I know what you're thinking. Richard III, that awful, evil king who did away with the innocent Princes in the Tower, declared his nephew illegitimate and lurked, scheming in the shadows during his brother's reign, for an opportunity to seize the throne. 

When history is presented as one-sided as this, I get suspicious. And for the last five hundred years or so, we've been riffing off a version of Richard passed down to us by the Tudors. William Shakespeare portayed him as the paranoid, back-stabbing (literally, in the case of Henry VI?) Duke of Gloucester that murdered his nephews to obtain the crown. Their portraits of Richard show him scowling, hunched over on account of the curvature of his spine. The discovery of his skeleton in Leicester did show he had a curved spine, but it was thought not to have been as visible to onlookers as the Tudors have lead us to believe. To them, Henry VII was the victor, saving England from the 'tyranny' of Richard III. Richard was so-called evil, monstrous and the enemy, and the people needed to believe it. Hence the propaganda. 

A representation of Richard III made during his lifetime.  Richard III. König von England - Austrian National Library, Austria - Public Domain

Richard certainly had enemies from the beginning of the reign. He acceded in the summer of 1483 and by the autumn of that year influential nobles and courtiers (among them previous supporters) plotted to try and oust him from power in what is now known as the Buckingham Rebellion. Some historians cite one of the reasons for this rebellion as the fate of the Princes in the Tower - the sons of Richard's brother Edward IV and his queen, Elizabeth Woodville. The theory is that Richard had them quietly murdered to eliminate any threat they may one day pose to his rule. But while we pore over the smallest details of these events, we have been unable to find, in five centuries, convincing evidence that this was actually the case. There is always the possibility that the brothers died from a contagious illness or another accident while in the Tower. Richard wouldn't have wanted to broadcast news of their deaths precisely because everyone would think he had them secretly murdered. Which is what has happened anyway.  

Of course, Richard was a shrewd and calculating politician, but in other kings, this has been considered an advantage. For example, Henry VII has long been considered an intelligent and crafty ruler, but is widely celebrated as the founder of the Tudor dynasty. Richard was also extremely loyal to his older brother Edward IV when he ruled, taking part in his military campaigns, controlling the influence (and wealth) of prominent Lancastrian supporters during the Wars of the Roses and creating a power base in the North of England. The steps he took to diminish Woodville influence immediately after Edward's death were harsh and brutal, but later kings (hello, Henry VIII) also took strong measures to eliminate enemies. We often forget that when Richard seized the throne from the twelve-year old Edward V, England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales (yes, the Wars' effects were felt across the islands) had been affected by a thirty-year civil war caused by a boy inheriting the crown while powerful nobles grasped ruthlessly for power. 

Richard's dealings with his wife Anne too, have slipped into Tudor legend. Anne has been viewed as a depressed and tragic figure, sobbing when overhearing gossip that she was already dead, Richard wanting her 'rid out of the way'. But then this comes from the Tudor Thomas More's biography on Richard III. More had it in for Richard, calling him 'little of stature, ill featured...  crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hard favoured of visage … he was malicious, wrathfull, envious, and from afore his birth, ever frowarde'. Any of the Tudor monarchs would have loved it. Evidence presented by Sarah Gristwood and other historians actually point to Anne being a capable and confident queen. It's just a shame that evidence about her is so lacking, but it's perhaps understandable considering she was queen for less than two years, and Richard up until now has pretty much dominated the couple's narrative. 

It's important to remember that Richard was human; a complicated and three-dimensional figure like any one of us. He was popular in certain circles, but had enemies - in this respect he was like any other king of England before or after him. An able and successful military commander and soldier, he was dedicated to the Yorkist cause during the Wars of the Roses and loyal to his brother's rule. The actions he took to seize control of the crown in the months after Edward's death are therefore puzzling, and can only be explained by ruthless ambition or a need to secure England's safety and prevent another civil war. And while we're on the subject of the princes, it's certainly possible he had them murdered, but we'll likely never know for sure. Richard was many things, certainly a ruler with faults who struggled to maintain popularity and support - he wouldn't be the only one of those. But there's one thing he wasn't, and that's the wholly evil king the Tudors made him out to be. 

What do you think? Should we give Richard a chance? Let me know in the comments below. 

Liked this? You might like Book Review: The Killer of the Princes in the Tower, The Kings of the Wars of the Roses and The Woodville Brides.

 Interested in Tudor history? You might also like my second book, Power Couples of the Tudor Era, published by Pen and Sword Books, which explores the contributions couples made to their own times as well as how they influenced our own. Order your copy here. 

When I joined the history community around three years ago, I imagined it would be a happy little virtual land of castle and cathedral visitors, eager to share their latest discoveries over social media. A supportive little group of people who share the same passion: understanding the past. 

There are certainly some people like that, and I cherish the lovely online friendships I have with many writers, photographers and bloggers. But sometimes I do struggle with the bitterness and snarkiness that exists elsewhere in our community. 

For instance, Twitter. I've lost count of how many times I've seen authors' work openly ridiculed, photos taken of spelling mistakes or typos on the page and shared on a thread so we can all laugh at their supposed incompetence. A wrong name or family link. A footnote to an 'untrusted' source. Surprisingly some are authors themselves, which always puzzles me because I now know the vast work it takes to produce a history book: the initial research, sourcing images, delving into week-long historical rabbit holes and waking up at 3am in a daze, wondering who really did kill the Princes in the Tower. Having had my share of working days that started at 8am and ended at 4am the next day, I have the utmost respect for anyone who has written a history book. Mine was definitely hard work, but I can promise you that it was all done with passion and a love and respect for my subject. Which kind of got me thinking that, as a community, we might have lost our way a bit. 

Photo by Alexander Shatov on Unsplash

Yes, historians get things wrong, like anyone else. But a published work - whether a book, article or blog post - is never meant to be the final word on a subject. In fact, it's more often the beginning - a chink in a chain of knowledge and research that takes us further along in our understanding of the past. I have read some history books that were admittedly not well-researched or contained a ton of typos, spelling mistakes or erroneous sources. But I can honestly say I've never ever read a history book and considered it a waste of time. As writers we put ourselves out there, we invite criticism and debate. After all, for most of history, no one was there: it's just what we each believe the evidence demonstrates and it is inevitable that we will disagree. And when we do, a published work or new theory fuels further publicity and research on a topic, which is great news for all of us. Right? 

So debate and disagreements are a good thing, but not when the words become snarky or hateful. And this negatively impacts the cohesion of our community of writers, photographers, bloggers and history fans. Too often I see authors being shamed or bullied on social media for their views, level of education or writing style. Some have been personally attacked over their interpretations of the past. Instead of celebrating the long-awaited publication day as the fruits of (often years of) research are finally realised, I see authors cautiously urging the community to 'please be kind' and ducking at their desk as if they expect an avalanche of angry DMs. It is absolutely true that as authors we are rightly held accountable for our publications and ideas but can we all just think for a moment before we fire off angry or mocking social media posts? It's not good for the author, it's not good for the readers and it's not good for new historians who are scared off from sharing what could very well be valuable contributions to the study of history. Disagreement is good: but it needs to be done constructively. The sharing of research findings, sensitivity about the author's work and background, the quoting of sources and respectful communication. Not a bitchy snigger because of a typo or - God forbid - a point of view that's different to someone else's.  

 I twirled, enthusiastically, in my new dress.  

"Do you like it?" 

My sixteen year old looked me up and down, and then lazily flicked her eyes back to her book. 

"I think a Medieval person would love it," came the flat reply. 

Seriously? 

My dress is dark brown. It has tiny flowers, slightly flouncy cap sleeves, a v-neck. It tucks into the waist before flowing out to the ankles and grazing the floor. If anything, it's more 1940s than 1340s, in which case it would have come with a wimple and some soft leather flats. Maybe a jug of ale or mead tucked into the parcel if I was lucky. 

But it's hard to deny that set among our city skyscrapers, e-scooters and telecom towers there is a huge demand for Medieval fashion. Type 'Medieval' into SHEIN, Amazon or Etsy and you'll find sword-themed jewellery sets, leather-laced cinch belts and puffy white blouses. There are floor-length tunic-type dresses, hooded cloaks, belted handbags you tie onto your waist (I do love those) and even some "rustic pants". You can even buy a replica of Elizabeth Woodville's chunky necklace to wear out on a date.

It's all over high fashion, too. Designers like Viktor and Rolf and Paco Rabanne have channeled Joan of Arc, Empress Matilda and Eleanor of Aquitaine in their collections, with models strutting the catwalk in scoop necks, crowns and slinky, head-to-toe body armour. 

But why? And why now? 

Some would say it's a response to the Coronavirus situation, and being reminded of our fourteenth-century ancestors who faced the Black Death. A human response to a catastrophic event is often to find a historic equivalent. I mean, it's a lot less scary if we know we've tackled something like it before. So we salute our fallen ancestors and channel their courage by sliding on pearled headbands and masking up for the weekly shop. But tap out a quick internet query and you'll find that a love for Medieval-themed fashion goes back years before the pandemic, including Balmain in 2012, Tory Burch in 2014 and Ellie Saab in 2017. In 2019 Nabil Nayal took inspiration for their collection from Medieval manuscripts with calligraphy, ruffles and flowing, whisper-thin tunics.

Photo by Joel Overbeck on Unsplash

For others, it's a love of historical fiction and drama. Are we simply just emulating our favourite box-office stars? Game of Thrones and films like The King and The Duel bring a cleaner, more glamorous version of the Medieval world, with demure horseback riding, perfectly braided buns and a slick of lip gloss. And who doesn't look sexy in a coat of armour? But again, this doesn't explain why we weren't all donning cravats and cleavage-enhancing bustiers when 82 million of us watched Bridgerton. 

OK, some of us were. 

For me our fascination with Medieval fashion goes deeper than this. 

Think back to the first fairy-tale stories you read, or listened to, as children. I bet they're tales like Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, King Arthur and Robin Hood, all generally set between the sixth and the fifteenth centuries. Even 80's favourites like He-Man and She-Ra had their own Medieval vibe with magic swords and fancy armour. For many of us, a love of the Medieval is simply ingrained in our childhood. Stories of knights fighting dragons lulled us to sleep at bedtime and inspired our play (I remember skipping to the bottom of my garden aged six - I was on horseback, obviously - wielding a stick to fight off the dragons that lived under my dad's shed). 

Photo by Timothy Dykes on Unsplash

We're hooked in as adults, too. We love finding out about chivalry, the code of honour and of course, the political games and characters that dominated the Plantagenet court. The fact that it's out of the grasp of living memory makes it even more mysterious. Green dragons and strange creatures curl their way around the margins of manuscripts and on our days off to relax we walk around grand castles with tall turrets and damp, musty dungeons. Old banqueting halls and corridors twinkle with silent, armoured mannequins and portraits gaze down at us indifferently from their gilded frames. There are real-life heroes (William Marshal, Edward III) and the villains (sorry, John and Richard II). Warrior queens like Matilda and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Tournaments, jousts and banquets. The flutter of bunting and the shrill fanfare of trumpets. It's sometimes difficult to figure out where real Medieval history ends and fantasy and legend begin. 

Photo by Alice Alinari on Unsplash

This love for an idyllic Medieval construct is nothing new. Edward III emulated King Arthur and his Round Table by forming a special knight's club, calling it the Order of the Garter, which still exists today.  Henry VIII showed off the Round Table at Winchester to the Emperor Charles V on a visit in 1522. During the nineteenth century, train stations were built to resemble Medieval castles - take a look at Bristol Temple Meads. And Victorian churches and town halls are carved with stylised stone heads, complete with Crusader chainmail, crowns - and fashionable handlebar moustache. 

The way I see it, our modern love of the Medieval comforts us. It takes us back to snuggling up with a book at storytime, listening while brave knights rescue cursed princesses and make all right again with the world. The impeccable order of the Arthurian court and the complicated web of chivalry that controlled the realm and made it a safe, respectful place to live. 

Whether it's the nostalgia of childhood games or bedtime stories read, soothingly, by a loving parent or grandparent, we are drawn to the imagined, idyllic glory of the Medieval world. For centuries we have often turned for comfort to a time we've perceived to be stronger, ordered and fairer than our own. 

It's not too much of a stretch to wonder then, at a time when the world is confronted by a pandemic, religious and political upheaval and social change, whether we wouldn't regress a little into our imagination and be our own heroes again, like when we were six. 

It's ironic too, that despite the barbaric, erratic nature of real Medieval England, there's something extremely settled and dignified about Medieval fashion. It evokes control, respect, strength, courage, grace and power.

And it looks pretty damn stylish, too. 

Did you enjoy this? You might also like: Sir Gawain's Skull at Dover Castle, Review of Netflix The King and 7 Reasons You Don't Really Wish There Was a Time Machine

I once read an article that was very adamant in that you must never make Hippocras if it isn't syrupy and full of vast quantities of sugar, like the original. Another was quite particular about the original ratios of ingredients to make Jumbles, the twisty, chewy Tudor biscuit. And God forbid if you want to make Maids of Honour using shop-bought shortcrust pastry. 

Phew.

Photo by Sorin Gheorghita on Unsplash

I have other ideas. 

There is a difference between taking inspiration from historical foods and food archaeology. 

The aim of food archaeology is to recreate a recipe as close to the original as we can, so that we might all be educated about what a sixteenth-century Marchpane tasted like, or a Saxon pie crust. This is really important, and can reveal a lot about the way people seasoned their food, the ingredients they used and the kind of tastes and flavours they enjoyed. It's usually done using authentic cookware, historical cooking methods and the closest ingredients we can get to the types eaten back then. You might see this sort of historical cooking on your days out at palaces and stately homes, costumed cooks forming pie crusts with their hands, filling them with melted chocolate in wooden jugs and sliding them into 200-year old ovens. 

This is so important for historical learning and research and a sense of compassion and a link from us to our ancestors. Fascinating. I love it. 

But honestly, don't we sometimes just want to have a bit of fun? 

I take inspiration from historical cookbooks a lot, in my cooking at home, for my family. Yes, I use shop-bought pastry for my Maids of Honour because it's easy and quick. Yes, they're not historically accurate, but then I don't pretend that they are. And of course pastry is better when it's home-made, but my kids keep asking for a trayful of these lemon-scented pies, still warm from the oven and it's easier than getting pastry to mix, rest in the fridge and then get rolled out on a floury worktop. 

Not everyone wants to make their own pastry, or hand-raise their pies. Pastry tins were invented to make that job easier. 

Not everyone wants to add massive quantities of sugar to their Medieval drinks because of taste preferences or maybe health reasons. 

Not everyone wants to bake dinner in a wood-fired oven - or squatting over a small bonfire in the garden. 

Does that mean that historical recipes are off-limits to them, all in the sake of historical accuracy? 

Of course not. 

Making rules about historical cooking is - for the rest of us that just want to have fun with it and aren't doing research - a bit like artists saying that you should always draw out perspective lines or guidelines for the structure of a face. Picasso didn't paint portraits with accuracy in mind. Salvador Dali painted Elephants with thin, spindly, tall legs. And DuChamp - well, he put his signature on a urinal and exhibited it in a posh gallery. 

Be inspired by cooking from the past, and don't feel intimidated that you're somehow not doing it properly. If a beautifully spiced Beef-Y-Stwyd slowly simmered in your electric slow cooker is enjoyed by the family on a Sunday evening then that's perfect. Being curious about historical food and trying out old ingredient combinations is really exciting. And I'm all for getting historical cooking back in the kitchen and onto our plates, even if it involves the use of foil, a little less sugar and a twentieth-century appliance or three. Tastes change over time, cooking methods are developed and new ingredients are brought into the market all the time.

Be inspired by the past, and bring history into your kitchen. Have fun with it. 

You might discover something new. 

Any thoughts? Let me know what you think in the comments below. 

Enjoyed this? You might also like Tudor Maids of Honour, A Tudor Breakfast and The History of the Sandwich. You can find all my historic recipes here. 

I love British history. That's why I called my blog Love British History. But sometimes there are parts of history that makes us feel uncomfortable, and we don't really love that aspect of it, do we? 

It was the plunge in my stomach when I went to write, sympathetically, about little-known women murder victims for Women's History Month - and then awkwardly discovered that actually, a number of violent murders had been committed by women. 

Or the ache in my heart when I learned that the British had traded millions of African men, women and children, took away their names and identities and shackled them in boats, transporting them to the colonies to be treated as nothing more than property. Double that sinking feeling when I researched my family tree and found to my horror that one eighteenth-century ancestor had married a plantation owner in the Caribbean. Meaning that my own family was almost certainly directly involved in the slave trade.  

I get an uneasy feeling when I visit a museum that proudly exhibits an ancient Egyptian Mummy, brought over without negotiation by British archaeologists in the nineteenth century. Shouldn't that person be left to rest in their own country, where they belong? And what right did we have to take them anyway? 

Slaves working on a sugar plantation, 1823. Public Domain. Photo by British Library on Unsplash

So what do we do about it? 

I know that winners write the history, but that doesn't mean that the rest is always left out entirely. In my mind, we need those 'lost' bits to piece together what happened to understand it fully. It doesn't make for easy reading, but it needs to be done. That's what studying history is all about. I mean, we're not writing happily-ever-after fairytales here. 

You won't understand the BLM movement if you don't look back to exploration in Tudor and Stuart Britain or segregation in the 1900s. You won't understand women's history if you don't look back to some of the violent acts of the Suffragettes in the early 1900s. For too long, historians have done too much picking and choosing of events to fit a particular narrative, or to support some sort of ancient, idealised legend, built on yellowed, dog-eared accounts of centuries-old propaganda.

I don't know any other British person personally that sees the British Empire as a thing to be unwaveringly proud of. Any talk of Georgian or Victorian rule - along with the battles, bloodshed, taxation and dominance - over parts of Africa, India and other parts of the world make us shift uncomfortably a little bit in our seats.

Approaches to history do seem to be changing. We no longer feel as if we need to cling so protectively to property taken in conquest (like the Benin Bronzes), and leaders now often issue public apologies for historical acts of terrorism or persecution. More than ever before I think, we look at the past with more compassion and understanding. 

I'd bet that pretty much every country's history has those skeletons in the closet, those awkward bits that you don't really want brought up at dinner parties. And although it may be difficult to consider, I reckon it's important. By really digging into the sources we understand the whole of history - and today's world - from a far more compassionate and understanding place. In turn, we can highlight new areas of study, improve education and get on better with our next door neighbours. And how can that not be a good thing? 

Do you have any thoughts? What parts of history make uncomfortable reading for you? Do you agree? Let me know in the comments below... 

If you had to round up ten women in the history of humanity that were notable in some way and made a special contribution, who would you choose? 

It's not as easy as you'd first think, and even more difficult to narrow it down to a short list. We've had warrior queens, rebel nuns, military defenders and wealthy land owners. We've had women who have stood out in the fields of medicine, engineering, education, culture and the arts. 

To mark Women's History Month, I asked ten history bloggers to recommend their top notable women from history and the contributions they made. The results were mind-blowing. There are suffragettes, medical innovators, queens, philosophers - and a rocket engineer. 

Read on to find the stories of some incredible women from history - and find yourself some new bloggers to follow, too...

Credit: All Public Doman, Wikimedia Commons, except Nicholaa de la Haye (Sharon Bennett Connolly)  and Margaret Pole (National Portrait Gallery NPG2607)