surprising that Harewood House is one of the 10 great Treasure Houses of England.

The exterior of the house is a product of Carr and Barry, with the latter having the final say. The house consists of a central block with adjoining wings which are connected to the main house with one-story links.  The front entrance is dominated by a pediment and six Corinthian columns.  The south front features Italianate terraces designed by Barry. 

Harewood's State Bed

The interior of the house is pure Robert Adam:  soaring, beautifully painted ceilings; elaborate plasterwork; ornate fireplaces; and striking mixed color schemes. Although he had to work with fixed room sizes, Harewood House is considered one of Adam’s greatest accomplishments.  Chippendale also had a great influence on the design of the house which still contains an impressive collection of his furniture.  In fact, Harewood House was the largest commission of Chippendale’s career (10 years and  £10,000).

Of special interest is the state bed in the state bedroom.  A popular fashion of the 18th century was to have a state bedroom suite reserved for visiting royalty or heads of state.  In the 19th century Barry did away with the state suite and converted the bedroom into a sitting room (later used by Princess Mary as her sitting room).  After Barry’s alteration, Chippendale’s state bed was put in storage for 150 years!  In 1999 £200,000 was finally raised to restore the bed and the state bedroom, which is now a highlight of the tour.

Although all the state rooms are impressive, especially noteworthy is the gallery which includes paintings by Titian, Tintoretto, Giovanni Bellini and El Greco as well as family portraits by Gainsborough, Reynolds, Romney, Hoppner and Lawrence. Another interesting feature is that Harewood House has three libraries (the main library, the old library, and the Spanish library) with more than 11,000 books.  Also of special interest is the china room which contains an important collection of Sèvres porcelain bought in the early 19th century and a 1779 Bleu de Roi tea service that belonged to Queen Marie-Antoinette.

GROUNDS

The grounds are a joint product of Brown’s “natural” setting and Barry’s formal garden.  The most obvious manifestation of Brown’s “natural” design is the man-made lake which can be viewed from Barry’s terraces. Barry’s most spectacular contribution to the grounds are the intricate geometric flowerbeds that run the entire width of the south front.

There is a tea-room with seating on Barry’s terrace that overlooks the formal garden and Brown’s landscape.--Cheryl Bolen's newest release is Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure. Here's a picture of Cheryl and Dr. Bolen having afternoon tea on the Harewood terrace. 

Insanity of the Aged in the Regency Period

By Guest Blogger Bliss Bennet 

When I was in the planning stages of my latest novel, I decided to have one of my secondary characters, the father of one of my protagonists, be afflicted by early onset Alzheimer’s disease. But was Alzheimer’s disease, particularly in its early onset version, known during the Regency period? A dip into the history of medicine was clearly in order.

Alzheimer’s disease as we currently understand it—a neurodegenerative disease that leads to dementia—was not described until the early twentieth century. But cognitive decline in the elderly had been recognized as an affliction far earlier. One of the earliest references to such failing in old age can be found in the works of the ancient Greek physician Pythagoras, who lived during the 7th century B. C. Pythagoras divided a human life into five distinct stages, the last two (63 to 80, and 81 and older) of which he named the “senium,” or what we would now call old age. During the final stage of life (an age to which only a very few of ancient peoples survived) Pythagoras noted, “the system returns to the imbecility of the first epoch of the infancy.”

Our word “senile,” which originally only meant “belonging to, suited for, or incident to old age,” stems from the Greek term “senium.” The first medical man to use the term “senile” in reference to the cognitive decline of the aged was the Scottish pathologist William Cullen, who in 1776, proposed classifying all diseases into four groups, one of which he called “Neuroses,” or nervous diseases. One such neurosis, Cullen proposed, is “Amentia senilis,” or decay of perception and memory in old age.

The word “senile” defined in this more narrow way, though, did not come into common usage until the middle of the nineteenth century. But even if people did not have an exact medical term during the Regency period to describe mental decline in the elderly, such decline was clearly recognized by both the medical community and the public at large.

In order to understand how my protagonist would react to her father’s sudden mental decline, I also wanted to know how were people afflicted by senile dementia might be treated during the Regency period. I learned that before the nineteenth century, people judged mentally insane were typically incarcerated in prisons, not hospitals, and were subject to what today we would deem horrific treatment—shackled, bled, purged, blistered, beaten. In his 1806 book Treatise on Insanity, French physician Philippe Pinel was the first to take issue with such practices, arguing that madness was not a crime, but a disease, and those suffering from it should not be imprisoned or treated with violence. Such arguments proved controversial, both to governments and to the public at large; many thought Pinel himself insane for making such claims, and argued that he should be imprisoned, along with other madmen. But over the course of the nineteenth century, Pinel’s humanitarian reforms gradually became more widely accepted.

 Pilippe Pinel at the Salpêtrière by Tony Robert-Fleury (1876) 

Pinel orders the removal of chains from patients at the

Parish Asylum for insane women. Credit: Wikipedia

My story, set in 1822, fell right in the midst of this major cultural shift in the treatment of the mentally ill. Some people might believe that a madman should be incarcerated, treated like a criminal.  Others might believe that his fall into mental illness was a punishment for sin. Still others might take a more kindly view, and suggest asking for medical advice. But not much was known, medically, about the causes of mental decline, and little could be done medically to curtail or prevent it.

If you were living during the Regency, and your own father suddenly began to show signs of mental decline, how would you feel? Afraid that someone would want to put your father in an institution, or even a prison? Resentful that someone might judge your father a sinner, because he had been afflicted with insanity of the aged? Would you try to hide the signs of your father’s decline, even take on some of his responsibilities to keep his growing weakness hidden from those who might judge him? Even from his employer, the aristocratic owner of a landed estate?

And thus the kernel of my story, A Lady without a Lord, was born . . .

A Lady without a Lord

Book #3 in The Penningtons series

A viscount convinced he’s a failure

For years, Theodosius Pennington has tried to forget his myriad shortcomings by indulging in wine, women, and witty bonhomie. But now that he’s inherited the title of Viscount Saybrook, it’s time to stop ignoring his responsibilities. Finding the perfect husband for his headstrong younger sister seems a good first step. Until, that is, his sister’s dowry goes missing . . .

A lady determined to succeed

Harriot Atherton has a secret: it is she, not her steward father, who maintains the Saybrook account books. But Harry’s precarious balancing act begins to totter when the irresponsible new viscount unexpectedly returns to Lincolnshire, the painfully awkward boy of her childhood now a charming yet vulnerable man. Unfortunately, Theo is also claiming financial malfeasance. Can her father’s wandering wits be responsible for the lost funds? Or is she?

As unlikely attraction flairs between dutiful Harry and playful Theo, each learns there is far more to the other than devoted daughter and happy-go-lucky lord. But if Harry succeeds at protecting her father, discovering the missing money, and keeping all her secrets, will she be in danger of failing at something equally important—finding love?

Amazon: http://myBook.to/LwoaL

Barnes & Noble: http://www.anrdoezrs.net/links/8262311/type/dlg/http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-lady-without-a-lord-bliss-bennet/1125511438?ean=2940157235338

Ibooks: https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-lady-without-a-a-lord/id1184485124?mt=11&at=1001l5aH

Kobo: http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=TGFtlVejZLM&subid=&offerid=361251.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kobo.com%2Fus%2Fen%2Febook%2Fa-lady-without-a-lord

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Bliss Bennet writes smart, edgy novels for readers who love history as much as they love romance. Her Regency-set series The Penningtons has been praised by the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Reviews as “a series well worth following”; its books have been described by USA Today as “savvy, sensual, and engrossing”; by Heroes and Heartbreakers as “captivating,” and by The Reading Wench as having “everything you want in a great historical romance.”  The latest book in the series is A Lady without a Lord.

Bliss’s web site: www.blissbennet.com

Bliss’s Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/blissbennetauthor

Bliss’s twitter: @BlissBennet

Pirate Language in the Georgian Underworld by Katherine Bone!

Writing historical romance is a gratifying experience that can oftentimes be difficult too. An author makes choices that help modern readers understand the way people spoke in historical times, but must also season the story with historical words that transport readers to that era. Which words to use and when to use them? Well… that’s a talent every writer must master. Fortunately, several books are available to help authors achieve storyline Zen.

My go-to book for pirate jargon has always been THE PIRATE PRIMER by George Choundas. A fascinating book! A dash of ‘You’re wasting words’ and a smidgeon of ‘What maggot’s burrowing under your periwig?’ goes a long way. (Pirate!)

Most Regency authors tackle stories of the upper crust. Who doesn’t love daring and dashing dukes, marquises, or earls who champion the day? Even historical aristocrats spoke in gentleman’s code. Several of my favorites include ‘Banbury stories’ (falsehoods), ‘befogged’ (confused), ‘dicked in the nob’ (crazy), and ‘land a facer’ (punch in the face).

Word substitutes like these aren’t as difficult for the average reader to understand. But what happens when characters hail from the seedier side of society?

Enter the book CANT, A Gentleman’s Guide, The Language of Rogues in Georgian London. Love this introduction to the book!

“Planning to go to Georgian London? You’ve collected some period money, got yourself kitted out with the appropriate clothes and had your inoculations. If not, go and do it right now.”

~ CANT, A Gentleman’s Guide, The Language of Rogues in Georgian London by Stephen Hart

In CANT, the language of the London Underworld, readers are taken to places where the poor, thieves, rogues, mayhap pirates and murderers roamed. If one couldn’t speak the speak, one might ‘Catch a Cold’ (get into trouble). Think Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist, though it takes place 70 miles north of London in 1837, readers can relate to the characters’ accents and seedier environment.

Everyday words used in shabbier districts, not far from where aristocrats dwelt, are definitely contrary to the modern ear, confusing, strange, and oftentimes amusing. Used sparingly modern readers relate to the characters, setting, and plot.

Here are a few that my pirates would enjoy:

Rum Prancer Do you picture a dancing pirate on the deck with rum in hand? Get ready for this. Rum Prancer refers to a fine, beautiful horse.

Rum Kicks Sounds like something a pirate might do while hanging from a noose at Tilbury Point, but we’d be wrong. Rum Kicks refer to gold or silver-brocade breeches.

Rum Clout Something a pirate might have when the rum is never gone. Nope! Rum Clout means a fine silk handkerchief.

Rum Nab The old nab the rum and run trick, eh? Could work, except Rum Nab refers to a good hat.

Rum Nantz A man named Nantz who likes to drink rum? Wrong. Rum Nantz refers to good French brandy.

Words a pirate needs to know in a London Underworld tavern:

Taverns:

Tavern/Ale House: Bowsing Ken

Alehouse/Inn: Touting Ken

Obscure Tavern: Hedge Tavern

Rogue’s Tavern: Flash Ken; Flash Crib

Beggar’s Tavern: Mumpers’ Hall

Rendzvous Tavern: Stop Hole Abbey

Fleet Street: The Mitre

Covent Garden: The Rose Tavern

Whitehall and Charing Cross: The Rummer

Pall Mall: The Star and Garter

Tavern Drinks:

All Nations: Collection of leftovers collected from bottles and bowls

Bragget: Mead and ale sweetened with honey

Cobbler’s Punch: Treacle, vinegar, gin, and water

Grog: Rum and water

Huckle my Puff; Twist: Beer, eggs and brandy, served hot

Kill Devil: Rum

Punch: Spirits, water, lemon and sugar

Purl Royal: Canary wine with a dash of wormwood

Toddy: Rum, water, sugar, and nutmeg

Vessels and Quantities:

Pint or Quart: Gage

Half Pint: Nip; Size of Ale Cogue; Shove in the Mouth

Bottle: Bouncing Cheat

Small Bottle: Bawdy-House Bottle

Large Bottle: Soldier’s Bottle

Quart Bottle: Scotch pint

Drinking Glass: Flicker; Romer

Drinking Bowl: Bubber; Whiskin

Silver Tankard: Clank

Rum Clank: Large silver tankard

Clank Napper: Thief who runs away with tankard

Full glasses or bowls: Bumpers or Facers

Empty bottles: Dead Men or Marine Officers

Drunk much? Here are various ways to say it:

Lightly Intoxicated: Bit by a Barn Mouse; Chirping Merry; Hickey; Mellow; In a Merry Pin; Tipsy

Getting drunker: Drop in His Eye; Half Cut; Half Seas Over; Sucky Boosey;

Drunk: Been in the Sun; Corned; Got into the Crown Office; Cup-Shot; Cut; Disguised; Flawed, Flustered; Foxed; Hocus; In his Altitudes; In the Gun; Nazie; Pogy; Pot Valiant; Bought the Sack; Top Heavy

Drunk Man: Bingo Boy; Ensign Bearer; Guzzle Guts; Piss Maker, Swill Tub; Tickle Pitcher; Toss Pot; and Vice-Admiral of the Narrow Seas (‘a man who urinates under the table into his companion’s shoes’)

Drunk Woman: Mort

Very drunk: Top Heavy Clear; Deep Cut; cut in the Back Leg; Drunk as David’s Sow; Drunk as a Wheelbarrow; Drunk as an Emperor; Floored; Maudlin Drunk; Surveyor of the Highways; Swallowed a Hare

Sick: Cast you your accounts; Cat; Flash the Hash; Cascade; Shoot the Cat; Flay the Flea; Flay the Fox

Hung over: Crop Sick; Womble-Ty-Cropt

Rat: Someone who gets taken up by the Watch and forced into an overnight stay

And there you have it! Adding ‘cant’, ‘Flash Lingo’, ‘St. Giles’ Greek’, and ‘Pedlars’ French’, to stories provides that extra level of depth needed to help readers travel back in time. As a historical author, I’m grateful to George Chaundas, Stephen Hart, and many other researchers for their brilliant and thrilling books. Like good wine before its time, there’s nothing better than ‘Faking a Screen’ (writing) and ‘Snilching’ (learning to behave) in roguish circles.

Corn Laws, Enclosures, and Poor Harvests = Unrest in Britian

In fiction set in Regency England, there’s often some mention of the Corn Laws. These laws regulated the importing of grain (in England, corn refers to any grain). Corn Laws date back to the Twelfth Century, however, they became particularly important in the late 1700’s and early 1800’s due to both a population growth in Britain and blockades from the French during the Napoleonic Wars. 

In the 1700’s, wheat prices had fallen due to an influx of foreign grain. At the same time, the Enclosed Acts had been passed—this meant there was no longer any open land that anyone might farm. Added onto all of this were the Game Laws—the penalty for poaching “or even being found in possession of a net at night” was transportation. 

While the Enclosure Acts enabled landowners to extend their parks and fields, those without land lost their right to trap extra meat on open land. The poor were now in a precarious spot. 

The Corn Laws stated that no foreign wheat (the staple of the poor) could be imported until British wheat reached  a price of 80/- per quarter. At the same time, those who worked the fields did not see an increase in wages to match and increase in food prices.

Bad harvest hit England in 1795, again over 1799 to 1801, and then again in 1802 and yet again between 1812 to 1822. One bad harvest is one thing—almost every farmer knows to store grain to deal with a bad year, and large scale farms can always get credit to get past one rough season. But repeated reduction in production meant two things—higher prices of the most basic food stuffs, and those with low incomes had less money to spend on goods. Manufactures also suffered losses due to the bad years.

The years 1810–1811 had cold winters (1811 was the year the Thames froze sold, and it froze again in 1814), and then heavy rains often brought floods, particularly to the east, where the fens provided very bad drainage. Poor harvests were noted in 1809 to 1812, with rioting as “banks failed and export trade collapsed.” Along with this was the Luddite uprising, and in 1812 in Nottingham, “a riot, engendered by the prevailing famine, commenced in the morning.” But the fail harvest came in better than in the prior year, which helped with a temporary fall in grain prices.

With all this going on, it starts to seem reasonable why England feared there might be a similar revolution to the one that occurred in France. France’s revolution had been driven not just by a need for equality, but by poor crops and an increased population. England faced similar issues.

The winters of 1813 and 1814 were again cold and long, delaying the ability to plant. Frosts were reported in many districts that lasted on through May, and summer storms brought hail and rain, which caused extensive crop damage in Leicestershire and Nottinghamshire. By the end of August, the weather turned hot and farmers who had survived were able to get in their harvests. By October and November, early freezes and hard rains hit many areas of England and Scotland.

In 1815, the government attempted to fix corn prices, and, but the country saw unrest and riots in may of the hardest hit areas. In 1815, the national debt also stood at £834 million, but the Income Tax, enacted to pay for the war with France was eliminated, shifting the burden of payment to indirect taxation. Again, the poor were hit the hardest as tax fell onto good purchased. Those with money could afford this—those without had even less money. The end of the war in Europe finally meant that Britain could again freely import grain, but any import was more expensive than local produce—and the grain could only be imported based on what the Corn Laws allowed.

But 1815 again saw a hard winter, as did 1816. The Farmer's Magazine summarized 1816’s harvest as “uncommonly unpropitious” and comparing it with “the memorable year 1799”.

While hardy root crops that could survive frosts would provide some food, grains and cash crops failed. The Farmer's Magazine reported that many tenant farmers were unable to pay rents, and many landlords were unwilling to offer abatement. In Wales, the tax was collected in certain districts in goods rather than in coin.

Reports in Nottingham were that gentlemen who were well off would come to market and distribute food to those without.  At the same time, Britain was also having to deal with a large military force returning from Europe, most of whom had not been back home in a very long time. This provided an even larger workforce, but in some areas jobs were scarce or low paying. The smart soldiers stayed in the army and went on to other spots of unrest in the growing empire.

Another wet summer occurred in 1817, with crops reported as “bad” in Scotland, and then 1818 provided a long, hot, dry summer, with rains finally arriving in autumn, then back to cold in 1819 with late frosts in May, and wet again in 1820. The up and downs of the weather continued on through until the late 1800s. And it was the potato blight and famine in 1845 that finally brought about the end of the Corn Laws, which were repealed in 1846.