Sunday, March 31, 2019

Thursday, March 28, 2019

Sir Kenelm Digby and His Closet

By Lauren Gilbert

Earlier this month, author M. J. Logue wrote a fascinating article for this blog titled “Slipcoat Cheese” (HERE ) which referenced THE CLOSET OF SIR KENELM DIGBY KNIGHT OPENED. Having an interest in old cookbooks, I decided to look into this book and Sir Kenelm Digby himself. What an interesting character! The following is a brief sketch of Sir Kenelm’s life, and a glance at his Closet.

Sir Kenelm Digby. Line engraving by R. van Voerst,
1646, after Anton van Dyck
Sir Kenelm Digby was truly a renaissance man, not only because he was born during the Renaissance era, but because of his wide-ranging interests. He was born July 11, 1603 at Gayhurst (or Goathurst) in Buckinghamshire, England. His father was Sir Everard Digby of Drystoke, Rutland, England, and his mother Mary Mulshaw (or Mulsho) of Gayhurst. The family was Roman Catholic, and Sir Everard was executed in 1606 as a party to the Gunpowder Plot. It appears that Gayhurst came to the Digby’s through Mary, as James I allowed Kenelm to inherit the unconfiscated lands which brought him a significant income annually.

Gayhurst House at night - Brian Tomlinson Photography
(modern view)

In 1618, Kenelm entered Gloucester Hall at Oxford (Gloucester Hall is now Worcester College) where he studied the physical sciences under the tutelage of Thomas Allen, mathematician, astrologer and occultist. Allen left his books and manuscripts to Kenelm, who ultimately donated them to the Bodleian Library. Kenelm left Oxford in 1620 without a degree. At some point, it is thought that he met, fell in love with and wanted to marry Venitia Stanley but both families disapproved so he left to travel the Continent from 1620 to 1623. He met Charles, then Prince of Wales and subsequently Charles I, in Spain and joined his household. Kenelm returned to England and was dubbed a knight by James I. He was also granted an M. A. from Cambridge during the king’s visit.

Portrait of Lady Venitia Digby by Henri Toutin,
1637 after her death (Walters Gallery)

In 1625, Sir Kenelm married Venitia Stanley. She was a famous beauty, about whom Ben Johnson wrote poetry, and she was painted by Van Dyck several times. They were apparently much in love and happily married, producing four sons and a daughter. (Venitia did have a somewhat questionable reputation, but it did not seem to disturb their relationship, so we shall not address that here.)

In 1627, Sir Kenelm undertook privateering, venturing into the waters of Gibraltar, Algiers and Majorca among other places. Among his adventures were battles with French and Venetian ships. Subsequently, he returned to England and became a naval administrator, and at one point was a governor of Trinity House (responsible for beacons, markers, lighthouses etc. to warn ships of dangers).

During the period of his youth and young manhood, Sir Kenelm’s Roman Catholic faith lapsed. Venitia died suddenly on May 1, 1633 and was buried in Christ Church, Newgate. This blow led him to isolate himself in scientific studies at Gresham College and, at some point, to Paris and a renewal of his faith by 1636. In 1638, he wrote a treatise on religion, defending the Roman Catholic faith as the one true faith. Ironically, during the 1630’s, Sir Kenelm was also studying astrology, medical matters and alchemy. He returned to England in 1639.

Unfortunately, the climate was bad for Catholics; his activities roused Parliament and in 1643, Sir Kenelm’s property was confiscated and he was compelled to return to Paris. He wrote two philosophical treatises while in Paris, “The Nature of Bodies” and “On the Immortality of Reasonable Souls”, released in 1644. He met Queen Henrietta Maria while in France and became chancellor of her household and engaged in diplomatic missions to Pope Innocent X for the English crown. Sir Kenelm ultimately returned to England in 1654, where (rather surprisingly) he became an associate of Oliver Cromwell and he was engaged in several diplomatic ventures.

As a result of his situation with Henrietta Maria, Sir Kenelm was in favour at court after the Restoration. He continued his studies, corresponded with scientists, mathematicians and other intellectuals, and was one of the founding members of the Royal Society in 1662. In addition to the treatises mentioned here, Sir Kenelm wrote a number of works; a list many of them which can be read on line is available HERE . He did have difficulties with Charles II, and was finally banned from court for a while. He died June 11, 1665 at age 62 in Covent Garden, London, and was buried next to his wife.

This brings us to THE CLOSET OF SIR KENELM DIGBY KNIGHT OPENED. Although Sir Kenelm is shown as the author, it was actually published some years after his death (about 1669) and is considered to have been compiled by a gentleman named Georg Hartman, one of his servants. It contains fascinating recipes for a wide range of things ranging from meads (a large number), cosmetics, possets, soups and stews, plague-waters, puddings, roasts, savoury pies, cakes and sweets, and includes multiple recipes for the slip-coat cheese. However, one of the most fascinating recipes is in Appendix II and harks back to Sir Kenelm’s studies of medicine and, possibly, alchemy: the Powder of Sympathy.

The Powder of Sympathy is a magical healing powder derived from English vitriol, dissolved in water, filtered, boiled and set aside for a few days; when the liquid is then poured off, green crystals are found. These crystals are dried, exposed to the sun until white, then beaten to powder, which is the Powder of Sympathy. To cure a wound, one takes some blood on a cloth, puts some of the powder on the bloody cloth, wraps it up and keep it safely. The wound itself should be kept clean and wrapped in clean linen, and should heal without other medicinals or pain. As we can see, the Powder of Sympathy is not directly applied to the wound itself. There are further instructions for an inflamed wound and to stop bleeding. One has to wonder how efficacious this was. I would think any healing that might have been attributed to the Powder of Sympathy had more to do with keeping the wound clean than anything else.


Digby, Kenelm. THE CLOSET OF SIR KENELM DIGBY KNIGHT OPENED. Introduction by Anne MacDonnell (Chelsea, 1910). Reprint 2019: Amazon Services, Inc. Columbia, SC “Sir Kenelm Digby English Philosopher and Diplomat” by the Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. HERE

The Catholic Dictionary. “Sir Kenelm Digby” by Charles Boothman, 1908. HERE “Sir Kenelm Digby, Alchemist, Scholar, Courtier and Man of Adventure” by Wyndham Miles. Chymia, vol. 2, 1949, pp. 119–128. JSTOR, .

The Online Books Page. “On-line Books by Kenelm Digby (Digby, Kenelm, 1603-1665). HERE


Sir Kenelm Digby. Line engraving by Robert van Voerst, 1646, after Anton Van Dyck. Creative Commons. HERE

Gayhurst House at night by Brian Tomlinson, Jan. 12, 2017. Creative Commons. HERE

Portrait of Lady Venitia Digby by Henri Toutin, 1637 (painted after her death). File provided to Wikimedia Commons by the Walters Gallery as part of a cooperation project. Creative Commons. HERE


An avid reader, Lauren Gilbert was introduced to English authors early in life. Lauren has a bachelor of arts degree in liberal arts English with a minor in Art History. A long-time member of JASNA, she has presented various programs at the South Florida Region, and a breakout session at the the 2011 Annual General Meeting in Ft. Worth, TX. She lives in Florida with her husband. Her first book HEYERWOOD: A Novel is available. She is finishing a second novel, A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT for release in 2019, and doing research for a biography. For more information, visit her website HERE

Monday, March 25, 2019

Cormac MacArt – Ancient Ireland’s King Solomon

by Arthur Russell

King Cormac Mac Art (reigned AD 204 – 244) is considered to have been the 116th Ard-Ri [High King] of Ireland who ruled for 40 years from the Royal palace on the Hill of Tara, located on the eastern edge of Ireland’s Central Plain. The Annals of Clonmacnoise, written centuries after his time; and drawing on a huge volume of legends and stories that were circulated and were added to after his death, glowingly described Cormac’s reign: “absolutely the best king that ever reigned in Ireland before himself; wise, learned, valiant and mild, not given causelessly to be bloody as many of his ancestors were, he reigned majestically and magnificently”.

He was known as Cormac Ulfhada (Cormac Longbeard); an epithet that denoted not just his facial hair but also his great wisdom and statecraft as King of Meath and Ard-Ri [High King] of all Ireland. His reign is associated with the great wealth that accrued to his own, as well as the other four kingdoms of Ireland (Ulaidh [Ulster], Mumhan [Munster], Laighin [Leinster] and Connacht), over which he ruled for 40 years.

“In his reign the rivers of Ireland were overflowing with fish, forests were difficult to travel due to the amount of fruit on the trees, and the plains were difficult to travel because of all the honey. Peace reigned supreme, crops grew copiously and cows had a massive milk yield”. High praise indeed; but who was Cormac Mac Airt?

His birth

There is a rich body of colourful legends surrounding all aspects of Cormac’s life, including his parentage, and how he came into the world. Some of these began to grow during his lifetime, but the more colourful ones probably developed in the centuries after his death, with a view to enhance not just his reputation, but by extension to help validate the ruling dynasty he left behind him, by imbuing them with possible magical (and ultimately political) power and significance in the eyes of their subjects – and more importantly their rivals.

There are far too many stories and legends about Cormac MacArt to mention here.

Cormac’s grandfather was King Conn, known as Conn Cetchatrach [Conn of the Hundred Battles]. His father was King Art MacCuinn (Art son of Conn). His mother was Achtan, daughter of the druid Olc Achta from the western province of Connacht. Accounts say that as a baby he was carried off by a she-wolf and raised with her cubs in the caves of Kesh in Sligo on Irelkand’s western shore. (Could this story be the Irish/Celtic version of the Roman, Romulus and Remus? - Though Ireland never came under the rule or influence of the Roman Empire as neighbouring Britain was). In any event, and happily for Cormac, a hunter eventually found the child and restored him to his mother much to her relief and happiness. The birth and carrying off by the wolf happened after his mother had to flee from Tara after King Art had been killed by his uncle Lugaidh Lama who was allied to another Lugaidh, a cousin of Cormac’s, who usurped the High Kingship of Tara. No doubt, this Lugaidh dearly wanted to eliminate the baby Cormac thereby removing another rival to his own and successors’ hold on the throne. Because of this, Cormac spent the first 30 years of his life in hiding with his mother’s people in Connacht, where he learned of his royal parentage and title which he determined to win back when he grew to manhood.

Cormac’s rise to power

Aerial view of Cormac's house enclosure at Tara (right).
The royal court (with Lia Fall) is behind (left).
There are legends about Cormac’s ousting of Lugaidh after he had girded himself with his dead father’s sword and made his way to the royal palace on the Hill of Tara and the court of his cousin King Lugaidh. On arrival in disguise at Tara, Cormac was present as Lugaidh was delivering judgement about a widow’s sheep, that had strayed into the queen's private lawn, and eaten the grass. The sheep had been impounded, and the case brought before the king for his ruling on the trespass, which was that the offending sheep should be forfeit. Cormac objected to what he considered an unjust verdict, by telling the assembly that as the sheep had only eaten the “fleece of the land”, they should only forfeit their own fleeces before being returned to the widow. Lugaidh was forced to recognise a superior judgement from the young stranger and exclaimed “That is a judgement of a king”. After saying this, he immediately recognised Cormac for who he was and gave orders to have him arrested. Cormac escaped and gathered an alliance to challenge Lugaidh for the throne.

Lia Fal (Stone of Destiny) at Tara which was reputed
to  magically proclaim the rightful king of Tara.
No doubt, Cormac’s youth and manly bearing as described by bards of his own and subsequent generations of the first millennium; may have been a deciding factor in how he so quickly found favour in “Tara’s Halls”. How much would a celebrity of any era pay to have the following bardic words written about them “in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish”.

"His hair was slightly curled, and of golden colour: a scarlet shield with engraved devices, and golden hooks, and clasps of silver: a wide-folding purple cloak on him, with a gem-set gold brooch over his breast; a gold torque around his neck; a white-collared shirt, embroidered with gold, upon him; a girdle with golden buckles, and studded with precious stones, around him; two golden net-work sandals with golden buckles upon him; two spears with golden sockets, and many red bronze rivets in his hand; while he stood in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish. You would think it was a shower of pearls that were set in his mouth; his lips were rubies; his symmetrical body was as white as snow; his cheek was like the mountain ash-berry; his eyes were like the sloe; his brows and eye-lashes were like the sheen of a blue-black lance."

Cormac was successful in ousting Lugaidh, for there were many who had grown tired of him and were ready to recognise the lost heir of King Art as the rightful King of Tara. Lugaidh fled south to Munster where he was killed by the poet Ferches MacCommain, thereby leaving the way open for Cormac to claim his birth-right.

Cormac had more fighting to do before he could sit securely on the throne. The next challenger was Fergus Dubdetach, king of Ulster who attacked Tara and forced Cormac to again retreat into Connacht to mount his fightback. Again he gathered a formidable alliance which included many of his own kinsmen among whom was Lugaidh Lama, his grand-uncle who admitted to having killed Cormac’s father at the Battle of Maigh Mucruime when Cormac was a baby. Cormac forgave his granduncle but imposed as eraic (penalty) that Lugaidh should present him with the head of Fergus, the latest usurper in his battle for the throne. The issue was finally settled at the battle of Crinna where Fergus was killed, giving Cormac undisputed claim to Tara and the accompanying title of Ard-Ri (High King) of Ireland. His victory allowed him to award huge tracts of Ulster territory to his allies.

Cormac then needed to proceed to exert the High Kingship of Tara over the other provincial kingdoms of Ireland, which of course brought him into conflict with them. This meant that Ireland had to endure a further period of disturbance while Cormac restored the hegemony of Meath among the five kingdoms.

Cormac’s Legacy

With all claims and titles settled, there followed a long period of peace and prosperity which allowed Cormac to devote his kingship to legal and cultural pursuits. He is credited with formulating and codifying the laws of the land (called Brehon laws), most of which endured until the middle of the second millennium and contained many enlightened principles and elements on gender equality and equitable property and inheritance rights, which were arguably well in advance of what was evolving across Europe of Cormac’s time.

On the cultural front, Cormac is credited with the compilation of Saltair Teamhair [Psalter of Tara]; a collection, possibly the first of its kind; of the chronicles of Ireland containing the exploits and synchronisms of the kings of Ireland. The Saltair also stipulated the limits of rights and responsibilities of provincial kings towards the High King and to their subjects. The Saltair predated by almost a millennium, William the Conquerer’s Domesday Book in the neighbouring island of England in recording “the boundaries and mears of Ireland from shore to shore, from the provinces to the cantred, from the cantred to the townland, from the townland to the traighedh of land”. The Saltair has not survived, though an extract from it, the “Instructions of Kings” did. It became established practice to read this at the inauguration of all Irish Kings and Chieftains for over thirteen hundred years after Cormac’s time.

Following is a very short extract of the “instructions” he gave to his son and successor before he vacated the throne:

Let him (the king) restrain the great,
Let him exalt the good,
Let him establish peace,
Let him plant law,
Let him protect the just,
Let him bind the unjust,
Let his warriors be many and his counsellors few,
Let him shine in company and be the sun of the mead-hall,
Let him punish with a full fine wrong done knowingly,
and with a half-fine wrong done in ignorance.
And more --------------------

Cormac also established 3 schools at Tara – for military discipline, for history and a third for jurisprudence.

Cormac’s marriages and family

Cormac married Eithne Taebfada daughter of Cathair Mór, daughter of Dúnlaing, King of Leinster. According to the 17th century historian Keating, Cormac took a second wife, Ciarnait, daughter of the king of the Cruthin. Eithne out of jealousy of her rival’s beauty, forced Ciarnait to grind nine measures of grain each day. Cormac freed her from this “daily grind” by building what is reputed to be the first watermill in Ireland at Tara.

Cormac’s marriages were blessed with 3 sons; Daire, Cellach and Cairbre; and ten daughters; two of whom Grainne and Ailbe, married the famed hero Fionn MacCumhaill, leader of the band of soldiers called “na Fianna”. Grainne was betrothed to Fionn but chose to elope with another younger member of na Fianna, Diarmuid (Dermot) ua Duibhne. A reconciliation was made between Fionn and Diarmuid, but the story goes that Fionn contrived Diarmuid’ s death during a boar hunt, for which he was subsequently forced by his own son Oisin to atone by marrying the widowed Grainne. This resulted in Grainne persuading her sons by Diarmuid not to take revenge on Fionn for their father’s death.

Site of Cormac's House at Tara (on left).
Among the structures Cormac caused to be built at Tara are the great Banqueting Hall, Grainne’s Enclosure, and his own enclosure (Cormac’s House) which is beside the Forraid where he held court. The site of the mill he built for Ciarnait is also on the hill

In the fourteenth year of his reign Cormac is reputed to have made sail with a force to Roman Britain to make some conquests there. (This could have been the start of raids into western Britain, with the object of capturing slaves to work in Ireland; as was the case of St Patrick, who was abducted as a boy to spend years herding pigs on Slieve Mish in Antrim over a century later).

Cormac leaves the Kingship

After 40 years, Cormac’s reign came to an end after he had lost an eye in one of seven battles he had with the recalcitrant Deisi tribe who he was expelling from his kingdom. Under Irish law, no king with a physical defect could continue to rule, so Cormac ceded the throne to his son Cairbre and moved to Teach Cleitig [now a townland called Sletty] on the southern bank of the River Boyne. Here he devoted himself to reading and matters cultural and, according to legend, heard of the new Christian religion that had by then taken hold on Continental Europe and Britain, but had yet to reach Ireland’s shores. According to that legend he lost all faith in the ancient gods and deities as practised by the druids, who expressed serious concern over the old king’s “heresy”. They cursed Cormac “in his flesh and bones, in his waking and sleeping, in his down-sitting and his uprising” weaving “mighty spells against his life”. Not long after, the curse would seem to have had its way when Cormac choked on a salmon bone as he sat eating in his house at Sletty on the Boyne.

Cormac’s death and burial

He was to have the final say when before he died, he instructed that he should not be buried at the traditional burial place for Irish kings at Bru na Boinne on the northern side of the river, but at Ross na Righ where there is a sunny eastward sloping hill to “await the coming (from the East) of the sun of truth” (= Christianity).

When the time came for his burial, the druids along with most of the nobles, tried to frustrate this last instruction of what they considered an old man who had lost his mind saying that “Ross na Righ is but a green hill of no note”.

The river Boyne took a hand in the affair and rose in height so that the funeral cortege could not cross at a shallow ford due to suddenly rising water driven by a tempest which forced them back, not once but three times. Finally they handpicked a party of tall bearers to brave the crossing with the bier. In mid-stream a surge of water overcame them and bore the bier away towards the sea. On the following morning some shepherds found the bier and the king’s body washed up on the south side of the river, and not knowing who the body with noble bearing belonged to, simply buried Cormac where they found him – at Ross na Righ, laying green sods over him at a place where he still sleeps.

Samuel Ferguson describes the simple burial of Ireland’s greatest High King on “a green hill of no note” to “wait the risen sun”.

At morning on the grassy marge
Of Ross na Righ the corpse was found
And shepherds at their early charge
Entombed it in the peaceful ground
A tranquil spot: a hopeful sound
Comes from the ever-youthful stream,
And still on daisied mead and mound
The dawn delays with tenderer beam.
Round Cormac, spring renews her buds:
In march perpetual by his side
Down come the earth-fresh April floods,
And up the sea-fresh salmon glide;
And life and time rejoicing run
From age to age their wonted way;
But still he waits the risen sun,
For still 'tis only dawning day.


Arthur Russell is the author of Morgallion, a novel set in medieval Ireland during the Invasion of Ireland in 1314 by the Scottish army led by Edward deBruce, the last crowned King of Ireland (a Medieval “what if moment” in Irish history). It tells the story of Cormac MacLochlainn, a young man from the Gaelic crannóg community of Moynagh and how he, his family and neighbours endured and survived that turbulent period of history.

Morgallion has been awarded the indieBRAG Medallion.

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Editors Weekly Round-up, March 24, 2019

by the EHFA Editors

Join us every week on English Historical Fiction Authors. Our contributors give you saints and sinners, politics and war. Learn about kings, queens, and nobles, or the common man and woman, and legends from ancient to post-WWII. Subscribe to the blog, follow us on Facebook, or Twitter. Never miss a post. 

Thursday, March 21, 2019

Mary de Morgan: Subversion through Fairy Tales

By Marilyn Pemberton

Mary De Morgan was the youngest of seven children, born in 1850 into a family of intellectuals, non-conformists and dissenters. Her father, Augustus, was a brilliant mathematician who described himself and his family as “Christians – unattached” and who once resigned his professorship at University College London because he considered it unfair that a candidate was not appointed a Chair just because he was a Unitarian. Mathematicians today still discuss the De Morgan law and compete for the triennial De Morgan Medal. Mary’s mother, Sophia Elizabeth (née Frend), was a spiritualist who supported social reform, in particular the prison system and the provision of children’s playgrounds, and was a fervent campaigner against vivisection and slavery.

Mary’s eldest brother, William, designed and produced still very collectible tiles used by William Morris’s company and eventually became a best-selling novelist; his wife, Evelyn (née Pickering) was a well-known and well-respected painter. Another brother, George, co-founded the London Mathematical Society and would have been a mathematical genius had he not died at an early age of tuberculosis - brother William called it the “De Morgan curse.”

Mary de Morgan - possibly

Mary moved in William Morris’s artistic and political circle, so it is perhaps not surprising that her own literary and social achievements have been overshadowed by those of her family and friends. Mary is best known today, if she is known at all, as a writer of fairy-tales but she also wrote short stories, some of which were published in English and American magazines such as The Ludgate Illustrated, Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly, Sylvia’s Home Journal and The Home-Maker. Other unpublished short stories are gathering dust in Senate House Library, University of London, being a very small part of the De Morgan Archives, created primarily to house her father’s documents.

Mary also tried her hand at a two-volume novel called A Choice of Chance written under the pseudonym of William Dodson, but the disappointment of poor reviews caused her to abandon attempting another. She also edited her mother’s reminiscences, Threescore Years and Ten: Reminiscences of the Late Sophia Elizabeth De Morgan and wrote serious articles on such diverse subjects as “Co-operation in England in 1889,” “The New Trades-Unionism and Socialism in England,” “The Jewish Immigrant in East London,” and “The Education of Englishmen,” published in such journals as The Westminster Review and The Chautauquan.

According to A. Stirling, Evelyn’s sister, who wrote the biography of her brother-in-law William, as a child Mary was extremely lively and full of fun – and also rather precocious. At 13 she asserted to Henry Holiday, who was a painter, stained-glass designer, sculptor and illustrator, that “all artists are fools.” She did not mellow with age. In a letter in 1885, for instance, when Mary was 35, William Morris describes how she came into a tea room where he was drinking with a friend and straightway fell to tackling them on socialism with, as Morris says, “rather less than her usual noise; but with rather more than her usual ignorance.” Despite this rather derogatory description, Mary was a regular visitor at the Morris household and she often told her stories to the Morris and Burne-Jones children and to the young Rudyard Kipling. The multi-talented Mary also apparently cured William Morris of his fear of snakes; she was also one of those who nursed him during his final illness and was at his bedside when he died in 1896.

Mary never married, and although Shaw suspected that she was flirting with him when she squeezed his hand one evening, there is no evidence of any romantic relationships. Whatever the reason then, whether from choice or otherwise, Mary, like many other women at the tail end of the nineteenth century, remained unmarried, and because there were no male members of the family with sufficient funds to keep her, she had to earn her own keep.

It does not seem likely that she made sufficient money from her writing alone. In 1876, for instance, she received £14 18s 6d (less than £2,000 in today’s money), being a third of the year’s profit from the sale of her first volume of fairy tales, On a Pincushion  – another third going to the illustrator, her brother William, and the other third to the publishers, Seeley, Jackson and Halliday. She may not have earned enough to live on from her writing alone but she also received dividend payments from stocks she owned. She once told her sister-in-law, Evelyn, that “I am so thankful I have only a small income – it is so delightful planning things and deciding what one can afford. It would bore me to death to be rich!”

No one woman can epitomise the “New Woman,” of course, but Mary De Morgan certainly had many of her attributes. One definition, which seems to suit Mary, is one in which the “New Woman” is considered to be someone who is lacking in many, if not all, of the attributes usually associated with ideal Victorian womanhood such as having a penchant for self-sacrifice, a talent for home-making, and a willingness to defer to men. There is nothing about Mary to make anyone think that she was ever such an “Angel in the House.” She did follow in her mother’s footsteps and do her social duty by visiting the poor families in the East End and running a mothers’ club, but she was also a member of the Women’s Franchise League and she signed the Declaration in Favour of Women’s Suffrage in 1889. She was an independent woman who had very strong views on the society in which she lived and the place of the woman within it. She could have written political articles, spoken at rallies and waved flags, but she chose instead to make her voice heard and her opinions known through the genre of the fairy tale.

Mary published three volumes of fairy tales, On a Pincushion in 1877 (illustrated by William De Morgan), The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde in 1880 (published by MacMillan & Co and illustrated by Walter Crane) and The Wind Fairies in 1900 (published Seeley and Co. and illustrated by Olive Cockerell). In each anthology there are fairy tales that challenge the prevalent ideologies by subverting the traditional fairy-tale conventions and therefore also societal ones. After all, many of the things that were concerning people at the time, such as the institution of marriage, the role of women in society and the effects of materialism on the individual and on society as a whole, are actually inherent components of many a fairy tale.

It is perhaps ironic to use the fairy tale to challenge the benefits of material gain, or the conventions of marriage. Fairy tales by Charles Perrault, the Grimm brothers and Hans Christian Andersen, for instance, were often used to maintain the patriarchal status quo and to endorse the values and social codes of the time, including the premise that wealth and/or marriage equates to happiness and that the woman’s role is to be patient and wait for the active man to save her. Without a doubt, many of the traditional fairy tales are typically very materialistic, with the “happy ever after” being assured due to the gain of a kingdom through marriage or enormous wealth. Patient Griselda, along with Snow White and Cinderella, became exemplars of Victorian womanhood, veritable “Angels in the House.”
Whilst sticking to the accepted fairy-tale conventions and intrinsic structure of the fairy tale, however, Mary met the readers’ expectations of plot, character and ending, yet challenged core attitudes.
Princess Fiorimonde

There is no room here to give more than a few examples but most of her fairy tales are on the internet and are well worth a read. In “Dumb Othmar,” for instance, it is a female who is the active, questing protagonist whilst the male is the passive victim who waits patiently for her to return having rescued his stolen voice. In “The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde,” the beautiful princess is not the personification of goodness, as expected, but is instead evil and turns her suitors into beads she collects on a necklace - it is now the men who are the adornment. 

In “The Hair Tree,” the flora of an island is in fact various parts of a female body that as a whole would form a beautiful woman but as individual parts have teeth and are deadly. In “Siegfrid and Handa,” a village is almost destroyed when the villagers start to buy cheap, shoddy shoes rather than the more expensive and better made ones produced by the local cobbler, thereby illustrating the damaging effects of mass-production on the individual and on society and doubtless pleasing William Morris immensely.

Again, in “The Hair Tree,” Mary writes of how a young girl is turned into a vegetarian tiger by the mother of a spurned suitor thus describing how women who choose not to marry are ostracised and de-humanised. In “The Toy Princess,” Mary shows how ludicrous it is when a royal court prefers an automaton that merely nods and says “Yes” to the real human, crying, screaming, independent Princess.  In the traditional fairy tales female readers had had only passive, victimised role models to empathise with; now they were being introduced to females who were active, strong-willed, and sometimes downright rebellious, rather like Mary, perhaps.

However, it is only now that Mary’s voice is being heard. Contemporary reviews failed to read between the lines or to scratch the surface and considered the stories to be delicate, naive and simple, such as children will delight in. “Even adults, if they retain the least spark of the childlike in their nature, will be attracted by the freshness, the simplicity, and the pathos of the little stories.”  They were not little stories but it is only over the previous couple of decades, when fairy tales have been put under the academic microscope, that Mary De Morgan has been recognised as being one of the forbears of such twentieth-century feminist writers as Angela Carter and Margaret Atwood, to name but two, and her fairy tales being more than just simple stories for children.

De Morgan's last resting place

By the turn of the nineteenth century Mary was a relatively well-known and respected published writer, albeit not a very well paid one, who lived very much in the world of artists and intellectuals. She does not seem to have written anything after 1900 and at the beginning of the new century she went to live in Egypt, for health reasons, where she somehow became a directress of a girls’ reformatory in Helouan. She died of tuberculosis - the “De Morgan curse” again - in 1907 at the age of 57 and is buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Cairo. Her plot has no stone to mark her last resting place, there having been subsidence many years previously.

There is no photograph that can be 100% authenticated as being Mary, so all we have are her words to know her. 


Marilyn Pemberton is a member of the Society of Women Writers & Journalists, the Historical Novel Society and The Society of Authors. Her PhD research on the utopian & dystopian aspects of Victorian fairy tales and the ensuing obsession led her to Mary De Morgan and to the book, Out of the Shadows: The Life and Works of Mary De Morgan, followed by a fictional novel based on Mary’s life, The Jewel Garden, published February 2018.
Marilyn has just completed her second novel, Song of the Nightingale, about two young boys in eighteenth-century Italy, who are bought from their families, castrated and then trained to be singers. It tells not only of singing, but also deceit, murderous revenge, passion and reconciliation.  Marilyn is hoping a literary agent will be willing to represent her.
Marilyn is just starting a third novel called Grandmothers’ Footsteps that will tell of the battle of three generations of women to get their voices heard through story-telling. 

Out of the Shadows can be purchased at

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Alfgar, The Recalcitrant Earl

by Paula Lofting

The king with his witan

It was March 1055, and as every year, all the nobles in the land that could, would make their way to the witanegemot, and in this year the council were set to elect the next earl of Northumbria. There were two men in the running: Ælfgar, son of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, and Tostig Godwinson, as his name implied, of the number one clan in the country.

Ælfgar had been elevated to earl of East Anglia in 1051 when Harold Godwinson was forced into exile with other members of his family. In 1052, the Godwinsons made a successful comeback and all their lands and properties were once more restored to them, which meant that Ælfgar had to hand back the earldom to Harold, leaving him with nothing to run. That must have gone down like a treat. However, in the wake of Godwin's death, it was restored to Alfgar after Harold's appointment to Wessex. Tostig had been waiting in the wings for his first appointment since his brothers, Harold and Swegn (the latter now deceased) had both been invested in earldoms 10 years ago. With Harold in Wessex, and Alfgar sorted in East Anglia, Tostig obviously thought that he was up for the Northumbrian post.

Photo c/o Christopher Doyle
and members of Regia Anglorum
And so, at that gathering that year, the proverbial gossips must have had a field day, and anyone with a leaning to intrigue might have found themselves weaving in and out of each contestant's supporters to stir up trouble faction had they a mischievous mind.

This was very much a north and south thing, and even as far back as then, the divide between the two still existed. The last native ruler who'd been in charge of Northumbria had been Uhtred the Bold from the House of Bebbanburgh. In 1016 he was assassinated by Thurbrand the Hold probably on the orders of Cnut whom he was on his way to see. Eadwulf, Uhtred's son succeeded him in Bernicia and Cnut later made the Norwegian, Erik Hlathir, the earl in the south of Yorkshire. The killing of Uhtred was to spark the blood feud in the north that would last more than two generations.

The date when Siward, the Dane took over as earl is sketchy, but it seems to have been around 1030. Siward had a good run, and he must have been a tough old pair of boots to step in to. He had reigned for at least twenty-five years or so. What with managing the wild northerners with their violent bloodfeuds, which the north was notorious for, plus supporting Malcolm Canmore to get his throne back in Scotland, Siward was most likely to have been the most warlike of the earls in England at the time of Edward's reign. 

Battles were fought with the Welsh on the borderlands
In 1054, Siward invaded Scotland by land and sea to overthrow King MacBeth, helping the murdered Duncan's son to resume the throne that Malcolm obviously thought was his. Edward sent many of his own huscarles north to support him, and many of them were slaughtered.The hard fought battle saw Siward losing his son and nephew. MacBeth was defeated, but still alive and pushed north-west to recoup. Malcolm was able to take over the rest of the territories gained from the defeat of his rival. Many lives were lost on both sides in the terrible battle of Dunsinane and the loss of his son and nephew might have hastened Siward's death which eventually came a year later in 1055. Although he had not been a northerner himself, he was a Dane, and many of the men of Yorkshire were of Danish descent, he knew how they thought, how they fought, and they respected him.

Photo c/o Christopher Doyle
and Regia Anglorum
 So who were these men, Tostig and Alfgar, who thought they could step into Siward's rather big boots? Tostig was probably born in Suth Seaxa (Sussex) and as a boy grew up in the Godwin family home of Bosham. The winters were milder and the land not as harsh as in the north. From an early age he most likely spent a lot of time at court under his sister's tutelage, well educated and groomed for an administration job which would have eventually have flowered into an office of high standing. He was also schooled in military matters as most noble sons would have been, and brought up to be ambitious as all of the Godwinson men seem to have been. He also had a lot to prove. His older brother, Harold, was on the rise, and fast becoming the king's number one man, and as Tostig's later actions in the coming years would show, he was, I suspect, envious of his brother, the latter day Golden Balls. Tostig had the blood of the Vikings running through his veins with his mother being daughter of Thorgil Sprakalägg, so called because he was fast on his legs, perhaps because he was purported to have been the son of a bear. (Yes, I know!) Tostig's father's lineage is just as mysterious. (though no bears in the tree) and Wulfnoth, father of Godwin, according to Frank Barlow, apparently could trace his family tree back to King Egbert making him a son of the House of Wessex. Despite the possibility of a royal pedigree and Viking blood, Tostig was a 'soft' southerner, brought up in southern ways and unpalatable to the rough, wild men of the north.

Photo c/o
Christopher Doyle and Regia Anglorum
Alfgar was not so much of an alien perhaps, having been born less south than Tostig. He was the son of Leofric of Hwicce, now absorbed into Mercia. Leofric became Earl of Mercia around 1017, after Cnut had taken the crown following the death of Ironside. Alfgar's mother was Godgifu, who appears to have come from good noble stock herself, considering that she held quite a lot of land in her own right. This might have something to do with the fact that she was a widow when she married Alfgar's father. Alfgar was most likely to have had some military experience seeing as there had been quite a lot of conflict with the Welsh, but nothing is recorded for definite, just how experienced he was or whether he'd had the benefit of a court upbringing like Tostig most likely had. It's quite likely he may well have, it seems to have been traditional for the sons of nobles to be educated at court, though he was probably not of an age that he would have been in Queen Edith's school. However, he did have some experience already, having run East Anglia for a year before Harold's return and for a couple of years after Harold had stepped back out of it and into Wessex. With this in mind, Alfgar, might have thought he was better qualified than his opponent, Tostig.

Photo C/o Christopher Doyle
& Regia Anglorum
Court must have been interesting, with Alfgar and Tostig posturing amongst their supporters. The Mercians vs West Saxons. And when it was announced at the council meeting that Tostig was to be invested with the earldom of Northumbria, there must have been some threatening glares across the feasting boards that evening at supper. What happened after the council met gives us some idea that Alfgar was not happy at what had occurred at the council meeting.

The Anglo Saxon Chronicle is sympathetic to Alfgar. Chronicle C  reports that he was 'outlawed without any fault.' And then the E Chronicle says, 'And the king gave Tostig, son of Earl Godwin, the Earldom which Earl Siward owned before.' The D script tells it the other way round, that Tostig was given the earldom and then later Alfgar was exiled, without 'well-nigh any fault'. Chronicle E tells us that his outlawing took place on the 19th March ( 7 days before mid-lent) and the reason being 'that it was thrown at him that he was a traitor to the king and all the people of the land. And he admitted to this,' but the words evidently left his mouth before he had time to think about what he was saying. This latter version seems to explain things a little clearer, though none of the scribes writing the chronicles seem to have been of a mind to tell us what it was that came out of his mouth. One can imagine there was a lot of expletives about a puppet king whose strings were being pulled by a certain family!
Alfgar's Mercenaries
Photo c/o Richard Price & Regia Anglorum

The usual punishment for treason seems to have been exile, however hanging was also an option. But though exile seems a lenient punishment for such a crime, it was not as simple as you think. You were usually given a limited amount of time to get out of the country, which could be anything from 3 days to a week. In that time you would have to make whatever arrangements you could to gather your wealth if you had any and make arrangements for transport. If you lived nowhere near the coast, the further you were, the more time you would have needed, and if you didn't get out within the time allotted you could be killed on the spot by anyone. But at least you were had a chance, and if you made it like the Godwinsons had done in 1051, you were free to gather forces and whatever mercenary help you could get and force your way back to power.
Alfgar was said to have gone straight to Ireland where he stayed some months recruiting men and ships from amongst the Hiberno-Norse. When he had 18 ships fully crewed, he made his way to King Gruffudd in Gwynnedd to recruit him to his cause. Gruffudd also took advantage of the Englishman's pleas by promising to help him invade England, if he helped him to defeat the king of South Wales, thus realising his dream of a becoming king of a united country. Alfgar was obviously obliging, and supported Gruffudd successfully. Shortly afterwards, the two armies, Alfgar's mercenaries and Gruffudd's Welshfighters, joined together to invade England, and razed Hereford to the ground, causing the deaths of five hundred English mounted warriors.

The lesson to be learned here for the English king, was that execution was more effective punishment than exile. You would think, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, the lesson was not learned and the same thing was to happen again three years later.
Paula Lofting is an author and a member of the re-enactment society Regia Anglorum, where she regularly takes part in the Battle of Hastings. Her first novel, Sons of the Wolf, is set in eleventh-century England and tells the story of Wulfhere, a man torn between family and duty. The sequel, The Wolf Banner is available now. Paula is currently working on the third book in the series, Wolf's Bane.

Connect with Paula on her Blog and on her Amazon Author Page

Sunday, March 17, 2019

Editors Weekly Round-up, March 17, 2019

by the EHFA Editors

Enjoy this week's articles from English Historical Fiction Authors.

by Erica Lainé

by Judith Arnopp

by Judith Thomson

Click on the post and leave a comment stating your preference for e-book or paperback. Giveaway closes at midnight Sunday 17 March Pacific Daylight Time (8am Monday 18 March GMT).

Friday, March 15, 2019

The Glorious Revolution

by Judith Thomson

On the 10th of July 1688 a momentous event in the history of England took place – a baby was born! He was not just any baby, he was the son of King James ll and his wife, Mary Beatrice. Or was he?

The news was the very last thing most people in England wanted to hear. James had succeeded his charismatic brother, Charles ll, to the throne but James was nothing like him. When the monarchy had been restored after the troubled years following Civil War, Charles had vowed that he would never go upon his travels again and he had used his charm, and his intelligence, to make sure of it. James was unfortunately lacking in both these qualities. Lord Rochester, who had a cruel wit, summed up their differences by saying that “Charles could see all things if he would, whilst James would see all things if he could!”

But the worst thing about James, in most people’s eyes, was that he had declared himself to be a Catholic and had married a Catholic after the death of his first wife. To a Protestant nation, to whom the horrors of the Popish Plot were still a vivid memory, this was unforgiveable. Catholics had been accused at that time of all sorts of heinous crimes, including attempting to kill his brother, Charles, and whether or not the charges had been proved false, Papists were still viewed with suspicion, and even hatred, by most. Now, thanks to James, they were being given important positions of power.

Charles’ illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, had, three years earlier, led a rebellion against his uncle James, but it had been a disaster and resulted in a great many deaths, including that of the young Duke himself. After that, the people had, in the main, accepted James’ rule sullenly, safe in the knowledge that James could not live for ever. When he died, his eldest daughter, Mary, a good Protestant married to another of James’ nephews, the Dutch Prince, William of Orange, would inherit the throne.

Except now she wouldn’t. The new baby, being a boy, would take precedence over her, and he was baptised into the Catholic faith before he was a day old. The Papist rule would continue. Small wonder few welcomed the announcement of the Prince’s birth.

The word was even spread about that the Queen’s baby had died and that the new Prince of Wales had been a substitute, smuggled into her bedchamber in a warming pan. Some people went so far as to claim that she had never been pregnant in the first place, but had just been wearing a cushion tied around her! Those who were present at the birth disputed the tale of the ‘warming pan baby’ but, since it was only Catholics who been there whilst the Queen was in labour, their words did not carry too much weight.

Whatever people believed, or pretended to believe, there were a few who had decided that the time had come for action. Since the throne would no longer be given on James’ death to William of Orange and Princess Mary, then why not ask them to take it now, whilst James was still alive?

William of Orange

However, William had quite enough problems as it was, with the French troops of Louis XlV encroaching on his borders. He accepted the desirability of ensuring Protestant rule in England, especially since his arch-enemy, the Catholic King Louis, was James’ cousin, but, before he embarked upon so great an enterprise, he needed to be absolutely certain that it was what the nation truly wanted. He insisted upon being actually invited to take the English crown.

This was tricky, for anyone signing such an invitation would be taking a great risk. King James would show no mercy to any he suspected of working against him but, even so, a document was drawn up in secret. It bore the coded signatures of men representing the organisations whose welcome William had desired. These were Compton, the Bishop of London, for the Church, Admiral Russell for the Navy, Lord Danby for the Tories and Henry Sidney, Lord Shrewsbury, Lord Devonshire and Lord Lumley for the Whigs.

Seven brave and desperate men.

William received his invitation with more resignation than pleasure, but he knew where his duty lay and, upsetting as the prospect must have been of siding with her husband against her father, so did his wife, Mary.

Preparations for an invasion of England began at once. As well as the Dutch, there were troops assembled from all parts of Protestant Europe, and they were joined by Englishmen who had taken up residence in Holland and Huguenots who had fled France when the edict which had once protected French Protestants had been revoked.

It was a mighty army. Two hundred transport vessels were needed to take the sixteen thousand soldiers and their equipment over the North Sea. As well as food for the men and fodder and saddles for the horses they were taking, there was a mobile smithy and wagons, boats, a portable bridge and even a printing press with moulds for striking money! There were also fifty men o’ war with fire ships and lighter craft to escort them and many small boats that needed to be lashed to the side of larger vessels to enable them to make the crossing.

And what was King James doing whilst these preparations were going on? Not a lot, actually, at first. There were rumours that Prince William was planning to invade but he did not take the threat seriously. Samuel Pepys, the Secretary of the Admiralty, did take it seriously and tried to persuade him to commission the first and second rates, the grand battle fleet, but James was unwilling to spend the money. Pepys did manage to persuade him to man two third rates and three fourth rates, but James refused to be panicked and listened to his advisers, such as his chief minister, Lord Sunderland, who were convinced that if William did come he would not be foolish enough to brave the Autumn weather but would wait until the Spring.

Samuel Pepys

When they finally realised they were wrong, Pepys put to sea everything the Navy had that would stay afloat in the Autumn storms and even recalled the fleet from the straits of Gibraltar, all the way from the southern tip of Spain. Ships from every shipyard in the country were assembled at the Buoy of the Nore, in the mouth of the Thames estuary, and he worked round the clock to equip them, but he was short of guns and sailors. The press gangs were waiting for the merchant ships to come into port and soldiers were being taken on board if no others could be found.

William’s expedition did not have a very auspicious start. The first time they set sail the gales scattered the ships and they were forced to return. Only one ship was lost and no men but, sadly, thirteen hundred of the horses had suffocated by the time they managed to get them out. When the news reached James, he insisted that the wind had declared itself Popish!

Pepys was still concerned and pointed out to him that if the wind had not stopped William then their own fleet, which had been moved from the Nore to the Gunfleet, would have been trapped and powerless to prevent him from landing. James sent an order for Admiral Dartmouth to cross the sea and put a stop to the invasion whilst it was still in shambles but Dartmouth had a dilemma; most of his captains were Protestant and many of them were not loyal to James. He feared they might simply turn their ships over to William, given the chance.

And so it was without any opposition that William’s fleet finally sailed to England on the 1st of November 1688, saluting Dover and Calais with their guns as they passed through the Straits of Dover and playing drums and trumpets for the benefit of the people watching them from the Dover cliffs.

William had originally planned to land in the north but the wind was making it difficult so he decided to make for Torbay, in the west, instead and the huge fleet anchored off the little fishing village of Brixham, much to the surprise of the villagers!

Brixham - William of Orange Monument

There was little accommodation to be had there so William, the future king of England, spent his first night in his new country sleeping in a fisherman’s hut!

They marched to London, gathering recruits and supporters along the way, slowly at first, for people still remembered the terrible price paid by those who had supported the Duke of Monmouth’s ill-fated rebellion, but it soon became obvious to James that he was under a real threat and he rallied his forces to meet him in battle.

Unfortunately for James, most of the soldiers felt the same way about him as the sailors did. Many deserted and went over to join William, including his own son-in-law Prince George, who was married to his younger daughter, Anne. The real blow came for James, though, when John Churchill, later to become the Duke of Marlborough, changed sides. James had been a generous patron to Churchill, whose sister, Arabella, had once been his mistress, and could have expected that he, at least, would have remained loyal.

He returned to London and, when it became evident that he would not be able to negotiate a settlement with William, he managed to escape, on the second attempt, and followed his wife and baby son to France, where his cousin Louis welcomed him, even giving over to him the chateau of St. Germain.

So the ‘Glorious Revolution’ came about without battle or bloodshed, which had been exactly William’s intention. He and Mary were crowned as joint King and Queen on the 11th of April 1689 and became our first constitutional monarchs, not absolute as their predecessors had been, but answerable to the parliament and the people.

And James? The following year King Louis equipped him with an army and he sailed to Ireland in an attempt to raise supporters there and regain his crown.

But that is quite another story!


Judith Thomson lives in Sussex and is passionate about the seventeenth century She has gained much inspiration from her time spent in London and her regular visits to Paris and Versailles.
She likes to paint, enjoys boating on the French canals and scuba diving.
Judith has written five historical novels to date, based around the actual events of the period, set in both England and France. They follow the life and adventures of her main character, Philip Devalle, and have been published by Troubador. They are all available from as well as Amazon  and most book stores.

For more information about Judith and her books, please visit:
She also writes regular blogs on:
Follow her on Twitter @JudithThomson14

Also by Judith Thomson:

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Lower Brockhampton Estate

by Judith Arnopp

Lower Brockhamptom is timeless. The timber-framed house and gatehouse nestle in a valley, ringed by a damson orchard and historic woodland. The house emerges as you walk up the drive and the sight halts you in your tracks and mesmerised, you reach for your camera. 

The manor was home to the same family for 900 years. The land has been occupied since Anglo Saxon times, with the house first mentioned in the 12th century, and the current dwelling dating back to the late medieval, extended further in the Tudor period.

As an author writing in the medieval/Tudor period, places like Lower Brockhampton are invaluable. I prefer to visit out of season, when there are fewer tourists, less intrusive signage and visitor attractions to distract from the past I am trying to locate.

I entered the gatehouse first. It was clearly built for status, not defence and according to the guidebook, may have been a ‘visual pun’ in its mirroring of the manor behind. From the outside the gatehouse is a wonky, half-timbered delight, the diamond casements twinkling a welcome.


I passed into the shadow of the gate. There have been many repairs and alterations over the years; the staircase is 17th century, the bargeboards on the south gable are modern copies from restoration in 1999. I run my fingers over the magnificent studded door and instinct tells me it is original. The guidebook confirms this and directs me to examine the bargeboards to the north, also original, the carving still remarkably vivid for its age.

The upper floor is uneven, the beamed ceiling aged to a glorious golden brown. On the walls you can trace the vague shadow of religious marks symbolising the Virgin Mary which, again according to the guide book, support the rumours of illegal Catholic masses held there during the Protestant years. I look around at the evidence of summer swallows and house martins, the ancient floors now trodden only by modern tourists, and wish those praying Catholics would show themselves and tell me how things really were.

Inside the main house, the National Trust direct visitors along a trail that follows the history of the manor’s inhabitants. The great hall for instance is laid out in 17th-century style but it is possible to see how it worked as a medieval hall. As you move through the building, the artefacts and the manner in which the rooms were used become more familiar. Close to the end of the trail, the Lounge looks just like my grandmother’s house once did with a fireplace, a writing desk, a radio and a three piece suite. Being contrary by nature, I walked round in the opposite direction so I could emerge with the earlier period fresh in my mind.

It was the outside that made my creative juices begin to flow. I strolled around the moat, examined the much plainer architecture at the back of the building, craned my neck to see the vast Tudor chimneys and was lured toward the silent peace of the ruined chapel.


In the undergrowth were small scurrying creatures whose way of life at Lower Brockhamptom hasn’t altered at all. The crows in the wood, the ducks on the moat, the moles who have dug up the meadow and garden provide the sights and sounds that remain unchanged.


It was particularly cold, even for late March, with huge cumulonimbus clouds decorating the blue sky. Every so often, the sun burst from their cover, stimulating reflections on the moat that mirrored the manor, the gatehouse, the sky – revealing another world beneath; a world very much like this one but enticing – the place I’d been seeking, the house where my characters dwell. I sat down, took out my notebook and asked if I could join them ...


Judith Arnopp writes historical fiction set in the medieval and Tudor period. She writes from a female perspective featuring women like Margaret Beaufort, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth of York and Katheryn Parr. Her most recent novel, Sisters of Arden, traces the fate of three nuns during the dissolution of the monasteries

You can find out more on her webpage:
or her author page:

You can also follow her on social media.
Photographs © Judith Arnopp