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Archive for the tag “France”

A very busy presenter

Rob Bell seems to be on television a lot at the moment. Although he is an engineer and not quite a historian, many of his programmes go back in time as structures were built. Walking Britain’s Lost Railways, for instance, goes back under two centuries because of the subject matter, but Great British Ships (both Channel Five) has already covered HMS Victory and the Mary Rose, which was built in 1510 and sank in 1545. At the same time, possibly literally, Bell is appearing on BBC1 and BBC4’s (repeated) Engineering Giants, projects which he narrates actively with enthusiasm and technical knowledge, together with an interest in the local culture. For example, he tells viewers of Brunel’s great feats, tries to explain why the Mary Rose sank and walks most of the Dartmoor route from Plymouth to Exeter, although a small stage of this track has re-opened in recent years.

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Bowling and head-rolling….?

guillotine

Well, even grisly notions can make me laugh….!

It could have been her, of course, or him.

Anne of Brittany’s heart has been stolen; literally….

Anne of Brittany

At least the word “presumed” has been allowed in! It introduces an element of doubt about Richard III. Which is better than nothing.

I hope this relic is returned to where it belongs. This sort of thievery is despicable.

Footnote: I am delighted to be able to report that since I wrote this article, the stolen treasure has now been found. See here.

Another take on Richard de la Pole

Here, the American blogger Samantha Wilcoxson writes about Lord Richard’s life in DSC06658

his capacity as the last free son of John, 2nd Duke of Suffolk, and as an exile from the England of the first two “Tudors”, before dying at Pavia and being buried in the Basilica of San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro there (right).th (7)

From Lord Richard’s Wikipedia page, it appears that someone else has noticed the coincidence between his early exile in Hungary and the Hungarian guests at Marguerite‘s 1539 marriage, so it possibly isn’t a coincidence. Marguerite’s fecundity and long life testify to her youth in that year, although they still don’t quite prove her paternity. Perhaps her mother has finally been identified?

A Song for the Stanleys

On the battlefield of Towton

We were rearmost of the rear

We were tasked to guard the baggage

And to keep the exits clear

But when the foe was vanquished

And ran away in frantic fear

We charged right in (We charged right in)

We charged right in (We charged right in)

We showed them we’re the bold Stanleys

 

When King Edward crossed the Channel

To take the Frenchies by the throat

We were last men at the muster

And we nearly missed the boat

But when Louis offered friendship

With big pensions and fat bribes

We charged right in (We charged right in)

We charged right in (We charged right in)

We showed them we’re the bold Stanleys

 

At Bosworth we were wary,

And avoided either pack

We considered prompt withdrawal

As things were looking rather black

But when we saw a golden moment

To stab our sovereign in the back

We charged right in (We charged right in)

We charged right in (We charged right in)

We showed him we’re the bold Stanleys

A new interpretation of 1580s events

We all know that Mary Stuart was beheaded at Fotheringhay on 8 February 1587 and that the Spanish Armada sailed to facilitate a Catholic invasion of England in the following year, leaving Lisbon on 28 May and fighting naval battles in late July, at Plymouth and Portland. The traditional view is that Mary Stuart’s execution and Elizabeth I’s support for the revolt in the Spanish Netherlands provoked Phillip II’s wrath.

It is quite possible that this was not the case and that Phillip had

sought to overthrow his quondam sister-in-law much earlier. Mary, as the daughter of Marie de Guise and widow of Francis II was the French-backed Catholic candidate for the English throne and Franco-Spanish rivalry ensured that Phillip, great nephew of Catherine of Aragon and a Lancastrian descendant proper+, would not act in concert with any of her plots; however her death cleared the way for him, especially as the French Wars of Religion were still to resolve themselves.

We can compare this with the England of 1685-8, as William of Orange allowed the Duke of Monmouth to attempt an invasion first and only asserted his stronger semi-marital claim against James VII/II afterwards. In 1483-5, by contrast, the Duke of Buckingham was legitimately descended from Edward III when he rebelled against Richard III, only for Henry “Tudor”, of dubious lineage, to benefit.

h/t Jeanne Griffin

+ See The Wars of The Roses, Ashdown-Hill, part 4.

STATEMENT IN STONE

Most old castles will have graffiti both old and new pecked into their stonework somewhere. People like to leave A symbol for posterity (often unfortunately.) Very few ancient buildings, however, have the owner’s name graven into them for for eternity.

Not so at Caldicot in Wales. If you walk around to the back of the castle, you will clearly find the name ‘Thomas’ carved into one of the stones low in the arch of the postern gate. This Thomas happens to be Thomas of Woodstock (born 1355), 1st Duke of Gloucester, Earl of Buckingham and youngest son of Edward III.

Thomas was married to Eleanor de Bohun; Eleanor’s name is also on the door frame, although not as prominent as her husband’s. Her sister was Mary de Bohun, who married Henry Bolingbroke, the future Henry IV. The sister were co-heiresses of the huge Bohun inheritance.

Thomas was one of the Lords Appellant who rose against Richard II, who was Thomas’s nephew. Thomas had early on showed disrespectful behaviour to the young king, bursting into his presence unannounced and speaking to him in a manner deemed improper. He was involved in a rebellion in 1388, which weakened Richard’s reign, and participated in the ‘Merciless Parliament’ which curbed Richard’s powers to rule.

However, when Richard married his second wife and began to forge continental alliances, Thomas became wrathful and angry once more. He complained bitterly to one of his knights that the king should have been invading France, not making a marriage with a French princess. He scorned the king as being indolent and only interested in food and drink instead of war and glory.

Soon after, he approached Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, the grandson of Lionel of Clarence, and tried to involve him in a plot to depose and imprison the king and his new young wife. Roger, uneasy, made his excuses and vanished over to Ireland.

Word of Woodstock’s potential plot reached the king and Thomas was arrested in the presence of the king himself, who had ridden out with him, pleasantly enough it seemed, from Thomas’ castle  at Pleshey–then suddenly galloped on before him, leaving the guards to deal with Woodstock, who was hustled out of England on a ship and taken to Calais Castle. There, two months after his capture and just after giving his ‘confession,’ he died suddenly–rumours says he was strangled or suffocated by a mattress on or around September 8..

Thomas’s claim to Caldicot Castle was through Eleanor; it was part of the Bohun inheritance.He did not get to spend much time there but did order much building–the Woodstock Tower and the massive gatehouse with its vast apartments and unusual ornamentation.

The castle passed to his daughter Anne of Gloucester, who married, as her second husband, Edmund Stafford, later killed fighting at the Battle of Shrewsbury. They had a son, however, called Humphrey, who became the 1st Duke of Buckingham; a loyal Lancastrian, he died for their cause at Northampton. Humphrey’s grandson, of course, was the notorious Henry Stafford, suspect in the disappearance of the ‘Princes in the Tower’ and a rebel who lost his head in Salisbury on November 2 1483…

 

Edward III, Sir John Kyriel and the French invasion that didn’t happen. . .

 

 

Edward III drawing

Edward III was a great king. No doubt about that. And a forceful leader who knew his mind. The same went for his son, who has gone down in history as the Black Prince. So it came as a surprise to me when, on glancing through my new copy of The Black Prince by Michael Jones, I came upon a little story that reveals Edward III to have not always known his mind when it came to “Should I go over to Calais in person to show the French I mean business?”

It was in the summer of 1369, there was a fear of French invasion, and Edward was still in mid-debate with himself about how to react, when his beloved queen, Philippa of Hainault, died. Her death on 15th August finally decided him not to go, and perhaps her failing condition affected Edward’s clarity of mind, because immediately before she passed away, at least one of his captains kept getting conflicting messages from him.

The following is paraphrased from the book:-

On 7th August, Kent-based Sir John Kyriel received a letter from Edward, telling him the king planned to cross the Channel, and instructing him to join the army in two weeks’ time. Edward wrote that he had decided to respond personally to the French threat “which greatly affects our dignity”.

pointing knight - 3

 

Then, on 13th August, when Kyriel would have been busy preparing his men and so on, another letter arrived from the king, countermanding the first letter because the king “had now learned for certain that the enemy intended to invade”.

pointing knight - 4

 

So Kyriel stood down, as the saying goes. At least, he began to, because the very next day, 14th August, no fewer than two royal letters plopped through his letterbox. In the morning, the first said that Edward had decided to cross the Channel after all, but wouldn’t assemble his army until the beginning of September.

royal letter

Kyriel was told to aim for that date. But in the afternoon, another one came with completely different instructions. Kyriel was ordered to proceed to Sandwich immediately because enemy galleys were planning an attack there.

Off to war

The bemused Kyriel was galvanised into action, and headed off to Sandwich without delay. Not a French ship was in sight when he got there.

14508932-confused-knights

On 15th August, the day of the queen’s death, poor Kyriel received his fifth royal letter in eleven days. Edward now wanted him to cross the Channel at once, because battle with the French was expected the following week. Kyriel did as he was told, but no such clash materialized when he got to Calais. The French had retreated, and in the process had left behind large supplies of wine and beer. So Sir John Kyriel and his men had at least some compensation.

Kyriel celebrating

 

 

 

Yet another case

This year’s third series of “Versailles” reminded me of a further instance of secret marriage, even though some people maintain that nobody ever married in secret despite this case, that spawned two whole books, this one and this just decades ago, let alone Edward IV and Elizabeth Wydeville or her parents.
In 1683 or 1684, just months after the death of his first wife, Louis XIV is widely regarded as having married the similarly widowed Francoise d’ Aubigny, Madame Scarron, subsequently known as the Marquise de Maintenon. Just like Lady Eleanor, she was never crowned, but the similarities end in that she was married by an Archbishop not, perhaps a Canon, remained Louis XIV’s morganatic wife and outlived him.

Indeed, historians have no doubt at all that Louis XIV married Madame de Maintenon. Albeit they are not sure exactly when. Despite this, the marriage was never officially recognised – as will be seen, the King swore everyone to secrecy – and Madame de Maintenon was certainly never recognised as Queen of France.

From the memoirs of the Duc de St. Simon:

“But what is very certain and very true, is, that some time after the return of the King from Fontainebleau, and in the midst of the winter that followed the death of the Queen (posterity will with difficulty believe it, although perfectly true and proved), Père de la Chaise, confessor of the King, said mass at the dead of night in one of the King’s cabinets at Versailles. Bontems, governor of Versailles, chief valet on duty, and the most confidential of the four, was present at this mass, at which the monarch and La Maintenon were married in presence of Harlay, Archbishop of Paris, as diocesan, of Louvois (both of whom drew from the King a promise that he would never declare this marriage), and of Montchevreuil. …”

Another example of how easy it was to get married in secret, without ceremony or records, albeit in this case in 17th Century France.

How and why the House of York laid claim to the throne….

Richard, 3rd Duke of York

Here is an article from English Historical Review, 1st June 1998, telling of how and why Richard, 3rd Duke of York, laid claim to the throne of England. The root cause was an entail to the will of Edward III, who was admittedly in his dotage at the time. The entail, which excluded a female line from ascending the throne, spoils that otherwise excellent king’s legacy as far as I’m concerned. But then, I’m a modern woman who doesn’t hold with the denying of rights simply because the ones being denied are the female of the species! Or the denial of anyone’s true and honest rights, come to that. True and honest being the operative words.

The mastermind behind this entail was Edward’s 3rd son, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who sought to eliminate any claim from the descendants of his 2nd eldest brother, Lionel. Those descendants were, of course, through the female line, which line happened to be the one from whom Richard, 3rd Duke of York, was descended. Gaunt’s purpose was to see that his own line took precedence. It did in the end, but not in a way old Edward III could have foreseen, and not through the entail. Instead it took the form of Gaunt’s son and heir usurping and murdering his first cousin and rightful king, Richard II, heir of the great Black Prince. Gaunt’s son took the throne and became Henry IV, the first Lancastrian monarch.

John of Gaunt

So it seems that gallant Gaunt leaned on his dying father to achieve his own ambitious ends. But that’s the House of Lancaster for you! And it was Gaunt’s double-dealing chicanery that eventually led to Richard, 3rd Duke of York, claiming the throne that was his by right. And it all led to what we know as the Wars of the Roses.

However, there just might be some doubt about the entail’s existence. According to Penny Lawne’s biography of Joan of Kent: “…In preparation for his [Edward III’s] death he drew up his will, one of the witnesses being Sir Richard Stury, and in an entail specifically designated Richard (II) as his successor…” There is no mention of excluding any female line, but then, Lawne is very pro-Gaunt throughout, so I suppose the nitty-gritty of such an entail was better omitted. Unless, of course, all the entail ever really did was designate Richard of Bordeaux as the old king’s successor. In which case, where did the story of Gaunt’s pressure and interference come from? Ah, well, later in her book, Lawne lays the blame at the feet of Walsingham, who “held Gaunt in particular contempt, convinced he wanted the throne for himself, and repeated virulent gossip and rumours current about the duke…” Walsingham, it seems, even went so far as to portray Gaunt trying to persuade the Commons to discuss the succession, and was so intent upon removing opposition that he requested a law be passed to forbid a woman from inheriting the throne, “which would obviate the claim of Lionel’s daughter Philippa, who arguably held the most legitimate claim to the throne after the prince’s son”. So, this business of excluding females’ claims was due to Gaunt browbeating the Commons, not to Edward III’s entail?

Well, not being a fan of John of Gaunt, I am quite prepared to believe he put the screws on his dying father, in order to ensure the House of Lancaster becoming heir to Richard II’s throne, in the event of Richard childless demise. But I can also believe he’d go to work on Parliament. Gaunt was ruthless when it came to furthering his own family, and how better to achieve this than paving the path to the throne? Either way, he tried to see the succession go to the House of Lancaster.

Richard, 3rd Duke of York, quite rightly, did not think the House of Lancaster had any business wearing the crown. He was descended from Lionel, Duke of Clarence, and truly believed his (senior) line had precedence. I believe so too. Maybe it was through the female line, but it was perfectly legitimate, and until the demise of Edward III and that pesky entail (or Gaunt’s other forceful activities), there had not been a bar on women taking the throne. Yes, they had to stand back while their brothers took precedence, but if those brothers died, then they themselves had every right to be crowned. Lionel of Clarence only had one child, a daughter. His right passed to her, not to his conniving next brother, Gaunt.

Richard of York WAS the rightful king.

Now, of course, it has all been changed, and women can take precedence even if they have a younger brother(s). The line goes through age, not gender. And about time too!

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