Tag Archives: Richard

Halloween Special: An interview with the ghost of Richard III.

As the evening of 31st October approaches, spirits the world over are preparing for Halloween. Jacquetta is sharpening her pointy hat and her daughter, another descendant of Melusine, is winding in a string attached to a ring (ouch!) to ensnare another sex slave. But what of Richard, former Duke of Gloucester and now revered king and guest of the Dean of Leicester Cathedral? We caught up with the ghost of Richard III sitting forlornly on a bench outside an ice cream parlour not far from the Cathedral. He agreed to answer a few questions if we would buy him a sorbet.

Richard, what’s it like to be a sex symbol 500 years after you died?

It’s a nightmare! Anne gets in a strip every time one of those brides starts swooning.

What do you think is your greatest achievement while alive or dead? Other than being the victor at Bosworth? I won, you know. How many people go there to lay a Red Rose??11899728_479447468895637_1236857115_n

My other greatest achievement is surely after my death {{sigh}}. If I had this many supporters while alive, there’s no way that wormy weakling Hank would have unhorsed me! Who cares if a lot of what they say is made up? That’s politics!

How did you come up with the idea of bail?

I invented bail – or did I?

Which is your favourite Stanley?

Matthews.

Do you like strawberries?

Despite stories to the contrary I have never eaten one. We are sitting outside an Italian ice cream parlour which claims to be selling Richard iii’s Strawberry Sorbet. I have been in there so many times to try it, but each time the call out the priests and the holy water and the exorcism routine   and back to the crypt I’m banished.

Have you any idea what Buckingham wanted to discuss before his death?

Yes. (Despite prompting Richard refused to elaborate and just did that naughty trick he has of dematerialising and reappearing a few times saying mwah hah haha.)

Tell us honestly, did you fancy your niece?

Oh, that again. I’ve said this before. I’ll say it again. It was dark, the candles were flickering, she was wearing the same dress as my wife and I was horny. A natural enough mistake to make, surely?

Did you plan to marry your niece?

I started that rumour. I had to. They wanted me to marry that ugly Joanna of Portugal and I had to find some way to get out of it. Imagine going to bed with that every night. After they heard the rumours her family made certain that the name of Richard was never mentioned as a prospective husband again. Round one to me I think.

Were you responsible for the thunder clap the moment the ‘Richard III’ character was struck down at Bosworth this year? I can’t take credit for the thunder clap -that was that show- off Margaret Beaufort’s doing (she steals my thunder too). I can take credit for THE clap. Should have listened to Eddie’s warnings -he would know.

What do you have to say about Hastings?

Hastings! My favourite battle – what other Hastings could you possibly mean?

What do you think of ‘The Head’? The best answer I can give to that is that I hope that someone someday does a reconstruction of the head of Dr Caroline Wilkinson that makes her look like a cross eyes moron with a weight problem.

Are you happy with everyone giving you white roses or do you want a bunch of daffodils or an orchid for a change? Atishoo!

Philippa Langley claims “In the second parking bay, I just felt I was walking on his grave.” Did you do any thing to make Philippa feel this way?
My ears seem to have decomposed over the centuries and I misheard. I thought it was Phillippa Gregory. I wanted to scare that woman so much that she stopped writing fantasy stories about my family and affinity.I’ll tell you something funny Mozart tells me every day. He lays in his grave making a strange noise and until someone says, ‘What is that noise?’ so the grave yard worker always says, ‘Oh, it’s just Mozart decomposing.’ How we laugh and laugh.

Do the people of the South have trouble understanding your northern accent? Mebe. There’s nowt as quair as folk.p308834570-5

Copyright http://www.ians-studio.co.uk/sales/

Do you have any plans for another exhumation and reburial?
Maybe a wrong choice of phrase, but over my dead body. All those fans throwing knickers and roses at me! I could have been killed.

What happened to the princes? You remember you asked if people in the South had difficulty understanding my accent? That’s what happened to the princes.

Which foot do you miss the most, your left or your right?  When I was alive I was really attached to both of my feet, but I am delighted I no longer have them. ULAS were excellent and very thourough with their research but it was embarrassing to have people read about my worms and my liking for eating swan. Just imagine how much fun they would have had discovering that I had Athlete’s Foot, Veruccae and a large corn.

Which of the Woodvilles did you despise the most? Which Woodville do I hate the most? Well Jaquetta the witch of course! If she hadn’t caused Bedford’s death with her spells and married that lusty Woodville fellow, none of this would have happened! I’d be on the throne to this day! Instead they bred their own army. Disgusting, I say! Nothing like MY dear sweet and frail innocent Anne! Harlot!

What was the worst thing ever dumped on your head – council worker’s Volvo or that hideous tomb? You ask that of a man who had a Victorian Sewer dug through his feet?

It is said that you haunt the Cathedral and that this is a picture of your ghost. Is this true? What? That? Do you seriously think I would stoop that low?

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Richard denies that this is a picture of his ghost.

Do you have any plans for another exhumation and reburial?
Maybe a wrong choice of phrase, but over my dead body. All those fans throwing knickers and roses at me! I could have been killed.

Which nickname do you prefer? Dick, Dickey, Rickayyyyy?  I heard my favourite sister whisper, ‘ I really like dick’ so let’s go with that…

At that moment another Jeff  handed me Richard’s gelatto and with that Richard disappeared leaving me holding a rather soggy cup of Strawberry Sorbet.

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The “Tudor” Propaganda of William Shakespeare

Tudor propaganda is a word that is sometimes thrown about, and it´s usually associatedShakespeare_Droeshout_1623 with two names, Thomas More and William Shakespeare, both of them in certain quarters seen as nothing but tools of the reigning Tudor monarch at the time. The purpose of the propaganda probably doesn´t even need to be mentioned, but I will do it anyway; it is to blacken the memory of Richard III. Here I will focus on the alleged propaganda distributed by William Shakespeare through his play Richard III, thought by some to have been written to please, or maybe even commissioned by, Elizabeth I

This has caused rift between what would otherwise have been sane people where one side will claim to be the voices of reason and ask why Elizabeth I, the 5th Tudor monarch on the throne, would towards the end of her reign, feel the need to blacken a king that had been dead for over a century and therefore couldn´t make a claim for the throne even if he wanted to, when she obviously had more pressing matters at hand, such as real live pretenders to the throne and the problem of succession to solve.

Then we have the other side, who will see much more sinister forces at work, for reasons that remain unknown, aiming to utterly discredit “their” king with withered arms, limp and a hunchback and not to mention a murderous mind.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable by the constant bickering back and forward I, Jeff Sixwhotsitdorf, decided to dedicate myself to an extensive and – as it turned out – ground breaking research into the subject, and what I have found is astonishing.

It has come to light that the so called propaganda had nothing to do with Elizabeth I what so ever. She in fact tried to stop the play, being slightly clairvoyant herself and also having access to the astrologer John Dee she predicted a future where a limping, hunchbacked and generally crippled king opened the door for herself being portrayed with a ridiculously white face, huge wigs and an unstable temperament. She did not want to see that happen, for she actually was vain, that much is true.

But “hell hath no fury like a man whose ancestors has been offended” (ancient saying carved into the wall of a cave that was once passed by by Etruscan migrants, later changed and used for his own purposes by the 17th century playwright William Congreve).

There was simply no stopping Shakespeare. But what was it that had actually happened?

Carefully studying the appropriate sources show us that at one point – at the time very young – Richard Plantagenet once passed through the little village Stratford-upon-Avon, during the mid-15th century so small that you could pass it without noticing. But there it was, and there was also a man by the name of Geffron Shakespeare, father of Hugh Shakespeare and brother of Richard Shakespeare, one day to be referred to as the great grandfather of The Bard.

Geffron had a small establishment serving travelling parties a hearty meal, and this is where his path was to be crossed by a young future king on his way to Southampton for further distribution to the continent, away from the ravings of war (the party had gotten slightly lost due to their drunk guard).

Feral_goatThe boy, only aged eight, starred at the innkeeper, who was slightly disfigured due to an unfortunate run-in with an angry bull in childhood, and started mocking him, maybe out of exhaustion from the long journey because history – at least some versions of it – has taught us that Richard was an epiphany of chivalry.

Geffron had since long had quite enough of that sort of behaviour and chased the boy out into the yard. Little Richard (a name later adopted by a performer of the kind of music that would have gotten him burnt at the stake during this time) was dancing around Geffron in a taunting manner with the result that Geffron in his agitated state tripped over a goat which out of sheer fright retaliated with a pair of well-placed horns in the region of Geffron´s bottom that sent him flying to the other end of the well trampled road.

If fate had been kind, it would have allowed Geffron to land relatively soft by the side of the said road. This did not how ever happen. Geffron got stuck in a pane less window of the local baker, head halfway into the oven. Local chroniclers confirm that this was not a pretty sight.

The Plantagenet party scrapped the kids together (the older brother George had been laughing like a madman through the whole debacle) and fled the scene, while the family of Geffron Shakespeare, once the initial shock had abated, swore to seek revenge.

This would eventually tear the family apart, with Geffron´s son Hugh feeling increasingly humiliated by his father´s spectacular demise. He would in time study at Morton College in Oxford, a time during which he in took the opportunity to change his name from Shakespeare to Sawndare, explaining his decision by stating that his former name was of “vile reputum”.

Geffron´s brother Richard though, the great grandfather of William, decided to make good on his vow to revenge his brother and joined the ranks of Henry Tudor, with such success that he was later granted land in Warwickshire by the new king Henry VII and also laid the foundation for the application made by Shakespeare´s father and later Shakespeare himself for a coat of arms.

But William Shakespeare was, like all great artists, a person of a moody nature and Kathryn_Huntersometimes his glass wasn´t even half empty, it was smashed against a wall of a bakery in Stratford. It was during one of these periods he decided to get even once and for all, if not with the actual little brat that had ended the life of his great grand uncle, but also alienated his distant cousin Hugh from the rest of the family, so at least with the posthumous reputation of the brat in question.

He sat down with his pen and paper and gave the last of the Plantagenet king all the crippling features that once a bull had given Geffron Shakespeare during his early years. And he laughed and laughed, convinced that he had for many centuries into the future blackened the reputation of Richard III.

It should be said that Elizabeth I was utterly disgusted by the play, and had she known it would come to somehow have been thought of something she herself had ordered, she would have thrown a tantrum.

Jeff Sixwhotsitdorf,

still in a state of being astonishingly astonished

Sources:

The forgotten grave stone of an unknown relative of someone you´ve never heard of (and for good reasons!)

The backside of a black cow

The front of a very old goat

The very hazy table of ancestry of William Shakespeare

The bottom of a wine bottle

Scribblings on a handkerchief thought to once have belonged to William Congreve, ranging from the quote above via “hell hath no fury like a squirrel who lost his nuts” to the more famous “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”

The last meal of a dissected carrot

The phone call no one ever made (me neither)

The content declaration of Ramen Noodles, mushroom flavour

A dream I had

The dark alley medium I found online

Tewkesbury – the bloody aftermath.

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Although the Battle of Tewksbury was fought on 4th May in the year 1471, this current weekend is the time chosen to re-enact the battle. This may be due to the majority of the population of the UK sleeping off the excesses of the May Day Beltane festivities on the actual date or may originally have been an error on behalf of the organisers. This year on that date they had booked the eminent Dr Don Ashtray Pill to give a talk on armour and sartorial elegance (which many visitors found could also have been an error.)

The battle was the culmination of what became known as the Wars of the Roses with Edward, the fourth king of that name, leading his troops to victory in a fight that led to the death of Edward, son of Margaret of Anjou and the pious, mild and unstable Henry VI, thus putting an end to the Lancastrian hope of restoring this line to the throne. Ultimately Henry also lost his life, apparently due to melancholy caused by the death of his son, but in reality possibly by murder, made possible due to the death of his son.

Many leading Lancastrians lost their lives that day. It was the sudden move of the Duke of Somerset’s men which marked the beginning of the end for the Lancastrians. Unsupported by the other two divisions Somerset drove his troops in the centre with disastrous consequences.

They lost.

Panic ensued amongst the Lancastrians fleeing to Tewkesbury and hoping to escape but many of the nobles and knights, including Somerset,  sought sanctuary in Tewkesbury Abbey.  The Abbot of the Abbey then was John Strensham, who had been appointed in 1468. He was assisted in this ministry by Benedictine Monks Fra Declan O’Shea who came originally from Dublin and Brother Anthony Marris from Lincolnshire. Although friendships in monastic orders were frowned upon, the three men had known each other since seminary days and had a close rapport and enjoyed drinking their ‘own brew’ together.

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The ‘own brew’ made at Tewkesbury Abbey.

King Edward attended prayers in the Abbey shortly after the battle and took communion from Strensham and his assistants and later allowed the Prince of Wales and others slain in the battle to be buried within the town and Abbey, but this leniency was not to last.

It was perhaps rather silly of those seeking sanctuary to not check official list in the ”Lonely Planet Guide to Sanctuary” that the Abbey was an officially sanctioned place of sanctuary before fleeing there.

It was not.

It is, however, doubtful whether this would have deterred Edward even if it had been and it is likely that after the battle he had decided that the only way to end the war was to brutally remove the Lancastrian leadership once and for all.

Two days after the battle, Somerset and other leaders were dragged out of the Abbey

COL; (c) City of London Corporation; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Actual footage painted whilst this atrocity was being perpetrated. It takes real skill to get people to pose like that whilst in the grip of a red rage.

and were ordered by the Duke of Gloucester and the Duke of Norfolk to be put to death after perfunctory show trials. These trials were described by a contemporary Greek chronicle writer as the Μπους κουράζω** trials. The  cries of those being dragged from the abbey were pitiful. They had believed they were safe, but a red rage had taken over the men charged with the deed and they were not about to spare lives or feelings, even for members of the cloth. John Strensham the abbot was among the number who were violently handled and he could be heard yelling from the outside.

Raucously he called his assistants Brother Anthony and Fra Declan to help him…

“Ant, Dec! I’m a Celebrant. Get me out of here.”

It is unknown whether he had to do any Μπους κουράζω** Trials.

Source material:

Due to sampling rather too many (hic) glasses of Benedictine (hic) source material is not available today but will be served with a glass of hic hic… I feel a little sleepy. Please hicsuse me. Hic.

Shweet.

PS. Where can I get one of those black bears from?

Hic.

** Μπους κουράζω loosely translates as ‘Bush Tucker’

 

© Jeff ‘Jefferty’ Jeff: 8th July 2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Saint Richard? Miracles in Leicestershire!

Last weekend, Easter weekend, I went to visit my cousin Jess and her husband Jezz in Tamworth. Jess suggested that we drove to Shackerstone, about 20 miles away, to the Railway Museum and maybe to have a ride on the wonderfully restored steam railway.

My own inclination was to sit in a quiet country pub and drink copious quantities of Real Ale and  so we went to the Railway Museum.

Thank you Jess.

Shenton Station
Shenton Station

Despite my slight reluctance, it was a very interesting and enjoyable trip and after picking up our cars at Shackerstone, we parted as I had to drive to London. This is when I realised where I was! Just fifteen days before King Richard III had been taken along this very route on his final journey, a procession from Fenn Lane Farm to the wonderful cathedral in Leicester, where he was to be  interred.

Richard III route

In case you have not heard of this unusual event – it was not very well publicized and hardly any one knew about it –  Richard III, a Mediaeval King, died in battle in 1485, came briefly among us and shared his secrets, told us what he ate and the illnesses he suffered, suggested to us his hair colour and body weight and wowed the ladies both young and old, before his time on earth again was over and he was returned to the soil from whence he came (or quite close to it anyway).

Driving along this processional Richard III route I noticed something strange and a little magical. Everywhere I looked trees were bursting into leaf; chestnut, crab apple, beech …taking on a vibrant green mantle along their branches, clothing themselves in leaf.

Crab Apple BudHorse Chestnutbeech

 

 

 

 

The Willow, Salix caprea, was covered with furry looking Pussy Willows, desirable for flower arranging but a bane to hay fever sufferers when the pollen starts to blow, but oh! how spectacular on this bright day.

Pussy Willow

Baby rabbits were hopping in the fields

Jeff the rabbit
Jeff the baby rabbit, from the recent article in the Metro. The baby rabbits that Jeff the adult man saw were a lot, lot smaller than this, (or that is a normal sized baby rabbit and a very tiny child. )

and lambs frolicked with their mother

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I really was enjoying all of the splendour of nature and felt what a pity it was that the hedgerows and fields had not been so abundant 15 days previously for the journey of the king. Even the flowers were showing their colours, shy violets peeping, primulas unfurling their primrose petals, jonquil escapees from gardens making little  sunshine patches in the green.2015-04-07 14.23.08 2015-04-07 14.26.19 2015-04-02 15.58.35

It was then that I began to wonder a strange and wondrous thought. Maybe Richard had not missed all of these miraculous happenings. Maybe he had caused them! Fifteen days before there had been no leafy buds, no lambs or baby rabbits, no flowers and now there were! What had changed?

HE had traversed this route.

Could Richard III be causing miracles to happen?

I stopped the car and tried to access Google. Of course I couldn’t. Richard may be able to make miracles happen in nature, but even he cannot get an internet connection in rural Leicestershire!

Later, safely in a hotel room, I found the Facebook pages I was after. Fans of the dead king were convinced that he should be canonised for his unerring goodness. Maybe they were right! Maybe this mere man, just a normal king, did have magical or miraculous powers.

He, Richard, was most certainly the instigator, the very cause of the splendiferous nature display I enjoyed and witnessed that day. I consulted Wikipedia on how to make this king into a Saint and consequently wrote (not emailed) to the Pope.  Although the Pope does not make someone a saint – the designation of sainthood only recognises what is already there – I hope that he will respond favourably and try and progress this.

Miracles happened all along this saintly man’s processional route. His sainthood cannot be denied.

I hope to go to his tomb in Leicester Cathedral next week. I need a miracle to cure this ingrowing toenail.

Miraculous baby duck on a Leicestershire pond

(Source material is unavailable.

Cotton material and a bit of velvet material is available.)

Photographs are from http://homepage.ntlworld.com/candj_simmons/SHENTONS.HTM

The Hinckley Times

Wikipedia

Author’s own collection

© Jeff “Jefferty” Jeff: 09.04.2015

Wagner stars in cult TV programme.

Hmmm…..this Jeff had a shock!

After writing the blog about the curse of Tristan, I sat myself down to change gear with a good dose of vintage television, deciding to watch an old episode of the 1960s cult TV series The Man From U.N.C.L.E.  I missed the series at the time, mainly due to being a small and puking baby, more interested in gurgling and eating my fists than watching TV.

Robert Vaughn 2
Wagner in strange 20th century clothes
Richard wagner
Robert Vaughn in old fashioned 19th century clothes (or did I get these two captions muddled? Is this Richard Waughn or Robert Vagner? Even the names have a strange similarity.)

I began with The Vulcan Affair, the pilot episode. The plot was something like this: UNCLE agent Napoleon Solo is assigned to stop an assassination plot by the criminal organisation, THRUSH. The target is a delegation from the newly independent Western Natumba, a new African nation. The plot is under the direct control of a man called Andrew Vulcan, an American tycoon, secretly working for THRUSH. Solo recruits an old girl friend of Vulcan’s as part of his plan. Solo is played by esteemed American actor, Robert Vaughn… But this is where I had the shock! The man on the screen was not Robert Vaughn, it was Richard Wagner! I immediately checked the known facts. Wagner died on February 13, 1883 in Venice. Robert Vaughn was born on November 22, 1932 in New York.  There was forty nine years between the lives of these two men and yet, and yet! every picture I saw made the two look to be just one individual.

wagner 3
Is this Robert Vaughn or is this Richard Wagner?
Robert Vaughn
Richard Vaughn or Robert Wagner?

.

I had to read a lot about both men’s lives until I knew what had happened.  I has to read a lot of things I did not understand at all and I quote an example: ”For Wagner, as for Schopenhauer, life is not the end (the principle) of death. … liberation from life as nothing but eternal death is death as nothing but eternal life.”

I felt a headache coming on so I decided to get onto safer ground – I went to the pub for some Real Ale.

After I came home from the safer ground at the pub, (albeit rather wobbly as if the ground were indeed a little unsafe – that C.A.M.R.A ale is good stuff) I reached again for my Wagner treatises and at last began to make a certain sort of sense of the situation; Wagner’s dramas centre on acts of sacrifice that involve accepting death in an effort to achieve eternal love; Wagner believes that love can last for eternity if the lovers have died for love, so could Wagner have achieved the impossible in his quest for eternal love and instead found eternal life?

I had to conclude that indeed Wagner had achieved immortality, he was blessed or cursed with eternal life.

It is unknown whether this helped him with his enormous debts, still being paid by his descendants well into the twentieth century, and these debts certainly explain why he disappeared completely for that 49 years between 1883 and 1932. It is also unknown whether his creditors eventually twigged his new alias and came seeking Robert Vaughn in Hollywood. I hope not for Mr Vaughn’s sake!

Robert Vaughn is now 82 and still working and winning hearts. On February 25, 2015 Vaughn appeared in Law and Order SVU season 16 episode 16 “December Solstice” as a celebrity writer, Walter Biggs (and Mr Biggs himself may not be a made up character, but the eternally living Walter Biggs (1886–1968) American illustrator and fine art painter.) I shall investigate.

Richard Wagner is now dead. (Sorry!)

Source material:

Wikipedia (as always)

eBay http://www.ebay.co.uk/sch/Music-Memorabilia-/2329/i.html?_from=R40&_nkw=wagner

Farmville II

Solitaire

Candy Crush Saga

My diary

Jeff ”Jefferty” Jeff  is currently seeking part time gainful employment for two plus hours a week in order to fund an Eye Rolling course later in the year. In his spare time he is compiling a comprehensive study of C.A.M.R.A  Real Ales. He has perfected his Aubergine Guacamole recipe deeming it now the most evil thing he has ever had the misfortune to put in his mouth, but has recovered from the food poisoning resulting from the first batch

Jeff is sad to announce he no longer has a budgerigar.

© Jeff ”Jefferty” Jeff 2nd April 2015

Tall Man Found Sulking In Leicester Park

Latest draft

King Richard III, the last king of England to die in battle, was found under a car park, apparently buried there by Henry VII. Since Monday the 22nd of March, Leicester’s streets have been flooded by Ricardians, tourists, town folk, the curious and even the occasional Tydderite.

While on my lunch break, I found a man looking sad and depressed in Town Hall park, looking as if he’s been through the ringer. I wondered if he needed some help (and I needed a story). When asked if he was having a problem, the man looked up at me and said:

“I’m a descendent of Richard III and no one gives a shit. You see, a couple years ago, I ran across a genealogy chart that connected me to kings! I always thought I was special. I mean look at me, I don’t even need the cables to put the cars up on my tow truck, I just push them up there myself! I’m tall and good looking and have offspring all over the place, just don’t tell my girlfriend that. I joined a couple of Facebook groups hoping to find some cousins but nobody cared. They told me to read some books or something, I don’t know, I don’t read books! Books are boring. They said they were something like history groups!  What’s a history group? I’ll tell you what it is! It’s a place where geeks go to play and are all jealous of people like me. They are asking me all sorts of stuff like where I got my info from! Uptight book types think they’re better than me. I don’t want to talk about history I want to talk about my uncle who was a king but no wants to hear it. I came down here this week hoping I can meet some cousins or something and still nobody gives a shit! I mean I am special right? It’s rare that you find someone who’s related to a king. I thought they would ask me my opinion on this whole reburial thing, I mean, I think I should have a say in this. Some lady handed me a paper and told me to join these FB groups about moving Uncle Dick to York because that’s what he wanted. After a sulk and a pint or two, I think I’m going to look into that. Do you know where the Blue Boar in is? Maybe I’ll find someone there?”

I gave him directions, grabbed a Richard III shake and went on my way.

 

Jeff Fuel is recovering in a very dark hotel room somewhere in Leicester after overdoing it at The Friary Pub celebrating the reburial of Richard III. He’s occasionally waking to eat ice cream and giggle over John Ashdown Hill’s heroic eye roll. He swears people were cheering all over the place but no one believes him.

Jeff Jefferty Jeff had to step in and put all the bells and whistles on this article because Jeff Fuel wasn’t functioning correctly when found behind the Friary. Just don’t tell him about my fee of 50 pounds I took from his wallet.

 

The Bald Truth Behind the Execution of Clarence

George, Duke of Clarence, trying a bit too hard to compensate
George, Duke of Clarence, still alive at this point.

I have spent several years, now, musing on the reasons for the execution of George, Duke of Clarence. What that final act made Edward IV take the drastic, permanent action of executing his own brother?

He was convicted of treason.

Yes.

What did he do? What was the piece of straw that finally broke the camel’s back? What was that final, totally unforgivable crime that George committed? What was that one step too far?

  • Was it the fact George took the law into his own hands with the execution of Ankarette Twynho?
  • Was it the murder and witchcraft accusations that he levelled against Edward’s queen, Elizabeth Wydevile, following the death of his wife, Isabel?
  • Was it the rumours of Edward’s illegitimacy?
  • Was it George’s discovery of Edward’s previous secret marriages – to Eleanor Butler and Eleanor Talbot?

Or was it a deeper, more dangerous secret? Something that, if discovered, could have toppled the monarchy itself – nay England, even?

Sitting in a cafe this morning, quietly drinking my cappuccino, eating a toasted tea cake and playing an addictive, well-known game (involving sweets) on my phone, I overheard a little boy having a joke with his dad.

candle
15th Century light bulb

And I had a light bulb moment.

Once the waitress had changed the bulb – and I was no longer in the dark – I started writing, fleshing out my theory.

And I now know – beyond any unreasonable doubt – why George, Duke of Clarence, brother of the king and Richard, Duke of Gloucester (perfection personified), was executed.

We all know Edward was the golden child of the York family. He was the most courageous and dashing personification of manhood that ever walked the earth. He was the most glorious of the ‘3 Sons of York’ (forget Edmund, for the moment – otherwise the argument doesn’t work and Mortimer’s Cross was fought for all the wrong reasons).

And Edward’s wife, Elizabeth Wydevile, was the most beautiful woman in the realm – nay, Europe – nay, the known world.

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The Perfect Princes

Their family was full of golden children; blonde-haired, blue-eyed angels who would not have looked out of place among the Gods of Olympus.

In short, the family was perfect.

Except.

As Edward grew older, one fatal, irreversible flaw appeared. No, it wasn’t his weight – that could have been easily solved with a sensible diet and exercise. And besides, kings had been overweight in the past – take Louis the Fat, for instance.

No, this was something that had never happened to a king – to God’s anointed – ever before.

It was at this point, on Facebook (the fount of all knowledge) that I saw a picture which totally convinced me of my theory.

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Richard, the true Golden Son of York

It was a sign that I was on the right track.

Edward wasn’t York’s Golden Boy.

He didn’t have the luscious locks.

And this is what Clarence had discovered.

One morning, walking in on Edward early and surprising him at his toilette, George was taken aback by what he saw.

A reflection of the sun shining from Edward’s head.

And George couldn’t resist the same joke I had heard the child say to his father this very morning:

‘Oh look! There’s a hair on your head. Fooled you!’

Edward’s Groom of the Stool was combing over the bald spot – and George’s fate was sealed.

Edward called the guard and George’s feet didn’t touch the ground – until he was safely locked in his prison cell.

This also explains an obscure comment I once found whilst perusing ‘The Children’s Guide to the Croydon Chronicle’. This stated that Edward’s residences were ‘sparsely thatched’. I have spent many a year trying to decipher the exact meaning of this phrase, but now I know.

comb
Edward’s comb-over would have looked something like this.

Edward was going bald and George discovering that truth was the final straw.

What else could Edward do? No king in history had ever gone bald.

Think on it. Name one – you can’t can you?

That’s because it has NEVER happened. It’s unheard of – and Edward had to protect his secret at all costs.

For England!

 

.

Sources:

Ellison Weird, The Children’s Guide to the Croydon Chronicle; Steve Cole, Cows in Action – the Pirate Mootiny; HP Spicy BBQ Sauce; Ivy Hair Issues, Washing Instructions for Wigs.

Photos courtesy of Wikipedia and Google Images.

After writing this post, Jeff R Sun has realised how grateful he is for his full head of luscious locks.

If you would like to be the first to see the Jeffs’ latest blog posts, please like the Double History Facebook page at: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Double-History/370098793163839?fref=ts

 

 

 

 

 

10 Ways to Identify a Saint or a Sinner in the 15th Century

Religion was very important to people of the 15th Century. In many ways, it controlled their lives; told them what to eat and when they could eat it, who they could marry and when, who could get into heaven and who couldn’t.

Okay, perhaps religion should have a big say on that last one, at least.

Religious piety was given great prominence as a way of deciding who was ‘good’ and who was ‘bad’, especially on the stage that was the Wars of the Roses. So here are 10 ways to identify which is which.

220px-Cecily_neville1. You may have been involved in the highest level of politics in your younger years; such as being married to the country’s Lord Protector, being mother of 2 kings, and related to most of the protagonists in the Wars of the Roses, but following strict religious observance in your later years, will make you saintly. Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, springs to mind.

2. Being a Yorkist, of course, makes it easier to be saintly.  You could be mistaken for thinking that this is because, for the majority of the Wars of the Roses, they were on the winning side. However they were, eventually, the losers and yet still are considered highly pious, which highlights how incredibly remarkable a family they must have been.

3. You would have thought that being young and ‘disappeared’ may automatically make you saintly. However, Edward V and Richard Duke of York have a lot to overcome in order to make the saintly list. Yes, they were only children, imprisoned in the Tower of London and declared bastards by their uncle. However, they were a threat to that wonderful Uncle, who they would have had killed as soon as they reached adulthood. I have also heard say that they were ‘snivelling brprincessats’. And the fact we don’t actually know, for certain, that they are, as yet, in fact, well, DEAD makes it difficult to conclusively declare them saints. Plus, they were part of the despicable Woodville – or Wydeville – clan, which, unfortunately, is an instant disbarment from sainthood.

4. A way to become saintly is to die young in battle. Edmund Earl of Rutland was only 17 and killed by Clifford at – or after – the Battle of Wakefield and his head put on a spike above Micklegate Bar in York. Apparently Clifford justified this ‘murder’ as Edmund’s father – the Duke of York – had, apparently, killed Clifford’s father at the 1st Battle of St Albans. Of course it helps if you’re also a member of the York family as

5. Dying young is no defence against you being a sinner. Edward, Prince of Wales was only 17 when he was killed in battle at Tewkesbury. Of course, it doesn’t help that he was a Lancastrian, that his father was catatonic when he was born, that – at 7 years old – he ordered the beheadings of 2 of Warwick’s men after the 2nd Battle of St Albans, that he was married to Anne Neville first, nor that he fought to reclaim his father’s crown from the Yorkists.

III6. Founding religious houses and colleges almost automatically make you a saint. Richard III funded religious colleges at Middleham, and was in the process of setting one up at York Minster on his death. He was noted for his piety, so much so that his usurping of his nephew’s throne, the execution-without-trial of his brother’s friend, William Hastings, the subsequent disappearance – and possible murder – of his 2 nephews and the summary executions of his brother’s stepson and brother-in-law after a sham trial, doesn’t even put a dent in his piety. Of course, it does help if you are killed in an all-or-nothing battle for your life and crown.

DH17. Founding religious houses and colleges is not nearly enough to make you a saint if you are the Lancastrian mother of Henry VII. Margaret Beaufort had the gall to call herself ‘My Lady the King’s Mother’ when she was in fact – well – the king’s mother. She founded Christ’s College Cambridge and funded the restoration of churches. However, she helped to organise the royal household, supported her daughter-in-law’s sister when she fell out of favour with the king and supported her daughter-in-law, Elizabeth of York, in arguing against sending her granddaughter to a marriage in Scotland whilst still a child. Of course, it doesn’t help that Margaret Beaufort was a woman, a Lancastrian, adored by her son, the miserly Henry VII and loved by her grandson – the monstrous Henry VIII.

8. Of course, being a Lancastrian who married into the Yorkist, or a Yorkist who joined the Lancastrians, automatically prevents you from ever becoming a saint. To betray the Yorkists and fight for the Lancastrians in the last battle makes you the greatest traitor in history and a sinner beyond redemption – just ask the Stanleys. Conversely, having being married to a Lancastrian – who was killed in battle against the Yorkists – and then marrying the Yorkist king, and providing a male heir, automatically makes you the greatest traitor in history and a sinner beyond redemption – just ask Elizabeth Wydeville or Elizabeth Woodville (either should be able to confirm my point).

henry7bust9. Being an adult king murdered by your ‘replacement’ king automatically makes you saintly. Henry VI, alone, defies the rules. He failed at everything except being highly religious. His piety was so impressive that calls for his canonisation were made as soon as he was dead. And yet he was a Lancastrian.

10.  The final, most irredeemable example of a sinner in the 15th Century is, of course, Henry VII. That he was exiled from your home, and separated from his mother, from an early age. That he was Lancastrian heir following the deaths of – well – everyone else. That he was an able king who brought stability to a war-ravaged country. That he was a family man who loved his wife dearly and grieved for her deeply. All this is nothing compared to the fact he defeated Richard III and won the Wars of the Roses for the Lancastrians. What bigger sinner could there be in the 15th Century?

Jeff R Sun is continuously attempting to give clarity to the confusing parts of the Wars of the Roses. If you are still in doubt, please follow this basic premise: York, good; Lancaster, bad. Sticking with this simple rule, you won’t go far wrong, nor get shouted at, or be accused of trolling, on Facebook.

Sources: Wikipedia; Facebook groups galore; the Nile, which I live near; The Sunne in Splendour; The White Queen; The Red Queen; Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody; the Queen of Hearts; The Daughter of Time; Kind Hearts and Coronets.

Jane Austen was a Ricardian

Last week I blogged about the amazing find that Jane Austen based Pride and Prejudice on the daughter of William Marshall, the greatest knight. https://doublehistory.com/2015/01/25/jane-austen-william-marshall-and-pride-and-prejudice/

Imagine my surprise when I found the following blog post from whatsitallaboutahakespeare *(for link, see below)

British-Got-Talent-2014-Judge
Amanda Holden, not Jefferty, doing the big mouth thingy.

My mouth did the ‘jaw drop surprise’ thingy that judges on ‘Britain’s got Talent But it is Not on This Show’ and ‘American Idle Idol’ feign when they hear something that is not abysmal!

I quote from the blog:

”There have been several supporters of Richard III throughout history; men and women who know the last Plantagenet king was ‘done wrong’ by his Tudor successors. One of these people was Jane Austen, who, at the age of just sixteen, wrote The History of England From the Reign of Henry IV to The Death of Charles I – nobody likes a show-off, Jane! In the book she has this to say about Richard, “The Character of this Prince has been in general very severely treated by Historians, but as he was York, I am rather inclined to suppose him a very respectable Man… “Whether innocent or guilty, he did not reign long in peace, for Henry Tudor E. of Richmond as great a Villain as ever lived, made a great fuss about getting the Crown & having killed the King at the battle of Bosworth, he succeeded to it.”

My initial thought was that another of the Jeffs was winding me up, but I checked. It is for real!

Jane Austen was a Bride!

Suurces:

This blog is served with gravy, not sauce. You may choose as an accompaniment fresh green salad or seasonal vegetables.

The History of England is an early work of Jane Austen’s, completed in 1791 when she was just 15 years old: http://www.bl.uk/onlinegallery/ttp/austen/accessible/introduction.html

http://whatsitallaboutshakespeare.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/5-things-you-didnt-know-about-richard.html

© Jeff Jefferty Jeff 1st February 2015

 

Richard, Perkin and a genetic mutation.

Double History. Examining the similarities and differences of the physical characteristics of Perkin Warbeck, alleged pretender to the throne and Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York.

This article begins in a nondescript bar in a nondescript village on yet another nondescript island in the Mediterranean. I will not name the island as :-

I had no interest in actually learning the name of it or anything more than the way to the nearest hostelry

and

It is a small place and I want to spare the blushes and the reputation of the man I am about to describe.

Mrs JJ and I were on a ‘round the Med cruise’, eighty four islands in seven days or something like that, accompanied by the two small people who hang around our house. That day the liner had put into the harbour of a whitely painted, aloe planted, domed and pointed, picturesque kind of place. Mrs JJ took the boys, (or was one a girl? I was never quite sure,) to buy what she described as souvenirs and mementos and what I described as overpriced plastic mass produced cr*p, while I ambled about town trying not to make it look too obvious that I was headed for the nearest glass of, mug of, plate of, kind of place.

Instinct (or was it desperation?) soon led me to the sort of place I desired and gratefully I sank into an outside chair and scanned the menu. My eyes took a while to acclimatize to the dim light filtering through the rubber tree canopy of the Taverna but then I saw a fierce Backgammon game was in progress between the smallest man I had ever seen and a loud dark haired Islander. I tried not to stare but the small man, who was obviously winning the Backgammon match, was so striking in appearance with stark white, long hair, pale, pale skin and when he removed his aviator shades, and I saw his opaque eyes, one out turning, almost pinkish in colouring  and seemingly lashless, my eyes could not help but be drawn to him.

He looked familiar, but I knew I did not know him.

I ate my food and drank my drink and pondered the strange pale man and later, talking with Mrs JJ, she suggested that he may have been an Albino and may also have the condition Dwarfism.

Mrs JJ is clever like that.

I didn’t think too much more about the unusual man and several years passed, years of working and saving and eighty four more islands in seven more days and then I was asked to write an article about one Perkin Warbeck. Despite my university lectures I could not for the life of me remember who Perkin was and, like everyone else, my first stop was Google and second stop was Wikipedia…… and there I saw HIM! Not the man in the Taverna, but all the features were the same, overlarge head on narrow shoulders, light, light hair, pale see-through eyes – eyes looking in different directions.

.Perkin_Warbeck

My immediate thought was Perkin is an Albino Dwarf! and, although I know it is not the correct way to do research, I began to look for original evidence, hitherto overlooked, to back my supposition.

Of course, I did not find any chroniclers saying ‘that Perkin kid was a pale midget of a bloke’ but tantalizing

clues I found aplenty :-Capture IMP (3)

The ‘picture’ is a screen shot I took one day. Sadly I did not make a note of what I had snipped it from, but you will see from the varying descriptions that Perkin seemed to be a small, fey, almost ethereal sort of man

The word Imp, used by Fabyan, I find particularly telling. The word imp traditionally has connotations of  something IMPlanted or grafted on, as can be seen in the screen shot (below) from an 1836 dictionary and what could be more implanted than a lookalike Richard of Shrewsbury. In addition, the word IMP is used for a mischievous small person. This usage has faded and risen throughout the centuries but was in common usage (together with the alternate versions, impi and impa,) in mediaeval period.

.Double history. 1836 dictionary clip IMP

From the electronic Middle English Dictionary. (The print MED, completed in 2001, has been described as “the greatest achievement in medieval scholarship in America. I am not going to argue with that! I wish that all historical fact writers (particularly those with double barrelled names) would actually bother to look stray and strange words up in there rather than positing whole theses on one word incorrectly understood. )

Imp, impa, impi, impe (n.) Also imppe, himpe & (in place names) im-. Pl. impes, impen.

1.(a) A branch of a tree; a shoot, sprig; a sucker shoot; (b) a scion, a graft; (c) a young tree; a sapling, a seedling; also fig.; (d) a tree; (e) ~ garth (yerd), a garden or nursery where seedlings or graftings are grown or cultivated; ~ tre, a grafted tree, an orchard tree.

2.(a) The offspring of a noble family; (b) ?a representative

  1. 3. A small, fey and mischievous person of doubtful origin.

The more I looked at the facts the more the facts shouted back at me that Perkin was small and very pale. Everywhere he went he was looked at, stared at and pointed out for the fairness of his face and then it hit me. Not many people ever doubted seriously that he was Richard, the sixth child and second son of Edward IV and Elizabeth Wydeville.

That was when my mind froze. If Perkin was an Albino Dwarf then Richard of Shrewsbury must also have been an Albino Dwarf. Immediately I started sifting facts, looking through books, searching the internet and reference section of the library for any mention of Richard’s appearance, any contemporary picture – learning all about Dwarfism, Albinism, anything I could lay my hands on – noting, jotting, drinking tea and puzzling.

Albinism (from Latin albus, “white”; also called achromia, achromasia, or achromatosis) is a congenital disorder characterized by the complete or partial absence of pigment in the skin, hair and eyes due to absence or defect of tyrosinase a copper-containing enzyme involved in the production of melanin.

Albinism results from inheritance of recessive gene alleles and is known to affect all vertebrates. While an organism with complete absence of melanin is called an albino an organism with only a diminished amount of melanin is described as albinoid.

Albinism is associated with a number of vision defects, such as photophobia, nystagmus and astygmatism.

Dwarfism is a medical disorder. In men and women, the sole requirement is having an adult height under 147 cm (4 ft 10 in) and it is almost always classified with respect to the underlying condition that is the cause of the short stature. Dwarfism is usually caused by a genetic disorder; achondroplasia is caused by a mutation on chromosome four. If dwarfism is caused by a medical disorder, the person is referred to by the underlying diagnosed disorder. Disorders causing dwarfism are often classified by proportionality. Disproportionate dwarfism describes disorders that cause unusual proportions of the body parts, while proportionate dwarfism results in a generally uniform stunting of the body. Disorders that cause dwarfism may be classified according to one of hundreds of names, which are usually permutations of the following roots:

rhizomelic = root, e.g., bones of the upper arm or thigh

mesomelic = middle, e.g., bones of the forearm or lower leg

acromelic = end, e.g., bones of hands and feet.

micromelic = entire limbs are shortened

But what of Richard of Shrewsbury? Was there any evidence or hint that he could also be short? Did he also have pinkish eyes or white hair? There are no contemporary pictures of Richard but a stained glass window in Canterbury Cathedral does show him with bright gold hair and what appears to be a squint. He also looks unusually short against the lectern.Richard_of_Shrewsbury_Royal_Window_Canterbury

I searched in vain for a contemporary reference to his appearance, but as with Perkin, I found little concrete evidence to back my thesis and concluded that even the most outspoken and daring of chroniclers is unlikely to have put ‘King Eddie and Liz Double U’s second son was a bit of a squirt who could easily be mistaken in candlelight for a miniature ghost’.

Rui De Sousa, a nobleman who had seen him in 1482, later said of him, ‘he had seen him singing with his mother and one of his sisters and that he sang very well and that he was very pretty and the most beautiful creature he had ever seen…’

Then it hit me! (I was getting bruises from all of these things hitting me!) There was evidence but of a circumstantial type. Richard of Shrewsbury was still with his mother and sisters at an age when most strong and healthy young lads had been sent to do knightly training in another household. His mother had the principal say in his upbringing, unlike all other royal sons who had a living father or elder brother who were more paternally reared. Cloth for the clothes of ‘The Right high and myghty Prynce the Duke of Yorke’ are recorded in the Calendar of Patent Rolls, cloth whose measurements do not increase throughout the years as if the prince stayed the same size. (Similar records of cloth for growing children show a greater yardage year by year indicating growth in the child, but Richard’s yardages remain constant.) His ‘beauty’…….

I may never be able to find the one piece of evidence proving beyond all reasonable doubt that Perkin Warbeck and Richard of Shrewsbury were Albino Dwarfs, but I am satisfied in my own mind that this is at least a reasonable supposition.

Jeff ‘Jefferty’ Jeff is tired now and wants a cup of tea and a nice home made biscuit.

Happy 2015 to you all and happy reading.

Source material:

The Perkin Warbeck Conspiracy Ian Arthurson   The History Press, 2009

http://www.web-books.com/Classics/ON/B0/B869/TudorsC03.html

“Ocular straylight in albinism”. Kruijt B et al. 2011.

Clumber Spaniel Keeping, Showing and Breeding (1984)

Littell’s Living Age, Volume 75 edited by Eliakim Littell, Robert S. Littell

http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/perkin_warbeck_rebellion.htm

Fabyan’s Chronicle: Robert Fabyan (a cloth-merchant who liked colourful stories) Circa 1460- Circa 1512.

Bolognaise source/sauce

On the Tudor Trail (blog): Natalie Grueninger

“Saucy girls” Calendar: 1984

Hastings, the man, the myth and legend: Jeff Jefferty Jeff. (Manuscript still to be written.)

The Lost Prince: David Baldwin

A New English Dictionary of the English Language: A to K, Volume 1 1836 Charles Richardson

‘Onken’ family size yoghurt pot

The British Occupation of Iraq: Andrew Lycett

Henry the Seventh by James Gairdner (pub. 1899)

Five go Adventuring Again: Enid Byton

Mutation in and Lack of Expression of Tyrosinase-Related Protein-1 (TRP-1) in     Melanocytes from an Individual with Brown Oculotaneous Albinism: A New Subtype of  Albinism Classified as ‘OCA3’ Raymond E Boissy et al 2014

Smoking seriously harms you and others around you

Scouting for Boys (1939 edition)

The Burial of Edward V: Jeff Jefferty Jeff. (A work in progress.)

Cucumber sauce recipe: Delia Smith

Cumberland source

Anne Boleyn, the myth, the legend, the superstar. Jeff Jefferty Jeff. (Manuscript still to be written.)

Cumberbatch, Benedict

Richardson, Douglas (2011). Everingham, Kimball G., ed. Magna Carta Ancestry: A Study in Colonial and Medieval Families IV (2nd ed.). Salt Lake City.

https://doublehistory.wordpress.com/category/duchess-of-york/  

The Maligned King: Annette Carson

© Jeff ‘Jefferty Jeff January 3rd 2015