Jolly Interesting History

When Good Kings Go Bad

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Sat, 28 Sep 2013 16:03:00 +0000

When Charles VI of France was approached by a leper screaming "Ride no further, noble King!Turn back! You are betrayed!" we can imagine it disturbed him a spot. For his friends though, it was a calamity.

Charles hadn't been feeling too well of late. Things had been getting rough. A chap called Pierre de Craon had attacked a one-eyed friend of Charles', by the name of Olivier de Clisson, down a dark Parisian alleyway. Olivier had survived, but not before being knocked out by a bakery door. This had worried young Charles. If chaps could go about assaulting one-eyed people with door frames, then nobody was safe? They'd be after the King next!

Seized with panic, Charles summoned his army and told them he wished to visit Pierre's house where he intended to throw some furniture about. His friends complied, but they were nervous. Charles was not himself. He was pacing about with fervour and speaking total nonsense which nobody could make head or tail of. They all just nodded thoughtfully at their King, for it is a tricky thing to know exactly how to go about telling ones Monarch that they are talking utter bilge.

“Let us just amuse him.” the courtiers no doubt said to each other anxiously. “We shall all head to Brittany, and perhaps the walk will do him some good.” proffered others. And off the went, hoping for the best. The procession moved on slowly through the forest of Le Mans, the summer air broken only by the sound of the King spouting garbage and whinging about delays.

Charles slugging the Bastard of Poligny - Wikipedia

It was at this moment when the aforementioned leper popped up and began declaring his message of doom and betrayal. Charles believed it immediately. Here was a fellow who saw eye-to-eye with him. His friends, on the other hand, gasped in horror and bundled the wretch into the nearest hedge. The atmosphere was tense. Charles was silent and saw ambushes in all quarters. Then a squire dropped a lance which clunked against a helmet. This was the last straw for Charles.

“Forward against the traitors!” he cried “They wish to deliver us to the enemy.” And he began chopping and slicing with his sword. There was no little confusion. Some people ducked behind trees, one or two possibly sniggered at the King's looniness, and Charles' friends no doubt held their heads in their hands.

We can only guess at the reaction of the knight for whom Charles had reserved particular attention. He was from south-easterly area of France and was known to all as the Bastard of Polignac. One imagines that, with a name like that, life had not always been breezy. Now, as he saw his Regent making towards him with sword held aloft, he probably grumbled to himself “Oh bother! Why me again?”

What to do? That was the question of the moment. Is one allowed to biff one's monarch in self-defence? I have checked Debrett's Guide to Etiquette and can assure you that it is mute on this point. The Bastard of Polignac was stymied. He could only meet Charles' blows with manful remonstrations of “Steady on my Lord!” Others tried to get involved. They eventually got Charles laid gently on the ground, where he promptly fell into a coma. When attention was turned to the poor Bastard of Polignac, he was found to be riddled with dents. He was dead too.

All of this served to take the gloss off the outing and it was decided upon to go back home. Everybody was awfully embarrassed with the King's behaviour. It just doesn't portray ones country in a good light to have a King who is potty. But things were to get much worse.

The Crown and Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Thu, 31 May 2012 10:42:00 +0000

When Parliament decided that they were fed up of King Charles not listening to them, they declared war upon him in 1642. They were feeling pretty confident about their chances too. The majority of the English citizens were certain to back them, they felt. After all, Charles had cost the English people a fair penny in tax and what was more, his Queen was a Catholic. She kept her own confessor under the stairs and prayed for the Catholic souls whom the English Protestants had been merrily barbequing for God’s glory. If there was one thing to win the English commoner’s vote, Parliament figured, it was the thought of an annoyed Catholic Queen.

Despite a few setbacks at the outset Parliament, claiming God to be a forsworn roundhead, eventually stuck it to the King and his Cavaliers at the Battle of Naseby in 1646. They were prepared to let Charles remain King if he was a good boy, but he wasn’t. In fact he was very naughty and gave them the slip, raised another army to squash them with but was beaten and had his head chopped off as a reprimand. His son, Charles, went to France but would return later.

Charles II with a big hairdo - by lisby1

Parliament now found themselves in possession of a novelty. They had a country unfettered by a Monarch. They began to dream great dreams of a Republican world and everybody being saintly and good and God viewing England as the finest resort on Earth. It would appear that they got a little too over-excited though for the common man. For, in what was possibly the worst political manifesto ever, they came up with the splendid notion of banning Christmas.

Something that really upset the Puritan regime was the lax morals of their less educated subjects. And Christmas was the worse time for it. People imbibed alcohol in great quantity, got rowdy in the streets and dabbled in a spot of light-hearted fornicating with their neighbours.

They would appoint a King of Mis-rule, whose express job it was to come up with extravagant ways to make mischief. Getting drunk during Church service was a popular act. As was harassing religious persons. For 12 days of Christmas life was a hoot.

The Puritans said “It has to go.” They declared that all this shameless revelry was an offense in the eyes of God and had to stop. Christmas, they said, was a time for penitence over past misconduct, for fasting and for prayer. And as an extra godly bonus, they outlawed football too.

One can hardly blame them I suppose. There is something a little incongruent one feels about celebrating the Lord’s birth with acts which flagrantly disregard his teachings. Scripturally, perhaps, Parliament were onto something, but politically they had dropped a clanger.

When government officers began fining people for making mince pies and holding clandestine Christmas dinner parties, your average man began to get fed up. In Puritan American there were even chaps called ‘Mince Sniffers’ who had trained their noses to ferret out illicit delicacies.

Soon people began to remember good old King Charles. “Wasn’t he a lark” you could hear them say. “I’m not saying I agree with Catholics” said another “but Christmas is far more fun with them, what?”

This kind of chatter was inevitably going to lead to something bigger. When Cromwell died the clamour was heard for a return of Charles’ son, the later Charles II. He was shrewd and spoke nostalgically of Christmas festivities in England of old. This was just the fellow for the English, one only had to look at his giant beehive haircut to see he knew how to have a good time. He was the Party of Fun as opposed to the Party of Purity.

When the announcement came in 1660 that Charles, with his enormous hairdo, was going to be installed as King Charles II, there was great merrymaking and lots of balloons. Charles obliged them by reinstating all the boisterous aspects of Catholic Christmas. Britain’s experiment with a Republic would have to wait, and so would God and his morals.

Dancing Mania

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Fri, 18 May 2012 17:26:00 +0000

We all do peculiar things from time to time. It is to be expected; and people of bygone ages are certainly not exempt. A cursory squint at the footnotes of history reveals numerous things that make ones eyebrows stretch heavenwards. Yet, my dear reader, there is one historical oddity which reaches out its knobbly fingers through time to absolutely snatch the biscuit as far as peculiar behaviours are concerned. I am referring, of course, to that extremely novel habit Medieval citizens had of involuntary dancing; known in those days as St Vitus’ dance.

It was all the rage in the Middle Age Europe by all accounts. Between the 9th and 16th Centuries, chroniclers tell us that common folk, going about minding their business, were suddenly gripped with an irresistible urge to break out and boogie.

It could happen at most inappropriate times too, like the 18 peasants who thoroughly disrupted a Christmas Eve Church service with their capers. Despite the fact the priest poured mighty imprecations upon them, they simply couldn’t stop. “I hear you Father Abbot” came the reply, “ but I just can’t control my feet.” One cannot begin to imagine the damage this affliction could do to ones career prospects.

However, the thing that caused most concern was the viral nature of this Dancing Mania. Whole groups it seems could be seized simultaneously with the desire to bop. Take the 200 souls crossing the Meuse river. They figured that all that their day was missing was some vigorous moshing. This they did and brought down the bridge, causing traffic delays for months.

The most entertaining incident has to be the great hokey-cokey of 1374. It all began in the town of Aix-la-Chappelle. It was July and the town did that slumbering thing that poets knowledgeably tell us they do. Then, quite unexpectedly, a group of men and women from German parts who were evidently holidaying in the region, started doing a ring-o-roses routine slap in the middle of the square.

One supposes that the locals in the cafes looked on beneficently at this quaint Germanic custom and then went back to munching their baguettes. However, when it became apparent that the performers couldn’t stop, quite a crowd began to assemble. Round and round they went for hours on end stopping only to have a fit. The dancers pleaded bystanders to stamp on their feet as they throbbed awfully.
Things were got particularly exciting when everyone started shrieking and leaping gustily. Before long, the local populace inexplicably got sucked into the queer antics. One gentleman, explaining his energetic horse impressions to the press after the affair, claimed he thought he was in a stream of hot blood and leapt as high as he could to get out of it.

By the end of four months, involuntary disco fever had gripped Utrecht, Liege and Tongres, where hordes were salsa-ing and leaping through the streets. It was mainly the peasantry but some higher ranking chaps got in on the act. These were people who, as one historian so capably put it, were “persons whose natural frivolity was unable to withstand the excitement of novelty.” One could barely move about the Dutch provinces for fear of being mown down by a passing American Smooth or getting Rumba-ed to death.

Something had to be done. Complaints were rolling into the town halls. The dancers were getting threatening; menacing destruction to priests and coercing passersby into joining the rave against their will. Some councils thought it might be beneficial to hire musicians to play music for the afflicted. At least this way they wouldn’t look so silly doing the cha-cha in silence. Presently they were just looking ridiculous and making the borough a laughing stock. Others opened the town hall as a sort of zumba club to keep the embarrassment off the streets. Interestingly, one town expressly forbade the making of pointy toed shoes, as these had been noted to produce rather violent reactions to the possessed.

Eventually, after much exorcising at the chapels of St Vitus and bashing of peoples limbs, order was restored and the nobles could sleep easy once again. However, until the 17th century, they would live under the constant fear that at any moment the whole nation could take to the streets in fits of break-dancing, which just wouldn’t do at all.

Excellent further reading

An Unlikely Route to Kingship

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Wed, 16 May 2012 08:31:00 +0000

In which William Rufus upsets his brother and the Church is shocked

Let’s face it, when chroniclers call someone "hateful to almost all his people and odious to God" and the Archbishop refers to them as a ‘wild bull’, you just know things are going to get colourful with this person. These things were said of William II of England, whose rise to kingship came, appropriately, from a most unexpected frolic.

William was nicknamed ‘Rufus’, which means red. This likely refers to his somewhat florid complexion brought about by going around shouting at people. A disagreeable habit perhaps, but when one is short and has a mother who is only 4ft tall that has been called incestuous by the Pope, one probably has had to put up with a lot in the playground.

Statue of William Rufus looking mischievous

As third son of William the Conqueror, Rufus followed the custom of being packed off to get a degree in archbishop-ry. This wasn’t for young Rufus. In fact his care free larks seemed to get right up the noses of the Clergy. He had indecently long hair for the Church and wore it in a blasphemous centre-part. And his shoes ... long, pointy and curled at the ends were a scandal!

When his eldest brother Richard died, Rufus suddenly transferred careers to being a knight. This was more like it. Now he could curse loudly, tell rude jokes and bash people with a mace. But his breezy ways would lead to family complaints.

In 1087, Rufus joined his Father and elder brother Robert in L’Aigle, where the Conqueror was planning to go and biff a neighbour. One evening, when he was sat twiddling his thumbs and feeling bored, Rufus decided to nip around Roberts house with a few of his friends and his ten year old brother Henry.

Robert was entertaining his own guests at the time with a game of charades or Pictionary. Answering the door he said “Come in. We’re playing charades. I think Cedric is meant to be Edward the Confessor.”

Charades not being Rufus’ scene, he tramped up to the mezzanine floor and began playing dice and making a right old racket with his chums. Robert, trying to impress his friends may have said ‘Shhh’, but Rufus didn’t hear him if he did.

Eventually, after tiring of dice and drink, Rufus looked for something really fun to do. And he hit upon a corker. Wouldn’t it be a wheeze, thought he, if we all wee over the balcony onto my brother? So they did.

Down below, Robert and his friends had just got Trivial Pursuits out when the urine began to fall. His nostrils flared and his hair dripped. “Oi” said Robert and, grabbing a heavy instrument ascended the stairs to do Rufus bodily injury. There followed a royal rumble in which more than one vase was broken and the carpets were ruined.

So great was the fighting that the King was called who shouted “Now then!” a great deal until everybody stopped. The errant boys stood before their father. Robert smelled suspicious and Rufus sniggered. Despite imploring his father to let him bash his brother silly, Robert was told that boys will be boys and to shake hands.

Robert’s ego smarted. Nobody likes being piddled on in front of their friends. He would have his revenge. So, after taking a quick bath, he tramped south with his friends and promptly broke into the keep at Rouen, which belonged to his father. He was making his point.

King William took exception to this insolence and visited Robert with weapons. Unthinkingly, in hindsight, Robert’s men wounded William the Conqueror and thus, at the end of his life William the Conqueror bequeathed the English throne, not to his eldest son, but to that charming whipper-snapper, William Rufus who was mighty pleased.

The Battle of Agincourt

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Mon, 14 May 2012 08:42:00 +0000

In which a man with a squint saves the day and someone gets kicked in the groin

The Battle of Agincourt, all got started after the French took exception to King Henry V’s excessive capers around their countryside. He’d been chivvying the town of Harfleur for a few weeks and had left a good deal of structural damage there.

On his way back to Calais to catch a ferry to England Henry bumped into the French army who had parked straight across the main road at Agincourt. Though they had missed the shin-dig at Harfleur their motto was “Better late than never.”

The French army glistened in the evening light. 25,000 of them, mainly noble men-at-arms, were putting on the Ritz and plated up to the nines. The English, who were only 8,500 and suffering bowel complaints looked at this silver road block and said “Goodness!”

In one thing the English were blessed. Their captain was their very own King who had the inspirational knack needed for such occasions. He could put a bit of spin on his words and make men feel good about things. The French King, fearing he was made of glass, was back in Paris trying not to smash.

The Battle of Agincourt - by ajleon

Next morning the French swaggered about in their new armour and ordered coffee and croissants. Henry, at the other end of the pitch, was giving a motivational team talk to his men whom he had wedged tightly into a sort of alleyway between to woods.

To get things going, the English Longbowmen stepped forwards and spent a few minutes confetti-ing the French like newly-weds. Not liking it much the French ordered a cavalry charge to run the yeomen from the field. Now the records are a bit sketchy here, but as the cavalry set off in their resplendent garb towards the archers, for some reason about 30% were missing. Where they had gone missing to is a bit of a mystery. Even moving the furniture and looking behind things didn’t reveal them....

It is a common belief that the bodkin arrows of the English laid low the mighty French knights. This is not true. The resplendently garbed knights were advertising new steel armour and the arrows fairly pinged off them. However, and here’s the crux of it, a knight’s horse is not made out of steel and with 50,000 arrows per minute falling all around in a confined space, the paintwork was going to get scratched.

Before long, the French appeared to be sitting atop large hedgehogs and were feeling silly. As they neared their foes, lo, the rascals had put sharp pointy sticks in the ground and the French cavalry were foxed. Miffed beyond description they about-turned and scurried off.

It was now the turn of the noble Men-at-Arms to stomp over the 300 yards that stood between them and their English counterparts. They were zesty and light-hearted and may even have linked arms and sung a saucy ballad or two. But something now became apparent that would complicate matters.

Shortly before the Agincourt hoedown, locals from the villages had been out and about ploughing up all the fields they could get an ox into. Then, the very night before the battle, it had rained like a hosepipe. As the French ranks tip-toed from furrow to furrow, they felt uneasy on their pins. The recent cavalry stampede had left the ground like churned butter.

The trudge was heavy going and with visors down, peripheral vision was nought. Imagine the consternation then when a horde of hedgehog creatures with resplendently dressed men atop came hurtling into them followed by a hail of arrows. Some people shook fists, others slipped and left their Sunday best needing a dry clean. The horsemen pulled their collars up to avoid being identified.

When the first line of French noblemen at last arrived at the English doorstep they were all out of puff and found space to be at a premium. The field had tapered starkly from one end to the other and whilst marching the French had had the distinct feeling that they were walking the wrong way up a loud-hailer. The flanks folded inwards and those at the front were startled to find their arms wouldn’t rise above their waists. For a full ten minutes the English had but to step forward, raise their opponent’s visor and poke him in the eye.

For the French, the embarrassment of being so bodily close to one another was further compounded where the near-sighted second rank inadvertently got all tied up in the dance. The sound was comparable to an energetic concerto played upon the saucepans.

Henry, watching the French fervently compacting themselves together in a game of extreme sardines, saw he’d been handed cake and sent a regal invitation to the archers to join the rough-housing. This they did with commendable vigour. Their arrival was most unwelcome.

The French nobles believed that one should only scrap with one’s social equals and had expected the peasant Longbowmen to observe etiquette and keep out of things. The peasants were improvisers and their tactics involved a great deal of jumping and the use of mallets, which can render a helmet a deuced uncomfortable thing to wear.

Mud was everywhere and was absorbing feet up to the shins. For the cloth footed archers this was not to trialsome. The metal plimsolls of the French warlords, though, formed a tight seal and gave the impression to those wearing them that their foot was down the nozzle of an industrial vacuum cleaner.

After an hour of squashing, the first rank went home and the second rank had a bit of space. Humphrey the Duke of Gloucester (the Kings brother) now received a knee to the groin and gasped whilst cupping himself. The knee had belonged to Jean I Duke of Alencon, a hard-nosed fighter who didn’t think twice about scrotal ethics. And it was during this little foray of Jean’s that the fickleness of battle is best illustrated.

After groining Humphrey, Jean turned and poked Edward the Duke of York, who fell off his horse with a sort of ‘slap’ sound and adhered to the floor like a large strip of Velcro. Looking for his hat-trick Jean landed a glancing blow on the noggin of Henry, slicing an ornament from his crown. Henry saw stars and was set to meet his Maker when Jean was felled by a Welshman called Dafydd Gam, who, for some reason we are told, had a pronounced squint.

For the most part though, the French were glued to the spot in the mud whilst the nimble archers fluttered about swatting with their mallets. A good few were dragged behind the English lines as keepsakes to show the family back home.

However, when a delinquent knight got in amongst the English baggage, laughing at the underwear and setting fire to Henry’s tartan twin set, Henry got upset. Fearing that he was outflanked, Henry ordered all the captured noblemen to be executed before they could be freed.

When the French saw this they decided that everything was getting too ripe and ran. Henry’s men whooped and hussared a good deal but wept over the state of their suitcases which would not be able to hold the duty-free.

Richard the Lionheart gets Arrested

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Thu, 10 May 2012 12:41:00 +0000

"In which Duke Leopold gets the hump and a king is undone by a chicken"

Late in 1192, King Richard I of England had decided that he’d better be getting back home from his Crusade. So he hopped on a boat and said “That way boys!” and off they sailed.

As it was winter-time Richard couldn’t expect to avoid storms and had the rotten luck of crashing his yacht into a rock near Venice. After roundly cursing a bit whilst waiting for his clothes to dry, Richard and his chums were ready to set off for home once again.

This time they decided to hike overland to his sister and Brother-in-law’s house in East Germany. Unfortunately this would mean tramping through the realm of Leopold of Austria. Leopold didn’t like Richard. After winning the siege of Acre, Richard’s men had lobbed Leopold’s banner off the battlements and Leopold had got upset because now he could not lay claim to any of the spoils of the town. The Englishmen may even have laughed as they did it, which would have really rankled.

Leopold's Castle at Durnstein

On top of this, Leopold’s cousin, Conrad de Montferrat, had recently been done in by assassins, just days after being named King of Jerusalem. Not only had this ruined the festivities, but rumour had it that Richard had given the bumping-off order. When Leopold heard this he was vexed. The sound of smashing crockery could be heard all over his castle...

With Leopold wanting to knock his block off, Richard had to find a means of traversing Leo’s back garden without being caught . Ever the adventurer, Richard thought it would be a jolly jape to go James Bond. He dressed up as a merchant and joined some Pilgrims returning from the Holy land. It was a Church rule of the day that Pilgrims were not to be molested or bothered by anyone. Richard was feeling smug.

Richard’s plans came completely unhinged though because of a roast chicken. Roast chicken, you see, was a delicacy of Kings. So when Richard got his portable rotisserie service out in the middle of the campsites, eyebrows were raised. And with troubadours possibly singing carols about Richard’s fame around the campfire, some observers began putting two and two together. The upshot of it all was that somebody went and snitched.

Richard made a dash for it. But after three days of running, he felt peckish. He stopped at a tavern near Vienna and ordered a family bucket meal of chicken pieces for him and his pals. It was as he was digging into a tasty drumstick that the doors blew open and in walked the local constabulary. Chairs were thrown and the ketchup was upset. Richard was caught.

The Mayor arrested Richard and deposited him the nearby castle of Dürnstein. Leopold was elated with the news, although shortly afterwards a letter arrived from the Vatican saying he’d been excommunicated for imprisoning a pilgrim. This took the shine off things a little.

Leopold sold Richard to Henry VI, the Holy Roman Emperor. In turn Henry VI agreed a ransom price with Richard of £2bn in today’s money. Richard had to wait in prison until the ransom arrived. Whilst he waited John, his brother, in an outstanding show of filial affection offered Henry £1bn to keep Richard in prison. It was declined.

The money was eventually brought to Henry who let Richard go saying “No hard feelings old chap, eh?” Henry then used the cash to go and bash up the kingdom of Sicily. A neat end to an unfortunate escapade.

1381: The Peasant's Revolt

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Mon, 07 May 2012 22:29:00 +0000

"In which the Queen's bed is used as a trampoline and somebodies spoons are stolen"

Heavy taxation was certainly a big cause of the Peasant's Revolt. But it was when the local authorities started rummaging about beneath lady-folks’ skirts, as an inventive way of deducing whether they were taxable, that the British peasantry really got a bee in their bonnets. This eyebrow raising trivia was actually the blue touch paper that led to the Peasants Revolt.

On May 30th 1381 a tax collector, by the name of John Bampton, sidled into the small village of Brentwood and received the bums rush from a crowd led by a Baker. Bampton said “I’ll file a complaint with the chief Justice you know” and the villagers said “Go ahead” and Bampton was stumped.

The next day, Bampton returned with his arm around the shoulders of the chief justice and a group of soldiers. The Justice asked what all this was about and the villagers replied with dramatic gestures that creased the Justice’s garments. They also loosed the heads from a few soldiers to emphasise their point and the game, as Shakespeare put it, was afoot...

Word spread like measles in a kindergarten and before long a great morass of peasants and merchants had got together for a bit of a protest march and appointed a fellow called Wat Tyler as their head.

They stalked about the countryside, graffiti-ing manor houses and setting fire to tax registers. They had a particular interest in the Archbishop of Canterbury and sought to knock his block off in the Cathedral, á la Thomas Beckett. Disappointingly though, he’d just popped out to London.

Desiring to let as many of their fellow men in on the fun as possible, these happy revellers ransacked prisons and released the convicts to join in the merrymaking. One of these prisoners was a priest by the name of John Ball. He had been stowed away in the Clink for preaching outlandish themes like ‘all men are equal when you think about it.’ The rabble thought his ideas were the cat’s pyjamas and, as his sermons had the pleasing bonus of rhyming, he was voted vice-president without hesitation.

The protesters arrived at London on the 12th June and all congregated on the playing fields at Blackheath. John Ball, clambered onto a wagon and gave them a few of his choicest rhymes. In this one he posed the witty question “When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?” People marvelled at his winsome lyrics and after John had called their oppressors “naughty men” everybody cheered.

Wat now demanded to speak with the young king who was holed up in the Tower of London. Although only young he could see that things could get a bit spicy if he ignored the rabble, so his advisors recommended taking the boat. In this way they could prevent the crowd stampeding the royal party.

When the crowds heard that the king was practicing his strokes on the Thames they all surged to the water’s edge for a good nose. Jostling and noisy excitement was made by one and all. There was a thrill in the air as the king’s herald furtively stepped out from under the canopy and declared “The King says go home.” Most in the crowd couldn’t hear and shouted back “What?” After a stout bit of repetition the crowd understood and got restless. There was muttering at the back of the barge and the representative shouted over “What do you want?” To which the reply was "The Archbishop and the Treasurer."

Richard was in a dickens of a spot; the Bishop and Treasurer were in the barge listening. One imagines that there was an awkward moment in which all aboard looked at their shoes in embarrassed silence. Not knowing what to say back, Richard ordered a pirouette and sloshed back to the Tower. The peasants, not satisfied with the response, tramped over London Bridge and burnt the unpopular John of Gaunt’s Savoy palace to the ground by starting a bonfire in his wardrobe. Somebody also pinched his spoons.

The following morning the King sent word that he’d meet the leaders of the opposition at Mile End. Practically the whole city turned out and things were a bit tense. Wat and John’s demands were: Give us your advisors; get rid of serfdom; reduce rents and let us play in the forests. Richard said “Okay” and the lawyers got busy.

The crowd did two things at this point. Some of them went home patting each other on the back and calling each other ‘brother’. Another sizable part shuttled off to the Tower to do in the Archbishop and Treasurer.

Once inside the royal castle though, they simply had to enjoy themselves. This was the highlight of the trip. People ran in and out of rooms screaming gaily. Some scampered upstairs and into the Queen’s bedchamber. They went through her drawers looking at her knickers and jumped up and down on her bed. It was an absolute wheeze. The Queen fortunately was out, but when she came home there were mysterious footprints on her linen.

The Archbishop, Treasurer and a few others were in the Chapel, wishing they'd applied themselves better to hide-and-seek as children. These were promptly dispatched by the mob. Their heads were placed on poles and carried around by the peasant’s who thought themselves exceedingly clever..

Had the Revolt ended here, who knows what might’ve happened. Unfortunately Wat Tyler was enjoying the limelight and wanted to swagger a bit. He asked the king to meet again.

Wat trotted over to Richard and reverse parked his horse’s bottom under the nose of the king’s horse – something the tabloids remarked upon negatively. Wat was positively cock-a-hoot. He ambled up to the king and, shaking his Majesty’s hand, said “Yo!”

Playing the Big Cheese, Wat ordered a beer and chatted until someone in the King’s guard called him a thief. Wat was stung. He said “come ‘ere an’ say that” and a ruckus started in which the Mayor of London stabbed old Wat in the neck.

The crowd was uneasy and in a moment of great courage Richard rode towards them and said “You shall have no leader but me.” They asked how Wat was and the King said “Oh, he’s fine.” Richard then led them to another field where an army surrounded them, totally ruining their day out.

Richard sought to teach his citizens a lesson by executing a few chaps. John Ball was hung drawn and quartered in front of the King but remained lyrical to the end. However, things would never be the same again. People power had been discovered.

1066: The Battle of Hastings

noreply@blogger.com (Tristan) — Fri, 04 May 2012 08:49:00 +0000

"In which some tourists are suprised and William's PR team change his name"

As a first post on here, one feels that the natural thing to do is pick an absolute chestnut from the annals of history. And what event could be more chestnuty than the Battle of Hastings?

The battle of Hastings took place on 14th October 1066. It starred William the Conqueror in the blue corner sitting on his horse sporting chain mail and a shocking hair-cut, and Harold Godwin (king of Saxon England) in the red corner with his mates the Huscarls brandishing axes and topped with long flowing curly locks.

Ultimately the battle would catch Harold looking up at the wrong moment and receiving an arrow through the eyeball.

The cause of the battle all started because the previous king, Edward the Confessor, forgot to mention who should succeed him as king when he died. So when he did die, a great rumpus took place with everybody claiming, in an off-handish sort of way, that good old king Edward had definitely said that they could be king after he'd had his go.

Of course, most claimants were ignored as idiots, but three people seemed to have good claims to the English throne. Harold Godwin, Harold Hardrada (king of Norway) and William who was known most unfortunately as ‘the Bastard’ and whose aunt was the dead kings mother.

Edward the Confessor and William the Conqueror in stained glass

Naturally everyone in England thought Harold Godwin's claim was best, so he popped the crown on his top and said "Ta very much" or words to that effect. But here is where things get tricky and give us all a salutary warning of our behaviour when on holiday....

Just before King Edward had popped his clogs, Harold G had took the ferry across to France for a weekend break. His boat unfortunately sprung a leak and sank washing him up on the shores of Normandy where he was captured by William’s men (for William was duke in these parts). Now, after apologising for squelching water all over the carpets, Harold got chatting to William over an espresso or two and, according to the Bayeux Tapestry (a sort of comic strip made in the 11th century explaining the run up to the battle of Hastings), Harold ended up making a pact with William saying that he would respect him as his Lord.

Understandably, William took this to mean that when King Edward died Harold would back up William's claim to the English throne. Harold on the other hand had his own interpretation. He thought he had only agreed to recognise William as his Lord in Normandy (because Harold owned a few bed and breakfasts over there). It seems that someone had not read the small print of the agreement and a right old to-do would follow.

When Harold put the crown on his bonce, William went ape and told his men to pack their suitcases for an adventure in England. William got lots of boats together and everyone excitedly got on board only to find that the wind had stopped and they couldn't go anywhere. Thus, with a few thousand men hanging about, the hotels and pubs did a roaring trade.

Meanwhile, the other side of the channel, Harold had got wind that William was getting ready to come over with his chums with the express purpose of using Harold's head as a football. He didn't like the idea of this and got his own army together and scurried down to the south coast for a scrap.

Obviously Harold had no idea that William’s boats had stalled due to an uncooperative wind, for there were no weather reports in those days. So the lads got out their deck chairs and played volleyball for a while.

News then came to Harold G that the king of Norway, Harold H, had landed up north and was causing much complaint in the city of York. So he raced up there with his army and taught Harold H a lesson. Actually the Norwegians thoroughly embarrassed themselves that day. Not thinking the English could march so quickly, they were sought of hanging about the place sight-seeing and not wearing any armour. You can imagine their surprise when the English turned up and began swinging their axes lustily in their general direction. The Viking host was trounced and Harold H was killed.

As luck would have it, while the two Harold’s were going at each other, the wind picked up in France and William started towards England. Harold G swore under his breath and told his men he was awfully sorry but they were not finished just yet.

Eventually the two armies met (not at Hastings but at a place called Battle, named afterwards because there had just been a battle there). Harold gathered his team on top of a hill where they locked their shields together and waited for the Normans to attack. Both sides were nervy. The Normans rode on horses and the Saxons were not used to that. The Saxons used axes and not swords, which the Normans were not used to. The Normans also had a flag from the Pope who had decided to sponsor William’s expedition because William was good at building churches.

The two sides clashed with vigour. After each set of archers had offered introductions with a sort of Morse code in arrows, everyone got into the spirit of the event and there was much shouting from both sets of supporters. William’s cavalry though just couldn’t get through the Saxon shield wall. The Saxons were stout men and they found they were quite adept at chopping a horse and its rider in two with a single stroke. Harold looked set to win against the Normans and their abysmal haircuts, when tragedy struck.
Harold’s right flank, after biffing their Norman opponents hard, got too excited and chased the Normans down the hill as they fled only to discover extra Normans in the bushes. At this point Harold tut-tutted and watched his pals get butchered. William wheeled his cavalry to Harold’s right and got into the swing of things behind the Saxon shields.

It is at this moment that Harold may have spotted an amusingly shaped cloud and, while looking at it spied an arrow coming right for him. Down went Harold and the rest is History. And William, shrewd as ever, saw an opportunity to change his name from Bastard to Conqueror.