washerwoman of the lower town, of Kuttenberg
“I beat the dirt out of Kuttenberg until my hands bleed and my back breaks.”
Things Alice had written, latest first, with the glosses of her neighbours.
the Monday before Whitsun, at Vespers
The horns will blow for the muster soon and Joseph the broker is still in Prague. If William the captain finds his men in shirtsleeves, he will have me at the pillory. I only took seven groschen to buy flour. Christ almighty, my hands are shaking so badly I dropped my soap.
Nota scribaeShe wiped her hands on her apron twelve times while speaking this.
the second day of Easter week, at None
Juliana is badgering Rose again to walk to Kolin with a message. People think we have nothing to do but trudge the roads for free now that Hugh the carter is missing. Poor Hugh is likely dead in a ditch by now. Nobody walks those roads for nothing.
the third Sunday of Lent, at Prime
We buried old Adleta behind the churchyard yesterday. The winter fever took her. She taught me how to scrub heavy canvas. The priest hardly gave her a blessing, which shows what a washerwoman is worth in this bloody town. At least she will not be cold anymore.
She was a good soul. I will light a candle for her if I can find a spare penny.
Nota scribaeI reminded the woman that a priest's blessing is worth the same regardless of the dirt on the corpse.
the Wednesday after Saint Valentine, at Sext
If Christine thinks I do not see her hiding Barbara's best shears in her basket, she is a fool. And Mabel keeping Cecily's pressing iron out of spite is just making the work harder for everyone. Lord above, we are standing in freezing mud, we do not need to steal from each other.
Candlemas, at Terce
The frost is so thick the troughs are frozen solid. Firewood costs more than I earn in a week and my room above the oven is still freezing. A woman has to do what she must to buy a sack of flour to stay alive until the spring thaw comes.
It is too cold to scrub. I pawned some kit just to pay my rent this week.
Nota scribaeDictated through chattering teeth.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You told me my husband's jack was still drying on the lines, Alice. Where is it?
It needs a special mending, Anne. I sent it to a good tailor, I swear by Saint Barbara.