Spanish Chopines

While I was making the venetian chopines I talked to our lovely Baroness, Mistress Isabel Maria del Aguila, and discussed the fact that Venetians weren't the only folk to make chopines. I didn't know the Spanish had done that too but that's the beauty of the SCA, you learn something new every day. Obviously then, I was keen to explore them further and since I knew such a well dressed Spanish lady my next steps were obvious, research the Spanish version of the chopine and make a pair for Her Excellency. There were several examples of extant Spanish chopines available online and the more I looked at art from the period the more examples I came across.
In period cork was the preferred  material for chopine bodies but I was unable to obtain any at a reasonable price so I used pine bored out to reduce the weight. The shape is more complex than it appears at first appearance and took several attempts to get right.
I made the vamps from leather and covered them in the fabric I'd chosen to cover the chopines. The vamps and covering were then sewn to the leather sole which was in turn glued to the wooden body.


I then tacked the covering to the bottom of the body and stitched up the back seam.






The bottom sole was then glued to the body and then stitched through the wood to bind both the sole and the cover.




This left a nearly finished chopine which looked thus. I added eyelets and laces and presented them to Her Excellency.

However, Her Excellency, being a member of the Order of the Laurel for her accomplishments in the Sartorial arts could hardly be expected to leave things there, so, with a little judicious application of some appropriate decoration, this are the finished chopines in all their glory.

Chopines continued

Once I'd finished my first pair of chopines I got a few admiring comments from some of the local ladies, so since I wasnt really going to make any for myself I thought I'd make a few more pairs to try to improve my technique.

This pair I made for the Honorable Lady Elizabetta Foscari and as luck would have it she was in the midst of putting on a series of classes on Italian garb.
I kept the style the same so I could work on making them more efficiently and getting my upholstery a bit more tidy.

This pair were for Lady Lucia Anastasia da Curzola who, though frequently appearing to be one of the Golden Horde is actually a cultivated Venetian lady.
I also made a pair for Ginevra Isabella di Serafino Visconti.
I think I managed to get more consistency in my work and have got a handle on the basics of these shoes. I made a few changes to the original pattern I was using to account for my style of stitching and I think when I do more I'll be a bit more efficient.

Elevated Footwear - Chopines

   
A couple of years ago I had the pleasure of meeting Queen Cassandra of Caid when she and King Sven attended Canterbury Faire in our fair Barony. I decided to make her a pair of chopines for her to wear with her lovely venetian outfits and set about researching how to make and decorate them.
I spent a fair bit of time over this and during my search found a great site run by Francis Classe at
http://aands.org/raisedheels/ . I found his work really informative and Francis himself very helpful.

Following my research and some helpful hints from Francis I produced my first pair of chopines.
I began by roughing out laminated pine boards with a band saw and attached a marine ply base to act as the sole.
The next step was to complete the shaping of the body of the chopines with rasps, gouges and a belt sander to prepare them for upholstering.
Once the shaping was done i cut and tooled a leather sole and vamps.
I added a little Caidan Cross in honor of Her Majesty.

I managed to get hold of some nice light blue velvet and silver trim and upholstered the chopines using a four piece pattern I'd seen on the raised heels site. The finished product ended up thusly, which I thought was a nice amalgam of the two extant examples below. All in all I was reasonably happy with my first effort.

Canterbury Faire Tales- The Mongols Tale

You may have to bear with me for a while, here goes my foray into the wide world of blogging.

Recently, at the Barony of Southron Gaards premier event, Canterbury Faire I realised that it was about 21 years since I established the Mangy Mongol Tavern at Pen Gwynne War. It seemed appropriate to bring out a poem I'd written a few years ago, part of a larger body called, in truly plagiaristic bombast, The Canterbury Faire Tales. 

Some folks asked me to make the work available so I present The Mongols Tale which is presented in the larger work by the narrator

THE MONGOLS TALE

The willingness of my chums in the bar

Had set my heart a glowing like a star

The game I knew it was as good as won

The talent shone like dewdrops in the sun

And though it seemed a bit of overkill

We’d show these lads the measure of our skill

And any way as those who know me say

I love a beer if I don’t have to pay

Much better than if I should have to dip

Into my purse for liquor or for tip

If whiskey’s free and wine and porter too

You will find that I will lead the queue

Horilka, sherry, if they’re free as well

Will give to me a thirst I wouldn’t sell

The thought of it just made my throat so dry

It’s now or never so I’ll have to try

To win the bet and so without ado

I will impart the Mongols tale to you.

The Mangy Mongol Tavern is the place

in which this tale’s originally set,

and why the banner bears the Mongol’s face

is quite the most amazing story yet.

A score of years have fled on past

since I returned back home at last

from fighting in a foreign land.

The broadsword in my strong right hand,

my trusty dagger and my lance

were not my sole deliverance.

I owe my life to a little man,

a drifter, unknown by his clan.

We went to war as many do

for lack of better things to do.

Thinking naught of death or woe

but just how far man could go,

if he could be a captain grand,

with troops aplenty to command,

a pile of riches at his feet

and all the beef a man could eat

and  plates of apricots and curds

and lasses hanging on his words.

It seemed to be a fine vocation,

who knew our final destination

could be a shallow pit of doom,

a lonely death in a lonely room?

A man joined us, as we  marched away,

a man from a place they call Cathay.

A more scrofulous man you’d never meet,

with bloodshot eyes and stinking feet.

A reeking man with a wispy beard,

your nostrils twitched whene’er you neared.

Yaks lard and Koumiss were his diet,

I don’t suggest a dog would try it.

He’d a robe of sorts, a tatty rag,

his armour and a saddle bag,

an old, old sword and rusty knife

and that was all he had in life.

His knife looked wicked in poor light,

at night or in a tavern fight

but in the vivid light of day

‘twould scare the shades of hell away.

For on the blade from tip to guard,

stretching nearly half  a yard,

was a fearsome blend of muck and rust,

quite sure to give you tetanus

or septicemia’s wracking pains

and gangrene creeping through your veins.

Yes, just a prick from that foul knife

would guarantee a shortened life

and you’d be lucky not to catch

some nasty cankers fit to match

the ones upon the Mongols bum.

You’d surely pray for death to come.

He followed us from war to war

and served as well as many more.

He ground the foemen in the dust,

his eyes aflame with battle lust

yes he was fearsome in the fight

but in the quiet peace of night

he’d send his little pouch of pay

to a family far away.

It seemed he had to leave his home

and as a soldier forced to roam

for slighting some or other chap

in some lost corner of a map.

For a score of years of soldiering,

in service of this or that King,

we knew no more of the Mongol man

or of his part in god’s great plan.

We’d crossed the land from end to end

and we could really call him friend.

Now by this time I’d played my hand

and risen upwards to command

a company in the army’s van,

where life has but a shortened span

but the pay was good if you’d survive

and come on through the smoke alive.

But in our current fight a wall

that we’d besieged had made us stall

and sheer brute force was not the way

to take the tow’r and seize the day.

Treachery was the thing we needed

and so our council was preceded

by a search for men who spoke the lingo

to sneak on in and then, by jingo

open up the sally port

so like a torrent of some sort,

we’d sweep into the baileys walls

and grab those beggars in their halls

and so the greater share of treasure

would be the well-deserved measure

of any man who had the juice

to put his head inside the noose

of our well known opposing lord

a man, it’s said, when he was bored

would have his own subjects done in

for some imaginary sin,

for looking sideways at a cat,

wearing an overly wide hat,

for not laughing at his puerile wit

that was the very least of it.

He’d find the most delightful ways

to end his hapless subjects days.

Their heads were hung about the place

a snarling rictus on each face.

To remind each fellow in our crew

that this was not a fellow who’d

show kindness to a failed spy

but rather let the beggar die

in many varied nasty ways

that all took at least sev’ral days.

So when the call went out for men

to sneak into the keep and then

to open up that sally port

we found the queue was rather short.

Consisting of a single man

who had the skills to work the plan.

The little Mongol there did stand

his nasty cleaver in his hand,

a nasty grin upon his face,

he said “I’ll open up the place”

“but I must have your full support,

‘cos you all know if I am caught,

my poor old bottom it will settle

roasting in a boiling kettle.

My lads, I don’t know if I’m brave

enough to carry to the grave

the details of your cunning plan

if tortured by that nasty man.

So when I call you come on quick

and we’ll garrote them , that’s the trick.”

I thought as he left “He’s a fool

or else exceptionally cool

but either way I’m glad that he

wants the other fellow dead not me.”

So off into the dragons maw

he wandered and we heard no more

for two days then a piercing shout

gave word a fight had broken out

and high up on the battlement

a crowd approached with bad intent

the Mongol man who quickly slayed

a sergeant with his filthy blade,

then threw out well behind the moat

a half brick wrapped up in a note.

Before the weight of numbers told

eight men stretched out before him cold.

But one mans never quite enough

though he may have the hero’s stuff

and so the scrummage bore him down

and with it died the battle sound.

We read the note. Its tone was terse,

with little time for flow’ry verse.

It said, if I recall it right,

that some time at the fall of night.

The northwest towers sally port

had had it’s guards and sentries bought

by silver from the cunning Mong,

A castle bought for but a song,

but “strike tonight without delay”

the Mongols note went on to say,

“for how long can the guards stay bought

now that their paymasters caught?”

The Captains feared to make the charge

for with the Mongol not at large

if he talked ere we stormed the place

an ambush we would surely face

and be cut down like scythed wheat.

A gruesome fate we’d surely meet.

I spoke up for my comp’nys man

“he won’t reveal our cunning plan,

but if he does we’ll  pay the fee,

The first man through the door is me

and if my men can take the gate

you’ll know you need no longer wait

but charge on in and seize the day

and make that ruthless villain pay.”

So with a horrid trepidation

fit to cure constipation

I led my men as night did fall

up to the  darkened castle walls

and prised ope the little gate

that sealed the wicked tyrant’s fate.

We took the gatehouse and its crew

and let our army march on through.

Our opponents quickly found

themselves caught napping and the sound

of “Quarter, quarter” filled the air

as men threw down their weapons there

and begged for mercy on their knees.

We took the castle at our ease.

Some of our men had stormed a door

and seized the tyrant and what’s more,

had strung him up by his scrawny throat

and slung his corpse into the moat,

but I went looking in the cellar

to find the little Mongol fellow

who’d held his tongue and saved us all.

I found him chained up to a wall

but done for, it was plain to see,

they’d butchered him most terribly.

He looked at me and slowly said

“I hope that rotten beggars dead!”

I nodded “Yes, I saw him croak”

the Mongol smiled as if a joke

had brushed his pain from off his face

and sent it to some other place.

He said “Now I can happy die,

I swore that I’d outlive that guy

and not this afternoon you know

but more than thirty years ago.

When I was forced to leave my clan

for falling foul of that wicked man.

When I was young I cut the dash

and though I was a little rash,

It’s not as if I even knew

that ‘twas his lovely daughter who

I’d dallied with one afternoon

but she was radiant as the moon

and so in love with her was I,

I thought without her that I’d die

But her old man had made it plain

a lonely grave was all I’d gain.

If ever I stood in his sight

he’d kill us both from pure spite.

So I made an abrupt ‘bout turn

and left there never to return.

But I had sworn I’d see him snuff

and though you thought you’d offer’d enough

gold to buy my bravery ,

I would have done the job for free.

For thirty long, long years I’ve waited,

now my vengeance has been sated.

I’ll shuffle of this mortal coil

and go and watch the coffee boil

in that great tavern in the sky,

where mongols go whene’er they die.

My one regret is I’ve not known

a family life and lived alone.

With no real chance to lay my head

in what I’d truly call my bed

but life’s too short for those “what ifs”

I’ll leave them for some other stiffs

and anyway this final smile

has made the living worth the while.”

So with those words he went away

“Goodbye old son.” All I could say.

We took him out and built a pyre

raked his ashes from the fire

and put them in a little chest

and wondered where he’d like them best.

Before our army’s next campaign

I said “I’ve seen enough of pain

and death.” It seems to me that it

has come the time for me to quit

and end a life of soldiering .”

So with a smile from a grateful king

I took my pay and booty too,

a bag of gems of crimson hue,

an emerald looted from a priest,

a pig or too on which to feast,

some feathered hats and silks of course,

a stolen cart and stolen horse.

All this I loaded up on top

but something made me turn and stop

before I homeward strolled along

I thought about my mate the Mong

I grabbed his box and said “Old mate,

I know a place for you that’s great.

When I got home I stopped to sup

at a tavern near where I grew up

I showed the man who tapped the keg

A ruby like a pigeons egg

and said that “There’s another three

if you will sell your pub to me.”

The barman gulped and thought a while,

I gave the man a manic smile

that I had practiced in the field,

it had caused many men to yield.

The barkeep took my subtle hint

and by a very cunning dint

of bargaining extracted  not

just four rubies but also got

my to horse and cart to take away

but I was happy, I could stay.

At last a place to call my own,

a thing my chum had never known.

So now he sits behind the bar,

observing folk from near and far

and so I hope he’s happy here

surrounded by the smell of beer.

So I have put his bold visage

as our pub signs central charge,

and named the tavern for his name

and hope the everlasting fame

will seem to him a winning jest

(he liked unsubtle humour best).

Two great things he taught me

 that ev’ry man should know.

If he would into foreign countries

 soldiering go.

If looking for a sudden strike

to make a battle end,

always pick a gutsy man

who won’t betray a friend.

And also that there’s one thing

Even Tyrants cannot budge

And that’s a little Mongol

with a thirty year old grudge.