Clothes Maketh the Man/Woman Even in 14th Century Ireland by Kristin Gleeson

Irish Gael 14th century dress

You have probably heard phrases like “dress for success”, a phrase that hints of the older saying “clothes maketh the man”. Both phrases clearly indicate that clothes certainly form a part of the judgement one person makes about another, whether it’s conscious or not. It’s not a new concept. In the past, for example, in parts of Europe during Medieval and Renaissance times, nobles enacted sumptuary laws that prevented the rising middle classes from wearing certain items and fabrics in case those middle classes might be mistaken for nobles.

The history of fashion in a social history context has fascinated me for a long time, back to my teen years when I would pore over the two enclopedias of fashion history that I bought with my hard earned babysitting money. So, recently, when I was researching 14th century Ireland for a book I was writing, I came across a fashion rabbit hole about the clothes of that time period and gleefully travelled down it.

The first half of the 14th century was a time of great change and stress in Ireland. After 150 years or so dealing with the results of the Norman English encroachment in Irish land, the descendants of these invaders held sway over a significant portion of the country. The English king counted Ireland as its vassal by and large and, in an effort to establish greater control over the land created loosely drawn lordships or earldoms over the four Irish provinces whose boundaries were fluid. These earldoms were headed by descendants of the invaders and their Irish wives, as were their retainers, creating an Anglo Irish population (known as Galls).The earls, in an effort to expand the regions under their control fought each other and Irish chieftains constantly. The Irish Gaels formed alliances with each other or an earl, whichever achieved their struggle to maintain or expand their own holdings

Such conflicts often caused bouts of famine from neglected, plundered or unplanted fields. In addition to those challenges there were long stretches of bad weather which also contributed to sickness and high death rates. The arrival of the plague in 1348 made matters worse. The death rate from plague was higher among the Anglo Irish than the Irish Gaels for complex reasons of settlement, trade and social patterns (at least that’s what the sparse evidence suggests).

In such tumultuous times, when interaction with members of the other culture could be dangerous, assessing and correctly concluding a stranger’s identity when encountering them could be critical. The style of dress was part of that assessment, because there were distinct differences between the Anglo Irish manner of dress and the Irish Gael manner of dress. Many of the clothes that the Gaelic Irish wore were suited to the particular climate and others revealed a particular Gaelic sense of flamboyant, unlike the Anglo Irish who adopted the fashions most prevalent in England or places on the continent with which they traded.

One distinctive clothes item the Gaelic Irish wore was the cloak/mantle or brat. The brat was a rectangular shape garment and was sometimes large enough to wrap around the body five times. It could be brightly coloured with ornate decorative borders fringed and plaited or tablet woven. It was made of frieze (loosely woven wool) with tufts of wool tucked into the weave to keep out the rain. The brat was secured at the breast often with a bronze, silver or iron brooch or pin, depending on the wearer’s social status. Under the brat, they wore a long shirt /tunic(léine), an ankle length sleeveless garment worn next to the skin and made of either white or gel (bright) linen. It was secured at the waist by a belt with which it could be hitched up to allow greater freedom of movement. The footwear among those of higher status would be leather boots or shoes, but for those of lesser status it was more practical and cheaper to go barefoot in a country whose climate was wet with winters that were relatively mild.

Irish Gael dress 

If riding, or engaged in vigorous outdoor activity, a male Irish Gael often wore truibhas (trousers). It’s difficult to know with certainty the range of clothing women wore specifically because of the scarcity of images. The few images that do exist show them each wearing a brat and a léine, like the men, but their heads are covered with a veil or headdress and occasionally, like the men, they would wear an ionar, a form of short tunic. Other parts of the Irish Gaelic clothing range included a short-hooded cloak called a cochall and a poncho-type cloak of coloured and patterned cloth called a fallaing and interestingly, a kind of woollen truibhas (trousers) with feet and soles.

In contrast, as previously mentioned, the Anglo Irish wore more sober coloured clothes that were closer to that of the style found in England and parts of the continent. They wore tunics of mid to lower calf length with Magyar style sleeves belted at the waist, with a white sash from which a scabbard was suspended. On top of that, if needed they wore a traditional mantle or cloak. In the mid-14th century a closer fitting outfit emerged for Anglo Irish men, consisting of a knee length garment called a gipon, a forerunner of the doublet, which was worn with hose. Unlike the Gaelic Irish men, the Anglo Irish tended to be clean shaven. Anglo Irish men and women also wore an underdress, or kirtle, and an overgown, or surcoat. The surcoat could be sleeved or sleeveless, with deep armholes and vertical slits called fitchets that provided access to objects suspended from the girdle. Both male and female versions of the surcoats had a slit at the neck. In winter a mantle, or fur-lined cape was also worn. Later, the Gaelic Irish mantle was adapted and became and important trade item. Among the Anglo Irish, by the early part of the 14th century, along with the mantle, some of the men apparently adapted the Irish Gaelic truibhas as indicated in statutes that were enacted that sought to discourage Anglo Irish from adopting Irish Gaelic modes of dress.

English Medieval dress

Fashion and clothes styles for any one time period in the past can tell much about the peoples and the time in which they live. The style and composition of the clothes of the Irish Gaels show them to be aware of the need to be out in a wet climate and the need for a flexible type of clothing for active outdoors, for example. The Anglo Irish clothes reflect their close connection to their English overlord and the importance and profitability of showing their links to their trade partners in England and on the continent.

The distinct differences in fashion between the Anglo Irish and the Gaelic Irish meant that when encountering a stranger or a group of strangers, each could use the information about their appearance to judge whether they might be a potential enemy, or even a person who would more likely been exposed to the plague. And those clothes certainly might “maketh the enemy” or the friend.

 

 

Fallen Women or Vulnerable Girls? by Janet Few

 

In the second half of the nineteenth century, a proliferation of homes, or ‘refuges’ for fallen women were set up across Britain to reform those who had not adhered to the moral code of the time. As well as government founded refuges, there were also charitable bodies who established institutions with the aim of rehabilitating ‘fallen women’; the most notorious of which were the Magdalen Laundries, run under the auspices of the Catholic Church. The various regional branches of the Discharged Prisoners’ Aid Society were a major provider, funding homes from public subscriptions and donations, supplemented by what the institutions could generate from offering laundry or needlework services.

What was the purpose of these refuges and who exactly were these ‘fallen women’, some of whom were as young as twelve? Our twenty-first century minds, might expect that fallen women would have been prostitutes and it is true than many of the inhabitants of such institutions had been before the courts for soliciting, prostitution, or brothel keeping. The aim of a woman’s refuge was to rehabilitate and reform; transforming the fallen into respectable women who could play a meaningful part in society. Thus, only women who were regarded as capable of redemption were accepted, leaving those who were labelled as the most dissolute and depraved without refuge.

Some of the inmates of these homes were society’s casualties, rather than ‘sinners’. To the Victorians, a ‘fallen woman’ was rather more than just someone who sold, or attempted to sell, sexual favours. The term was applied to anyone who had fallen from virtue, whether they were willing participants in that fall or not. Victims of rape and incest, those with learning difficulties and girls whose home life might put them in moral danger, were institutionalised alongside the criminals and prostitutes. The term ‘prostitute’ is also an elastic one and in the nineteenth century, was not confined to women who provided services of a sexual nature in return for money, or recompense in kind. ‘Prostitute’ might be used to encompass a woman who had had an illegitimate child, or who was living with a man as if she was his wife, without the benefits of a marriage ceremony.

Although Victorian women made up only 20-25% of those indicted for criminal offences, women were more likely than men to be repeat offenders, raising concerns about the need for rehabilitation. Women were also potentially mothers, with an influence over the moral well-being of subsequent generations, so attitudes towards women who transgressed against the legal or moral codes were very different to those towards male wrongdoers.

Time spent in a home for fallen women might be part of the punishment meted out by the courts, with women being transferred from prisons to spend periods of six to twelve months in a refuge. As well as religious instruction, they would be taught domestic skills, designed to fit them for employment. ‘Refuge’ is a word that has benign connotations, a place of safety for those in physical, mental or moral danger. In the nineteenth century, although the motives for setting up these homes might be seen as philanthropic, for the most part, refuges were far from being a place of safety; conditions were harsh and inmates were unlikely to be there voluntarily. 

Many ‘fallen women’ were victims of societal attitudes or circumstances. Some who turned to prostitution were driven by poverty, others were coerced. Women who were persuaded or forced to embark on a sexual relationship and were subsequently abandoned by their partner were regarded as ‘fallen’ but might, in a more compassionate time, be regarded as vulnerable girls, who had been taken advantage of by men. The stigma attached to a fall from virtue, whatever the cause, cannot be underestimated. Condemnation sprung from the contravention of religious, moral and sometimes legal codes. Researching the lives of women who spent time in refuges, often reveals the circumstances that led to their incarceration and helps to explain the life choices that they made, if indeed they had a choice. There is a very fine line between a vulnerable girl and a fallen woman and they were judged by the standards of their time.

Hogarth's A Harlot's Progress 

Image used under Creative Commons - in the public domain

Realism and Romance – one hundred years of the Chalet School by Sheena Wilkinson

1925 saw the publication of some remarkable, enduring classic novels – The Great Gatsby, Mrs Dalloway – and The School at the Chalet. My own forthcoming eleventh novel is set in 1925, and one of my favourite bits of the story was when one of the characters is given The School at the Chalet. I thought a History Girls post on one hundred years of the series would be very timely. 

The Fernside girls read The School at the Chalet

But surely The History Girls is meant to be more … erudite? More serious? Not the place to celebrate an essentially trivial genre. 

Well, here’s what happens in one of the books. Judge for yourselves if you think it's trivial. 

A benign community of women and girls, which has existed peacefully for some years, is threatened when the country is annexed by a neighbouring fascist state. The girls incur the authorities’ wrath and have to flee for their lives. Their community is destroyed but rises again, smaller but undaunted, in another country, and they pledge themselves to peace and internationalism, though their individual countries are now at war. And nobody knows yet that the safe island they have chosen for sanctuary is about to be invaded…

When the story is published, the book’s cover is so controversial that it is withdrawn and a new, less offensive version substituted.

Sounds like a modern dystopia?

The original cover 

In fact, this is the plot of The Chalet School In Exile (1940), the fourteenth in the series of 59 books published between 1925 and 1970. Not all the books are so dramatic; not all keep such faith with the harsh realities of the real world in which they were written, but the series as a whole is a remarkable achievement. It’s not a packaged series, such as Nancy Drew – all the books are the work of one author, Elinor M. Brent-Dyer.

replacement cover -- adventurous, but the Nazis are 
no longer in the drawing room

The imaginative space of the Chalet School occupies a huge place in my reading life. The locations – Austria, Guernsey, the English/Welsh borders, a Welsh island and eventually Switzerland – are lush, and the characters, girls and teachers, are allowed to develop in a way that a shorter series can’t allow for. The books are romantic, but have their own realism too – a girl can be picking Edelweiss and ragging her chums in one book, and grieving for her father, killed in a Nazi concentration camp, in the next.

my Chalet collection 

 

In the 1980s, when I discovered them, the series was still in print in paperback, though the whole series was never available at one time. I read what I could find in the library and local bookshops, ridiculously out of sequence, so that in one book the character Jo is a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, in the next she is the mother of eleven children, in the next she is back at school and Head Girl. Confusing for ten-year-old me, but also very exciting, because, unlike the Malory Towers or St Clare’s books, which each contained six books and followed one or two main characters, the Chalet School is itself the central character of this saga. I had the vague sense – especially when I found some old 1920s hardbacks – that this was a big, big world, and that there was much more to discover.                     

And I kept on discovering. Unlike many readers, I never felt embarrassed by the fact that I was still reading school stories in my teens. I remember, at university in Durham, finding two early hardbacks in a charity shop and happily buying them despite my boyfriend’s incredulity. (The books lasted longer than the boyfriend.) When I did a PhD on girls’ schools and colleges in modern fiction, I had the perfect excuse to keep on reading them and call it research.

My PhD book 

As you would expect in any series lasting for 45 years and 59 books, the quality is patchy, and some of the later books are formulaic and repetitive. And from the fifties onwards, the books don’t really keep pace with the changes in society. That is, there is mention of space travel and Beatniks but the prevailing attitudes are essentially conservative and old-fashioned. One imagines the writer growing increasingly out of step with the modern world and perhaps herself seeking refuge in the more-or-less unchanging values of her fictional school. When I first read the books, I probably rather sneered at this: surely it was her duty to reflect the world around her? Now in my fifties myself, and feeling much more at home writing historical fiction than trying to make sense of 2025, I have rather more sympathy. 

Elinor M. Brent-Dyer

Will the Chalet School survive another hundred years? The books are kept in print by Girls Gone By, a small press which reissues titles regularly, and there are two flourishing fan clubs, The New Chalet Club and Friends of the Chalet School but it would be fair to say that these are not sisterhoods of the young. The books are old-fashioned now, and yet at their heart is a celebration of friendship, female space, and tolerance which doesn’t grow old. 

 

 

 

 

 

Miscellany - Joan Lennon

Historical research makes use of venerable sources and texts held in reputable libraries and unimpeachable online sites, methodically uncovered and assessed - essential ingredients for writing historical fiction and non-fiction alike. But sometimes, we stumble across books that might not even have anything to do with the work in hand but which, months or years later, become our go-to place of inspiration and those precious tiny telling details that give our writing savour and life.

Today I'm celebrating a miscellany of books like that - just a few - there are many more! - acquired from charity shops, unexpectedly come upon in second- and first-hand bookshops, or at the bottom of boxes inherited from the clear-outs of family homes.

For example, during a visit to the Natural History Museum in London donkeys years ago, I bought Alfred Waterhouse and the Natural History Museum by Mark Girouard - the visit and the book planted the seeds of four Victorian mystery novels about Slightly Jones. Afterlives by Ruth Johnston gave me more wonderfully ghoulish material than I was able to use (but then, you shouldn't force everything you know into a book anyway!). Manners for Women and Manners for Men by Mrs Humphry (which I blogged about on History Girls many years ago here and here) were separate charity shop finds, and helped me enormously with the Slightly Jones series. Linda Cracknell's The Beat of the Heart Stones fed into the historical narrative poems of Never Still Nivver Still. Culpepper's English Physician and Complete Herbal came into my hands from my mother-in-law's bookshelves and provided depth and texture to the medieval series The Wickit Chronicles. Mary Kingsley's Travels in West Africa and Albert Robida's The Twentieth Century contributed to the non-fiction books Talking History and Great Minds, and also Revolution! (due out in 2026 from Templar Press).

If you come across any of these sometime, somewhere, make sure you give them a second glance - you are in for a treat! What books have you stumbled upon in unexpected places, maybe at times when you were thinking about something else entirely, that have helped bring your historical research to life? Serendipity is the writer's friend...

Joan Lennon website.

Joan Lennon Instagram.

ETTEILLA: THE 18TH-CENTURY TAROT MASTER … by Susan Stokes-Chapman

In the late 18th century, tarot reading underwent a transformation that would influence the art of divination for centuries to come. One of the most important figures in this transformation was Jean-Baptiste Alliette, better known as Etteilla (his surname spelled backward). As a professional fortune teller, occultist, and tarot innovator, Etteilla reshaped tarot into a structured system of mystical knowledge. He was not only the first person to publish a tarot deck specifically designed for divination but also a key figure in the esoteric revival of the time.

Etteilla’s Journey into Tarot

Born in 1738 in Paris, Jean-Baptiste Alliette initially worked as a seedsman and engraver, but he soon turned his attention to the mystical world of fortune-telling. By the 1770s, he was studying astrology, alchemy, and the Tarot de Marseille, the standard tarot deck used in France at the time. Inspired by the growing fascination with the Egyptian origins of Western esoteric traditions, he developed his own unique system of tarot divination.

In 1783, Etteilla published Etteilla, ou manière de se récréer avec un jeu de cartes (Etteilla, or the Way to Entertain Oneself with a Deck of Cards), one of the first printed guides to tarot reading. Unlike earlier traditions that saw tarot primarily as a game or as an obscure symbolic tool, Etteilla emphasized its role as a serious divinatory system with ancient roots.

The Livre de Thot: The First Purpose-Built Tarot Deck

By 1789, Etteilla had designed and published his own tarot deck, which he called the “Livre de Thot” (Book of Thoth). This was the first tarot deck ever created specifically for divination, marking a significant departure from earlier tarot designs, which were initially used for card games.

Etteilla claimed that his tarot deck was a rediscovered fragment of the ancient Egyptian “Book of Thoth”, a mythical text attributed to the Egyptian god of wisdom and writing. This idea was influenced by the work of Antoine Court de Gébelin, a French scholar who, in his 1781 work Le Monde Primitif, argued that tarot cards contained the lost wisdom of Egyptian priests.

Key Features of the Livre de Thot Deck

1. Egyptian Aesthetics – Unlike the Tarot de Marseille, which had a medieval European style, Etteilla’s deck incorporated Egyptian imagery to support his theory of tarot’s ancient origins.
2. Reordered Major Arcana – He changed the numbering and sequence of the traditional 22 Major Arcana cards to fit his unique system of meanings.
3. New Symbolism and Keywords – Each card included upright and reversed meanings, making his deck one of the first to explicitly incorporate reversals into tarot reading.
4. Four Elements and Astrology – His interpretations heavily relied on the classical four elements (earth, air, fire, water) and astrological correspondences, reinforcing the deck’s mystical framework.

Etteilla’s deck was highly structured and systematic, offering a more organized approach to tarot reading than earlier methods. His system became the foundation for many later occult tarot traditions, including the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in the 19th century.

Nouvelle École de Magie: Etteilla’s School of Magic (1790)

Etteilla was more than just a tarot reader - he was a teacher and leader in the esoteric community. In 1790, he established the Nouvelle École de Magie (New School of Magic) in Paris. This school aimed to educate students in the mystical arts, particularly tarot divination, astrology, and alchemy.

Goals of the Nouvelle École de Magie

• Restoring Ancient Wisdom – Etteilla believed that tarot preserved fragments of ancient Egyptian knowledge and sought to reconstruct this lost wisdom.
• Training Professional Diviners – His school formalized tarot reading as a legitimate mystical practice, setting the stage for modern professional tarot readers.
• Combining Multiple Esoteric Disciplines – Unlike earlier tarot traditions, which focused on symbolism, Etteilla’s school integrated astrology, numerology, and alchemy into tarot interpretation.

The Nouvelle École de Magie attracted a small but devoted following, influencing later occult movements in France. Though the school itself did not last long after Etteilla’s death in 1791, his teachings laid the groundwork for 19th-century magical orders, including Eliphas Lévi’s occult revival and the Golden Dawn’s tarot system.

Etteilla’s Influence on Tarot Today

Although his theories about the Egyptian origins of tarot have been widely debunked, Etteilla’s contributions remain essential to tarot history. He was the first person to create a tarot deck specifically for divination, and his structured approach to card meanings, reversals, and esoteric symbolism influenced later tarot traditions, including the Rider-Waite-Smith deck (1909) and Aleister Crowley’s Thoth Tarot (1944).

Even today, tarot readers continue to use astrological and elemental correspondences, practices that can be traced back to Etteilla’s innovations. His emphasis on structured interpretations also paved the way for modern tarot guidebooks and courses, making tarot more accessible to wider audiences.

Etteilla’s Lasting Legacy

Etteilla was a true pioneer, transforming tarot from a simple card game into a sophisticated system of divination and esoteric study. His Livre de Thot deck and Nouvelle École de Magie shaped the way tarot was understood in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, leaving an enduring legacy in the world of Western occultism.

While his school may no longer exist, his influence can still be felt in every tarot reading, every mystical interpretation, and every deck designed for divination. As one of the first professional tarot readers, he helped elevate tarot from a curiosity to a powerful tool for self-discovery and mystical insight—an impact that continues to shape tarot practices today.

~~~~~~

My tarot-short story 'A Midnight Visitor' (set in the Georgian period) featuring a troubled medium, can be found within The Witching Hour, published in hardback October 2025. You can pre-order a copy by clicking the image below:

www.susanstokeschapman.com
Instagram: @SStokesChapman

Paths of history: stories we choose to tell, by Gillian Polack

This July I'm considering the different ways we can research for our fiction. I know I've done this before and I know I will do this again. It's not my fiction-writing side that pushes me to find more explanations and better explanations. It's my academic side. I’ve been examining how Germans view their Jewish past pre-1700, and comparing that with the fiction we read and wondering how we can beat our own biases. I explored one approach in person, imagining a town as a museum and discovering the stories it told and what the stories missed.

The town is called Eden, and I’m writing from an apartment near Aslings Beach. Eden was named after the first Earl of Auckland and. It has a twofold bay, where the waves argue with each other. One set of waves dominates and roars, the other growls. If you listen closely, the soundscape is as complex as the history the people remember and much simpler than Eden’s real history.

Eden almost became the capital of Australia. Before the Europeans arrived, it was the land of the Yuin people, who are still here. How do I know they are still here? A family of them caught the bus with me the day before yesterday. A young family, with possibly the cutest child in existence. I was going to the Killer Whale Museum. That bus trip and that museum reminded me that towns can be a lot more complicated and interesting than the books written about them. Whether this is a story of the family I saw on the bus, Old Tom, a killer whale who bossed a whaling fleet, a Jewish whaler, or the white Christian men the town celebrates (the Imlays, Mr Boyd, Mr Logan, the Davidsons) depends on how you walk down the street, how you interpret the museum, and whether our own biases can be used to redress those in the sources we use for our research.

The Yuin were in what is now Eden long before Cicero wrote about the Antipodes in the Somnium Scipionis. They’ve never left. The Yuin people have an excellent council, and I need to look at what that Council does and maybe ask some questions to delve further into their history before I can understand who they are and what they have done since the first arrival of Europeans here in the 19th century. Why do I say carefully "I need to delve"? Yuin folks are depicted in the Killer Whale Museum and in the street heritage notices as a secondary part of the town’s history. This is a shabby description of ancient history. If you walk the heritage trails, there is better treatment. It’s like Twofold Bay – stand in one place and you will hear something quite different to standing just a kilometre away.

This stranded history where the strands don’t always touch, it hides stuff. Only one man died from whaling in all the decades Eden was a whaling centre. The low death rate looks as if it may well be due to locals sharing their expertise with Imlays and the Davidsons. But was the expertise shared as between equals, or even willingly? This knowledge can’t be gleaned from looking at how history is presented publicly.

Except… when it is. The Yuin are in the museum in photographs of boats in Twofold Bay, but school history, food history, council affairs (except the specific council for Indigenous locals), the management of the town and the life of locals is depicted as white. Even the Jewish residents (not quite white, in Australian tradition) shadow white male history, which is curious, because there are Jewish graves in the local cemetery, an important early shop was set up by someone Jewish, and Solomon Solomons, of a particularly important regional family, was a Jewish whaler.
Now I wonder how many Jewish whalers there are, and whether it's simply that no-one talks about them. There were Jewish pirates and Jewish politicians – why should there be no Jewish whalers? And why do so many fiction writers assume we are all involved in matters financial? Mr Solomons was a vast local importance and his family was of regional importance, so his absence from the Killer Whale Museum is curious. More curious, however, is the absence of most Yuin people in the main history of the region. They have history, and it’s shown, but separately, as if the European-origin culture cannot talk to the Indigenous. The depiction of women in the museum too, makes them secondary to the Really Important People. This is modern Australia in miniature. We set up the history we want to live with and create a past that echoes ourselves. When historical fiction writers use this as a base for writing, the circle is complete.
How to move out of this closed circle? One of the bus drivers of Eden solved this as he explained what happened to the Greenseas Tuna Factory. “You need to ask the right people the right questions,” he said. Why is this not so easy in Eden? The current population of Eden is mostly older people who migrated from elsewhere. They wanted to retire to a lovely town on the coast and they have no knowledge of what came before. The desk person at the Killer Whale Museum demonstrated beautifully how new knowledge is acquired in the region: she is passionate about the Mr Logan who built Edrom Lodge. She is determined to make him visible, because she sees him as unseen. My clever bus driver and the schoolteacher on a stall at the community market both knew her and her passion. It’s a small town: everyone knows those with passion. And so the fascination with one person is reinforced and the wider story of the townsfolk says different things depending on where the story is focused. I have a list of names of people who will know more: I will return sometime and ask them my questions. Time and work break down that circle, and the clever asking of questions.
We seek stories of people like us, for the most part. When I asked about the local inhabitants and their work with killer whales, no-one I spoke to could answer my questions beyond the answers the museum gave. Each of them was focused on what they knew, and on people they thought were like themselves. Sometimes, however, the answers are in sight. I will need to speak to the local Land Council, for example, and the Jewish Historical Society.
I can (and did) also ask different questions. I can look for people who are not quite like others.
In the case of Eden, the most obvious person is Old Tom, a killer whale of great significance. The Killer Whale Museum chronicles his life and his personality and why he was named. His stories show that the real cultural force in the whole whaling industry was not those who sold whale products and made much money: it was the Indigenous whalers who worked alongside the Killer Whales. We know how Old Tom handled his team of orcas to bring whales in for the kill. We know how he let the whalers know they needed to get in their boats and do their bit. We know how he mocked whalers who would not do their share of the work or did not leave Tom and his folks their part of the kill. We even know how he was patted. We also know, mainly from the pictures at the museum, that it was not the white Australians who worked with Old Tom. They were exceptionally skilled people. There was a great deal that was different in Eden to whaling elsewhere, from the number of whales killed (maintaining a population) to the collaboration between human and killer whales and the number of people who died whaling. One. Just one human death. Over decades. Look at an exhibition from a different point of entry and it is as if the whole past shifts and changes and suddenly makes sense.
Whether a writer chooses one strand or two, whether they only see the official history and follow the path of the Imlay brothers down the main street (the Princes Highway, the #1 road in Australia, which becomes Imlay Street as it passes through Eden) or whether the writer challenges standard history and starts to think of the locals who never left ... this rests on the type of story the novelist wants to tell. Most will tell stories that link to known heroes and established figures and will echo the sound of the larger bay. Their research will echo the interests of the new locals, who retired to Eden and don't know its deep history. Their story will reinforce the standard one and will resound and be seen and valued because it echoes what we already know. Other writers will echo the smaller bay and query Old Tom. Rare writers will look at history from somewhere else entirely and will bring us something very special indeed.

Judging the Crowns by Maggie Brookes

Have you ever said yes to something without really knowing what you were agreeing to? I've just taken on a marathon, though it also resembles a sprint. I was honoured to be asked to be one of the 9 judges for this year's Historical Writer's Association Gold Crown award for the best historical fiction novel published between 1st April 2024 and 31st March 2025. Lots of lovely books to read, I thought. I've been reading historical fiction all my life. I've had two historical novels published world-wide by Penguin. I have opinions. How hard can it be?

The coveted HWA gold crown award.

Well, first of all, there are 131 entries, from more than 40 publishers, big and small. And I know that each one of those novels has been meticulously researched, painstakingly written and rewritten, edited, proof-read and finally published. I sympathise with all that effort, angst and joy. At a modest estimate of 2 years to research and write each one, that would be 250 years of work. A more realistic estimate of 4 years per book is a staggering 500 years of labour! It's a big responsibility, but also a opportunity to learn so much – about history, about publishers, about structuring and pacing narrative, about stories that jump out at readers, and also about what's being published right now.

The hard copy books waiting to be read.

The first thing I notice is gender. Judging by the first names of the authors, more than 95 of the 131 appear to be women (and perhaps some of the tantalising initials are women too.) History girls are alive and flourishing! Are women writers particularly drawn to history, I wonder? The judges are also predominantly female, with 8 out of the 9 of us being women. (Are women more inclined to agree to take on these kind of roles?? Answers on a postcard.) We are Louise Hare (Chair), Ellen Alpsten, Mark Ellis, Louise Fein, Alison Joseph, Amy McElroy, Carolyn Kirby, Linda Porter and me. Louise says: 'I love seeing how broad the category of historical fiction is, encompassing so many different genres. This is my third time of judging the Crowns and I’m always fascinated by the trends that emerge within each cycle. I see our role as vital in rewarding literary merit within historical fiction, but really it’s about celebrating great reads, those books you want to tell all your friends about.' Under her guidance, we  have until September to agree a longlist, October a shortlist, and November to choose a winner. Yikes!

Louise Hare, chair of judges, with HWA member Jim Burge at the award ceremony.

Gender is also noticeable in the protagonists of the novels. Taking a straw poll of the 93 books I've been sent so far in hard copy, there is a massive predominance of books about women, particularly pioneering women whose names have been forgotten, but also enslaved women, witches and detectives. Perhaps this isn't surprising when a Guardian article from 2019 says that women readers account for 80% of sales in the UK, US and Canadian fiction markets – far more women than men are literary festivalgoers, library members, audio book readers, literary bloggers, and members of literary societies and evening classes... and form book clubs.  

MA Sieghart's book The Authority Gap found that 'men were disproportionately unlikely even to open a book by a woman. For the top 10 bestselling female authors (who include Jane Austen and Margaret Atwood as well as Danielle Steel and Jojo Moyes), only 19% of their readers are men and 81%, women. But for the top 10 bestselling male authors (who include Charles Dickens and JRR Tolkien, as well as Lee Child and Stephen King), the split is much more even: 55% men and 45% women.  In other words, women are prepared to read books by men, but many fewer men are prepared to read books by women.'  I suppose that's just as well for male writers! Ian McEwan once wrote: 'When women stop reading, the novel will be dead.'

The books I've received seem to divide into four main sub-genres: 1) extraordinary women from the past, both real and imagined; 2) crime / mystery / thriller / gothic (some a mixture of those) ; 3) mythical re-tellings and fairy-tale inspired historical fantasy. And then there's 4) war, from the Trojan wars to the Napoleonic wars; WW1; the interwar years; WW2 and the cold war. I've written three novels about women in war not because I'm interested in war but because war brings out the worst and best in people, and that gives plenty to write about.  Writing about the past has always seemed to me to be a way of writing about the present.

There are also stand-alone stories from across the centuries, which can't be slotted into those categories. All human life is here.  Authors too, range from the ultra well known to debut novelists. Only three of the books I've received so far have been in translation, though many are set in other countries, from the Americas to Africa and Japan. I'm learning so much! There are several dual or triple time-line stories. The biographical fiction shows the historical range of the first 85 books I was sent in hard copy, from the first century AD to the 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th, 17th, 18th and 20th centuries.  Many are about powerful women in royal families, perhaps because there is more about them in the historical record. Just one of these books has a male protagonist, although at school I was only taught history about men. The bias of history is being slowly re-written, page by page and book by book.

The HWA flag.

As I read, I bear in mind not only the effort of the writers, but also what it means to win these awards.
Elizabeth Fremantle, who won the 2024 Gold Crown Award with Disobedient, her extraordinary novel about Artemesia Gentileschi, says 'Disobedient, of all my novels, is closest to my heart, so it meant a great deal that it was the one to be recognised by the judges. I was truly humbled, and on the night utterly astonished, that my book was chosen from a short-list of such calibre.'

Disobedient by Elizabeth Fremantle

In 2022 AJ West won the Debut Crown award with The Spirit Engineer. He says 'Winning was a complete shock and – un-English as it may be to admit it – a source of proud vindication after years of struggle to get published. Recognition from the HWA prevents me from being too pessimistic when things feel heavy and impossible. It reminds me that, though I'm not yet a wealthy author, nor necessarily an author with his book in high street windows, nor even an acclaimed author, I am something much more smug and satisfying: an author who benefits every day from the support of his fellow writers, whom I admire in greater measure.'

And so I dive in. Eight weeks till the longlist. How hard can it be?

 Maggie Brookes, novelist and poet. Author of  historical novels The Prisoner's Wife and Acts of Love and War. As Maggie Brookes-Butt: Wish, New and Selected Poems.

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