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As you have so wisely requested on her Majesty’s behalf, I have compiled for your perusal the personal histories of the town of Stafford. As you did write, “’tis not enough that we know the facts concerning the history of the land we are to visit. ‘tis also of great import that we know the character of the land we are to visit. Her Majesty doth know her lands but she does not yet know the minutia of her peoples.’ I have painstakingly trekked through the farms and bustling markets of Stafford, interviewing both citizen and denizen alike. Here now is presented the character of Stafford.
Though the shire and town of Stafford has been in existence for centuries, its current face can be seen through the events of the last three score years. At that time, Stafford was already an important marketplace. ‘twas the center of commerce and government for the surrounding areas. This drew several new, and soon to be important, figures to the area. Master Lance Lott, a farmer by trade, purchased a large tract of land near Stafford. Known for his sweet and often naïve nature rather than keen intellect, Master Lance made several bad business decisions ultimately resulting in his loss of everything. ‘twould appear, though, that where matters of business fail, matters of the heart prevail. Master Lance married Mistress Victoria, in whose dowry came a large tract of land. Rather than let Master Lance manage the lands, Mistress Victoria, a head strong woman, ran the day to day business of the family in a profitable manner. Victoria saw to it that her children were well taken care of. Currently, the Lotts are known for both their amazing business sense and their large numbers in the Stafford area. As the saying doth go, one cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a Lott.
Another important family came to Stafford near three score years ago: the Grimstons. Two partners in law, Sir John Blacklock and Sir Edmund Grimston came to Stafford with a vision, a plan for governance not known in the rest of England. Slowly, over the course of two decades, the partners married well and became fixtures in the community. When King Henry VIII died, the people of Stafford were thrown into confusion. Sir Edmund became Lord Mayor and Sir John became Judge Blacklock of Stafford. With their positions, the partners attempted to turn Stafford into an authoritarian state, run by the Mayor. Unfortunately for them, the town crowner, Sir Reginald Bear, discovered the attempts. Reporting their activities to the Crown, Master Bear was granted the authority to establish a mechanism to check the growing power of the office of Mayor and courts. As such, he created the Town Council, a forum of the people of Stafford. Any landed man of Stafford, or his proxy, may vote in the town council. Without the council’s support, the policies of any member of the local government would not be allowed to take effect. Sir John and Sir Edmund began to publicly blame each other for the ills of Stafford in a vain attempt to curry favor with the town council. Thus, local politics in Stafford was born.
‘Twould appear that three score years ago was a remarkable time for Stafford for yet another soon to be influential family did arrive in Stafford: the Woodwards. Sir John Woodward and his wife, Anne, poured their entire savings into purchasing several large tracts of land surrounding Stafford from the local farmers during a season of drought. Money and food were scarce during the time and a great many of Stafford’s residents needed some coin in their pouch rather than large tracts of land producing nothing. For several years, the Woodwards sat upon their worthless lands. Many of the people started calling Sir John “John Spendwrong” and “John Dirtfarmer,” for the only crop the lands would give up was dirt. Ten years later, the gamble paid off. Rains flowed from the skies, bringing life back to the lands. The crops were so bountiful that Woodward had to hire several dozen farmhands to tend the lands he owned. As ‘twould happen, Sir John happily hired those who mocked him to tend the lands that they once owned for a fraction of the profit they would have received had they not originally sold them. The Woodwards quickly grew to become the wealthiest landowners in the town of Stafford.
Through the works of the children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren of these families most of Stafford as we know it was built. Stafford remained quiet for several decades, a sleepy crossroads town where everybody knows your name. That quiet tranquility was thrown into chaos, though, when her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, first came to the town. For her Majesty’s arrival, Stafford put on a Faire. The Staffordshire Faire was a time of eating, drinking, and merriment. The people even put together a gift for her Grace: a wagon filled with all those things which the people thought beautiful. ‘twas a most horrendous site to behold, for in Stafford ‘twould appear that though most people hold flowers and garlands to be things of beauty, others hold that a deer skull and fresh fish are beautiful. The combinations were atrocious, but her majesty took it as ‘twas: a gift from the hearts of her people. Her Majesty was so ta’en by the people of Stafford’s good will that she has made it a point to progress through this town every spring to enjoy time with her people.
The coming of the Queen and her court has brought more business to Stafford during the spring faire than any thought possible. One man had the knowledge, wealth, and foresight to take advantage of this fact: Master Richard Pate. Master Pate based his grand dream on the Exchange created by Sir John Grisham in London. The Stafford Exchange would be an enclosed area where all of the merchants of town would sell their wares. Master Pate realized his dream and the exchange brought him wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. Merchants from far and wide came to Stafford to sell their wares. Stafford became an economic power in the region. Unfortunately, where coins flow like water, there are thieves to drink them up. During this period of Stafford’s prosperity, a master thief by the name of Jeniah Pupinjay, usually referred to simply as “Pup” infiltrated a troupe of the town’s musicians. Using her cunning and street smarts, Pup converted most of the minstrels into daring thieves and catburglars. Stafford suddenly possessed gentry, a rich middle class, peasants, revelers, and even a criminal element. ‘twas growing faster than anyone could imagine.
At the peak of Stafford’s prosperity, disaster struck. ‘twas All Hallows Eve, deep into the evening hours, when an alarm was raised throughout the town. The voice of Master Edward Bellows rang clear through the night; “The Exchange is on fire.” Flames blazed through the enclosed merchant stalls. Cottons and wool to be sold fed the fire. The vapors from ales, wines, and tannery supplies exploded like brilliant suns. The fire quickly spread, jumping as if by magic to the surrounding houses and businesses. E’en the crops were a light. Nobody knew how the fire began; though Bartholomew Woodward was seen racing away on horseback, chased by Garold Lott, knocking over men and women alike, kicking them with their horses. Eventually, the fire was put out, though not before most of the homes and stores were razed to the ground. Most of the influential and rich merchants left the burnt husk of Stafford behind. Many residents abandoned Stafford to find new homes elsewhere. The few people who remained have a spirit burning within them as hot as the fire. They would stay and rebuild Stafford. Proceeding in stages, Stafford is once again beginning to take shape for the spring festival. Several merchants have set up tents from which to sell their wares. The people are erecting a maypole to dance about and rumors abound that the heart of any village, the Pub, will be operational by the start of the faire. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the town of Stafford will be born again.
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