William Before He Was the Conqueror

By Rosanne E. Lortz

He was born William the Bastard, illegitimate son of Duke Robert of Normandy, but history knows him as William the Conqueror, first Norman king of England and compiler of the Domesday Book. Many historians focus on the year 1066 and the legitimacy of William’s claim to the English crown. But how did an illegitimate boy across the Channel become powerful enough to make that claim in the first place? What did he accomplish before he invaded England? What did he win before the Battle of Hastings?

France during the eleventh century was not a unified country as it was in the earlier Carolingian period or in the later Middle Ages. It was split up into lots of little areas, which I will call counties—not because they were anything like modern day counties, but because they were typically ruled by a count. Some of Normandy’s most important neighbors were Brittany, Maine, Flanders, Anjou, Blois, and Burgundy. And let us not forget the most important neighbor of all: the Isle of France, where the Capetian king Henry I had his court. (TimeRef has an excellent map that shows where each of these counties were situated in relation to Normandy.)

The first duke of Normandy, Rollo the Viking, had sworn a reluctant fealty to the king of France (a very droll story that would take too long to tell here), but there is some question as to whether the duchy of Normandy, during William’s time, was still considered a vassal of the French king.

When William’s father Robert died in 1035, on the return trip from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, his only son and heir was seven years old. Robert had never taken the trouble to marry Herleva, William’s mother, but he had also never taken the trouble to marry anyone else, so there were no legitimate sons to dispute William’s claim to the dukedom of Normandy.

In the age of robber barons, a seven-year-old duke was hardly able to rule his demesne with the requisite strength of arm. William’s childhood was marked at times by fighting between his various guardians and at other times by outright anarchy. But through it all, the boy was learning, and when he came of age he took steps to teach not only Normandy but also the lands around him to fear and honor his iron sword and iron will.

William as portrayed in
The Bayeux Tapestry

William of Poitiers (yes, we’re talking about a different William now) was a Norman chronicler who provides one of the most thorough pictures of Duke William’s early exploits. This chronicler was one of the duke’s biggest fans, and also proposed his own version of the just war theory: whatever Duke William did was just fine.

In 1043, when the duke was about fifteen years of age, his neighbor Geoffrey Martel, the Count of Anjou, was having a spat with another neighbor, the Count of Blois. In the process, the Count of Anjou accidentally captured Alencon, one of the Norman castles. William didn’t think it was an accident. He took back Alcenon and chased off the Count of Anjou, making a bitter enemy in the process.

Guy of Burgundy presented the next problem. Realizing that Normandy was quite a nice vacation spot, Guy began to subvert various Norman barons in an attempt to take over the dukedom. William got wise to the situation and marched out to fight Guy. This was the Battle of Val-es-Dunes in 1047. In this battle, William had the support of King Henry (who had not yet developed his later fear and hatred of the Norman duke), and with this help, William carried the day and defeated Guy.

A couple years after this, William formed a marriage alliance with the mighty Baldwin of Flanders by marrying his daughter Matilda. The county of Flanders was one of the more significant territories in France, and William’s connection with Baldwin increased both his power and his prestige.

There are many interesting legends about William and his bride. Later sources record that when William asked for Matilda’s hand in marriage, she refused on the grounds of his illegitimacy. She was too high born to marry a bastard. Undeterred, William rode to her father’s domains, grabbed her by her braids, threw her to the floor, and beat her until she changed her mind. Whether the story is true or not, it indicates how William was perceived by posterity—a man who would stop at nothing in order to get his way.

William of Arques was the next French nobleman to test William’s mettle. Unhappy with his feudal obligations to Normandy, Arques renounced his vassalship and began to pillage Norman territory. Incensed by these depredations, William drove the brigand back into his castle and besieged him until he was forced to surrender. With these actions William made it abundantly clear that vassals of Normandy were not allowed to renounce their obligations.

At this point, King Henry decided William was getting too powerful and too cocksure. The chronicler from Poitiers writes thus:

The king bore it ill and considered it an affront very greatly to be avenged, that while he had the [Holy] Roman emperor as a friend and ally…and while he presided over many powerful provinces of which lords and rulers commanded troops in his army, Count William was neither his friend nor his vassal, but his enemy; and that Normandy, which had been under the kings of the Franks from the earliest times, had now been raised almost to a kingdom. None of the more prominent counts, however great their aspirations, had dared anything of this sort. 

Henry I of France

King Henry realized that he needed to put William in his place before it was too late. What he didn’t realize was that he had already delayed too long. Supported by Theobald of Blois, William of Aquitaine, and Geoffrey Martel of Anjou, King Henry attacked William in 1054 at the Battle of Mortemer. Even these combined powers could not crush the might of Normandy. William drove their armies from the field, taking many prisoners. With victory achieved, William showed how insolent he could be. In the middle of the night, he sent a herald to King Henry’s camp, instructing him to climb the tallest tree and there declaim in full detail the sad news of Henry’s defeat. It wasn’t the happiest thing for the king to wake up to.

Because of this defeat, Henry was forced to make concessions to William. The chief concession was this: that William could do anything he wanted to Geoffrey Martel, Count of Anjou, without fear of reprisal from the king. Extremely pleased by this green light, William began to construct a castle in the region of Maine. This county was under the governance of Geoffrey of Maine, but (in the complicated web of feudal relationships) owed homage to Geoffrey Martel of Anjou. Maine sent Martel an urgent cry for help.

Martel, joined by William of Aquitaine and Eudo of Brittany, began to attack the stonemasons at the castle site. William, who had been expecting some resistance, soon arrived with his formidable army and put the counts' collective forces to flight. Then, in the words of the chronicler, William “turned his attack against Geoffrey of Mayenne [Maine]…and in a very short time he reduced him to the point of coming into the heart of Normandy, to put his conquered hands into William’s own, swearing the fealty which a vassal owes his lord.” In this way he stole the county of Maine from Anjou and extended the reach of Normandy.

With one last burst of energy, King Henry gathered another army against William. (Geoffrey Martel, who didn’t know when to cry uncle, was part of it.) This led to the Battle of Varaville in August, 1057. As you probably expected, William defeated Henry who “realized in consternation that it would be madness to attack Normandy further.”

King Henry I died three years later, in August of 1060, and was soon accompanied into the afterlife by Geoffrey Martel of Anjou. Philip I assumed the throne in France, but by this time the lesson had been well learned: don’t mess with Normandy.

When Edward the Confessor died in 1066, the Duke William of Normandy who laid claim to the throne of England was far more than some petty nobleman across the Channel. He was a man who had risen through the force of his will and his arm, maintained and increased the lands left to him by his father, and proven himself the equal (or superior?) of the King of France.

Scene from Bayeux Tapestry showing William's preparations to invade England

The character that William displayed during his rise in Normandy would continue during his reign in England. His new subjects found him a harsh master in many things, and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records that he was “severe beyond measure to those who withstood his will.” When he forbade hunting in the king’s forest,

The rich complained and the poor murmured, but he was so sturdy that he took no notice of them; they must will all that the king willed, if they would live, or keep their lands….

The Battle of Hastings may be the one that we remember William for, but it was all the battles before Hastings that paved the way for his victory. And while we call him the Conqueror for his exploits in England, the eleventh century counts and kings of France had good reason to call him by that name as well, a nickname born not from affection, but from the bitterness of the vanquished.

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Rosanne E. Lortz is the author of I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince, a historical adventure/romance set during the Hundred Years' War, and Road from the West: Book I of the Chronicles of Tancred, the beginning of a trilogy which takes place during the First Crusade.

You can learn more about Rosanne's books at her Official Author Website where she also blogs about writing, mothering, and things historical.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

"Medieval Sourcebook: The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: Assessment of William I." Fordham University. From the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, sub anno 1086, as it appears in F. A. Ogg, A Source Book of Medieval History (New York, 1907). 

William of Poitiers. The Gesta Guillelmi of William of Poitiers. Trans. Marjorie Chibnall. USA: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Of Honest Fame by M.M. Bennetts

M.M. Bennetts is giving away a copy of Of Honest Fame.  The giveaway ends at midnight on Sunday 15th July.  To find out more about the book, please click HERE.  Please comment below to enter the draw, and be sure to leave your contact information.

The Grosvenors

by Katherine Pym

Eaton Hall, Cheshire

The first Grosvenor, a nephew and favorite of William the Conqueror, was *Gilbert d'Avranches. He accompanied William across the Channel to the Battle of Hastings in 1066. *See note below.

As a result of his dedication to William, Gilbert received the Earldom of Chester, but he had to fight for it. Very close to the Welch border and a Saxon stronghold, Gilbert dealt with those who refused to be conquered with such a brutal manner, he became known as Lupus (wolf). His brutality went far. One story holds he tortured and killed a young gypsy boy for poaching on his land.  

Along with the name of Lupus, Gilbert was known as le Gros. Extremely fat, he loved wine, rich food, and women. He's known to have sired upward to twenty illegitimate children. Finally marrying Ermentrude of Clarement, he had a legitimate son, Richard, and a daughter, Matilda.

His real passion was hunting, however, and this is where Gilbert received the name we all know and love. Gilbert gained the name 'Gros Veneur' which means in French: Large Huntsman. (The Grosvenor Estate translates it to: Chief Huntsman.)

Since Gilbert was obese, and later needed a hoist to set him onto the saddle for the hunt, one can say he was very 'gros' or truly gross (boo, hiss, bad humor). He spent many hours in the saddle, and had little humility or reverence before his Lord God. During one hunt, he kenneled his hounds in a church for the night, and in the morning found them all dead.

Toward the end of his life, Gilbert repented. Due to his gluttony, he had a difficult time walking. Afraid he would go to hell for his debauchery, he 'founded the Benedictine Abby of St Werburgh, where the monks were to spend their lives in solemn prayer for the soul of their patron.'

After he killed the young gypsy boy, the gypsies cursed Gros Veneur, 'that no son would follow father in the succession to the earldom.' Gilbert's son, Richard, succeeded him but died in 1120 without an heir. The Grosvenor curse  cropped up over the years, but the family did not play prominent parts in English history until 1385. There is mention Sir Robert Grosvenor went with Richard II to fight the Scots. He was known to John of Gaunt, and Henry IV.

In 1617, King James I knighted Sir Richard Grosvenor a baron, and the 'red hand' was added to the Grosvenor coat of arms. Despite this, Sir Richard resided in debtor's prison for many years. He had cosigned a brother-in-law's loans that went unpaid.

Sir Thomas, 3rd Baronet

It was not until Sir Thomas Grosvenor (1655-1700), 3rd Baronet, that the family came closer to the household name we know today. He married Mary Davis, daughter of a scrivener, who had inherited 500 acres in the west end of London. It was considered a wet meadow, which we know as Mayfair, Pimlico, and Belgravia, now called the London Estate.

By the time of Sir Thomas, the Grosvenors had built a robust estate. They owned coal and lead mines, stone quarries in Wales. Sir Thomas had built and moved his family home from a castle like affair with a moat to a large house on the present site of Eaton Hall. 

But the Grosvenor Curse continued. Thomas' son, Sir Richard, 4th baronet, 1689-1723, died without issue. Sir Thomas, 5th baronet, 1693-1733 died in Naples unmarried.

Several Grosvenor generations avoided the curse by siring heirs. Their wealth and status grew, marking them Baron, Earl, then Marquess.

Hugh Lupus, (1825-1899) created 1st Duke of Westminster continued this streak of happiness, but the curse returned when in 1909 the 4 year old son of the 2nd Duke died, and even though the 2nd Duke married several times, he never sired another son. William Grosvenor, the 3rd Duke of Westminster was born brain damaged, 'and so small he was fed milk through a fountain pen filler'. He died 1963 without giving birth to an heir. The 4th Duke held the dukedom for only 4 years. He died of wounds received during combat in WW2.

The current Duke is Robert, 5th Duke of Westminster, and his wife, the Hon. Viola Lyttelton. They produced two male children, thus finally breaking the Grosvenor Curse... Hopefully for good.

*Note: For those of you who know this history, most all of the data states the Gros Veneur ancestor is Hugh d'Avranches, but the The Grosvenor Estate professes Hugh was a relative of Gilbert, and not the nephew of William the Conqueror. I would have gone with 'Hugh' but I figured The Grosvenor Estate knows its own family.

Back in the 17th Century... London at the time of Sir Thomas Grosvenor was exciting and full of motion. His prime of life was during a period when so much changed forever in England.  For more on London (1662), please read my Of Carrion Feathers, a tale of espionage during the reign of King Charles II. You can find it at amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/Katherine-Pym/e/B004GILIAS, and the NOOK.


I want to thank my primary sources: Tales of Old Cheshire, by Carole Sexton, and 'The Grosvenor Estate' (www.grosvenorestate.com).

Age Ain't Nothing but a Number

by Samuel Thomas

In an earlier post (here) I noted that, despite the popular perception that most people in the pre-modern world died young, in the seventeenth century nearly 10% of the population was over the age of sixty, which – by most accounts – is when one became “old.” But, as the saying goes, age ain’t nothing but a number. What was old age like in the past? To answer that question, we need to get behind the numbers.

The most interesting thing about old age in the early modern period is that one could “grow old” several times. The first phase of old age was known to contemporaries as “green old age.” This was a time, usually when a person was in his fifties or sixties. While the body might have begun to decay, it was a time of generally good health and continuing activity.

In his sixty-first year, Presbyterian minister Oliver Heywood traveled over 1,000 miles on horseback over extremely difficult terrain, delivered 135 weekday sermons, and attended forty religious fasts. When he was sixty-eight, he logged 700 miles, eighty-two sermons, and another forty fasts. Other men and women had a similarly pleasant experience of old age, as their children married and started lives of their own, or they found spiritual peace that had eluded them in their youth.

It is here worth noting that an individual’s experience of old age is closely tied to wealth and gender. A man who spent his entire life working in the fields would grow old much sooner (and more painfully) than a gentleman or aristocrat. Part of what allowed Heywood to enjoy his green old age was that (by lucky accident) he’d inherited an estate in Lancashire, so he did not have to worry about money.

Thanks to their role bearing children, many women also aged earlier than men, regardless of their social status. In contrast to the popular image of labor being fraught with peril, a woman had only a 6-7% chance of dying in childbirth (over her lifetime, not per birth). But the fact is that in the pre-modern era, a woman might become pregnant a half-dozen times, and this could take a terrible toll on her body. 

The lot of the poor, aged and female was a hard one.

Whatever a person’s social status, green old green old age faded to brown and the elderly grew weaker, sicker and less likely to recover from illness.  In extreme old age, physical decay became a central fact in a person’s life, as it became more difficult to see, hear, breathe, and walk.  Along with these physical challenges, many elderly people suffered from memory loss and melancholy. In 1699, at age sixty-nine, Heywood described his condition in touching detail:

My wind grows exceeding short, any little motion puts me out of order – my chapel is near me, but when I walk to it (as yesterday) my wind so fails me that I am forced to stand and get new breath, before I go into my pulpit. When I go up to my chamber, my breath cuts, that I am forced to sit a season in my chair to breath me. When I lay down in my bed I pant a considerable time and cough and oftimes my waters comes from me with motion.

An individual’s ability to cope with the challenges of extreme old age varied with social status. The wealthy obviously lived in greater comfort than the poor. A few years after this, Heywood found himself unable to walk the few steps to his chapel, so he paid two men to carry him in a specially-built chair. Obviously this was a luxury which most of his neighbors could not have afforded.

But old age was not just a physical event. For some in early modern England (particularly the puritans), it could be seen as an event of cosmic significance.

Sam Thomas is the author of The Midwife's Tale coming soon from Minotaur/St.Martin's. You can learn more at his website, like him on Facebook (or in a coffee shop if you run into him there), and follow him on Twitter.

The Lost Palace of Richmond

by Anita Davison

Model of Richmond Palace

Whilst researching the Royal Palaces that once lined the River Thames, I have always wondered about the ‘lost’ ones; those that were left to become ruins, or destroyed long before photographs could tell us what they looked like. One which interests me particularly is Richmond, a Royal residence that once dominated the ground between Richmond Green and the River Thames.

In Medieval times, Richmond Green was used for grazing sheep, archery, jousting tournaments and pageants. The earliest recorded cricket match between Surrey and Middlesex was played there in June 1730, which Surrey won, though the score is not known.

The green is surrounded by substantial Regency and Georgian houses which change hands for jaw slackening amounts, and where locals and dreamers sit at The Cricketers pub and pavement cafes to watch the cricket and attend fairs in the summer. However, in Tudor times, the houses round the Green existed to serve the Royal Palace , and clues still exist as to its former splendour in the names of the streets that radiate on the west side of the green, like ‘Old Palace Gate’, ‘Friars Lane’, ‘Old Palace Yard’, and ‘The Wardrobe’. The only remaining section of the palace that remains today is a red-brick gatehouse which still bears Henry VII’s coat of arms. 

Old Palace Gatehouse

The manor of Shene contained a manor house since Henry I’s time, held by a Norman knight before being returned to Royal hands. Edward II owned it, and after his deposition it passed to his wife, Queen Isabella. After her death, Edward III turned the manor house into the first ‘Shene Palace’, where he died in 1377.

His grandson, Richard II came to the throne as a boy, and while still a teenager, married Anne of Bohemia. Shene was their favourite home and when Anne died of the plague at the age of 27, Richard, stricken with grief, ‘caused it to be thrown down and defaced.’

Gatehouse in 1906

Henry V began construction on a new castle-like building, though the work halted at his death in 1422. Building resumed for the new king, though Henry VI was then only 8 years old when he was crowned.

Edward IV gave Shene Manor to his queen, Elizabeth Woodville, who handed it over to the new Henry VII after his victory over Richard III, who subsequently married her daughter, Princess Elizabeth of York.

The wooden buildings were destroyed by fire when the king and his court were there celebrating Christmas in 1497. In 1500, the name of Shene was changed to Richmond, in honour of the title, Earl of Richmond, which Henry VII held when he won at Bosworth Field.

Henry VII's Coat of Arms

Built of white stone, the new palace had octagonal or round towers capped with pepper-pot domes that bore delicate strap work and weather vanes. Of three stories set in a rectangular block with twelve rooms on each floor round an internal court. This area contained staterooms and private royal apartments, while the ground floor was entirely given over to accommodation for palace officials.

A bridge over the moat, surviving from Edward III’s time, linked the Privy Lodgings to a central courtyard some 65 feet square, flanked by the Great Hall and the Chapel and with a water fountain at its centre. The Great Hall had a buttery beneath, the Chapel ceiling was of chequered timber and plaster decorated with roses and portcullis badges, underneath which were extensive wine cellars.

The middle gate that opened into the Great Court, was turreted and adorned with stone figures of two trumpeters, and to the east was situated the palace wardrobe where soft furnishings were stored. There was also a moat, a Great Orchard, public and private kitchens and a Library.  The palace gardens were encircled by two-storey galleries, open at ground level and enclosed above, where the court could walk, play games, admire the gardens, watch the tennis.

Richmond Palace became a showplace of the kingdom, and the scene of the wedding  celebrations of Henry VII’s eldest son, Prince Arthur to Catherine of Aragon. Also, the betrothal of Princess Margaret to King James of Scotland took place at Richmond in 1503.

Henry VII died at Richmond in 1509, and the following year, his son, Henry VIII married his brother’s widow, Catherine of Aragon. In 1510 Catherine gave birth to a son, Henry, at Richmond, whose lavish christening celebrations had barely finished, when the baby died a month later.

Henry VIII’s jealousy of Wolsey’s palace at Hampton Court led to him confiscating Hampton and giving Wolsey Richmond in exchange. Richmond became home to Mary Tudor, who stayed for a few months before being moved to Hatfield House, then the palace was given to Anne of Cleves as part of her divorce settlement from Henry VIII.

In 1554, when Queen Mary I married Philip II of Spain, Richmond was where they spent their honeymoon, and within a year, Mary had imprisoned her sister Elizabeth there.

Queen Elizabeth was particularly fond of Richmond as a winter home – and loved to hunt stag in the "Newe Parke of Richmonde" (now the Old Deer Park. It was here she summoned companies of players from London to perform plays – including William Shakespeare’s.  She also died there in 1603.

Elizabeth I Hunting

James I gave Richmond to his son, Henry Prince of Wales, as a country seat, but before any refurbishment could be done, Henry died and it passed to Prince Charles, who began his extensive art collection, storing it at Richmond.

In 1625, King Charles I bought his court to Richmond to escape the plague in London, and he established Richmond Park, using the palace as a home for the royal children until the Civil War.

After Charles I’s execution, the Commonwealth Parliament divided up the palace buildings and had them extensively surveyed, in which the furniture and decorations are described as being sumptuous, with beautiful tapestries depicting the deeds of kings and heroes. The brick buildings of the outer ranges survived, the stone buildings of the Chapel, Hall and Privy Lodgings were demolished and
the stones sold off.

By the restoration of Charles II in 1660, only the brick buildings and the Middle Gate were left. The palace became the property of the Duke of York (the future James II) and his daughters, Mary and Anne grew up there. Their only surviving half-brother, Prince James Edward (the ‘Old Pretender’) was nursed at Richmond, but the restoration work, begun under the auspices of Christopher Wren, ceased in the revolution of 1688 when James II fled to France.

The surviving buildings were leased out, and in 1702, ‘Trumpeters’ House’ was built, replacing the Middle Gate where two statues of trumpeters stood. These were followed by ‘Old Court House’ and ‘Wentworth in 1705-7. The front of The Wardrobe still shows Tudor brickwork as does the Gate House. ‘Maids of Honour Row’ built in 1724 is a uniform terrace built for the maids of honour of Caroline of Anspach, the wife of George II. These replaced most of the buildings facing the Green in 1724-5 and the majority of the house now called ‘Old Palace’ was rebuilt in about 1740.

Traces of the elaborate gardens are still there, having been incorporated into private residences, but the view from the river is still beautiful and as you pass in a barge, and squint a little, maybe you can still see the ‘pepper pots’ and turrets of the old palace where kings and queens once lived.

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This post is an Editor's Choice, and was originally published on July 5, 2012.

Anita Davison also writes as Anita Seymour, her 17th Century novel Royalist Rebel was released by Pen and Sword Books, and she has two novels in The Woulfes of Loxsbeare from Books We Love. Her latest venture is an Edwardian cozy mystery being released in June 2015 by Robert Hale.
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Greeting Nobility

by Marie Higgins

“G-day, mate.” 
“Howdie, dude.”
“What’s up?”
“Greetings, my fair maiden.”
“Aliens…welcome to earth!” 

Okay, so I’m being funny on some of those greetings, but I want to blog today about one of the things I think is VERY important when writing – or reading – historical stories set in England.  I’m not from England, nor do I have close relatives there, but because I write Regency and Victorian romances, I want to make my readers feel like they are in that era…and one of the ways to do it is to make sure the nobility is addressed correctly. Not all gentlemen were called “lords”.  And you certainly wouldn’t greet a baron as “Your Grace”.  So…without further ado, here is the chart that I use whenever I’m confused about what to call a certain person with a title. 

DUKE: This is example is the Duke of Kenbridge, whose family surname is Worthington.

He will always be announced as His Grace, the Duke of Kenbridge. His close friends would call him by his title “Kenbridge” and possibly by his first name. Everyone else would call him Duke / Your Grace. He’d be referred to as His Grace / Sir.

Duke’s wife: Duchess of Kenbridge.  Or Your Grace / Her Grace / Madame (ma'am) (just as above). 

Duke’s mother: Dowager Duchess of Kenbridge. But to her face is called Duchess or Your Grace.

Duke’s oldest son: The son would have a courtesy title even if there was no actual subsidiary title(the Marquess of Blackwood is a lower title not a courtesy title--the son's use is a courtesy). He'd be called Marquess of Blackwood – or my lord. 

Duke’s daughter: Lady Isabelle Worthington.  

Duke’s younger son: Honorable Lord Nicholas Worthington. 

MARQUESS: His title is Hawthorne and his family name is Lawrence.  He will always be announced as The Marquess of Hawthorne.  His friends would call him Hawthorne, and his servants and others would call him my lord or refer to him as his lordship.

His wife: Marchioness of Hawthorne, or Lady Hawthorne.  

Marquess’ mother: Dowager Marchioness of Hawthorne.  Called Lady Hawthorne unless there was a need to distinguish.

Marquess’ oldest son would more than likely have a title too, and be called Earl of Kelton or my lord.   

Marquess’ daughter: Lady Charlotte Lawrence.  

Younger son: Honorable Lord Peter Lawrence. 

EARL: His title is Thornwyck and his family name is Bennett.

The Earl of Thornwyck / Thornwyck / my lord.

Wife: Countess of Thornwyck / my lady.

Earl’s mother: Dowager Countess of Thornwyck. Or Lady Thornwyck or Countess

Earl’s oldest son: Viscount Birmington / my lord.

Earl’s daughter: Lady Caroline Bennett.

Earl’s youngest son: Honorable Mr. Harry Bennett.

 

 VISCOUNT: Title is Gough. His family name is Bingley (for those Jane Austen lovers!)

The Viscount Gough / Gough / my lord

Wife: Viscountess Gough/ my lady

Viscount’s mother: Dowager Viscountess

Viscount’s son: Referred to in writing and on official documents as the Honorable Mr. Jonathan Bingley

Viscount’s daughter: Referred to in writing and on official documents as the Honorable Miss Jane Bingley 

BARON: Title - Netherfield. His family name is Darcy (once again, for Jane Austen fans)

The Lord Netherfield / Netherfield / my lord
Wife: Lady Netherfield / my lady
Baron’s mother: Dowager Netherfield
Baron’s sons: Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy
Baron’s daughters: Honorable Miss Elizabeth Darcy

**NOTE**

Wives of younger sons had the title of Lady Husband's First-name Last Name and were never call Lady Last-Name. The only exception to this is if, for example a duke's daughter married the younger son of a marquis or below. She could then decide to keep her title as it outranks his. She would be called Lady Her-firstname Husband's Last-Name. Or if a daughter of an Earl or above married a man without a title, she became Lady First-Name Husband's name. In either case, she would never be referred to as Lady Husband's Last-Name.

A lady marrying the title holder would always be Lady Title-Name, and never Lady First-Name. Even if her father was a duke and she married a baron.

Baronets were always called Sir First-Name and their wives, Lady Husband's Last-Name.

Thanks to my friend, Kat - here is a great resource link - http://chinet.com/~laura/html/titles12.html

I hope this was helpful to you, because I use this chart faithfully when I’m writing!  I never go without it!

Marie Higgins / historical author of clean romances

Louisa wakes from a deep heavy fog, surrounded by strangers and horrified to discover she's been the sole victim of a terrible buggy accident. Worse... she remembers nothing.

Trevor Worthington, Duke of Kenbridge, can’t trust women. Yet after nearly killing the amnesiac Louisa, he has little choice but to open his home to her. His heart softens to the straggly woman in beggars garb as he strives to help her regain her memory. As proof of Louisa's scars, both physical and those lurking beneath the surface, come to light, Trevor finds himself more and more drawn to the mysterious woman. However he is hesitant to enter another nightmarish entanglement like his first marriage.

 As the heartbreaking facts of Louisa's past are exposed and decade old questions come to light, will the truth keep these lovers from happiness? Will Trevor be able to give love another chance? Or will Louisa's sweet touch prove yet another forgotten memory...

"Emma" Illustrated and Other News

by Debra Brown

Yes, Emma by Jane Austen was illustrated. I'm certain that you are blown away by the news. Just how do I know this deep dark secret?

One morning I was chatting by email with renowned author M.M. Bennetts complaining because she has the unfair advantage of living in the midst of English history while I am here, between five and six thousand miles from London, myself. I could not get maps.google.com to give me the exact mileage on that and had to get out my tape measure.

I also live a few centuries from my eras of chief interest, and that fact is continually rubbed in by modern architecture around me. The bridge over the river leading out of town was, however, built for horses and a carriage of which I am made acutely aware after every university ball game. Claim to fame: Craig Robinson, brother of First Lady Michelle Obama, is the basketball coach in my cozy and beautiful, modern little city.

While you can see an old wagon-train wagon some miles from here, and rusted pitchers that were once brought out west within it, there is no centuries-old castle, no museum protecting centuries-old parchments, no crumbling public records to research medieval England or Scotland or Wales. Well, of course, I have my computer.

After hitting Send on my complaint to M.M., the doorbell rang. Ugh. I almost did not answer it. I am, after all, an author and therefore do not get dressed- though I am grateful not to be strapped into a corset when I do.

Begrudgingly I put down the laptop and went to the door to send someone away. "I need your signature," declared the mailman. Hmmm. I signed a modern little gadget and accepted a box. Scotland? Who do I know in Scotland? Well, thanks to Twitter and FB I do know a few marvelous writers but not anyone who has my address.

I did feel better, though, since a package from Scotland had to be a good thing. It was shaped like a large book, but too light-weight. I shook it, of course, and something lightly clunked around (I'll never do that again) because it would take me at least a minute to get a knife and cut open the wrapper.

Inside the box was another box- a beautiful dusty-blue box with a silver metallic background for the words "A Day to Remember". Huh? Why do packages take so long to open? Does time slow down and hold you back? I opened the blue box and, to be sure, "it" was wrapped in tissue.

I lifted it in slow motion; I think it took forty-five minutes. I unfolded the tissue off the rather flat light-weight thing slowly, and at last there it was. Now my mind went into rapid-fire status: Oh yes! Some-weeks-ago-someone-emailed-me-via-the-blog-and-wanted-to-send-me-historical-newspapers! My jaw dropped. I fell into history!

Inside the tissue were three old papers. I mean old. The newest was from December 11,1896: The Daily Graphic, Enlarged to TWENTY PAGES. One Penny. But I needed new spectacles to read the miniscule print. That took a few weeks, and I still had to use a magnifying glass.The print is really small.

Hugh Thomson; Austenonly.com

Inside this paper I found the great news that Emma was being illustrated by Hugh Thomson. For your enlightenment it reads:

Mrs. Elton appears at church

One of the few books to which Mr. Hugh Thomson's name appears as illustrator this year is Jane Austen's 'Emma,' in Messrs. Macmillan's series of illustrated standard novels; for the rest he has left the field rather severely to his many imitators. But his hand has lost none of its cunning, and one has only to turn over the pages of this book to see how great is the distance still between the master and his followers. Mr. Austin Dobson gives the edition the additional gain of an excellent historical introduction from his pen, tracing the story of the novel in the day in January, 1816, when, like its predecessors 'Sense and Sensibility,' 'Pride and Prejudice,' and 'Mansfield Park,' it was anonymously put forth. Says Mr. Dobson: 'In writing to the Prince's librarian, Mr. J. S. Clarke, on the subject of the presentation copy which was to reach his Royal Highness three days before anyone else (it has been inscribed by invitation to that distinguished patron of Art and Letters, the Prince Regent), Miss Austen sets forth her own ideas of the new book-the last, as a matter of fact, which she was destined to behold in type. 'My greatest anxiety at present is that this fourth work should not disgrace what was good in the others. But on this point I will do myself the justice to declare that, whatever be my wishes for its success, I am strongly haunted with the idea that to those readers who have preferred "Pride and Prejudice" it will appear inferior in wit, and to those who have preferred "Mansfield Park," inferior in good sense.'" When it appeared the Quarterly aptly enough said that the merits of the author consisted in the neatness and point of the narrative and the quiet comedy of the dialogue, but the qualities of "Emma" are undoubtedly qualities which grow with acquaintance. Qualified approval may be the first verdict, later the qualifications have a tendency to withdraw from insistence. "I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like," said Jane Austen herself at the outset, but despite thus handicapping herself, so skilfully and subtly is the character of Emma Woodhouse developed that the reader is insinuatingly drawn into loving her. "Emma" shows to perfection the writer's methods, her genius, and her limitations. The quotation from a letter by Charlotte Bronte with which Mr. Dobson concludes is, as he says, unjust to Miss Austen, but it is most interesting as setting forth the view of many. The authoress of "Jane Eyre" thought Miss Austen bloodless and lacking fire: so she is to a great extent, but a catholic taste can appreciate many manners, while they are none of them superficial, and superficial, pace Charlotte Bronte, is just what Miss Austen is not. Our illustration shows the incident described by Emma, when explaining to her father how she had always intended Mr. Weston to marry Miss Taylor. "Ever since the day (about four years ago) that Miss Taylor and I met with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to mizzle, he dashed away with so much gallantry and borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject. I planned the match from that hour." ("Emma," by Jane Austen, Illustrated by Hugh Thomson. Macmillan and Co.)

Well, that is the incredible news. 116 years ago. Almost. Wow. The news article comes complete with an illustration labeled "Two Umbrellas for Us." By the famous Mr. Thomson. (See more about him HERE.)

This newspaper is smooth, though yellowing. No problem. It is smooth because it is made of new-fangled paper made from wood. The other two papers are both from 1819, thus made of the more common and textured rag paper. The London Times. Price, 7d. Stamped, even. The front and back are want ads, birth, marriage and death announcements and the price of stocks. (I say, buy!) Inside there are lovely articles. Not a picture to be found.

I will share more earth-shaking news with you from these great newspapers soon, abandoning my series on the Monarchy for a little longer. But let me tell you where you, too, can obtain such fascinating bits of history. They are sold HERE at Historic Newspapers packaged beautifully as gifts for special occasions, and they come from all over the world. Imagine the amazing things you can read about first-hand, hot off the press. A history teaching resource pack is also available.

Many thanks to Thomas Walker of Historical Newspapers for the gift newspapers, some almost two hundred years old, I received.

Debra Brown is the author of The Companion of Lady Holmeshire- now undergoing revision and available again by August 1, 2012.

Sir Goldsworthy Gurney and His Steam Carriage

by Gary Inbinder

On a warm summer day in Southwest England during the ninth year of the reign of His Majesty King George IV, a handsome couple—I’ll call them Mr. and Mrs. Darcy—were out for a breath of air, dashing through the verdant countryside along one of Mr. McAdam’s new roads. They travelled in a jaunty red curricle drawn by a matched pair of high-stepping grays. Pale sunlight streamed through a stand of trees lining the turnpike. A mild wind rustled the leafy branches, barely raising a dust-cloud on the newly laid roadbed.

As they whirled along, the Darcys noticed a strange, dark object looming on the horizon. From a distance, it appeared to be a large carriage of some sort, shimmering in the heat waves and moving toward them at a great rate of speed. The horses sensed it coming; skittish they broke stride and started to gallop. It required all Mr. Darcy’s strength and skill to rein them in.

The unidentified vehicle bore down upon the Darcys; its features soon became distinguishable. Could it have been the Royal Mail Coach out of London led by a galloping team, on its way to Bath? They could see no horses. Instead, they spotted a coachman, or more appropriately a “driver” perched on a seat over a single wheel. He was dressed in top hat and red coat; instead of holding reins he grasped a large handlebar attached to a steering mechanism. Passengers, both ladies and gentlemen, sat above and behind the driver on a dragon-like contraption that belched smoke and cinders and hissed steam from every orifice. There were no familiar sounds of pounding hooves, the slapping and rattling of leather straps and fittings, but rather a mechanically rhythmic thumping, puffing and chuffing and a grinding of wheels on macadam as the monster rumbled forward at a blazing twenty miles per hour.

Mr. Darcy steered the jolting curricle to the roadside where they came to an abrupt halt beside a drainage ditch. He tried to quiet his horses as they snorted, whinnied, and stomped the turf with restless hooves. The “thing” chugged by in a cloud of steam, soot, and dust. Presently, Mr. Darcy turned to his wife with a scowl: “I say, Lizzy, I’m deuced if it ain’t Gurney’s blasted steam carriage!”

Mrs. Darcy frowned and nodded in silent agreement. She lowered her parasol, and then shook and dusted off her white muslin dress. The rumbling subsided; the steam carriage vanished in the distance, leaving a thin trail of smoke in its wake. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy continued their journey in a decidedly less jolly mood following their confrontation with the monstrous progeny of the Industrial Age.

My sketch of an encounter with the steam carriage is fanciful, but such an incident might have occurred on an English road prior to the passage of the Locomotive Acts aka Red Flag Laws that reduced speed limits for “locomotives” to 4 mph in the country and 2 mph in towns and cities, and required a man carrying a red flag to precede each vehicle. These laws retarded the early development of the automobile in Great Britain and their repeal (1894) is celebrated in the annual London to Brighton run for veteran cars.

The steam carriage was the brainchild (there were other steam road vehicles at the time, but Gurney’s was among the first and arguably the best) of Sir Goldsworthy Gurney, one of those extraordinary self-taught “gentleman inventors” that seemed to flourish in the nineteenth century. He was born in Cornwall in 1793 into a well-to-do family, studied medicine and practiced as a surgeon, but is best known for his practical inventions including the oxyhydrogen blowpipe, a high-pressure steam jet for extinguishing fires in mines, the Gurney burner and Gurney light. Gurney was knighted in 1863 for improving the lighting and ventilation of the House of Commons. But of all his scientific achievements he is chiefly remembered for building a steam carriage that in 1829 travelled from London to Bath at an average rate of 15 miles per hour.

The steam carriage owed its success to another Gurney invention, the “steam-jet” or blast system that produced greater power in a considerably lighter engine. Interestingly, Gurney’s improvement was incorporated by George Stephenson into his highly successful track locomotive Rocket that made railway travel practical.

For a time, Gurney was associated with the great Scottish civil engineer, Thomas Telford. Telford’s roads had foundations better able than McAdam’s to bear the weight of the steam carriages. He envisioned a British highway system open to steam powered traffic that would compete with the existing canal system and the new railways. There was some interest in Telford and Gurney’s schemes. For example, the famous London to Bath journey was made at the request of the army.

But there were powerful lobbies against the development of the steam carriage, and they had some good arguments on their side. Mining and industry were financially committed to the railways; Stephenson’s improved engines and a faster and cheaper method of producing wrought-iron rails made the fixed track system more efficient and cost effective. The Stockton-Darlington railway (1825) was a commercial success, and that led to the building of the ambitious Liverpool-Manchester line (1830) where passenger trains could run at speeds of 35 miles per hour.

Following Gurney’s successful demonstration of the steam carriage, Sir Charles Dance, using Gurney’s design, initiated a regular service between Gloucester and Cheltenham, the nine mile distance being covered in about 45 minutes. This service ran for three months in 1831. Dance also financed a Gurney designed “drag and omnibus” (the engine pulled the omnibus, an attempt to overcome passengers’ objections to sitting over a boiler) that ran from London to Brighton and made a demonstration run on London streets in 1833. But by that time the light road locomotive was already doomed by commercial and political opposition and the railway’s success. The railways had the mining and manufacturing interests on their side; they were joined by the toll road owners and the mail coach lobby. This combination persuaded Parliament to raise tolls on the steam carriages, effectively driving them out of business. Thomas Telford died in 1834; his vision of a British highway system built for motorized traffic would not be fully realized until the next century. Goldsworthy Gurney went on to other projects and would be honored for his achievements. By the time Gurney died (1875) Siegfried Marcus in Austria and Etienne Lenoir in France had experimented with vehicles powered by internal combustion engines. These automotive pioneers were followed by the Germans Daimler, Maybach, and Benz who began marketing his gasoline powered automobiles in the late1880s. Almost sixty years after Gurney’s steam carriage journeyed from London to Bath, the age of the automobile had begun.

Gary is the author of two historical novels published by Fireship Press: Confessions of the Creature and The Flower to the Painter. See the Fireship Press website for more information about Gary and his writing.

©2012 Gary Inbinder

The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr, by Sandra Byrd

This week our giveaway is a copy of Sandra Byrd's The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr.  Contest runs July 2, 2012 through July 8th, 2012!  To see more about this book, please click HERE, and be sure to leave a comment about the book and some contact information so your name can be entered into the drawing.

Little Known Facts about Independence Day and the Declaration of Independence

by Karen V. Wasylowski

Were you aware that Independence Day, America's beloved Fourth of July, should really be celebrated on July 2? 

Yes. July 2, 1776 is the day that the Continental Congress actually voted for independence from Great Britain. John Adams, in his writings to his wife Abigail, even noted that July 2 would be remembered in the annals of American history and would be marked with fireworks and celebrations. The written Declaration of Independence was dated July 4 but wasn't actually signed until August 2. So, to be quite clear about this - the Fourth of July is actually the Second of July, and if you really want to stretch out that celebration, we could have fireworks again, on August 2. (Interesting aside - my birthday is August 4. Feel free to celebrate that as well.)

Who Signed first? Who Signed Last? 

John Hancock signed first, with a large hand right in the middle because he was the President of the Congress. It is believed Thomas McKean of Delaware was the last person to sign. When Congress authorized the printing of an official copy with the names attached in January 1777, a full six months later, McKean's name was not included. He signed after that date, or the printer made a mistake by omitting him.

Oldest signer? Youngest? 


Edward Rutledge was the youngest at 26 years of age - or should I say six and twenty? He was from South Carolina and he argued against Jefferson's condemnation of slavery clause, which was eventually blue penciled (don't you just hate copy editors?) Jefferson remained bitter about this deletion until his death. Of course, he was a slave owner himself, which is a bit odd.

Benjamin Franklin, of the famous stove making family, was the eldest to sign at seventy years of age - or should I say zero and seventy? Quite the scamp, Franklin famously said at the signing, "We must all hang together, or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately." (If I had been a delegate I would have been a screaming blur of feet and hands barreling out the door at that remark)

On The Road Again – Just Can't Wait to Get On the Road Again 

 Very like the Traveling Wilbury's the Declaration of Independence was on the road for many years. After the August 2 signing ceremony it stayed in Philadelphia for a while but a British threat on December 12 encouraged the Congress to make a hasty retreat. They reconvened eight days later, in Baltimore, Maryland, Document in hand only to return it to Philadelphia in March of 1777. Throughout the following years the Document traveled with the Continental Congress across the Northeast ending up in Washington, DC in 1800.

THEY'RE BACK! In 1814 with the British again threatening war the Document was moved to an unused gristmill in Virginia. On August 24, as the British burned the White House, it was moved to Leesburg, Virginia - UNTIL September, when it returned to the capital.

No 'United States' mentioned in the Declaration for united States? 


When the Founding Fathers adopted "The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America" [wiki] on July 4, 1776, they didn’t form the nation called The United States of America. The 'United States' was actually formed on March 1, 1781 when the Second Continental Congress ratified the Articles of Confederation.

Is that a fact? 

The middle section of the Declaration is a list of grievances the colonies had against King George III or the British Parliament. The British people, on the other hand, were not held to be at fault.

By the time the Declaration was written the United States had been at war with Great Britain for over a year.

Contrary to the movie, National Treasure, there is no map on the back of the Declaration. There is only a notation to label the document for filing.

Thomas Jefferson took on the duty of drafting the Declaration, asking John Adams and Benjamin Franklin for corrections. His 'rough draft' is in the Library of Congress.

These crazy kids - they never take care of their things!

According to historian Pauline Maier, who wrote 'American Scripture: Making the Declaration of Independence':

It wasn't taken care of very well in the early years. It was sort of rolled up, carried around with the Second Continental Congress. And then the State Department kept it, and if people came, they'd pull it out and show it to them. None of this, you know, enormous--What do they call it?--at the Library of Congress--argon caskets, you know, these heavy metal, glass cases that have gas in them without oxygen so that the documents don't decompose. And the Library of Congress keeps them sort of in a refrigerator. It's the most precious documents--none of that.

I mean, they just pulled it out and showed it to you, the real thing. And then they got tired of pulling it out, so they pasted it up on a wall in what was then the patent office, and there it remained for 30 years near a very bright window. It faded. And they spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out what they could do with it. Modern preservation techniques are really a quite recent development. (Source)

The beautiful words of Thomas Jefferson:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.”

 Have a great Second thru Fourth of July everyone!

Karen V. Wasylowski is the author of 

"Darcy and Fitzwilliam" 

a very, very funny sequel to Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice"  

"It is absorbing.  It is Intoxicating.  It is excellent."

- Jane Austen World

- Jane Austen Today

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