Andrew Lockard
Mr. Haskell
World History E core
9 October, 2003
Medieval Journals
January 15, 1347
Dear Journal,
My name is Swanstrom of Colchester, a town in South East England. I am a brewer by trade, and I brew the finest of all ales. They are traded in cities from all around the region of southeastern England. I have become literate because of the need to correctly label all of the ingredients for my fine ales. I recently purchased a “journal” for keeping accounts of my daily activities. I must go fetch the forgetful cooper Fred, and remind him that he still owes me three new barrels for my delivery tomorrow. On a brighter not, in a few days I will be delivered a new shipment of barley from the island of Sicily and I will soon be distilling it into a fine brew.
January 16, 1347
Dear Journal,
Today I must submit my latest batch of ale to the Brewer’s Guild. The Guild oversees all the industries involving brewing, most of which would be ales and beers, inspect for quality and set prices (which is a terrible burden on my pocketbook.) The Guild is one of the largest in the town, probably due to the fact that grain and grain products are the main export of Colchester, a main ingredient of brewed products. While I’m there, I also plan on participating in the vote on whether or not to donate funds to maintain our city’s old walls. The walls were in fact built by the Roman thousands of years earlier and still holding, albeit with many gold pieces worth of maintenance, strong and sturdy.
January 17, 1347
Dear Journal,
Yesterday, after serving my shipment to the old Guild Master Charles, he stated that it was the “foulest tasting liquid he had ever tasted” before promptly spitting it onto my finest tunic. That all but blows my shot as becoming the Guild Master after that sickly old man kicks it, as he has yet to have any living relations and yet to name a successor. It was probably that cunning cooper Fred using that tainted northern wood that leaves a foul taste in anything placed inside of it, for his barrels again. The fool has used them twice before, much to the dissatisfaction his customer’s stomachs. I’ll give him a swift kick to the face if I don’t get my money’s worth back for those barrels. But, first, I must send my apprentice Little Robert to wait on the nearby coast for signs of that trading vessel with our grain aboard.
January 18, 1347
Dear Journal,
Today the strangest thing happened regarding my shipment of fine foreign barley from Caffa. When Little Robert, my apprentice, returned with the load of barley in a cart, he reported a strange story. He said that when the boat arrived, all aboard had come down with a most peculiar set of symptoms. They were all covered with strange dark bruises and were delirious, as well as smelling putrid. The ship and it’s contents were sent away by the peasant folk once they realized the foul state of the crew aboard, but not before clever Little Robert could sneak aboard and retrieve my barley and slip away unnoticed. Upon opening the barrels the barley was stowed in, I discovered a family of rats that I quickly shooed away.
January 19, 1347
Dear Journal,
Today I set to work of brewing my new batch of barley. Once the batch is finished, I’m going to deliver it to the most popular area of town, the pub. But, on the bad side of things, I think I’ve been bitten by some sort of insect, as there is a bright red bite on my leg that I have been unable to stop scratching. Actually, I think it is beginning to blister. It certainly is a painful bite. I should perhaps travel to the local doctor to see what he can make of it.
January 20, 1347
Dear Journal,
It appears as though my insect bite has expanded and become far more blistering than it had before. I have also come down with a high fever, although I figure that it is probably only coincidence it’s occurring at the same time as my blister. Although the fever made me feel faint, I continued to work on my newest batch of brew. After I completed my work, I visited the doctor to find a notice stating that he had strangely passed away the day before of a condition probably known only to him. I suppose I will have to just keep going about my business as usual.
January 21, 1347
Dear Journal,
Today, although my fever has developed into chills and my blister has begun to deteriorate my condition, I still found the strength search town for Fred the cooper. In another odd twist of fate, Fred has also been found dead. Unfortunately, I was the first one to discover this. While walking into his store, I noticed a putrid smell and found his body lying on the floor with a pool of blood under his mouth. Most disturbingly, his body was deformed and discolored black with bruises all over. I informed the local authorities and retired back to my home, weary from the days walking.
January 22, 1347
Dear Journal,
I was awakened this morning to loud, bustling noises outside of my home. It appears as if the town is now in revolt. I sent Little Robert downstairs into the shop, and he reported that our distillery had been sacked. All of our stores were ripped open and poured onto the floor, and our current brew tipped and spilled everywhere. The revolting crowd left no business unscathed. They are apparently rioting over the lack of leadership over the outbreak of deaths that have been occurring in our city. From what I can gather, the numbers of deaths have tripled because of this mysterious disease the past few days. Hopefully, a doctor from another city will be fetched to help us and end these terrible deaths and riots.
January 23, 1347
Dear Journal,
I have finally become bed-ridden and unable to go about my daily tasks. I have begun to develop a fear that I may in fact have this mysterious disease that has been plaguing the city. I have a tremendous swelling in my arm pits and my neck. I now also have an extremely painful headache that has rendered me almost unable to write this entry. My fever has spiked to an extreme rate and it has become difficult to think straight with all of these symptoms. I still have yet to think of any way to fix my crippled brewery, while at the same time finding some sort of treatment for my own ailments.
January 24, 1347
Dear Journal,
This has by far been the worst day of my entire existence. My business is ruined, I have fallen deathly ill, and my apprentice is also showing signs of the same ailment. Outside, people are dieing on the street and the people still continue to riot and revolt. The rioters have already sacked businesses, and are now going about destroying building and burning them to the ground. No doctors have arrived yet with a cure, and people are in constant fear of catching the disease from one another. I am beginning to wonder if I myself am going to live through this. There is so much death and destruction around; people are dieing in agony, and those who are not are in fear of the same fate. I feel as though my days are now numbered. I will no longer be able to write in this journal, as it is requiring too much energy and thought in my failing condition.