Anyone remotely familiar with the Wars of the Roses will know about the Battle of Towton in Yorkshire, when the nearby river was supposed to have turned red with the blood of the dead soldiers. 

The battle took place between the Lancastrian army of Henry VI, headed by the Duke of Somerset, and the Yorkist troops led by Edward Plantagenet, son of the since dead Duke of York. From the 1450s, concerns grew for the country amid Henry's ineffective rule and health problems that left him mentally incapacitated for long periods of time. York had managed to wrestle a promise out of Henry that he would be king after his own death, which only added enthusiasm to the Yorkists' cause. The duke's supporters conspired, fought and raised money and men to pave his way to the the throne in the civil war known as the Wars of the Roses. But the duke was defeated at the Battle of Wakefield in 1460 and killed in a public execution afterwards. It was his eldest son Edward who took up his fight. 

Richard Caton Woodville, Battle of Towton painting, 1927. Via Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain.

Squaring up on the muddy field of Towton, said the Tudor historian Edward Hall, were 60,000 royal soldiers, while Edward's troops amounted to just over 48,000. They met in a field between the villages of Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire on a bed of raised ground. Among those ready to fight were well-known men of medieval politics. Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick commanded a portion of Edward's army, while Lord Falconberg oversaw another division. Warwick was used to battle, and was not only an expert soldier and military leader but was also known for his generosity. It was said that when he held a feast, the inns of London were full of the earl's meat, him urging everyone present to take as much leftovers they could slide onto the blade of a dagger before leaving.

The armies first clashed at around seven in the morning. It was 29 March, but was bitterly cold, with flakes of snow falling, the ice particles mushing with earth under the soldier's leather boots. It was said that the battle continued until dusk, and it would have been an exhausting fight. The Yorkists however gained the upper hand, with one explanation given being that the snow fall increased throughout the day, driving in the direction of the Lancastrian soldiers. Struggling to see through the haze, they found counter attack more and more difficult. It's possible too, that Edward's underdog passion inspired his troops to fight harder. He was outnumbered, but unlike Henry VI, led his own army into battle. Edward was a respected warrior, and was driven on by the very recent loss of his own father, and many of his supporters would have also backed and personally known the duke.

Spears, axes, swords, shields and arrows were among the weapons used at Towton. Research by York Osteoarchaeology on skeletons unearthed and believed to have been soldiers at the battle showed some fascinating findings. The youngest they excavated was around fifteen years of age, while many showed evidence of blunt force or weapon related trauma. There were also signs of longer term illness. The death of Lord Dacre is a famous one - it is said that he was pausing in battle to take a drink, took off his gorget (the chain mail worn around the neck) and was struck in the throat by an arrow. 

As the Lancastrian soldiers plotted their escape from the field, they headed to outlying areas, and many who survived the battle sadly drowned in the river Cock nearby. The figures are startling, although are debated by modern historians. In a letter Edward wrote to his mother Cecily Neville after the battle, he claimed that 28,000 Lancastrian soldiers and commanders had died. In total, 38,000 lie on the field, although it was believed that the total dead, including those that drowned in the river, numbered around 97,000. Among them were members of the nobility, including the Earls of Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Shrewsbury; John Lord Clifford, the Lords Dacre, Beaumont, Neville, Willoughby, Roos, Scales, Grey, Fitzhugh, Molineaux, Welles, and Henry Buckingham. There was also Sir Andrew Trollop, Sir John Neville, Sir Richard Percy, Sir John Heyton, Sir Gervase Clifton, Sir Edward Harnis, Sir John Burton, Sir David Trollop, Sir Thomas Crakenthorpe, Sir John Ormond and others. I explored the consequences of medieval battle in my book Forgotten Women of the Wars of the Roses, and the impact this had on families. Many women were left struggling to manage, maintain and cling on to marital estates after their husbands died in war. Some even left a secular life altogether and entered a religious establishment. 

Many of the dead were buried, unceremoniously, in local churchyards, buried in communal pits or alone, with hastily erected tombs built over them. The Tudor historian John Stow noted that many were buried in Saxton churchyard. In the mid-nineteenth century, when preparing the ground there for a new burial, diggers encountered a pile of bones around five feet thick believed to have been casualties of Towton. On an earlier occasion, in 1794, a 'vast quantity of bones' were discovered in the ground, with 'arrow piles, pieces of broken swords, and five groat pieces of Henry IV, Henry V and Henry VI'. It's possible too, that the dead were buried in mounds in outlying areas. On the battlefield itself, a gold ring was recovered in 1786 decorated with the crest of the Percy family of Northumberland. A silver gilt ring with joined hands was also discovered, along with a spur.

The Yorkists were victorious, and Edward Plantagenet Earl of March made his way to London to be crowned king. The deposed Henry VI and his queen Margaret of Anjou fled, and headed for Scotland to seek further support. Before Edward rode south, he travelled the short distance to York and removed his father's head from Mickelgate Bar, replacing it with those of executed Lancastrian soldiers. 

In the early February of 1776 a man and a woman walked arm in arm together in Yorkshire. Elizabeth Boardingham and Thomas Aikney looked, to all concerned, like a regular Georgian couple that were in love but there was little that was traditional about their affair. For one thing, Elizabeth was already married and as for another, they were whispering plots to commit a brutal murder. 

At the Assizes at York in April 1776 the court heard an account of the murder of John Boardingham, Elizabeth's husband. He had been arrested and imprisoned in York Castle for smuggling and remained there for some time. With her husband securely detained within the brick walls of the prison, Elizabeth invited a lover, Thomas Aikney, into her home to live with her. Elizabeth lived in the village of Flamborough in the East Riding of Yorkshire, close to the coasts and bays of the county and with sweeping views of the mossy cliffs and the Humber nearby. The couple became so attached to one another that on her husband's release, Elizabeth chose to leave her home and travel to live with Thomas in Lincolnshire. 

Johann Lorenz Haid, 1702–1750, Portrait of a Man and Woman, undated, Mezzotint on moderately thick, slightly textured, beige laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Fund, B1970.3.1374. Public Domain. (not Elizabeth and Thomas)

The court heard that it was Elizabeth who was adamant that her husband, recently returned to the couple's marital home, should die. Thomas repeatedly tried to put her off the idea, suggesting they run away and get married instead to start a new life together, but Elizabeth would not be convinced.

On 5 February 1776 the plan was set into motion. Elizabeth returned to her Flamborough home to live with her husband, giving the impression that she had reconciled with him. On the night of the 13 February, at around 11pm, Elizabeth woke her husband sleeping next to her, telling him that she heard a noise at the door and that he should investigate. John diligently swung his legs over the edge of the bed, put on a coat and waistcoat and padded downstairs to the door of their home. But Thomas Aikney was waiting for him. In the cold night Thomas stabbed John in the thigh, removed the knife and then plunged the blade into John's left side, leaving the knife in the wound before running away. John staggered into the street, crying 'Murder!', a trickle of concerned neighbours running towards him in the gloom. John was said to have pulled the knife out of the wound in his side, holding the weapon with one had and trying to hold together the gaping injury together with his other hand. Covered in blood, he survived overnight but died the day after. 

Thomas Aikney was a reluctant and somewhat hapless murderer. His pleas for Elizabeth to abandon the plot and the haphazard way in which he committed the act show that this was a clumsy attempt on John's life and not a thought-out attack by an experienced criminal. His actions convey panic, fleeing the scene and leaving behind the murder weapon lodged in his victim's body. It is likely that the neighbours that John called on for help that night knew all abut Elizabeth and her lover. He had lived in her and John's home and would have been noticed by locals arriving and leaving as he went about his business in the village. It is unsurprising then, that he was quickly caught and stood accused of John's murder. The murder weapon was 'proved' to be Thomas', although the account doesn't state how, and when asked to defend his case, he immediately admitted his guilt. Their relationship, the murder plot and Elizabeth's demands that Thomas commit the act were all unravelled in court, and the couple received sentence of death. Later, Thomas' body was taken to Leeds infirmary 'for dissection'. 

We often hear of similar True Crime stories today, but Georgian Britain wasn't all rosy-cheeked women selling apples, fancy ballroom dances and trips to the theatre. It had a darker side, and Elizabeth, Thomas and John's stories wove into one with fatal consequences for all. These are the true stories of eighteenth-century Britain and are crucial to our understanding of the era.

Liked this? You might also like John Conyers and the Copped Hall Robbery of 1775, Mary Edmondson, Accused Georgian Murderess, and LGBTQ Georgian Britain: Mary East

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The open squares and pavements of eighteenth-century Covent Garden in London were alive with conversation and trade. Market stall holders called out their produce to passers by while business was conducted in the nearby alleyways and offices. At the centre of this community stood a large, imposing building with the scent of roasted coffee drifting from its open windows. The owner, Moll King, was well known, feared and respected as one of Georgian England's most successful businesswomen. 

unknown artist, Moll King (Broadside Engraved Portrait of the Notorious Mistress of King's Coffee-House in Covent Garden...), undated, Engraving, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, B1977.14.1294. Public Domain.

Moll King was born in 1696 in a garret (an attic) in Vine Street in the parish of St Giles in the Fields in London. Her father Crispin, a shoemaker, was said to have been preoccupied with his own pleasures while Moll was a young girl, and spent his earnings with his 'boon companions'. A short biography of Moll written after her death points out that while Crispin followed his own interests and spent money with friends he left Moll and her mother to 'shift for themselves'. They sold fruits, fish and vegetables in the streets to raise money for their dinner. Written by someone who knew Moll, the stories in The Life and Character of Moll King may well be accurate, although Moll may have exaggerated her childhood adversity and the personalities of her parents to provide not only contrast to her later success but an 'underdog' image that had people rooting for her. Without further evidence it's impossible for now to say.

At a young age Moll was noticed by a lady named Mrs Atwood who lived in Charles Court in the Strand, who employed her as a servant. But Moll missed everyday life in the London streets, where she had grown up and learned to fend for herself, and she soon left Mrs Atwood to return there as a fruit seller, pushing a barrow around the lanes and alleys and calling out for custom. During this period she met Tom King, a man originally from West Ashton in Wiltshire who was working as a waiter in a brothel in Covent Garden. Tom was nicknamed 'Smooth Faced Tom' by those who knew him, likely reflecting that he chose not to grow a beard. They married and began to save funds towards their joint livelihood, Moll displaying notable business skills after purchasing a batch of nuts just before a price rise. In one season sit was said that she made £60 just selling 'small nuts', an estimated equivalent worth today of around £7,000.

Soon into their marriage though, the couple experienced a setback. Moll found out that Tom had been carrying on an affair with a woman who Moll later claimed 'severely beat her', and seems to have begun an affair of her own in retaliation. The man, named Murray, was described in 1747 as someone 'now in a very high station in one of the public offices' but is otherwise left anonymous. She left Tom, and enjoyed some freedom in the company of men, but always kept her wits about her. Her biographer wrote in 1747 that 'she was not so happy as to have a liberal education, she had very good natural sense, with flighty turns of wit, and remarkably sober... while she saw the town ladies get dead drunk with their sparks [male companions] she took care to keep herself cool'. Eventually Moll and Tom reconciled, and Moll always maintained that 'she tenderly loved him, and would never have left him one hour, had not she been well assured that he kept company with a lewd woman'. The couple went back to working life and living together, Tom at the brothel and Moll now running a stall in Covent Garden Market. 

Moll dreamed of running a coffee house, one of the new fashionable places frequented not just by passing customers but intellectuals and those of wealthy status. She discussed the idea with Tom and they rented a coffee house, called King's, at the price of £12 a year. It was a huge success, and one contemporary remarked that 'persons of every description' visited them, including those in 'full dress with swords and in rich brocaded silk coats' as well as 'chimney sweepers, gardeners and market people, in common with her lords of the knighted rank'. A large section of the couple's customer base came from the market traders, who stopped in for a warm refreshment during a long day of selling. Moll charged a penny for a dish of coffee, and also offered drinks of tea and chocolate. It wasn't long before they needed to enlarge the premises to make way for demand, and Moll and Tom bought the house next door and soon after, the house next to that, creating a large establishment situated opposite Tavistock Row, with one side of the building on Tavistock Street. 

Moll worked incessantly, rising at 1-2am, especially on market days, and the couple slept in a bed on an upper storey accessed by a ladder which was removed during trading hours. But Moll had a keen business sense and recognised a new opportunity and soon offered more than just hot drinks. She noticed that Covent Garden attracted 'young rakes' who looked for 'pretty misses' to spend their evenings with, and it was reported that men could 'be sure of finding a nymph in waiting at Moll's Fair Reception House'. King's Coffee House became a place where men and women could meet, with the lingering promise of more than a dish of coffee. But Moll took care to offer a more luxurious experience than the local brothel. The women at King's dressed like 'persons of quality' and were attended by men dressed as footmen. There were no beds at the house, and so Moll was careful to stipulate that the house was to be used as a meeting place rather than a brothel, but she was equally eager to recommend places to stay for the night locally that would be appropriate. There were instances where the footman who accompanied the woman with a candle would also pick the pocket of the gentleman while he was preoccupied with his new companion, and if not him, sometimes the women themselves. 

Money quickly accumulated, and Moll and Tom bought a country house in Hampstead Heath in North London. On one occasion Moll overheard a group of lads travelling past, one pointing out the house, as 'Moll King's folly'. She yelled back from a window, that it was actually 'your folly... for you know how Fool's pence flew fast enough about, and they helped to build it'. Tom in particular spent more time in seclusion and away from the business in his later years, after he fell in ill health. Moll's 1747 biographer stated that Tom enjoyed drinking, and this, and 'other vices' was the reason for his later decline. Moll worked at the coffee house each day, telling everyone she enjoyed her work and loved to see her customers, who she called 'her pretty birds'. Tom died at their home in Hampstead in 1738.

After Tom's death, Moll appears frequently in court, probably because she was seen as an easy target as a widow, now that she did not have a male figure to defend her. But her resolve and resilience was profound. She embarked on money-lending at a high rate of interest, and was criticised for indecency. On 23 May 1739 she was summoned to receive judgement for keeping a 'disorderly house'. Reluctant to pay the £200 fine, she opted to serve time in prison until the authorities, knowing she could well afford the fine, put pressure on her to pay. She also appeared on charges of violent assault and for 'beating a gentleman' in her house, her only defence being that 'if she was to pay... all the insolent boys she had thrashed for their impudence, the Bank of England would be unable to furnish her with the cash'. To inspectors who received complaints from concerned residents that the house was being run as a brothel, Moll proudly showed them the only bed, which was hers that she had shared with her husband, accessed only by a ladder. She also bribed other critics, joking that she had 'bubbled the Bench' to avoid further legal action. 

However Moll was protective of the women she worked with and who frequented her coffee house and her customers developed a language so that only they would know what was being discussed. These phrases included 'to nap the pad' (to go to bed) and used the word 'daisies' for diamonds. One survives today, 'Old Codger', used to describe an old man. Moll was welcoming to everyone, regardless of her status, but could clearly become physical if disrespected. She liked to be punctual and valued the trait in others, and owned a Bull puppy that was given to her as a gift from a customer. She married again, to a Mr Huff, who it was widely believed had married her for her wealth. Once again, Moll had the foresight and caution to draw up a 'widow's will', which provided her son with an education at Eton after her death, a boy described at the time as a 'very hopeful young fellow'. Moll experienced bad health in her later years and retired to her house in Hampstead - she owned three homes at this point - and died there on 17 September 1747. A mock heroic poem was written after her death, named Covent Garden in Mourning. A 25-page biography was also printed in the year she died, called The Life and Character of Moll King, of King's Coffee House in Covent Garden. Published in 1747, it was printed by W. Price in London and sold for three pence a copy. 

Moll's trace is not often acknowledged, but she shows us that women could be successful business owners in the Georgian era, and even during her marriage to Tom she seems to have been the driving force behind the couple's fortune and notorious fame. 

Liked this? You might also like John Conyers and the Copped Hall Robbery of 1775, Mary Edmondson, Accused Georgian Murderess, and LGBTQ Georgian Britain: Mary East

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Hogarth's London, pictures of the manners of the eighteenth century. Henry Benjamin Wheatley, Constable and Company London 1909 

The Life and Character of Moll King, of King's Coffee House in Covent Garden, who departed this life the 17 sept 1747. Published 1747 by W Price. 

I wrote about Joan and William Canynges in Forgotten Women of the Wars of the Roses and I think of them whenever I'm in Bristol. 

William Canynges was a fifteenth-century Mayor of Bristol and a wealthy merchant. He contributed to the building and upkeep of St Mary Redcliffe Church, and had a house nearby, across today's roundabout just outside the main gate. But while William is commemorated around the city in stained glass and paintings, his wife Joan is usually completely forgotten. In fact there would be no visible trace of her in the city at all if it were not for the couple's joint effigy inside St Mary Redcliffe church.

William was well known in Bristol among the merchant community and local government officials, and was granted a special shipping licence by Henry VI. Shortly after Edward IV's accession he greeted the teenage king at Bristol and was reported to have entertained him at his home for the night. Joan then, was present during this important event and would have had a key role in the household arrangements ensuring everything was in place for the new king's comfort and acting as an ambassador to her family and Bristol.

Their home was crammed into the streets near Bristol's harbour, but it was also palatial, as you'd expect for such an influential and wealthy couple. It had a private chapel, a viewing tower and was decorated with gold on the walls and ceilings and painted with frescoes. Their extravagant tomb at St Mary's Redcliffe also remains as a reminder of their wealth, richly carved and painted. The Canynges also contributed towards the upkeep and building of the church, which is beautifully carved and decorated and well worth a visit.

The close resemblance between William's effigy here and that of his later one also supports the argument that it probably resembles how the mayor would once have looked in life. Similarly, Joan's features are far from generic and may also represent how she would have looked as she flitted through Bristol's fifteenth-century streets running household errands and assisting in her husband's business. Thanks to surviving letters written by families who lived during the Wars of the Roses period (the Pastons, Celys, Stonors, for example) we know women often met with their husband's business associates and acted as unofficial personal assistants while the husband was away on royal or economic business.

A wooden board above William's later effigy states that he was 'the richest merchant of the town of Bristol', was elected mayor five times and contributed to the city's wealth and fortune. After his political career, he became Dean of Westbury where he also had a college built, sustaining over 800 craftsmen's livelihoods for eight years. It also states that he paid Edward IV 3,000 marks, in return for a shipping agreement of 2470 tonnes, an astonishing amount of money for the period. Among the ships he personally owned were The Mary Canynges, The Mary Redcliffe, The Little Nicholas and The Margaret. There is no doubt that the Canynges' enjoyed comfortable, wealthy and busy lives and if you could go back to medieval Bristol you would easily find their trace in their friends and contacts, buildings and business. I also found links between the Canynges' and other influential mercantile families in Bristol of the fifteenth century, showing how well connected they were. Joan died in 1467, and William on 7 November 1474. For a more detailed discussion of Joan and William and their combined and individual influence in medieval Bristol, check out Forgotten Women of the Wars of the Roses where a number of other Bristol women are also mentioned in the context of the war.

In 1809 English men and women flocked to see a celebrity: a 'spotted boy' who had been brought to Bristol from the island of St Vincent in the Caribbean. He had been born on a plantation owned by a man named Mr Alexander to African parents in around June 1808 and was named George. George immediately began to attract attention, having black skin with white markings, something considered unusual for the time. Surviving portraits of the boy show that he had vitiligo, a long-term condition resulting in pale or white patches of skin that can sometimes appear symmetrically on the body. To his contemporaries though, the baby's appearance was a mystery and the writer Abel Bowen in 1840 stated that people visited him on the island, each charged a dollar to see him. Bowen wrote that there was some concern over the baby boy's safety, due, he said, to superstition about the colouring of his skin, and so his passage was arranged to England. However he also pointed out that the decision may also have been made with 'the prospect of a profitable disposal'. 

George Alexander (Gratton), Wellcome Collection, Public Domain

Bristol Harbour today