More isn’t our favourite man by any stretch of the imagination, but he is important because of the immensely detrimental effect he has had upon the history and reputation of Richard III. He, the Tudors and Shakespeare conspired to ruin Richard’s honour, and we Ricardians will never forgive them. But, if you can bring yourself to go to to this source you will find some interesting documents that can be examined. Including The History of King Richard III in English and Latin.
I didn’t think anyone could claim “direct” descent from Richard III – because Richard is not known to have had any grandchildren. Children, yes, but whether or not they had children of their own is not known. This is the most authoritative source at present.
The Ricardian author of “Some Touch of Pity” died on November 27th, 2018 at the age of 78. When researching this interesting woman, one finds only a solitary photograph of her which accompanied the book when it was published in 1976. The photo here was taken by Stephen Lark of the Murrey and Blue blog from a Richard III Society Bulletin. I could find no other photo on a search engine. She was an elusive figure.
Details of her life are few although The London Times cobbled together bits and pieces which tell us she led an extraordinary life of research and archaeology as well as writing one of the best novels about Richard the Third. Miss Edwards read History and English at Leicester University before she was employed in the Archives Department at the London Borough of Lambeth where she became an expert on Doulton Pottery (Royal Doulton China). In 1973, she published a 44-page monograph on it called “Lambeth Stoneware: The Woolley Collection, including Doultonware and Products” which can still be found on Amazon.com. She also worked on various archaeological digs including the famed discovery of Anne Mowbray in 1965. Another non-fiction work of hers is “The Itinerary of King Richard III, 1483-1485” which follows the hectic schedule of a constantly touring monarch. This important work is limited in edition and sells for a very high price online. An article on Richard’s original tomb appeared as early as 1975.
But to most Ricardians around the world, her first novel on Richard the Third (called “The Broken Wheel” when published in America in 1976) secured her fame. Told through the various people of his court, including his wife, we follow his brief years as king and experience all the hardship and trouble that accompanied his reign.
I read it when it was first published in America and have a distinct memory of enjoying it on my daily train commute into New York City. Yes, it does have aspects of a romance novel but it is at such a high level of the genre that it seems somewhat mean-spirited to label it as such. I still treasure the chapter called “Most Untrue Creature” which is told by Robert Bolman, Richard’s actual clerk in the Privy Seal Office. This is where Miss Edwards shows off her her humor and, more importantly, her knowledge of the inner-workings of the medieval government of England. In this chapter, we learn why the workaholic king was sometimes labeled by his exhausted and cranky staff as “Old Dick.” As with the other chapters, it is filled with the kind of piquant details that are so necessary to historical fiction if it is to be believable and engrossing. A kind of prequel followed in 1978 called “Fortune’s Wheel” which takes place before Richard Plantagenet became king. While I don’t think it is quite as gripping as “Some Touch of Pity,” it certainly is well worth a read and is readily available on Amazon.
According to The Times, she was buried at Randalls Park, Leatherhead in Surrey. It would be a real boon for Miss Edward’s legacy if we were to see a reissue of her books that features excellent cover art work as well as a knowledgeable introduction by a Ricardian scholar and historian.
Putting aside the mystery of what ultimately happened to Edward IV’s two sons, one enduring difficulty for a student of history is whether Richard III used the proper legal procedure in having them declared illegitimate because of their father’s precontracted marriage to Eleanor Talbot. The most (and only) significant defect appears to be the failure to refer the issue to a church court for determination. But it seems no one has fleshed out how an ecclesiastical tribunal would have litigated such an extraordinary and unprecedented matter, let alone identified which church court would have had authority to hear it.
As a retired litigator of 20 years, I undertook the challenge of researching medieval English church court procedures and precedent cases to answer four questions: Which church court would have decided the precontract issue? How would it have conducted the litigation? What evidence would it have heard? How conclusive would…
Don’t you just love it when glossaries cross-reference you from the word you seek, to another word, which then refers you back to the first word – with no definition or explanation whatsoever?
I have just been looking at this culinary glossary, seeking more information about an intriguing medieval dish known as ‘dilgirunt’. Intriguing because of its unusual history. But, when looking up dilgirunt, I am referred to ‘malpigeryum’. Just that dilgirunt = malpigeryum = dilgirunt. Not a word about what these words actually mean. But from other sources, I know that dilgirunt is a sort of spiced chicken pottage/porridge/gruel, and that if lard/suet is added to it during cooking, it becomes malpigeryum. But in spite of my quibble about the above glossary, the site is nevertheless good for reference.
So that we know what we’re talking about with dilgirunt, here is an old recipe:-
‘Take almonde mylk, and draw hit up thik with vernage, and let hit boyle, and braune of capons braied and put therto; and cast therto sugre, claves (cloves), maces, pynes, and ginger mynced; and take chekyns parboyled and chopped, and pul of the skin, and boyle al ensemble, and, in the settynge doune of the fire, put therto a lytel vynegur alaied with pouder of ginger, and a lytel water of everose, and make the potage hanginge, and serve hit forth.’ — Household Ordinances (Society of Antiquaries), page 466.
Well, I hope you can follow the above, because although I did find a modern English version, I failed to make a note of where, and now cannot find it anywhere. Sorry about that.
The yellow-highlighted entry in the illustration below is a lengthy explanation of Dilgirunt. It is from Munimenta Gildhallae Londoniensis – Liber Albus, Liber Custumarum et Liber Horn, in Archivis Gildhallae Asservati – Volume 2. Liber Custumarum, with Extracts from the Cottonian MS. Claudius, D.II.
From as early as Edward I, and at least until George IV, diligrunt was traditionally served at coronations. Providing it was the jealously guarded right of the Barons Bardolf, Lords of the Manor of Addington, near present day Croydon. I’m not sure how the tradition first arose, but the barons were proud of their right. And when the Leigh family became Lords of Addington, they inherited the right to provide dilgirunt at the monarch’s coronation. Finally the right passed to the Archbishops of Canterbury, when they became lords of the village. I do not know if it was served at the coronation of our present queen. It would be interesting to know.
This extract from the National Archives provides a description of the 1377 coronation ceremony of Richard II. It demonstrates how influential individuals and power groups wanted to secure their right to be involved in a medieval coronation ceremony. Interesting reading, and sometimes quite curious and quaint. For instance, if you go down the list to Number 15, you find:
“. . .William de Bardolf tenant of certain lands in Adynton. Petition to find a man in the king’s kitchen to make a mess called ‘dilgirunt’, and if lard be added it is called ‘malpigeryuin’. Claim admitted, and service performed. . .”
Three separate dishes of dilgirunt were then provided. One for the monarch, one for the Archbishop of Canterbury, and one for an individual the monarch chose to nominate.
It is interesting to think that if the dish was ceremonially served at all coronations from Edward I to George IV, then it must have featured when Richard III was crowned. A little research soon revealed that it was. At least, I think that’s what I understand from a “dilgirunt” reference to The Coronation of Richard III : the Extant Documents, edited by Sutton and Hammond. (Gloucester: Alan Sutton; New York: St Martin’s, 1983) I wonder if Richard liked the dainty dish that was set before him? You can read a lot more about his coronation here.
If dilgirunt was offered to Henry VII, I can only hope a stray chicken bone stuck in his throat!
Richard Duke of Gloucester being offered the crown by the Three Estates at Baynards Castle, June 1483. Painting by Sigismund Goetze at the Royal Exchange…(or according to some.. Richard in the actual act of ‘usurping’ the throne)…
I came across this article on a forum devoted to late medieval Britain.
Unfortunately I read it..5 minutes from my life I will never get back again… but as I was laid up with a bad head cold I had nothing much better to do. I should have been warned by the photo of a little girl in what looked like an attempt at Tudor costume and the words ‘I have no idea who this little girl is but she is adorable. Little kids in this era were adorable and vulnerable too ..just like modern children..lets keep that in mind’. This should have alerted me to the fact the writer was a writer of rubbish. Nevertheless I cracked on. As it transpired the article has more holes in it than a hairnet…and worse was to come.
John Howard, having been cheated out of his inheritance, which ‘seems to have stuck in his craw’ then went on to become ‘one of the first men to help the new king’s uncle usurp his throne and become King Richard III’. When I challenged the word ‘usurp’ I received the reply of a emoji rolling on the floor laughing. It then became clear to me the quality of the author’s debating powers were going to be found somewhat lacking. But casting that aside for the moment lets look at the word ‘usurp‘ as used by the author to describe the actions of Richard. The late historian John Ashdown-Hill addressed this point very well. “Definitions of the verb ‘usurp’ include include terms as to seize power by force and without legal authority…Richard III did not gain the throne by fighting a battle nor did he seize the crown. He was offered the crown by the Three Estates of the Realm. Later the decision of the Three Estates of the Realm was formally enacted by the Parliament of 1484′ (1) . Thus to describe Richard as a usurper is incorrect and a nonsense.”
Not content with calling Richard a usurper, John Howard, later Duke of Norfolk is next in line to be maligned by the statement regarding Anne Mowbray, (the 4 year old heiress of John Mowbray who died just before her ninth birthday) ‘All that John Howard could do was wait and hope something happened to Anne…’! This is quite an offensive thing to say as well as ludicrous as no source has come down to us informing us of Howard’s personal thoughts on this matter and which I very much doubt would have been ‘hoping’ for the death of a small child. Incidentally, he was raised to the Duchy of Norfolk whilst the “Princes”, including the previous in suo jure Duke, were known to be alive – see p.78 and pp.117-124 of The Mythology of the “Princes in the Tower”, also by Ashdown-Hill.
Howard later went on to fight and lay down his life for his king aged 60 years old. This colossus of a man could easily have wormed his way out of fighting, as others did, with his age as an excuse. He did no such thing and its a great pity that we have modern day pip-squeaks having the brass neck to disparage such a man. The author needs to hang their head with shame but I doubt if that will happen any time soon.
As we go on we see Lady Eleanor Butler nee Talbot – a lady of the nobility and daughter to the great John Talbot lst Earl of Shrewsbury a, sister to the Duchess of Norfolk and a lady known for her piety – described as one of King Edward’s ‘side pieces’…(I know, I know..my guess is this is a stab at ‘bit on the side’ but your guess is as good as mine). She was in actual fact no such thing, being the legal wife of Edward who married her in order to get her into bed. Surely Eleanor deserves more respect than this….as I said pip-squeaks and all.
The writer then follows up with a message touching on the execution of Lord Hastings to prove her point that Richard was a Bad Man. I say ‘touching’ in a very loose way as she makes no attempt to explore, let alone mention, what reasons were behind the execution only pointing out, unnecessarily, that Hastings was executed ‘even though he was one of the most richest and powerful men in the country’..what has this got to do with it? Furthermore…’Richard had him dragged out and beheaded on a log’. Presumably Dickens, who was unborn, or More, aged five at the time, cannot be taken seriously as eye-witnesses? Is it not about time this myth was debunked? Three accounts survive of the dramatic events at the meeting at the Tower that day – those from Historical Notes of a London Citizen 1483/84, Mancini and Croyland (2) – none of which mention the infamous log.
A log, something that Lord Hastings was NOT beheaded on…
Hastings was probably, as Carson points out, executed under the Law of Arms (3), having tried to eliminate the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham and been judged by the Constable’s Court, Gloucester being Lord High Constable at the time. In much the same way, Rivers, Vaughan and Grey were judged by the Earl of Northumberland, the designated Vice-Constable.
The Mythology of Richard III chapter 6 p74 John Ashdown-Hill.
Historical Notes of a London Citizen 1483/8, English Historical Review, Vol. 96. p588 Richard Firth Green, Mancini p.89, Croyland p.479-80. I am indebted to Peter Hammond and Anne Sutton for their very useful book, Richard III The Road toBosworth Field, a complete and handy reference to all the primary sources covering Richard’s reign.
The Maligned King p.98, but Carson’s other book illustrates the powers of the Constable and Protector and the documents assigning the role to Gloucester.
I came upon this interesting little medieval doodle the other day, taken from the St Alban’s Register. It shows a crude, cartoonish drawing of the head of the executed William Hastings, looking, to my mind, rather like a malevolent elf or goblin. Someone who viewed the picture said, ‘He has pig’s ears’ and this or something like it, I am guessing, is what may have been intended by the artist. Clearly, Lord Hastings was not as all-round popular as certain factions would have you believe. The St Alban’s chronicler was also the one who wrote that Hastings’ execution was ‘deserved, as it is said’–ah, if only the author had given some more details! However, their comment shows that not everyone was horrified, and that the reasons for the execution,whatever they were, were accepted. As this incident was written up in an Abbey’s Register, no one can accuse Richard III of somehow magically influencing the writer, either.
Peterborough is a well-planned city. The walk from station to Cathedral passes through two short subways, with an optional detour to start of the Nene Valley Railway heritage line, to a semi-pedestrianised street with the Cathedral ahead, with a range of shops, restaurants and even a parish church on the approach. The Queensgate Centre includes a footbridge over the main road from the centre back to the station. The Cathedral is adjacent to a cafe and bank in other ancient structures.
The building itself was converted from of the remains of Peterborough Abbey and the last Abbot, John Chambers, became the first Bishop, a fate very unlike that of his counterparts. Katherine of Aragon (left) is buried there, as was Mary Stuart (below) until her son removed her remains to Westminster Abbey. It is, however, the second Bishop that concerns us here.
As the plaque in that Cathedral relates, his name was David Pole and he held the see from 1556-9. At first light, it is easy to conclude that this was a misprint for Reginald, who was Cardinal and Archbishop of Canterbury from 1555-8, whilst there had been many high-level pluralists in ecclesiastical history, such as Thomas Wolsey. Furthermore, David is a highly unusual name in sixteenth century England. However, the ODNB reveals that David had a separate existence from Reginald and the clinching argument is that he was demonstrably Vicar-General of Coventry and Lichfield whilst Reginald was in exile in Italy and his mother and nephew were in the tower. Reginald died on 17 November 1558 and Matthew Parker was not appointed to succeed him until the following year. David Pole played a part in this process before being deprived and is thought to have died in 1568.
So where would David Pole, who the ODNB suggest was possibly related to Reginald, fit in to the great family? He was definitely not a son or grandson of Sir Richard and Margaret, Countess of Salisbury as their issue can all be accounted for, but that he was a Fellow of All Souls, Oxford, by 1520 show that he was approximately of Reginald’s age, the latter having been born in 1500. Before that, Sir Richard’s father was Geoffrey Pole I of Cheshire or North Wales, possibly descended from the Princes of Powys, who is not thought to have had other sons. At best, therefore, he was Reginald’s second cousin, but evidence of any such relationship is missing.
The beautiful Cathedral of Wells is a medieval visual delight. It was, of course, the See of Bishop Robert Stillington who sought out Richard Duke of Gloucester and announced that King Edward IV had been secretly married to Eleanor Talbot, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, prior to wedding Elizabeth Woodville in a second secret ceremony, thus making his second marriage bigamous and invalid. He knew the matter was true, he said, because he was the one who had officiated at the marriage of Edward and Eleanor..
Stillington was Archdeacon of Taunton when Edward might have met and married Eleanor Talbot, probably around 1461. He was, of course, not then a Bishop but the Canon Stillington. He also served in Edward’s government as Keeper of the Privy seal. He was elected to his Bishopric in 1465–at King Edward’s insistence, as the the Pope initially proposed a different candidate. He was also intermittently Lord Chancellor, though he appears to have been dismissed in 1473. A few years later, Stillington was briefly imprisoned for unspecified offences which seem to have been connected with George of Clarence’s treason charges.
After Richard III’s death at Bosworth, Henry VII immediately ordered Stillington imprisoned . Upon his release, rather than retiring somewhere far from court or bowing to the new Tudor regime, he immediately involved himself in the Lambert Simnel uprising. Once Stoke Field was fought and Tudor victorious , Stillington fled to Oxford, where for a while the University protected him. However, eventually he was captured and thrown in prison in Windsor Castle–this time for the rest of his days. He died in 1491 and was taken to Somerset for burial at Wells Cathedral.
During his lifetime, Stillington did not spend much time in Wells but he did complete building work within the cathedral and raised his own mortuary chapel there in the 1470’s, complete with huge gilded bosses bosses of suns and roses. This chapel, dedicated to the Virgin, was built on one side of the cloisters near the holy springs that give Wells its name and on the foundations of an earlier Saxon church. During the Reformation, in the reign of Edward VI, Sir John Gates destroyed the chapel and tomb and, according to old accounts,ripped the Bishop’s remains out of his lead coffin.
Rather interestingly, Stillington’s Chapel is the ONLY part of Wells Cathedral that was severely damaged during the Reformation, the Bishop’s tomb not only being desecrated but the building itself razed to the ground – and some would have it that there’s no such thing as Tudor propaganda? Of course, the roof was later pillaged by Monmouth’s rebels to make ammunition for use at Sedgemoor.
The foundations of Stillington’s chapel have been excavated, and if you visit Wells Cathedral today, you can see scant stonework sticking out of the ground in Camery Gardens. Nearby, in the cloisters, several massive chunks of his tomb canopy are on display, decorated with symbols of the House of York.
We all know the Bayeux Tapestry, and marvel at it. Now it has a smaller twin that can be admired just as much. The following passage is from this article.
“. . .Grandfather hand-carved 230FOOT wooden scale model of Bayeux Tapestry to help get over the death of his teenage son (despite missing three fingers on his left hand)
“Jason Welch, 43, decided to create his Bayeux Tapestry replica to help get over death of his 16-year-old son Ricky
“Self-employed wood carver spent two years working on the project in his workshop in North Creake, Norfolk
“Managed to complete incredibly intricate carvings despite losing three fingers in a farming accident when aged 19
“But he now says the 230ft scale model is gathering dust in the shed as it is too big to put on display in his home. . .”
A lot more about this fabulous work can be found online, if you simply Google “carded Bayeux Tapestry”. There are umpteen photographs that reveal just how dedicated, skilled and sensitive Jason’s work is. Marvellous.