A very extraordinary lady compleats this malicious group. She does not appear to have any Christian name, but by the gang is termed the Glove Woman, as she constantly wears cotton-mittens. Sir Archy dryly insinuates that she keeps her arms thus covered because she has got the itch. She is about 48 years of age, is above the middle height, and has a sharp face. On her chin and upper lip there is a considerable quantity of fine downy hair, and she is somewhat pockfretten. Always dressed in a common fawn-coloured Norwich gown, with a plain cream-coloured camblet shawl, and wears a chip hat covered with black silk. The glove woman is remarkable for her skill in managing the machine. She frequently goes abroad. The rest of the gang, but particularly Sir Archy, are constantly bantering and plucking at her, like a number of rooks at a strange jack-daw: she has never been known to speak.

Extract from 'The East Anglian Observer' 7th August 1816

Seen and heard in Kings Lynn.

This busy town with its impressive sea-trade and beautiful waterfront properties attracts a number of visitors in the summer, some recognisable at once, on account of their fame, or notoriety! Making notes for my fashion column, last Saturday, I recognised Miss Meg Merrilies in her moorland garb, wearing a huge wrap-around shawl, covering her bony extremities. She had on a chip-hat, which almost left her head at times, in the bracing breeze.

Next, I beheld Miss Jacqueline Daw, mysterious in her chip-hat, covered in black silk. It never wavered in the wind! She appears to be a lady in compleat control of herself. I have heard whispers about the nature of her profession, which are both alarming and intriguing, and I am certain that 'Jacqueline Daw' is not her real name! Every time I have encountered her, she has been wearing long cotton mittens, which accentuate her height, and do nothing to soften her sharp features, with their complement of facial fluff . Her simple beige Norwich gown would seem adequate for the clement weather, but her shoulders were covered by a guileless camblet wrap. Silent and confidant, she strode ahead of Sir Archy Frobisher and his cronies, who seemed to look upon her as a figure of fun.

Juliana Waterman