Oxford’s Christ Church Cathedral lies in the precincts of the college of the same name. Originally it was the church of St Frideswide’s priory, and contained a shrine bearing the saint’s relics. This shrine was destroyed in the reformation but has since been pieced together as much as possible. The remains include some rare carvings of the ‘natural world’ including heads wreathed in foliage which may represent Frideswide and her nuns. Next to the shrine is what is called a ‘watching chamber’, where someone would keep watch over the gold and jewels that decorated the saint’s shrine. The watching chamber was built in the late 15th or early 16th century, possibly by none other than the infamous Bishop John Morton…
Frideswide was a particularly venerated in the Oxford area, and one of Francis Lovell’s sisters bears her name.
The church also contains several notable medieval burials, including the beautiful tomb of Elizabeth de Montfort (died 1354), Baroness Montacute, an ancestor of Richard Neville–Warwick the Kingmaker. Bright colours remain on the tomb-chest even today–although the faces were all smashed off the carved weepers during the Reformation. The numerous weepers once depicted Elizabeth’s children.The remains of a chantry chapel with a painted vaulted ceiling extends from the Baroness’tomb.
There is also the effigy of an enormous knight whose identity is not known for certain–it is given as Sir Henry de Bathe or Sir George Nowers, a companion of the Black Prince who died in 1425. (It is more likely to be the latter. )Whoever it was, the armour detail is very fine and the skeleton within was about 6ft 8!
I’m doing well today when it comes to detailed maps – old maps, specifically .Attention has probably been drawn to this site on various occasions, but here it is again. You can zoom right in on maps that are usually/often hard to make out. I’ve chosen this 1583 Warwick/Leicester map at random.
There are a lot more, not only from the UK but from all over the world, here.
Do not read on if you’re squeamish about blood-sucking parasites. No, I’m not referring to Henry VII, but his equally usurping Lancastrian predecessor, Henry IV.
When we think of medieval coronations, and see contemporary illustrations, we see the glamour, colour and solemnity of the occasion, hear the singing, smell the incense, observe the wonderful robes and so on. The last thing we modern folk would expect would be to learn that the new king’s head was infested with lice! Oh, yuk! But that is what was found at the coronation of Henry IV.
It is not something I had heard before, but yesterday, on reading King Richard II by Bryan Bevan, I discovered: “It was fortunate for Henry that the sacred oil of Edward the Confessor was used during the anointing ceremony, but it was found that the new King’s head was full of lice.” And Adam Usk claimed that shortly after the coronation his [Henry’s] hair fell out, supposedly a result of lice. Another report says that he had his hair close-cropped because of head lice, which may explain the sudden baldness report. Although when his remains were examined in the 19th century, he was found to be completely bald, albeit with a full beard. This is how he appears on his circa 1437 tomb in Canterbury Cathedral.
Yes, I know that such parasites were much more abundant in times gone by, but this must have been a bad case to warrant such specific mention. There is no excuse for Henry. Adult lice can be squashed and removed, even if the nits are a trickier matter. The necessary combs were available, so for a King of England to be crowned when he was that lousy and crawling is an awful indictment. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have an army of servants to attend to such matters!
I cannot imagine his murdered predecessor appearing like that. Richard II was a fastidious man who took infinite care with his appearance.The first louse foolish enough to advance upon him would have been exterminated at first contact! I’m sure Richard would have had the shuddering habdabs if such an unwelcome visitor were to dare to sully his royal pate! The nit comb must have been very regularly applied, to ensure such a thing didn’t happen.
Lice were mainly associated with the lowest people in society. So much for Henry of Bolingbroke. But then, he was low. He, no more than Henry VII, had any business sitting on the throne, and both achieved their aim by the violent death of the rightful incumbent.
According to http://nitwitslice.com/a-short-history-of-head-lice/ “…One myth tells that to lure the lice off of the scalp, one would make a fur vest and wear it throughout the day and night hoping lice would make their way onto the warm fur. As ridiculous as that may sound, with no real medical knowledge of how to alleviate the problem who knows how many medieval men or women may have actually attempted this practice…” Who indeed.
What was the medieval view and treatment of these parasites? All lice, not just those on the head? According to Shakespeare’s Medical Language, by Sujata Iyengar:
“. . .lice were thought to develop from corrupted humors in the blood, and to escape through small holes or pores in the skin. If the patient had been cursed by God, as in the plagues of Egypt, lice-infestation was incurable, but if the infestation was natural, sufferers ought to abstain from foods that would breed phlegm and particularly from figs and dates, and to wash their bodies twice a day in salt water and a mixture of lye and wormwood. Mustard-plasters and quicksilver dissolved in grease or oil was also effective. . .”
A “cure” for head lice that has existed since at least 1526 (Treasure of Pore Men) recommends pounding olive oil with Rhenish wine and the unidentified “Aruement”, which could well be arrowmint, and applying it to the body. An alternative was to smear the body with grease from an ungelded pig, mixed with brimstone and quicksilver in Rhemish wine and arrowmint. It was suggested in The Castel of Helthe (1539) that eating dried figs breeds lice, since the dessicated fruit is by complexion so hot and dry.
The above is all very well for the rich, but how many really poor people could afford such ingredients? I think the nit comb was probably the best they could do. Maybe such an implement was passed around as needed, which, of course, would ensure the transmission of the parasite. But then, transmission of this sort was not understood, although it was understood that “the homeless, the poverty-stricken, the overcrowded, and children suffered disproportionately from infestation”.
So. . .can Henry IV be excused for turning up at his coronation in such a lousy state? No. Nits are sods to remove, but not the living adults. To get into such a terrible state of infestation, he cannot have done much about checking the parasites’ relentless advance. Perhaps he liked their company.
Oh, I do love an opportunity to give Bolingbroke yet another thumbs-down! He had no right to Richard II’s throne, he stole it. The right should have passed down through the Mortimers from Lionel of Clarence, not through John of Gaunt. So it’s boo! hiss! to Henry IV. And his lice.
The Fears of Henry IV, by Ian Mortimer.
“…an illiterate shepherdess girl who claimed that voices from God were instructing her to take charge of her nation’s army and lead it to victory…Legend states that Joan came to Scotland to be trained in the art of warfare in a remote stretch of Argyll…”
The above is taken from this lengthy and informative article about Joan of Arc. The Scots, of course, were always ready to help anyone who was opposed to the English, so I am quite prepared to believe they welcomed Joan in this way. She apparently “hand selected Scottish bodyguards from the Stuart, Kennedy and Hay Clans, [and] in 1429 [Joan] asked Hamish Power, (French name: Heuves Polnoir), a Scotsman living in Tours, France, to design her standard. and pennon.” More, “The Scots wore the Fleur-de-Lys on their left breast to show their allegiance to France.”
So I think we can take Scottish collaboration with the French as a done deal.
The article also deals a great deal with the Templars, superstition, the Church, roosters (national symbol of France) that still roam free, signs in the sky and so on. There is too much to comment on here, so better you read it all for yourselves. And draw your own conclusions.
Does anyone out there know the answer to a puzzle that has cropped up in my research? Watling Street, the Roman road, was the main route between London and Canterbury, Dover, etc. This made it very important. Watling Street passed through Dartford, crossing over the tidal River Darent. But wait, there wasn’t a bridge there until the reign of Henry VI. There was a ferry. Does this mean that before then, every traveller on the road, royalty and all, had to use the ferry? The river was tidal, so did they have to wait for suitable water for the ferry to cross? I can’t see that wading across at low water would be advisable in all that mud…and certainly not for the royal hearse drawn by twelve horses that passed through Dartford in 1376! It all seems very unsatisfactory for one of the main roads in the land. And very undignified for the great Edward of Woodstock, known to us as the Black Prince, who was being mourned throughout the realm.
Yes, I know there were other rivers to cross elsewhere in England, and other ferries instead of bridges, but I am concerned with this road, river and ferry.
In September 1376, the prince’s great funeral procession went through Dartford on its way to Canterbury. Depending on the size of the ferry, such a vast cavalcade would have taken ages to cross. Granted, Dartford was probably the first overnight halt out of London for this ponderous cavalcade, but even so, the bridgeless Darent must have caused a bottleneck second to none.
Researching (meaning my way of researching, which is pretty amateur) Edward of Woodstock’s funeral has produced only what he instructed in his will. Plus I know how long it took, i.e. arriving in Canterbury on the fourth day after setting out. But then, full stop. Oh, there is more available about the actual arrival at journey’s end, but that is not the part of the proceedings with which I am concerned. The actual mechanics of the first three days of the journey, if covered by anyone, have eluded me.
And when the funeral cortege halted, would the prince’s coffin be placed overnight in Holy Trinity church, which is right next to the Darent crossing? Or would it stop on the northern outskirts of the town, where there was a royal palace/house, with appropriate land/space for all the people and horses? Or was it a mix of both – the prince in the church, everyone and everything else in the royal house? To say nothing of filling up the rest of the town as well. Dartford must have bulged at the seams. All the royal family, all the higher nobility, lots of lower nobility, the denizens of Parliament, priests, and all sorts of other Toms, Dicks and Harrys.
Oh, questions, questions! I want to be accurate in a description of all this, and would love someone to “conjure” an earlier bridge into existence. A vain hope, I fear.
So, if anyone knows anything at all, please let me know.
The following is an extract from https://www.britainexpress.com/attraction-articles.htm?article=20 and concerns the fate of the nuns of Romsey Abbey after the reformation:-
“. . .What happened to the nuns after the abbey was dissolved? We don’t know, with one notable exception. One of the nuns was Jane Wadham, a cousin of Jane Seymour, Henry’s third queen. Wadham married John Foster, the last abbey chaplain and former steward. Henry VIII objected, but Jane countered, claiming that she had been forced to become a nun at a young age, against her will, and thus her vows were void. The daughter of John Foster and Jane Wadham married Sir William Fleming of Broadlands, a former abbey property and later home of the Mountbattens. . .”
Now, call me old-fashioned, but I’m sure I spy a thwarted love that had been in existence before Henry VIII happened along and changed everything! I hope so, and that they were very happily married. Celibacy is all very well if one is content with such a situation, but when contentment is replaced by human love and desire (as distinct from religious love) the resultant unhappiness must be a dreadful thing.
PS. Alas, there was not a happy ending for Jane Wadham and John Foster:-
The above is an extract from https://archive.org/details/recordsofromseya00live, where you will find more about Jane Wadham and John Foster in pp 255-257.
Um, 14-year-old Henry Tudor hid in a Tenby cellar under what is now Boots? While fleeing the future Richard III? I don’t know how that is right. When Tudor fled the country, Edward IV was the king, and as far as I know, Richard did not go hurtling off to Tenby, even with his bucket and spade. But, Black Snow sounds a strange book in all respects.
“….Most of England’s monumental mounds are assumed to be Norman castle mottes built in the period immediately after the Conquest – but could some of them have much earlier origins? Jim Leary, Elaine Jamieson, and Phil Stastney report on a project that set out to investigate some of these mighty constructions….”
There is information about Fotheringhay included in the article from which the above paragraph is taken. To read more, go here.