We all know the legend that George of Clarence was drowned in a butt of Malmsey. I wonder how much such a butt would have cost at the time? I doubt it was as much as it became when Henry VII sat on his stolen throne. Henry was never one to miss an opportunity to line his pockets.
According to Stow’s Survey of London, it became law that “no sweet wines were to be brought into the realm except Malmseys by the Lombards. They had to pay to the king for his licence six shillings and eight pence of every butt, besides twelve pence for bottle large.”
A nice little earner, Henry! I’ll warrant that if George had been disposed of during your reign, it would have been in something much cheaper than Lombard Malmsey!
I must state from the outset that I could not find any contemporary likenesses of Henry Holand, so the above is of him as played by an actor unknown to me.
The life of Henry Holand, 3rd Duke of Exeter—*actually 4th Duke, by my calculations, see below—has never been of particular interest to me, but I did think that he was murdered at sea, and his body dumped in the water. It was believed that as he was a tiresome Lancastrian, he fell victim to Yorkist retribution. Specifically, the retribution of his former brother-in-law, Edward IV. At least, that was my impression. Apart from that, I also understood that Henry Holand was a very unpleasant person.
Henry was born in the Tower of London on 27th June, 1430. At his baptism he was carried from the Tower to Coldharbour, and then taken by barge to St. Stephen’s Westminster, where he was christened. (I mention this because we all know Coldharbour, and its Ricardian connections.)
Henry Holand married Anne of York, who was born in 1439 at Fotheringhay. She was the elder sister of Kings Edward IV and Richard III, and it was her mitochondrial DNA that proved the remains discovered in Leicester were those of Richard III.
When Henry was aged 19, in 1449, he became 3rd Duke of Exeter and Lord High Admiral. The Holands had started as Ricardians—Richard II—but had then Lancastrian supporters of Henry IV. Henry Hoiland supported Lancastrian Henry VI when the Yorkist Edward IV came to the throne. The duke was thus attainted after the Battle of Towton on 29th March 1461, and fled to exile in Scotland.
His estates had been forfeited, but Holand regained many of them when Henry VI was returned briefly to the throne. But then the estates were forfeit again when Edward IV surged back to power.
Meanwhile, Holand’s wife had managed to obtain all his estates for herself. Such are the perks of being Edward IV’s sister. An Act of Parliament passed in 1464 meant that “such gifts and grants that the king made to Anne, his sister, wife of Henry, Duke of Exeter, were to all intents good in law to the only use of the said Anne.” (Tower Records). Edward granted her the Holand castles, manors, etc. in Wales, Cornwall, Devon, Somerset and Wilts to herself for life, with the remainder to her daughter by the Duke of Exeter.
Henry Holand returned to England in 1469, still supporting Lancaster, and was wounded at the Battle of Warwick.
Then, on 14th April, 1471, he fought at the Battle of Barnet, at which the Lancastrians were beaten, and the great Earl of Warwick, the “Kingmaker”, was killed.
Sir James Ramsey, in his book, Lancaster and York, vol. ii, p. 370, states that Henry Holand was in the Tower of London until June of 1475. On 21st June, 1471, a bill of 6s. 8d. was paid to William Sayer, purveyor to the Tower of London to feed “Henry, called Duke of Exeter”, for seven days from 26th May, and again 6s. 8d. for the week beginning 31st May. Rymer, vol. xi, p. 713.
Henry Holand and Anne had parted in 1464, and were divorced on 11th December, 1467. They had one child, a daughter, also named Anne. Then the Duchess Anne married Yorkist Sir Thomas St Leger in 1474-ish. Another daughter was born of this second match, on 14th January, 1476, and they called her Anne as well! So, we have Anne of York, Lady Anne Holand and Lady Anne St Leger.
On learning that his wife was pregnant, St Leger engineered a legal settlement that would enable his child, Anne St Leger, to inherit everything in the event of his wife’s death and the death (without issue) of Lady Anne Holand. I’ll bet Henry Holand appreciated that!
Henry must have been a brooding presence for his ex-wife. In 1475, around the time that she realised she was expecting St Leger’s child, Henry Holand had redeemed himself enough with Edward IV to volunteer (and be accepted) by that king for an expedition/invasion of France. This venture began at around the time Anne realised she was expecting St Leger’s child.
It was on the return voyage from France that Henry’s body was found bobbing in the Channel (or on the beach at Dover, according to another version).
Everyone scratched their heads and spread innocent hands as to what had befallen him. Edward IV may or may not have had a tiresome Lancastrian eliminated—he wasn’t above such things—but there was someone else with a good reason to dispose of Henry Holand.
Thomas St Leger was also on the expedition to France, and had been prominent in the proceedings. “St Leger played a key role in ending the Hundred Years’ War when he signed the Treaty of Picquigny with Louis XI on 29 August 1475.” At this time he knew he was to be a father, and had accomplished the settlement that could so greatly benefit his child’s future. Thanks to his foresight, little Anne St Leger might one day inherit the entire Holand fortune!
But while Henry Holand was still alive, there was a chance he’d return to complete favour, remarry and produce more legitimate offspring. Perhaps male. And that the king might decide he should have his inheritance back. The way politics were at that time, heaven knows who might occupy the throne? Another Lancastrian, perchance? Oh, no, I don’t think Thomas would have relished that scenario. So, as the English forces were returning to England from France, St Leger could have found an opportunity to see that Henry Holand was despatched to the hereafter. Heave-ho, over the side you go!
Well, that’s my theory. Far-fetched? I don’t think so. It’s a possible explanation for Henry’s immersion in the Channel.
Yes, there were others who loathed the very sight of Henry Holand, a man who seems to have signally lacked the famous Holand charm. But St Leger’s situation was different. He had a very personal reason to want Holand out of the way for good and all. Of course, let it not be forgotten that St Leger himself would one day become a treacherous brother-in-law. In 1483 he rebelled against Richard III, and paid the price.
*And I haven’t forgotten the asterisk at the beginning of this post. Why do I regard Henry Holland as the 4th Duke of Exeter? Because it is my belief that his grandfather’s (John Holand, 1st Duke of Exeter, d. January 1400) eldest son, Sir Richard Holand, who died at the end of 1400, survived the 1st Duke’s death long enough to be considered of age, and had thus inherited the right to his father’s titles—as much as Edward IV’s eldest son was Edward V! I know the 1st ~Duke had been demoted and attainted at the time of his death, but the title was resurrected and then given to his second son, another John. I still think this would have made the 2nd Duke actually the 3rd. OK, so I’m an amateur and don’t know what I’m talking about!
Oh, dear. The fate of Edward V (if he ever was a king) tops the Reader’s Digest list of 13 of the ‘Biggest Mysteries Surrounding the British Royal Family’. Hm. As the following quoted paragraph is a sample of the article’s accuracy, I won’t be bothering to read the other twelve.
“….In April 1483, King Edward IV of England died, and his eldest son, Edward V, age 12, ascended the throne with his uncle, his father’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester, as “protector of the realm.” But soon after, the Duke sent Edward V and his next youngest brother, aged 10 (Richard, Duke of York) to the Tower of London (both a residence and a prison)—for their own “protection.” In June, the Duke declared himself King Richard III. Edward and his brother were never seen again. Two skeletons found in the Tower are believed to be the brothers, and Richard III has long been suspected of having his nephews murdered….”
Here at Murrey and Blue, we are not in the habit of reviewing repeats, not even when we have commented on them before. This time, it is the very fact and timing of the repeat of Channel Four’s “Who killed the Princes in the Tower?”, with the ubiquitous Dan Jones, that is at issue, together with the assumptions made by Jones in the programme and even in the title. In the show, a bearded (!) Richard is shown ordering the murder of two individuals who were declared illegitimate by the Three Estates, a verdict that some of his rivals disagreed with, giving those rivals a motive he didn’t have.
The programme is the very apogee of denialism, based upon Jones’ imagination and Domenico Mancini’s wholly discredited account, presented with at least a dozen disproven “facts”, such as the definition of treason, the Constable‘s court and the boys’ “house arrest”. Mancini’s name is also wrongly rendered as “Dominic”, and Jones fails to mention that he was a spy for Angelo Cato, speaking little English. So, if you want to watch the investigation of a “crime” that may never have happened …
These assumptions include:
1) That Edward IV’s sons qualified as “Princes” – as Ashdown-Hill pointed out, their illegitimacy means that this cannot be the case.
2) That they have died – we can let him have that one!
3) That they died together – for which we have no evidence whatsoever.
4) That they died in the Tower -again no evidence.
5) That they died in 1483 – a little suggestive evidence in one case.
6) That anyone killed them or ordered their deaths – again no evidence.
7) That Richard III was that person – again no evidence.
The timing of this repeat is also at issue because Ashdown-Hill’s discovery of the “Princes”‘ mtDNA has provided us with the opportunity to test what some people still regard as “evidence” – the remains, of whatever age, gender, era, quantity or even species, in the Westminster Abbey urn. One might argue that this repeat was scheduled “in the teeth of the evidence”.
Who let Dan Jones out? At least, as in his last outing, he is accompanied both by a historian (Suzannah Lipscomb) and an engineer (Rob Bell), narrating and illustrating almost two millennia of the city’s past.
In the first episode, we were taken through the walled city of “Londinium” being built and rebuilt after Boudicca’s revolt. Whilst Bell showed us the Kent stone from which the original Tower was built, we were told about the Ampitheatre and the remains, near Spitalfields, that include the “Lamb Street Teenager” and the slaves that helped to build the city, strategically located on the Thames. Some archaeology has resulted from the building of Crossrail.
As Roman Britain ended and the Anglo-Saxons arrived, their original city (“Londonwych”) was on a smaller scale. Viking raids followed and Alfred moved the city inside the Roman walls as “Londonburgh”, as broken glass and pottery found near Covent Garden testifies, with the previous entity further east now being known as Aldwych. Although the Vikings took the city, Ethelred II reconquered it and destroyed London Bridge as well.
The programme finished with William I’s coronation on Christmas Day 1066, followed by his rebuilding of the Tower with Norman stone, not to be confused with this historian, with the domes later added by Henry VIII.
The second episode showed us Westminster Abbey, later to be rebuilt at great expense by Henry III, in a smaller city then separate from London, where every coronation since Harold II has taken place, followed by Westminster Hall, where Wallace, Fawkes and Charles I were all sentenced to death. Half of the evolving city’s population fell victim to the Black Death, after which Richard Whittington, younger son of a Gloucestershire knight, really did serve as Mayor three or four times under Richard II and Henry IV. The population then increased exponentially to the days of the wealthy Cardinal Wolsey, who built Whitehall Palace before falling from Henry VIII’s favour, so Henry and his successors occupied it from 1530 until the fire of 1698. This part ended with Elizabeth I knighting Drake aboard the Golden Hind.
Week three covered the Great Fire, which the trio had previously examined in much greater detail, although they did mention Pepys’ description, the probable origin in a Monument Lane bakery, the timber-framed buildings of the old city and the easterly wind that spread the fire. Although we can see the new St. Paul’s today, Wren’s original plan for the area was even more radical, featuring a Glasgow-style grid of streets. London then expanded to the west for merchants and their imports via the Thames, whilst the poor stayed in the east where gin was popular. In the nineteenth century, industrialisation caused the city’s population to rise rapidly, although smog became a factor.
London Bridge became the city’s first rail terminus, in 1836, before Euston was built and Paddington was soon added to serve Brunel’s Great Western lines. The steep hills of Hampstead were overcome through a man-made valley, as Bell showed by visiting the abandoned Highgate station, allowing London to expand to the north. Poor water hygiene caused a cholera outbreak, which Bazalgette’s civil engineering solved with pumping stations, sewers and the reclaiming of land. Heavy traffic then necessitated the strengthening of the ancient bridges. The reclaimed land (Embankment) and Great Fire site (Monument) are both remembered on the Underground map.
The series concluded by pointing out that road congestion was quite possibly worse in 1860 than it is now, as trains were banned from running within two miles of the epicentre at street level. The solution was to run them underground, with the Metropolitan line being started first by “cut and cover” and the Northern line, authentically bored, to follow. Residents moved out of the first engineered areas to the east, leaving Shoreditch and Whitechapel overcrowded with twice the mortality level of London as a whole. By 1890, the capital had five million residents and Charles Booth’s “poverty map” highlighted a quarter of these, with the worst cases in the East End, where “Jack the Ripper” preyed on some of them. From the maps, living conditions were addressed and the worst slums demolished. Following Edward VII’s accession in January 1901, recognisable modern buildings such as Admiralty Arch, the MI5 building and the War Office arose. Visitors could stay in hotels such as the Savoy and shop at Selfridges as we can do today. Suffragettes were active before the First World War, during which they suspended their activities and many worked in armaments manufacture, for instance at the Royal Ordnance factory known as the Woolwich Arsenal.
Air warfare came to London with Zeppelin bombs in 1915. In the remainder of the conflict, there were thirty raids killing forty thousand people, including thirty children at Poplar in 1917. Armistice Day was followed by the “Spanish ‘flu”, which was generally three times as deadly as the war itself, with some 20,000 deaths in London alone. In the following years, houses were built along the expanded Metropolitan Lane, taking in towns such as Pinner and Harrow, and advertised in a “Metroland” magazine to raise the population to 8.6 million. The Blitz brought the Second World War to London a year after the start but, importantly, after the corrugated tin structures known as Anderson shelters were made available. It happened on fifty-seven consecutive nights in the first instance and a total of two million homes were damaged or destroyed. Replacing these and housing Commonwealth immigration from 1948 was hampered by the Green Belt so that London could no longer expand outwards, only upwards. As freight expanded, containers could no longer fit into the Thames so the docks were less busy from the sixties, in favour of more coastal ports. However, Docklands regeneration was initiated in the eighties as the City was pushed eastwards to Canary Wharf and the Isle of Dogs. In a further effort to relieve congestion, the great Crossrail project opens later this year with twenty six miles of new tunnels, forty-two metres below ground, providing a unique archaeological opportunity to view London’s past.
In conclusion, it is possible to enjoy a history programme with Dan Jones, so long as he has at least two colleagues and cannot simply indulge his prejudices against particular figures. The second half of the series was more a social and economic history, which is a further restraint.
I came across this heavy metal song from the 1980’s a while back– BLOODY RED ROSE by Running Wild. It is ‘pro-Richard III’ and here are the lyrics:
In the war of the roses, the tragedy source King Edward was bound to die Richard III the new “lord protector” Ruled with “loyalty me lie” A vigilant guardian to the sons of the king As sure as an eagle will fly He died in a battle in 1485 And Henry defamed Richard with lies
Richard was charged in the “act of attainder” With tyranny, murder and gain Henry revoked the “titulus regius” With the smile of the vicious insane Henry (8th?)that rotten bastard Executed the whole house of York Elizabeth Woodville was (injured?)for life And Tyrrel the liar was acquitted by court
The poisoned thorns of the bloody red rose Red venom of deepest dye Henry the traitor, the victor by sin Soiled Richard’s blood with a grin
While Richard was ruling, the boys were alive When he died the boys disappeared Henry killed them to get onto the throne But the book of truth was sealed Henry paid Tyrrel to say that he had murdered In the name of Sir Richard the brave Henry killed Tyrrel without any trial So Tyrrel took the truth to his grave
The poisoned thorns of the bloody red rose Red venom of deepest dye Henry the traitor, the victor by sin Soiled Richard’s blood with a grin The poisoned thorns of the bloody red rose Red venom of deepest dye Henry the traitor, the victor by sin Soiled Richard’s blood with a grin.
While it was nice to have a Ricardian point of view in Running Wild’s song, I could not help but feel rather sorry for James Tyrell, whom I think has been defamed in a similar manner to Richard with no strong proof. And to think almost 30 years after this song was written, David Starkey was still pointing (a very shaky) finger at Tyrell in the ‘Princes in the Tower’ documentary that, rather ungraciously, appeared at the time of Richard’s reinterment.
The so called ‘confession’ Tyrrell made appears to be mythical; there is not one shred of evidence it actually existed, and one has to wonder if it were true, why Tyrell was not executed for regicide and murder but for treason in aiding Edmund de la Pole, the Duke of Suffolk. Starkey seemed to make a huge deal of the fact Henry was at the Tower with Elizabeth of York at the time of the trial ‘so something was clearly going on.’ A pretty weak ‘finding’, I would say, since James Tyrell was not tried at the Tower but at Guildhall, and while Starkey’s beloved Thomas More wrote about the ‘confession’, other writers of the time such as Polydore Vergil make no mention of it. A pretty important thing to miss, no?
More, it might be worth saying, also had Tyrrell knighted by Richard for killing the princes when ,in reality, he had been knighted years before by Edward IV at Tewkesbury. The whole scene by More regarding the Princes ‘murder’ smacks of farce to me–Richard on the toilet telling his wicked plans to a random page boy, then stepping into the corridor and stumbling upon some convenient thugs lying on a pallet outside the door whom he casually asks to do the wicked deed alongside Tyrell. I think More may will have been writing some form of satire here–and let us not forget that he starts off his book with the death of Edward IV, but the age of the King at his death is WRONG by many years. The age More gives is that of Henry Tudor at HIS death! So what was he really trying to say?
Clearly, certain historians like to cherry-pick More’s work and perhaps, lacking as it would seem, a sense of humour, take every word literally and far more seriously than perhaps was ever intended by the author (who, incidentally, neither finished nor published it in his lifetime.)
We tend to have rather a negative view of Sir Richard Rich, or Baron Rich of Leez as he became in February 1547, nowadays. In this, we are somewhat influenced by Robert Bolt’s portrayal of him, as a “betrayer” of More, together with the history of Trevor-Roper. One Bolt line, memorably delivered by Paul Scofield as More, was “Why Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world, but Wales?”, as Rich (John Hurt) becomes Attorney-General for Wales a few (film) minutes before More is executed. More is also quoted as saying that Parliament could make Rich King if it so wished.
Rich, a lawyer, protege of Wolsey, Colchester MP, Speaker and Solicitor-General, was certainly involved in many of the events of the mid-“Tudor” period such as the prosecution of More and Fisher, accounting for Catherine of Aragon’s assets at Kimbolton Castle, supporting Cromwell in the Dissolution, quite possibly a personal hand in Anne Askew’s (unprecedented and illegal) torture, executor of Henry VIII’s will, the attempted prosecution of Bonner and Gardiner and the Seymour brothers’ fatal division. He then resurfaced under Mary I as an enthusiastic persecutor of heretics in Essex, before dying, nine years into the next reign, at Felsted where he donated money to the church and famous school in the village.
His descendants were granted the Earldom of Warwick and were heavily involved, on both sides, in the Civil War – one great-grandson, the Earl of Holland, fought for the Crown at the 1648 Battle of St. Neots and was beheaded the following March with the Duke of Hamilton (captured at Preston) and Lord Hadham (taken at Colchester).
Many of you will remember the episode of “Who do you think you are” in which Danny Dyer was revealed as a descendant of Edward III. In this new two part series, he “meets” a few prominent ancestors, some even more distant.
The first episode began with Rollo, ancestor of the Dukes of Normandy, which saw Dyer visit Sweden, although Danes and Norwegians also claim that Viking dynast, to learn sparring with a sword and shield. Then he went to the Tower to talk about William I and Dover Castle for Henry II, discussing his rebellious sons and his mixed relationship with Becket. At every stage, riding a horse, jousting or dyeing (Dyeing?), he was accompanied by a professional genealogist (Anthony Adolph, in a cafe opposite Buckingham Palace) or a historian, if not one of television’s “usual suspects”. At the end, Dyer visited France to learn of a slightly different ancestor – St. Louis IX, although Margaret of Wessex is another canonised forebear.
The second episode did feature some real historians: Elizabeth Norton, Chris Given-Wilson, Tobias Capwell and Tracy Borman. The opening scene had Isabella on the Leeds Castle drawbridge shouting at Edward II (Dyer): “Git aht ov moi carsel” (you may need Google Translate, but not from French). We were shown an image of Hugh le Despencer’s grisly execution, without pointing out that there were two of that name, followed by Edward’s confinement in Berkeley Castle, forced abdication and the legend of his even grislier end. Henry “Hotspur” Percy, who died in battle at Shrewsbury, followed as Dyer tried on late mediaeval armour. The next scenes concerned Sir John Seymour at Wolf Hall, inveigling his daughter into Henry VIII’s world, as Dyer dressed up and tried “Tudor” dancing. We then moved on to Helmingham Hall as Catherine Cromwell married Lord Tollemache, whose successor met Dyer, his cousin, again. The series concluded with a “sugar banquet” as the star’s family joined in, dressed as Elizabeth I’s contemporaries.
Both programmes were informative about mediaeval life, such as the “silver pennies” bearing Dyer’s image and the West Ham badge, although his stereotypical East London patois grates a little. It brought to mind Ray Winstone as Henry VIII (“I have been betrayed!”) or Nick Knowles‘ egregious Historyonics.
The above illustration is of the British Crown Jewels as we know them now, but there were predecessors, long gone now, thanks to the efforts of Oliver Cromwell, who had no truck with such baubles.
We are inclined to forget that there was a Welsh crown too, until it was seized by Edward I in 1283. The picture immediately above is of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Prince of Wales, crowned and seated beneath his arms. It is not contemporary, but is set when he paid homage to Henry III in 1267.
The next illustration above is from the 16th century, and shows the arms of Wales, surmounted by a crown of unusual design. Llywelyn’s crown was still around at this time (pre-Cromwell) and so this may well be an accurate depiction of the crown that Edward I seized in 1283.
Llywelyn’s crown (Talaith Llywelyn) was left at Cymer Abbey (together with other priceless items) at the start of Llywelyn’s final campaign, but was seized by Edward I when Llywelyn was killed in 1282.
Taken to Westminster Abbey, it was presented to the shrine of Edward the Confessor as a symbol of the crushing of the Welsh. Before this presentation it was coated in gold to make it look more impressive, which the contributor to Wikipedia thinks is an indication that the original was perhaps made of iron.
It remained in Westminster Abbey, until transferred to the Tower of London at the beginning of the 14th century. It remained in English hands until Oliver Cromwell came along, warts and all. Or rather, it does not appear to have still been present when he melted down the Crown Jewels. Where had it gone? And when?
Tapestry showing Arthur, circa 1385
No one knows the age of this lost crown, or what else was left with it at Cymer Abbey. However, when it was all seized by Edward I, the crown of King Arthur was said to have been among it. This latter crown was believed to have been forged much earlier. Now, whether the “crown of Arthur” is a general term for principality of Wales, or refers to the actual crown of King Arthur is not known. And there is some confusion as to whether this crown of Arthur was actually the same item as Llywelyn’s crown. One and the same crown. If it was indeed the crown of King Arthur. It was truly priceless.
Here is the opening paragraph of an intriguing article by the excellent Professor Nigel Saul:-
“As increasing numbers of early copies of Magna Carta are identified in fourteenth- and early fifteenth century registers and cartularies, so we are becoming more aware of the close interest taken in the document by lawyers and political actors in the late Middle Ages. Of especial interest in this connection are the copies of the Charter made at two Gloucestershire monasteries at the end of the fourteenth century. Both copies attest to the revival of interest in the Charter at a time when Richard II’s bold autocracy was raising vital questions about how royal authority might legitimately be constrained and how such constraint might be maintained in the long term….”
Enter another Duke of Gloucester who was also the king’s uncle. In this instance, Thomas of Woodstock, youngest son of King Edward III. In his article, Professor Saul deals with the reasons why a new copy of Magna Carta was created in 1397, at a point in Richard’s reign when he, like King John, was being confronted by his angry barons (who are known to posterity as the Lords Appellant).
Professor Saul is always immensely readable, and he certainly knows his stuff when it comes to Richard II and the 14th century. The article is well worth reading, not least for the subtle political machinations of the Lords Appellant.