Childhood in Tudor England

Have you ever wondered what childhood was like for Tudor children? Author Karen Heenan is my special guest today with some wonderful insight into what it was like to be a child in Tudor times as part of her blog tour celebrating the release of Songbird.

Welcome, Karen!

~ Samantha

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Childhood (and lack thereof) in Tudor England

Guest Post by Karen Heenan

Children, pre-1532, Wikimedia

Bess Llewelyn is a child—just two days shy of her tenth birthday—when her father sells her to the king of England. While this is certainly an eye-catching hook for a story, it’s also true, at least for the most part. Henry VIII is documented to have at least once purchased a child, and the general assumption is that the child would have been intended for the Chapel Royal Choir. (I took a sidestep with Bess and made her a singer in the King’s Music because I wanted to write about a girl, and that eliminated the choir option).

The thought of selling/buying a child is horrifying to our 21st century sensibilities, and in some respects, it probably wasn’t much better then. But it did happen—whether for actual cash, in the case of Bess, or into service or an apprenticeship. In the case of the child who inspired Songbird, the seller received £40. The modern equivalent would be in the range of $50,000*, which could certainly change the lives of everyone in that family, with the knowledge that if the child were valued so highly by the king, they would certainly have a good life at court.

Childhood as we know it wasn’t a concept in Tudor England. The birth of a child was an event to be celebrated, and in noble and royal families, parents started thinking about marriage contracts almost before the midwife had left the building.

The Cholmondeley Ladies, circa 1600, Wikipedia

It was the custom for babies to be swaddled, and while this is again a trend, swaddling was serious business in the 16th century. It was assumed that swaddling would encourage a child to grow straight, so they were firmly wrapped from birth until nine to twelve months. A swaddled child could then be attached to a board, which could either be worn on the back if the child needed to be carried, propped in a chair, or even hung on a wall! Children couldn’t crawl or run around, but they certainly were part of the life of the house, absorbing everything that went on around them.

I wonder if they spoke earlier or more clearly, simply because of the amount of words they must have overheard, while hanging about waiting to be older.

While Tudor children were small and presumably cute, the resemblance to modern children ends there. Once they were unswaddled, they became miniature adults, put into miniature adult garments and given miniature adult responsibilities. Poor children worked alongside their parents at whatever their labors might be. In the case of Bess, her mother did fine laundry for the brothels of Southwark, so Bess learned to wash clothes and handle an iron, in addition to delivering the finished product. Country children would have been in the fields with their parents, working just as hard, with no thought of a future beyond what had always been.

Wellborn children weren’t much better off. They weren’t expected to work, at least not in the same way, but they weren’t children, either. Their miniature adult clothes were far grander, which means they got into far more trouble for playing and messing them up. They were more likely to be educated, either at home or in the home of another noble who would have shifted their own children to yet another house. This “musical chairs” approach was a way of building relationships between noble families, whether or not those relationships led to marriage, and training children to know what would be expected of them as adults.

Wellborn children were often sent to court at a very young age, where, whether they served a noble lord or their noble sovereign, they certainly had to learn a code of conduct even more regimented than they would have followed at home. Elizabeth I had maids of honor as young as twelve, though the more usual age was sixteen, as their purpose—beyond being entertaining and ornamental—was to find a husband while in the queen’s service.

Francois I and Mary Stuart, 1558
Wikipedia

Royal children were pawns in the marriage market from birth, though not every match made it to the altar. Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, was betrothed multiple times, but acquired her first husband at the age of thirty-eight, when she became queen in her own right. Elizabeth Tudor escaped the marriage game as a child, being delegitimized after her mother’s execution.

Mary Queen of Scots was queen twice over by the age of sixteen—first in her own country, and then, when the King of France died, she and younger husband, Francis, became King and Queen of France. (Which did not stop her from looking toward England, but that’s another story entirely. Which I’m writing.)

There is conjecture that because of the sheer number of children who didn’t survive childhood, parents did not love their children. My personal belief is people will see what they want; in Tudor times, familial relationships were more formal, and perhaps on the surface appear to be less affectionate, but on the whole, people haven’t changed all that much, and despite an uncertain future, most parents loved their children. To me, one of the purposes of historical fiction is to bring the past and its people back to vivid life.

Even if parents wrapped their kids like mummies and hung them on the wall.

Songbird (The Tudor Court, Book 1)

She has the voice of an angel...

But one false note could send her back to her old life of poverty.

After her father sells her to Henry VIII, ten-year-old Bess builds a new life as a royal minstrel, and earns the nickname "the king's songbird."

She comes of age in the dangerous Tudor court, where the stakes are always high, and where politics, heartbreak, and disease threaten everyone from the king to the lowliest musician.

Her world has only one constant: Tom, her first and dearest friend. But when Bess intrigues with Anne Boleyn and strains against the restrictions of life at court, will she discover that the biggest risk of all is listening to her own stubborn heart?

Available NOW on Amazon UK, Amazon US, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo

Also available as an audiobook narrated by Jennifer Summerfield:

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Connect with Karen

Karen Heenan was born and raised in Philadelphia, PA. She fell in love with books and stories before she could read, and has wanted to write for nearly as long. After far too many years in a cubicle, she set herself free to follow her dreams—which include gardening, sewing, traveling and, of course, lots of writing. 

She lives in Lansdowne, PA, not far from Philadelphia, with two cats and a very patient husband, and is always hard at work on her next book.

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