My Father told me about the day we Tudors took the Crown from the bush from the fallen King Richard III, here I re-tell the story in words and pictures.

Bosworth Field the end of one dynasty, the beginning of another.

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.

By Henry Tudor
I am reminded of my Battle origins daily, faces around me have Bosworth engrained in their features. My Grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, fearsome as she was and orchestrator behind my Father, she brought about the successful outcome of the battle as much as any soldier on the blood soaked fields or even the bravery of Brandon’s father dying at my father’s feet. A divided country following the Rose herald’s, began to heal the day the battle was won. This civil war will return if my Son Edward does not survive and produce a son himself. Long live the Tudor Rose.

Grandmother being a forceful character saw her family on the throne of England after marrying my paternal grandfather, Edmund Tudor. He being the son of a dowager Queen and a Royal courtier Owen Tudor. She was totally resentful of the fact that the Yorkists had beheaded Owen and knew that if she did not get the Yorkist on the side of the Lancastrians her quest was impossible. As if by fate, the incumbent King Richard III thought he was rightful King too, taking the throne from his nephews and imprisoning them in the Tower of London for their “protection”. Their fate was a secret death, often blamed upon my Father, but obviously a blow of evil doing by Richard’s men. The ghosts of these Princes in the tower came back in the form of potential usurpers to try and overthrow my Father in his early years of reign. My mother, the Princess of York, Elizabeth, was assumed to be on the same list of royals to be got rid of by the evil Richard. This was a vital factor in the negotiation with Margaret for an end to the Wars of the Roses, or should I say a truce for a while. Now with Father gathering mercenaries in France, Yorkists ready to fight alongside Lancastrians and the Welsh willing to join their home grown Tudor leaders, the time was right to make a positive attempt to overthrow the Plantagenents. Outnumbered, not together and organised, the Tudor factions marched to meet in the Midlands. King Richard gathered his armies in Nottingham and the two sides met on the fields of Bosworth near Nuneaton. Not predicted to win, the Tudors needed to increase their numbers and protect their flanks by taking control of the hills around the valley. Margaret saw an opportunity in the turning of one of Richards powerful allies to fight for the Tudors.
Marry the leader of a large faction and provide him with the possible title of Step-father to the new King. Such a tempting offer was successfully made by 40 year old Margaret to Thomas Stanley, 1st Earl of Derby and his army suddenly changed sides. This was the turning point, the battle moved towards the Tudor side. King Richard in full armour and fighting himself to lead his loyal men forward, was isolated in a valley and fell from his horse, surrounded by the Tudor army he was killed and his body pounded. The Crown of England found hanging in a hawthorn bush was handed over to the Tudor usurper, my Father, Henry Tudor, the new King of England.
History was made that day, 22 August, 1485, direction changed, people changed, civil war began to decline and many other thing began.
To the people of England they saw a successful coup d'état, the winners needed to be convinced that the Tudors are rightfully on the throne so Henry married Elizabeth, the joining of the Roses created the Tudor Rose. The flag of Wales was created with Tudor green and white but the addition of the red Dragon of Arthur Pendragon fed rumours that we were his descendents, the first born son, my late brother was named Arthur.
What happened to King Richard's body? Many rumours about secret burials in stone coffins, but we will never know the exact location of this grave. Richard’s brutal reputation whilst he was alive was expanded by propaganda, his name would be disgraced by the Tudor authors and playwrights and even his portrait will be altered to include a fake hunched back. So is the reality of historical accounts being written and approved by the winners.
You must visit Bosworth Battle Field yourself to get a feel of the battle, the sweeping hills, the wind in your face and the ditches where a King died for the sake of his horse throwing him off. Remember the political goings on with allies switching sides, counties making peace and foreign mercenaries becoming wealthy.
I left Bosworth Battlefield today, happy with the mental visions created by the things I had seen. How the stories from my Father and Grandmother had needed retelling but with factual insight to clear the clouds of partiality.

Bosworth Battlefield
By Henry Tudor
Milford Haven green and cold, bought in my new army mercenary bold.
Increasing in numbers as we went East, planning our campaign, our celebratory feast.

The old enemy from London knew how to defend, moved away from the city and fight to the end.
King Richard he gathered his army to fight, he knew he would win with his great white rose might.

But, factions were plotting for deeds he was blamed, for fallen past loved ones the civil war had claimed.
Richard for White Rose and Yorkist white throne, Tudors for no war, fighting postpone.

Allies turned traitor and turned to the West, marry and sponsor, change allegiance and vest.
Bosworth, cold and windy became the last stand, King Richard died bravely with sword in his hand.

I Henry declared ruler with crown from thorn bush, Yorkist and Red rose joined from that hush.
I’ll marry sweet Elizabeth, the Princess of York, no fighting between us, no malicious talk.

Much will happen in wake of this fight, we Tudors will grow stronger come into the light.
We’ll care to keep serviced the Tudor machine, removed all old Plantagenets a thorough sweep clean.

Install all believers and brains on my side, so when we reach London we ride in with pride.
Bring peace to our fallen take notice of brain, put Tudor in power a long painful gain.