Almost all the entertainers at a renaissance faire (the good ones, anyway) have a stock of "street bits," little routines of less than a minute, they use to interact with the patrons. They are the little brothers of the "path shows," longer scripted playlets that might go as long as ten minutes, and involve several entertainers and patrons.

The development of these bits is an important goal of the workshops they attend before each season. As a hawker, street bits are really all I have time for. I've got some for couples, some for little kids, older folks, groups of teenagers, dads with kids riding on their shoulders, moms with crying brats, you name it.

As my character is a flirtatious type, I created one for a woman that would not offend, but still get the message across.

I look for a woman that is in garb, and has obviously put some time effort, and moolah into her outfit. If she's alone. fine. If there are a group of such women, I will always avoid picking the very prettiest one in that group. I will catch her eye, and unashamedly watch her as she walks by, with a smile on my face. You can easily tell from her body language if she is enjoying the flattery. If she is, after she's gone past a few steps, I'll call out... "Do excuse me lady!"

Most turn and stop without saying anything. "Might I ask that you would grant me a favor?"

Most ask what it is.

Pointing back the way she just came, I say... "Tis most simple. Could you just back up, perhaps, ten or fifteen paces, and once again sashay down the lane? I should like the chance to imprint the vision of your passing more firmly on my mind."

They then bust out laughing, and do it. I've never had a woman tell me no. If she's in a group, the cameras come out, to record the re-sashay, and they'll normally want to get a pic with me before they go. :-)

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Renaissance festivals are a wildy popular pastime here in the States. It's not uncommon for TRF to draw well over thirty thousand patrons on a single Saturday, and several faires in other states are nearly as large. Obviously, something about them appeals to large numbers of folks. As the new season draws near, I've been pondering just why they work so well.

First, it seems the popularity of faire is a manifestation of our universal human need to once in a while have a season, a festival, in which many of the constraints of normal living are temporarily set aside, and let bacchanalian merry-making (mis)rule the day.

Spring Break, Mardi Gras, Carnival in Rio, and to a lesser extent, renaissance festivals are all the inheritors of the tradtions of Rome's Saturnalia, and the Dionysia of the Greeks. They give us a socially permissible excuse to act the way we might like to all year-round.

They have a harmlessly earthy ribald flavor that can be found nowhere else, I think. Where else in this lawsuit conscious, priggish world of ours can a man call a woman a "saucy strumpet," and have her like it? Or be mugged by a kissing wench?

Make no mistake, however. Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. These festivals are not simply an excuse for reactionary male chavinist pigism. Women, too, enjoy the release from mundane social constraints, both behaving and dressing in ways that would nowhere else.

I can think of few other places where a "normal" self-respecting woman would perform "kilt-checks," which involve verifying that a kilt-wearing man is indeed "going regimental." Without going into too much detail, the properly performed procedure will leave the woman with few questions as to the kiltees, ummm, uh, stature.

Second, at faire, no one pretends that gender doesn't exist, chivalry abounds, manners matter, (if you're that type of character) and the performers and the patrons all willingly work together to bring about a suspension of disbelief, to create the flavor of an earlier time.

It is interactive entertainment of the type you do not see at say, Disneyland, where there is a distinct demarcation between the entertainers and the entertained. Indeed, it is not uncommon for the average person to mistake an elegantly dressed and bejewelled patron for one of the paid cast members. The crowd is part of the show.

There is also to be considered the joy of putting on a costume, and being another character for a while. (Halloween, too, has become more of a popular holiday for adults, for this reason) That was one of the things I enjoyed most as an actor. The fierce concentration required to convincingly become a completely different character necessarily gives birth to a release from the thoughts and cares of the mundane world. When on stage, the self shrinks down to nothing, in order to leave room for the role. I think that this applies, in varying measures, to be certain, to every performer, cast member, and garbed patron at fair.

Finally, even those patrons that do not choose to immerse themselves whole-heartedly into the play that is a renaissance festival enjoy the chance to see and learn history acted out before them - a much more palatable way to learn it. I've entertained hundreds of people, as Hawke Leekeman telling the tale of the leek on my cap, a story that if presented to them in their freshman history class, would have bored them to tears.

The old adage for starting a successful business is to "find a need and fill it." It seem to me that renfairs fill a gap that is missing in any of the other forms of entertainment our contemporary culture offers.

They offer a the patron the chance to join in a shared historical illusion, and to participate in the life of a world where many of the modern social restraints never existed.

Huzzah to that.

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My first few weeks of my first year working the faire, I just had a simple feather in my cap, and despite my best creative efforts to the contrary, a fairly forgettable persona, as evidenced by my current inability to even remember the name I had chosen.

Then, one day, while walking through the produce section of the local grocery store, I saw a bundle of leeks, and a little bulb went off in my head, something about Shakespeare and wearing a leek on your hat. I bought a bunch, having a hunch.

When I got home, I fired up the dialup, and as google was just a gleam in the founder's eyes, if that, in those days, I went over to the Gutenberg site, and did a word search for the word leek in the Compleat Works, and started rummaging around in the hits. It didn't take long.

Henry V, Act IV, Scene VII:

Fluellen, speaking to the King of the battle of Poitiers, won by Henry's ancestor, Edward, the Black Prince of Wales:

“If your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which, your majesty know, to this hour is an honourable badge of the service, and I do believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon St. Tavy's Day”

Fluellen is a captain, one of Henry's right hand men, a proud, martial, but somewhat rustic Welshman. (To this day, the Welsh are considered to be more hillbillyish than the rest of England) Shakespeare emphasizes this by writing Fluellen's lines in an accented manner different from all the rest of the characters, most notably, by his continued substitution of the letter "p" for "b," and "t" for "d." (Hence "St. Tavy's")

King Henry replies: "I wear it for a memorable honour; For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman."

So, by the evidence, even the King of England wore a leek in his hat at least one day a year.

Then later on in the play, Act V, Scene I, there is a comedic interlude after the battle of Agincourt. I'll not quote the entire scene, but you can read it here if you like. Fluellen is mocked by Pistol, one of Falstaff's cronies, for wearing a leek in his hat. Fluellen proceeds to roundly thrash Pistol, and forces him to eat the leek he wore on his cap.

Then Gower, another captain, admonishes Pistol: "Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour?"

This statement led to to start digging around for the roots of this "ancient tradition." As it turns out, while several variations exist, the wearing of the leek on the cap dates to the 5th century, and is attributed to St. David, the patron saint of Wales.

As the story goes, the Welsh were about to fight a battle with the Saxons. It was difficult to tell friend from foe. As they happened to be fighting in a field where leeks were growing, St. David had the Welshmen, fighting under King Cadwallader distinguish themselves by wearing a leek in their caps. They conquered the Saxons, and took to wearing a leek on their cap each St David's Day, (March 1st)in memory of this victory, and the leek became a symbol of Welsh pride and nationalism.

This custom, by the way, is followed to this very day in Wales. I've had Welshmen tell me that if you were to watch their rugby teams play on TV, you would see leeks permanently affixed to the top of the home field goal posts, and fans waving gigantic artificial leeks in the stands the way American football fans wear their cheeseheads and wave huge foam "We're #1!" fingers.

This was a bit I could build a character on. Thus was born Hawke Leekeman.

Hawke is a farmer, that most of the year works a sort of a low-level foreman on one of the estates owned by the king. He inherited this job from his father, who had it from his, and so on for generations back. His family was awarded this rather cushy job when that remote ancestor fought with Edward III at Crecy, as one of the poor blokes standing in the ranks of poorly armed and equipped peasant levies. He was fortunate enough to survive, and Edward awarded him this sinecure to replace the former holder of the job, who wasn't.

So, for generations, the Leekemans have been farmers in peace, and peasant militia in the wars, serving after Crecy, at Poitiers under The Black Prince, at Agincourt with Henry V, and so on, until the line reaches Hawke, a loyal Welsh subject of Henry V.

Hawke supplements his income by working at the faire every year. He also enjoys the chance to go into the village, after the boredom and drudgery of the agricultural estate. His wife died years ago, so he also looks forward to the chance to meet the women that flock from all around the countryside to the New Market Village fair. It's lonely out there on the farm.

As a fiercely patriotic Welshmen, he wears the leek on his cap every day at faire, even though St. David's Day is long past, as it gives him the chance to regale all the folks who wonder at it with the tale of St. David and King Cadwallader against the Saxons.

Hawke's primary traits as a character at faire are friendliness and being helpful, followed closely by being funny, in a slightly ribald way. He enjoys offering the patrons at faire information, both about the products he hawks, as well as other attractions at the faire. He's a walking information booth - pointing out the most entertaining shows, the best place to catch the parade, and the all-important directions to the next privy.

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