Thursday, 7 January 2016

Christmas Day 1624

Thou mayest refer to me as Henry Cardigan, son of Thomas Cardigan, member of the House of Commoners for the county of Cardiganshire in the Parliament gathered in the name of King James of most wondrous Britain, and Mary Cardigan, his wife and as I has't been given a diary to record everything that happeneth to me from now on as a Christmas present as a record of life in Jacobean Wales, so alloweth me start by telling thee a little about myself.

I wast born in the year of our Lord 1605 and would like to bethink that in the last twenty years has't grown up to beest a respectable young sir following in the footsteps of mine father and mother by helping those less fortunate than myself. I has't been toldeth by people that I behold very much like mine father, but at the same time cannot holp but bethink I could beest a little bit stronger.

I liveth in the mansion hath built by mine father on the Crosswood estate in the heart of the county of Cardiganshire. Now, I should pray pardon me something ere I wend on further, and that is a gross amount of the people in this area speaketh a language hath called Welsh. As far as I can understandeth, it's a language that is derived from the language that the Celts of fusty hath used to speaketh and sadly, tryeth as hard as i do beseech you simply cannot speaketh with any degree of fluency, but I can sound t out slowly. And because most of the lodging names in this county art writ in Welsh I shalt tryeth mine best to pronounce those folk and translate those folk into English (based on what I has't hath heard mine father telleth me) at which hour I mention those folk. As an example, Crosswood (the name that mine father gaveth to this estate at which hour that gent wast willed t after serving in the court of valorous Queen Bess) translates into Welsh as Trawsgoed (which is pronounced Trowels Goi Ed) and if 't be true tis any consolation t tooketh me about three years from at which hour I wast able to speaketh to sayeth t


Ah, I can heareth mine father calling me for Christmas dinner, so ere I leaveth I wilt just sayeth one thing. Although I wast born to a father and a mother, mine mother hath kicked the bucket whilst I wast born and therefore I only has't the one parent, but I knoweth that by the grace of God, mine mother is at each moment watching ov'r me and I shalt recall that lady for all time. properly myself.

Written by my own fair hand, Henry Cardigan, this day of the mass of Christ in the year of our Lord 1624

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