HistoryExtra https://www.historyextra.com/people/henry-i Wed, 24 Jun 2026 13:23:12 GMT en hourly 1 Why are there three lions on the shirts of the English football teams? https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/three-lions-england-football-shirt-history-why-king-henry-i/ Wed, 10 Jul 2024 10:30:10 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/three-lions-england-football-shirt-history-why-king-henry-i/ The three lions became a symbol of England thanks to 12th-century warmonger King Henry I who is popularly held to have been unable to speak a word of English himself... Why are lions so closely aligned with the English national identity? Why are there three of them? And why do they grace the English football teams' shirts?
The desultory answer to the football part is that the three lions are also the emblem of the Football Association, the sport's governing body in England.
They have been part of strip since the first official international in 1872, when England played Scotland, ending in a 0-0 draw. Still, that doesn't explain where the FA got them from.
- Read more: 5 facts about the history of football
Why are the three lions on the English football team shirt?
The FA did not pick their big cats on a whim – a trio of lions has appeared on the arms of every English (and British) monarch since the late 12th century, and has been flown as a battle standard on English soil and abroad.
The story is said to begin with King Henry I, whose arms were single golden lion, rampant (rearing on its hind legs) on a red field. He became a widower in 1118, and perhaps would have remained so had his sole male heir not died at sea in the White Ship disaster of 1120.
The following year, he married Adeliza of Louvain. Her father also used a lion, and so Henry adapted his own arms to include two.
Skipping a generation brings us to Henry II, who married Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152. Her family crest featured a lion as well. It took their son, Richard the Lionheart – a man who, in his entire reign, spent barely six months in England despite being born here – unite the three lions of his forebears into the national symbol it is today.
We only know of his arms from two Great Seals, one of which bears the three lions passant-guardant (striding left but facing the observer). Every Plantagenet king used these arms unchanged, lions golden on a field of red, until the ascension of Edward III in 1327.
Three lions on a shirt: the alternative explanation
There is an alternative theory to why Richard opted for three lions – he simply wanted to show off that as well as being King of England, he was also lord and master of the Dukedom of Normandy and Aquitaine. The symbol of Normandy is two lions, and the symbol of Aquitaine one lion (you can see where this is going).
Why are there roses as well as three lions on the England football shirt?
The badge on the English football team's shirts bears another very English emblem, a smattering of ten Tudor roses, the propaganda device that symbolises Henry VII uniting the house of Lancaster and the house of York by marrying Edward IV's daughter Elizabeth of York after the Wars of the Roses.
- Read next: 1966 – how England lost, found and won the World Cup in a single year
This article first appeared in BBC History Revealed
]]> Your guide to the Anarchy, the bloody battle between Stephen and Matilda https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/guide-the-anarchy-what-civil-war-stephen-matilda/ Sun, 23 May 2021 06:58:00 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/guide-the-anarchy-what-civil-war-stephen-matilda/ What was the Anarchy that tore England apart in the 12th century? What sparked the episode often known as one of the darkest periods in England's history? Emma Slattery Williams explores for BBC History Revealed… What was the Anarchy?
The Anarchy was a period of civil war in England between 1135 and 1153, following the death of Henry I. The anonymous 12th-century history Gesta Stephani (The Deeds of Stephen) paints a dismal picture of the state of the country at this time: “England, formerly the seat of justice, the habitation of peace, the height of piety, the mirror of religion, became thereafter a home of perversity, a haunt of strife, a training-ground of disorder, and a teacher of every kind of rebellion.” The Anarchy would be looked back on for centuries to come as one of the darkest periods in England’s history.
What had led up to the succession crisis?
In 1120, Henry I’s only legitimate son and heir, William Adelin, was killed when his ship sank in the English Channel. Fearing for the succession, Henry married Adeliza of Louvain (a woman 35 years his junior) in 1121 in the hope of fathering another male heir – though he had other sons, none were legitimate. Until this crisis, Henry’s rule had been viewed as strong with a centralised government; the thought of chaos at his death was troubling to England’s nobility.
Though his second marriage remained childless, a new option presented itself in 1125, when Henry’s only other legitimate child Matilda – Empress Matilda that is, as she had married Holy Roman Emperor Henry V – was widowed. She returned to Normandy (an English possession since the Norman Conquest) and, in 1128, was married to Geoffrey of Anjou, heir to the French lands of Anjou, Touraine and Maine, forming an alliance that secured Normandy’s southern borders.
- The Holy Roman Empire: "Neither Roman, nor holy, nor an empire"
Henry named Matilda his heir and made his court swear an oath to follow her, but his decision was not popular, and agreement was given reluctantly. Matilda had spent little time in England and her husband was not popular with the English nobles – he was technically at war with Henry when the king died. What’s more, England had never had a reigning queen before, and people were suspicious of a woman on the throne.
During Henry’s final years, relations with his daughter and son-in-law became strained. Matilda had been promised a number of castles in Normandy as part of her dowry, but had not been given any indication of when she could take possession of them. In 1135, Matilda and Geoffrey demanded these castles and insisted that the Norman nobility swear allegiance to the couple. Henry refused, perhaps out of fear that Geoffrey would try and seize power in Normandy for himself. And when a rebellion broke out in Normandy, Matilda and Geoffrey sided with the rebels against Henry.
What happened when Henry I died?
When Henry I died on 1 December 1135, some nobles declared that the king had released them from their oath to Matilda. The Norman barons believed that Theobald of Blois, Henry’s nephew via his sister Adela, would be the ideal choice for England’s king. Theobald’s younger brother Stephen, however, had other ideas. He was a prominent, well-liked member of Henry’s court, and had the support of the Church via their younger brother – another Henry, the Bishop of Winchester. Wasting no time, Stephen crossed the Channel to England from Boulogne, seizing the crown on 22 December.
How did Matilda react?
Matilda refused to renounce the crown. Her claim was upheld by her half-brother Robert of Gloucester (one of Henry I’s illegitimate sons), as well as her uncle King David I of Scotland. Robert’s declaration of support for Matilda caused a rebellion to rise up across the southwest of England as well as Kent, while Geoffrey of Anjou invaded Normandy and David I attacked northern England.
In 1139, Matilda arrived in England to claim her throne. She stayed at Arundel Castle with her stepmother while Robert attempted to rally support for her across the country. Stephen besieged the castle, effectively trapping Matilda inside. As she had not yet declared herself as a threat to him, he allowed her safe passage to meet up with Robert in Bristol. There, she established a base in the southwest. Over the next few years there were minor scuffles and an attempt at peace as Stephen tried to reclaim the region.
Why was this conflict called ‘the Anarchy’?
As Stephen’s rule progressed, he began to alienate many nobles who had been key advisors to Henry I by promoting his own friends.
Stephen had also made an enemy of the clergy when he arrested Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, and his position as king became unstable. Members of the clergy saw this as an attack on the church itself and many now threw their support behind Matilda’s claim. Many barons and clergy became a law unto themselves. Authority broke down, Stephen’s government lost control – hence the term ‘anarchy’ – and unlicensed castles began to appear. A number of nobles wanted to regain what they saw as hereditary rights to lands that had changed hands during Henry I’s reign, and some changed sides frequently to gain advantage.
The Anarchy: was it really that bloody, or have we been duped by Plantagenet spin?
Stephen and Matilda’s battle for the English crown in the mid-12th century has long been cast as one of the most turbulent episodes in British history. But, asks Matthew Lewis, does the ‘Anarchy’ deserve its bloody reputation?
Did Matilda come close to claiming the crown?
In 1141, Stephen besieged Lincoln Castle, where he was set upon by forces led by Robert of Gloucester and Ranulf of Chester. Defeated in the ensuing battle, Stephen was taken to Bristol and held prisoner for nearly nine months. Even though he was the anointed king, his legs were chained, and his poor treatment served to lessen Matilda’s popularity.
With Stephen behind bars, Matilda took her chance and made it as far as Westminster, with preparations underway for her coronation. However, she quickly lost support from the people of London for another reason. In the lead up to a coronation, the soon-to-be monarch would traditionally listen to petitions about tax concessions and requests for favours, but Matilda granted no favours and banished all petitioners from her presence. The people now saw that Matilda as queen was no better a solution for the country and they rang the bells of the city. Matilda was forced to flee to Oxford when an angry mob and the London militia advanced on Westminster.
What happened to Stephen?
In September 1141, Robert was captured at Winchester by Stephen’s queen, also called Matilda, who led loyal nobles and Flemish mercenaries in Stephen’s name. Robert was exchanged for Stephen, weakening the former empress further. Stephen then proceeded to attack Oxford and besieged its castle, where Matilda was based, forcing her to flee to Abingdon Abbey and then Wallingford Castle.
The war carried on with skirmishes and victories on both sides, but neither Stephen nor Matilda’s forces were able to deliver a decisive blow. In 1147, Robert of Gloucester died, and with him the main thrust of Matilda’s military campaign. She left for Normandy the following year and passed her claim to the throne to her son, Henry Plantagenet.
How did the civil war known as 'the Anarchy' end?
Henry enjoyed military success in Normandy and set his sights on England – in 1153, he undertook an effective campaign, managing to take control of much of the country with little fighting.
The first vestiges of a resolution appeared at Wallingford in July 1153: Stephen and Henry’s forces camped on either side of the Thames, but the barons on both sides refused to fight. Many had already made peace amongst themselves and forced Henry and Stephen to do the same – though there were skirmishes while the peace was ironed out.
Stephen’s son Eustace was less than happy with the idea of a truce, but his sudden death in August simplified matters as far as claimants to the throne were concerned, leading to a more formal agreement – the Treaty of Winchester, in which Stephen would continue to rule, with Henry as his successor. When Stephen died in 1154, Henry Plantagenet became Henry II – the first of the dynasty that ruled England until 1485.
- History explorer: Stephen and Matilda's fight for the throne
What part did Scotland play in the Anarchy?
King David of Scotland invaded England on Stephen’s ascension to the throne as he recognised his niece, Matilda, as the rightful monarch. The only way Stephen could diffuse the situation was to cede Carlisle and give David’s son, Henry, the title and lands of the Earldom of Huntingdon.
David would invade northern England numerous times over the next few years to help Matilda’s efforts and to increase his own territories. The 1138 Battle of the Standard was an English victory, but David received much of the territorial concessions he had wanted including the Earldom of Northumberland as well as keeping hold of Carlisle and Cumberland. David remained loyal to Matilda throughout Stephen’s reign but did not take his army south in support.
What were the Anarchy's lasting effects on England?
Though the economy was in tatters due to long periods of fighting, Henry II united a kingdom that had been torn apart, dismissing the Scottish and Welsh invaders who had taken advantage of the chaos. He also listened to the advice of his barons, which Stephen had often neglected to do.
As royal authority had weakened during Stephen’s reign, the clergy had made a move to extend the Church’s jurisdiction. Henry II attempted to reverse this with the Constitution of Clarendon – 16 articles which would reduce ecclesiastical privilege and lessen the power of the church courts. Quarrels about this would eventually lead to the infamous falling-out between Henry II and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, and the latter’s murder.
This article was first published in the October 2020 edition of History Revealed
]]> Charles Spencer on the White Ship disaster, "the most disastrous moment in British maritime history" https://www.historyextra.com/membership/white-ship-disaster-what-happened-charles-spencer/ Wed, 04 Nov 2020 16:55:23 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/membership/white-ship-disaster-what-happened-charles-spencer/ On the 900th anniversary of the White Ship disaster, Charles Spencer, author of a new book on the tragedy, and medieval historian Dan Jones discuss how it rocked the English monarchy Dan Jones: Your new book concerns one of the most dramatic events in the Middle Ages, that’s the sinking of the White Ship in 1120 – nine centuries ago. It’s been described as the medieval Titanic, but you argue in the book that it’s even more meaningful in the course of history. Can we begin with what happened in November 1120?
Charles Spencer: On the night of 25 November 1120, something cataclysmic happened to the English royal family. On the White Ship were 300 people, among them some of the most important figures in Anglo-Norman society. And the most important by a very long way was the sole legitimate male heir to King Henry I.
Henry is the backbone of this story. It’s a true-life Greek tragedy where a king has, over 20 years, seized the throne, built up a system of government that works, and quelled all sorts of problems. He’s already started to hand over power to his heir, William the Ætheling, who’s the designated king and Duke of Normandy for the next generation.
William got on board the ship, partied like crazy with his friends for several hours, and got everyone drunk on board, including, unfortunately, the helmsman. And so about one nautical mile outside Barfleur, the White Ship, one of the finest ships of its age, hit a rock. And there was one survivor, so we know what happened in the water as people struggled to survive.
What sort of king was Henry I?
Henry is one of the most interesting historical figures I’ve ever come across because his is such a human story. As the fourth son of William the Conqueror, he was an obscure figure who was destined to be a well-bred non-entity. Yet he became a titan of European history in the first 35 years of the 12th century.
He was a very effective medieval king in that he kept the peace: for the last 29 years of his reign in England, nobody kept a castle against him or rose in rebellion. People said that a young girl laden with treasure could walk from one end of the kingdom to the other without being held up. And that was an incredible thing for a king to give to his people, that level of peace. Henry also had a very clear idea about finance, and formed the Exchequer, the name of which survives to this day.
So Henry was an effective ruler, which is what people craved. And he knew the importance of having an established, acknowledged heir, because that was the one person who could bring about order. If you didn’t have that, then you opened the gates of hell.
So this brings us on to William the Ætheling, Henry’s only legitimate son. Henry had more than 20 children but only two of them were legitimate: one boy and one girl, William and Matilda. Tell us about William the Ætheling – this strange word, what does it mean, and what was Henry’s plan for him?
‘Ætheling’ is an odd Anglo-Saxon term that means that you are eligible to be king. For William, it was the equivalent of the heir apparent, because there was no one else – he was the only legitimate male son.
Henry was a loving father who invested all his hopes in this boy, and we know from the chroniclers that he took great care with him. For four years before the White Ship sank, Henry had been fighting Louis VI to get the French king to acknowledge his son as Duke of Normandy. And Henry took his son to diplomatic events where he was arguing for his right to be the duke. He was grooming him to be his heir in a very thoughtful way, engaging him in things as a young man.
And what do we know about William? What’s difficult is that all the sources are ecclesiastical writers, and of course they see the hand of God in everything. When William died in the White Ship, people were looking for God’s reason for doing this. For somebody to be deprived of a magnificent future must mean that God didn’t like him. I found a lot of chroniclers were saying how spoilt and obnoxious he was. There was a story that he viewed the Anglo-Saxons as a sort of Untermensch – a species not quite as good as the Normans – and that he’d promised, when he was king, to put them to the yoke. But it’s hard to tell how true this is.
We know that William was the centre of a hard-living aristocratic group, which is sort of inevitable if you’re a teenage king-to-be. He loved fine clothes, and apparently, he was a handsome boy, although again, for the chroniclers, if you were royal, you tended to be either beautiful or handsome.
William must have been flattered by the attention of the crew of the White Ship, who were absolutely thrilled to have him as their passenger. And in return for their adulation, he bought the crew three barrels of wine for them to enjoy with his friends.
So let’s get into the detail of the sinking. Why were William and Henry in Barfleur? And what was this White Ship? Why was William sailing on it?
Henry was in Barfleur because it was the favourite port at which to embark from Normandy to England – for anyone of note, really. In good weather, it was a 10 to 12-hour journey and it was very easy. Henry had spent four years campaigning against Louis VI and he’d finally won the war, he’d had his son acknowledged by his great enemy. So he arrived in Barfleur in triumph.
Henry already had the ship that always took him back home. But then the captain of the White Ship came forward and tried to give Henry a tribute in return for him changing his mind and going on his ship. The man also pointed out that it would be his honour to take the king back because it had been his father’s great privilege to captain the Mora, which was William the Conqueror’s flagship on the invasion of England in 1066. But Henry was fixed in his ways and said: “No, I’m actually fine but it’d be enormous fun for my son and his friends [and a couple of Henry’s illegitimate children]” to go on the White Ship.
The White Ship was obviously a very special ship to look at. There was still a huge crossover from Viking to Norman culture at this time and the ships hadn’t evolved much from those in the Bayeux Tapestry. They were Clinker built, meaning one plank was put across the next, and they were then hammered together. And they were very fast.
So it was a large Viking ship and it had a particularly large crew of oarsmen. We know from a speech of the captain that she must have been white, and I think she would have been lime-washed, rather than painted white.
From the list of passengers, it’s clear that it was a gang, a clique, who got together on there. The most powerful earl in England, Richard, Earl of Chester, got on board with his entourage and it seems the main body of aristocrats on the ship were connected to him. There were also two of Henry’s greatest knights on board and 18 women who had the rank of countess or princess.
So it was chock-full of the most important people in Anglo-Norman society, as well as 50 members of the crew. They had a rip-roaring party ashore: the crew got drunk, the passengers got drunk and then right at the last minute, one or two of the passengers got off because they were worried about the state of the crew.
And then some monks come to the ship...
In one chapter I write about Anglo-Norman attitudes towards the sea. And of course, people didn’t know anything much about it except it was sometimes very beautiful and often very dangerous. They didn’t know what was under the waves. If you look at the poetry or maps from the time, the sea is full of terrifying species: sea goats, sea elephants – think of any animal and it has a devilish counterpoint under the waves.
Drowning was considered the most painful way to die. One way of countering this was getting God’s blessing before you sailed and it was common, with an important ship like this, for monks or priests to come and bless it. Unfortunately, on this occasion, the passengers were so drunk that when the monks turned up, they were chased away. Later, the chroniclers saw this as inviting the doom that came along. The ship probably set sail just before midnight. A large crowd watched them go: some were relatives of people who were sailing, but others just wanted to have a good look at this glamorous bunch of people on one ship. And then they pushed out to sea.
The helmsman was from Barfleur and knew the area very well, but he was drunk, and the sail was dropped too soon. They were going at a hell of a speed: the rowers bending their backs to try to catch up with the king who had set off a few hours before.
There’s a big rock, which you really would expect to avoid, called the Quillebeuf. And they hit it at full speed. I think they had gone so fast in that one mile from the harbour, that the helmsman hadn’t realised quite how far out they were.
They hit it extremely hard and the sailors used hooks to try to push the boat clear, but all they did is make it worse. And these sailors were the first casualties – they got washed away. The planks started to open up and once one opens, there’s no plan B: you’re open to the sea then.
And they were only a mile from land?
Interestingly, the people of Barfleur heard a big cry, but they just assumed that the party had gone up a notch on the ship and they went home, thinking nothing of it. So it was the middle of the night and nobody knew what had happened, even though the ship was only a mile away.
I try to bring in a little bit of modern science to work out what happened. First of all, I don’t think anyone could swim – very, very few people could swim at this time – but the real killer that night was the cold and there is a scientific thing called cold-water shock. If you are immersed in very cold water suddenly, you will gulp in water and your muscles become uncontrollable. Most of the people on board will have died very quickly, especially as they were wearing heavy clothes to counter the cold of a November night.
Were there lifeboats?
There was one lifeboat. There were bodyguards on board, and they bundled William the Ætheling into the one rowing boat and started to get him away. But there’s this moment that has always haunted anyone who knows the story, where William’s sister, Margaret of Perche (one of Henry’s illegitimate daughters), sees William escaping and starts screaming for him to come back. She insulted his manhood for leaving his sister to die. And William ordered his crew to turn the boat around to go and get her. But there were so many people thrashing around for their life in the water, and when they saw this rowing boat, they tried to clamber on board and the boat went down.
There were just a handful of survivors at this stage. One of them is a fantastic figure, Berold the butcher, from Rouen, who was the humblest man on board, apart from the crew. He had scrambled onto a bit of broken mast with a man called de l’Aigle who came from an aristocratic fighting family. The captain of the ship swam to them and said: “Where’s the king’s son?” They told him the news, and the captain knew that Henry was not one to be trifled with, so he allowed himself to die because he didn’t want to be the one to explain what had happened to Henry’s three children who had died. He just let himself drift under and was never seen again.
So the ship went down, William the Ætheling went down, and Berold the butcher survived to tell the story, which is how we know the dramatic details. When did Henry find out that he’d lost his legitimate son, two of his illegitimate children, and, beyond that, his whole plan for the Anglo-Norman realm?
People quickly knew something had gone wrong with the White Ship because it was a clear night and there was no possible explanation except that it had sunk. Then the confirmation came when Berold was discovered the next morning by a fisherman. The news reached southern England within a day, but nobody wanted to tell Henry because, even on a good day, he was terrifying, and he loved his children.
All the courtiers had relatives or friends who they knew had drowned, but they tried to hide their sorrow from the king, so he didn’t ask them about it. Eventually, the courtiers persuaded a young boy to tell Henry what had happened. The boy went in, fell on the ground and spewed out this terrible news. And Henry bellowed and fell down on the ground in shock and despair.
He was completely devastated, went into denial and ordered the coast to be checked in case the White Ship was somewhere else. And when he realised that it was true and he’d lost all these people who were the cornerstone of his ambitions, he took to bed and didn’t eat for a very long time. This went on until one of his closest confidants told him that all this crying wasn’t going to bring William back and was just going to make his enemies stronger. Crying, he said, is for women, not for kings, and you’ve got to get on with it. And Henry did get up, and actually lived another 15 years.
Fifteen years seems ample opportunity for Henry to marry again – as he does, to Adeliza of Louvain – and produce another legitimate heir. But he doesn’t do that, so that leaves him with one legitimate child: Matilda. Can you tell us about her?
Matilda had a conventional life, up until this point. She was married off to the Holy Roman Emperor Henry V in Germany and it was a huge moment for Henry I to have his daughter acknowledged as effectively the empress of central Europe. She was brought up in a different way of royal governance: when her husband was off fighting wars, she was left with real power. She was not just an adjunct to the king – she was a proper regent.
And then the emperor died of cancer, and Matilda went back to her father. She was now an incredibly eligible heiress and Henry used her for his dynastic purposes: he persuaded her to marry a much younger man, Geoffrey, who was the son of the Count of Anjou.
It was difficult for Matilda to swallow this. First of all, she was marrying a boy, while she was a woman. And secondly, she was being downgraded to a countess. But she did it for her father. Henry needed to disable the House of Anjou, because they’d been allied with France against him.
So instead of producing another heir, Henry decided to load the future of his realm onto his daughter. He forced the barons to swear homage to her. This is extraordinary, isn’t it? In a patriarchal age, what was a political wizard like Henry thinking in loading all this on to Matilda?
Henry was, in our parlance, as sexist as anyone and he did make a distinction. After about six years of not producing a child with his second wife, he announced to his lords that the White Ship had been a national catastrophe and had deprived him of his heir. But he would like them all to acknowledge Matilda as his successor. Being a successor was very different to being an heir. What Henry was asking was for people to be loyal to her, to recognise her as queen, but really, she was a stepping stone, dynastically. By the time Henry died, she had some sons – the eldest one called Henry – and the king was really trying to use her as somebody to pass on the baton to his grandson. But he couldn’t do that without having her made queen.
Henry was completely transfixed by the problem of his succession and it dominated his last 15 years. But when he died, he must have thought: “Well, I’ve dealt with that,” because the leading bishops, abbots and aristocracy, in England and Normandy, had sworn to recognise his wish and Matilda was going to become queen.
But it’s a staggering thing – and it says so much about the role of women in society at the time – that as soon as Henry died, few people bothered to even think about that. And Henry’s nephew, Stephen of Blois (who was one of those who had got off the White Ship in Barfleur), raced for the crown. He was a popular chap, a good warrior, and, crucially, male, and he snapped up the crown with all sorts of promises that he didn’t observe.
Stephen was okay for the first years of his reign, but then Matilda arrived in 1139 with an army and a proper civil war began. [That civil war, now known as the Anarchy, saw Stephen and Matilda vying for the English throne for 19 years. The conflict was effectively brought to an end by the Treaty of Wallingford (1153), which decreed that Stephen could retain the throne until his death on condition that the crown then passed to Matilda’s son, Henry.]
The upshot is that, against all odds, the long dead Henry I got his way, didn’t he?
Henry’s grandson became Henry II and so it all came good – but after utter chaos. The Anarchy was aptly named. It was a complete bloodbath. It was about as tumultuous a time as Britain’s ever suffered and it all stemmed from the sinking of one ship.
That’s why I maintain that this was the most disastrous moment in British maritime history. Yes, the Titanic is remarkable in its scale and the glamour of the people on board, but this was an entire royal family destroyed. It’s an extraordinary thing for one ship to bring such calamity to a nation.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Charles Spencer is an author and former journalist who has written bestselling history books, including Killers of the King: The Men Who Dared to Execute Charles I (Bloomsbury, 2014). His latest book is The White Ship (William Collins, 2020)
Dan Jones is a historian and broadcaster who has written numerous bestselling books of medieval history, most recently Crusaders: An Epic History of the Wars for the Holy Lands (Head of Zeus, 2019)
This article was first published in the December 2020 edition of BBC History Magazine
]]> The White Ship: a medieval royal tragedy https://www.historyextra.com/membership/charles-spencer-white-ship-disaster-dan-jones-podcast/ Wed, 04 Nov 2020 12:15:30 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/membership/charles-spencer-white-ship-disaster-dan-jones-podcast/ Charles Spencer speaks to Dan Jones about the White Ship disaster, which plunged the English monarchy into chaos 900 years ago Bestselling author Charles Spencer speaks to fellow historian Dan Jones about the White Ship disaster, which plunged the English monarchy into chaos 900 years ago.
WhiteShip_HistoryExtra_2020_11_04 Temp
]]> How King Henry I made and blew a fortune https://www.historyextra.com/membership/how-king-henry-i-made-and-blew-a-fortune/ Fri, 03 Aug 2018 08:00:00 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/membership/how-king-henry-i-made-and-blew-a-fortune/ Judith Green reveals how a powerful medieval king raised enough money to splash out on God, wars, weddings and spices The year 1124 wasn’t a good one to be an English moneyer. Things started to go seriously wrong for the men who minted the country’s coins when King Henry I, the youngest son of William the Conqueror, found that the coins he needed to pay his knights at the end of a campaign in Normandy were of poor quality. So infuriated was Henry by this discovery that he sent orders to England that all moneyers should be punished – by losing their right hands and being castrated. His command was carried out by his chief minister, Roger, bishop of Salisbury, over Christmas that year.
Yet not every moneyer, it seems, was subjected to this hideous fate. We know this from an entry in the pipe rolls – the records of financial transactions, collated by the English Exchequer – for 1130. “Brand the moneyer accounts for £20 that he might not be mutilated with the other moneyers,” it declares. It’s the briefest of references to the moneyers’ ordeal but it proves that, for one of their number at least, this episode didn’t have the most painful of endings.
It is entries such as these that make pipe rolls such a valuable resource. Dating from the early 12th century, they are the record of annual accounts that were collated by sheriffs, the king’s principal financial officials in the counties. Each year the sheriffs had to attend a review of these accounts at the Exchequer (located in Westminster), which took its name from the checked cloth on the table round which the members of the court sat. Counters were set out on the cloth showing how much the sheriff had paid, and how much was still outstanding. The written record of that audit was recorded on rolls, which looked like sections of pipe.
Read more:
- The search for Henry I: what you need to know
- Reassessing William the Conqueror
- 1066: 8 days that rocked England
So what do pipe rolls tell us about the wealth of Henry I? First of all, they reveal that £24,000 was paid to the Treasury as cash, or accounted for as expenditure in 1130. The largest single item came from royal manors, most of which provided a cash payment to the king as well as yielding produce.
Taxing times
The king also had important rights over towns and cities, and from the church. When bishops and abbots died, their revenues were paid into the Treasury until a successor was appointed. Henry could, of course, also levy taxes, of which the largest in 1130 was the famous Danegeld. By the 12th century this was no longer paid as tribute to the Vikings, but towards the cost of the monarch’s knights.
Beyond land and taxation, the pipe rolls for 1130 tell us that the king could make plenty of money for, well, simply being king – and there were a number of ways in which he could do so. Justice was one of the king’s most lucrative sources of income. If, for example, you were caught hunting Henry I’s deer then – thanks to the forest laws introduced by his father, William I – you’d be hit with a hefty fine. And, if you needed permission from the king to succeed to large estates, to marry an heiress or a widow, the chances are you’d have to pay him for the privilege.
The king was able to intervene in human relationships in this way because he was the overlord of the greatest magnates – and they, in turn, had similar rights over their tenants. This system was simply part and parcel of medieval ideas of lordship.
The fines that the king levied on his subjects could be enormous – the equivalent to the annual proceeds of the king’s lands in two or three counties – so large, in fact, that they often had to be paid off in instalments. If the debtor was a royal favourite, the chances are he’d never have to pay the fine – though the debts still yielded rewards for the king, acting as a spur to loyalty.
Yet the monarch had to be careful not to alienate his most powerful subjects by levying fines too indiscriminately. Henry’s I grandson, Henry II, seems to have been so sensitive to the dangers of turning his subjects against him that he abandoned this form of raising revenues altogether. However, his son, King John, was far less squeamish about imposing fines – a policy that helped contribute to the Magna Carta crisis.
Out of favour
Another valuable source of income for the king were the Jews. They had arrived in England after 1066 – probably from Rouen – and, by 1130, there was an important Jewish community in London. The pipe rolls give an insight both into their financial dealings and their vulnerability.
The king was notionally the Jews’ protector, and the Jewish community could, in theory, enlist his help in collecting money that they were owed. However, the pipe rolls for 1130 reveal that, on their account, Jews owed £2,000 “for a sick man whom they killed”. This phrase suggests that Jews were already falling under suspicion of harming others, a dark foreboding of the accusation in King Stephen’s reign that they were responsible for the ritual murder of a child in Norwich.
So pipe rolls tell us a good deal about the source of the king’s revenues. By studying a sequence of rolls we can also identify when and where royal officials were applying pressure. We can see, for instance, how legal reforms introduced by Henry II brought in more money.
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Before the survival of other kinds of administrative records, pipe rolls are also the only source of detail we have available to us about spending. For example, they record the money that sheriffs laid out as the royal court moved about the country, or crossed the Channel. A close inspection of the pipe roll for 1130 reveals that a good deal of the spending on food, spices and wine in that year was accounted for by the sheriffs of London.
The 1130 roll also tells us that the sheriffs were instructed to spend money on the Tower of London – which housed a number of distinguished prisoners, including Henry I’s cousin, the Count of Mortain, who was rumoured to have been blinded on the king’s orders. There is also a reference to spending on two arches of London Bridge, which linked the city with the thriving suburbs of Lambeth and Southwark.
The king’s hunt was another major expense. Huntsmen and forest wardens figure on the rolls, as do hawkers. The best hawks came from Norway, via Lincoln, where a man name Outi accounted for 100 Norway hawks and 100 falcons. The trade is a reminder that, although Viking raids were on the wane, Viking traders were still very much in evidence at Lincoln and other ports along the east coast.
Monied monarch
Henry I was renowned for his wealth. Even as early as 1087, when he inherited £5,000 from his father, he always seems to have had ready money at his disposal. Yet he also spent it. He invested huge sums in war, most of all in the capture and retention of Normandy. After he became king he launched a successful campaign to take over the whole duchy and, by 1104, we hear of him levying heavy taxes and taking large quantities of money across the Channel.
Normandy’s defence continued to absorb resources, in campaigning, in subsidies to allies, and in defence. The frontiers of the duchy were ringed with castles, now increasingly being built in stone.
Arrangements for the marriages of Henry’s son, William, and his daughter, Matilda, also came at a high price. In fact, it may have been the need to raise cash for Matilda’s wedding to the German king that led to the birth of the Exchequer in the form we see it in 1130. Henry also laid out great sums in gifts to churches, including the abbey he founded at Reading in the 1120s.
The royal court was a theatre of power and had to convey a sense of magnificence. On great occasions, such as the reception of the pope at Rouen in 1131, Henry I had to put on a good show. This meant that he needed a large retinue to accompany him on his progress across his kingdoms – something that was, in itself, a major logistical exercise.
During the reign of Henry’s older brother, William, local people had been so frightened of the arrival of the court that they had run off and hid in the woods. Henry, it was said, made sure that its members paid for the provisions they’d taken.
For this fascinating nugget of detail on the relationship between a medieval ruler and his subjects, we must again thank the pipe rolls. Yes, they are a unique record of royal finances but they are so much more than that: for they provide a priceless snapshot of English society in the early 12th century.
Judith Green is emeritus professor of medieval history at the University of Edinburgh. She is the author of Henry I: King of England and Duke of Normandy (CUP, 2009)
Henry I: a brutal but capable ruler
As the youngest of William the Conqueror’s sons, Henry may originally have been intended for the church, hence the care given to his education and the later nickname ‘Beauclerc’. However he was knighted before his father’s death and then had to make his way in the world. He got his big chance in 1100. His brother William Rufus was killed in a hunting accident in the New Forest, while his eldest brother, Robert, Duke of Normandy, was still absent on the First Crusade.
Despite arguments for delay until Robert’s return, Henry was speedily crowned king. Six years later he defeated Robert and captured Normandy as well. After that, his chief aim was to ensure that his son William – and not one of Robert’s offspring – would follow him as king. In 1120 it looked as though he had been successful, only to have his hopes dashed when William and many of the court drowned in the wreck of the White Ship, the Titanic of the 12th century.
Henry proved to be an able if fairly brutal ruler. His reign witnessed important developments in the way that England was governed and in the agents of government. His first marriage allied him with a descendant of the pre-Conquest kings and with the rulers of Scotland; his second proved childless.
Most of his children were born outside marriage: he has the dubious record of the most acknowledged illegitimate children of any English king. He lived on into his 60s in relatively good health, and died in Normandy after eating a dish of lampreys against his doctor’s advice. His body was embalmed (not entirely successfully) for transportation to England, and was buried at Reading Abbey.
This article was first published in the February 2013 issue of BBC History Magazine
]]> The search for Henry I: what you need to know https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/the-search-for-henry-i-what-you-need-to-know/ Thu, 06 Oct 2016 13:00:10 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/the-search-for-henry-i-what-you-need-to-know/ Last month it was announced that a grave possibly belonging to the medieval king Henry I may have been located underneath a car park in Reading Over the summer, a team of researchers from the Hidden Abbey Project carried out ground-penetrating radar (GPR) research of the Reading Abbey area – the final resting place of Henry I and his wife, Adeliza. The first phase of the project aims to uncover the full extent of the abbey church, which was largely destroyed in 1539 during the dissolution of the monasteries. Initial results from the radar scan show three potential graves, possibly including that of Henry I.
It has already been established that Henry was buried in front of the high altar, with members of his family buried in specific locations around him. If the team can successfully locate the high altar, they will be able to determine the likely burial location of Henry I. Digging work is due to begin in the car park in the autumn, and the project’s findings will feature in a planned television documentary with Darlow Smithson Productions.
Henry I, the youngest of William the Conqueror’s four sons, founded Reading Abbey in 1121 as a royal mausoleum, and is buried there along with his second wife, Adeliza, and great-grandson William of Poitiers.
We caught up with Philippa Langley, who instigated the Hidden Abbey Project for Reading, to find out more…
Q: What can you tell us about the graves that have been discovered?
A: The ground-penetrating radar survey has uncovered the eastern end of the medieval abbey church beneath what is now the Ministry of Justice car park. The chancel, apse and ambulatory areas are shown in quite stunning detail.
Three potential grave slots are also marked in this location. Two are positioned beside each other towards the eastern wall of the apse with the third slightly further west, with half of it seemingly under the dividing wall with the playground of the adjacent nursery school. The walls of the nave and far western extent of the abbey church are, at this stage, proving more difficult to locate, possibly due to higher soil levels in the Forbury Gardens or having been robbed.
Q: Can you speculate as to who the graves might belong to? What would you say are the chances of one of them belonging to Henry I?
A: It might be possible to speculate who the graves belong to when we can determine the location of the high altar. The location of the high altar is one of the Hidden Abbey Project’s key research questions and will be a hugely significant discovery in terms of understanding this potentially unique Romanesque building.
It is currently believed that the high altar is located in the choir of the church, which would place the grave of Henry I further west under the nursery school building. Recently, the eastern playground of the nursery has also been suggested, and either of these locations might be correct. This is because we know that Henry was buried in front of the high altar.
However, if the original (Norman) high altar is located against the eastern wall of the apse, as seen for example at Tewkesbury Abbey, then one of the two graves positioned side by side in the car park could be Henry. The other might then be Constance of York (1374–1416), who was buried near Henry, and is also believed to have been placed before the altar.
The positioning of the high altar against the eastern wall of Tewkesbury Abbey could be a potential pointer for Reading, as Tewkesbury is a direct contemporary, being consecrated in 1121, the same year Reading Abbey was founded.
Tewkesbury was also financed by Henry I’s illegitimate son, Robert of Gloucester.
However, until we can place a targeted trench in the Ministry of Justice car park to uncover and fully understand the east end of the Norman abbey church, and potentially locate its high altar, we have only these various hypotheses to go on.
In essence, if the Hidden Abbey Project is successful in locating the high altar of the abbey, this will then give us the key not only to understanding the abbey church and potentially its wider abbey precinct, but also to determining the burial location of King Henry I of England. Whatever the authorities involved decide to do with this information, the question then remains whether Henry’s grave is there or was removed by later development work and/or desecrated in the mid-16th century.
Grave desecration seems unlikely at this stage given the religious times it was said to have taken place, and to have been carried out by Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, uncle of the then reigning monarch, Edward VI. If Seymour had received royal orders to desecrate a royal tomb, this would have set an extraordinary precedent. Or did Seymour simply decide in the zeal of the final destruction of the abbey’s east end that greed was good? If the medieval king had been buried in a silver casket, Seymour wanted to know.
At this point of course, grave desecration is all conjectural. However, what we do know is the church today takes grave desecration very seriously indeed, so determining whether this actually took place is a significant question.
A GPR survey has uncovered the eastern end of the medieval abbey church beneath what is now a Ministry of Justice car park. (Credit Philippa Langley)
Q: What happens next? How do we go about determining a possible connection to Henry I? Is an excavation likely to take place at some point in the future?
A: Digging work is due to begin in the car park in the autumn. The Ministry of Justice had previously received permission from Historic England to dig two trenches in the car park based on a Desk Based Assessment (DBA). However, with the Hidden Abbey Project now supplying the GPR analysis and locating the entire east end of the abbey church in the car park at its southern end, the archaeologists and Historic England are now in a position to plan targeted trenches in order to answer the project’s (and Reading’s) many key research questions. And uncovering the east end of the abbey church will be the basis to unlocking its story.
As to a possible connection to Henry, if we uncover the high altar we will then be able to extrapolate the likely location of the king’s grave. And by bringing his story to life in the documentary, Henry I will no longer be our forgotten king.
If Henry’s grave is discovered, it will then be for Reading Council, the landowner [the Ministry of Justice or Diocese of Portsmouth] and Historic England to decide what happens next.
Q: What is your reaction to the discovery?
A: I’m very excited for Reading. The discovery of the east end of the abbey church beneath the car park is an important moment for the town’s history, giving them the opportunity to answer so many of the project’s key research questions.
Telling the abbey’s story is going to be incredibly important for Reading, enabling it to become, what I believe it should have always been – a historic town.
Q: What parallels can be drawn with the 2012/13 search for the remains of Richard III in Leicester?
A: There are some interesting parallels with the search for Richard III in Leicester. Clearly we have the graves of two kings of England becoming lost over time, and two modern locations being a car park and adjacent school. And we also have stories about grave desecration. Before the Looking For Richard Project began its research, it was widely believed (and stated as fact by many leading historians as well as locally in Leicester) that Richard’s remains had been removed at the time of the dissolution and thrown in the river Soar.
However, what we must also take into account is that unlike Leicester, Reading Abbey is a Scheduled Ancient Monument site under the auspices of Historic England. So far, Historic England has made it clear that it is focused on the site coming off its endangered list and, at the highest level, has recognised what the Hidden Abbey Project can do for Reading.
With the GPR survey results now submitted, and in fully supporting Reading by giving it the opportunity to reveal its extraordinary story in full for the first time by placing clearly defined and targeted trenches in the car park, Historic England is on the cusp of offering this Thames Valley town, and its people, an exciting new future.
Philippa Langley MBE originated and facilitated the Hidden Abbey Project for the historic town and people of Reading. For more information, visit www.philippalangley.co.uk
]]> In pictures: kings and queens through history https://www.historyextra.com/period/norman/in-pictures-kings-and-queens-through-history/ Tue, 28 Jul 2015 09:09:42 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/period/norman/in-pictures-kings-and-queens-through-history/ From William I 'the Conqueror' to Queen Victoria, we round up some of history's most famous monarchs in pictures… From the Historia Anglorum, Chronica majora. Found in the collection of British Library. Artist: Matthew Paris. (Photo by Fine Art Images/Heritage Images/Getty Images)
The great seal of Henry I (1068-1135). Researchers looking for the remains of Reading Abbey may be on the cusp of discovering the sarcophagus of its founder, Henry I, we reported earlier this year.
From The Book Short History Of The English People By JR Green, published in London in 1893 (Photo by Universal History Archive/UIG via Getty Images)
King Richard II of England (1367-1400), c1390. Richard was Plantagenet king of England from 1377 to 1399, when he was usurped by Henry IV. The first crisis of Richard's reign was the Peasants' Revolt of 1381 – the greatest popular revolt England had ever seen. Juliet Barker argues that the revolt may have found an unlikely champion – the boy-king himself.
Original Artwork: Portrait in the collection of the National Portrait Gallery, London. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
Richard II delivered by Henry of Bolingbroke to the citizens of London, 1399, (c1400-25). Bolingbroke, the future King Henry IV, takes the captive King Richard to London.
Manuscript illustration from a history of Richard II by Francois de Marque. (Photo by The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images)
Richard III (1452-85), the last Plantagenet king, in c1465. The youngest brother of Edward IV, Richard was king of England from 1483 until his death.
(Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
Elizabeth of York (1466-1503) in 1501. Elizabeth of York was the queen consort of King Henry VII of England, whom she married in 1486, the mother of King Henry VIII and the sister of King Edward V.
Located in the National Portrait Gallery, London. (Photo by The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images)
Henry VIII (1491-1547), c1503. Here seen as a child, when he was just Henry, 6th Duke of York.
(Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
Henry VIII, portrait by Hans Holbein the Younger.
(Photo by The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images)
Unknown Lady (believed to be Anne Boleyn), 1536.
Found in the collection of the Royal Collection, London. (Photo by Fine Art Images/Heritage Images/Getty Images)
Mary, Queen of Scots (1542-87), with her second husband and cousin, Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, c1565. Mary’s suspected involvement in the murder of Darnley on 10 February 1567 "was a political mistake of the first order; her marriage three months later to the main suspect, the Earl of Bothwell, was an act of breathtaking stupidity", says historian Sean Lang.
Engraved by Dunbarton, published by S Woodburn. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
'Elizabeth, The Weary Sovereign', c1610 (1937). The last Tudor monarch, Elizabeth I (1533-1603) ruled from 1558 until her death. In the later years of her life, the dying queen used "gems and pearls" to divert attention from her decaying body. "There were signs that her memory was fading and this, together with her failing eyesight, meant that she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on state business," says Anna Whitelock.
A print from the sketch, 17 March 1937. (Photo by The Print Collector/Print Collector/Getty Images)
Equestrian portrait of Charles I, king of England from 1625 until his execution in 1649, by Flemish painter Anthony Van Dyck (1599-1641). Tim Harris, professor of history at Brown University in Rhode Island, USA, argues that, for all Charles's undoubted flaws, we should recognise that the much-maligned monarch was handicapped by his father’s failings and chronic bad luck.
Oil on canvas, Prado Museum, Madrid, Spain. (Photo by Leemage/UIG via Getty Images)
The execution of Charles I, 30 January 1649, outside the Banqueting House in Whitehall, London. Some 10 days earlier, Charles had been charged with high treason 'against the realm of England'.
(Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
Queen Victoria (1819-1901) and Prince Albert (1819-1861) in 1854, five years after their wedding. Albert’s unexpected death at the comparatively young age of 42 on Saturday 14 December 1861 at Windsor was regarded as a national calamity.
(Photo by Roger Fenton/Roger Fenton/Getty Images)
]]> Why Henry I could be the next ‘car park king’ https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/why-henry-i-could-be-the-next-car-park-king/ Thu, 21 May 2015 06:47:23 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/why-henry-i-could-be-the-next-car-park-king/ Researchers looking for the remains of Reading Abbey may be on the cusp of discovering the sarcophagus of its founder, Henry I. Emma McFarnon reports. This article was published in the June 2015 issue of BBC History Magazine A search for the remains of Henry I’s ‘lost’ abbey could confirm the whereabouts of the 12th-century king’s sarcophagus – and, in parallels with the recent search for Richard III, it’s possible that it could be located beneath what is now a car park.
The Hidden Abbey Project aims to uncover the full extent of Reading Abbey, which was largely destroyed in 1539 during the dissolution of the monasteries. It has been instigated by Philippa Langley, well known for leading the search for Richard III’s remains in Leicester. Langley has secured the support of Historic England – formerly known as English Heritage – and in 2016 the project team will carry out ground-penetrating radar (GPR) research of the abbey area, followed by ‘trial trenching’ to estimate the site’s archaeological potential. It is hoped that the imaging might show sarcophagus burials, possibly including that of Henry.
“There is believed to be a pristine Cluniac abbey layout buried beneath the ground at Reading,” Langley told BBC History Magazine. “One of the main aims of the project is to confirm the exact positioning of the abbey church, as well as its size and structure. Sarcophagus burials tend to show up very clearly in GPR research, and potentially we might be able to see several.
“What’s really exciting is that we know that Henry was buried in front of the high altar, with members of his family buried in specific locations around him. The thinking in Reading, using current estimates of the size of the abbey, is that this burial spot is located beneath a school. If the abbey is larger, it could be situated underneath either what is today a playground or a car park. That option is considered less likely, but if Henry’s tomb is beneath the car park, that will be very interesting.”
Henry founded Reading Abbey in 1121 as a royal mausoleum, and is buried there along with his second wife, Adeliza, and great-grandson William of Poitiers. Langley is eager to stress that, while the potential to find his sarcophagus burial is exciting, the main aim of the project is to find out as much as possible about the abbey itself – and what happens next will be the decision of Historic England.
A nearby playground and car park may yield new clues about the location of the king’s lost sarcophagus. Credit Philippa Langley
She does, however, acknowledge striking similarities between Reading’s story and that of Leicester, particularly as there is speculation about the whereabouts of Henry’s remains. An unreliable 19th-century story suggests that workmen – likely acting on Edward VI’s instructions – targeted the abbey in the 1550s for a silver casket in which the king was supposedly buried, and that his remains were discarded in the process.
“The exact location of Richard III’s remains was unknown, and here too we have a story of a king’s bones possibly being lost,” she says. Much like Richard, Henry was the youngest son who rose to become king. And, as with Richard, Henry’s character continues to be hotly disputed: some historians believe he was a cruel and ambitious usurper, while others see him as an enlightened and educated peacemaker. The people of Reading want to tell this extraordinary story, and I want to help to get it out there.”
Judith Green, emeritus professor of medieval history at the University of Edinburgh, agrees that the research will be important for the field. “It would be interesting to know how much of Henry’s body was actually buried at Reading, because he died in western France after eating lampreys – jawless fish,” she says. “After his death, with the weather too poor to travel to Reading, his body was taken to Rouen where it was embalmed. His intestines, brain and eyes were buried locally and, weeks later, the rest of his body was taken back to Reading. This was the first time the body of an English king had been treated in this way.”
A divisive king
The youngest of William the Conqueror’s four sons, Henry I reigned from 1100 to 1135. He is sometimes considered a usurper, because his elder brother Robert Curthose arguably had a more legitimate claim to the throne, but Henry had himself crowned while Robert was away on crusade.
Regarded as playing a key role in stabilising Norman England, Henry increased royal revenues, established peaceful relations with Scotland through his marriage to Mathilda of Scotland, and through his Charter of Liberties – described by some historians as a forerunner of Magna Carta – bound himself to laws concerning the treatment of nobles and church officials.
He could, however, also be cruel. He famously cut off the noses of two of his illegitimate granddaughters and blinded them in reprisal for a similar act against a child being held hostage by one of his enemies.
]]> Where was England's first zoo? https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/where-was-englands-first-zoo/ Tue, 30 Sep 2014 13:09:05 GMT https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/where-was-englands-first-zoo/ Over 900 years ago, the first collection of 'strange' animals was formed in a small, rural town... Henry I created what was effectively England’s first zoo in 1110, when he had a wall built to enclose his collection of animals at Woodstock, Oxfordshire. Among the animals on display were lions, tigers, porcupines and camels. A century later, it was moved to the Tower of London where it remained for 600 years.
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Exotic animals were often given as royal gifts. In 1235, Henry III received three lions, or maybe leopards, from Emperor Frederick II. He was also given a polar bear, which was allowed to swim in the Tower moat, and in 1255 the King of France gave him the first elephant to be seen in Britain since Roman times.
James VI and I improved the animals’ accommodation but also had a platform built to watch them being made to fight each other. The Tower menagerie developed into a popular attraction, and those who couldn’t afford the price were let in for free if they brought along a dog or cat to throw to the lions.
In 1832, after a string of incidents where the animals escaped and attacked each other, visitors and staff, the Duke of Wellington – Constable of the Tower – ordered the animals to be moved to their current home in Regent’s Park.
This article was taken from BBC History Revealed magazine
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