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All the Johns of St Stephen’s Chapel….

St Stephen's Cloister Garth

As a writer of medieval fiction, and therefore stuck with a preponderance of Johns, Edwards, Richards, Edmunds and so on, I’m only relieved not to have been asked to write a history of St Stephen’s Chapel. SO many Johns? Of the human variety, I hasten to add!

This articleWhere did all the Johns come from? – An Oddity in the History of St Stephen’s Chapel is both interesting and amusing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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GREENWICH PALACE – HUMPHREY DUKE OF GLOUCESTERS PALACE OF PLEAZANCE

Gloucester-Talbot-Shrewsbury-Book.jpegHumphrey Duke of Gloucester from the Talbot Shrewsbury Book

 

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A print by an unknown artist now in the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich depicting the Palace c 1487.

Greenwich Palace, or Placentia as it is often known, was built around 1433 by Henry V’s brother, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, who named it Bella Court after he had been granted the Manor of Greenwich by his nephew Henry Vl.  There had been   been an even older palace on  that site, perhaps dating from the reign of Edward l.  Henry lV dated his will from his ‘Manor of Greenwich January 22nd 1408′ and the palace appears to have been his favourite residence.  However, the grant in 1433 of 200 acres of land was for the purpose of enclosing it as a park.  It would seem that Humphrey was pleased with the spot because 4 years later he and his ill-fated wife, Eleanor Cobham,  obtained a similar grant and in that, licence was given for the owners to ’embattle and build with stone’ as well as ‘to enclose and make a tower and ditch within the same and a certain tower within the part to build and edify’ (1)

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Part of the drawing of Greenwich Palace by Anthony van der Wyngaerde 1558 with Duke Humphrey’s tower on top of the hill.

Accordingly soon after this  Humphrey commenced building the tower within what is now the site of the Royal Observatory which was then called Greenwich Castle,  and he likewise rebuilt the old palace on the spot where the west wing of the Royal Naval College now stands which he renamed from its agreeable situation, Pleazaunce or Placentia although this name was not commonly used until the reign of Henry Vlll.

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Another view of van der Wyngaerde’s drawing of Greenwich Palace c 1558

Upon Humphrey’s death the palace was granted to his nemesis, Margaret of Anjou.  Margaret added embellishments including terracotta tiles bearing her monogram, filled the windows with glass and built a landing stage and treasure house (2)

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A view of Greenwich Palace from a print published by the Society of Antiquaries 1767

Later Edward IV enlarged the park, stocked it with deer and bestowed it as a residence upon Elizabeth Wydeville.  Greenwich has been mentioned as one of Elizabeth’s favourite homes and it certainly crops up regularly in Edward’s itinerary (3).  A joust was held there on the occasion of Richard of Shrewsbury’s marriage to Anne Mowbray and it was there at Greenwich  on the 19th November 1481 that Anne tragically died at the age of just 8 years old and a few short months later,  Edward and Elizabeth’s own daughter,  the 15 year old Princess Mary also died on either the 20th or 23rd May 1482.  The manuscript covering Mary’s death says she died ‘in the town’  but it is probable this meant the palace and presumably she would have ‘lain in the chapel of the palace with appropriate services and perhaps the attendance of her parents'(3).  A week after her death, on the 27th May,  Mary’s body was taken to the parish church of Greenwich on the first stage of the final journey to St Georges Chapel, Windsor.  Mary may have been visited by her father,  Edward lV,  a few days before her death.  He was at Canterbury on the 17th and back in London on the 23rd which may have been the day that his daughter breathed her last so clearly if he did indeed visit he did not linger.  Numerous Wydeville ladies were conspicuous among the mourners including Jane, Lady Grey of Ruthin, sister to the queen and Jacquetta, another sister’s daugher,  Joan Lady Strange, wife of George Stanley.  Another niece, Lady ‘Dame’ Katherine Grey, possibly the daughter of Jane Wydeville was also present.  Dinner for the funeral group was at the palace after which Mary’s body was taken from the church and begun its last sad journey to Windsor.  Mary’s funeral is more than adequately covered in The Royal Funerals of the House of York at Windsor by Anne F Sutton and Livia Visser-Fuchs.  It may well be that sisters-in-law Anne and Mary knew each other well and that perhaps  Greenwich Palace was being used as a royal nursery in much the same way as Sheriff Hutton was later  to become, although the age gap would surely have prevented them from being actual playmates.

 

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The Royal Window, Canterbury Cathedral.  Elizabeth Wydeville and her daughters.  Mary is shown as the last figure on the right hand side.  Greenwich was one of Elizabeth’s favourite homes and where her daugher Mary died in 1482.

Greenwich Palace  conveniently came into Henry Tudor’s hands when Elizabeth Wydeville was,  ummmmm,  retired to Bermondsey Abbey on an altogether frivolous charge. It is true to say that Tudor heavily rebuilt the palace between 1498 and 1504, renaming it Placentia, (the pleasant place),  and the result of which is that any reference to Placentia usually finds it referred to as a Tudor palace but it is the earlier years of the palace with its Lancastrian and  Yorkist links that I find the most intriguing.

 

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Modern plaque commemorating the ‘building’ of Greenwich Palace by Henry Tudor.  Visitors could be forgiven for mistakenly thinking , with no mention made of the earlier palace, that Tudor was reponsible for the building of Greenwich Palace from the onset.  

Later in its long history the palace was to see many important events including the birth of Henry Vlll in 1491.  Henry jnr spared no expense in beautifying Placentia and his marriage to Katherine of Aragon was solemnised there on the 3 June 1509.  Many sumptious banquets, revels and jousts were held there – in Henry’s ‘Manor of Pleazaunce’  – and both his daughters, Mary and Elizabeth were born there.  Details of these and other less salubrious events such as the arrest of Anne Boleyn are readily available to anyone who is interested in the Tudors and their shenanigans and I will not  cover them here.  The Tudors were emulated  by the Stuarts in choosing Placentia  as a favourite residence until Charles ll,  finding the old palace greatly decayed,  ordered it to be taken down and yet another new palace to be built.  Thus Greenwich or Placentia – whichever name you prefer arose, phoenix like from the ashes and a new chapter in its long history commenced.

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As a footnote to Greenwich Palace and its rich history, much excitement has been created by the discovery by archaeologists  working on the painted hall at the Old Royal Naval College  of the discovery of two room, thought to have been used as kitchen or laundry rooms from the old palace.  One of these rooms featured a lead-glazed tiled floor and wall cavities which may have been used to store food and drink or even ‘bee boles’ which would have housed beehive baskets or ‘skeps’ during the winter when the bee colonies hibernated.

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The cavities from Greenwich Palace believed to be for storing food, drink or even ‘bee boles’.

  1. Old and New London, vol 6 p.165 Edward Walford.
  2.  The London Encyclopaedia pp 345, 346.  Edited by Weinren and Hibbert
  3.  The Private Life of Edward lV John Ashdown-Hill pp 48,49,62,63, 87, 88, 114, 115, 117, 118, 119, 155, 157, 158, 188, 189, 190,191, 192, 204, 205, 206

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Richard’s portraits and scoliosis….

 

 

While searching for the actor Ben Miller’s association with scoliosis (he had a corrective operation when a child) I came upon the following article, which (I think) he has written. If not, there is another Ben Miller.

The item was written in December 2014, but is full of interest concerning Richard’s portraits, tree-ring dating, the fact that portraits of Richard and Edward IV are from the same tree, and so on. Well worth a read.

http://www.culture24.org.uk/history-and-heritage/royal-history/art508894-king-richard-the-tree-ring-dated-portrait-which-could-show-the-king-scoliosis-as-a-costume.

A LOCK OF A KING’S HAIR

https://auctions.roseberys.co.uk/m/lot-details/index/catalog/38/lot/18809/

Recently a lock of hair purporting to be from the head of Edward IV turned up at Rosebery’s for what  was, in my opinion, a very low estimated price. Edward’s tomb in Windsor was opened in the  latter part of the 1700’s  and it was said that visitors emerged clutching handfuls of ‘long brown hair.’ One lock found its way to the Society of Antiquaries; another is (or was) in Brighton museum. This latest lock seems to have come from an unspesified source, but unfortunately the lot was withdrawn before it went to auction; I suspect it was either sold to a private collector or the auction room wasn’t happy with the provenance (although, as it came with a document that does appear to be of some age and bears a legible signature, it appears authentic to me. The colour of the hair also seems a close  match to the other known swatches.)

One wonders what other interesting mementos of the Yorkist dynasty might reside in private collections. And what could they tell us?

A lock of hair, if the roots remained, could give us dna. In Edward’s case, we might be able to put the rumours of his illegitimacy to rest…or prove them. (Unfortunately the hair from the Society of Antiquaries’ collection was not viable.)

A sample could possibly tell us things about Edward’s health, and again confirm or deny the ‘poisoning’ rumours that attended his death.

The extant hair does, of course, prove that Edward was not the ‘blond giant’ beloved of fiction writers. His portraits showed brown hair, which is verified by the existing hair, and from the description of it at the tomb’s opening. Hair can change colour post-mortem, due to chemical processes, but generally it becomes lighter and redder as the pigments are revealed.

So, folks, keep your eyes peeled at auctions and sales, for you never know what granny or grandad has hidden in the attic, documents, jewellery, flags, preserved hair…Such items obviously do exist, many probably unrecognised for what they are, and what seems like a bit of old junk just might be very important to the study of Richard III and his family.

The Mystery Man In The Vaux Passional

In 1921, a manuscript dating to the late 15th or early 16th century was donated to the National Library of Wales. It was a “passional”, a book recounting the sufferings of saints and martyrs, and containted 2 texts in medieval French: “La Passion de Nostre Seigneur” (The Passion of Our Lord), an account of the Passion of Christ, and “Le miroir de la mort” (The mirror of death), a religious poem by the Burgundian chronicler Georges Chastellain. The book had once been owned by Lady Joan Guildford (c. 1463-1538), nee Vaux, who served in the household of Elizabeth of York as governess to the princesses Margaret and Mary Tudor, but it remained relatively obscure until 2012 when it was scanned to make it available on the internet.

When Dr Maredudd ap Huw, the library’s manuscripts librarian, examined the first miniature in the book as part of the digitisation project, he realised that it showed the family of Henry VII, including the future Henry VIII, mourning the death of his queen, Elizabeth of York (1466-1503). Young Henry, who is shown slumped over his mother’s empty bed, was 11 years old at the time of her death, making this the earliest known depiction of him and certainly the most vulnerable. Also present are his sisters Margaret and Mary, dressed in mourning black, while the sovereign in the centre of the miniature appears to be an idealised version of their father, Henry VII. The bottom of the page bears the royal arms of England.

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Dr ap Huw’s discovery catapulted the Vaux Passional to fame, but while the persons on the left of the miniature were now identified, the those on the right remained shrouded in mystery. Most mysterious of all was the man at the centre who is handing a book to the king – so much so that Dr ap Huw appealed to fellow historians and even members of the public for suggestions who he could be. Unfortunately, the response was muted and today – more than 2 years later – he remains officially unidentified.

Why is he so mysterious? At first glance, the scene appears to be a typical “presentation miniature”, showing the author or person who commissioned the book – in this case the passional – presenting it to his patron. It was therefore initially assumed that the book had been part of the royal library of Henry VII before passing into Lady Guildford’s possession. Since both texts contained within the book had been published before, the mystery man can’t be the author. He therefore would have to be the person who commissioned the book, so who is he?

He is unlikely to be Sir Richard Guildford, who has been tentatively identified by Dr ap Huw as the man in the foreground holding the white wand of the office of Comptroller, an office he held under Henry VII. The book bears an inscription by Lady Guildford’s son, Sir Henry Guildford, but he was only 14 years old at the time of queen Elizabeth’s death and her brother was serving as Lieutenant of Guînes. Dr ap Huw had hoped that the arms on other pages of the manuscript would help to identify him, but they were found to point to the maternal ancestors of Lady Guildford, except those on the page depicting Christ’s resurrection, which are the arms of the Beaufort family. This led Dr ap Huw to consider the possibility that the book had not been commissioned for Henry VII, but for Lady Guildford – in which case the scene is not a presentation miniature.

There are a number of other clues which support this conclusion. In presentation miniatures the person presenting the book is usually shown kneeling, but the mystery man is standing. The composition places him on roughly the same floor level as the king and his facial expression and body language are relaxed and confident: he looks more like an equal than a subject paying tribute to his sovereign. Last but not least, the book in the picture is blue while the passional is bound in red velvet which, according to the library’s website, is the original binding. So if this is not a presentation miniature and the mystery man therefore not the person who commissioned the book, who is he?

Unlikely as it may seem in this context, he looks remarkably like Henry’s predecessor, Richard III. The hair style, texture and colour as well as facial features – prominent chin, down turned corners of the mouth and furrowed brow – are similar to Richard’s portraits from the Tudor period. These were created based on a pattern which the miniature seems to broadly follow: allowing for the cartoonish style, the 3/4 perspective, facial features and frown line between his eye brows line up remarkably well. The clothing, position of the hands and facial expression are different, but he certainly looks more like Richard III than the idealised sovereign looks like Henry VII. Finally, we could stop looking for a coat of arms to identify him by as it would be right on this page: the royal arms of England.

The mystery man 1) superimposed on the Society of Antiquaries portrait 2), the Royal Collection portrait 3) and the NPG portrait 4)

So could this be Richard? At first glance, it seems unlikely. There’s no known precedent for depictions of a dead king presenting a book to his living political enemy and the Guildfords were by all accounts staunch Lancastrians. Lady Guildford was the daughter of Katherine Vaux, nee Peniston, who served as lady-in-waiting to Margaret of Anjou and was so loyal to her mistress that she is said to have shared her imprisonment and exile. Young Joan and her brother Nicholas were brought up in the household of Henry VII’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, and Joan went on to become her lady-in-waiting. Nicholas is thought to have fought for Henry at Bosworth as he later did at Blackheath and Stoke, for which he was knighted. Lady Guildford’s husband, Sir Richard Guildford, was the son of Sir John Guildford, who had been Comptroller of the Household to Edward IV. Both father and son took part in Buckingham’s rebellion against Richard and when it failed Sir Richard joined Henry in exile in Brittany. Like his brother-in-law, he is thought to have fought for him at Bosworth.

However, Lady Guildford also had Yorkist connections. Her brother’s first wife was Elizabeth FitzHugh, daughter of Sir Henry FitzHugh and Alice Neville, niece of Cecily, duchess of York and aunt to Anne Neville, Richard’s queen. Both Elizabeth and her mother had served Queen Anne as ladies-in-waiting and her sister Anne FitzHugh was the wife of Richard’s best friend, Francis Lovell. Despite her devotion to Margaret of Anjou, Lady Guildford’s mother received an annuity of 20 marks from Richard, the same amount as later from Henry VIII. And most obviously, Lady Guildford herself served in the household of Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV and Richard’s niece.

There may not be a precedent for a dead king presenting a book to his living enemy but, as explained above, this is unlikely to be a presentation miniature and in fact there is a precedent, albeit not in painting but in writing. Even before he had won the throne Henry called Richard usurper and worse, but his attitude was not consistent. In 1494, almost 10 years after Bosworth, he arranged for an alabaster tomb to be placed on his grave with an epitaph that described the transition of royal power from the house of York to the house of Lancaster thus:

“I, here, whom the earth encloses under various coloured marble,
Was justly called Richard the Third.
I was Protector of my country, an uncle ruling on behalf of his nephew.
I held the British kingdoms in trust, [although] they were disunited.
Then for just sixty days less two,
And Two summers, I held my sceptres.
Fighting bravely in war, deserted by the English,
I succumbed to you, King Henry VII.
But you yourself, piously, at your expense, thus honoured my bones
And caused a former king to be revered with the honour of a king
When [in] twice five years less four
Three hundred five-year periods of our salvation had passed.
And eleven days before the Kalends of September
I surrendered to the red rose the power it desired.
Whoever you are, pray for my offences,
That my punishment may be lessened by your prayers.” [^1]

Another version of the epitaph is more critical of Richard, but both describe the transfer of power from him to Henry in equally amicable terms. Is this the scene depicted in the miniature? The linking of the Beaufort arms to the resurrection of Christ appears to send a similar message: the restoration of the “red rose” of Lancaster to its rightful place on the throne of England. Is the book in the miniature then not a physical book, but a symbol? That would explain why it doesn’t look like the passional.

So what if this is Richard? It would be one of his oldest surviving depictions aside from coins and pen-and-ink sketches (the oldest portraits in the Society of Antiquaries and the Royal Collection date from around 1504-1520) and the only one showing him smiling. Given that the image of the “crookback” king had been around since at least the 1490s and by the time the Royal Collection portrait was created his paintings were being actively “corrected”, it would also be unusual in that it shows him without deformities.

Is this perhaps how he was remembered in the household of Elizabeth of York where Lady Guildford served as governess? Elizabeth had spent time at her uncle’s court and would have known that his scoliosis was not visible under normal circumstances (see Bones Don’t Lie). The exact nature of the relationship between Richard and his niece is unclear. It is highly unlikely that he wanted to marry her – he publicly denied the rumour and was negotiating a foreign marriage – but they seem to have been on friendly terms. One source for this is Elizabeth’s letter to John Howard, duke of Norfolk, in which she declared that her uncle “was her onely joy and maker in…Worlde, and that she was his…harte, in thoughts, in…and in all.” The original letter doesn’t survive, so we can’t be sure how accurately its content was summarised and the summary itself is damaged, but the tone is clear. Richard also appears to have given her 2 books as gifts. The first, Boethius’ “De Consolatione Philosophiae”, bears his motto “Loyalte me lye” and underneath it her signature. The other, “Roman de Tristan”, is inscribed “Iste Liber constat Ricardo Duci Gloucestre” and on the same page in her handwriting “sans remevyr Elyzabeth”.

Of course, one English king is conspicuously missing from the scene: where is Edward V? The destruction of Titulus Regius had reversed his illegitimacy and restored him to the throne. Indeed, the harsher version of the epitaph alleges that Richard ruled on his behalf by broken faith – curiously ignoring Henry’s assertion dating back to 1484 that he, Henricus Rex, was the rightful heir to the throne of England, which bypassed the Yorkist claim entirely. So what are we to make of it if Edward’s supposed usurper and murderer is depicted in such a benign way in a book belonging to a servant of his sister? After James Tyrell’s supposed confession? It seems that the Vaux Passional has yet more secrets to reveal…

A zoomable version of the miniature can be viewed here

Citation:

[^1]: John Ashdown-Hill: “The Last Days of Richard III and the Fate of his
DNA”, Stroud 2013

Sources:

History Extra: “Portrait may show young Henry VIII”, website of BBC History Magazine, 1 December 2012 http://www.historyextra.com/henrypicture

National Library of Wales: “The Vaux Passional” http://www.llgc.org.uk/index.php?id=5926

Frederick Hepburn: “Earliest Portraiture of Richard III”, website of the Richard III Society http://www.richardiii.net/2_4_0_riii_appearance.php#portrait

Emily Kearns: “Richard III’s Epitaph”, The Ricardian Vol. XXIV 2014, p.75-86.

First he scowls, then he smiles….

Richard's Portrait - before and after twiddling

Oh, the wonder of computers. They can impart such power, even to making Richard III show his true colours at last, by smiling from his hitherto moody portrait.

The portrait of him held by the Society of Antiquaries is believed to be the earliest of the few portraits that still survive of Richard. All of them were painted after his death, presumably from lost originals. So, we see Richard as the young man he was, lean, dark-haired…with disapproving eyes, pinched lips and a generally mean appearance. Really? Is this portrait a ‘Tudorised’ dig at the dead king? I think so. I do not believe this was how Richard looked. Yes, he was young, lean and dark-haired, but not with that horrible expression. Please.

To the rescue comes Paint Shop Pro X6, and with a few tweaks, Richard is more light-hearted. His eyes are shining and warmer, his lips curved, and the whole thing has changed. Isn’t it amazing what a smile can do?

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