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Jan
28
2012

Research Grants

Image © Riikka Nikko, Finland

I always think that the best job in life is one where you get paid for what you like doing.  If there are any history enthusiasts out there, here is your chance to earn hard cash whether you are studying for a higher degree or are just madly keen about history. There are two awards.
The first is the “Richard III Foundation Scholarship for Medieval Studies” open to graduate students and those researching doctorates.  Past recipients include David Santiuste whose work has been featured on this blog before, so if you apply, you know you are in esteemed company.
The second is the “John Davey Research Grant for Medieval Studies”open to local historians ane independent scholars.

It’s the second one that interests me most. When it comes to history, the awards and accolades are usually reserved for the professional scholar, and deservedly so. But it is impossible for the professional academics to know absolutely everything, so recourse is sometimes taken to the local historian, who provides a valuable contribution to unlocking the secrets of the past. The late John Davey, who this award is named after, was a keen local historian, giving selflessly of his time and talents, so that we have a better understanding of the events and life of the people who came before us. It’s this type of person who The Richard III Foundation  is seeking to recognize with this new programme.
History is not so much, knowing all the answers, as asking all the right questions. This is where local historians come into their own – compiling a history of a nearby village or delving into dusty archives to produce a gem of forgotten information. They are an extra pair of hands that help quench our thirst for understanding the truth. Our lives are enriched by the dedicated work of these well-informed enthusiasts. There are many people living in villages and towns who have uncovered vital information on a person, place or event that played a role in the life and times of Richard III.

So what are you waiting for?  You’ll find out how to apply by sending an e-mail to: R3FoundationScholarship@yahoo.com

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Posted in History | No Comments »

Dec
19
2010

A Merry Medieval Christmas to you all

Lead Church InteriorLead Church and Sheep

I took part in a piece of living history today. Forgive me for boasting about it but I’m really pleased with myself. I took part in a carol service at St. Mary’s Church, Lead, in Yorkshire. This is not just any church, it’s a very special medieval one and it’s the first time a carol service has been held there for 60 years. To stand there and sing one of my favourite carols “O come, O come, Emmanuel” meant a lot to me.

Picture it. We were all wrapped up as there is no heating. It was so cold that you could see your breath and somehow the acoustics were so good that it made my normally dowdy baritone voice soar to the rafters. Standing in this beautiful old chapel amongst the tombstones of knights from the Crusades gives you a very special feeling.

Then, when we sang the second verse of Away in a Manger:

“The stars in the bright sky
Looked down where He lay,
The little Lord Jesus
Asleep in the hay”

it made me think of my novel The Shepherd Lord, when young Henry Clifford spends his winter evenings staring at the Pole Star, where he thinks his dead father has gone. It has so many parallels with the bible – the stars, the obvious shepherd connotations, the Herod like Edward IV wanting to kill the young boy. But most of all It set me thinking of Joseph, the surrogate father of Jesus, and how much he was like Tom Lawkland the man charged with raising and protecting young Henry. Not much is written about poor old Joseph in the bible. He must have led an incredible life, but he was always second stage to the more glamorous characters on the scene.

So this Christmas, please spare a thought for all those people who work quietly behind the scenes to make miracles happen :-)

Posted in History | 7 Comments »

Nov
22
2010

Yorkshire’s royal conections?

Kate-Middleton--shows-off-006

Kate Middleton shows off her engagement ring which originally belonged to Princess Diana.

Article courtesy of the Guardian, Leeds by Martin Hickes with a small contribution from me.

This article proved to be very popular with 12,500 hits in the first few hour of publication.

The impending Royal Wedding of Kate Middleton and HRH Prince William will introduce a strong Yorkshire bloodline into the Royal Family once again at the highest level.

Kate, who met William in 2001 while they were studying at Fife’s St Andrews University, was raised in the Berkshire village of Bucklebury.

Her businessman father Michael, however, was born in Leeds on June 23 1949 at Chapel Allerton Nursing Home and the Middletons have a strong Yorkshire lineage.

Her great-grandmother Olive was a member of the Lupton family, who were active for generations in Leeds in commercial and municipal work.

Francis Martineau Lupton, was one of four Lupton brothers who in the 19th century held some of the most important positions in the city.

Alderman of Leeds council

Francis was an alderman of Leeds council while brothers Charles and Hugh held the office of lord mayor. The fourth brother, Arthur, was a pro-vice chancellor of Leeds University.

Kate’s paternal grandfather Peter Francis Middleton was born in 1920, and became a pilot instructor marrying at the Parish Church, Adel, on 7 December 1946.

Further back in the Middleton line, her great grandfather on her paternal side was a solicitor born in Far Headingley. He lived in Roundhay.

Both of his fathers were solicitors with strong Leeds and Wakefield connections.

Her father Michael is descended from Sir Thomas Fairfax, a Parliamentarian general in the Civil War. The family rose to prominence as wool merchants during the 18th century.

His great-great-grandfather Frank Lupton expanded the family firm, ­William Lupton and Co, buying an old cloth mill and a finishing plant.

He and his wife Fanny, who had five children, lived in a Victorian mansion in the village of Roundhay, seven miles north of Leeds, employing six servants.

When Frank died aged 70, on May 20, 1884, he left his four sons – one died in childhood – £64,650 in his will – the equivalent of millions today.

It was Francis’s eldest daughter ­Olive – Michael’s grandmother – who created the union between the ­Lupton and Middleton families.

She married Noel Middleton, who came from a long line of successful and affluent Leeds solicitors, in 1914 and they had four children, Christopher, Anthony, Peter and ­Margaret.

The rich Yorkshire heritage will introduce a northern strain into the Royal Family not seen for generations at the highest levels.

‘Go back a long way to find Yorkshire connections with Royalty’

While the Duchess of Kent is from Yorkshire, and the Earl of Harewood and the Lascelles family have Yorkshire links, we have to go back a long way to find any Yorkshire connections at the highest pinnacle of the Royals.

Author and historian Peter Algar, from Leeds, says:

“Even if we go back to the War of the Roses in search of a strong Yorkshire link with our monarchs, we run into difficulties. It is a popular misconception, but the House of York were all Southerners, to a man.

“Richard III (when he was Duke of Gloucester) inherited some of the Neville lands at Middleham. He was the only one that spent any time in the north.

“The House of Lancaster were the northerners, John of Gaunt (descendant of Edward III) being the ruler of the Palatine of Lancaster, which covered large parts of Yorkshire. This was home rule for the north and not under the king’s direct jurisdiction.

“Our true ‘Yorkshire’ kings and queens date back to Viking times, other than that the links are relatively tenuous.

“Richard III was a Northerner by adoption. He built up his northern landholdings when he was governor of the North, swapped Chirk Castle for Skipton Castle and could rely on the support of the soldiery from York and the Ainsty. He was popular with a lot, but not all, of the men of the county.

“After Elizabeth I died, I believe that one of the Yorkshire-based Clifford family had a strong claim to the throne, through their marriage links to the ‘Nut-Brown Maid’, Henry VII’s cousin.

“There are not many precendents, if any of a princess – as Kate Middleton will become – with strong Yorkshire links going on to become queen.

“There was a Middleton family in Ilkley, West Yorkshire in Medieval times. They took on the name Middleton, as they owned that region of Ilkley. There is an effigy of one of the Middleton family in Ilkley Parish Church, a knight, I believe, and if I’m not mistaken their coat of arms is displayed in the church, along with other leading families of the town.

“The Middletons were a big land-owning family in Ilkley and my ancestors, the Bollings used to rent a large tract of land from them known as Bolling farm, which is now the site of Ilkley Town Hall.

“Unfortunately for the Middletons, they held onto the old Catholic faith, and lost land and privileges as a consequence. It may well be that these people are distant ancestors of Kate’s family, due to the near proximity.

“The Lupton side of her family from Leeds had definite Ilkley connections as I have a record of them visiting the Bolling family home at Wheatley Hall in Ben Rhydding as summer boarders in the late 1700′s (from Ilkley Ancient and Modern, by the Reverend J Horsfall Turner). Maybe that’s when the Luptons first met the Middleton’s?

“As for the last queen with Yorkshire blood, we probably have to go back to Queen Cartimandua all those years ago, in the first century, when she was queen of the Brigantes. For Yorkshire folk, Kate is certainly of great significance.”

* Yorkshire’s last major royal connection with a monarch is believed to have been in 1535 when Henry, the 11th Lord Clifford converted Skipton Castle into Royal Apartments for his son’s bride. She was Lady Eleanor Brandon. Her mother was Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VII, sister of Henry VIII and widow of the French king Louis XII.

Guest blogger Martin Hickes is a Leeds-based writer.

Posted in History | 16 Comments »

Nov
14
2010

A summer’s evening is as long as a winter’s day

Dintingdale Nov 2010
“A summer’s evening is as long as a winter’s day” was a quote from one of the Parliamentarian Generals who decided that the evening would be well spent engaging the Royalist Forces, during the battle of Marston Moor. Dashing Prince Rupert and the Earl of Newcastle were put to flight and the day, sorry evening, was won by the Roundheads. “Boo” I say to this but I will not let my feelings come into this as the battle I was concerned with was from an earlier Civil War, which we now call the Wars of the Roses.
What am I talking about? Well, my colleagues and I decided that we would take a guest to two battlefields in one day, due to their close proximity.
The morning was spent on a tour of the battlefield at Towton and then after a splendid lunch of game cassoulet at the Crooked Billet we upped sticks and moved on to Long Marston, near Tockwith.
As I said, I was more interested in the first battle. The reason? Well, one thing about the Towton conflict that does not sit well with me is the outcome of the conflict at Ferrybridge, the day before the main battle at Towton. Why did John Clifford sacrifice his life in such a way, leading 500 brave men against the entire Yorkist host?
My colleagues on the walk were Graham Darbyshire – in my opinion, the man with the best knowledge of the Towton topography and Dave Cook – ex soldier of the Inniskilling Dragoons and military historian, a chap who could help debate troop deployments.
The exam question then, “was how did Clifford get into such a pickle?” Just what was the Lancastrian Commander, Somerset, doing letting his most talented general, John Clifford, take this seemingly suicidal task on?
As with most of the conflicts of this period, there is precious little you can glean from the original source documents and secondary accounts are often written hundreds of years after the event and are by their very nature unreliable. Just look at the recent discovery that the Battle of Bosworth was in the “wrong” place. That was down to earlier historians being too reliant on the secondary accounts of the battle.
Clifford was considered to be the most lusty of the trio of Somerset, Northumberland and himself and it was agreed that he should take the fight to the Yorkists at Ferrybridge – that much we do know.
He took with him his crack light cavalry troop “The Flower of Craven”, 500 hard-riding, hard-fighting men – that much is documented.
He was successful in his mission of causing mayhem at the crossing at Ferrybridge – all seem to agree on that subject.
The poor chap perished with an arrow in his throat from Lord Fauconberg’s pursuing force of mounted archers whilst removing his gorget to slake his throat – what a way to go.
If you visit the spot where he was killed, a little spot called Dintingdale, to the east of Saxton, you get a great view of the topography and can look over your shoulder to see where he came from, after the Ferrybridge encounter, today’s cooling towers being clearly visible. The view to the front is the ridge where the main battle was to be fought the next day. If you look at the picture, you can see the windswept hawthorn tree, known as the battle tree, which was said to be the epicentre of the battle on Palm Sunday. The day before however, there would have been Lancastrian outriders there, watching for the advance of their Yorkist enemies. (Incidentally, Graham Daybyshire reckons that Dintingdale got it’s name quite literally as it was the dint in the dale. Far-fetched? Well, not really when you consider that there used to be a “Bare-arsed Farm” nearby, named by the locals because it was situated in the path of the cold northerly winds. The prudish Victorians changed its name to a more modest “Cold House Farm” – such a shame).
Anyhow, back to the story, if the Lancastrians had a good view of the route that Clifford was taking on his way back to the main lines, and saw the Yorkist in hot pursuit, why the heck didn’t they do something about it?
Historians have long argued that events happened so quickly that the Lancastrians would not have had chance to mount a rescue mission. To reinforce this argument, we saw a lady mounted on a fine dapple-grey mare, exercise her horse across the fields at Dintingdale right before our eyes. It soon ate the miles up across the terrain, illustrating how effectively a troop of mounted archers could close in on their prey.
My issue though, is that you would not let your most talented general get into this position. If Somerset valued his talents, he would surely have made a contingency plan to supply forces to help Clifford, having pulled off such a fantastic coup at Ferrybridge, retreat in an orderly manner. Surely, there were Lancastrian scouts reporting back on every Yorkist movement and Somerset would have been eagerly awaiting news of the success or otherwise of his engagement.
I think it was Harry Gration that said, “You can always tell a Yorkshireman……but not much” and that was why it was so good to have the 3 of us debate this, both on the spot and in the pub over a pint of beer afterwards.
Dave took the view that Clifford had over-extended his remit. That his instructions were to cause mayhem at the bridge and then high-tail it out of there while the Yorkist forces were in confusion. This would have bought the Lancastrians extra time so that they could consolidate their strong defensive position at Towton. Instead, bolstered by his initial success, Dave thinks that Clifford tarried too long, engaged in the second skirmish with Warwick and only beat his retreat when Lord Fauconberg was already in pursuit from the crossing at Castleford. Somerset was already in what was thought to be a strong defensive position. He wasn’t going to move from there. Why should he worry what was going on down the road?
Graham was of a similar view to me. Was there some animosity in the Lancastrian command? Why did Percy not play a more prominent role? After all the battle was being fought on his ancestral lands. Was there jealousy between Somerset and Clifford to the extent that Somerset deliberately let this upstart Clifford perish so that he could get him out of the way?
550 years after the battle, we can only speculate. One of the latest theories is that Ferrybridge and Towton was a rolling battle and not two separate incidents. Recent evidence has come to light of finds from two Burgundian hand-guns, just to the east of Dintingdale. These were mercenaries hired by the Yorkists so, just why were these fragments found here and not further north where the main battle was fought? Another unanswered question.
What still niggles me is why Clifford felt safe enough to remove his gorget to take a drink, within the range of an enemy bowman? He was a very experienced soldier and would have known the consequences of such an action. Surely, some form of treachery is at play here?
I may not have got any closer to the truth but I had a thoroughly good day out with some some like-minded people and feel all the richer for it. I won’t stop though, until I find an answer that puts my mind at rest.

Posted in Battles, History | 32 Comments »

Oct
29
2010

American Road Trip

Virginia D Day memorial“Plead innocent and show plenty of cleavage” was the advice the attorney gave to my museum curator friend. Sandra (name changed to protect the innocent) was caught by a traffic cop doing 30 in a 25 mph zone in downtown Pulaski, Virginia. She was less surprised at being caught speeding than she was when the young policeman offered her the ticket and gave her his best beaming smile…..he had no teeth. As she put it to me, this guy had real Appalachian dental care.
She decided to ignore her attorney’s advice. She went to the court room on the allotted day, wearing a smart suit, declining to show any cleavage, and pleaded guilty.
The rest of the defendants and officials gasped. No one had ever done that before. As she looked around the packed courtroom, she noticed that she and the judge had one thing in common – they had teeth. Everyone else had received Appalachian dental care.
“Officer, please bring me the ticket” asked the judge in his best Southern drawl.
The officer fumbled in his notebook, checked his pocket, looked on the floor and then behind him. There was an embarassed silence. Finally, the judge said “Ma’am, guess this is your lucky day.”
Thankfully, we did not have any such encounters on our tour of Virginia. We packed lots of stuff in though, the fantastic D-day memorial at Bedford (pictured) – very poignant for me as my Dad was a Normandy veteran, the site of General Lee’s surrender at the Appomattox court house, the museum of the siege at Fredericksburg, Jamestown, Colonial Williamsburg and Yorktown. We also took in the sites of some of my American cousins old family houses at Petersburg, Hopewell and Wytheville.
What struck me was that a lot of these places would not function were it not for the sake of of some very dedicated people. I met one gentleman who had poured vast amounts of his personal wealth into the promotion of the Edith Bolling Wilson museum. He felt compelled to do that as he wanted to put something back into the community. God bless him and all like him. I think as the economic crunch starts to bite we will see more public spirited people like him come to the fore. It’s good to have faith in human nature, no matter how dark things may sometimes seem :-)

Posted in History | 4 Comments »

Sep
29
2010

I did it my way

Henry VIII

Driving from Normandy to Yorkshire is invariably a long, monotonous journey and I have to think about coping mechanisms to save me from complete boredom. Food is good – cover another 100 miles and you can have an apple or a banana. When you have completed 300 miles you can treat yourself to a ham sandwich.
The best way of making the time fly by though is listening to a good radio programme or a putting a good CD into the car stereo. I have not played Alamire’s superb “Henry’s Music” for some time so I thought I would indulge myself in this as I drove into the dark night. I thought I knew all the tracks well but when I listened, really listened, to the words of Though Some Saith, I could not but help think how similar it was in sentiment, to Paul Anka’s superb “My Way” so admirably performed by Frank Sinatra.

Here are Henry’s words:

Though some saith that youth ruleth me,
I trust in age for to tarry;
God and my right and my duty,
From them I shall never vary;
Though some saith that youth ruleth me.

I pray you all that aged be,
How well did you your youth carry?
I think some was of each degree;
There-in a wager lay dare I:
Though some saith that youth ruleth me.

Pastimes of youth sometime among,
None can say but necessary,
I hurt no man, I do no wrong;
I love true where I did marry,
Though some saith that youth ruleth me.

Then soon discuss that hence we must,
Pray we to God and St. Mary
That all amend, and here an end,
Thus saith the King, the eighth Harry:
Though some saith that youth ruleth me.

I am not a big fan of the characters of the venal Henry VIII or the spiteful Sinatra, if the biographers stories are to be believed, but they both knew how to belt out a tune. Both had excessive levels of arrogance and if their lyrics are anything to go by, neither had any regrets for their actions.

A less controversial song from Alamire’s “Henry’s Music” is Madame D’Amours and you can listen to this for free on my website. Hope you enjoy it.

http://www.theshepherdlord.com/aStJohn_docs2.html
:-)

Posted in History | 12 Comments »

Sep
08
2010

Barden Tower

Barden blog version
Debbie Leathley

It’s a funny thing, when I’m in France I always associate things by the sense of smell. I can clearly smell the earth – a real dusty and musky smell. If it’s really dry, I can actually smell the fresh water as I top up the animal’s water trough. And I love the sweet scent of newly mown hay as much as my sheep do.

When I’m in Yorkshire though, it’s the visual senses that prevail. The vast pewter skies. The breathtaking scenery. Watching the wind roll and ripple the long grass like an ocean. Not stunningly dramatic like the Lake District or Scotland but just picture-perfect, no-nonsense Dales scenery.

Hardly surprising then that Henry Clifford, the character I wrote about in my book The Shepherd Lord, chose this spot at Barden Tower as his idyllic retreat. It was said that he did not like the bustle of life at Skipton Castle and chose this old hunting lodge as his main abode so he could stay close to nature. As I stand here, I can picture him in my mind’s eye. He would have kept a flock on the heather clad hills, cosseted his prize tups (rams) in the many stone-walled sheepfolds surrounding the lodge and gazed at the woodlands surrounding the Strid to remind him of the day when he rescued the Nut-Brown Maid from the forest.

Today’s resident does not have lordly or even rural connections. It is managed by Debbie Leathley, a straight talking lass from Pudsey, who kindly granted me permission to look about the place for research for my next novel, which will largely be set here. The ruins of the old Hunting Lodge still stands proudly overlooking the river Wharfe, a testament to the renovation work carried out hundreds of years ago by The Shepherd Lord and one of his descendants, the redoubtable Anne Clifford. Where the story gets interesting though is the adjacent building, the Priest’s House, which Debbie now runs as a thriving restaurant business. There cannot be many venues that boast a medieval building, breathtaking scenery and a first-class dining room.

Why is there a Priest’s House here? Well, Henry Clifford was illiterate when he was restored to his lands and titles and needed to get an education in order to carry out his new found responsibilities. The Prior at nearby Bolton Abbey provided this and helped him indulge his passion for astronomy, fostered by gazing at the stars at night whilst he was tending his flock when he was in exile. Indeed, one of the rooms at the Priest’s House is called the Stargazer’s room. Henry did not stop at that though. He converted the undercroft of the Priest’s House into a chapel. It has not been used for over a century but now Debbie plans to change all that – she wants to open it up as another venue for her business. I could not help but catch my breath with anticipation as she took out the rusty old key that opened the double-doors to the chapel. As the doors opened she beckoned me into a large stately room where the invading sunshine picked out the rays of dust mites like a magical scene from a Harry Potter movie. Debbie told me that she cannot wait for the day when the enormous shuttered windows are opened and she can seat her guests at table.

All in the garden is not so rosy though, as Debbie will have to overcome mountains of red tape and negotiate agreements with the Estate Office, English Heritage, Planners and anyone else that cares to voice an opinion. All I can say is they do not know who they are taking on. Debbie is a person who does not have the word “can’t” in her vocabulary. You can tell that she is passionate about this old building, woeful of its neglect and determined to make a success of it. I know what it’s like to bring old buildings back to life. I’d rather they be made good use of and be full of happy people as they were when they were first built. Better that than preserved as some dusty old museum, or worst still, left to rot into the ground for wont of funds. All it needs is a person with some gumption like Debbie, to pull this off.

The upstairs dining room at the Priest’s House is full throng with customers and when you taste the food you can understand why. I tucked into smoked trout for my starter, popped the buttons on my trousers eating the Sunday roast and made a real pig of myself by indulging in the carrot cake and fresh cream. I don’t normally eat dessert but I couldn’t help myself. It minded me my childhood when I visited indulgent Aunties who wanted to see you polish off every last crumb of their home-made fayre.

When you visit our God’s Broad Acres, you must pay a call to Barden Tower and the Priest’s House. You will find Debbie there at front-of-house, giving you a warm Yorkshire welcome and who knows, by then she may have been granted permission to open the Old Chapel.

Details of how to get to Barden Tower can be found at:

http://www.thepriestshouse.co.uk/

Posted in History, The Shepherd Lord and sequel | 16 Comments »

Jun
30
2010

They are not long, the days of wine and roses.

Bloody_Meadows_opt[1] (2)
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
(Ernest Dowson, 1867 – 1900)
Bit of a melancholy start to this Blog, I know, but during a recent hunt for the elusive Towton Rose, I came across this sight. A field of poppies shimmering and rippling in the breeze, moving like a small rolling ocean. It set me thinking of more recent battles during the first world war and how flowers have now become resonant with war graves. This picture was taken at the Saxton side of the battlefield but the same can be seen in Bloody Meadows at the Towton end. Just think, it is said that the field actually ran red with blood like this, and that’s what is meant to be providing the elusive little rose with its unique colouring. A far-fetched story if we look at it from a scientific perspective but a compelling little legend nonetheless. Did the poor souls who perished at Towton realise that their days of wine and roses were coming to an end when they first manoeuvred on the battlefield that fateful snowy morning?
Anyhow, enough of the glum talk. The weather has been magnificent recently and so dry that great cracks have appeared in the pathways like sinister ley lines. Would a dreadful fate await me if I followed them or would it just mean that my journey would prove to be fruitless? Well, I have not found the rose as yet, despite several 4 a.m. starts, and trudging miles with the morning dew soaking my boots and the nettles stinging my bare legs. I have however, seen some wonderful sights. Majestic old ash trees that line the river banks that must be hundreds of years old, country lanes bursting with cow-parsley, wild oats, vetch, herb robert and comfrey.
Not to mention deer and the startled foxes that bolt into the barley, their bushy tails guiding them like a rudder to safety.
So, the search is still on. If it’s out there, we will find it, even if we have to return next year.

I started with a poem so I shall finish with one. Apologies to any ardent Ricardians reading this but this is an allegorical piece that relates the tale of Henry VII. I will make amends to the Ricardians by giving a mention to the Rose of Raby and the Rose of Rouen in a later Blog.

The Rose of Englande

THROUGHOUT a garden greene and gay,
A seemlye sight itt was to see
How flowers did flourish fresh and gay,
And birds doe sing melodiouslye.
In the midst of a garden there sprange a tree,
Which tree was of a mickle price,
And there vppon sprang the rose soe redd,
The goodlyest that euer sprange on rise.
This rose was faire, fresh to behold,
Springing with many a royall lance;
A crowned king, with a crowne of gold,
Ouer England, Ireland, and of Ffrance.
Then in came a beast men call a bore,
And he rooted this garden vpp and downe;
By the seede of the rose he sett noe store,
But afterwards itt wore the crowne.

Posted in History, Towton Rose | 28 Comments »

Jun
13
2010

Of Archery and Roses

Blousy_Rose_2
Saturday was almost a perfect day (if you take the England football result out of the equation).
The sun was standing high in the sky and there were few clouds to break up the blue.
On my way to continue the search for the rose, I stopped off at The Crooked Billet to see my friends from Towton Battlefield Society. They were preparing for a visit from some young archeologists and one of the attractions were the archery butts, an area that includes a couple of very rare old apple trees, including a Yorkshire Greening.
Now I have always fancied myself as a latter day Robin Hood so I just had to have a go.
Under expert supervision, I pulled back the drawstring on a 45lb bow and loosed off a number of arrows at the target, even managing to hit the bull with one shot. I must have looked too smug as Ian then passed me a bow with a 120lb draw weight. He said “just get the feel of that, you won’t be able to do much with it. But it will give you an idea what power is in that for a man that can fully draw it.” He then passed me the most lethal looking bodkin arrow that looked vicious enough to shoot through a stone wall. I held firmly on the bow and heaved to pull the drawstring back, like an imposter trying to pull Excalibur from the stone. I did not want to be entirely embarassed so I sucked in a bit more and loosed off this monster of an arrow. I actually managed to hit the target, albeit in the bottom right hand corner.
Ian then demonstrated how to do this properly. With expert and fluid control he sank several arrows bang smack in the middle of the target. Only problem was, they were nearly impossible to remove from the dense straw, so great was the force they had penetrated the target with. An armoured knight would have no chance against these. Even if the armour wasn’t penetrated you would end up with serious internal injuries.
Next we tried lobbing – firing arrows way up into the air to hit a target on the ground, just as the archers would have done at Agincourt, Crecy and Towton. It was great fun and I wasn’t too cringeingly bad at it as a novice.
Then, Ian took the field with his mighty long bow. The yew strained and sent an arrow so high into the air, I was convinced it was going to puncture the ozone layer. When it eventually came shimmering and shivering to earth it landed way beyond our field and into the one beyond in the farmer’s barley.
I was absolutely smitten with this new sport and it was hard tom tear myself away and continue on my quest for the rose.
The sun beat down on my neck as I trudged the path and returned to where I had previously been before the roses were in bloom. The hedgerows were full of roses of colours from pure white to a dark pink hue but finding the exact spot where the best candidate had previously been spotted by me proved elusive. I divided the stony bank into squares and climbed up and down the slope to each one scanning the ground but to no avail. Where was the blasted thing? The sun began to scorch, I was getting hot and bothered and I was running out of time – I had promised to pick my wife up from the hairdressers at 5 p.m. and I was going to be late.
Dejected, parched, stung with nettles and scratched with thistles, I turned my way back and trudged towards the path. Then. What’s that? It’s not supposed to be there. It can’t be. Yes it is. I found what I was looking for (funny how the memory plays tricks on you cerebral GPS system). As you can see she is just about to come into bloom. She has the characteristics I have been told to look for. Bristly stems rather than thorny ones. Nine leaves. Grows no more than 3 foot off the ground. The leaves may be too big for Rosa Spinosissima but this looks to be a damn fine rose. There will be big blousy petals when it comes into full bloom in a few days time but will they be tinged with red? We’ll just have to wait and see.
Meanwhile, I arrive late at the hairdressers and I’m told I look like a scarecrow. I get a right ticking off but you know what? It was worth it :-)

Posted in Battles, History | 26 Comments »

Jun
07
2010

Official Artist to Richard III

Riikka_Richard_III
This is the second post I have written in tribute to my friend Riikka Nikko who specialises in producing artwork, always with Richard III as the central theme.
I bought one of Riikka’s paintings a while ago but this image is a photograph, a really good photo as a professional photographer recently bought this one at an exhibition.
It has a real haunting quality and looks like it’s a window into another world.
It’s amazing when you think about the technology that allows you to strike up these friendships with people in far off climes. She lives in Finland and is an art student and I have never met her but you build up your own mental picture of what the other person is like. She describes herself as shy and lacking confidence – stereotypical perhaps of the tortured artist. I am sure you’ll agree though, that she is exceptionally talented and I predict a great career for her as an artist.

Posted in History | 4 Comments »

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