How clever are you when it comes to the precise use of English, grammar, punctuation and so on? My query here is about the use of a tilde, that is a ~, on top of an “h” in the confession of Thomas, Duke of Gloucester, on the eve of his grisly death, 8th September 1397.
I cannot imagine its significance in this instance, because I know that a ~ generally means “approximately” or similar, and that in this example, “knowlech” means “knoweth”, means “know”. So, why the tilde?
This puzzle (to me, at least) was found in the book Fourteenth Century Studies, by M.V. Clarke. In particular, the chapter dealing with ‘The Deposition of Richard II’. The snippet below was taken from a pdf version online.
If anyone can help me with this, I’ll be grateful.
Richard, Anne and Edward Prince of Wales in York 8th September 1483
It is not that easy to find a city connected to King Richard III as York is. During his life, he visited the capital of Yorkshire many times and after he accepted the crown and became king, he left London for the Royal progress and stayed in York for three weeks.
We are lucky enough to have records of his staying in the city and of his triumphant arrival on 29th August 1483 in the capital of Yorkshire. The description of this event is not very detailed abut gives us the perfect idea of what happened that day in York.
He probably decided to do so in 1460 his father’s head had been displayed there as he was declared a traitor. Richard Duke of York was actually eligible to be King himself so we can consider Richard’s choice as a remark that both him and his father were legitimate heirs to the throne. We can also imagine that he wanted to redeem his father entering in triumph from the same gate his father had been so badly humiliated and treated as a traitor.
We have an account of the royal progress in York thanks to the Extracts from the Municipal Records of the City of York. I adapted from the medieval version to the modern to be more understandable.
“He took his journey towards the county of York where the people abused his lawful favour (as he both favoured and trusted them in his heart) had of late presumed to attempt diverse routes and riots contrary to his laws and enfranging of his peace and upon hope of his maintenance were so elated that no lord were he never of so great power could either pacify or rule them till the King himself came personally thether to set a concorde and a unity in that country and to bridel and rule the rude and rustical and blustering bold people of that region and so he by long journeying came to the city of York were the citizens received him with great pomp and triumph according to the qualities of their education and quantity of their substance and abiity and make diverse days, plays and pageantry and token joy and solace.
York Minster: Wherefore King Richard magnified and applauded by the north nation and also to show himself appearing before them in royal habit and sceptre in laude and diadem on his head, made proclamation that all people should resort to York, on the day of ascension of our Lord, where all men should both behold and see him, his queen and prince in their high estates and degrees, and also for their good will, should receive many thanks, large benefits and munificent rewards. At the day appointed, the whole clergy assembled in copes richly revested and so with a reverent ceremony went about the city in procession; after whom followed the king with his crown and sceptre, appeared in his circot robe royal accompanied with no small number of the nobility of his realm: after whom marched in order queen Anne his wife, likewise crowned leading on her left hand prince Edward her son having on his head a demi crown appointed for the degree of a prince. The king was held in that triumph in such honour and the common people of the North so rejoyed that they extolled and praised him far above the stars.”
The Archbishop’s Palace in York
On the 8th September, Richard invested his son Edward Prince of Wales and made knight his illegitimate son (John of Gloucester) in the Archbishop’s Palace in York. He also gave to York many presents especially to the Minster. There is an inventory of all the beautiful items he donated to the Minster of York. None of these seems to have survived.
The Hotel opened by the present Duke of Gloucester
Richard entered the city of York as a King on 29th August. For an incredible coincidence, the day I officially landed in England to remain was 29th August as well. We stayed for 25 days in a hotel in the city centre that had been opened by HRH Richard Duke of Gloucester. A sign of my future affiliation to the RIII Society?
During the Wars of the Roses, was there ever a deliberate policy of depopulation? By that, I cannot think of an example. Destruction, yes. Killing off the other side’s armed forces, yes. But the annihilation of towns and villages? Or of castles and strongholds, which were surely regarded as great prizes. So how could there be a complete scorching of the earth?
I raise this question because of something I have just read in John Dunkin’s The History and Antiquities of Dartford. The introduction to this work describes Caesar’s first arrival in and advance through the county of Kent. He landed on 26th August, 55 BC, perhaps at Pegwell Bay on the Isle of Thanet, see this article, and left again thirty or so days later.
According to Dunkin, the Romans encountered armed resistance when they reached Detling, where they camped for the night in preparation to cross the Medway at Aylesford. There was a rather nasty battle with the Cenimagni, the local Britons, involving stakes rammed into the riverbed to pierce the oncoming Romans. However, Caesar was triumphant and the Cenimagni leader, Caswallon, was forced to submit.
Caesar continued north, the Dartford area being his next port of call. Close to Hextable, he came upon a large circular mound, called ‘Ruehill Wood’, where the Cenimagni had their stronghold. It was a wonderful vantage point, and more substantial than the Romans expected, with sturdy stone buildings, and he set about destroying it. Completely.
Then he was wrong-footed, because, rather sneakily, Caswallon began to attack the Roman camp on the coast, obliging Caesar to turn around and hurry back. He certainly hurried, that’s for sure, and boarded his ships to sail away. He would return, of course, but this was the rather ragged end of his first invasion.
Why have I described these events? Because, again according to Dunkin, Hasted in his History of Kent hints that the site of the Ruehill Wood fortress could ‘perhaps [be] the remains of depopulation occasioned by the Wars between the houses of York and Lancaster’. Why the Wars of the Roses? Why not the Civil War? And why should the site have been anything other than ancient? Hasted also states that the manor of Ruehill or, now, Rowhill, ‘was, in the reign of King Edward [not explained which Edward] in the possession of the family of Gyse’, and proceeds to give the manor’s descent through several lords to as late as 1778. So Ruehill/Rowhill certainly wasn’t annihilated into extinction during the Wars of the Roses. Besides, if it had been, we’d surely know of it, even if just as a legend.
This manor house is now the Rowhill Grange luxury hotel and spa, and still commands a great vantage point. However, I cannot think it retains much of the original manor.
So why would this site have ever been thought of as anything other than Caswallon’s levelled fortress? And why would Hasted light upon the remains being the work of devastating depredations during the Wars of the Roses?
My mastery of Latin was gleaned at the age of 13, when for one dizzying year I was elevated to the “A” stream of King Edward VI’s Grammar School for Girls, Louth, Lincolnshire. Then they realized I wasn’t that bright, after all, and down I went!
The result of this demotion is that I have never been able to decipher Latin inscriptions. No, not the ones from Ancient Rome, but those of the medieval period here in England, where there was a very annoying (to me) habit of writing things in Latin. I can limp by in Old French, but not Latin.
My difficulty right now is a need to know what a particular inscription means. Here it is:-
Militis o miserere tui, miserere parentum Alme Deus regnis gaudeat ille tuis.(
I’m afraid I was low enough to try my hand with the Google translation service. While I could pick out words, what I could not do was string them together satisfactorily. So I appealed to my friends on Facebook, and they have been splendid. In advance, I thank Julia, Susan, Erik, Brian, Mary, Heather and last, but by no means least, Eileen!
Before I go on, I must point out that the o on its own in the inscription, is, of course, topped by something that I cannot make out. I thought, incorrectly, that it is an ö, but I’m told that an o with a little wiggle over it usually indicates an abbreviated word.
Then it seemed likely that the o might be short for ossis, which would make the first phrase “have mercy on the bones of your soldier” (As the knight in question died abroad on campaign and was brought back to England for burial, it would have been only his bones that were returned, not the rest of him!)
Another offered translation is:-
O, have mercy on your knight, have mercy on (his) parents; Dear God, may he rejoice in this, your kingdom!
Oh, pity your soldier, pity the parents. Dear God, may he rejoice in your kingdom.
So, I now know what the inscription means, and it makes sense!
Finally, let me identify the occupant of the vanished tomb from which the inscription has been taken. It was that of 19-year old Sir Edward Holland, Count of Mortain, the youngest son of John Holland, 1st Duke of Exeter. John was executed in 1400, and buried as a traitor at Pleshey, having taken part in the Epiphany Rising to remove the usurper Henry IV and return Richard II to the throne. Richard was John’s half-brother. According to Weever’s Ancient Funeral Monuments, Edward—who adhered to Henry V—was buried close to his father, and Edward’s wife (whom I have not been able to identify yet) was buried there as well. None of the tombs at Pleshey have survived, and were it not to Weever’s Ancient Funeral Monuments, no record would have remained. Edward died at the Siege of Rouen in 1418, fighting for Henry V, and that king paid for his remains to be brought home to England, buried and entombed.
Sadly, it would not be all that long before Henry V himself was brought home in such a way.
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.