Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - The London Frost Fair of 1814

Starting point is 00:00:00 Hey friends, for the best Get Sleepy experience, be sure to check out our supporters feed Get Sleepy Premium for our free listening weekly bonus episodes and access to our entire catalogue. Now, a quick word from our sponsors who make the free version of this show possible. Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy. My name's Thomas, and I'm your host. Thank you so much for being here. Tonight's story was beautifully written by Jessica Miller and will be read by the always soothing Abbey of her. We'll travel back in time to England's capital of London in the winter of 1814.

Starting point is 00:00:58 Where will visit one of the city's famous frostfares? of the city's famous frostfares. Now it means the world to the team and I to be able to bring this show to you and to help you get the best sleep possible. However, we can't do it without the kind support of our premium subscribers, so if you're enjoying the show, it would be amazing to have your support on Get Sleepy Premium. As a big thank you for being a part of the Get Sleepy family, the benefits for our premium supporters include nearly 500 full-length episodes to choose from each night, all completely out-free. Plus our weekly bonus episodes that come out every Thursday exclusively

Starting point is 00:01:47 on Get Sleepy Premium. Tomorrow, Nikki will be back to read another seasonal Celtic meditation. This time, it's based on new beginnings. To hear that and everything else on our premium feed, go to GetSleepy.com slash support. You'll have a 7 day free trial when you first sign up. That's GetSleepy.com slash support, or you can simply follow the link in the show notes to find out more. Ok my friends, I hope you're feeling comfortable and relaxed. If you need to shift position, take a nice stretch or plump up your pillow, go ahead and

Starting point is 00:02:41 do so. It's all part of the transition process from the busyness of the day where we feel like we have to get things done into the slow and gentle night where we must allow ourselves to switch off from that more frantic pace. So as you lay in bed, I want you to just focus on what feels good in this moment. There might be something physical like the soft weight of your duvet, keeping you snug and warm. You might enjoy the darkness of the space around you, giving your eyes a chance to rest. Perhaps your mind feels pleasantly settled and at peace, and that's a good feeling. Maybe it's even the sound of my voice bringing familiarity and comfort to your nightly routine. It's easy to get caught up in focusing on what doesn't feel right.

Starting point is 00:04:18 But shifting our attention onto the things that do feel good is a nice way to settle down. So continue to simply enjoy those good feelings. And as you do, close your eyes and listen to the sound of Abby's voice as she leads you back in time to London on a cold February night, many years ago. You are sitting at a Mahogany writing desk in a drawing room of an elegant London townhouse. The room is quiet, nearly silent. The only sounds are the crackle of a fire hissing low in the grey. The scratch of your fountain pen on your thick white writing paper, and the occasional splash as you dip your nib into your ink well.

Starting point is 00:05:48 You are spending the night inside catching up on your correspondence. You finish your letter and reach real stick of ceiling wax. You shave off a small quantity of wax into a silver spoon. Holding the bowl of the spoon over your candle, you wait for the wax to melt. Then, you let a pool of wax drip onto your folded letter and stamp the letter with your seals to close it. You place the letter on a tray along with the other letters you have written this evening, then reach for a fresh sheet of paper. But then you stop, then let the paper fall from your fingers.

Starting point is 00:06:37 You've glimpsed the wind tonight through the window. The view through the frosty glass is so enchanting you push back your chair and lean against the window sill. The day has been dreary, a typical February day, cold and grey and thick with fog. But looking through the window now, you see the fog has lifted, and the heavy clouds which covered the sun this afternoon have rolled away to reveal a brilliant full moon. The sky is clear and filled with stars. Snow is softly falling. The rest of your correspondence can wait until tomorrow.

Starting point is 00:07:25 Tonight is the perfect night to visit the frost fair. You dress for the cold, selecting your heaviest jacket. It's so thick and downy it feels like wearing a deliciously warm quilt. You button your heaviest boots and pull on your best gloves. Your head is covered with a winter hat and your neck is wrapped tight with a woolen muffler. When you open the door onto the street, the air is chilly and flecked with dancing snowflakes. But in your winter clothes, the cold air feels pleasant and refreshing. The street is quiet and empty. It feels as if you have the whole city of London to yourself.

Starting point is 00:08:19 Everyone must be at the frost fair. You start off in the direction of the Thames, down Bishop Skate Street, pausing for a moment when you pass St. Bottles Church. Its gothic spire is dusted with snow and the churchyard lies still under a blanket of white. You keep walking. Here and there, the amber glow of an oil lamp shines through the window, but for the most part the street is dark. Even the lead and hall market, so bustling in the daytime is quiet and still, safe for a few sleek cats that prowl between the shuttered stalls. But when you reach the corner of Grace Church Street and King William Street, you start to hear the sounds of the frostfair. The laughter of the crowds, the excited voices

Starting point is 00:09:22 of children who have stayed up long past their bedtime, the horse yells of the merchants and tradespeople who work at the fair. You round the corner, the narrow cobblestone streets have until now blocked your view of the River Thames. But now, crossing monument yard on your way down to London bridge, you can see the frozen river and the frost fair spread before you. The full moon lights up the scene. The surface of the frozen river is thick and white and smooth like spilled cream. Right before you, London bridge stretches across the ice.

Starting point is 00:10:17 Over the course of the winter, ice flows have crashed against its pylons and piled up on top of each other, making glittering miniature ice mountains. Turning to the west, you can see St Paul's Cathedral, its famous dome dusted with white. In the other direction, the imposing stonework of the Tower of London reaches into the sky. Across the river, you see a distinctive round building, half timbreed in the old Tudor style. This is the Globe Theatre, where centuries ago Shakespeare premiered his plays. There's no doubt that the London skyline is spectacular tonight, gilded with snow and sparkling in the moonlight. But even more spectacular is the scene unfolding across the river Thames itself.

Starting point is 00:11:29 Tents have been pitched across the ice. They are all shapes and colours. Small, shabby canvas tents. Bright tents festooned with lanterns and strings of flags, huge silk marquise that could fit hundreds of people inside. Some patches of the ice have been roped off, so guests can play nine pins or skate on the ice. Dotted here and there are bonfires. The ice is too thick for even fire to melt, and people crowd around the fires to warm their hands. Sled drivers pull revelers across the ice, weaving between the tents and nine pins and the skaters and the bonfires, you pause for the edge of the ice.

Starting point is 00:12:32 Around you, people spill out of the warren of narrow streets and alleys behind London Bridge. They are all like you on their way to the fair. You watch them pass you by, thinking you've never seen such a lively varied crowd in the capital before. Coming to the fair on foot of flower sellers and cabbagear, done with work for the day and swinging their now empty baskets over their arms. Shop girls have stepped out from behind their counters, housemaids and butlers on their

Starting point is 00:13:19 nights off, are wearing their best hats. Factory workers trample down to the ice on a hobnailed booths, still grimey from the day's work. Butcher boys carry their aprons stuffed inside their coat pockets, leaving the apron strings to dangle, fluttering in the winter wind. Of course not everyone arrives at the frost-fair on foot. Now and then, the distinctive clip-clopping of haute hoos and the rattle of wheels and cobblestones sends the crowd scattering as a carriage comes through. The carriage drivers stop before the bridge. The footmen spring from the carriage footboards to open the door and lower the stair and well-heeled passengers disembark.

Starting point is 00:14:25 You see gentlemen in thick overcoats and silk top hats, women in heavy wool gowns and richly decorated bonnets and children in velvet coats. But while some come on foot and some by carriage, the distinctions blur as they make their way onto the ice. Cabbage cellars and butcher boys rubbing shoulders with lords and ladies. While you watch the crowd, there is one figure in particular who catches your eye, a young woman wearing a sapphire blue cloak. The cloaks vivid blue stands out against the graze and blues and browns that most of the crowd wear. As she darts nimbly through the throng, her cloak slips and you can see her hair is pale blonde ringlets. She doesn't look like she belongs to London, this city of grey folk and marble. You wonder where she comes from and what brings her to the Frostware.

Starting point is 00:15:57 But while you're wondering, she slips from view. A makeshift wooden ramp leads visitors from the riverbank down to the frostware. You go over the ramp carefully, then step onto the ice. It's a little slippery at first, but you soon find your balance. You stroll past the little stalls at the fairs edges where stall holders sell tins of tea or loaves of dark sticky gingerbread wrapped in waxed paper tied with ribbon or hot stewed apples. An old woman in a lace cap sells exquisite handmade dolls. A next to her, a glove maker has laid out his wares, buttery soft gloves in every colour imaginable. While you're browsing through the gloves, you catch a flash of blue for the corner of your eye.

Starting point is 00:17:14 It's the woman with a sapphire cloak. You hurry after her. This time, you're determined to catch up with her. You follow her through the ice alleys that wind between the market stores, around a crackling fire where fairgoers have stopped to warm themselves. Past a colorful wooden theater where puppets sing and dance for a crowd of children. Finally, she slips into a caravan is warm and cozy. A fortune teller wrapped in a bright shore sits at a table. But the woman in the sapphire cloak is nowhere to be seen.

Starting point is 00:18:22 The fortune teller gestures to you to sit down. You sink into the velvet armchair across from her. Its cushions are so deliciously soft and warm you forget to feel disappointed that the young woman in the sapphire cloak has once more vanished. The fortune teller takes your hand, studies it, then looks up at you with a smile. She tells you to prepare yourself for a magical evening. You love a little to yourself. You feel sure the fortune teller must say something similar to every customer who comes into her caravan. But you shake out some coins from your purse in payment and thank her before stepping out into the night again

Starting point is 00:19:30 And after all you think as you admire the sparkle of moonlight on the frozen Thames There is something magical about tonight There is something magical about tonight. All of London seems to have fallen under a frosty spell. You keep walking, admiring the stools and the crowd, and the various jugglers and singers and fiddle players performing on the Thames as if it were an icy theatre stage. But you don't stop until at last the cries and a whoops of a group of people draw you to see what the spectacle is. You slip to the front of the crowd and see they are gathered around a particularly entertaining game of nine pins.

Starting point is 00:20:38 A patch of ice has been swept smooth as glass, At the far end, stand nine wooden skittles. At the other end of this makeshift bowling alley, stand the two competitors. One is a factory worker wearing leather braces and well-worn hobnail boots. He plays one handed and holds a mug of frothy spiced ale in the other face. The gentleman is a very precise player. Time and again he knocks down all nine skittles with one short toss of his wooden ball. But the worker is even better. Without ever setting down his mark, he too knocks down all the skittles. Finally, the gentleman throws white and misses his mark. Sensing victory, the worker hands his mug to a companion and to a chorus of cheers and whistles knocks down every single skittle. When he wins, the gentleman tells the worker that he has beat him fair

Starting point is 00:22:32 and square and one handed. He takes off his hat and doves it to the worker. A hush falls over the rowdy crowd, and you feel your own breath catch in your throat. This is no ordinary gentleman. This is the prince of Wales. The crowd murmurs nervously. The man's pink-cheeked face suddenly turns white. Has he offended the prince? Your Highness, he stammeres. If only I'd known, but the prince laughs and tosses the man a coin and tells him to put it towards his next round of ale. The crowd breaks into relieved laughter.

Starting point is 00:23:43 The prince leaves with his valley. Beside you, a young girl stares at the prince's retreating back in open, mouthed wonder. Everyone in London had the frost fare tonight, she says in an old voice. The nine pins are tidied into a neat triangle, ready for the next round. But you don't plan to watch. You've been out on the ice a long time now, and you start to feel the cold pinching at your toes and your fingertips. It is time to warm yourself. In the centre of the fair is an enormous striped tent.

Starting point is 00:24:54 You pull open one of its heavy canvas doors and a blast of warmth rushes at your face. In here fires crackle in braziers and benches piled with soft cushions and warm blankets are arranged over the ice. The tent is filled with fairgoers eating spicy gingerbread and drinking warm drinks from copper mugs and regaining each other with their tails of the fair. You purchase a mug of hot apple cider. First you hold it up to your face and deeply sniff the fragrance steam, whifting from the top of the drink. You smell apple of course, but a hint of cinnamon too and star anise and may be closed. At last you take a sip, the cider is delicious. It sends a clear radiant warmth all through your body, starting at your toes, working its way up your legs, radiating up your spine, and then out into your arms and fingers. Now you are perfectly warm. Just as you are savoring the delicious warmth, your glimpse of flash of sapphire blue from the corner of your eye.

Starting point is 00:26:55 It's her again, the woman with the pale ringlets. You slowly sip at the rest of your cider and a watch as she moves through the tent. In contrast to the rest of the crowd who are all red-cheeked and red-nosed from the chill, she is perfectly pale. Against her white skin and her white hair, her eyes are a shade of piercing icy blue. She goes from group to group, and at every new group she comes to, she beckons the fairgoers to come in close and listen to her. As she speaks, you notice how the smiles grow across the listeners' faces. They look as if they are being let in on a wonderful secret, then she leaves onto the next group. At last she comes to where you stand with your empty side amok.

Starting point is 00:28:21 She draws a crowd in around her, and when she sees you hovering at its edges, she crooks her finger, inviting you to draw nearer. She tells you all that at midnight tonight, a circus will perform on the ice, and this is no ordinary circus. It is a spectacle beyond belief, she says. There will be only one performance. This circus only ever performs when the moon is full, and she can't tell you what far away land the circus will have travelled to by she looks directly at you when she speaks. And so, at midnight, you find yourself out on the ice. The stage is simple. A patch of ice is cordoned off with blue velvet rope.

Starting point is 00:29:51 The full moon shining down serves as a spotlight. The woman in the ice blue cloak was telling the truth. This is like no circus you have ever seen before. There are aquabats and dancing swans. A woman who throws a handful of glitter in the air, then disappears behind its sparkly dust, only to reappear in the back row of the audience. And a magician who lifts off his midnight blue top hat to show a rose bush has sprouted inside it. But the woman in the blue cloak is nowhere to be seen.

Starting point is 00:30:58 Not until the final act. Two stage hands wheel out a tall column. A length of rope is secured to the top of the column. You realise it is a trapeze, but where is the trapeze artist? But where is the trapeze artist? The stage is empty. The crowd is hushed. Finally, she comes out. The woman in the blue cloak. Moonlight falls in a perfect circle onto the ice. She steps into its center, then shrugs

Starting point is 00:31:53 off her cloak. She is wearing a silvery, spangled leotard. Snow falls lightly onto her curls and her bare shoulders, but she doesn't seem to feel the cold. She only smiles lightly, then turns, walks over to the tall column and climbs to its top. She catches the bar of the trapeze in her hands and launches off the column, soaring out into the night sky. She swings back and forth, turning and arching. Then she lets go of the bar and sails out into the night, totally untethered from any rope. She hangs in the air like a snowflake. She stays where she is just long enough to make you wonder if gravity will ever have an effect on her. Then she floats back down and effortlessly catches the bar of her trapeze between her hands. From the top of her column she signals to the crowd, she needs a volunteer.

Starting point is 00:33:49 Around you, people start to wave and clamour, hoping that they'll be picked. But you remember the way she looked at you earlier, and now she has already chosen you. When you step forward onto the stage, she nods, pleased. She motions for you to come closer to the column and stretch up your arms. Then she hooks her knees over the trapeze and swings down to you gathering speed. You understand that she means to catch you by the hands, then swing you up into the air with her. You smile when she catches your hands in her. You feel calm and sure in her grasp. With a smooth gliding motion, she swings you up into the air.

Starting point is 00:35:10 You feel weightless, as light as the night breeze that ripples against your cheeks. You go higher and higher and higher still, until you can see all of the frost-fair spread beneath you. The bright stalls, the glowing bonfires, the sleds criss-crossing the surface of the frozen river. You swing higher again, and now you can see the snow covered dome of St. Paul's, the turrets of the tower, the spire of big Ben. In fact, you fancy, you can see all of London, the columns and porticos of the British Museum, regions part all dusted in white, the observatory at Greenwich, and through it all, like a frosty ribbon, the river tems.

Starting point is 00:36:40 It is all laid out before you, like a scene from a snow globe. Even the terraced house on a little lane were not more than a few hours ago, you sat writing at your Mahogany desk. Later, the trapeze artist will swing you back down and your feet will touch the ground once more. You will linger while the circus packs are, waiting for another glimpse of the woman in the sapphire blue cloak. But you won't see her again, at least not this full moon. Then you'll join the last of the fairgoers as they leave the icy river and a wall through the silent city streets heading for home. You'll go through the door of your townhouse, take off your heavy coat and boots, shake the snow from your clothes and warm yourself

Starting point is 00:38:12 by the fire in your drawing room. You'll wash with warm soapy water and put on fresh night clothes. Then, you'll fall back against the soft pillows of your bed and pull your cozy eye to down or up to your chin. Your eyes will grow heavy. Your limbs will turn And you'll fall into a deep sleep as outside the snow piles thickly against your window But for now, you are floating, almost flying over the wintry city with the pale stars above you, and the frozen water below, totally waitless. Totally free. you you you I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room.

Starting point is 00:41:10 I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. ... you you I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing.

Starting point is 00:42:27 I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing. I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing. I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing. ... ... ... ... I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room.

Starting point is 00:44:16 I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go a little bit of the same thing. I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing. I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing. I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing.

Starting point is 00:44:42 I'm going to do a little bit of the same thing. you I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room.

Starting point is 00:45:20 I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. I'm going to go to the next room. ... ... you you

Get Sleepy: Sleep meditation and stories - The London Frost Fair of 1814

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