“What freezings I have felt” Wm Shakespeare, Sonnet 97

My Lords and Gentlemen,

I must digress again from my chosen path. While the causes and effects of the beliefs of those who embrace Wokery is to be the subject of my Treatise, I must draw to your particular notice one peculiar sect of the Proponents of Sleeplessness whose origins are distinct from their Wakeful Brethren, to wit those who believe that our Extinction is imminent on account of an unnatural Cooling of the Earth.

Last week I journeyed to High House at St Laurence’s in Upminster in the Countie of Essex to visit Revd William Derham. Not only is this cleric a natural philosopher of renown but his larder is well-stocked as befits an alumnus of Oxford’s finest College¹This reference is considered to be confirmation that, like Derham who in 1675 entered the College as a Servitor, the Somnambulist also attended Trinity College, Oxford though his precise identity is still unknown. Revd Derham has made it is habit to record the temperatures of the locality which he inhabits and he imparted to the company his view that there is an inclination for the temperature of the Earth to become cooler ²It was Derham who recorded that the temperature at Upminster had fallen to 10⁰ F on 5^thJanuary 1709 writing “I believe the Frost was greater (if not more universal also) than any other within the Memory of Man”, The History of the Great Frost in the Last Winter 1703 and 1708/9” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, 26 (324): 454-478. By the end of the 18^th century it was commonly considered amongst scientists that the world was indeed cooling. “If only” I replied “the tempers of Men would do so too”. 

“Indeed” was the reply of the wise cleric who was clearly much impressed by my swift wit. He then went on to make loud complaint to the companie that his observations on the climate had been much misunderstood. He did vouchsafe that a group of young persons encouraged by elderly Dissenters had so misunderstood his observations that they sought to reverse the direction of Nature by setting fires in every town and village and field and forest in the World in the vain hope that the Air would be heated and the Extinction of the World averted. 

“The Cure which they Prescribe will kill the patient more certainly than the Malady” I noted pithily.

“Indeed” agreed Revd Derham before turning to the Companie to explain that while the effect of the cooling on harvests would undoubtedly cause much misery, the destruction of the crops by the methods advocated by those who claimed to avert Extinction would be still more deleterious to Mankind. The Cleric then turned to explain how his opinion had thus been formed.

I must at this point make a confession. Mr Braund was at the table and he had supplied us with the choisest wines³L. S. Sutherland, A London Merchant 1695–1774, 2–7 In his old age Benjamin Braund (d. 1734), a vintner, retired to Corbets Tey, and his bachelor son William (1695–1774), a successful Portugal merchant and City financier, also settled in Upminster. It is not clear to which of the Braunds the Somnambulist is referring but it is probably the elder. The liquors were of such quantity⁴If Braund had not been at the table it is doubtful whether the liquor would be of such quality. Derham is recorded as brewing his own beer and cider: Letter Derham to Dacre Barrett, 19 May 1705 that my recollection of Revd Derham’s explication has been much affected. It is a matter on which I will consult him further because I have resolved to include a Chapter on this matter within my Treatise. 

On waking the next morning, the damp and drear atmosphere of the Countie of Essex did little raise my spirits. So, taking my leave of my host, I betook myself to the Cock on Hacton Hill whereat I was able to hear the conversations of the villagers while taking a restorative potation.  I noted that the menfolk were uncommonly disparaging of their womenfolk and told ribald jokes which I would not repeat but for my dutie to record what I hear for later scientific examination. One example will suffice (though, I admit, this is the only one that I can commit to paper without blushing). The jocund storie is as follows.

A girl of Essex was run down by a cart and was trapped and bleeding. A physick was called. He said to the girl “worry not, I am a physick. May I ask you some questions?” to which the girl replied that he might.

“What is your name, wench?” asked the physick.

“Sharon, sir” quoth the girl.

“Is this your cart, girl?” asked the physick.

“No, sir” answer’d the girl 

“Tell me, girl, where are you bleeding from?”

“Romford, mate” quoth the girl.

Such disparaging humour is much to be deplored (in this I agree with the Proponents of Wokery). But such earthy jokes has been told since time immemorial (I cannot but believe that such a tale was told of a girl from Antient Babylon) and they are meet to restore one to good humour after one has had a surfeit of Mr Braund’s port wines. 

I remain your humble and obedient servant,

The Somnambulist