A civilized society

Barons, sword masters and the Pied Piper gather at Timber Park to escape the Mundanes

By Nolene Triska

The Estacada News, Sep 6, 2006, Updated Oct 30, 2009

George Ledbury, “Baron Gawin of Terra Pomria” (Marion and Polk Counties) displays a helmet he will wear for an upcoming tournament.

Nolene Triska / Estacada News

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The wording on the flyer was, well…interesting. “The Laws and Statutes of the United States and the State of Oregon will be in full force and effect. Violations will be reported to the appropriate mundane authorities.” And later: “Please do not use the Pied Piper as a babysitter.”

The word “mundane” wasn’t meant as a put-down, I knew. The word just referred to anything modern. I was at the Society for Creative Anachronism’s “Bows and Blades” event, an archery and rapier academy held at Timber Park August 11, 12 and 13.

As 8th century Roman proconsul Baron Titus Antonius Archelaus of the Barony of Three Mountains shook my hand, I wondered whether to curtsy or not.

A software engineer in the mundane world, Tony McCormick rules a barony that encompasses Multnomah, Clackamas and Hood River Counties, and is part of the great kingdom of An Tir, containing Oregon, Washington and parts of Idaho and Canada, including the Yukon and Northwest Territories. Evidently, I also have a king.

When I talked with retired schoolteacher William Hall, known in the SCA as archer and lute-player Gareth of Fenby, I found out that the king of An Tir was at the annual gathering of kingdoms, called Pennsic, held in Pennsylvania.

“There could be 5,000 fighters on the field,” he added, his eyes lighting up. A lot of SCA members, men and women both, love armed combat. SCA peerages are won on the field of battle.

Cynthia Phillips, a grant and contract administrator who organized the event, told me that combat wasn’t the only route to chivalric honors. Her Ladyship Aibinn ingen hui Neill was gracious and smiling, moving from tent to tent, organizing, counseling, never raising her voice.

The “Pelican” peerage award is given, she said, for service to the SCA, and the “Laurel,” for excellence in the arts. She had a pelican medallion around her neck. Calligraphy teacher Lisa Bloom–Mistress Leah bat Yehiel–was there, as well as Kate the Candlemaker, a bookseller and, of course, the Pied Piper, offering activities for children.

But 7-year-old Orion Jones was occupied showing his mother how to throw an axe. “He’s an excellent teacher,” said Shanta Anderson, SCA name Adella, a youth counselor. She flung the blade, lodging it almost dead center in the target. Naturally, SCA members battle using blunted rapier points, tipped longbow arrows, padded crossbow bolts, and rattan, instead of metal, swords.

The pain, though, is real. James Harding of Olympia, Washington sat in front of his Viking tent while his 18-month-old daughter napped inside. Called Hallbjorn Brandson, he’s been an SCA member for twelve years. “You have paintball and airsoft,” said the burly fighter, shaking his head, “but nothing compares to getting hit in heavy fighting with a rattan sword.”

George Ledbury–Gawin of Kevelioc, Baron of Terra Pomria (Marion and Polk counties)–showed me one, a heavy, solid weapon as thick as a man’s wrist, tape-wrapped to keep it from splintering on impact.

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