ABSTRACT
October 1861 In June 1642, during a last summer of peace that for many seemed, in retrospect at least, as halcyon as would be the summer of 1914 for a later generation, Christopher Browne sent a letter to ‘My Beloved Daughter’. His chief concern was not the rapidly deteriorating political situation, the frantic collection of arms by all sides, nor the flood of pamphlets that grew more vituperative and numerous by the day. Far from it. Christopher Browne was worried about finding a ‘skilful preserver’ who could take advantage of his large strawberry crop and the ‘abundantly cheap’ supply of sugar, to make a good stock of jam.1 Unlike posterity, Christopher Browne did not know what the future would bring. All he could do was lay in provisions for the morrow.
