Not just Tudor songs but modern versions for schools to use.

Who was the actual brains behind the Tudor victory at Bosworth Field?

The Rose of Change
By Henry Tudor

Margaret’s hand has stirred up so much fear
King Richard’s secret still lies hidden below.
The death list is not yet done, York next we all hear
The young Princess will die, she too has to go.

A truce to abandon the everlasting Rose fight
Join in one last battle at Roman Crossroad site,
Both sides shout victory, only one though is right
The King has been killed by Welsh usurper Knight.

Henry of Richmond now wears the gold crown
The young Princess, his wife and love that is known.
The dead Richard, forgotten outside monastery town
The Tudors now sited on the nations new throne.

Where are the dead Princes that Richard left behind?
Under the slabs of their Uncle’s prison walled crime.
His followers now hail him as their lost idol in time
But time will tell all with a knowledgeable sign.

Three quarters and one will now rule the land
A white Rose now mounted on King’s red Rose
A new future to build on rock and not sand
Peaceful existence from a new strong family pose.

Margaret has succeeded in her ambitious plan
She stopped the Rose War and put her son on the throne.
She created a fiery myth with her Arthurian fan
The puppets around her, their powers now grown.

The Lancaster Beaufort, has taken the throne.



The sowing of the seeds for the Industrial Revolution, the Reformation.

Seed of change
By Henry Tudor

A fertile soil of human skill, forced to abandon, ignore,
More sons cannot be trained to pass on lifelong trade.
The old church is their jail, the false destiny their bribe,
Hidden wealth in fields, fear of hell, the rood charade.

The King has taken all the chains away, his Church is now free,
All can now move, pray, wander to where skill is in need.
No more barriers, the wealth can be shared, work well,
A future of freedom, honourable ambitions now dwell

The Blacksmith, the Miller, the Cooper now all cheer,
Their sons can be trained, no Bishop of Rome, no fear.
Wool can still be harvested by those left behind,
The seeds have been sowed, revolution will bind.

Alum, Iron, Metals once rare, work for the masses at last,
Pass on your skill, as much as you will, be proud of your caste.
Take your pride and teach others, sow seed and discover,
The new Church has freed you all at long last.


Foreword: Royal Bugs

There was a mini Ice-age during the reign of King Henry VIII and England suffered the effect of natures reply.
The River Thames froze right into the estuary and all the feeder channels froze up to the source of the rivers. The Royals would go ice skating from the Royal Embankment as a sign of enjoying the climate. The winter temperatures were so low that insect larvae froze and sat to wait for the thaw to come. Trouble was that various insects species would normally wait until it was their turn to be born the infestations would be spread out during the time from a normal spring to summer period. But now that the spring and Summer periods were pushed closer together, all the infestations came at once. The Palace with all its people and food smells were natural target for the insects to find what they craved, salt. Human sweat and cooking attracted swarms of flies and ants colonies to become a great hazard to health. Horse flies would render the rider defenseless as they followed the dark image in their eye receptors. The knowledge of the white horse in summer sun being virtually invisible to the predator fly was used to a great effect. The King would ride white horses with no swishing tail to attract the fly. He would have packs of white greyhounds running alongside with no apparent problem of the flea. The Courtiers were to hide their hair or cut it off to lower the infestation of lice and keep the King safe. Complexions were scanned by guards so the ladies whitened their faces with arsenic to hide any spots, a suntanned face was then seen as a worker, a white face a lady. The arsenic was another problem.

You may moan about England’s climate with rain and sun with little plan, but you are lucky, with umbrella and fan.

Bugs Royal
By Henry Tudor

So cold this place, nine months of hell
We lie dormant within our Mother’s shell.
The climate ice keeps us within
To be born now will freeze our skin.

Natures cure for such ice age time
Stay and wait until its fine.
Wait until the world melts ice
Then out we come, a swarm of lice.

Infest the air with search for salt
Greenfly swarms, wasps cannot halt.
Birds and Bees amongst the trees
So much food they’re on their knees.

Horses, dogs attract the biting fogs
As hungry bugs fly from forest logs.
But Royal man has clever plan
Ride white skin mares they cannot scan.

Bugs have strange eyes and cannot see
Bright white light, so King can run free.
Take packs of white hounds to hunt the deer
No Flea, no Fly, no bite to fear.

Wear a tight hat in Palace court
Cut off hair or risk a wart.
Burn daisy head to ward them away
The smell retracts just like a spray.

Ladies tie your long hair back
Wear a bonnet so no attack
White powder as protective cream
Pale complexion, no spots are seen.

Now back to winter, nine months more
The bugs are gone, all dead on floor.
Better to be cold in Tudor clime
Not warm and bitten hard, all the time.


19th May 2013, 19th May 1536

477 years ago on this very day, Queen Anne Boleyn was executed on Tower Green by an anonymous Headsman from France with a long sharp sword. Here's a poem that sets the scene.

Tip-Toe
By Henry Tudor

Should I take this commission, well paid as it may sound
Take my son as my assistant, he’ll do me so proud.
My secret lies not knowing my name all around
Will make a new identity, then shout it aloud.

Forget Master blacksmith from French village flame
He’ll leave for a few days to work far abroad.
His skills must be sort after, the top of his game
But why is he taking such a long and sharp sword?

Gone now with his first son to earn a rich gold
Across the wide channel to castle on Cliffside white.
Staying away from the locals not being so bold
Hooded and huddled, they travelled at night.

The Tower now beckons they enter secret rear door
Christoff and son, present the scene nearly done.
At dawn the crowd gathers to even the score
By midday all will be over, the King will have won.

Son minds the long blade his face hidden from view
Scaffold now still empty, waiting for victim to climb.
Must keep secret his name or become victim too
A drum beats a rhythm, not for the last time.

The Tower door creaks open and two Lady’s appear
Serene with her helper she nods, but no cheer.
Her friend is now crying, so drained now with fear
She comforts her gently which words, cannot hear.

She pays the scared Christoff a small bag of gold
She kneels on the cushion, a tremble from cold.
She prays to her God, her soul is now sold
Her moments are passing, she’ll never grow old.

His son passes the weapon, to father as planned
He cries in his black mask, but must carry his sin.
Takes off his shoes to be more quiet, like feet in the sand
He tip-toes towards the victim, poor Anne Boleyn.

Gone now to heaven, she left here with such grace
His son now so frightened to see her leave from his view.
He cleans the red weapon, tears run down his face
Must leave from here quickly or be victims too.

Discard the new name promptly, now Christoff had gone
Return to his French village, to make iron again
Walk slowly from Tower with trembling son
Never speak of this dark mission, and try to stay sane.

The boat sees the two travellers and never knew why
Just blend into the people all carrying the good news.
The King is to remarry, a son now to try
The black-eyed witch gone to hell, to light her own fuse.

The sparks fly again from his hammer on steel
The Blacksmith now plying his working day trade.
His son has stopped crying, just a memory now feel
New shoes, new bright anvil from gold she had paid.



Who did most of King Henry's writing? Well it certainly wasn't him except for the love letters to Anne Boleyn. He used a Royal Scribe who must keep all the wording of letters a secret.

The Royal Scribe
By Henry Tudor

Relieve the goose of strong oiled feather
Boil and wash, melt lanolin, de-weather.
Colour plume for Royal word
Create the rule for Tudor lord.

Collect Iron gall from Hunstanton’s sand
Crush to powder fine in hand.
Boil up casks of Equus flow
Stir in iron, until fire dies below.

Sieve off mud so black and grimy
Mix with gum, stir well ‘til slimy.
Now let it sit for many an hour
Skim off the wet to reveal the power.

With quill and ink I write my master’s word
No spelling quest, just sound as heard.
A law, a warrant, a plan, a command
All have come from my neat hand.

A privileged place at desk, I’m telling true
Must forget all I write, the secret few.
Love and hate can ink describe
Must know my place, the Royal scribe.

For the curious: Equus Flow is Horse Urine. Walk the beaches near Hunstanton and you will find small, black twig shaped fossils. Heavy as they are saturated with Iron. Crush these to a powder, boil in horse urine and then let it all settle into a black mud at the bottom. Now add a mordant, a glue to fix the ink to the parchment. The ink dries darker on the parchment as it leaches out the chemical of the parchment itself. The written word is supposed to be permanent but the ink actually dissolved the parchment if made too strong.

Lanolin is the grease in hair, the goose had lots of the stuff to keep its feathers waterproof, so boil the feather to melt the grease and de-weatherproof the feather or it will reject the ink.
Real geeky stuff eh!


A poem dedicated to the choosing of Anne of Kleve's picture or her sister Amelia by Henry.

The Opal
By Henry Tudor

Look deep to find the beauty under the plain skin
Appearances can deceive, to hide the heart within.
Take time to unearth the true person, expose the inner self
Find the real character and then discover their inner wealth.

So take heed of this warning young seeker, always be aware
Outward beauty is not always repeated under fashioned hair.
Perfume, colours and sparkle may cover a miserable heart
Take notice of how they love giving, helping others sets them apart.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, have you heard this fable before?
To find the heart of a beauty, consider it a wonderful score.
Before the search though young seeker, do just one true thing
Get a mirror for true reflection, does it show you, or just bling?



Audrey
By Henry Tudor

By all accounts this serious man, made the King’s new clothes as best as he can
He used his best skill and style to fulfil the King’s extraordinary bill.
But one day the order came down, you must sign an admission for country and crown
That you John Malte a tailor by trade, has fathered a girl and no mistake has been made.

The Mother Joan Dingley the Royal laundress, had a fling with the King, no less
But the child cannot be his claim, so Master Malte, now’s your chance for real fame.
Audrey Dingley Malte Tudor sounded quite good, remove the Tudor and blue royal blood.
Be the girl’s named father for King, accept the blame for the rumoured Royal fling.

Red Haired Ethelreda Audrey Malte, Grew into a girl with no personal fault
The King kept his eye of her life, gave land and paid for life with no strife.
A suitable man was found to be her new groom, blossomed, her flower did bloom.
John Harrington and wife they became, lived well and shied away from the fame.

Sadly the King died the same year that they wed, he loved his red haired girl it is said
Never acknowledged as his Royal child, false father’s name instead was legally filed.
But we know the truth behind his closed door, the King always kept the right score
Audrey Harrington Dingley Malte Tudor her name, Princess Audrey Tudor the same.


I have made it my project to study on site the influence that Flemish craftsmen had on Tudor England in the 1500's. Names like Flowers, Hone, Dyurekson come to mind but there were many more. This was the age of new technology and high skills imported originally by the old King Henry VII, but stirring up resistance in the form of English craftsmen shunning the new foreign intake. This manifested itself in the form of the wall of London being the barrier between the two factions and Southwark next to the Bear and Bull baiting arena's being the new place for the Flemish workers to live. Southwark thus became the place for Glass, Copperwork, Silver and Gold Smiths and the fashioning of leather and cloth. The names of the streets in Southwark today reflect the old Flemish skills. I have produced a comparison of 1500's and 2,000's maps of London and have circled where the Flemish lived.
You could say the first central Industrial Action.



Of course a poem is a must.

The Southwark Glazier
By Henry Tudor

Obstreperous leader of Southwark clan
Outside City Wall with River to scan.
Galyon Hone of Flemish glass pane
Fight for the right to work Royal gain.

From studio to Guild his reputation soar
Window to window he made such a score.
This Antwerp trained poor man, now on a high horse
Has much say in power, a dangerous force.

Changing panes to keep up with, another King’s wife
More work than the locals, has caused them much strife.
Now hated in City by skilled British glass-men
Galyon brings in more Flemish, instils anger again.

The King dies, the Church change the Protestant way
Less colour, more simpler to kneel down to pray.
Stained glass now less wanted so Flemish go home
Except their glass leader, stays in family Hone.

Much has passed down the River, history now made
These Flemish glass artists built stories without fade.
Each piece slowly shaped by gruisijer teeth
Add them together for the story beneath.

To light up the chambers and display all to see
To light up a Royal chamber, a light show for free.
A union of resentment now carved in hard stone
Started in Southwark, outside wall, by Galyon Hone.

Footnote: "....gruisijer teeth.." A Flemish hand tool much like a strong pair of pliers, designed to nibble off the glass to its final shape before fitting into the Lead Cames and form a window. The English called them "nibblers" how quaint!



Just what kind of woman was King Henry VIII looking for?
Follow this reasoning to find how his dead Mother Queen Elizabeth of York was his idol whilst his paternal Grandmother Lady Margaret Beaufort created fear in his heart.

Just what am I looking for in a wife?
Why did so many women disappoint me?
Who was the most positive woman in my life?
Who was the most negative woman in my life?

Just what reflects perfection true?
Will I win the perfect prize?


Perfection True
By Henry Tudor

One tear runs to line my cheek
Defenceless against the form I seek.
Making my life ache with pain
I need perfection to keep me sane.

Mother dearest why did you part
I lost the love that filled my heart.
Nothing left I fell apart
To replace my loss, the search did start.

Not another nag just like my Gran
Her forceful role, her life plan.
My Father’s fear of her slight frame
He trembled at the mention of her name.

Beauty sits on level ground
Intellect not always found.
I want both to ease my mind
This hidden treasure I must find.

A wife for me to show me fair
Partnership, to create a pair.
To shout and sing my praise aloud
True perfection without a shroud.



Here’s a poem about the craftsman Galyon Hone being the successor for the position of King’s Glazier.

Teach me well Master Flowers
By Henry Tudor

The art lights up with each sunny dawn
Our glasswork shines as each day is born.
Master Vellert sings as he paints the face
It is up to us two to fill the space.

With leaded Cames and spun large Quarry
Takes skill and time, we must not hurry.
No leaks, nor movement between must occur
So Master Flowers our craft will endure.

I’ll take your place one day with pane
Your apprentice to embrace your skills again.
I thank you dearly for teaching me
I will try to reach your branch in the tree.

Fear not dear Flowers I will carry on
To leave our art when we are both gone.
Soon dear teacher I will stand alone
Honed to perfection by Galyon Hone.


Who let the secret out about Katherine Howard's lovers?

Mary Hall
By Henry Tudor

Oh! Mary Hall what have you done!
Your letter read, by now has un-spun.
The lies and plots of Howard clan
So many lives did that paper span.

The King did cry from your cruel word
The Queen has shame! Seemed quite absurd.
Francis, Thomas do head for the block
Bloodthirsty crowd all there to cry mock.

The Howards now with bowed heads and shamed
Thomas, Henry and Agnes all guilty named.
Your letter has broke their world apart
The Tower now holds their traitorous heart.

The Queen will die upon that feared green
A once friend of yours, though not often seen.
Your crime of envy surely never cures
A stricken conscience “Yours as long as life endures”


Who was Little Jack Horner?

Little Jack Horner II
By Henry Tudor

I don’t stand alone when I let out this cry
I don’t preach a myth, nor insult, nor pry.
The Horner’s have been hailed for centuries gone
Evidence I ask? Suspiciously none.

No pie in the sky containing the plum
Just written to mock, a sly kind of fun.
The sad thing it seems that John Horner was real
Just think of the hurt his family now feel.

The Plum was the Lead in the ground under grass
The land was on lease, not pilfered alas.
John worked hard to bear the fruit of his hand
The Kingdom allowed future kin to buy Land.

Reformed now the Church the wealth it did spread
It’s easy to mock when all now are dead.
The Horner clan can now rest aware of their pride
Jack Horner not the thief, but loyal inside.

The country has sang the fable too long
It’s meaning concocted, and terribly wrong.
Accept it not easy, not truth said this time
“Little Jack Horner” a blatant lie Rhyme.


Who made my clothes?

John Malte the Tailor true.
By Henry Tudor
In London, this Citizen and Merchant tailor did excel
His coffers, his reputation, his standing and skill did swell.
He was the finest tailor in our land, artwork from his very hand
Designing the best his sewing never bland, prowess he would expand.

His family so proud of the King’s new Clothes, by father’s hand
Would celebrate the triumph of each one with party grand.
Their wealth grew fast as did their art, no humble tailor anymore
Royal suit after suit to add to the mounting score.

Master Holbein can you paint me well, did so King Henry tell
Of course your Majesty must see your Tailor for silk to sell.
And so it goes, The Tailor worked and produced a suit, no single fault
Down in History he did go, the skills and talent of the said John Malte.

John Malte’s story to further tell, his daughter Meriel, married well
Into the Family Horner of Plum Pie spell, Jack’s son loved her ever so well.
Riches came and grew to land, beginning with this tailor’s skill
Be the best at what you do, then all your dreams you can fulfil.



I was asked by an Antipodean magazine to write a poem depicting the death of King Henry VIII. Being still alive I thought I would twist the plot a little.
Here it is.

Death bed
By Henry Tudor

Pins and needles in my feet, my hands and my forehead
Here I lie surrounded by crocodile tears in my death bed.
My life’s book only ever opened to my ordered place
Never recorded the real truth, no need to grace open space.

Closing in now the darkness, my vision almost now gone
My lifetime blurring over, my memories becoming now one.
My family together at last without fear and mistrustful thought
So called friends sob and cry with great emotion, though they were carefully bought.

The light in my mind glows now more brightly, than ever I’ve dreamt here before
White passages, white flooring, white corridor down to the white glowing door.
But who is there to greet me, I must enter to see for myself
I’ve seen this door before in my sub-conscience, due to my more lately bad health.

My room is so suddenly quiet, the white door creaks on its rusty old hinge
Behind me the darkness does follow, the light from this door makes me cringe.
I enter the room without windows, so white that I feel I could fly.
Is this heaven? Is this my salvation? Can this be my last chance to try?

Not heaven not yet dearest husband this, message is declared to my face
The room is completely empty, a white fog to fill all the space.
A trial of conscience and past bad decisions, to make directing me the right way
Did I not worship my Lord with discretion? Did I not kneel down before you and pray?

Enter my judges now there before me, four shrouded women all dressed in white
Dear Katherine, Anne, Jane and the Howard, beautiful again and so bright.
Must I explain myself again to these dead women? Must I show them I meant what was right
Must I declare myself now so sorry, change my story again this last night?

I’m sorry dear Katherine for the desertion, I sorry dear Anne for the lie
I’m sorry my Jane that I lost you, but Howard you shamed me to die.
I’m sorry I could not make you all happy my life was ruled by my throne
I drove me to search for a new Prince, so I always ended alone.

I cannot pretend that I’m worthy, to stay in the light at the next stage
I’ll take whatever you hand me, my life’s too complicated a page.
The room darkens now and becomes empty, no response from my ugly past
I’m falling without ever landing, I’m leaving this world now at last.

Forgiveness is the work of all angels, to rule is the work of my throne
I could not fit into their hopes of redemption, I must stay here alive but alone.
My pulse now throbs in my body, my needles and pins now are all caste
Not dead it seems this time, just a dream-like with my real characters past.

Do I have time to rethink my past sorrows, make someone else smile to be my life’s plan
Yes, I will marry the dear lady Latimer, her love I will endeavour to span.
Hopefully when the dream comes again I can answer, I am good, a righteous, caring old man
Forgive me my errors of judgement, my throne caused me to divert from the plan.

Sorrow has left all the mourners, “the King is alive”, they shout with great pride
Their faces hide their saddened emotions, they all hate me so much now inside.
Soon I will give you all great satisfaction, but first I need time to amend
Make my family be happy together, to smile for without need to pretend.

Get me my robe, and wash me my good courtier, make me ready again a great King
To meet this sixth faithful lady, who will nurse me and love me, the main thing.
I march out of this room cast in death’s darkness, to cheers from all around me
Keep praying my faithful people, my spirit is not yet ready to free.


Hehe just a bad dream eh!


The Lilliput Travel Co.
By Henry Tudor

A modern short story of love on the road in pros and verse hoping that one day an amused Musician would put a score to it and create a world beating musical. Until that day comes, please enjoy this little story whilst it is still very cheap, I mean free.
Henry Tudor 2011
The Henry Tudor Drama Company
www.Henrytudor.co.uk

Sitting on her little tomato box in the grocer’s storeroom, Lilly smokes her last cigarette knowing that to get caught by Jessica the supervisor she would be sacked even though only being 3ft 6 inches tall was crowd puller at window dressing time. Jessica hated Lilly and would mock her with Lit’l Lill or Lilly put this box away, Lilly put the closed sign on the door. Lilly-put, boy was she sick of the old joke and was determined to stick a closed sign on her head the day she won enough money to leave and be herself. So Lilly was sitting there filling in this weeks bonus ball and stubbing out her last fag so she can start saving up for the future. It did not last, she was smoking again by end of work and she puffed away again on her way home.
Next door to Lilly’s workplace, the One Pound Store, there was another person wishing he was somewhere else.
Bob the shelf stacker also hated his job, he had a good brain, well organised and always nice with the customers to whom the rest of the staff looked down on shopping in their cheap store. The shelf stacker who didn’t need a ladder as he was 6 feet 8 inches tall. Bob knew what it was like to be poor, the basic wage he earned only just covered his flat and his bills, his food was cheap cuts and tinned beans. He too left the store at the same time each night as Lilly next door. They always talked to each other and moaned about their existence, trying to cheer each other up with funny stories and how each one could live if only they were rich enough.
Secretly Bob loved Lilli and Lilli loved Bob, but it was secret from each other. How can such an odd couple love each other?
Lilli wanted to entertain to an audience, be funny but inspiring and wanted to love the work she did, “something worth getting up for” she would say a lot. Bob wanted to drive to places afar and see things he had only ever heard of or seen on a documentary of travel to which he was obsessed, watching repeats and even recording repeats.
Today it was raining, the bus shelter not wide enough to shelter them both and the puddle deep enough to make sure each truck passing made sure they were both soaked by the time the bus arrived to finish them off. They sat together but Bob would get off first to his local flat whilst Lilly would carry on to her parents bungalow a further mile down the shiny tarmac. “Bob, why don’t we both leave the stores and start our own business together, we could call it Lill’ and Bob or Bob and Lill’ or LB or something like that.” Lilly pondered loudly, not realising he could hear. “One day Lill’ maybe, one day.” He signed loud enough for only himself to hear.

Wet day walk home

Take me away from this wet hell
With burger bars and chip shop smell.
Take me to skies which colour the sea
With pink sands and space to be free.

Chorus........... Take me away from these take-aways
Take me with someone to love me always.
Take me to far off wonderful place
Give me some hope of my own heaven space.

No more shelves to stack, nor fun made of me
Travel the world, travelling free.
See sights for myself with someone to care
Never alone, with Lilly sat there.

Take me away from these take-aways
Take me with someone to love me always.
Take me to far off wonderful place
Give me some hope of my own heaven space.

Take me away, Take me away, Take us away
US.

Why not, why not we could do it, Lilly and Bob, Bob and Lilly, why not. Bob turned around to see the bus disappear down the road, he would normally have turned and shrugged his shoulders, giving up his dream yet again for another day, but not this time. His long limbs carried his tall frame fast through the puddles and windy angled rain, fast enough to cover the mile to the bus stop where Lilly would have got off. There was no bus, no Lilly, but there was a dry tyre line and he knew it must have only just left so Lilly cannot be far away. Shouting at the top of his voice, “Lilly I love you. We can do it, We can do it.” But nobody answered.
Walking, crying back to his flat now a mile away and still raining hard, Bob noticed a small shadowy figure in the distance in front coming towards him. It was Lilly, walking the last bus stop as she didn’t have enough fare for the full distance, It was Lilly and his courage was still within him, he shouted again “Lilly I love you. We can do it, Do it together.” She heard him this time.

One year later the multi-coloured coach headed towards the sea down the windy lanes of Cornwall and its destination next to the harbour wall and the arranged stop at the stone cafe which had had a new lease of life since the odd couple from the City had entered with the travel proposition. The driver, tall, sat back with his seat notched in the last notch and his arms starched to the old unpowered steering wheel. The clippie was walking down the aisle singing her tour song to the audience of day trippers out to see the ways of the seafaring community similar to those they had seen on the documentaries. She was only small but her head levelled with her audience and they loved her funny song.

Our day out.

Come see our fine sight
All day and part night.
Come eat in our inn
Try fish still with fin.

Come relax and enjoy
Take pictures of red buoy.
Come down to the sea
With Bob and Lilly.

We left the city past
We have a love to last.
We share, we care, always there
The Lilliput pair.

Be happy for me
We found we could be free.
We two will soon be three
Happy, Bob and me.

The Lilliput Travel Company made its way towards the couples dream, taking eager passengers to places only ever seen in documentaries.


Bees
By Henry Tudor

Bees Knees
Flower n tree’s
Squeeze please
Sniff sneeze.

Hive home
Honey comb
Collectors roam
hidden Gnome.

Taste spot
Honey pot
Nice hot
Sticky lot.

Work til late
Plant pollinate
Must now wait
Flower fate.


This story is not about the Tudors, though related only by history and the reformation, it is about the Battle of Culloden. I hope you enjoy the story and the poem.

Betty Burke. The story of Culloden.
By Henry Tudor



Having now been submerged in books and visitor centre technology for two days in the search of the story of the Battle of Culloden, I have come to the conclusion that both sides had secret agenda’s as well as the most popular known one of the Jacobites trying to get rid of the Hanover monarchy and put the Stuarts back on the throne. But there was more to the fight for than that.



First of all it was not a fight between the Scottish and the English and not solely about Protestantism and Catholicism though that was a spark to ignite the calm cloud of change into a raging storm. The facts speak clearly for themselves. The British elected Parliament of the day, decided that only Protestant rulers need apply for any forthcoming vacancy because of the chaos and death that changing back and forth from Catholic to Protestant had caused in the recent past. We even lost our Kingdom title when Oliver Cromwell created the Republic. Moving on, when Queen Anne died without issue, her second cousin George of Hanover was the nearest Royal Protestant and so it began.
If King George had spent the proceeds of our successful Empire more wisely and included Scottish highland clans in the prosperity, then maybe they would not have wanted a King James Stuart back, hence the name Jacobite and a new rebel factor was born.
With the son of James II, James III living the easy life in Italy and not welcome back in his own country he seemed to have settled down to a more conducive lifestyle and not be bothered to fight for the throne. However his Italian born son Charles Edward Stuart didn’t see that as his option and wanted to be King one day and even to be referred as Prince of Wales with his father on the throne. Impatient was Charles, this would turn out to be one of his greater characteristics which would cause big problems in a slow moving world.
Let us look at Charles, not big in stature, pale faced, powdered and sporting an Italian/English accent. Oh sure he was good looking, some say Bonnie, but definitely not the rough, tough and ready, strongman the clans wanted as their ultimate leader of leaders.
Now let us look at the Scottish clan system. It has been said before in this website that the clan system of man management got in the way in the Battle of Flodden Hill, where the clansmen only took orders from their clan chief. The clan chief was consulted by the King and then the chief decided what to instruct his clan. It is an obvious fault in the system of fighting battles. The northern clans were jealous of the lowland clan’s wealth and prosperity under the new Hanoverian regime and would undertake risings against the crown, making incursions into Royalist regions to steal their wealth. Scotland was a real mixture of loyalties, so the more isolated the clan the more it tended towards the Stuart way, unless they were so far isolated that it didn’t matter who was on the throne as they ruled their little clan-dom with complete authority.
Impatient Charles decided to go it alone and set sail for Scotland to raise an army and take back Britain for his family the Stuarts, mainly for himself really. An encounter with a British ship caused both one of his two ships and the British ship to limp back to the nearest safe haven for repairs. Charles should now have waited for the repair of the ship and the rest of his men, but true to character he carried on regardless and landed on the island of Eriskay in the Outer Hebrides. This was one of those remote places and their clan chief told him to go away. Charles could not believe that he would be treated this way, after-all he was a Stuart, but look at this from the Clan Chief’s viewpoint. Here comes a softly spoken, gentleman from Italy and asks for help to invade the British mainland and fight to put him on the throne 600 miles south, would you have risked the way of life you have managed for your people? I think not.
Charles, let’s call him Charlie to give him a Scottish friendly name, a sort of propaganda for the clans to endear to this stranger bearing the promise of ridding the monarchy and pledging a brighter future to his followers. Sorry! Drifted off somewhat from the plot.
Charles then left without support and headed for the upper highlands where clans are closer together and were happy to see him though disappointed that he only turned up with a few men instead of the promised two thousand. He would have blamed that on the British navy for attacking his two ships in the channel, but in reality the other ship only had less than 100 men also.
Momentum gathers speed thanks to Charlie’s charisma and impatience, the clan leaders also rushed to keep in good stead with their potential new King. They rose and started the march south to London. They took all cities in their way though they moved West when they heard the British army was marching north from the East, speed was the key factor with Charlie, the element of surprise and to fight unguarded enemies, hoping to gain recruits they did not ruin much nor kill many, but recruits were thin on the ground. Again that old status quo thing happened, “Why help a pretender when we are doing alright with the ones we have?” Not much in the way of real loyalty, more like accepting the monarch as a stabilising factor and benefactor. The fact that they were from Hanover meant nothing to a citizen who read about Romans, Danish, Germans and Normans, then the Scottish ones who messed it all up.
All the way down to Derby which is only 150 miles from the gates of London and at their speed of marching a mere only one week away from victory and the throne of Britain. But, as there was no instant news nor telecommunications, to decide how many would be in the defence of the city relied upon hearsay, and hearsay said there would be a substantial army to meet them with no short way back home. The clan leaders were adamant that they should now stop and return to their own soil now they have bloodied the British nose, except of course Charlie who wanted to do the final thing and take London. The clan leaders ignored this pretender and the decision was made to return, not retreat but to leave now they had left their message of intent hoping that King George would view their place in society higher than previously. Except Charlie of course.
On October 1st 1745 King George II ordered an 11,000 strong army of cavalry and infantry to march towards Scotland and encamp in Newcastle on the East coast. A further 10,700 men were sent to Chester to block any westerly approaching Jacobite threat. The King then appointed his son, William Augustus the Duke of Cumberland to take command. Cumberland was seen as a decisive man with the energy and foresight to rid Britain of the Jacobite threat once and for all, he also had a grudge to repay because he was trounced at the battle of Fontenoy and needed to get his reputation back on track. Remember everything moves very slowly in the mid 1700’s especially if thousands of soldiers are involved who are on foot and need food and clothing, so it was December that the Jacobites were marching back home just ahead of the British who were marching to war. Here is proof of the movement, a small garrison of Jacobites were left in Carlisle to provide a base for the eventual return back south, only 10 days later the British captured this garrison after a siege. This is short term in Georgian days. By 20th December Charlie’s army had crossed their border and it was a Christmas in Glasgow for the rebels after which they decided to besiege the impenetrable Stirling Castle, another clan bad decision. This siege brought new recruits to the rebel cause and their numbers grew up to nearly 9,000 strong. The Government forces still moving north began to recruit from the lowlands and also from the highlands. The two armies met at Falkirk, just south of Stirling Castle from where the rebels had been encamped in the siege. The rebels won the battle but their enemy leaders escaped and retreated to Edinburgh where they regrouped. Now the success was under their belt the clan chiefs met again and decided to return home, regroup and return for a full invasion of England in the spring, Charlie was of course ignored as he pleaded to chase the British and finish them off.
Charlie had organised a fresh set of supplies and money by sending his only ship “Le Prince Charles” back to France but upon on its return voyage back up to Inverness it was taken again by the British Navy and sacked. This left Charlie and his Jacobite troops with very little money, weaponry and food. At this stage the Jacobites decided to print their own money and issue Stuart notes to their people, these were credit notes and when in power they promised to pay the bearer etc, etc. (I bet these notes are worth a lot of money these days to a collector!)
Now up in Inverness a tired Jacobite army took up their battle position on Drummossie Moor at Culloden, the British with Cumberland in command entered the port town of Nairn and set up camp. It was 15th April and the Jacobite army took up battle position in two lines with their blue flags. But the British did not turn up, they were still in Nairn! Now all you history lovers, let us look at the birthday of the King’s son The Duke of Cumberland, born 15th April 1721, and the expected battle date being 15th April 1746. The King’s son was having a birthday party and did not want to fight!
The inpatient Charlie talked his clan leaders into marching overnight to Nairn and killing the British as they slept with their hangovers, this they agreed. So all the rebel army marched overnight to Nairn, but Cumberland was not a stupid man, only is generals were at his party and his men were getting a good night sleep ready for a battle the following day, the rebels made no surprise attack and when they saw that their army was tired and the British were not they turned around and virtually ran back to Culloden.
At Culloden therefore were two completely different armies.
1. The Jacobites, tired after marching all night and morning, controlled by a haphazard chain of clan command for a leader with no fighting ability.
2. The British were well trained and disciplined, with battle strategy and more resources, some of which were taken from the enemy’s ship.
Then there was the important forgery note made by the British to look like it was from the Rebel leadership, in simple language “take no prisoners” this was passed around the British to incite a bloody revenge in the aftermath of any victory. Cumberland well deserves his terrible nickname “The Butcher”.

700 Rebels died in the one hour battle, another 700 died in the bloody reprisal aftermath by bayonet and scabbard. Only 50 British died in the battle. It was a slaughter not forgotten after all these years, but definitely not a battle between the English and the Scots. The Scots were 2 two thirds Upper highland clansmen, plus lowlanders and English a few French and Irish. The British were English, Scottish and Welsh. It was really a civil war battle.
The victor Cumberland, returned to London a hero until his tactics were found out and then he was hated by all as the Butcher of Culloden.
Charlie escaped back to the North Western Islands where the famous lady Flora MacDonald smuggled him, disguised as a woman called Betty Burke, “over the sea to Skye” and then he escaped back to his home in Rome having given up all hope of sitting on the British throne for ever.
Energetic reprisals were undertaken by the Monarchy, led of course by Cumberland, executions, imprisonments and even slavery in the West Indies, many Scots on the run left Britain for America and this could be seen as the great Scottish world “peppering” of our colonies. Cumberland died young at 44 years, trying most of his later life trying shake off the “Butcher” title he had earned.
I struggled to decide from which angle I should write a poem about this dreadful happening, then it came to me in a flash. Betty Burke is telling Flora MacDonald about the happenings of the last few weeks and why he is now on the run. So readers here is that poem.

Betty Burke
By Henry Tudor
Dear friend Flora, listen whilst I tell you my woes.
My father a James crept away from the fight on tip toes.
I took on his cause, a throne for us both
No help from the Stuart, for this I do loath.

We came from the sea, pounded heavily, my friends and I
Mistaken for a rogue, sent away to Scottish Skye.
Jacobite rebel now were we, an army rallied for me
To take away the Georgian rule, continue the Stuart tree.

Marched down to London town, to bring the pretender down
Clan and clan together seen, conquered town after town.
At Derby we stopped to talk, no further we should now walk
The British army too large for us to beat, so we made a quick retreat.

I tell you my dear Flora, the clans are the ones to watch over
They hate being away from their home, no adventurer no rover.
Then chased by Butcher Prince Royal, rebel life he tries hard to spoil
Revenge on his evil mind, never seen such a brutish man toil.

Not one to fight up front in true style, he made us wait for a while
His birthday not to be stopped, tomorrow he’ll fight in his own style.
So we tried to surprise him in his bed, but his men were ready instead
We had to rush back to the moor, so we could try to even the score.

We lost that day in the fog, we were murdered and buried in bog
That Butcher then so had this his day, our women now kneel there to pray.
I thank you dearly my Lady Flora, you give me the chance to return
I will avenge the Butcher’s actions, in hell that Prince will then burn.

Now what about a much more human story with Culloden in the background.

The Spendthrift
I had to come over the whole of the Northern, Mountainous part of the Scottish Highlands just to find this Castle and write the story of a love struck squire and his spendthrift wife caught up in the middle of the ’45 uprising of the Jacobites against the incumbent Royalists. This is Ardvreck Castle near Ullapool on the north west of Scotland, close to the very spot where Bonnie Prince Charlie Stuart landed with his few helpers to start the uprising. This part of Scotland was definitely Royalist so the enemy was on their doorstep and local landowners and Clan leaders had to fund the initial resistance and then join in the fight at Culloden, on the winning side.
Poor old Kenneth MacKenzie was deeply in love with Frances, he wooed her and proposed marriage only to be spurned because his Castle was then 300 years old, damp, cold, small and sticking out in the loch for protection. She demanded a new house with servants and a Lochside view but on the shoreside. To appease his intended wife he let her design the house. This woman was as much a spend, spend, spend woman as Vivian Nichols the pools winner of 40 years ago. She spent lots of money but then the invasion of the rebels started and Kenneth had to dig deeper into his emptying pockets to fund the Royalist local militia. After the winning of the rebellion now a poor Kenneth return home and had to sell his house, his castle to the Earl of Sutherland, also a Royalist. But local opposition to the Earl and love of Lairt Kenneth caused the locals to burn down the house before the Earl could take up residence.
Some time later the house was looted for the stones and a school-house built across the Loch, raided at night by men in boats who took the stones a boat load at a time. The Earl never lived in his new house. Frances left her poverty stricken husband for a new richer man, Frances died of a broken heart in poverty but loved by the villagers around him.

Spendthrift
By Henry Tudor
Come stay in my great Castle my future wife
So cold, so damp, so dirty. Not on your life.
But I love you so, you are soon my own spouse
Forget it, stop asking, or build me a new house.

A new house for my heart string, to quell any fear
I’ll let her design it to resolve any tear.
Four storeys, five chimneys, dozens of glass pane
The cost is enormous, but love is my gain.

Face water, large garden, servant lodging as well
The first simple dwelling now suddenly did swell.
Woven carpets, and fine curtains, silk tapestry too
Then she wanted her clothing to match through and through.

But now came the Jaco’s to fight Royal hand
Italian Prince Charlie nearby here did land.
But we are for Royals so needed to fight
Cost a fortune in weapons, for men overnight.

My land, my great Castle, her new House and wealth
All gone now we are just paupers, so is my health.
I warn all you young lovers, makes sure she has some cash
Don’t marry a spendthrift, as decision too rash.




The Abbey
By Henry Tudor

A sad change has engulfed our Abbey
Its pride and heart have gone.
Treasures carried off, its granary emptied
Its storehouse sacked, its cattle gone.
Desecrated, despoiled, library pillaged
Years of toil, burnt, unread now gone.
The sick lost their infirmary, no guest now fed
Pyx, chalice, thuribule and vial, all now gone.
Departed the Chirugeon who dressed all our wounds
Empty of medicines, leeches, taken now gone.
Muscadel and fine malmsey drunk by the troopers
Full cellars of strong, clear ale, all now gone.
Stained quarries of glass now litter the floor
Lead Cames worth their weight stolen and gone.
The sheep taken within the lands, shepherds cry
The wool trade beckons, our income now gone.
The roof once sheltered all within its span
Slates stolen, stones taken, the walls have now gone.
The only ones left are the tenants of the cemetery
The rest of the Brethren left or ran, now gone.
Gone is the love for this tyrant King, taken our Faith
Gone is our Abbey, our Abbey has gone.



The Field of the Cloth of Gold
A traitor’s tale.
By Henry Tudor

For seventeen days the peacocks did strut
Francis and Henry both challenging much
But behind the scenes a plot was being cut.

The alliance must not succeed, and France not a friend
England and Spain their alliance to defend
Make sure this new friendship comes to an end.

But who could it be with traitorous way?
To manipulate these two Kings, so powerful a sway
Power comes in from behind the throne, today.

Henry’s Queen, Katherine serene, always seen
A noble woman who seems so keen
But behind her smile, an agenda mean.

With Nephew Charles a plan was hatched
The two Kings must not become matched
Or peace with Spain so suddenly snatched.

Two Kings competing to grow a great beard
Katherine laughing as it was absurd
Not listening dear Katherine, not even heard.

“Meet with my nephew, he will always be true”
“But why my dear wife, the French are true too!”
“No Henry, please listen they’ll only betray you.”

Wolsey’s power grows by the hour
With French friends in our midst, so sour
He plants seeds, we must destroy before flower.

They say we are leaving our friend
For an old enemy to blend
An omen to send.

With father as King of Spain
Nephew will soon regain
To unite with France so insane.

A great traitor seldom seen
So loyal and has always been
This scheming English Queen.



The Dark Ages
By Henry Tudor

The Romans brought order
To lands near and afar
Built cities and great farmlands
Markets, baths, and public spar

We all knew our position
To follow their lead
To grow in their great shadow
Our families to feed

They gave us their protection
From murderous hoards
Battalions of fierce Roman soldiers
With Spear, chariot and steel swords.

But, then they just left us
With no-one in charge
We started in amazement
Few left here that large.

So up came the captains
Of old Roman employ
Took over the old Empires
Brought back feeling of joy

But, Romans were singular
Just one Nation abroad
Now each place is ruled harshly
By most ruthless past Hoard.

Religions changed, wars started
All hell was let loose
Barbarians soon took over
Stepped into Roman shoes.

Us versus Them became the real message
No common way forward
Walls built round with guarded borders
My food, my folk , my ground.

The Darkest of age soon descended
Awaiting a new beacon light
With Saxons and Saracens extended
The future became reborn bright.


Bees Knees
By Henry Tudor

Hairy legs collect the wealth of flowers pollen passed with stealth
Beeline to hive, return the prize, workers work, keep Queen alive.
Build a place for Queen to swell, hexagons her place to dwell
Babies born and fed Royal jelly all came from one Royal belly.

Collect the sweet but do beware, these Royal bee’s will stop and stare
They will attack to save their stack, they will defend with their stinging end.
Wear cover from head to toe, smoke out the war and safely go
Collect and melt this wondrous treasure, cakes and puddings now a pleasure.

So now defend the garden King, buzzing round to do their thing
They will not hurt so show respect, without them there, flowers neglect.
We should delight in this wondrous Bee, picking pollen with its knee
No plants without this workers flight, damage world decay and blight.

Interpret whatever way you like, Bee’s Knee’s mean pure delight
Small and priceless worth more than gold, buzzing round plants new and old.
From humble shrub to blossomed tree, this worker works for us for free
The best needs help so hear this plea, to keep our wealth, care for the bee.




The Keel
By Henry Tudor

Flat, hard, spring-tide wet river bed
Drive the Elm staves, hammer on head.
Criss-cross rise from mud, secure with thud
Tie together this Wych bend wood.

Fit the Elm Keel, backbone of this fine boat
Steam to curve, help this vessel float.
Wind the jog, get the shape curve through
No mistakes now, this boat will sail true.

Lay the hull Oak across the former guides
Cut, bend, fit together both mirrored, identical sides.
Hold the shape, hold your nerve, fill the mould
Seal, caulk, blend to carvel, bring home gold.

Lay the beams, fit the decks, seal the wood
Build the hold, fit the gear, places for food.
Hull now needs power, fit the masts for sail
Connected frame, deck and keel, power not to fail.

End is in sight, tides soon right, work through the night
Staves now gone, rope removed, boat alone, fine sight.
Springs to life, floats high of tide to cheers
Sails unfold, sailors ride, builders pride, river clears.

A poem from "Building a boat on a river bed" by Henry Tudor



Wool
By Henry Tudor

Chaos, Rural Revolution, wanton greed,
With sheep runs extended, Tenants with need.
Church guidance now redirected just for Royal ear,
Priestly malfunctions, discontentment now a real fear.

Tax more the wholesale to increase nation’s new brand,
Keep manufacture within our boundary, better use of our land.
Increased host of new beggars, vagabonds and new thieves,
Increased the court’s real power, create more widows to grieve.

Monastery lands become a new business, with manpower now less full,
Though less need to pay high wages, with less people to make wool.
A great change was now occurring, with trade now the silent re-grade,
The peasants now openly mumbling, the national trend was to trade.

Hussite’s and Lollard’s gather, gain numbers against Roman See,
A new cross was being erected, Reformation seeds grow to a tree.
If asked what helped start all this passion, to remove Roman Papist control,
It must be the sheep in the pasture, their product exacting their toll.



Explanation of “Wool”
Many people ask me who really started the Reformation, and I always try to defend Henry’s decision to dive in the deep end just to marry Anne Boleyn. But there was a national thought growing in the British mind, that Roman Catholic control was losing its grip throughout Europe and Reformation would come sooner or later with or without Henry.
I believe this undercurrent of discontent began because of the great plague which wiped out 40% of our population, and of course our European neighbours too. Land lost is workers, monasteries lost its priests and farming began to decline. Surviving labour began to negotiate wages and to travel away from the monastery controlled farms who were harder to get more money from, thanks to Papal intolerance. The freelance farmer could hire their workers and negotiate locally new higher rates of pay unless of course the land was owned by unscrupulous business minded people who saw a way forward in the production and exportation of raw wool to Holland. Tenants were uprooted and their plots converted into sheep runs, beggars and vagabonds grew in number as did the crime-wave. Laws were passed to allow the death penalty for small offences such as stealing bread which in turn increased the murder rate because it was the same punishment. Little seeds.
The King now steps in and tries to stop the Rural Revolution, increasing taxation for the exporting of raw wool hopefully to encourage the final product to be manufactured by the new destitute, uprooted tenants. Did it work? No, not really, all it did was to generate a new British ideology, “The trader” which sparked off the new “Merchant Adventurer” from the old “Merchant of Staple” commodity supplier.
So here is the poem, hopefully now understood by all who read her. (I have always thought of my poems being a “her”, suppose it goes with the job.
Henry Tudor 30th March 2011.


Some time ago, I was strolling along the beach in Norfolk and came across a black, twig shaped piece lying in the sand. I knew what it was from a distance and only the weight would indicate that I was right. It was Cuprius, heavy, black stone which was made from a pre-historic tree which had mixed with iron under the sea bed, it was similar to Jet but without the Monkey-puzzle tree. The material would be crushed into a powder and boiled in Horse urine to make a fast ink, one that never worn off as the chemicals contained natural mordants. Then I considered just how much human waste was used in the manufacture of common Tudor articles and monitoring of health. Here's the thought in verse.

Poo
By Henry Tudor
A tricky subject to discuss in truth
But we never waste our waste
And here’s the proof.

We boil shale in a pale full of Urine
Our leather is softer this way.
We get Alum to make cloth colour fine
And nice woollen clothes to display.

With black stone off the beach, we call Cuprius
Blend it with Horse pee, to make a fast ink.
Slowly we boil and then add potash
But by heaven it sure does make a stink.

Smell your tweed, a hint of pee agreed!
Cannot wear hard, demanding, chromed leather.
Just ignore the process, ignorance is bliss indeed
Alas, flavour comes out in wet weather.

Now climb up the Jakes tower t’top
The latrine be the last place to gloat.
There’ll be many a hole there to flop.
Way down on its own to the moat.

No movement of water to clear
Not just invaders it helps keep away.
The moat soon becomes green, I do fear
Its smell rising up like a spray.

The stool covers over the pot
Salt details the health quite a lot.
Apothercary, A Pot He Carry, the plot
By tasting the wet and the clot.

This all may sound quite Yuk! To you
We never throw away our number two.
We recycle our waste from the loo
In defence it makes sense to save Poo.


In The Mirror
By Henry Tudor

Never seen myself before in truth
Always reversed and so aloof.
Never knew what others think
Never asked so never link.

Never had the truth be told
Always young, never old.
Painters knew how to please
Missed out blemish, fat with ease.

Carried myself with gloated pride
Never exposed the man inside.
Fear and hope would never show
Must stay calm, must only glow.

Would love to open my inner door
Show the world my secret flaw.
My inner self so frail and fear
The curse of hiding a single tear.

The mirror reflects my outer self
Somewhat strong and in good health.
It shows the people just who’s the King
Keeps then happy, makes them sing.




Horse Flies
By Henry Tudor

Seeing the world through many a pupil in my eye
Allows me to find all dark bodied prey in field and in sty.
Swishing their tails to stop me, will not worry me
Their blood is my food, I fly to them free.
The rider is given to me as a sweet
He lets me bite deeply, too slow and too late.
He swells up so painfully, no place to hide shame
But then I will have left him, another food in the frame.
But one horse defeats me, I cannot drink its blood
I cannot find him nor catch him, safe from my brood.
I cannot see white, even at night, does not seem right
They even cut the tail short to hide from my flight.
The King he rides white horses, to stop being attacked
No horse bites, no swelling, his advantage well stacked.
So when you see the procession of Soldiers and King
Just Riding a white stallion is only a Royal thing.


Nails
By Henry Tudor
Holding the world together brings problems close to hand
Keeping the wheel a turning from axle and rim, to the land.
The Blacksmith solves these worries, he creates things made of steel
From horse-shoes up to armour, what he makes is hard and real.

His fire is made of charcoal, ignited then blown with air
He raises the metal up gently, to red heat and beyond, don’t stare.
He pounds the now hot, soft target, to the shape he see’s in his mind
Sparks and scales fly out wildly, too close and then you are blind.

He forms the basic of products, which everyone uses without fail
To hold together their household possessions he makes the square tapered nail.
But nails were so expensive, they would be used over and over again
Except in doors of large sizes, when deformed to stop movement of stem.

This would annoy the user if products, as nails should never be lost
But bent, crushed old door fastenings is a one-off purchasing cost.
The stress and strain in the metal would cause the old iron to fail
So, throw away the old forgings, they’re as dead as a door nail.



1066
By Henry Tudor
With Viking grip to Western France
The Northern men they took their chance.
Their leader Rollo, big, fat and grand
He won their battles, fast, got upper hand.

With lands now his for Northern men
He spread his wings to expand again.
His son, his son, his son and heir
It soon becomes their Norman lair.

Three hundred years pass with little fight
The Dukes they rule with loyal knights.
Now second son finds love in town
With girl of poor, a new life is grown.

1027 young William is born
Half is poor but loyalty shown.
But father dies when boy is young
Cousins fight, idyll dynasty stung.

For twelve years on, the boy now man
He wins the battles, his prowess span.
Now Duke of Normans he looks abroad
To England, his cousin, Edward the lord.

William should inherit land and become new King
But Harold claims the sand within.
They meet and plan the future reign
But Harold lies, and is King again.

1066 two battles rage
Vikings and Normans on Harold’s page.
He beats the north back to their land
But William’s troops take upper hand.

Invasion through the Hasting gate
Two weeks to plan, the Normans wait.
The armies meet at Apple tree of grey
Two men of might, clash for crown that day.

October fourteen in 1066
The Saxons lost to Norman tricks.
Their battle plan caused throne to change
Norman conquest, must rearrange.

Harold dies with arrowed eye
Duke William now King of land and sky.
A new beginning came to us that day
For now we live the Norman way.



The Heron
By Henry Tudor

Creeping through the water’s skin
Gently sinking in mud within.
Must not scare the fish away
Or no dinner for this bird today.

Cause no ripples, keep shade behind
Stalk the water for fish to find.
Watch for circles where they catch their fly
Keep low profile in their fish world sky.

Slowly aim your beak down close
Lift one leg to make the pose.
Wait until the fish wanders in
Flash and catch the food within.

Bite to kill, then swallow whole
One fish less in that careless shoal.
One more now to feed my brood
I like it here, this moat of food.




Background information for "Kingston"
Cardinal Thomas Wolsey fell from Royal grace but beat the axeman when he died enroute back from Yorkshire to London under guard by a kindly man. His last days though were in Leicester, to the anger of his tormentor King Henry VIII whose wife Anne Boleyn wanted to see the old man die for past encounters she had with him. This poem is centred upon Thomas, a pious and superstitious man who was told by a seer (fortune teller) of his death, Kingston was mentioned and Thomas believed it was Kingston upon Thames which he avoided the rest of his life.

Kingston
By Henry Tudor

Not so long ago my red leash was so long, with Royal hand
I had the ear of the King then too, rewarded with gold and with land.
But his love died for his Royal wife, hell broke loose and shattered life
I ran to find a quiet place to hide, with servants and soldiers by my side.
But the new love of this King hated me so and kept on watching as I go
Back to my roots in Yorkist town and settle down midst fear of crown.
Some time ago a seer spoke, about my death by Kingston cloak
So the town on Thames was my nightmare, the end for me I did swear.
At least I thought that North was safe, too far to reach to catch this waif
But not so it seems the Lady says, “find this man and end his days”.
Yes my dear, the besotted King said, the cardinal will return and lose his head
Followed me here and custody take, as I eat and still awake.
Twenty days then guard arrives, twenty four with swords and horses rides
Meet my maker it seems is clear, no safe passage south I fear.
Lead me away sir do your level best, take me home to face my test
Constable of London’s deadly Tower, why make me cower, lower and lower?
But Sir, he says the King demands, it must be me to tie your hands
What is your name dear captor true, must I die here in front of you?
I, Sir William Kingston an honourable man, will take you South as best we can
Kingston, Kingston my death is due, the seer saw what will come true.
No rest on track, no soft saddle on horses back, no reprieve except from God
I fall down and sink so low, the soldier’s fear that I might go.
Their King wants me back to die, but God releases me where I lie
Hiding now in grave of peace, the Kingston cloak my soul release.
This King is the evil one, married the witch to make a son
But he missed my end, he missed my tears, my Kingston guard he saved my fears.
Thank you Sir who let me go, to let me sleep away from the Royal foe.


Fat Pigeon
By Henry Tudor

In my day, fat was rich and thin was poor
Freeze outside or sleep behind thick, warm door.
Nothing wrong then with our great excess weight
Proved you had good life, good food that you ate.

Look at King Henry, looks great with good cheer
Has had lots of meat, cake and frothy beer.
Look at his clothing, red, purple and blue
Large coloured feathers, beats me and you.

To judge their wealth truly, just see all their kin
Then look at their houses, shining within.
Kept out by their railings, stone walls built so high
Only way in now, is via the sky.

Compare wild bird’s diet from sky to their lawn
Covered with food scraps from dusk back to dawn.
Why do they attract wild life to come and wait there?
The cook throws out leftovers, for bird’s he does care.

There’s the Blackbird’s and Raven’s who wait patiently
There’s the Larks and the Robin’s having a spree.
There’s the Pigeon’s who flutter for biscuits and bread
Hunting Hawks and deadly Eagles circling overhead.

But only the slim and healthy can outrun this aerial threat
The fat, tasty, well fed pigeon, now slow with cold sweat.
The food will be their downfall, they will suffer the most
They should have foreseen it, from their generous host.







Revenge in the Tudor clan
by Henry Tudor

Executing Thomas Cromwell was a popular event in the eyes of the people of England, after all he was born one of them then he turned on them and by torture, taxation and cruel suppression he rose in the eyes of the King, Henry VIII his boss. The tables were turned when Henry blamed him for all his marital problems with Ann of Kleves and he went to the block. Many Cromwell generations later his treatment was a key part in the mind of Oliver Cromwell from a new generation of the clan. What goes around comes around.
Standing on the very spot where Henry Darnley’s men murdered poor old David Rizzio sent a chill up my spine. Two rooms connected up the old tower in Holyrood House hold such a terrible story where Queen Mary of Scotland was entertaining her music teacher David Rizzio and suddenly armed murderers entered and dragged David next door and butchered him by the bay window. Mary held at the doorway to make sure she saw his fate screamed murder and fell in tears. She suspected it was a jealous plan by her husband Henry Darnley and kept this belief to herself showing no sign of suspicion but his fate was written. One year later Mary’s new found love, The Earl of Bothwell brought sweet revenge upon her husband and blew up the house he was entertaining his friends in, not actually killed in the explosion he was captured in the grounds and strangled. Mary of course played her part well, the emotional widow, but soon married secretly her accomplish whom now had a great blackmailing power over her.
We all know about Mary’s fate as the failed plotter to kill our Queen Elizabeth I and her death in Fotheringhay Castle on the block. But her son by her husband, Henry Darnley came down to London upon Elizabeth’s death to be our whole Island King James I. His silent hatred for his murdering mother came to show in his hatred for all things Catholic, especially the strong Jesuits. Now the Jesuits were not happy with the new kings treatment of their people and plotted to blow him up too, just like his father before him. The gunpowder plotters all died, hundreds of Jesuits were rounded up and killed.
Revenge is a bitter sweet.

Revenge
By Henry Tudor
Only sweet to the ones who deal
Flavoured by pride, no heart to feel.
Dwarfed the compassion angered by hate
Must do it now before it’s too late.

Poor Thomas was murdered, by uncaring King
Now nephew young Oliver will do the right thing.
Take over the country, send King to the block
Sit back and recover, rule my new flock.

Darnley killed David in most jealous plan
Must now plot to kill Darnley, explode if I can.
Bothwell will play savour and help me commit
Must be seen as the sad wife, a Queen to be fit.

James now ruling Britain, mother gone too
She left him in shame, he starts now anew.
He hates all the Jesuits he gives them short shrift
They try to explode him on November the fifth.

What goes around comes around, only to harm
Best forgive them in public, stay openly calm.
A time will come quietly when peace times are there
Get revenge in the open, but try to show care.

Revenge from the devil, all have some inside
But we try to suppress it, above it we rise.
We forgive those who hurt us, I think this is so
Maybe being naïve, I’ll never know.




My Hovel
By Henry Tudor

Made it myself, from waste and rocks with no room for shelf.
One room for all, cosy and small, warm with large fire, the glow to inspire.
No windows to see, nowhere to wee, no place to hide, crowded inside.
A wall made of slate, no opening gate, hardened mud floor, old wood for the door.
A roof made of reeds, a garden of weeds, a view that’s my life, now just need a wife.
Will she like my own home, made from all the free stone, maybe so, probably no.
I love my old shed, I love my own bed, I love my grass roof, though not water-proof.
If she rejects my love quest, because the house is the test, she rejects my heart, best we do part.
I am what I am, a honest hardworking man, this house is me, it make me free.
My hovel is my life, my heart needs a wife, for my house I do shout, a wife I can live without.




Cocks Fighting
By Henry Tudor

My territory, my pen, my wooden hut, my hen
Stay back young bird and pray, it’s my rule here, stay away.
Want to try your luck? Fight in the muck? Oh Really! Cluck
Watch my mane expand and my frame soon gain, expect some pain.
Red chin, bright skin, wide wing, talons sting, watch me do my thing
Take heed young bird, my noise heard, cock of hill, your blood to spill.
Dance around, face to face, faster and faster, mating race
Stumble now and lose your crown, new cock is boss now this his ground.
My time now is over to rule my old roost, this young pretender now free and loose.
The hens all approve of their new mate and male, now I’ll just die soon, fail.
Don’t let your guard down mighty young Cock, always another waiting, your fate not to mock.
Enjoy all the fruits of your labour, they’re not there for long
To stay there on rooftop you must always be strong.




Marriages
By Henry Tudor
Not a picture on the wall, a human being standing tall
Little child taught well and wide, just the Prince of York outside.
My friend and whipping boy, Charles his position to employ
We played, we learnt, we hunted, wrestled sometimes hurt.
We scanned the form of women kind, to find a wife not left behind
But all were pale and straight and coy, I wanted fun with a tanned tomboy.
Arthur, pale and next to rule, followed our father like a fool
Scared of his wrath, mere shadow in his path, made me laugh.
His bride to be from Spain came she, liked her, loved her, should’ve been for me
Callous ploy not for this boy, she made brother Arthur jump for joy.
Now dotting wife she learnt to feign, husband Prince now racked with pain
Half a year the ring has fell, dead and gone, the widows spell.
But now it changed, these days are fine, now the throne one day is mine
Father’s death came swift and sure, crowned the King, red on floor.
Marry her, my heart yelled out, Katherine my Queen my love I shout
Ten years on we fell off our cloud, lost our love caused by widow’s shroud.
Babies died, we both cried, we tried and tried, our love to subside.
Met King of France in field of gold, made new friend from foe of old
Saw two young girls in Francis play, chased them both, win both some did say.
Mary and Anne soon took my stare, Boleyn’s young girls in Royal glare
Mary gone with Kings new son, married off, was just for fun.
Now Anne a hard nut to crack, six years to woo, but bent with flack
Became the Queen but soon, incurred the wrath of power, she played her tune.
She had to go, too much power caused her pain, she died a victim, to haunt again
Anne’s pretty girl was still beloved, little bright Elizabeth sent from above.
The empty throne? Plain Jane sat there next, a simple girl, shy not complex
A boy at last, I marched the floor, the birth though hard, no civil war.
Twelve days a mother, she died in bed, a single parent now, seldom said
Seymour kin now stepped within, look after Prince, though weak and thin.
Cromwell’s plan to marry me off again to foreign girl, no reason now for religion rule
Painted well by Holbein’s spell, house of the Swan, their wealth to swell.
Six months to wait to enter gate, to meet new wife, new Royal mate
But she did not look like picture true, quite ugly really I’m telling you.
Married, divorced, paid off, relief. Looked for solace to lower grief.
Cromwell died, nobody cried, in came Howard to claim his side
Groomed to please young Katherine cute, now number five without refute.
But past secrets soon come round to cry, young Katherine’s past did not lie
Liaisons old, liaison new, she fooled us all, her love not true.
She died, they died, they all cried, got to restore my fallen pride
Love is blind when searching hard, it must have time, force now is barred.
My last hope for my final years, find a nurse to cause no tears
Seymour beau has marriage plan for Katherine Parr, her third man.
But my plan is same, she enters game, Seymour gives nod, Parr now in frame
Last wife now my Queen, clever, fair, nurse-like, solid and serene.
She soon becomes proud, speaks her mind clumsily out loud
The prey try to condemn but it rebounds back to them.
Young Seymour returns to claim position of trust, Queen’s next future a must
She is there when I lie, in bed set to die, first time I see her cry.
Gone now left the Prince a King, The Dowager Queen now does her thing
Marries beau and takes young Bess, back to her home, her Royal nest.
This is where I leave this life, only Jane my love my wife.




Chicken Run
By Henry Tudor

Twenty first benchmark not the same
Tudor food fresh as game.
No freezers, no vacuums and no poly tunnel
Using meat far too old makes a smell.

Salting, smoking, pickling do help
Our year round green is only kelp.
Dried and plain, stored like grain
Sweetness gone, freshness wane.

Bring in the herd and flock, ready to cook
Skills of old handed down, no picture book.
Living in a Tudor world
Fresh food year round, quite absurd.

Strawberry summer, cabbage spring
Cold and sweet winter thing.
Lamb and beef freshly killed
Cannot keep, cannot be chilled.

Killed today, taken away, eat straight way
Don’t cast your view, with pre-packed ways
This is how we lived our days.

Working purely to survive
We hunt and farm and tend the hive.
If we want to eat our bread
Work and tend the fields instead.

If we want to drink cold and sweet
Make it, drink it, fresh like meat.
Foreign foods not for us
Far too expensive, too much fuss.

Grow your own, trade with friend
Market food, sell then spend.
Buy your bread ready made
Get the rest with a spade.




Juicy Lucy
By Henry Tudor

Mistress Cornwallis plays songs with my taste
She makes all things sweet with nothing to waste.
Cakes and fancies, statues and pies
She bakes and she sculpts, design’s from her eyes.
Never been bettered this woman of bake
Though black teeth be the outcome, ready to ache.
Richness is measured by what we all eat
The sweet is for the favoured, after the meat.
It settles your stomach and sweetens your breath
It fattens your body and hastens your death.
Trust Lucy Cornwallis to bake temptations for you
You’ll risk illness and discomfort to sample a few.
Sweet sugars and honey enriched with glazed fruit
Forgetting the bad tidings, you don’t give a hoot.
Juicy and creamy, full of many a bad thing
But we show off our fine tables, we trumpet and sing .
This is the way a King banquets with no care for good diet
So stop nagging, get a cake and be quiet.


Preserve Recipes
By Henry Tudor

How should I know how my Chef’s make my food?
I only eat them, to ask is so rude.
They know what thrills me and so they prepare
Samples and snippets for me to declare.

I do have a rich taste and enjoy cake and treat
I’ll eat small and often as long as it’s sweet.
The time that is taken to create all my fare
Don’t try this at home, of cost do beware.

We suffer from seasons so fresh cannot be had
No storage of freezer so fresh fruit turns bad.
So we cook them and mix them with spices and juice
We seal them in small caskets the lid tight not loose.

They now last for ages and come out for court
The last item on menu, the sweets are now sought.
They calm down a bad stomach, full of red meat
They lower our outlook when sweltering in heat.

We add them to our main course to lighten the taste
The meat that gets quite boring now won’t go to waste.
Jams and marmalades give fruit a new life
Cut soft bread and spread with the very same knife.

Nuts and pickles, plants and thistles can too be the same
Artichoke with honey adds great taste to game.
So remember your strawberries came from afar
But ours are stored and preserved in a pot jar.



Fashion Icon
By Henry Tudor

Spend your wealth, rob your kin
Dress for court, powder skin.
Gold and silk, braid and fur
Any less would seem a slur.
Counter claims of Tudor hate
Enter dressed with Royal gate.
The King will guide the court ahead
Different styles from morn’ to bed.
No Royal Red and blue the purple hue
Stay within your accepted few.
Spend to stay in Royal way
But beware to load you all must pay.
Your costs are great, a debt create
So get your workers to donate.
Tax them more to add the score
Then Royal eyes don’t see the bore.
This way you’ll stay ‘till next day
And may become in higher pay.
Then all will turn no Royal spurn
Inner court you may return.
Hopefully before your money’s gone
You get up close to number one,
The Royal throne of Fashion Icon.


Katherine Howard
By Henry Tudor

Unknown to you my dear young wife
Your Uncle is plotting to take on the throne.
Giving you clothes to brighten your life
May look a kindness from a heart made of stone.

The girls around you have taken their toll
Blackmail and slyness their words in your ear.
Watch out for betrayal as the plot does unfol’
Keep secrets secret, rumours the main fear.

Lady Rochford not all as she may seem
Sly and deliberate, though loyal in view.
She will deliver the Howard’s ultimate dream
She will not stop ‘til death comes to you.

Culpeper the cad, the pawn in the game
Dareham the wild card, the past he does mock.
The past comes to haunt you calling your name
All gathered in shame in front of the block.

Goodbye my dear Katherine, gone in your prime
Your Uncle the plotter, has killed you.
By creating this crime
You have betrayed me and broken my heart
We laughed, we sang, we danced together
But now we will part.





Henry’s Wives
By Henry Tudor

My Father strict he made it plain, I’ll only marry for political gain.
He’ll pick my bride without my consent, my own choice he will prevent.
The King to be the Prince of Wales, Arthur now betrothed, my Father hails.
Six years my senior did Katalina seem, but when I was ten she was my dream.
Married my brother a page boy was I, smiled outward inside I cry.
They left to live as heir to throne, six months later he’s dead and gone.
A widow young now in Spain’s disgrace, stayed in England to keep face.
My father tried to make a match, the Pope changed rules with a patch.
I could marry the girl I love, when I’m King and high above.
That day came our wedding blessed, now we endure a dreadful test.
Can we produce a son and heir, all the land they watch and stare.
Five die and only one survived, our Mary, our heir to be relied.
Must leave Kat for new nest, changed the church for the test.
My new wife I chased for long, Anne Boleyn so sure and strong.
Two dead boys one safe girl, Elizabeth blue eyes red hairs curl.
Anne takes too much power she must go, framed to die with swordsman’s blow.
Now little Jane, so cute and fair, she kept me warm and for me did care.
To our nation a boy she gave, mother for 12 days and then her grave.
Political pressure did I receive, alliances with the Duke of Kleve
Sisters Ann and Amelia too, pick one of these a wife for you.
The picture sent by Holbein bent, gave wrong image to make content.
I pick Ann to her surprise, large nose, poor in odour and beady eyes.
We marry to forge contract, but cannot play the married act.
Divorce is planned she wins a wealth, now stays in England for her health.
All this time the Howard’s plot, to find me a wife from their inbred lot.
Katherine so young with girlish smile, she won my heart and made me smile.
She played around with lots of men, Thomas Culpepper traitor then.
They all died, I never cried, they tore my heart from me inside.
Now I need a nurse and friend, I search my court from end to end.
I found Catherine Parr and soon I fell, past husbands called her their angel.
She was betrothed to Seymour man, I ignored this because I can.
She was clearly the most gifted, she read to me my heart was lifted.
My last wife my friend and nurse, though nearly lost her with Tudor curse.
This was the story of wives in rhyme; I liked or loved them all some time.
Now if you find the girl you adore, remember six wives, six mother’s in law!


Tudor Life
By Henry Tudor
A merchant I from land afar, enter this England with cloth and jar
Many a tale I’ve heard of power and wealth, not so good the tales of health
The sweat from the city swell, the crowded streets, the discarded smell
The flooded paths with wooden ways, the beggars, the dogs, the strays
Never will I stay in such a place, I need to move to open space, and retrace
I cross the Thames on nineteen posts, avenue of filth indifferent hosts
Head up north to find retreat, carry my goods on back and feet
Soon the darkness brightens up, people greet me offer food and cup
They buy my wares of spice and thread, they offer comfort, drink and bed
All are working from child to man, seem to accept the best they can
They eat their food grown by their hand, not burying heads in ignorant sand
I move on again with new intent, stay away from the city, stay content
But now there’s worry up ahead, some lay sick in their death bed
The sweat of flu has caught them out, stranger coming they fearfully shout
No resistance to foreign germs, no conscience in their blinkered terms
Move me on and bar my way, not welcome here, go away, today
So it seems this England fair, full of fear, rely on prayer
Cannot stay in fearsome land, need to feel my sea and silver sand
Goodbye old England wet and cold, fearful of demons, legends old
I’ll stay in my warm and pleasant home, no more up north will I ever roam
Blame me for spreading bugs and fear, but more will follow when clouds are clear
I’ve made much in money for my wealth, and spread havoc to your nation’s health.


Sticks
By Henry Tudor

I don’t need a stick to walk with, my legs are firm and strong
My back is straight and muscular, my stance is tall and long.

My stick is there to aid me with lots of jobs to do
They give me an air of Majesty, a King through and through.

The silver head is a conductor of heat and it soon gets to warm
In a bucket next to the fire, it collects and holds it alone.

I tap the sound of my walking, a rhythm known throughout my whole sphere
They listen for me when approaching, they wait for my shout, then appear.

I swing the stick out to miss the dagger, this looks clever and skilful indeed
I throw the stick outwards only to hit the floor at some speed.

Just think if you were a soldier and see me handle it so well
Just imagine how this skill will transfer, to a sword he must be ever so swell.

So you see I don’t need a stick, to walk I’m quite expert to do
The stick is merely an aid, to put the fear of God into you.



A Day In The Life of King Henry VIII
By Henry Tudor

Get up early the King will rise soon
Warm his silver handles and ready the room.
Get all the clothing for riding his sport
He’ll expect his things ready, for failure is nought.

Five thirty he rises and readies to ride
Wash his person and dress him, in leather raw hide
He sends out his runners with horses to wait
Then out he goes hunting, spares wait at each gate.

Hunting until dinner at eleven o’clock
He returns to a fanfare, redresses in smock.
Dines with his courtiers until both sittings fed
Then off for a rest and read poems in bed.

To dress a blunt stone with nap on the edge
A sleep will sharpen this King’s witty knowledge.
A fresh suit will hasten immediate response
For some will attempt to beat his defence.

Now the time has arrived to meet important folk
Ambassadors, Princes, all intelligently spoke.
Sign off all past matters and create a few new
Start many a ball rolling, affecting the few.

After the signing of important law
Our King now needs to dance out there on the floor.
Brawl and Hive to music so true
One hundred couples glide effortlessly through.

Now the days ends with cards and some wine
Some reading from Bible in Latin this time.
Goodnight dear Henry, go to your huge bed
Then sneak to your small one and sleep there instead.

It is ten in the evening and King falls asleep
Next day just like this one, an appointment to keep.
Will rise again early to catch the deer herd
To think the King lazy must now sound absurd.


Tudor Propaganda
By Henry Tudor

In days of old when Knights were bold
And newspapers had not been invented.
Only word of mouth and acts of theatre
Could tell about Royals from just hearsay, intended.

Old grandmother Margaret led the way to declare Tudor rule
Take my son as your King, he certainly is no fool.
He was descended from the great round table
That dearest King Arthur enhanced by our fable.

We killed the Third of Richard line
The throne for the Tudors is now mine.
Not a usurper, not a coup’
Justice has reigned, a new kingship for you.

Now name the first born to complete the plan
Arthur II, the new Camelot man.
Build up a palace at Richmond place
Named after Henry, a spectacular space.

With spires and bridge a Camelot build
As if Arthur was there, left there by will.
Now, bring back the jousting upon a white horse
The people will love it, belief is the force.

Pembroke and Merlin a bridge down in Wales
Connect it together and fix it with nails.
Our green and white background, his dragon to brag
Create the illusion, create the Welsh Flag.

So thank you dear Margaret of Lancaster great
You solve our big problem, creating our fate.
We Tudors now have credence to rule on our own
Now Arthur is family, the family’s Crown.


The Nether End
By Henry Tudor

Not pausing to think amongst the bedchamber stink
The groom stood there still at the stool.
The King’s toilet, don’t spoilt it
This jobs better than playing the fool.

Next to the stool-room, quiet, dark shadowy gloom
To wipe the King’s personal hind.
A job like this so hard and scarce to find
Least I don’t have to clean with a broom.

The chamber pot, sat in its slot
In the casket with velvet black seat
Empty his bowels and bladder of waste
Then clean his nether end with indifferent haste.

The apothecary tests the contents by taste
Salt is the key to blending this waste
Alter his diet to make him feel good
Keeping a check on diet and food.

Only the gentlemen can handle the King
Touching his person not the done thing.
Dressing with style and elegance too
After washing your hands to rid of the loo.

Manikins called babies wore all the days clothes
Three complete changes kept warm near the stoves.
Only three wearings makes each out of date
Nobody will view this King when not great.

Even the portrait has a secret to tell
The King would not wear it, just pose it so swell.
Of course he must not falter from centre the stage
His costume’s just for portrait, so turn the next page.

The toilet and washing so private that’s true
The dressing, the scenting, known only to few.
Being the groom true secrets depend
Keep sights to yourself about the Royal Nether-end


Last Ditch Attempt
By Henry Tudor

On the top of the Hill the Fort sits and there just wait
For haranguing and lethal armies trying to bait.
Trying to kill you and take all your land
These armies were seen first ashore on the sand.

But Iron won’t stop them, neither will hill
We need to protect all, with no blood to spill.
So dig a deep ditch round the walls where we live
Raise up the outer edge too, that won’t ever forgive.

Lay spikes in the bottom covered in gorse
No man can ever cross it now on his great horse.
The foe will encounter a trap for his path
He must consider his tactics, for no bloody aftermath.

The fort now seems hopeless to take it away
So we’ll retreat back to our camp, a failure today.
We’ll stay in the circle and starve them to death
But they have a secret so not hold our breath.

A tunnel and passage, from top to the wood
But trying to find it seemingly no good.
The Fort has now beat us and we will depart
The Ditch was the answer, right from the start.

Only desperate measures will make me try it once more
Finding the tunnel would help to endure.
Pushing harder and harder no energy exempt
Only foolhardy deliverance my last ditch attempt.



The Verge

By Henry Tudor

Don’t step within my boundary whole
The manner’s good and not to toil.
Take care dear lord, not to fight
The loss of hand is our right.

Bring servant too with health to back
To care for you, not too slack.
Higher thoughts may comprehend
Get family now, for them do send.

Passing the gate now higher still
Be trusted more and riches fill.
But take heed sir don’t rock the boat
This master may sink your Royal float.

Keep all secrets in your head
Not even talk in pillared bed.
Power bleeds fast when turned around
The King turns quicker, guilt is found.

To keep your head and not risk all
Stay away, not need to fall.
Keep your ambitions below a surge
Stay on your side of the Verge.

Def: The Verge.
The boundary of all Royal Palaces inside which trust and behaviour had extra significance. The strike another Courtier would mean the loss of the Hand, to talk aloud with Royal secrets would mean the loss of the Head. So the risk of gaining Royal appointed power was great indeed.



Henry Abroad
By Henry Tudor

The role of leader under threat by higher order whom we met
Maximilian Katherines kin, wants to make sure I stay within.
Invite me over to join great fight, beat the French with allied might
But Emperor’s aim was to show me how, he can kill so cold, I’m colder now.
Siege a town poor and weak, show their heels to flee their strength did leak
Cruelty came from Roman King, kill them all burn it down, kill the town.
Sorrow felt to stand unsaid, memories still nightmare my bed
But the lesson was learnt so swift and hard; do not ride against this killer lord.
Now my wife claims greater goal, Scottish war, Kings Head in bowl.
Flodden takes away my glory name, so rename my war though not the same
Battle of the Spurs sounds quite bravado, not really as those who know
Too many people died that day, Emperor’s heart not easy to sway.

Seven years on and France again, trying to find a new allied friend
Francis may help to stem the tide, of bitter movement in Holy stride.
Golden fields of cloth and men, Ten thousand friends together again
Francis and Henry friends to we die, never to shave again say I.
Damsels enact a glorious plot, Sister and Mary then Anne I do spot.
Perseverance her role and aloof was her way, I wanted her close with me from today.
We made a pledge against Roman will; together we could beat this ignorant kill
But alas it broke down when Francis was taken, his nation now Rome’s, its heart forsaken.
The girls returned home to rapturous applause, Mary and Mary and Anne now of course.
A new chapter is breaking in my nation that’s clear, the Roman will pay, and pay he did dear.

Be you Luther or Protest against Roman control, the Emperor is lost now nowhere to go.
The seeds which were planted from plague ridden Church, have now grown so strongly no need to search.

Explanation of poem:
Henry went to help Maximilian to take the town of Therouanne with a pitched battle in the field nearby at Enguinegatte. Maximilian however was using it as a threat to Henry to stay in line with his Empire of Rome and the Pope. By murdering all the people in the town after a long siege the Emperor demonstrated to Henry just what would happen to England if he swayed away. Henry was shocked by this killing of innocents just to make a point and from this day he hated the Emperor and sought new ways to get away from his grip. An alliance was sought with France which was also swaying, and the Field of the Cloth of Gold was meant to be a great Peace and coming together of two powerful Nations which could fight and win against the Holy Roman Empire. During the celebrations the lone figure of Anne Boleyn came to Henry notice during a play by the Royal womenfolk for the two Kings. Francis told Henry he already had Mary Boleyn as his mistress and they both eyed the shy, dark Anne her sister. Ann Boleyn now became an obsession for Henry and within six more years she was his Queen, the Emperor and Pope kicked out of England’s religion and a new era begins. Poor old Francis was captured and imprisoned in Madrid, dying a broken man.


Half Timbering
By Henry Tudor

Top dog with Under dog
Messy way to cut a log.
Tie it down on eight foot stumps,
Making sure there are no nasty lumps.

Debark the wood and fill the hole
The straightest grain, the richest goal.
Lie in River to remove the sap
A long time there, but no time to nap.

The copse is waiting, more to cut
We build a Manor not a hut.
We place the wood in strictest order
Same tree facing round house border.

The house will survive more than man
Pass it on the best you can.
The wood must dry and stay uncoated
Or damp will stay and make it bloated.

Do not Victorian folly make
Paint with tar, a dire mistake.
Will seal in the damp and cause to rot
The wood will last, but Tar will not.

Joint the ends and make it strong
It’s got to be there Centuries long.
It may warp and twist with time
But this house will stay quite sublime.




Make me laugh, Sommers
By Henry Tudor

This comic lad with back so bad, entered my court of fear he had nought.
His age was so young and not highly strung, his smile quite infectious it always affects us.
A Jester of note, wears mock Royal coat, wears hats cocked like mine, clever and sublime.
Nobody came close to be my repose, he knew where the line, but crossed it some time.
He spied on my men, telling me about all of them, he knew where to look, in cellar and book.
Will Sommers the clown, underneath a frown, needed love and comfort, riches never brought.
Too scared of his power, in his jocular tower, stay alone all his life, never found a brave wife.
Clever was Will, always ahead with a thrill, never said a bad word, about me his lord.
Some scathed from the crowd, but never out loud, Will’s whisper was feared, in case it got heard.
Singing and rhyme, jokes all the time, amongst all the strummers, make me laugh Will Sommers.


Jane
By Henry Tudor

The Wolves are now gone from her Hall in the wood
Her father’s so proud her life turned so good.
To marry the King after many did try
She accomplished so much without being sly.

Her life seemed so set, to serve Royalty
Pushed there to get, much closer to me.
Her Brothers all want power to hold
The Seymour clan, are becoming quite bold.

This girl with simple thoughts in her mind
Has conceived a child from the Royal kind.
Maybe a girl. Maybe a boy.
I don’t hold out for much, just hope for the joy.

Not able to read or write her own name
Not able to discuss my level the same.
Just plain old Jane, honest and true
Expecting my child, a beginning that’s new.

If she gives us a boy, she’ll easily win
The hearts of the people, her reign will begin.
Another girl will hurt our plans
Our Fitzroy or Carey, rubbing their hands.

I hope this new marriage will be my last one
Tied up quite soundly by having a son.
My council will offer new plans if not so
A more gentle removal, but she will have to go.

I’ll keep on searching until I find what I want
A wife who can deliver, then baptize in our font.
It may sound cold and heartless this view that I take
But Royalty children should not be a fake.

So Henry’s Fitzroy and Carey, don’t hold your breath
I will try my most hardest, an heir prior to death.
Take heart dearest children, your lot is quite good
Never a poor man, with your Royal Blood.

I pray now to my God, my church and my house
Jane lives here so quietly, just like a mouse.
I believe a boy will come, to take away my pain
I have much hope in my new wife, Jane.


Henry's Pop song, can you create the music to go with it?
If so, record the song and send it to me by email.
HenryTudor@Blueyonder.co.uk
I will choose the best and offer it to a recording studio to produce a CD. Maybe your lucky day! Imagine the video with King Henry.

You You You
By Henry Tudor

You you you, what you doing?
Tryin’ to take over me
You you you why you screwin?
With my mind, just to see!

How how far can you go now?
Just how far can you go?
Keep keep both eyes on me now
I’ll be there, then you’ll know.

Stay stay stay in your zone now
Keep keep track there of me
Play play play with your own now
Stay stay there and be free.

Don’t throw throw your life out now
Follow me and be mine
Keep your thoughts to yourself now
Speak speak speak, and they’re mine.

Run run run and be gone now
Hide hide hide and be true
Keep away from me now
For I’ll take over you.

Live live life free from me now
Stay stay there to be free
It’s not safe near to me now
All I think of is me.

King King King of all you now
King of all I survey
Stay stay stay away from me now
Keep keep keep far away.

Cry cry cry if you want to
Don’t even think you can win
Now my power is so mighty
And my patience is thin.

So stay stay stay away from me now
My throne is mine not to share
Keep keep keep my love with you
‘cos deep deep down I do care.

Deep deep down I do care.
Deep deep down I do care.




Katalina De Aragon
By Henry Tudor

Stay quiet and let him dig his own hole
The deeper he goes will bury his soul
I’ll just bide my time and let people judge
From this high horse I will not budge.

My girl Mary will inherit all
If I keep quiet and wait for his fall
But his search for this impossible son
Will never be won, for he is but done.

My kin Charles will help to relieve
This new church of those to believe
Mary my Queen will take it away
Bring back our Rome to us believers some day.

Come on now Spain and Latin invade
Take this land before our Church doth fade
Take his life and rebirth our own
Take the mass back to each town.

Though I am sick and old and spent
Mary will make these Lord’s repent
She’ll be rid of his new Monarch control
She’ll bring the Pope back into his fold.

Mary’s half sister will serve as a wench
She’ll wear rags, work hard and have a poor stench
No Royal child is this poor lost soul
Her Mother the witch, she is her foal.

But Henry knows now about my new plan
He’s sent me away and as far as he can
Mary’s gone too so she can’t be so near
My end is in sight, no invasion I fear.

But still the people all love me, ignorant though
My plan would have worked but turned out too slow
The Emperor won’t come because of the heat
He’s scared that his men will end in defeat.

My Father is dead, my Mother gone too
My Husband has dumped me, my daughter gone too
Nothing left now, I seem to have done
Just go back to being plain Catherine of Aragon.




Some Say
By Henry Tudor

Some say he was the man of his time
Some say he was a bit of a swine.
Some say he lived for love
Some say he was appointed from above.
Some say the pressure built up
Some say he drank from the cup.
Some say his life was a sham
Some say he’s a cuddly old lamb

Truth is he was a murderer in silk
Truth is he was the worst of his ilk.
Truth is he was a powerful old coward
Truth is so were the Howard’s
Truth is he framed poor Queen Anne
Truth is he was a nasty old man.
Truth is this King’s not on the level
Truth is he’s really the devil.

Believe me I know the truth
Believe me I have the proof.
Believe me this man is not human
Believe me Henry is two men.
Believe me one Henry is true
Believe me, the poems he tells you.
Believe me the other is evil
Believe me his hate will kill.

Just to satisfy his lust and pride
Just to ignore their love inside.
Just to frame his dear wife
Just to take her innocent life
Just to use another devil for gain
Just to give Cromwell a free reign.
Just to appease public dismay
Just to reign over Church today.

Got your own medicine now you're dead
Got your daughter taking the lead.
Got your religion squashed under foot
Got your self kicked by your own boot.
Got your wife’s ghost to haunt you always
Got her girl to write your worst days.
Got your justice now you have gone
Got you Henry! Be gone and be done.


Remedies
By Henry Tudor

Sweet subtleties, Roast meats, Bird and Grease
Poor health will drop you dead with ease.
Plenty to fuel your heart with cruel gruel
Lots to bind your passage behind, you fool.

Humour not, this vile food lot
Water, Fire, Earth and Air
The Apothecary’s fee to test the pee
Let the blood to determine the care.

Rhubarb and liquorice relieves poor digestion
Rosemary and Rue relieves headaches too.
St. John’s Wort and Belladon, Fennel too the fever’s gone
Opium, Hemlock and Mandrake, lots of sleep, then awake.

Lower lust and twitches, Vervain from witches
Don’t sweat and die, though hot you lie
In bed so wet, your remedy get
Use Saffron, Mustard seeds, Herbs and most forlorn
You need to powder the tip of a Unicorn’s horn.

To raise your man from old age ban
Obtain the flower of the thistle power
Globed in shape, in honey do drape
Cook ‘till brown, then enjoy this crown.

Pills and potions, enemas aid motions
Cold seats avoid, and no haemorrhoid.
Eat slow and chew, enjoy well cooked stew.
Leave alone, red meat and bone,
Or accept the place of an early stone.

But I declare the best food and faire
Is what the poor eat, much less meat
No sugary lumps, less heart felt thumps
Less salty taste, less blood to waste.


Not trying to be clever, just wanted to write this stirring tale of murder and hate.
The return of Anne Boleyn from 8 years in France and her fateful appearance in the Masque ball where she played the part of Perseverance alongside her peers, Beauty, Mercy, Pity, Honour, Bounty, Kindness and Constancy. All girls trying to catch the eye of Royal approval and power. The story unfolds into the tragic life and death of this innocent girl who has the last say in producing a Boleyn heir to reign in England, wiping out the Tudor name for her own daughter’s Elizabeth. Long may she reign.

Perseverance
By Henry Tudor

Beauty leads the way, her kin have the final say
Mercy shows her kindly side, as she takes her Knightly ride.
Pity gives a reasoned look, hoping for a Kingly hook
Honour struts her glorious stuff, white neck above her ruff.
Bounty dark and red, nothing left to be said
Kindness, soft and white, keep you happy all the night.
Constancy always there, pale and coy, blonde and fair
Then in came boyish Anne, must be Perseverance.

The white walls of England, not a welcoming hand
Brought her back in case of attack.
She had changed, rearranged, she looked strange
This girl will attract a King, not the done thing.
Promised to Butler, Ormonde, not her mate, no debate
Father needs her life, to become a structured wife.
Now in court, keep a thought, love a nought
Dance and sing, speak and tell, keep your self to yourself.

Now yellow gold with dark brown large eyes, soon attracts ungallant spies
Tells the King about this girl, a bit of fun, no strings to twirl.
The act of Masque will bring her forth, to show the King her Tomboy worth
Life will change for her forever, choose own way, never.
The shine of gold may whet, silk and silver and sarsenet
The throne may lure, the life in store, will help the poor.
Merchant past up-starting fast, not in truth, not aloof
High bred in style, her French compile, leads down the aisle.

Keep him away, for another day, maiden stay
Sister delves into darkness with this cruel strong highness.
Coy, boy, toy, all these tricks you employ
Hook this man, best you can, should have ran.
Now it’s too late, must now mate, stop the hate
Become the next, too complex, watch your necks.
Jewels heaped on person wed, scary place the Royal bed
Try to comply, become soft and ply, help the folk, try.

Promise nought of Royal heir, enemies watch and stare
A boy will seal her fate, nine months the strain to wait.
Red haired and blue eyes, Tudor never disguise
Should be in a whirl, not so, it’s a girl.
One in two, a boy then for you, next time it’ll be fine
Darling girl so full of love, should be enough from above.
But King’s move on, now in vain, with another some girl called Jane
Must a boy deliver or be gone forever.

No, baby dead, enough said, thrown out of Royal bed
Witchcraft and great treason, they’ll create a valid reason.
Cromwell will delve just to prove, the final judgement, head remove
This is her final fate, this history that will create worldly hate.
But now the time has given back the world, a kindly mind
Elizabeth will lead the Boleyn’s fate and become the head of state.
So you hateful, mean and dangerous man, Boleyn’s will reign,
Better than you ever can.
A story so often sought, the act of love became so sadly fraught
Poor Anne Boleyn’s ghost has now become the Royal host.

Elizabeth will relive her Mother’s wish, a better state to accomplish
She will never forget that fateful day when mother went away.
Never forgive this dreadful crime, keep in mind all the time
Never marry evil man, stay alone best she can.
This masque now replayed, Mother’s part not afraid
Tudor way, not today, now plan to be Elizabethan.
End of path, keep your staff, stay pure and strong, this throne you belong
Dally non with beau, they turn, take, hurt and grow.

England’s white walls defend our Queen, our friend
Anne’s final say will keep us safe to this very day.
Her passing was treason itself, the evil doer’s created their own wealth
On the back of this mighty maid, their foundations of hate were finally laid.
Vengeful not our Sovereign’s way, they survived their evil day
But the true story will one day be heard, lovely Anne was murdered.
Royal blessing to this crime, done before, not first time
So thank you maiden fair from France, our Anne, our Perseverance.



The Artichoke
By Henry Tudor

A simple notion of old wives tales
Like curing headaches with boiled snails.
I need to father a son as heir
So find me an elixir going spare.

I will not eat from in the ground
It’s full of muck from cow and hound.
Only in the air and clear from fly
Gladly eat from there, will I.

Now this is what I’ve been told
There is a food to make me bold.
To give me zest and manly ways
To father sons in my autumn days.

But no one else must know this food
Just for me to enhance my mood.
Discovered by some clever folk
They found the good in the Artichoke.

The Globe thistle purple and fine
A royal colour so it’s all mine.
Cut it off below the flower
Bake it with honey for about an hour.

It will increase the level of libido
Make use of Hampton's, mistletoe.
Give much desired manly force
Give me the strength of a stallion horse.

But does it work I hear you think
Well I fathered fourteen, with a wink.
This wondrous flower of which I spoke
The giant globed artichoke.




Living Without Jane (Knowing me Know you reworded)

Wording by Henry Tudor
Music by ABBA

She’s gone, left me always
I’m lost alone these days
Staying in this empty place, how can I live
Is this the end of me now, can I forgive?

Now she’s gone, I’m alone (I am)
And there’s nothing I can do
Now she’s gone and I’m alone (I am)
I must really face it, this time I’m through
(you’re really through, you’re really through)
Letting go is, an impossible end
But I must defend (must defend, must defend)
The memory of Jane, right to the end

Memories, Happy and sad days
She’ll be with me always
In these cold stony rooms, our children could play
Now there’s only emptiness, that’s all I can say.

Knowing me, knowing you (ah haa)
Is this the best that I can do?
It’s up to me, and not to you (ah haa)
There must be something that I can do (I can do)
Now our son needs me so true (ah haa)
Now I must face it, that I’m not quite through
(your not through, your not through)
To keep going is not easy I know
But I will have a go
Knowing me , Knowing you
I’ll do my best for you too.

And now to explain that mis-recorded marriage to Ann of Cleves, who should really be called Anna Von Kleve

Anna Von Kleve
By Henry Tudor

Not quite true, that tale to believe
Of paintings, horses and Ann of Cleve.
Much change by the writers who tell
of large noses,
disappointment and equestrian smell.

The truth is by far more novel,
and gives it a flair
The lady’s quite clever, blue eyed and fair.
King Henry not waiting for she to rest
Arrived the Knight early, to give her a test.

Escaping the labour of Castle of Swan
Misused, poor Anna was slightly at one.
Not knowing who’s Henry, did cause a stir
Deflating his ego was really a slur.

She not courtly dressed for meeting her beau
He not expecting her to not know.
Expounding surprise in his own cruel way
Called her a Horse, which is known to this day.

The truth of the matter will one day be told
How Henry kept this woman, as friend until old.
His new wife he made sister in court
Knowing his error, forgiveness he sought.

Queen Anna stayed English,
and people all cheered
She helped them serenely and
became so revered.

So dear Anna forgive us for libelling you
The story so far is not all that true.
You were the lucky one, please believe
The misunderstood Queen Anna Von Kleve.



What was the Tudor weather really like?

Climate Revelation
By Henry Tudor

Here today, for sullen Nation
I will declare a Revelation.
These facts true and indicate
That Tudors suffered from bad climate.

Long Winters of icy cold
Made one feel very old.
Short Summers of insect infestation
Caused havoc around my nation.

Midges, fleas and molluscs too
Meant hell on earth for me and you.
No clothing light enough to cool
No place to hide, such a fool.

No climate control, nor fridge
No way to escape that midge.
Sport, forget it, too hot to run
Stay indoors and hide, from Sun.

Disease and drought, the heat does cause
So keep fanning about, indoors.
Winter’s here at last we’re free
Out we come, just follow me.

Get the horses ready to ride
No more fleas, come outside.
Drink some cold ale, juice and beer
It’s party time, Winters here.

Summer’s gone we all shout
Winters back, less plague about.
Wear what you like, furs and jewels
For us nobles these are tools.

To show our status and our wealth
Such heavy stuff effects our health.
In Winter months it’s cold enough
For us all to strut our Royal stuff.

So to you my sullen nation
This is my Revelation.
The climates always on the change
Every year a different range.

Long and short, hot and cold
Flood and drought, so be bold.
Remember, in hot climes, there’s fridges
But there’s always been midges.

In winter there’s fire and heaters
Wear all your colours and cold beaters.
Take in your climate and endeavour
To learn to live with your weather.


The Ducking Stool
By Henry Tudor

We all hate and fear witches, Old women in black
They conjure up swarms of Bat’s, to attack.
They mix up their brews and pass them as stews
They poison the sick, and those in the pews.
So we invented a trial, ‘cos we are no fool
We’ll duck them I water, tied to a stool.
If they drown in the water, they’re free to go home
If they survive the deep ducking, the trial is done.
The one’s who live through, this gross implement
Will burn as a witch, ‘cos they’re not innocent.
I know it sounds drastic, both outcomes are death
It’s reasoned that witches can live without breath.
So if you are female, and scared of attack
Don’t mix strange potions, and do not wear black!




Henry’s Conscience
A group song by Ray Irving

Henry------You call me rotten But I don’t care
Crowd……I don’t care, I don’t care
Henry------Sitting there in your plastic chair
Crowd……..I don’t care at all.


Henry-------Most of you are scared to stare
Crowd…….I don’t stare, I don’t care
Henry-------All my laws are not all fair
Crowd……..I don’t care at all.


Henry------Holy Romans I will tear
Crowd…….You will tear, I don’t care
Henry-------Highly coloured I will wear
Crowd……. We don’t care at all.


Henry------I’ll spend your money when and where
Crowd……..when and where, I Don’t care
Henry------I’ll give you none ‘cos I don’t care
Crowd…….We don’t care at all.


Henry-------I’ll steal your wife when your not there
Crowd…….Take her where? We don’t care
Henry-------She’ll be my Queen when you’re not there
Crowd…….We don’t care at all.


Henry-------The French will come but I will scare
Crowd…….He will scare, He does care.
Henry------They will run when I am there
Crowd…….The mighty French will fall.


Henry-------Watch my eyes and be aware
Crowd…..The evil stare, The evil stare.
Henry-------I can be nice, I can be fair
Crowd…….Your not nice at all!



Now get up and dance, here's the steps and a Masque to hide behind.
Click here to download this file

The hire this wonderful duo here's their website
www.tapestryofmusic.musicnw.co.uk

Now folks, I asked my Royal Poet, Alison Taylor to pen me a Royal song for the 21st century. She has mixed the Tudor language of the day with today and incorporated my point of view.

Alison Taylor is the eldest daughter of Henry Tudor, she is a professional advisor and poet.

Henry's Evil Eye
By Alison Taylor

Flick my evil eye upon thee below,
Spread fear unto you now,
Show myself for whom I am,
I am Henry the eighth here and now.


Henry the eighth I am, I am.
No Henry the eighth I really am,
From pillar to post,
I command the most,
From whom I marry,
To whom I carry,
I am Henry the eighth I am.


I demand respect, come bow to me,
Stand there before me daring,
I command your loyalty, show me this,
For before you your king stands baring!

Henry the eighth I am, I am.
No Henry the eighth I really am,
From pillar to post,
I command the most,
From whom I marry,
To whom I carry,
I am Henry the eighth I am.

My many wives, they fell for me,
My vanity, fortune and fame,
They gave their heads for all my life,
Henry he doth play no wedding game!

Henry the eighth I am, I am.
No Henry the eighth I really am,
From pillar to post,
I command the most,
From whom I marry,
To whom I carry,
I am Henry the eighth I am.

Evil ha ha, me? No I showed no mercy,
Upon these women in in name,
They entrusted their life unto these hands,
Only they have theirselves to blame!

Henry the eighth I am, I am.
No Henry the eighth I really am,
From pillar to post,
I command the most,
From whom I marry,
To whom I carry,
I am Henry the eighth I am.

My kingdom is my castle,
My loyal English life,
I am Henry the eighth, I stand above,
Kingsmen,countrymen and wife!

Henry the eighth I am, I am.
No Henry the eighth I really am,
From pillar to post,
I command the most,
From whom I marry,
To whom I carry,
I am Henry the eighth I am.

Come sing to your King of country,
Your majesty insists you belong,
King Henry the eighth I am I am,
Come join in my royal song!

Henry the eighth I am, I am.
No Henry the eighth I really am,
From pillar to post,
I command the most,
From whom I marry,
To whom I carry,
I am Henry the eighth I am.

She sure is a clever girl.

Have the Poet Royal prepare your own verse by visiting her at:
www.write-it-your-way.com/

I know you all love Ann Boleyn and that you think I was mean to her. But here is a song from my point of view.

The Girl was Ann Boleyn
By Henry Tudor

You all think she was fair and true
I’m telling you
That’s not true
She went around with anyone who
Was the devil in disguise.

She’s not all she seems to be
She’s not Maryee
You’re telling me!
She buzzes round like she’s a Bee
The girl with beady eyes

I know now she has to go
To the block
She has to go
The people mock her ‘cos they know
Ann’s a witch in disguise.

She cast a spell on my life
That’s not a wife
Cut like a knife
She stopped my sons and caused me strife
The witch called Ann Boleyn

She left with great dignity
How could I see
Her plea to me
She a left her spell on me
That witch called Ann Boleyn

Now an ode from Catherine of Aragon (Katerina De Aragon)

Why does he treat me this way?
By Henry Tudor

I cannot go back to my own country now
My Parents are gone my life has changed
My husband has cast me aside
I think he must be deranged.

It was so sweet our earlier times
We laughed and played and loved
But Boleyn has taken him away
And under her spell he moved.

Our girl Mary has taken my side
Now that she has been demoted
She hates her father so much
When once she was so devoted.

He has taken my faith away from me too
The Pope will not help me now
I pray each day for some relief
And hope God will show me how.

I live like a poor old lady now
No clothes, no staff, no hope
I know he won’t see me now
I must be strong and cope.

His wife is with child right now
Some hope for me to come
A boy would seal my fate right now
A girl would may get me home.

But I do feel weak and helpless
I do feel I have lost
I cannot again be young for him
The years have had their cost.

I must get over him now
I must make the best of life
My single status starts right now
I no longer am I his wife.

Katerina De Aragon

Then there was poor old Jane Seymour.

A Boy at last
By Henry Tudor

I cannot survive they tell me now
The blood in my body
Has poisoned my soul
I must pray now for my life will end
My son, our son, lives
That’s how it will end.

My Henry he sobs for he loves me so
Our son will give help
Our family will grow
My country will have a future King
This boy will give comfort
The love he will bring.

His Sisters will love him so much
His father will dote
My Edward, our Edward
Will grow and be great
His future is set
There is no fate.

A Mother for only a dozen days
A wife for less than a year
Our son is the fruit of our love
My man’s health I now fear
I cannot stay, I must go now
Goodbye, wipe your tear
Our son will comfort the pain
Your love, your wife, your Jane

Anna Von Kleve

Kleve not Cleves
By Henry Tudor

A Flanders mare!
How does he dare?
His bad reputation
He doesn’t scare.
I’ll still marry him
I don’t care
It is hell here
It’s better there.

He painted us well
My sister and I
He loved her as well
His art it did lie.
Amelia will win
And so will I
She won’t be seen
But I will be Queen.

Her looks will be poor
Mine will be true
I’ll leave this poor life
And I will be new.
The King will choose Ann
Amelia won’t cry
The secret is theirs
Old Hans is so sly.

But all you English
You mustn’t believe
The books that you read
About Ann of Cleve.
Take heed all you students
Don’t pity me
For I know who is
This Anna von Kleve.



Now the traitor, Catherine Howard.


Culpeper’s Destroyed me.
By Henry Tudor

My court saw tears flow for the first time today
My heart broke as I knelt there to pray.
My wife has betrayed me, I’m told to my face
The Howards are all demons, they’ll die in disgrace.
Cuplepper’s destroyed me, he’s taken my wife
I will avenge this, I’ll take his life.

Oh! Catherine why did you take someone new?
I did try my best to excite you.
I gave you my love, I gave you the throne.
Was I so ugly, so cold like stone?
Now you have hurt me, made me cruel
I thought we were real, not just me the fool.

Consider your life over now you have confessed
To die with some dignity would now be best.
Beg me for forgiveness for breaking my heart
I hear your words softly as we finally part
You died with much courage this cold sad day
My heart is still broken as I kneel here and pray.

My Kingdom is saddened by your treasonable ways
I am now bitter and hurtful in my last days.
I cannot forget the way that you lived
I mistrust all friends, I should have forgived.
So Mistress Parr see how you can mend
Not just my poor body but also my mind.


And now for the last of my Queens

Catherine Parr

Parr For The Course
By Henry Tudor

The lady from Kendal has lots to offer
Her skills will make me happy
He company sought after.

Her love will mend fences with my girls and my son
She will bring us together
We will soon become one.

She writes stories and poems, can talk with them all
She’ll make a difference believe me
Opposition is small.

I know she loves Seymour, but that can be changed
Seymour’s not stupid
Power re-arranged.

My children like Catherine, her ways are so warm
She’ll bring them up closer
To keep them from harm.

My days are now numbered, I cannot see far
She may be too clever
This Catherine Parr.

Not only me writing these songs and poems, here's one from the professional writer and my daughter Alison Taylor.
Catherine Howard.

Catherine
By Alison Taylor

1)
Live in peace from your almighty king,
Your majesty stands before you,
Lower your heads, come bow to me,
Your honesty and loyalty bring.

CHORUS

My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

2)
Anne of Cleves, you are my friend,
Your loyalty through to our marriage end,
But I love thee not, as much I should,
Oh Jane my love, you knew I could,
Darkest hours I have spent as I mourn my loss,
Your passing, my void ...I bare your cross.

CHORUS

My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

3)
Thomas of Norfolk, kneel before me now,
Come tell of your maiden niece,
Speak my Duke of Catherine’s name,
Come join me at my feast.
With wine and dine and royalty name,
My Catherine joined my throne,
Did she love me true, or fact of being queen?
Through these eyes I know what I have seen.

CHORUS

My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

4)
Young Thomas, my friend, my confidant,
Councillor Culpepper you loyalty be true,
I hold great esteem for all you say,
Much my actions have come from you.

CHORUS

My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

5)
Catherine my love, my wife and my queen,
How distant I feel from thee,
Your closeness, your friendship to the young councillor be noted,
Yet you have stayed attached to me.

You beg for your life, the court hears your plea,
Duke Thomas you stand so to honour me,
Tell your story, of Catherine and her lover,
Whose sordid affair brings down my marital cover,
How dare this be true, she took my name,
My friend, my councillor, he brings me this shame,
My country stands beneath in fear,
Watching me betrayed and shedding this single tear.

CHORUS


My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

6)
Thomas Culpepper, you will die in my honourable name,
Your lover, my wife will follow the same,
But you my friend who I trusted the most,
Will take pride of place upon London's post,
Your head, your life will ornament my tower,
My wife, your mistress's head will cower,
My beautiful bridge, my capital city,
So prominent, it is so royally fitting,
To gallery your head, show Catherine your remains,
On her personal funeral committed,
I shall show who doth reigns!

CHORUS

My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

7)
Come and see my queen, your lover is dead,
Look high above you; you will see his head,
Do not cry or weep, your future is certain,
Royal block is where your life shall end,
Take one last look at your councillor friend.
Catherine my queen, my wife, my soul,
Your traitorous act has finished my goal,
How dare you bring shame upon my life,
You mocked your husband, your king, you were my wife.
Your death was certain, a noble act,
That sordid affair was a villainous pact.

CHORUS

My ladies, my wives, you bring me shame,
You take my royalty and you take my name,
I demand respect, no compromise,
Do you want to live or lose your lives?

8)
Your Duke, your uncle, he came to me,
Pleaded his life on bended knee,
Proven his loyalty to his king and throne,
Told of Thomas Culpepper, an affair with my own.

From this day forth, I stand above you your majesty the king,
No one will ever disgrace or disrespect anything,
Who ever I so choose to take my bed,
Their loyalty and respect or they will lose their head.

King Henry descends upon my people,
Betrayal causing a lifetime of evil,
My death will be all that saves this beautiful isle,
From a monstrosity anger and rage so futile.



Smells
By Henry Tudor

They all stand there at the old latrine
The stink is vile, there is no screen.
Take it away the Roman’s said
Makes pipes from wood and lead.
Don’t just hope it will go away
Even walls of stone it will decay.
Bury it deep in the land
Now grow more food in the sand.
Use it wisely this waste that’s smelly
Because there’s no need for an empty belly.

The Garter
By Henry Tudor

How do you get upon a horse
You throw over your leg of course.
But not as simple as this doth sound
Do it wrong and hit the ground.

Now here is the right plan for you do
Lift your worst first before the other do
Then throw your best to reach the side
Now my friend you can ride.

Now you know the trick of Knight
Practice hard to get it right.
Next wear armour and try again
But there’s a problem now with pain.

The armour hinges and hits your legs
Cuts it, bruises causing segs.
So wear a strap to help contain
The worst effected part of strain.

To cover the sores and still look good
Wear a garter so you should.
Just one will do there’s no harm
It shows whose Knighted so be calm.

And now we all can identify
Who is a Knight to imply?
They wear one garter on their leg
To hide an ugly black seg.


The fat man
By Henry Tudor

Cardinal red, over fed, full of dread
Hated and despised, heavily criticised
Failed to convince Pope, now with no hope
Run for your life, leave me with this wife
Take care my friend, beware who will defend
Your home is mine, this obvious sign
You are out of luck, deep in the muck.

Time past were good when a team
We ran dear England in a dream
We conquered all who came to see
You always said it was just for me
But now how can I trust a man who fails
To simply rid me of this sharpened nail
Marriage to a brother’s wife
You failed to help me restart my life.

Continue to run my red cloaked friend
Find a hole to hide in to your end
I will search and find your frightened self
Remember the power of my wealth
Cranmer work well behind your screens
No need for you now, it seems
Cromwell takes a mighty part
No God for him to give him heart.

They have become your master’s side
So go now Thomas, go and hide
Don’t expect the people’s aid
They hate you for decisions made
You took their wealth and made them poor
So don’t expect an open door
You can rest a while and save your soul
But my memory long, my vengeance whole.

Goodbye Wolsey, cardinal red, sleep tonight in your bed.

Poisoned Fitzroy
By Henry Tudor

Who can I trust to expel my fears?
That my son Henry had been murdered
Howard’s, cowards all, killed my boy
My pride and my joy.

Marry Mary join our clans and be friends
But no this will never do, where will it end
Bury my son, unmarked and common
I will find out why and summon.

Norfolk will pay dearly, taking away my boy
Tudor, Fitzroy the same boy, my joy
No child, no heir now it is clear
Howard waiting to pounce, last ounce

Find his grave, give him dignity
Punish the men, kill his murderers
Death to Howard’s all, no mercy
Find my boy, find my joy, find him now.

I will avenge this deed, indeed severely
No man will survive in connection
Search their land, deep inspection
Bring him home, find my son.

Chinese Whispers
By Henry Tudor

Travel back five hundred years
To Tudor times filled with tears.
How did they get some human cheer?
Was it just with ale and beer?

No not drink alone did prove
They sang and danced in the groove.
They stepped and bowed to music so
They laughed and joked amongst the flow.

But what about the rest of us?
To get to know the steps a must.
Let the minstrel’s watch and learn by heart
Then come out here and make a start.

Teach us what the King doth sing
Then we will adapt it this thing.
We cannot fit a Hampton dance
Our hall is small, there is no chance.

No recorded dance to emulate
The minstrel’s memory may be late.
So we will try our best to please
By changing words to appease.

When we find the dance that’s new
We’ll send the minstrels over to you.
You can change to suit your hall
Even words to suit your ball.

By the time minstrels return back home
The dance and words have all but gone.
This is how we change our ways
And enjoy our dance for future days.