Stuart Stumpwork

By Prue Batten 

Embroidery – notionally and popularly a woman’s activity throughout history. Something that began as a necessity but developed to become a skill or an artform that an accomplished woman should possess.

And no time more so than the seventeenth century when raised, also called embossed work, was the fashion de jour. Called stumpwork embroidery since the nineteenth century, raised work traces its roots back to the highly padded ecclesiastic work of the fifteenth century. Gradually the three-dimensional stitching and unique subject matter of such embroidery became popular with the more affluent families of Stuart England. They needed to be affluent, because the supplies required to stitch the work (see below), were imported and pure. Nothing at all acrylic, plastic or cheap in those days.

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Stumpwork relied heavily on detached buttonhole stitch and needlelace stitch, also on wires for supporting the raised or three-dimensional appearance and on silk threads, metal purl and bead work. At the time, colours were bright, and a strict pattern was always followed.

Black outline on extant pieces of raised embroidery leads one to believe that stitchers actually worked from kits in much the same way we do today. There is evidence that embroidery pedlars would travel from wealthy house to wealthy house selling kits with scenes and subject matter tailored cleverly to those families. Wily pedlars would appeal to the vanities of the women of the house by including fashion of the times in the designs, ensuring a ready sale.

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The kits were luscious, and as mentioned, expensive. ‘Silver and gold thread, fine gimp cords from Italy, lightly twisted silks from the Continent and further afield, thick chenille threads, wools, satin ribbons, tiny brocade tassels, silk-covered purls, painted bullion, spangles, seed pearls, semi-precious stones, (floral glass, amber, turquoise) coral, tiny seashells, slivers of mother of pearl, fine kid leather, peacock plumules, wrapped and looped vellum, sheets of mica and talc and scraps of treasured fabrics.’ To me, it sounds like expansive 17th century trade all stitched up in magnificent caskets, mirrors, frames and boxes and I can almost feel my spine tingling as I read the names of the components.

I can speak from experience when I say the opening of a kit to reveal a heavenly rainbow of silk threads that lie softly but seductively in one’s hand, along with little containers of metallic thread and delicate beading is something that raises the heartbeat of an embroiderer, be they Stuart or contemporary. I can also speak from experience when I say that stumpwork is an extremely challenging artform. It takes hours of concentration to create each of the individual raised elements before one can add them to the embroidery as a whole. 

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In the Stuart era, political causes inveigled their way into the subject matter – royalist loyalties being signified by Charles I’s caterpillars and Charles II’s butterflies, oaks and acorns. 

But as in all aspects of the arts, flower species were used to define particular emotions and perhaps even convey a message from the soul. 

And of course, when an embroiderer wanted to throw all caution to the wind, they would stitch a cornucopia of fruits, birds and animals from pattern sheets that the same wily pedlar would hawk to the house, no attention being paid to the relative size and shape of subject matter which makes for some fascinating viewing today!

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The finished piece would then be sent to a carpenter or joiner to be padded and mounted into caskets, mirror-frames, trays and chests. Many pieces exist in museums around the world, but the V&A in particular is renowned for its casket collection. The sad thing is, of course, that the colours have faded through time and so one must use one’s imagination when seeing the collections.

The artform faded from popularity in the eighteenth century when exploration began to introduce new and more fashionable modes of stitchery from across the globe. Fashions and interests changed and women moved on but fashions of stitching tend to move in circles and in the 1990’s stumpwork resurrected itself into a much sought-after form of embroidery and in all countries of the world there are many stunning examples of contemporary stitching based on those age-old techniques.

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Stumpwork is an extremely exacting form of embroidery which requires good light, good eyes and exemplary patience. The requirements of good light and good eyesight alone make one wonder how such magnificent work was ever achieved in the candlelit domains of the seventeenth century. In current times, most embroiderers will use a magnifying light along with magnifying lenses on their glasses. In the Stuart Era not so much…

I spent a number of years under the tutelage of one of the world’s best teachers, Jane Nicholas, and learned just how difficult stumpwork can be and how testing it is for one’s eyesight and patience.

I’m still chasing the skills needed to stitch a Fritillaria Meleagris…

References:

*Nicholas J. Stumpwork Embroidery – a collection of fruit, flowers and insects for contemporary raised embroidery. Sally Milner Publishing Australia 1995

*Stinton K & Needlework, Royal College of. Stumpwork Search Press Ltd UK 2011

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A former journalist from Australia who graduated with majors in history and politics, Prue Batten is now a cross-genre writer. Several of her books, including her historical fiction novels, have been privileged to win a number of awards.

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The Execution of King Charles I: From King to Martyr

By Donna Scott

It was a cold, icy London morning.  King Charles I awakened to a sharp knock on his bedchamber door at 10am for what would be the final hours of his life.  He shrugged another shirt over the one he already wore so that his subjects would not think he was shivering from cowardice when he walked across St. James’s Park to Banqueting House in Whitehall.  At 2 that afternoon, the king—dressed in black velvet, the white lace of his collar blowing in the frigid wind—climbed out the window of Banqueting House onto the scaffold that had been draped in black, sawdust carpeting the wooden planks.  The executioner’s block lay on the ground, a clear slight to the king, requiring him to lay prostrate for his own beheading.  He handed over his outer clothing and the blue ribboned Order of the Garter he wore around his neck, then tucked his dark tresses into a white nightcap to make the executioner’s job easier.

The waistcoat worn by King Charles I at his execution.
The stains have been verified as bodily fluids, perhaps his blood

The New Model Army was brought in to control the huge crowd gathered in Whitehall for the king’s execution.  King Charles reiterated his innocence to a crowd that could not hear him through the wind and commotion.  The heavily disguised executioner, who wore a fishnet over his wig and false beard, spoke kindly to the king.  Charles finished saying his prayers, and then stretched out his arms to signal he was ready.  In one clean swipe, the executioner sliced off his head, then held it up for the crowd to see.  A throng of onlookers edged its way to the scaffold to dip handkerchiefs in the royal blood that now stained the planks. 

It was Tuesday, January 30, 1649, and nothing like this had ever happened before in England.  So what went wrong?  What had the king done that was so horrible he had to pay for it with his life? 

Born in Scotland in 1600 as the youngest child of King James I, Charles was never meant to be the king of England.  Considered sickly as a child, he was shy, gentle, and quiet, perhaps because he suffered from a slight speech impediment and a limp.  When his older brother Henry died at 18 from typhoid, he became the new heir to the throne and was officially crowned in 1626 upon his father’s passing.  The idea a new young king would rule delighted Parliament, but that excitement was short-lived for several reasons.

Charles I

He followed in his father’s footsteps regarding his belief in the divine right of kings.  This belief centered around the idea that kings were chosen by God to rule, so only God could overrule them.  They had the sole right to make laws that only God could oppose.  Essentially, kings answered only to God and no other.  He ruled as an authoritarian, launching expeditions and attacks without Parliament’s support.  Naturally, his belief in the divine right of kings and his unwillingness to concede or even compromise didn’t sit well with Parliament, as the king’s rule became problematic and contentious on matters of state. 

Furthermore, Charles married Henrietta Maria of France, a devout Catholic, creating concerns that there might be a turn from the current Protestantism the country had comfortably settled into for almost 100 years.  Although Charles supported the Protestant church, some of his ideals bordered on Catholicism, frightening those who feared another religious upheaval. 

Queen Henrietta Maria

In the first 4 years as king, he dissolved Parliament 3 times, the last time for a period of 11 years.  However, when his treasury was nearly depleted from the many foreign wars England engaged in, he turned to Parliament to ask for more money, but because he had burned so many bridges, Parliament wasn’t quick to grant his request.  The members couldn’t agree and chose sides, dividing into two groups—the Royalists and Parliamentarians.  With no resolution, the king and his Royalists raised his banner in August 1642 against Parliament, thus beginning the bloodiest conflict on English soil—the English Civil War.  Although the Royalists (or Cavaliers) seemed to be winning, the tides turned in 1644 and the Parliamentarians (or Roundheads) claimed victories under the leadership of Oliver Cromwell. 

In 1646, Charles was taken prisoner, put under arrest at Hampton Court, and confined in the old Tudor royal apartments.  Dressed in the rough clothing of a commoner, he escaped but was recaptured shortly thereafter and sent to the Isle of Wight, where he was treated fairly.  A year later in 1648, he was taken to London to be placed on trial for attempting to "uphold in himself an unlimited and tyrannical power to rule according to his will, and to overthrow the rights and liberties of the people".  When Parliament convened to judge the king, his supporters were blocked from entering, and a new Rump Parliament was created, stacking the favor in opposition of the king.  Consequently, in January 1649, Charles was found guilty and named a "tyrant, traitor, murderer, and public enemy to the good people of this nation, [who] shall be put to death by the severing of his head from his body”.

The death warrant of King Charles I signed by
59 members of the Rump Parliament

The people of England were divided.  After all, who could place a king on trial?  Wasn’t he above the law?  How could a king be tried for treason?  Was regicide the answer?  None of it seemed to make sense.  Nonetheless, they showed up on that bitterly cold afternoon to witness the first ordered beheading of a monarch on English soil.

This began the Commonwealth, a ten-year political structure where England was governed as a republic and Oliver Cromwell served as the Lord Protector.  However, not long after his appointment, the people grew discontented with the sober Puritan life Cromwell embraced and began to reconsider their harsh views against Charles.  When his son Charles II reclaimed the throne in 1660, they were ready for a return to a country governed by a monarchy.  The new king held accountable all the members of Parliament who signed his father’s death warrant.  Some fled the country, some begged for forgiveness, and others were tried and sentenced to death.  The country’s sentiment had changed regarding the fate of their old king.  A bit too late, unfortunately.

To this day, there remains disagreement as to whether King Charles I died as a martyr or a villain.  What do you think?

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Donna Scott is an award-winning author of 17th and 18th century historical fiction.  Before embarking on a writing career, she spent her time in the world of academia.  She earned her BA in English from the University of Miami and her MS and EdD (ABD) from Florida International University.  She has two sons and lives in sunny South Florida with her husband.  Her first novel, Shame the Devil, received the first place Chaucer Award for historical fiction and a Best Book designation from Chanticleer International Book Reviews.  Her newest novel, The London Monster, will be released in January 2021.

Website: www.donnascott.net
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The Battle of Cheriton, 29th March, 1644

By Mark Turnbull

On 29th March 2020, the English Civil War Society was to have marched to the commemorative stone at the site of the 1644 Battle of Cheriton. In light of recent events this has unfortunately had to be cancelled. Being the day of the battle’s anniversary, a short memorial service would have marked this turning-point encounter between the forces of King Charles I and those of Parliament. Symbolising the national divide, the commanders of each side had been the best of peacetime friends; the parliamentarian Sir William Waller had not long written a famous letter to his royalist counterpart, Sir Ralph Hopton in which he referred to ‘this war without an enemy’. Cheriton was one of many front lines that criss-crossed the kingdom, splitting families, friends and neighbours, all of whom became entrenched in their allegiance to one side or the other. It also highlighted a stark need for change in the high command of both sides.

English Civil War Society Infantry

376 years ago, near fifteen thousand soldiers converged upon sleepy Cheriton. That morning it dawned on Hopton that the parliamentarians had crept closer during the night and were seeping towards Cheriton Wood. Anxious not to be outflanked, Hopton pulled back his lines and occupied a ridge overlooking a valley which was divided by four narrow lanes. When the old pals chose a battle cry, their minds must have been in tune, for both commanders landed on the same one; ‘God with us!’, though the parliamentarians quickly changed theirs to, ‘Jesus with us!’. As a result, the Battle of Cheriton opened with confusion, but prior to this, there had been confusion of a very different nature in Parliament’s ranks.

The parliamentarian Captain Robert Harley recorded the reaction of a London regiment who had ran, “to see what manner of things cows were. Some of them would say they had all of them horns and would do great mischief with them. Then comes the wisest of them crying, ‘speak softly!’” Although the cows initially distracted his troops, Waller’s focus had never wavered from Cheriton Wood, recognising it as a key defensive position. He poured one thousand musketeers, comprised mainly of the White Regiment of the London Trained Bands, into the task of securing it, only for Hopton to send an equal number to dislodge them. Divided into four battalions, the counter-attacking royalists prevailed after a vicious firefight.

Although Hopton oversaw royalist operations with his experienced military eye, he was subject to the direction of a backseat driver. Patrick Ruthven, Earl of Forth and Brentford, was the King’s Captain-General. A hard-drinking Scotsman approaching seventy years of age, with selective hearing loss in councils, applied the brakes to the royalist onslaught and instructed Hopton to adopt a defensive stance. For reasons unknown, Colonel Henry Bard disregarded orders and spearheaded a lone attack with his regiment right to the hedges of Cheriton Lane. Exposed, and well ahead of the royalist lines, he had become a focal point for the parliamentarians who piled in for the kill.

English Civil War Society Swordsman and Horse

In Hopton’s own words, “the engagement was, by forwardness of some particular officers, without order.”

The parliamentarians agreed. One of their officers, Sir Walter Slingsby reported that Bard had led, “his regiment further than he had orders for.” A large understatement!

Sir Arthur Haselrig’s parliamentarian cavalry swept down on Bard’s men. By that point Lord Forth had realised Bard’s destruction would leave a gaping hole in the royalist right wing which could be infiltrated. Therefore, he sent in the cavalry.

English Civil War Society Cavalry

The parliamentarian Sir Walter Slingsby picked up the thread of what occurred next. “The [royalist] horse was repulsed with loss. They immediately tried the second charge … and were again repulsed, and so again a third time, the [parliamentarian] foot keeping their ground in a close body, not firing til within two pikes’ length, and then three ranks at a time after turning up the butt end of their muskets, charging their pikes and standing close…”

The royalist cavalry found the terrain rough going for a gruelling four hours. The hedges and lanes prevented them attacking en-masse, and the parliamentarians were able to pick off each piecemeal detachment before they could establish themselves. Royalist officers went down like nine-pins; Major-General Sir John Smith (a hero of the Battle of Edgehill) and Lieutenant-General Lord John Stuart (a distant cousin of King Charles) were both killed in action. Although the royalist infantry seemed to be holding their own, it was clear that the cavalry was foundering. Lord Forth decided to withdraw the artillery to safety, followed shortly after by the infantry, who were pulled back to Titchborne Down. Hopton held the lanes with three hundred horsemen to cover the retreat to Alresford, and the stronghold of Basing House.

The desperate royalists set fire to Alresford in a bid to hamper their pursuers, though the wind turned and the parliamentarians used the smoke cover to their advantage, reporting that, “very many Irish men were slain here.” Cheriton was a victory for Parliament, yet it offered opportunities to both sides and also demonstrated the stark need for change in their high commands.

After the battle Parliament jubilantly called for a co-ordinated attack upon the royalist HQ of Oxford. By praising Waller they sparked the jealousy of their Lord General, the Earl of Essex, who subsequently refused to co-operate. Lord Manchester stated that his army was pre-occupied with the war in eastern England and Waller was soon weakened when his Londoners returned to the confines of their city. This lack of cohesion and rivalry gave the King a chance to take stock.

But all was not rosy for the royalists. A detachment had been blocking parliamentarian supplies from getting to Gloucester and following Cheriton they were recalled. Lord Forth’s grip on the military tiller was also loosening, and by the end of the year he was replaced by the fiery Prince Rupert. Sir Edward Walker, King Charles’s Secretary at War, observed that the aftermath of Cheriton, “necessitated His Majesty to alter the scheme of his affairs and in the place of an offensive, to make a defensive war.” Cheriton had played a part in the tactics of the civil war’s end game, as well as shaping the new order which would oversee it.

English Civil War Society Pikemen

Recently Richard Vobes created a documentary video for his website, The Bald Explorer, in which he walks the terrain of Cheriton and interviews historian Julian Humphrys. The link to the video is: https://youtu.be/SeNr_Bg6_kQ

[All photos copyright of the author, taken at an English Civil War Society event in 2019]
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Mark Turnbull is the author of civil war novel, Allegiance of Blood. Since the age of ten he’s been fascinated with the war and has written other articles which can be found on his website www.allegianceofblood.com

British Documents’ Influence on Cornerstone Texts for Other Countries

By Michael Paul Hurd

Unlike most other countries with formal, written constitutions, the United Kingdom’s “constitution” is not one single document; rather, it is the system of rules that shapes the political governance of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The system is the evolution of documents such as Magna Carta (1215), the Petition of Right (1628), the Habeas Corpus Act (1640; 1679), and the Bill of Rights (1689). Each of those documents were a counter to perceived illegal or unreasonable activities by the Crown. In separation, any of the aforementioned documents could have resulted in the dissolution of both the British Empire and the Monarchy; instead, the offending monarch generally modified their behavior to prevent a total collapse of British society. The result, with the interdependencies of the documents, is that the British system of government and its constitutional monarchy have been preserved.

Magna Carta - Public Domain Image

Magna Carta, written in Latin and signed by King John in 1215, was an effort to make peace between the Crown and rebel factions. It was unsuccessful and actually contributed to the outbreak of the First Barons’ War. Regardless, the precepts of the document countered the Crown presumption that the King was above the law. For the “people,” generally defined at the time to mean only those who owned land, Magna Carta attempted to provide religious rights, protection from illegal imprisonment, and limits on taxation.

King John's Tomb, Worcester Cathedral, Public Domain Image

In 1628, Parliament presented Charles I with the Petition of Right. In it, the Members complained that the Crown had violated the principles of Magna Carta through taxation without the consent of Parliament, imprisoning people without cause, and illegal quartering of troops among the populace, and the establishment of martial law during peacetime. Charles rejected the original proposal from the House of Commons, threatened to dissolve Parliament altogether, and deferred to the House of Lords, where he expected to have some protection. He was mistaken; the House of Lords passed the Commons proposal and demanded that the King ratify the petition. However, the Petition marked a new phase in the ongoing constitutional crisis that ultimately led to the English Civil War and Charles I losing his head.

Charles I - Public Domain Image

Moving ahead to 1640 under Charles I and again in 1679 under Charles II, the Habeas Corpus Acts reaffirmed Magna Carta’s assertion that no one could be imprisoned unlawfully or without due process of the law. This meant that the Crown could not simply command that someone be imprisoned arbitrarily. The 1679 version of the law is still in effect in the United Kingdom, but has been suspended in times of national emergency or in cases involving terrorism. The original Act was passed by the Long Parliament following the impeachment, detention and execution of Thomas Wentworth, First Earl of Strafford in 1641. It was amended under Charles II in 1679 and included language that, in criminal matters other than treason and felonies, prisoners had the right to challenge their detention. For his part, Wentworth was accused of high misdemeanors for his alleged tyranny as administrator of Ireland. Because he was supposedly acting at the will of the Crown, Charles I was very reluctant to sign the death warrant issued by Parliament.

The British Bill of Rights 1689 further limited the powers of the monarch. It was presented to William III and Mary II as they were invited to be joint sovereigns of England. In their coronation, the co-regents swore an oath to uphold the laws made by Parliament. The British Bill of Rights included twelve key points that guaranteed “certain ancient rights and liberties.” It also addressed the alleged wrongdoings of James II of England (James VII of Scotland and James II of Ireland) and declared his flight to France an abdication. Coupled with the Act of Settlement 1701, the two documents contributed to the establishment of the concept of a constitutional monarchy. It is also interesting to note that noted jurist, Sir William Blackstone, described the cornerstone documents as fundamental rights of Englishmen.

Regardless of their intent at the time they each were written, the cornerstone documents are the foundation of not only Her Majesty’s Government but also of other governments around the world, both inside and outside the Commonwealth. Even Alexander Hamilton, one of the United States’ “Founding Fathers,” believed that the British system was the best form of government because its precepts fostered national unity, permitted the people to participate in government through their representatives, and centralized power under a monarch. Hamilton was derided as a monarchist or royalist for these beliefs, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Hamilton was simply advocating for a strong, centralized, efficient government – with the British system being the best model of the day.

One shining example of using “the British model” is the United States Bill of Rights, a series of ten amendments to the original Constitution, ratified in 1789, that guaranteed certain individual liberties. However, the package was not uniquely American in its tone, tenor, and composition. In fact, some of it was modeled after the variety of British documents that make up the essence of the unwritten British Constitution. Not surprisingly, a definite similarity in language appears in the United States’ Bill of Rights when it is laid side-by-side with similar British documents. Had the cornerstone British documents been equitably imposed on the Thirteen Colonies by George III, there might never have been a War for American Independence.

Alexander Hamilton - Public Domain Image

It is enough to say that, despite the pervasive American perception that the American Constitution is unique, nothing could be further from the truth.  We Americans might like to think that our forefathers were profound thinkers and eloquent authors who devised the concepts for our government on their own, but they really were reliant on relatively ancient British documents, some of which were over 500 years old.

Among Commonwealth Countries, the roots of Canada’s constitution also date back to the 13th Century and includes aspects of Magna Carta and the first Parliament of 1275. However, Canada’s constitution contains specific provisions for the entrenchment of statutes from its cornerstone documents, where the American constitution does not specifically mention any of them. Canada’s constitution, like that of the United States, includes Magna Carta (1215), the English Bill of Rights (1689) – plus the Act of Settlement (1701), the Proclamation of 1763, and the Colonial Laws Validity Act (1865). One key difference, however, between Canada’s constitution and the United States Constitution is that Canada’s document, ratified in 1982, is written in modern, unambiguous language. It evolved over time as Canada separated itself from the protection of the Crown and became an independent country.

Australia, on the other hand, does not include a detailed description of individual rights in its constitution, preferring instead to suggest that the rights are included by implication and did not need to be specified, as it was felt in the Constitutional Convention of 1898 that, as British subjects, rights were already guaranteed by Parliament. Australia has repeatedly been chided for this lack of inclusion. However, the Australian constitution does expressly guarantee the right to trial by jury, the right to just compensation, and freedom of religion.

United States Bill of Rights - Public Domain Image

A relatively new arrival in the constitutional discussion is South Africa. Its newest constitution was implemented in 1997 with the end of apartheid under President Nelson Mandela. However, the constitution of South Africa not only codifies numerous individual rights, but defines the rights in a way that is unambiguous and relevant to the 20th Century. In its twenty-seven points, it even guarantees the rights of workers to unionize. Reading through Chapter 2 of the Constitution of South Africa, its parallels with some aspects of the British Bill of Rights, the Habeas Corpus Acts and even Magna Carta quickly become obvious.

Most unique of the major Commonwealth affiliates is New Zealand. It is perhaps the closest to the British model, with its “unwritten constitution” being an amalgamation of both written and unwritten sources. It recognizes the sovereignty of the current British monarch, with power delegated to ministers of the Crown.

The following table summarizes the implementation of British cornerstone documents in the governments of the United States, Canada, Australia, and South Africa. Because of the way New Zealand implemented its constitutional law, there is no written document that embodies separate listings of rights as applied to individuals. It should be assumed that the British cornerstone documents and New Zealand’s implementation are one in the same.

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Michael Paul Hurd retired from full-time employment in 2018 and began writing his first historical fiction novel in August of that year. His “Lineage Series” of novels projects the touchpoints of his family onto events in history on both sides of the Atlantic. Married to his wife, Sandy (daughter of a British emigrant to the United States), for nearly 40 years, he spent over a decade working in the United Kingdom, from 1983-1994. There he took an interest in British history, studying under Dr. Sid Brown of Leeds University. Fourteen novels are planned for Hurd’s “Lineage Series,” several of which will involve topics relevant to British history as they evolve out of the vignettes of the first book in the series. The Hurds have two sons (one deceased) and are doting grandparents to their three grandchildren.

Connect:
https://lineage-publishing.com/
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https://amazon.com/author/hurdm

Did he or didn't he? Of a hangman and the royal blood on his hands

by Anna Belfrage

Being an executioner has never been a career choice to endear you to your neighbours. While our ancestors may have liked to witness a good hanging or two, they were wary of bonding with the man responsible for this gruesome entertainment. After all, one never knew if, someday, it would be you on the receiving end of the brutal justice dispensed by the executioner. It didn’t take much to be condemned to death—steal a horse and you’d swing. I imagine it would make an already uncomfortable situation quite unbearable if the man arranging the noose around your neck also was the man with whom you'd shared a number of pints...

However, being an executioner came with some perks, like a steady income. Plus, someone had to do the dirty deed, right? Very often, the job passed from father to son. This was the case with Richard Brandon, the common hangman in London in the 1640s. His father, Gregory Brandon, had been the hangman before him, and had somehow managed to acquire a coat of arms to go with his name and chosen profession. Gregory does not come across as a nice cuddly person. At one point he was even accused of murder but somehow wiggled out of by claiming benefit of clergy. This, of course, makes one wonder how he could do that – were executioners also priests?

Rumour had it that Gregory was the grandson of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. The duke had sired an illegitimate son who purportedly was Gregory’s father, but the timing was wrong, as Brandon’s illegitimate son died well before Gregory was born. Still, Gregory Brandon had no reason to refute the rumour. Being descended from someone as well-known as Charles Brandon was not exactly bad for business and added a je-ne-sais-quoi to Gregory’s (probably rather dull) ancestral tree.

James I & VI

Gregory was kept busy during James I’s reign. And once he retired, he passed the baton to his son. Did Richard dream of another life? No idea. Maybe wielding a head-axe appealed to him. Supposedly he spent his childhood practising his axe-work on stray cats and dogs, and as his father grew older, Richard helped him with his duties, thereby perfecting his noose-tying skills. But it was the axe that was Richard’s favourite implement, and so good was his eye, so steady his arm, that most of the people he executed had their head severed by the first blow. Something to be grateful for, I suppose.

By 1639, Richard had replaced his father as common hangman. The first few years of his tenure were marred by an accusation of bigamy, and for a while Richard lingered in Newgate before being released and allowed to return home to Whitechapel and his wife Mary. (Whether she was his “real” wife or the one for which he was accused of bigamy is unclear)

In 1641 our Richard stepped into the limelight when he executed Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford. Thomas was a loyal servant of the king whom Charles I abandoned when parliament turned against him. He could have refused to sign the death sentence—but he didn’t. To be fair to Charles, he had a very volatile situation on his hands, and it didn’t help that the bishops were divided on the issue, some urging the king to refuse to sign, others insisting he should. Still, Wentworth’s death for being loyal to his king would weigh heavily on Charles’ conscience. As it should.

As we all know, the coming years were turbulent. People died in the battlefield, of wounds and injuries. Some died because of their crimes, and if they were sentenced in London, it is likely Richard did the killing—oops, execution.

In January of 1645, Brandon added another famous scalp to his belt when he executed the Archbishop of Canterbury, William Laud. I have little time for Laud, whom I consider to have fanned the flames of religious intolerance and thereby contributed to the outbreak of the English Civil War, but beheading an infirm old man seems a bit harsh. In Laud’s case, Charles I issued a royal pardon, but by that time Charles’ word carried little weight in England.

Charles I

In January of 1649, Charles I himself was tried for treason by Parliament. Charles refused to plead, informing the so-called court that they had no right to try their king. The men in charge of the proceedings proceeded anyway, and on January 29, fifty-nine men, now commonly known as the Regicides, signed Charles’ death sentence. It was time to call in the services of Richard Brandon, and this time he’d be spilling royal blood.

Apparently, Brandon was not that keen on beheading the king. In fact, he refused. This did not help. A company of troopers was dispatched to fetch him, and on January 30 a disguised Richard Brandon was standing on the scaffold, wearing a false beard and periwig. He had to wait a long time for the king to appear, as Parliament was rushing through an Ordinance making it treason to claim the throne after Charles I was dead. Finally, the legalese was done and Charles was ordered to present himself on the scaffold which had been erected beside the Banqueting House. The king, famously wearing two shirts so as not to shiver, was calm and collected. He spoke his piece, kneeled, and at his signal the axe came down. A perfect blow, it severed the king’s head neatly.

An hour or so later, Richard was back home in Whitechapel, 30 pounds richer. He had also received one of the king’s handkerchiefs in recognition of his services. And an orange, studded with cloves, which he sold for ten shillings. At the time, Richard kept a low profile. Bragging about being the one who lopped off the king’s head was not the smart thing to do, not when so many were appalled by the killing of the king. Besides, Richard was not proud of what he’d done. Rather the reverse.

In March of 1649, Richard did some more axe work. This time, he dispatched the Earl of Holland, the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Capel with the same axe that had ended the king’s life. But he was not his usual self and complained of headaches, saying he’d been afflicted by relentless pain ever since that day in January. Richard Brandon, common hangman and axeman extraordinaire, was plagued by remorse for his part in the king’s death. Or maybe he was worried about the consequences for his immortal soul: spilling the blood of an anointed monarch could probably be something he'd pay a heavy price for in the hereafter.

Richard died in June of 1649. Prior to expiring, he had confessed that he’d been the executioner wielding the axe when Charles died. The identity of the man who’d severed the royal head was not exactly a secret. After his death, various pamphlets circulated naming Brandon as the man on the scaffold. Some time after his death, a note was added to the burial register, identifying “R Brandon out of Rosemary Lane” as the man who lopped off the king’s head. However, royalist propaganda spread a different story, stating the common hangman was a man of integrity who had refused to do the foul deed, thereby obliging two troopers to handle the axe themselves.  Nothing points to this being the truth.  Instead, Richard Brandon, accused bigamist and proud inheritor of his father’s job as London’s hangman, is the likely candidate for the man who brought down the blade that so expertly ended Charles Stuart’s life. At least it only took one blow...

All pictures in public domain and/or licensed under Wikimedia Creative Commons

This is an Editor's Choice from the #EHFA archives, originally published February 23, 2018. Anna notes that her character Matthew Graham, protagonist of The Graham Saga, was present at the king's execution as a battle-weary 19 yr old Parliamentarian soldier.

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Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England. She has recently released A Flame through Eternity, the third in a new series, The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense with paranormal and time-slip ingredients.

At present, Anna is working on a new medieval series in which Edward I features prominently as well as a book set in 1715 where magic lockets and Jacobite rebels add quite the twist.

Find Anna:

Website www.annabelfrage.com
Amazon Author.to/ABG
FB www.facebook.com/annabelfrageauthor/
Twitter twitter.com/abelfrageauthor

BUYLINK A Rip in the Veil: myBook.to/ARIV1

The Useless Parliament of 1625

By Harry Hayfield

This evening, the House of Commons will hold the "meaningful vote" on the Prime Minister's agreement with the European Union over the withdrawal of the United Kingdom from the European Union which, if the experts are to be believed, is going to crash and burn leading people to sigh "Great, another useless Parliament". And whilst there have been several Parliaments that could be termed "useless" there is only one that can claim to be called "The Useless Parliament" and that Parliament was the one called in March 1625.

To start off with, everything ran like clockwork. When Charles I became King on March 27th, 1625, the Parliament that had been gathered in the name of his father (James I) was dissolved and on April 2nd, the 1625 general election was called for Parliament to gather on May 7th. So far, so good you might think, however, things soon started to go wrong, not least when the King married. Why would this cause problems? Well, there were two reasons. First his bride, Henrietta Maria was a French Catholic and two, she was still in France. Therefore, her marriage was a little on the strange side for as she arrived at the altar at Notre Dame cathedral in Paris to wed the King, she found the Duke of Chartreuse standing in for the King. Due to religious and distance problems the King asked the Duke to marry on his behalf in Paris using a Catholic ceremony and then bring her to Canterbury for a Protestant ceremony so that everything was above board. This resulted in a delay to Parliament and so the opening was postponed until June 13th, and then postponed again until June 18th. Not the best start to a Parliament I think you will agree.

Charles & Henrietta Maria by Van Dyke (Public Domain Image)

However, once Parliament did get started, the King's Speech took place and as just today, there were certain traditions to follow. The formal investigation of the cellars underneath Parliament (to prevent a repeat of what had happened a mere twenty years previously), the kidnapping of a member of that Parliament to ensure the monarch's safe arrival from Westminster, the gathering of the peers in the Lords, the Commoners being summoned to the Lords and all standing behind the bar to hear the speech, but unlike today, it wasn't the Prime Minister who wrote the speech (mainly due to the fact that the title was not created until George I) but it was the actual King's speech. Every word was written by the King and so as this was his first formal speech at Parliament there was a lot of expectation to hear what he had to say.

"My lords spiritual and temporal, and you gentlemen of the house of Commons, in this parliament assembled; I thank God, that the business to be treated on at this time is of such a nature, that it needs no eloquence to set it forth; for I am neither able to do it, nor doth it stand with my nature to spend much time in words"

This is where the modern-day State Opening and the Opening of the 1625 Parliament differ, as in the modern era when the Queen has finished her speech the Lord Chancellor retrieves the speech, the Queen stands (as does the Lords) and she leaves the chamber with the MP's following shortly afterwards. But back in 1625 the Lord Keeper got to say a few words and the words that he spoke gave an indication of how difficult things were:

“That the king's main reason of calling the parliament, besides the beholding of his subjects faces, was to remind them of the great engagements for the recovery of the Palatinate, imposed on his majesty by the late king his father, and by themselves, who break off the two Treaties with Spain. Also to let them understand, That the succeeding treaties and alliances, the armies sent into the Low Countries, the repairing of the forts, and the fortifying of Ireland, do align in one centre, the Palatinate ; and that the Subsidies granted in the last parl. are herein already spent, whereof the Account is ready, together with as much more of the king's own revenue"

And there, in a nutshell, was the smoking gun that was to make this Parliament useless. The King needed money and needed it fast. Things started out on the up as four days later on June 22nd, a motion was passed expressing, "Good Harmony between the King and Parliament". However, this good harmony didn't last long for on July 5th, Parliament voted on a motion to supply the King's tonnage and whilst the motion was passed, it was only agreed for a year, a severe restriction on the usual method. But things appeared to resume their usual course save for the fact that shortly thereafter plague was discovered in London, so, in a move that has caused a great deal of debate these days, Parliament was moved lock, stock, and barrel to Oxford and on August 4th, the King addressed the Parliament gathered at Christchurch and declared:

"My lords, and you of the Commons; We all remember, that, from your desires and advice, my father, now with God, brake off those two Treaties with Spain that were then in hand: well you then foresaw, that, as well for regaining my dispossessed brother's inheritance, as home defence, a war was likely to succeed; and that as your counsels had let my father into it, so your assistance, in a parliamentary way, to pursue it, should not be wanting. That aid you gave him by advice, was for succor of his allies, the guarding of Ireland and the home parts of Munition, preparing and setting forth of his Navy"

And just as in London, once the King had finished the Lord Keeper added:

"That our sovereign lord king James, of famous memory, at the suit of both houses of parliament, and by the powerful operation of his maj. that now is, gave consent to break off the two Treaties with Spain, touching the Match and the Palatinate: That it was then foreseen a war would ensue, there being no other means to recover the Palatinate, nor to vindicate the many wrongs and scorns done unto his majesty and his royal children: besides, if the king of Spain was suffered to proceed in his conquests, under pretense of the Catholic Cause, he would become the Catholic Monarch, which he so much affects, and aspires unto"

It was becoming plain for everyone to see that the King had one idea about how to govern the land while Parliament wasn't that keen on the idea, and when a motion was moved on August 5th for the Supply, things really kicked off.

A 17th-Century Parliament
(Public Domain Image)

The Chancellor opened the debate stating that the supply should be "two Subsidies, and two Fifteenths, for that less would not serve for the present occasions" to which Sir Weston immediately sprung up to ask where the supply would be going, who the enemy was and why the papists were not being asked to supply the King instead of Parliament

It was at this point that Sir Robert Cotton rose to speak and just as when a former Cabinet Secretary or former Prime Minister, Leader of the Opposition or former party leader speaks today, his speech was listened to without interruption and boy, did he speak!

"Mr. Speaker; Although the constant wisdom of this house of commons did well and worthily appear, in censuring that ill-advised member the last day, for trenching so far into their ancient liberties; and might encourage each worthy servant of the public here, to offer up freely his counsel and opinion: yet, since these walls cannot conceal from the ears of captious, guilty and revengeful men. without, the counsel and debates within; I will endeavour, as my clear mind is free from any personal distaste of any one, so to express the honest thoughts of my heart, and discharge the best care of my trust, as no person shall justly tax my innocent and public mind; except his conscience shall make him guilty of such crimes as worthily have, in parliament, impeached others in elder times"

The following day messages were sent from the Lords to the Commons (akin to Parliamentary ping pong today) with the Lords stating:

“That they had received one from the king, which was to be delivered to the lords and commons together, by the lord keeper and the duke of Buckingham, and that his maj. had commanded the lord keeper to require the lord treasurer, the lord Conway, and Sir John Cook, to assist his grace therein. Upon which account, the lords required a present meeting with their whole house, in the great hall of Christ Church, if it suited their convenience.”

To which the Commons replied:

"That the Commons would meet, at the time and place appointed, with their Speaker and the whole house. And, as intimation was given, that there might be occasion for a worthy member of their house, in delivering the message from his maj. ; though it was against the very fundamental privileges of the house of commons, yet they gave way to it, with this proviso; That he speak, as the king's servant and commissioner, and not as a member of their house.”

Which, when translated into laymen's reads "Get a move on, Commons, the King wants his Supply!" to which the Commons replied, "In our own time, Your Majesty", this was the straw that broke the camel's back for the following day, August 11th, 1625, the motion was voted on in the Commons and was rejected. The King couldn't believe this and so on August 12th, "...perceiving the commons resolved against a Supply, without redress of Grievances; and, in their debates, to reflect upon some great persons near himself, on the 12th of Aug. sent to the house of peers a commission, directed to several lords, for the Dissolution of the Parliament"

The Commons was outraged. The King dissolving Parliament just because they hadn't given him the Supply? This led to a formal protest from the Commons:

“We the knights, citizens, and burgesses of the commons house of parliament, being the representative body of the whole commons of this realm, abundantly comforted in his maj.'s late gracious Answer touching Religion, and his Message for the care of our health, do solemnly protest and vow before God and the world, with one heart and voice, that we are all resolved, and do hereby declare, that we will ever continue most loyal and obedient subjects to our most gracious sovereign lord king Charles; and that we will be ready in convenient time, and in a parliamentary way, freely and dutifully to do our utmost endeavours, to discover and reform the abuses and grievances of the realm and state ; and in like sort to afford all necessary supply to his most excellent maj. upon his present, and all other his just occasions and designs; most humbly beseeching our said dear and dread sovereign, in his princely wisdom and goodness, to rest assured of the true and hearty affections of his poor commons, and to esteem the same to be (as we conceive it is indeed) the greatest worldly reputation and security that a just king can have; and to account all such as slanderers of the peoples affections, and enemies to the common-wealth, that shall dare to say the contrary"

But the King was not moved and formally announced that the Parliament gathered in his name in March 1625 was now dissolved and a new Parliament would be gathered on February 6th the following year, therefore that Parliament was termed "The Useless Parliament" and no parliament, however useless it may be seen to be, can be as useless as that Parliament.

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Harry Hayfield, a resident in the county of Ceredigion in Wales, has been interested in Parliament since at least 1983, but only started giving it more attention since 1992. Since then, despite standing for his local council five times in the last 21 years, his interest in Parliament has been extended by his interest in the Caroline era. It is these two interests that combined in his book "The Adventures of Henry Cardigan" based on the tales of the Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas, which tell of a member of the Useless Parliament being sent to France at the behest of His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham and the adventures that occur once there. Harry hopes that this will turn into a series of books and is already writing the second volume dealing with the assassination of the Duke in 1628 along with the siege of La Rochelle.

Buy Link for The Adventures of Henry Cardigan
Connect with Harry on Twitter

Frozen Moments in Time - The Art of Anthony van Dyck

by Anna Belfrage

Las Meninas, D Velázquez

Say Philip IV of Spain and chances are people will visualise a series of portraits by Diego Velázquez, principally that rather impressive work of art Las Meninas. What the great Velázquez did for the Spanish Hapsburgs in the 17th century, today’s protagonist did for the court of Charles I of England, painting a series of portraits that qualify as masterpieces. His skills made him the most sought after portraitist in England and as a result Anthony van Dyck became very, very rich and just as famous.

Anthony (Well, if we’re going to be correct his birth-name was Antoon) saw the light of the day on the 22 of March in 1599. His father was a well-respected and wealthy cloth merchant in Antwerp, and Anthony was his seventh child and second son. Where Papa travelled to sell his silks and gossamer-thin linens, Mrs van Dyck remained at home to raise their children and devote herself to her embroidery. Gifted with an artist’s eye, Mrs van Dyck embroidered landscapes and figures and little Anthony was quite enthralled by the end results. Soon enough, when Mama was sewing he was drawing on whatever he could find and so impressed was his mother that she managed to convince her husband to allow little Anthony to pursue the career of an artist by apprenticing him to the Flemish artist Hendrik van Balen from the age of ten.

Etching by van Dyck

It was apparent to everyone that Anthony had talent in spades. At the age of fourteen he painted his first commissioned portrait, proudly inscribing his age as well as his name on the finished work of art. At age sixteen, he and his friend Jan Brueghel Jr. opened their own studio. By now, Anthony was making a name for himself, not only as a painter but also as a draughtsman and an excellent etcher. (Some would argue that the art of etching peaked with Anthony’s work, never again to reach similar heights of artistry)

Anthony, self-portrait 1613-14

At nineteen, he was admitted into the guild of St Luke’s in Antwerp, thereby effectively recognised as a master of painting. With this under his belt, Anthony van Dyck was hired by Peter Paul Rubens as his chief assistant, which essentially meant he had made it to the top. Rubens was the most famous Northern European artist of the time, his studio churning out a stream of high quality paintings, many of them featuring religious themes. Rubens was a leading figure within the cultural aspect of the Counter Reformation, the Catholic movement spearheaded by Spain that had as its aim to limit the “spiritual damage” caused by the Reformation.

Tiger Hunt, Peter Paul Rubens. A lot of life (and death)

Anthony van Dyck shared Rubens' Catholic heritage and thrived under Rubens' tutelage, producing not only portraits but also a number of religious paintings and a few historical works. Rubens was very fond of historical paintings, huge canvases brimming with life and figures. He was also very impressed by his young adept, telling whoever wanted to hear that van Dyck was the best young painter he had ever met. He also encouraged van Dyck to foster his obvious talent for portraiture—a talent that required not only impressive skills as a painter but also a diplomatic flair to ensure the sitter was pleased with the end result. In effect, if a portrait painter wanted commissions, he had to be willing to do the 17th century equivalent of photo shopping to flatter whoever was being depicted.

Thomas Howard by Rubens

Rubens and van Dyck parted ways in the early 1620s. Rubens urged van Dyck to go to Italy and study the Italian masters. Our Anthony was all for going to Italy, but before doing so he detoured to England where for some months he was in King James’ employ. While in England, he met the Catholic peer Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel, who was something of a fanatic art collector. Born in penury due to his father’s refusal to abandon his Catholic faith, Thomas was destined to end up heavily in debt due to his collection which contained everything from antique marbles to paintings by da Vinci, Rubens and a certain Titian. Our Anthony spent hours gawking at Arundel’s Titian portraits, realising just how much he had left to learn—and how right Rubens was when he repeatedly told van Dyck to go to Italy.

Anthony returned to Flanders to prepare for his trip to Italy. While at home, he fell in love and for a while there all thoughts of furthering his career by studying in Italy went AWOL as our handsome youth pursued tender caresses and kisses. However, youthful passions tend to be ephemeral, so after some months of cow’s eyes and ardent courting our young man did depart for Italy where he was to remain for close to six years.

Elena Grimaldi by van Dyck

A much wiser (if still rather young) Anthony van Dyck returned to Antwerp in 1627. By now, he had built quite the reputation and as he was not only a skilled artist but also charming and well-spoken he could soon add the Hapsburg regent of Spanish Flanders, Archduchess Isabella, to his clients. However, remaining in Flanders came with one major hurdle for someone as ambitious as van Dyck: there was one undisputed painting master in Flanders, and his name was Rubens, not van Dyck.

Meanwhile, in England King James had departed this world and been succeeded by his son, Charles I. While this king had about as much political skill as a bull in a china shop, he did have a genuine interest for art. Early on, he began amassing an impressive collection of paintings and during van Dyck’s years in Italy he had now and then facilitated a transaction on behalf of the English king.

Feeling somewhat frustrated by always walking in Rubens’ shadow, in 1632 Anthony van Dyck decided to try his luck in England. He was welcomed with open arms by King Charles and his wife, Queen Henrietta Maria. In fact, he was welcomed with open arms by more or less everyone in the English aristocracy. Once the king had decided he would only sit for one artist—van Dyck—his courtiers fell over their feet in their haste to have themselves and their families immortalised by the Dutchman.

King Charles, three aspects by A van Dyck

King Charles gave van Dyck a house and a studio at Blackfriars and was a frequent guest, together with his wife. The following years saw van Dyck churn out one portrait after the other, many of them of his royal patron and his family.

The Stuarts that gaze back at us from van Dyck’s canvases are a handsome lot, with soulful eyes and regular features. Such defects as buckteeth or excessive frailty are glossed over—van Dyck had no intention of risking his lucrative income by being too honest which of course has me wondering just how reliable van Dyck’s portraits are.

Charles I, by A van Dyck (and that horse HAS to be Spanish!) 

In his forty or so portraits of Charles I, the king is depicted riding, sitting, standing—always with a regal air that speaks of power and determination. Never is he presented as being as short and slight as he was. However, despite the potential airbrushing, the formal poses and the rich attires, the portraits pulsate with frozen life, as if at any moment the king will call for his horse, or the queen bend down to whisper something in the dwarf’s ear, or the young princes and princesses break apart from their tight group, the boys running one way, the girls another.

King Charles' children. IMO one of van Dyck's best portraits

Margaret Lemon (van Dyck)

All this painting made Anthony van Dyck rich. Very, very rich, which was fortunate as this was a man with little thought of tomorrow and a tendency to spend as lavishly as those he painted. He redecorated his house, he kept his various mistresses in style, dressed in the most expensive fabrics and in general lived life to the full. So profligate was his spending that his various friends at court became concerned and decided it was time their favourite painter settled down with a wife and got rid of his expensive ladies—especially his favourite mistress and sometime muse, Margaret Lemon, who according to malicious gossip had the temperament of an aggravated bear.

Mary, Lady van Dyck (van Dyck)

The king hoped that by ensuring van Dyck married an Englishwoman the artist would remain forever in England which is why he suggested van Dyck should marry a Mary Ruthvens, former lady-in-waiting to Henrietta Maria. Didn’t really work out as planned. Van Dyck spent months away from England both before and after his wedding, sometimes in Flanders, sometimes in France, where he tried (with little success) to win commissions from the French court.

To the left, Titian's portrait of Charles V
To the right, van Dyck's portrait of James Stuart.
Titian's influence is evident...

Anthony van Dyck returned to England for the last time in 1640. By then, the political unrest that was to explode into the English civil war was already evident, and the king had other things on his mind than being preserved in oils. Where before Anthony had had more commissions than he could cope with, now it was rather the reverse. It got to him, and the last months of his life were plagued not only by ill health but also by depression.

In December of 1641, Anthony van Dyck died at the age of forty-two. Other than his widow and two little girls he left behind an impressive collection of portraits, paintings that would set the standard for English portraiture for the coming century or so. Compared to Velázquez, van Dyck’s work can come across as bland, the little imperfections that give character toned down. But his undeniable skill with brush and pigments have given us vibrant snapshots of a world since lost, a time when gallants proudly wore lace and satin, long flowing hair and extravagant clothes. Young lions who would, to a large extent, lose both lace, ribbons, silk and life in the devastating English Civil War.

All pictures in public domain and/or licensed under Wikimedia Creative Commons

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Had Anna Belfrage been allowed to choose, she’d have become a professional time-traveller. As such a profession does not exist, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests, namely history and writing.

Presently, Anna is hard at work with The King’s Greatest Enemy, a series set in the 1320s featuring Adam de Guirande, his wife Kit, and their adventures and misfortunes in connection with Roger Mortimer’s rise to power. And yes, Edmund of Woodstock appears quite frequently. The first book, In The Shadow of the Storm was published in 2015, the second, Days of Sun and Glory, was published in July 2016, and the third, Under the Approaching Dark, was published in April 2017.

When Anna is not stuck in the 14th century, she's probably visiting in the 17th century, specifically with Alex(andra) and Matthew Graham, the protagonists of the acclaimed The Graham Saga. This is the story of two people who should never have met – not when she was born three centuries after him. The ninth book, There is Always a Tomorrow, was published in November 2017.