HistoryExtra Home of Britain’s bestselling history magazine and award-winning podcast 2026-10-15T21:43:49.000Z https://www.historyextra.com/topic/castles-and-palaces/feed/atom Jonny Wilkes <![CDATA[It was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World – so why was it destroyed three times?]]> https://www.historyextra.com/period/ancient-greece/it-was-the-one-of-the-seven-wonders-of-the-ancient-world-so-why-was-it-destroyed-three-times/ 2026-10-15T21:43:49.000Z 2026-10-14T10:30:17.000Z When ancient travellers of the Mediterranean Rim came up with their lists of must-see architectural marvels, which would be collated into the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, a landmark that always made the cut was the Temple of Artemis.
One such traveller, the second-century BC poet Antipater of Sidon, went so far as to say: “I have set eyes on the wall of lofty Babylon on which is a road for chariots, and the statue of Zeus by the Alpheus, and the Hanging Gardens, and the colossus of the Sun, and the huge labour of the high pyramids, and the vast tomb of Mausolus but when I saw the house of Artemis that mounted to the clouds, those other marvels lost their brilliancy, and I said, ‘Lo, apart from Olympus, the Sun never looked on aught so grand’.”
At its grandest, the Temple of Artemis, or Artemesium, loomed over the landscape of Ephesus, in modern-day Selcuk, Turkey, at nearly double the size of the Parthenon in Athens. A total of 127 columns ran in two rows along all four sides, many adorned with works of art depicting scenes from Greek mythology, and an inner chamber at the centre houses a statue of the goddess Artemis.
Who was Artemis?
Artemis was the Greek goddess of the hunt and wild animals, as well as chastity and childbirth. The twin sister of Apollo, she was typically represented as a youthful maiden carrying a bow and arrow and wearing a short tunic so that she could run during her hunts in the forests.
At Ephesus, however, Artemis was worshipped more for her role in childbirth and her depiction differed from the typical Greek image as it contained elements from other cultures. More of a maternal figure, her statue in the great temple had oval objects all over the torso, thought to represent breasts or eggs as a symbol of fertility.
- Read more | This ancient goddess commanded a Wonder of the World – but why did she have thirty breasts?
How many temples were there?
Long before Antipater of Sidon looked upon the wondrous structure that was the Temple of Artemis in the second century BC, the site had already seen two earlier attempts at a temple. The first went back to the eighth century BC, established by the Amazons, according to legend, before being damaged in a flood.
Around 550 BC, Croesus, King of Lydia and conqueror of Ephesus, ordered the construction of a great temple out of marble to honour Artemis. Designed and built by the architect Chersiphron and his son Metagenes, this would become the model of Ionic temples across the Hellenistic world.
This second temple may well have been the version that ended up on the list of Seven Wonders, were it not for a man named Herostratus. In 356 BC, he burned it down for no reason other than his desire to be famous. He got his wish, but at the cost of his life.
Traditionally, Herostratus’s destruction of the temple took place on the same day as the birth of Alexander the Great. It was even said that Artemis had become distracted by the historic event and so did not see the fire until it was too late. As a man, Alexander visited Ephesus and offered to pay for the rebuilding of the temple, but he was declined. The Ephesians argued that it would not be right for one god to give such a gift to another.
When was the final destruction of the temple?
Instead, they themselves paid to have the third, and most impressive, version of the Temple of Artemis built. It stood for some 600 years before the final destruction came at the hands of East Germanic Goths in the third century. The temple fell into disuse until its official closure with the Christian persecution of pagan beliefs.
Lost for centuries, the ruins of the temple were discovered in 1869 by British archaeologist John Turtle Wood. Further excavations began in 1904 under David George Hogarth. Today, the only part of the temple still standing is a single, reconstructed column.
]]> Dan Jones <![CDATA[This Celtic castle was so terrifying that even the Romans were too scared to attack it]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/this-celtic-castle-was-so-terrifying-that-even-the-romans-were-too-scared-to-attack-it/ 2026-10-12T14:31:04.000Z 2026-10-12T14:30:52.000Z 1. Maiden Castle
This Dorset hillfort was a marvel of Iron Age engineering
In AD 43, Roman legions landed in Britannia on a mission to push the borders of their empire to the edge of the known world. They were not keen to go. Britannia was uncharted territory, inhabited by tribal peoples known for their ferocity in battle. Roman writers described how these ‘barbarians’ wore their hair and moustaches long, painted their skin blue, and were adept at guerrilla warfare, launching quick-fire ambushes then retreating to fortified hilltops that resisted assault. Today we know these lofty redoubts as hillforts.
Thousands of Iron Age hillforts were in use when the Romans arrived. One of the largest hillforts in Britain – indeed, across all of Europe – is known as Maiden Castle, a vast site in Dorset where the brutal reality of warfare can still be felt today.
Archaeologists have found evidence here showing that, on a hilltop some 130 metres above sea level, people of the Durotriges tribe built roundhouses, baked bread and made jewellery. To protect themselves, the Durotriges maintained huge stepped earthworks, begun in c600 BC and extended 200 years later, that hindered assailants ascending the hillside. They also designed complex, narrow approach routes and installed gatehouses to guard their huge compound. And they dug storage pits to hold the standard ammunition of the day: slingshots.
The slingshot, a simple weapon made from woven cord or leather, was used to hurl river pebbles or pieces of clay at adversaries. At least 30,000 of these smooth stones have been found buried at Maiden Castle, hinting at a time when an approaching enemy would have had to endure a vicious hail of shot to get anywhere near the hillfort’s fenced-off summit. The Roman historian Tacitus described how the great general Agricola had to march at the front of his men “to inspire [them] to march with equal courage” when they attacked tribal folk dug in on high ground.
If slingshots and earthworks failed to deter attackers, and fighting came to close quarters, it could be horrific. During the 1930s, the first major archaeological dig at Maiden Castle unearthed a ‘war cemetery’ containing dozens of skeletons dating from the two centuries before the Roman conquest. Many had been buried hastily, having suffered terrible injuries: cracked skulls, broken noses, shattered hands.
So hillforts were not invincible, but the Romans judged them impressive enough to take over several to be repurposed as barracks. By Tudor times, the sheer size of these hillforts, and the folk memories of the battles that had occurred around them, birthed a legend that it was on such a hilltop where King Arthur kept his court of Camelot.
2. Tower of London
How a gleaming projection of Norman domination became a potent emblem of the new regime’s power
When William the Conqueror defeated Harold Godwinson at the battle of Hastings in 1066, it was said that the earth was “drenched in blood”. That clash marked the beginning of a brutal campaign of Norman colonisation in which the key piece of military technology was the castle.
Just weeks after Hastings, when William marched on London and accepted the terrified citizens’ surrender, one of his first actions was to install a wooden fortress in the city’s south-eastern corner, to keep watch over his new people and on traffic on the Thames. Over time, this timber sentry-point became the Tower of London: the world’s most famous castle.
The Normans were expert castle builders whose best-known fortification style was the motte-and-bailey castle. This consisted of a mound topped by a wood or stone tower – the motte – enclosed by a fence or wall surrounding the bailey, an area of protected land studded with outbuildings. The Bayeux Tapestry provides a vivid snapshot of such a fortress in action, showing the defenders of a castle at Dinan hurling spears at attackers from their tower, while the assailants try to set the castle on fire.
Given the threat that fire posed to wooden structures, stone was considered the best material for making durable castles. So, from 1078, William had the Tower of London rebuilt, its new walls incorporating creamy, gleaming stone quarried near the Norman city of Caen. The central building, now known as the White Tower, would have soared over the city. It was equipped with state-of-the-art facilities: a chapel, a water well and, of course, latrines that emptied out over the walls.
The Tower was built to garrison knights and project armed power and, as it expanded over the centuries, it retained its military function. However, like many of the scores of castles founded by the Normans in England and Wales, it quickly became more than just a base for troops who could ride out to impose discipline on the local area.
It was a residence, a prison and the site of executions. It housed a mint and a zoo. It was a storehouse for weapons and treasure including the crown jewels. Above all, it was a symbol of the new regime’s authority. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle summed this up in a gloomy line describing the first phase of the Conquest: “And they [the Normans] built castles widely throughout this nation, and oppressed the wretched people, and afterwards it always grew very much worse.”
3. Krak des Chevaliers
A soaring crusader castle redefined fortresses for the ages
As Pope Urban II preached the First Crusade at Clermont in 1095, he can scarcely have had an inkling of the events he was setting in train. Over half a millennium, crusading reshaped medieval Christianity and created a new geopolitics across Europe and the eastern Mediterranean. It also gave rise to a monumental new age in castle-building.
The finest castles of the crusader states established in the near east were built by the military orders: the Knights Templar and Hospitaller. Handed responsibility for protecting the Holy Land after the Third Crusade, in the 13th century they constructed fortresses on a vast scale, with cutting-edge designs.
Structures such as Krak des Chevaliers (literally ‘Fortress of the Knights’), built by the Hospitallers on a 650-metre-high plateau some 25 miles west of Homs in Syria, boasted radical improvements on the old Norman motte-and-bailey design.
Taking inspiration from Byzantine castles, they consisted of circuits of internally vaulted walls connecting large stone towers. These towers were fitted with arrow slits and topped with the jagged, tooth-like defences known as crenellations, making it easier for defenders to shoot arrows from cover. Another ingenious development was the machicolation – a structure projecting from an outer wall, with a hole in the bottom from which stones or boiling liquids could be dropped on attackers.
Krak des Chevaliers was massive – as it needed to be. In its 2.4 hectares lived 60 Hospitaller knights and a support staff of 2,000 men who controlled the trade road that connected Homs with the coastal city of Tripoli. The castle’s facilities included industrial-sized brick-built ovens, stable blocks and a water-management system. It was effectively a self-contained military town – but its inhabitants never forgot their Christian mission. A Latin inscription on the wall of the Hospitallers’ central hall can be translated as: “You may have wealth, wisdom and beauty, but beware of pride, which spoils all it touches.”
The Hospitallers quit Krak des Chevaliers when the Holy Land fell to the Mamluks in the late 13th century. But it was as impressive as ever in 1909, when Lawrence of Arabia visited it on his 21st birthday. “The finest castle in the world, certainly the most picturesque,” he wrote. He thought that it summed up the architectural elegance of Europe married with the military functionality of the crusader states.
The castle has been considered a useful stronghold in more recent conflicts: during the Syrian civil war, anti-government forces used it as a defensive position.
4. Château Gaillard
This Normandy landmark was an expression of an English king’s swagger
When Richard the Lionheart toured the construction site of Châsteau Gaillard in Normandy one day in the late 1190s, it began to rain. Cries of disgust and terror rang out – because the liquid falling from the clouds was not water but blood.
This story of a bizarre natural phenomenon, related by the chronicler William of Newburgh, was intended to illustrate Richard’s obsessive drive to build a castle that matched his own personal swagger and reputation. This bastion was constructed in the borderlands between Richard’s territories and those of his great rival, the French king Philip II Augustus. The Lionheart’s desire to put one over on Philip was such that he drove his workers on with a near-demonic urgency. “Even if an angel from heaven had told him to abandon [the castle],” wrote William, “he would have cursed that angel.”
Richard imported the latest thinking on castle-building from the east, where he had led the war against Saladin on the Third Crusade. Gaillard’s round towers connected directly with one another like flower-petals, presenting no weak point for enemy catapults to batter. It was also the first European castle to feature machicolations.
But this was more than just a military building: it was an expression of chivalry, the prevailing martial culture of the age. Chivalry demanded soldierly skill and courtesy, but it also prized bravado. In building Château Gaillard, Richard was making a statement about his self-appointed status as the leading prince in Europe. Gaillard meant ‘saucy’ – and the castle was a cheeky thumb to the nose in the direction of the French. When Philip Augustus came to spy on the building site, and saw what a colossal fortress was being created, he said that he wished it was built from iron so that, when he finally conquered it, his satisfaction would be all the greater.
When this was relayed to Richard, he uttered his famous line: “By God’s throat, if that castle were made entirely of butter, never mind iron or stone, I would have no doubt at all that I would be able to defend it stoutly against him [Philip] and all his forces.”
That may well have been true, but Richard wasn’t to get the chance to prove it. He died of gangrene in 1199, having been shot with a crossbow bolt while besieging another castle. His brother and successor, King John, managed to lose Château Gaillard within five years, thereby revealing an eternal truth about castles: no matter how thick their walls, they are only ever as strong as the person defending them.
5. Great Wall of China
China’s vast but vulnerable barrier proves that size isn’t everything
Throughout the ages, when empires have been threatened by outsiders, their leaders have often constructed boundary walls to keep out would-be intruders. In the second century AD, the Romans built Hadrian’s Wall to keep the Caledonian tribes of northern Britannia at bay. In the fifth and sixth centuries AD, the Persians built the Great Wall of Gorgan to protect their lands from the nomadic tribes known as the White Huns. In the 20th century, the French built the Maginot Line to protect themselves against German armies. In a sense, we can see history’s great walls as attempts to make a castle of an entire realm.
At many times during China’s long history, emperors decided to build or extend the network of fortifications and barriers that ran through the borderlands between China and the tribes of the steppe to the north.
The styles and materials used in the Great Wall of China varied enormously over time. In the third century BC, the first emperor, Qin Shi Huang, sent hundreds of thousands of labourers, mostly peasants and convicts, to build a 3,000-mile ‘Long Wall’ consisting of rammed earth and rubble, and making use of existing territorial obstacles such as mountain ridges. The scale was so vast that later observers thought that a huge dragon had fallen from the sky and turned into a wall where it lay.
Spectacular as it was, however, that wall was porous. Its most famous failure came in the 13th century AD when northern China – then ruled by the Jurchen Jin – was attacked by the Mongols under Genghis Khan, whose lightning horseback raids were likened by one chronicler to “thunder pealing and wind blowing”. The Mongols sent raiding parties around the wall and through mountain passes. Later that century, they took control of all China.
The most iconic section of the Great Wall was built by the Ming dynasty in the 16th and 17th centuries. It was a brick and stone-built barrier but also a causeway allowing rapid horse and troop movements along its length. Yet it, too, failed, when the Ming were overthrown in a revolution in 1644. The gates in the wall were thrown open, allowing the Manchus of the northern steppe to rush through and take control of the empire. “The Great Wall of China is a monument to fear,” wrote Voltaire, sniffily. To enemies undaunted by its vast size, it was never as robust a defensive line as it looked.
6. Castel Sant'Angelo
Renaissance ideas inspired a new era of castle artistry in the heart of Rome
In May 1481, miraculous news arrived in Rome: the Ottoman sultan Mehmed II, scourge of Christendom, was dead. To celebrate, night parties were held around the city, with fires lit, trumpets blown and guns fired. Some of this took place on the terrace of the looming papal fortress known as the Castel Sant’Angelo.
A later legend reimagined the blasts of guns as a colourful firework display designed by Michelangelo Buonarroti. In fact, Michelangelo was only six years old at the time, but the myth had the ring of truth – because during the Italian Renaissance, castles were undergoing huge transformations, inside and out. Sweeping changes to both military technology and artistic techniques spread across Europe. Fortress defences were reconceived to respond to the rise of gunpowder weapons, which had appeared in Europe in the 14th century. Their chambers were decorated by the new artistic masters of a revolutionary age.
The Castel Sant’Angelo captured the spirit of this age. It was originally built as Hadrian’s Mausoleum, a huge tomb for the funerary urns of dead Roman emperors. During the Renaissance, when the classical world was revived to delight the modern, it was fitted with bastions – angled, protruding towers from which artillery could be fired in any direction, including enfilading fire along the wall’s length. A passageway known as the Passetto was built to allow popes to flee directly to the castle from the Vatican should the city come under siege or bombardment. (As it often did amid the turbulent politics of the Reformation.) Meanwhile, the papal apartments inside were renovated and brilliantly decorated by artists including the renowned painter Pinturicchio.
As the Renaissance unfolded, and cannon began to render the classic medieval castle obsolete, great artists turned their minds to military design. In c1482, Leonardo da Vinci wrote to the Duke of Milan offering his services as a builder of siege weapons and boasting of his “plans for destroying every fortress or other stronghold even if it were founded on rock”. He was employed to survey the defences of the duke’s Sforza Castle. Michelangelo, meanwhile, was hired to redesign the walls of Florence, drawing up plans for jagged artillery platforms, with dozens of sharp angles for gunners to exploit, though those schemes were never brought to fruition.
By the end of the 16th century, the age of the classic medieval castle was over. Modern warfare demanded fortresses built with gunpowder in mind. This new age was awe-inspiring: one observer who saw the guns of a Venetian fortress firing wrote that “it seemed as if the world had burst to pieces… the fortress, with all those flaming cannon, had the appearance of a volcano and of hell itself”.
7. Fort Pulaski
New cannon technology signalled the end of the castle – as a famous American general discovered to his cost
In 1829, a promising young West Point graduate, Robert E Lee, was posted to Savannah, Georgia, to assist with building a defensive fortress guarding access to the city. Named Fort Pulaski, it was part of the Third System of American fortifications conceived to protect the Atlantic seaboard after the disastrous War of 1812 against the British. The new bastion was being built on an island surrounded by sea and marshes. Its brick walls were to be more than 2 metres thick, backed by masonry pillars, and would be unbreachable by any known artillery. As one US army officer later remarked: “You may as well bombard the Rocky Mountains.”
In 1861, Lee returned to Fort Pulaski – though now as a general in the Confederate army, fighting for independence for the South in the US Civil War. The fortress was in Confederate hands but a Union assault was expected, and Lee was tasked with upgrading the defences further. After advising on gun placements and reinforcing earthworks, Lee considered the job done. The nearest point on land was more than 1,500 metres away, and accepted military wisdom of the time held that cannon could not penetrate masonry from more than 800 yards (about 730 metres) away. “They will make it very warm for you with shells,” Lee told the fort commander. “But they cannot breach at that distance.”
Lee was wrong. In spring 1862, Union forces brought a new weapon to Savannah: rifled cannon, which fired exploding shells farther and more accurately than traditional smoothbore guns. Fort Pulaski was reduced to wreckage by the 30-hour bombardment. Over the months that followed, more Confederate forts suffered the same treatment. “The result of this bombardment must cause… a change in the construction of fortifications,” wrote Union general David Hunter. The artillery fort had died an abrupt death.
By the end of the US Civil War, the shape of forts had changed entirely. In 1864, at the battle of Petersburg in Virginia, fighting was conducted between trenches. The earthwork and timber-clad gun positions dug into the ground were officially known as Fort Sedgwick and Fort Mahone, but troops called them “Fort Hell” and “Fort Damnation”. It was a grim foreshadowing of the trenches of the western front in the First World War – and a return to an era of castle-building last seen in the hillforts of Iron Age Britannia.
This article was first published in the November 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
]]> Charlotte Vosper <![CDATA[What's it like to live in a royal palace?]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/whats-it-like-to-live-in-a-royal-palace/ 2026-09-07T14:13:20.000Z 2026-09-07T14:13:20.000Z Did Lucy Worsley have 'the best job in history'? And what did she do when she worked in it?
In this episode, Lucy reflects on her career so far, her time as Chief Curator at Historic Royal Palaces and how the job has changed her perspective on some of our favourite monarchs from royal history...
]]> Dr Owen Emmerson <![CDATA[Inside Hever Castle: explore Anne Boleyn’s childhood home]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/inside-hever-castle-anne-boleyn-childhood-home-video/ 2026-03-20T10:44:09.000Z 2026-03-20T09:50:03.000Z In this episode, HistoryExtra’s Rachel Dinning and Lauren Good step inside the childhood home of Anne Boleyn, the woman who would captivate Henry VIII, reshape the English monarchy, and ultimately meet a tragic end.
Joined by castle historian and assistant curator Dr Owen Emmerson, we explore Boleyn’s life, from her early years at Hever to her rise at court – a story one of ambition, intelligence, and extraordinary influence. She played a central role in the break with Rome, paving the way for the English Reformation – yet as you’ll hear, her position was always precarious.
What was Anne really like? How did her upbringing shape her? And how did she rise so quickly – only to fall so dramatically?
Through the rooms and surroundings of Hever Castle, this video brings us closer to the real Anne Boleyn, and her tightrope existence as a woman navigating power, politics and survival in the Tudor court.
View Green Video on the source website]]> Dr Owen Emmerson <![CDATA[What did Anne Boleyn REALLY look like? Our new research could change everything]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/what-did-anne-boleyn-really-look-like-our-new-research-could-change-everything/ 2026-04-02T09:39:39.000Z 2026-03-13T17:30:55.000Z Close your eyes and picture Anne Boleyn. Chances are you can conjure up a pretty clear and detailed image in your imagination – because few figures in English history seem as visually familiar as Henry VIII’s second queen.
Representations of her face appear everywhere: in films, television dramas and novels, in museum gift shops and digital reconstructions. She is often depicted in popular culture as an elegant brunette whose sophistication distinguishes her from others at court. Over time, this image has hardened into something close to fact. Anne Boleyn, we are told, was devastatingly beautiful.
Yet this certainty is built on fragile foundations, and surviving evidence provides a less concrete understanding of Anne’s appearance. No formal painted portraits from life survive today, though images in a number of smaller, more intimate formats – particularly miniatures – are candidates for having captured her true likeness based on contemporary encounters. The more-familiar portraits featuring the now-iconic ‘B’ pendant necklace, meanwhile, were likely created decades later, influenced by politics, artistic convention and hindsight.
For generations, historians assumed that any accurate representations created during Anne’s life had been lost altogether, erased after her execution in 1536 on the orders of Henry VIII. That story is compelling, but it is wrong. My research – which underpins Capturing a Queen: The Image of Anne Boleyn, a new exhibition at Anne’s childhood home, Hever Castle – suggests that her true likeness remained visible long after her dramatic death.
Her image circulated widely in several different forms: in print, on medals and in drawings that outlived her. Alongside written descriptions left by those who saw her, these sources allow us to come close to understanding how Anne Boleyn looked. They also prompt a more revealing question: during her lifetime, was Anne admired for beauty – at least, as the 16th century understood it? And how much did beauty really matter in a court where power, conviction and function carried far greater weight?
Ideals of beauty
Today, audiences are encouraged to believe that Anne Boleyn must have been very beautiful indeed to have displaced Queen Catherine of Aragon in Henry VIII’s affections, and to have inspired him to reshape England’s religious and political landscape in order to marry her. This assumption reflects modern ideas about attraction and agency far more than it does the reality of Tudor mores. Different priorities shaped ideals of female beauty then: light colouring and complexion were widely admired. In 16th-century England, though, beauty alone rarely secured influence. At court, education, connections and presence mattered far more than looks. Intelligence, conversation and the ability to command attention in a highly performative environment were prized qualities. Anne excelled in these attributes.
- Read more | Anne Boleyn’s fatal French connection
Anne stood out, but not because she perfectly embodied an ideal of beauty. Her continental education, her penchant for French fashions and her finely honed courtly manner set her apart in a milieu still shaped by conservative English expectations. Contemporary responses to her appearance consistently suggest moderate attractiveness rather than conventional beauty. To understand that distinction properly, we must turn to the accounts of her appearance and demeanour from people who saw her.
Consistent picture
Contemporary descriptions of Anne are limited but broadly consistent. Simon Grynaeus, a German humanist who visited the English court in 1531, wrote to a compatriot that she was “young, good-looking, of a rather dark complexion”. In October 1532, the Venetian ambassador Carlo Capello, in a report later recorded in Marino Sanuto’s Diarii, described her as “not one of the handsomest women in the world… of middling stature, swarthy complexion, long neck, wide mouth, bosom not much raised… and her eyes, which are black and beautiful”.
Lancelot de Carle, secretary to the French ambassador in London, wrote a long poetic account of Anne’s fall and execution in 1536, emphasising her expression and presence rather than physical features. Even sympathetic observers were measured: the reformist cleric John Barlow described her as “reasonably good-looking”, a phrase that in Tudor usage suggested composure and refinement rather than striking beauty.
What emerges is not the image of a woman celebrated for physical perfection but of someone whose appearance was animated by intelligence and presence. Observers repeatedly returned to her eyes and manner. The French diplomat Lancelot de Carle said of her eyes that she “knew well how to use [them] with effect”, capturing a sense of engagement, wit and command that made her captivating in person.
For centuries, the absence of a painted portrait from Anne’s lifetime was explained by a dramatic story: that Henry VIII ordered every likeness of her be destroyed after her execution. The image of a furious king erasing the woman for whom he had broken with Rome is powerful, but has no basis in contemporary sources. The story appeared first in the 19th century, when historians sought an explanation for Anne’s apparent visual disappearance.
What happened after the queen’s fall was administrative rather than vengeful. Anne’s badges and monograms were removed from royal buildings and replaced with those of her successor, Jane Seymour, just as Catherine of Aragon’s emblems had earlier been replaced by Anne’s. The King’s Works accounts for September 1536 list payments for removing Anne’s devices alongside those of Cardinal Wolsey, the king’s former chief minister, by then long dead.
No orders to destroy Anne’s portraits have been found, and even the command to remove her emblems was carried out only partly. Many of her falcon badges remain in the roof of Hampton Court’s Great Hall, blackened with paint but intact. Moreover, inventories taken after Henry’s death show that he continued to own objects that had once belonged to Anne and were decorated with her iconography, albeit packed away in chests. Anne herself had become valueless to him, but the gold and silver fashioned into her goods had not. He did not destroy them, just ensured that they were no longer seen.
The people’s prints
Though no painted panel portrait survives from Anne’s lifetime, images of her certainly do. Some of the most revealing were created not for the elite interiors of palaces but for public circulation. In the summer of 1533, the prolific printer Wynkyn de Worde was employed to publish a pamphlet titled The Noble Tryumphaunt Coronacyon of Quene Anne. Its cover features a small woodcut long dismissed by historians as a generic courtly scene. However, in collaboration with historian Jessica Carey-Bunning, I have identified this as a narrative composition including three contemporary images of Anne Boleyn at distinct stages of her relationship with Henry VIII.
The woodcut provides a visual sequence affirming the validity of the union. To the left, Henry courts Anne; in the centre, the couple are joined in marriage; and in the most prominent image, at the right, Henry and Anne are crowned beneath a cloth of estate, the king’s hand resting on his queen’s stomach. To a contemporary viewer, this was an explicit declaration of pregnancy. When the pamphlet was published, Anne was about six months pregnant with the child who would reign as Elizabeth I.
This woodcut image operated as a tool of legitimacy, fertility and dynastic hope. It was intended not to capture Anne’s features but, rather, to put her face to work. It was circulated deliberately and widely at the most politically sensitive moment of her queenship.
Other contemporary images reinforce this visibility. A lead prototype or proof known as the ‘Moost Happi’ medal, likely commissioned in anticipation of a male heir and struck in 1534, depicts Anne in part profile wearing a gable hood, and bears the initials AR (for Anna Regina). Edward Hawkins, keeper of antiquities at the British Museum in the 19th century, suggested that another surviving lead prototype showing Henry was a companion to Anne’s medal. My discovery of a fully cast example of the companion medal of Henry, fashioned as a hat pin in modest tin, indicates that these likenesses were destined for a wide distribution beyond the court – an effort to disseminate images of the king and his new queen.
Another contemporary image of Anne survives in a sketch of her coronation banquet, depicting her crowned beneath a cloth of estate in Westminster Hall, the focal point of an elaborate theatrical display. Even in this crude drawing, Anne is unmistakably the axis around which the ceremony revolves. Together, these show that Anne was among the most visually represented queens of early Tudor England.
Something rarer also survives: a glimpse of Anne Boleyn as she may have been seen by those who knew her personally. A chalk drawing by Hans Holbein the Younger, now in the Royal Collection at Windsor, depicts a woman in a fur-trimmed nightgown with a simple coif, her eyes lowered in contemplation. Though its subject has long been debated, recent scholarship by Dr Kate Heard has fundamentally reshaped understanding of this work, strongly supporting its identification as Anne Boleyn.
The drawing dates securely to Holbein’s second period in England, when he was working at the heart of the Tudor court, producing preparatory studies for both painted portraits and miniatures – and, crucially, working extensively under Anne’s patronage. The apparent informality of the portrait, once used to argue against the identification, now strengthens it. Comparable works by the Horenbout workshop similarly depict elite sitters such as Henry VIII’s son, the Duke of Richmond, in a state of undress, intended for private viewing.
Technical examination by the Royal Collection Trust has revealed that the sitter’s hair was originally far darker than it appears today. Layers of red, brown and black chalk have been largely worn away, with only remnants visible. Most compelling, however, is the later inscription identifying Anne as the sitter, based on an attribution by Sir John Cheke, who had met Anne in 1534, benefited from her patronage, and was closely connected to her circle through his wife, Mary Hill. If identified correctly, which now seems highly likely, this drawing represents the most direct surviving contemporary likeness of Anne. It shows her not as a crowned emblem of dynastic hope, as her public image had been crafted, but as a thinking, contemplative and private individual.
The Windsor drawing also unlocks the meaning of a later engraving by Wenceslaus Hollar titled Faith, or St Barbara, produced in 1647. This print, based on a now-lost Holbein design once in the Earl of Arundel’s collection, depicts a crowned female figure holding a chalice and wafer set against a landscape of cliffs and water.
When compared closely with the Windsor drawing, the resemblance is striking: they share the same profile, jawline, eye shape and cranial structure. The correspondence between the two strongly suggests that Holbein’s use of Anne’s face for Saint Barbara was drawn from his preparatory study. In this reading, the Windsor drawing was not an isolated likeness but part of a broader artistic conception.
The choice of that saint is significant because, like the reformist Anne, Barbara was associated with steadfast Christian faith and resistance to coercion when compelled to revert to traditional beliefs. In Anne’s book of hours, King’s MS 9, the illumination of Saint Barbara shares compositional similarities with the Windsor sketch and Hollar engraving, including a distinctive looped plait, indicating direct visual continuity. Portraying Anne in this guise would have aligned her queenship with conscience and reform.
Seen in this light, the image becomes both devotional and political. It presents Anne not simply as consort but as belief embodied. Saint Barbara was martyred and executed by the sword – a parallel that later viewers of this image could hardly have missed. The tragic irony is inescapable, though clearly it lies beyond the image’s original intent.
The possibility that Anne’s contemporary likeness survives in smaller, more intimate painted formats is strongly supported by this pairing of the Windsor sketch and the image of her as Saint Barbara. Two other near-identical portrait miniatures – one now in the collection of the Duke of Bucchleuch, the other in the Royal Ontario Museum, Canada – long associated with Anne, share a striking physiognomy with these two. When viewed together, the alignment of the facial structures is too close to be dismissed as a coincidence. These works appear to preserve a recognisable likeness circulating within and shortly after Anne’s lifetime, intended for private recognition rather than public proclamation.
Though we can’t be absolutely certain of the person whom they portray, these miniatures stand as the most plausible painted candidates for capturing Anne Boleyn’s likeness from life.
- Read more | The Virgin Queen? Elizabeth I's forbidden love
Changing faces
After her execution, Anne’s image fell out of use. When it re-emerged during the reign of her daughter, Elizabeth I, it was in a radically altered political landscape. One of the most familiar images of Anne today is the portrait painted c1584 and catalogued as NPG 668 in the National Portrait Gallery. Long treated as a posthumously created likeness of Anne herself, it preserves something else: Elizabeth’s face.
Art historian Lawrence Hendra has identified the creator of this famous panel painting as the as-yet-unnamed ‘Pearl Artist’. Comparing this artist’s other works – including portraits of Elizabeth I, her half-sister Mary I and her great-grandfather, Edward IV – it is clear that the painter used the same facial pattern for each sitter, including Anne Boleyn. The elongated facial structure, refined nose and controlled expression closely mirror Elizabeth’s physiognomy.
This effort to make Elizabeth’s relatives, some of whom likely bore no resemblance to one another, look alike was deliberate. In the 1580s, Elizabeth’s position was vulnerable. She was unmarried, without an heir, and facing both internal Catholic resistance and external threat. So repainting her ancestors with her own facial features anchored her visually as the rightful queen at a time when her legitimacy was again in question. Ensuring that Elizabeth looked like her father’s relatives as well as her mother, who had been accused of adultery, was a covert attempt to transform Anne from a condemned queen into a dynastic foundation stone, visually legitimising her daughter’s rule.
A different but equally deliberate innovation appears in the so-called Hever Rose portrait. Recent multi-modal scientific analysis by the Hamilton Kerr Institute, combined with dendrochronology (the dating of the wooden panel), places its painting in c1583, just one year before the famous picture in the National Portrait Gallery. Infrared reflectography reveals that the artist initially followed a pre-existing design but then interrupted it, inserting fully articulated hands holding a rose.
This moment matters, because it marks the first time Anne’s hands appeared in her posthumous iconography – a choice that was almost certainly polemical. In the early 1580s, defamatory claims by Nicholas Sander alleging that Anne possessed a sixth finger were already circulating widely in manuscript, years before they appeared in print. By depicting elegant, unblemished hands, with each finger made carefully visible, the artist offers a quiet but pointed rebuttal to this claim.
Both portraits respond to the same anxiety. In a period when Elizabeth’s legitimacy was under attack, Anne’s image was re-engineered to defend it: her face reshaped to mirror the queen’s, her body corrected to refute slander. Art became a form of political repair.
Lost likeness
Nearly five centuries after her execution, we may never know precisely what Anne Boleyn looked like. Her face survives only in fragments, refracted through prisms of politics, art and memory. Yet this uncertainty is not a failure of evidence; it is part of her history.
The images and descriptions that survive show that Anne was not invisible, and not admired solely for her beauty. She was compelling because of her presence, intelligence and conviction. She understood the power of being seen, and used imagery, print and ceremony to assert her place in the world.
In the end, the question of her appearance matters not because it satisfies curiosity but because it restores agency. Anne Boleyn was not merely a face shaped by others but an active participant – through her patronage of Holbein and the Horenbout family, not least – in how she was represented, remembered and contested. Approaching 500 years on, we are still learning to see her clearly.
Unpicking locks
What colour was Anne Boleyn's hair?
Modern portrayals often depict Anne with jet-black hair, reinforcing an image of dark, exotic beauty. The historical record, however, is more ambiguous. Contemporary descriptions mention dark eyes and darker complexion, but none explicitly describe hair colour – likely because it may not have seemed remarkable enough to comment upon.
Some later sources describe Anne as “witch-like” with black hair; others suggest chestnut or reddish tones. The poet Thomas Wyatt may have been referring to her when he wrote of a “brunet” woman. In Tudor usage, that could refer to dark hair, darker skin or both, and was often used to signal complexion rather than colouring alone.
Genetics adds more uncertainty. Anne’s daughter, Elizabeth I, was red-haired, as was Henry VIII in his youth. Red hair is linked to variants of the MC1R gene expressed only if inherited from both parents, so Anne must have carried at least one such variant. Though not proof that she herself was red-haired, this significantly increases the likelihood, and makes chestnut or auburn tones entirely plausible.
Later portraits often show Anne with lighter reddish-brown hair. These may reflect attempts to align her appearance more closely with Elizabeth’s, reinforcing dynastic continuity. In a culture where fair hair was associated with virtue, this shift was politically advantageous.
This article was first published in the March 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
]]> Dr David Musgrove, FSA <![CDATA[Could this civil war have toppled England? The battle for Dover Castle]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/seige-dover-castle-video/ 2026-01-23T12:07:51.000Z 2026-01-23T12:07:51.000Z Is the battle for Dover Castle the siege that saved medieval England?
Often called 'the forgotten invasion', life for the average English person would look very different now if this fortress had fallen to the French in 1216–17.
In 2024, English Heritage opened an interactive exhibition, Dover Castle Under Siege. HistoryExtra’s David Musgrove spoke to senior properties historian Paul Pattison to find out more.
View Green Video on the source website ]]> Elinor Evans <![CDATA[What Was Life REALLY like in a Medieval Castle? The truth about castle living]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/life-medieval-castle-video/ 2025-11-27T09:00:03.000Z 2025-11-27T08:59:42.000Z Was life in medieval castles as luxurious as the films and TV shows imagine?
The HistoryExtra team travelled to Farleigh Hungerford, a historical site managed by English Heritage in southwest England, to find out.
View Green Video on the source website]]> Professor Kate Williams <![CDATA[Windsor Castle | Royal residences: secrets and scandals]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/windsor-castle-royal-residences-academy-kate-williams/ 2025-11-19T12:21:52.000Z 2025-11-19T12:21:52.000Z How did a Norman fortress become the world’s most iconic royal residence?
King John retreated here before signing Magna Carta; Henry VIII dismissed Catherine of Aragon from Windsor as he began his break with Rome; and Queen Elizabeth I hid out from plague and political threats.
Join Professor Kate Williams, historian and broadcaster, as she explores Windsor’s significance through the ages. A site of imprisonment, civil war, royal marriages, and tragic deaths, it housed the crown jewels in a biscuit tin during WWII, and served as a safe haven for princesses Elizabeth and Margaret, who once even used George IV’s sedan chair as a prop in their production of a pantomime.
Windsor Castle isn't just a building; it is the setting for a thousand stories of British royalty, power, pride, tragedy, and reinvention.
Find all episodes with Professor Kate Williams
View Green Video on the source website]]> HistoryExtra <![CDATA[From tragic Tudor queens to restless Roman soldiers: Britain's 8 most haunted houses]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/from-tragic-tudor-queens-to-restless-roman-soldiers-britains-8-most-haunted-houses/ 2025-10-31T12:15:18.000Z 2025-10-30T15:00:03.000Z 1. Stirling Castle, Scotland
From elusive sea monsters to shrieking banshees, Scotland is home to a host of supernatural beings – including, of course, ghosts. One of their best-known spectral celebrities is the ill-fated Mary, Queen of Scots, who is said to haunt a staggering 10 properties, making her, perhaps, the best-travelled ghost in the nation. Among her main haunts is Stirling Castle, her childhood home in central Scotland.
Perched atop a volcanic crag, surrounded by cliffs overlooking the River Forth, Stirling Castle was constructed in the early 12th century, originally as a military stronghold, acting as a strategic line of defence during the Wars of Scottish Independence (1296–1357). However, almost from the very beginning, Stirling was also a favourite royal residence. By the time a young Mary Stuart lived there in the 1540s, it was as much a palace as it was a fortress: her father, James V, had transformed it into one of the most opulent homes in Renaissance Britain.
Whatever happy childhood memories Mary may have had of Stirling would be tainted by the events of 21 April 1567. It was here on this day that the embattled queen would see her infant son (the future King James VI & I) for the last time. Soon after, she was forced to abdicate, flee the country, and eventually, in 1587, she was executed for treason under the orders of her cousin, Elizabeth I.
Perhaps it is for this reason that the melancholy monarch returns to the castle, perpetually searching for her long-lost child, even in the afterlife. She is said to be kept company by a dutiful servant – a young woman in green, who purportedly died in a fire while attempting to save her mistress.
They are also joined by Stirling’s notorious ‘Highland Ghost’ – a mysterious man adorned in full Highland regalia, who is often mistaken for a costumed tour guide.
2. Raynham Hall, Norfolk
At its height in the Georgian period, Raynham Hall was nationally renowned for its innovative architecture, priceless art collection and powerful owner. Though originally constructed in the early 1600s, the stately red-brick manor we see today was largely the work of eminent early 18th-century architect William Kent, acting under the direction of Charles, 2nd Viscount Townshend, a leader in the House of Lords.
Like the house he lived in, Townshend was an imposing figure, known for his fiery temper and blustering delivery in parliament. And rumour had it, his aggressiveness was not solely reserved for political opponents. His long-suffering wife, Dorothy, may have also been a target of his ire. The story goes that Lady Dorothy Townshend (née Walpole, sister of prime minister Robert) endured an unhappy marriage. Some say she was unfaithful, while others claim it was her extravagant spending that incurred her husband’s wrath. In any case, she purportedly died under mysterious circumstances and continues to roam Raynham’s halls to this day.
- Read more | Five shocking tales from Britain’s royal palaces
Over the years, there have been numerous reported sightings of Lady Townshend – or ‘The Brown Lady’ as she has come to be known, on account of the colour of her silk brocade dress – but perhaps none so dramatic as the encounter of photographers Hubert Provand and Indre Shira. In the autumn of 1936, while on assignment for Country Life magazine, Provand and Shira prepared to take a photo of Raynham’s main staircase. Just as they were setting up the shot, they suddenly caught sight of an ethereal, veiled form floating down the stairs. Acting fast, they snapped their photo and captured what is widely considered to be one of the most famous examples of ‘spirit photography’ in history.
3. 50 Berkeley Square, Mayfair, Greater London
With its elegant Georgian townhouses, luxury boutiques and Michelin star restaurants, the upscale district of Mayfair in central London may not seem like the natural setting for a ghost story. And yet, it is home to a property once christened the ‘Most Haunted House in London’. The offending structure can be found on Berkeley Square, a residential block first laid out in the mid-1700s by architect William Kent (the man behind Raynham Hall). From the outside, there’s nothing much to distinguish the townhouse at No 50 from its neighbours – but don’t let its staid, neoclassical façade fool you.
The first reports of unusual activity at No 50 occurred in the mid-1800s. Nearby residents noticed strange sounds and smells, lights flickering in the windows at all hours of the night, and the noticeable signs of decay and abandon. Sceptics chalked this up to the eccentric habits of its owner, Thomas Myers, a recluse left heartbroken by the rejection of his fiancée. Nevertheless, rumours soon swirled that the house was haunted.
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Some believed the ghost was a young woman who had jumped from an upper-storey window. Others claimed it was Myers himself, who had locked himself in the attic and driven himself mad. Still others maintained it was a preexisting entity that had possessed both Myers and the suicidal woman. Whatever the case, most Londoners came to fear and avoid No 50 – all save for a brave and foolhardy few.
One such daredevil was Lord George Lyttleton, a Conservative statesman, who, in 1872, accepted a bet to stay a night alone at the house. Though incredulous of the stories, Lyttleton packed a pistol and was probably quite pleased he had done so, for when a dark, tendrilled apparition advanced towards him, he was able to defend himself. Firing a few rounds, he was certain he’d hit his mark. Yet, when the smoke settled, it revealed only spent shell casings and an empty attic.
4. Chillingham Castle, Northumberland
Touted as Britain’s ‘Most Haunted Castle,’ Chillingham has a long and violent history. Once one of nearly 100 fortifications that dotted the bleak borderlands of England and Scotland, this 13th-century fortress served a pivotal role in the centuries-long rift between the two warring kingdoms. It was here, in 1298, that King Edward I launched his attack on William Wallace during the First War of Scottish Independence.
Over the years, hundreds of England’s enemies were killed at Chillingham, many of them by torture in the castle’s dungeon and torture chamber – a cramped windowless pit located in a cellar beneath what is today a public tearoom. Strangely, however, these prisoners are not among the castle’s best-known ghostly residents. Instead, the most familiar phantom faces are those of women and children.
There is the mysterious ‘Radiant Boy’ – an unknown child in blue who materialises before guests in the castle’s ‘Pink Bedroom’. And the legendary ‘Grey Lady’ – believed to be the ghost of Lady Mary Berkeley, whose husband, Ford Grey, 1st Earl of Tankerville, reportedly jilted her for her younger sister, leaving her alone and heartbroken in the castle. Modern visitors report the sounds of sobbing, the rustling of a heavy gown dragging along the castle’s corridors, and the faint aroma of rosewater.
5. Blickling Hall, Norfolk
Blickling Hall might be considered the English counterpart to Scotland’s Stirling Castle – though, on the face of it, they would seem to have little in common. Where Stirling is a medieval citadel looming over the gateway to the Scottish Highlands, Blickling is a Jacobean manor nestled in the heart of the Norfolk Broads. Just 20 miles east of Raynham Hall, one would think it would have more in common with its ‘haunted’ East Anglian neighbour. But as the presumed birthplace of Anne Boleyn, Blickling has a far stronger symbolic link to the childhood home of Scotland’s own tragic queen.
The existing structure, built for Sir Henry Hobart in 1616, was erected atop the ruins of a Tudor manor house once belonging to Thomas Boleyn, 1st Earl of Wiltshire – whose youngest daughter had the unfortunate honour of becoming Henry VIII’s second wife. On 19 May 1536, after just three years of marriage, Anne Boleyn was beheaded for adultery and treason.
Like her Scottish counterpart, Anne is thought to haunt a number of historic properties, including Hever Castle (another childhood home), Windsor Castle (a brief residence), the Tower of London (the site of her death), and, of course, Blickling. Here, she is said to appear every year on the anniversary of her death, in a carriage driven by headless horses.
6. Heol Fanog, Brecon Beacons, Wales
A relatively recent entry into the annals of haunted historic Britain, Heol Fanog farmhouse in South Wales has gained contemporary notoriety thanks to the exposure of the hit BBC Sounds podcast, The Witch Farm (2022). The series focuses on the occupancy of the Rich family, who lived on the farm for a seven-year period from 1989, during which time they claim to have experienced a litany of terrifying events.
From cold spots to disembodied footsteps, inexplicable power surges to noxious odours, and even full-blown apparitions and demonic possessions, the experiences of the Rich family have been likened to that of the Lutz family of Amityville Horror fame.
While these stories are relatively new – and, indeed, the farmhouse itself is less than a hundred years old – legends about the isolated rural property have circulated for well over a century. The area’s strong association with witchcraft, occultism and Celtic mysticism, combined with the dark legacy of a gruesome local murder in the 19th century, have earned the property its nickname: ‘The Witch Farm’ or ‘Hellfire Farm’.
7. Hampton Court Palace, Greater London
Historic Royal Palaces certainly have their hands full. In addition to managing some of the nation’s highest profile heritage landmarks, catering to some 4 million visitors each year, they also have ghosts to contend with. Several properties in their portfolio – including the Tower of London, Kensington Palace and Kew Palace – are allegedly haunted. And while it’s hard to say which one of them is the most haunted, Hampton Court is definitely a strong contender.
Construction on the iconic Tudor palace began in 1515 under the direction of Thomas Wolsey, Archbishop of York – Henry VIII’s chief advisor. At the time, Wolsey was one of the kingdom’s richest and most influential figures and he intended to build a home to reflect his position. In this he succeeded; however, within just a few years of his home’s completion, Wolsey had fallen from favour. Shortly before he died in 1530, he was ordered to surrender the palace to the king. Just 15 miles from London, the palace quickly became a favourite royal retreat.
While many monarchs have resided in Hampton Court over the centuries, the palace is indelibly linked with the reign of Henry VIII. As such, it should come as no surprise that the most familiar phantoms are members of the Henrician court.
There’s Jane Seymour, Henry’s third wife, who died from complications of childbirth, and allegedly still holds a solemn vigil on the palace’s Silverstick staircase; Catherine Howard, Henry’s fifth wife, whose ghost is said to run screaming down the aptly-named ‘Haunted Gallery’, endlessly replaying a failed attempt to reach her husband to beg him to spare her from execution; and maybe even Old King Hal himself. Some believe it was the ghost of the king who was captured on the viral CCTV footage that made headlines around the world in the winter of 2003.
8. Treasurer's House, York, North Yorkshire
Beneath the soaring spires of York Minster, scores of visitors amble along pedestrian thoroughfares lined with gastropubs, gift shops and historic buildings. The din of casual conversation is occasionally interrupted by the booming oratory of tour guides who lead groups of tourists down winding cobble-stoned lanes and narrow alleyways (idiosyncratically referred to as ‘snickleways’ by the locals). These merry little bands are on the hunt for haunted houses, and in York – reputedly the ‘Most Haunted City in Britain’ – they will not be disappointed.
Dozens of properties compete for the title of ‘Most Haunted House’ in York, and while there is no clear victor, there is one property that can lay claim to what is, perhaps, the best authenticated ghost story in British history. That is the Treasurer’s House – a Grade I listed National Trust property with foundations dating all the way back to the early 12th century. Its best-known ghost story, however, has nothing to do with its medieval history.
In 1953, an 18-year-old apprentice plumber called Harry Martindale was hired to install a boiler in the property’s ancient cellar. Working alone and in silence, Martindale was startled by the distant sound of a trumpet. The sound grew closer, and suddenly, what appeared to be a Roman soldier with a plumed helmet emerged from a wall, followed by a cart horse and a band of other soldiers, all dressed in green and carrying round shields. If this weren’t strange enough, the soldiers appeared to be cut off at the knees.
Though Martindale’s claims were initially dismissed as hallucinations, the subsequent discovery of the Via Decumana, a Roman road lying about 15 inches below the cellar floor, gave credence to his story. What’s more, his description of the soldiers’ attire – originally deemed inaccurate based on existing historical knowledge – was later confirmed to be consistent with the regiment stationed at the Roman outpost of Eboracum (i.e. modern-day York).
Caitlin Blackwell Baines is an art historian and author who specialises in Georgian art and architecture. She is the author of How to Build a Haunted House: The History of a Cultural Obsession (Profile Books, 2025)
This article was first published in the Apple News October 2025 bonus issue
]]> Ellie Cawthorne <![CDATA[Is this England’s MOST GRUESOME castle?]]> https://www.historyextra.com/membership/farleigh-hungerford-gruesome-castle/ 2025-10-30T09:40:04.000Z 2025-10-30T09:39:08.000Z Cared for by English Heritage, Farleigh Hungerford castle in southwest England is the perfect place for a picnic and a stroll. But behind the ruins lie many fascinating, dark tales.
HistoryExtra’s Ellie Cawthorne visits the castle – home to the Hungerford family for over 300 years – to hear more from site manager Frances Russell about the stories that lurk in the site’s long history. She also gets closer to Britain's best collection of human-shaped lead coffins, artefacts which drew many Victorian visitors with a taste for the macabre.
With stories ranging from foul deeds to bloodthirsty goblins, Ellie asks: is this a contender for the English castle with the most gruesome history?