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The Discovery of King John in 1797

Since the mortal remains of King John have made the news today, here's the start of my new book...

 

In the summer of 1797 a group of workmen in Worcester Cathedral caused a sensation, locally if not nationally, by discovering the body of King John.

John’s tomb had long stood in the middle of the cathedral’s choir, but the consensus view in 1797 was that it was empty. Although the stone likeness (or effigy) on top dated from not long after the king’s death in 1216, the tomb chest had been created in the sixteenth century in the style of more recent burials (most notably Henry VIII’s older brother, Arthur, who died in 1502). It was known from the testimony of ancient chronicles that John had been buried in the Lady Chapel, and so it was assumed that, although his effigy had been moved in Tudor times, his bones had been left undisturbed in their original resting place.

The tomb of King John in Worcester Cathedral

The cathedral clergy found John’s tomb a cause of ‘much annoyance’, because its central position obstructed the approach to the altar, and their plan was to move it to some more convenient part of the church. And so, on 17 July 1797, the workmen set about dismantling it. They removed the effigy and the cracked stone slab underneath, to discover that the chest had been partitioned by two brick walls, and the sections in between filled with builders’ rubble. But when they removed the sides of the tomb and cleared out the debris, the workmen, ‘to their astonishment’, found a stone coffin. Immediately the dean and chapter of the cathedral were convened, as well as some local worthies with relevant expertise (the antiquarian Mr James Ross, and Mr Sandford, ‘an eminent surgeon of Worcester’).

Inside the coffin they found ‘the entire remains of King John’. His corpse had obviously decomposed somewhat in the course of nearly six centuries. Despite being embalmed, some parts had putrefied, and so ‘a vast quantity of the dry skins of maggots were dispersed over the body’. Parts of the body had also been displaced, presumably when it was moved in the sixteenth century. A section of the left arm was found lying at an angle on the chest; the upper jaw was found near the elbow. But otherwise the king was arranged in exactly the same position as his effigy, and was similarly attired. He was dressed from head to foot in a robe of crimson damask (a rich fabric of wool woven with silk) and in his left hand – as on the effigy – he held a sword, in a scabbard, both badly decayed. Curiously, however, whereas on the effigy John wore a crown, his skull was wearing a coif, which the antiquarians took to be a monk’s cowl, placed on the king’s head after his death to help reduce his time in Purgatory. Measuring the body they found that John had been five foot six-and-a-half inches tall.

The experts might have continued their investigations further, but were prevented from doing so by a large number of people who had crowded into the cathedral to see the dead monarch. ‘It is much to be regretted’, explained the antiquarian Valentine Green in his published account of the exhumation, ‘that the impatience of the multitude to view the royal remains, so unexpectedly found, should have become so ungovernable, as to make it necessary to close up the object of their curiosity.’ He was not exaggerating. In the short time that the tomb was open, several bits of John’s body were removed by souvenir hunters. His thumb bone was later recovered and can now be seen in the cathedral’s own archives, along with some fragments of sandals and stocking, obtained at auction by Edward Elgar. Two of the king’s teeth, stolen by a stationer’s apprentice in 1797, were ‘secretly treasured’ until 1923, when they were handed over to the Worcester County Museum.

John's teeth

The First English Parliament?

Many people will be claiming that today is a red-letter day for democracy – the 750th anniversary of the occasion when Simon de Montfort summoned 'the first English parliament'. Which would be great, were it in any way true.

The famous earl of Leicester did summon a parliament, and it did begin on 20 January 1265. Beyond that, it's pretty much all myth.

The trouble is that the parliament of 1265 was by no means the first such assembly. The kings of England had been in the habit of consulting their subjects en masse since well before the Norman Conquest, and the term 'parliament' had been used to describe such meetings for at least a generation before 1265 – the earliest use of the term in an official government document occurs in 1236.

But weren't these earlier meetings just barons and bishops? Surely it was Simon de Montfort who struck a blow for democracy in 1265 by introducing representation, summoning knights from the shires and burgesses from the towns?

Well, yes, Montfort did do that in 1265. But, again, this had been going on for years. Knights had been attending parliament for decades – the earliest evidence that they did so as elected representatives occurs in 1254. There is also evidence to suggest that townsmen had been present in parliament before 1265. Montfort was doing nothing new in 1265 by summoning either group.

It can be argued that in earlier parliaments representatives had been summoned simply to gain their assent to taxation, whereas Montfort sought their opinion on political issues too. But since we don't know much about what went on in these early parliaments, that seems to be an argument from silence.

Moreover, it's hard to sustain the idea that Montfort was extending the role of these men because he was a prototype social democrat. The earl was in charge of government because he had seized power the previous year by defeating his brother-in-law, King Henry III, in battle. Without any hereditary claim to authority, Montfort was anxious to show that support for his regime was broadly based. Men in search of legitimacy – King Harold in 1066, King Stephen in 1135 – always claim to have the popular vote.

You don't have to take my word for it. Here's John Maddicott (my old doctoral supervisor, and author of the definitive biography of Simon de Montfort), writing in his most recent book, The Origins of the English Parliament, 924-1327 (p. 234):

'Simon de Montfort's summoning of the knights to parliament in June 1264 and of knights and burgesses to parliament in January 1265 is often thought to have marked the beginnings of local representation or even, and more vulgarly, the foundation of parliament by Montfort himself: a popular myth which it is astonishingly difficult to dispel.'

My friend Dr Michael Ray makes the additional point that the 1265 parliament was gerrymandered: Montfort summoned only those magnates and barons who supported him - 23 in all. By contrast he summoned more than 100 clergymen, knowing that they were more likely to back him. York, Lincoln and other unnamed towns were invited to send two burgesses each, but Sandwich and the other Cinque Ports - again, pro-Montfortian - were asked to send four each. The 1265 parliament was 'a more overtly partisan body' designed to give authority to 'Montfort's illegitimate regime'. (Maddicott, Origins of the English Parliament, p. 257)

PS You can read the text of a 2012 lecture by John Maddicott on Montfort, the Battle of Lewes and Parliament here.

The First English Parliament?

Many people will be claiming that tomorrow is a red-letter day for democracy – the occasion when Simon de Montfort summoned 'the first English parliament'. Which would be great, were it in any way true.

The famous earl of Leicester did summon a parliament, and it did begin on 20 January 1265. Beyond that, it's pretty much all myth.

The trouble is that the parliament of 1265 was by no means the first such assembly. The kings of England had been in the habit of consulting their subjects en masse since well before the Norman Conquest, and the term 'parliament' had been used to describe such meetings for at least a generation before 1265 – the earliest use of the term in an official government document occurs in 1236.

But weren't these earlier meetings just barons and bishops? Surely it was Simon de Montfort who struck a blow for democracy in 1265 by introducing representation, summoning knights from the shires and burgesses from the towns?

Well, yes, Montfort did do that in 1265. But, again, this had been going on for years. Knights had been attending parliament for decades – the earliest evidence that they did so as elected representatives occurs in 1254. There is also evidence to suggest that townsmen had been present in parliament before 1265. Montfort was doing nothing new in 1265 by summoning either group.

It can be argued that in earlier parliaments representatives had been summoned simply to gain their assent to taxation, whereas Montfort sought their opinion on political issues too. But since we don't know much about what went on in these early parliaments, that seems to be an argument from silence.

Moreover, it's hard to sustain the idea that Montfort was extending the role of these men because he was a prototype social democrat. The earl was in charge of government because he had seized power the previous year by defeating his brother-in-law, King Henry III, in battle. Without any hereditary claim to authority, Montfort was anxious to show that support for his regime was broadly based. Men in search of legitimacy – King Harold in 1066, King Stephen in 1135 – always claim to have the popular vote.

You don't have to take my word for it. Here's John Maddicott (my old doctoral supervisor, and author of the definitive biography of Simon de Montfort), writing in his most recent book, The Origins of the English Parliament, 924-1327 (p. 234):

'Simon de Montfort's summoning of the knights to parliament in June 1264 and of knights and burgesses to parliament in January 1265 is often thought to have marked the beginnings of local representation or even, and more vulgarly, the foundation of parliament by Montfort himself: a popular myth which it is astonishingly difficult to dispel.'

My friend Dr Michael Ray makes the additional point that the 1265 parliament was gerrymandered: Montfort summoned only those magnates and barons who supported him - 23 in all. By contrast he summoned more than 100 clergymen, knowing that they were more likely to back him. York, Lincoln and other unnamed towns were invited to send two burgesses each, but Sandwich and the other Cinque Ports - again, pro-Montfortian - were asked to send four each. The 1265 parliament was 'a more overtly partisan body' designed to give authority to 'Montfort's illegitimate regime'. (Maddicott, Origins of the English Parliament, p. 257)

PS You can read the text of a 2012 lecture by John Maddicott on Montfort, the Battle of Lewes and Parliament here.

King John at New Year

Where did King John see in the New Year?

1199 Normandy, precise location unknown, possibly Caen.

1200 Woodstock, Oxfordshire

1201 Montmorrillon, Poitou

1202 Lisieux, Nornandy.

1203 Brill, Buckinghamshire

1204 Clarendon, Wiltshire

1205 Clarendon, Wiltshire

1206 Unknown, probably Guildford, Surrey

1207 Winchester

1208 Winchester

1209 Guildford

1210 Unknown, possibly Nottingham

1211 Unknown

1212 Havering, Essex

1213 Waltham, Essex

1214 Temple Guiting, Gloucestershire

1215 Newark, Nottinghamshire

The Death of King Harold

Another year, another crackpot Battle of Hastings theory. Last year it was 'the battle was fought somewhere else'. This year it's 'King Harold survived the battle'. This one is, if anything, even more feeble and confused, so let's put it to bed as soon as possible.

Evidence for Harold's death:

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, D version (English, contemporary)
'King Harold was slain, and Leofwine, his brother, and Earl Gyrth, his brother, and many good men'.

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, E version (English, contemporary)
'Harold marched from the north, and fought against him [William] before all his host came up; and there he fell with his two brothers, Gyrth and Leofwine.'

William of Poitiers (Norman, contemporary)
'The king himself and his brothers and not a few of the nobles of the kingdom had perished'.

William of Jumieges (Norman, contemporary)
'Harold was slain, pierced with mortal wounds, during the first assault'

The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio (French, contemporary, before 1068)
'The first, cleaving his [Harold's] breast through the shield with his point, drenched the earth with a gushing torrent of blood; the second smote off his head below the protection of the helmet, and the third pierced his innards with his lance'

The Bayeux Tapestry (Anglo-Norman, contemporary, before 1082)
HERE KING HAROLD IS KILLED

Eadmer of Canterbury (English, 1090s)
'Harold fell in the thick of the fray'

Baudri of Bourgeuil (French, before 1102)
'A shaft pierces Harold with deadly doom'

Henry of Huntingdon (Anglo-Norman, 1120s)
'Meanwhile the whole shower sent by the archers fell around King Harold, and he himself sank to the ground, struck in the eye. A host of knights broke through and killed the wounded king.'

John of Worcester (Anglo-Norman, 1130s, and very pro-English)
'But afterwards, when very many had fallen on both sides, he [Harold] himself fell, alas, at dusk'

Simeon of Durham (Anglo-Norman, 1130s)
'In that battle he [Harold] fell with almost the whole English army'

And [NB], The Waltham Abbey Chronicle (Anglo-Norman, post 1177)
'The king.... was slain by his fierce foe'


'Evidence' that Harold survived:

The Vita Haroldi, a work of fantasy written at Waltham Abbey in the early thirteenth century, 150+ years after the event. (And available in print since 1885).

Eleanor of Castile arrives in England, 1255

On this day (or thereabouts) in 1255 Eleanor of Castile, the new wife of the future Edward I, arrived in England for the first time. The young couple had been married in Burgos, Spain, the previous November, when Edward was fifteen and Eleanor just twelve. The contemporary chronicler and monk of St Albans, Matthew Paris, saw it as yet more evidence that his country was going to the dogs...

'About the time of the feast of St Denis [9 October], when the king [Henry III] was returning from the north of England to London, in order to be present for the feast of St Edward, Eleanor, the sister of the king of Spain and wife of Edward, arrived in Dover in great pomp, and with such a numerous revenue that their arrival was looked upon with suspicion by all England, and fears were entertained that the country would be forcibly taken by possession of them.

 

The king thereupon gave orders that she should be received with the greatest honour and reverence at London as well as at other places; but especially London, where her arrival was celebrated by processions, illuminations, ringing of bells, songs and other special demonstrations of joy and festivity. On her approaching that city, therefore, the citizens went to meet her dressed in holiday clothes, and mounted on richly caparisoned horses.

 

And when the noble daughter-in-law of the king arrived at the place of abode assigned to her, she found it, like the dwelling of the bishop of Toledo, hung with palls of silk and tapestry, like a temple, and even the floor was covered with arras. This was done by the Spaniards, it being in accordance with the custom of their country; but this excessive pride excited the laughter and derision of the people. Serious and prudent persons, pondering over future events, were deeply grieved on a careful consideration of the pleasure manifested by the king at the presence of any foreigners. Indeed, the honours shown to the Spaniards, excited the wonder and astonishment of all, and no wonder. The English, therefore, lamented that they were held in less esteem than the people of any other nation by their own king, and with sorrow perceived that their irreparable ruin was imminent.'