Thursday, September 10, 2020

The Queen's Devil: The History Behind the Story

 

I'm pleased to be a part of Paul Walker's blog tour for The Queen's Devil, the latest installment in his William Constable series. Set during the reign of Elizabeth I, this spy thriller is one you won't want to miss. The Tudor era is rich with history that makes it a perfect setting for Walker's story.

Join me in welcoming Paul Walker to the blog today!

~ Samantha

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The Queen's Devil: The History Behind the Story

A guest post by Paul Walker

The third book in the William Constable series, The Queen’s Devil, is set in London during the years 1583 and 1584. They’re not instantly memorable dates, but more than enough took place in that period to trigger my writing itch. Elizabeth I was 50 years old and had been on the throne for 25 years. All talk of marriage was gone, but Sir Francis Walsingham and Lord Burghley were occupied with conspiracies, war in the Low Countries and the threat of Spain coupled with the influence of the Catholic League in France.

History records John Somerville as a conspirator. In October 1583, he journeyed alone from his home in Warwickshire, uttering threats to kill the Queen. He was arrested and, under torture, implicated his father-in-law, Edward Arden, and Hugh Hall, a Catholic priest. They were also arrested. Arden, who protested his innocence, was in dispute with the Earl of Leicester for refusing to sell him property and reportedly had made comments about the Earl’s affair with Lettice Knollys and the suspicious death of her first husband, the Earl of Essex.

All were found guilty under a fast-track legal process. Hall was released, but Arden was executed at Smithfield. Somerville was moved from the Tower to Newgate prison and within two hours was found dead as the result of self-strangulation. Even by the standards of jails at that time, his death was suspicious. The historian William Camden in his Annales (published after the death of Elizabeth) wrote that he had heard gossip linking his strangling to the Earl of Leicester.

In hindsight the Somerville episode seems undeserving of the term ‘conspiracy’. The ravings of a lone madman were surely no more than a flea bite on the affairs of state, but his threat was taken seriously by Walsingham, and I found the possible link to Leicester intriguing.

The Throckmorton Conspiracy was on a different scale and presented real danger to Elizabeth. It led to the strict confinement of Mary Queen of Scots, the expulsion of the Spanish Ambassador and eventual war with Spain.

Francis Throckmorton was from a prominent Catholic family based in Warwickshire. In 1580 he travelled to Paris, Italy and Spain, where he met with exiled Catholics. In 1583 he returned to England and became involved in an elaborate plot to release Mary Queen of Scots and restore the authority of the Pope. An invasion of England was planned, backed by Spain and led by the French Duke of Guise.

Throckmorton carried messages from the Spanish Ambassador, Bernadino de Mendoza, to Mary and correspondence was routed through the French Embassy at Salisbury Court. Sir Francis Walsingham was alerted to the plot by an agent in the Embassy and Throckmorton was arrested at his house on St Paul’s Wharf in November 1583.

Throckmorton confessed under torture, naming other conspirators. He later retracted his confession, saying he was forced by pain and words put in his mouth. However, his confession agreed with details from other sources and documents seized from his properties confirmed his guilt. His trial took place in May 1584, and he was executed at Tyburn in July of that year.

It may be a coincidence that the conspiracies of Somerville and Throckmorton took place at the same time and there were links of kinship and geography between the two men, but it is known that both affairs shared space on Walsingham’s desk at Seething Lane in November 1583. Ample excuse to suggest a connection in my writing.

Leicester’s Commonwealth was a book first circulated in 1584 attacking Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester for numerous crimes including murder and immorality. The original title was The Copy of a Letter written by a Master of Arts of Cambridge, and begins with a plea for religious toleration of those Catholics loyal to the Queen. The book progresses to defend Mary Stuart’s succession rights, but its primary purpose was to vilify Dudley. The title Leicester’s Commonwealth was first used in the 1641 edition and the book had a significant influence on Dudley’s reputation.

The accusations are many and include the murder of his first wife, Amy Robsart, who broke her neck after falling downstairs. The book also claims he was assisted by his physician, Doctor Guilio Borgarucci, in several acts of poisoning. The victims of poisoning were said to include Walter Devereux, first Earl of Essex, and Baron Sheffield, husbands to his lovers Lettice Knollys and Lady Douglas Sheffield. The book also details Dudley’s amoral behaviour, his monstrous sexual appetite and the lewd conduct of his second wife, Lettice Knollys. Elizabeth was not amused at the trashing of her favourite’s name and published an official condemnation of the libel.

Authorship is uncertain, but likely to be the work of a group of Catholic exiles in France and linked to a factional struggle in the French court, favouring the Catholic League against those who wanted friendship with Elizabeth and England.

Two conspiracies and a scurrilous tract attacking Robert Dudley disturbed the peace of the Queen and her ministers. But there was more, including: the death of Duc d’Anjou, one-time suitor of Elizabeth; William of Orange was assassinated; the fourth edition of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs was published; and Giordano Bruno, the philosopher of an infinite universe arrived in London. The presence of Bruno brings added spice as he was probably Walsingham’s informer on the suspicious activities of Throckmorton.

Research had provided me with a juicy collection of events and characters. Now, all I had to do was weave these into a believable and compelling fiction. Simple. Or was it?


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Connect with the author:

Paul is married and lives in a village 30 miles north of London. Having worked in universities and run his own business, he is now a full-time writer of fiction and part-time director of an education trust. His writing in a garden shed is regularly disrupted by children and a growing number of grandchildren and dogs.

Paul writes historical fiction. He inherited his love of British history and historical fiction from his mother, who was an avid member of Richard III Society. The William Constable series of historical thrillers is based around real characters and events in the late sixteenth century. The first two books in the series - State of Treason and A Necessary Killing - were published in 2019. The third book, titled The Queen's Devil, was published in the summer of 2020.

Connect with Paul Walker on Twitter, Facebook, or 

his Amazon Author Page.


Monday, August 24, 2020

Disposable Girls

 


Throughout history, women have often been treated like second class citizens. Women have had to fight for the right to be legally independent from their husbands and for the right to vote. Few cases demonstrate just how undervalued women have sometimes been than the experiences of the young women who worked with radium paint in the early 20th century.

In the early 1920s, a position as a dial painter was considered excellent work for a young, working-class woman. The girls were skilled at the fine work, and the companies paid well to have the luminescent paint applied to small watch faces and instrument dials. Once girls obtained a position, they helped friends, sisters, and cousins get into the company as well. 

Then girls started dying.

But no one took much notice. When Mollie Maggia died in Orange, New Jersey, it was attributed to syphilis. Girls sickened with a variety of symptoms: loose teeth, fatigue, tumors, joint pain, headaches, and countless other complaints. The broad array of symptoms made it easier to ignore the common cause, the radium infused paint that the girls used daily. The fact that "only" working class girls were getting sick and dying also made it easier to dismiss.


Few besides the girls' families were concerned about the dangers of radium until it claimed a prominent, male victim. Sabin von Sochocky was the founder of US Radium Corporation and creator of radium paint. A young, successful doctor, he had learned about radium from the Curies who had discovered it. He was considered an expert on the substance and delivered a blow to the legal cases of the women suffering from radium poisoning when he testified in 1928 that the paint was not harmful. He denied that he had ever warned the dial painters about lip-pointing their brushes while using radium paint. However, later that year, Sabin von Sochocky himself lost his battle with radium poisoning.

Even after Von Sochocky's death, companies like US Radium Corp and Radium Dial continued business as usual and did not inform their employees of the dangers of the substance they used each day. Girls continued to sicken and die, and the companies continued to deny liability.

It wasn't until Eben Byers died in 1932 that the dangers of radium were made public knowledge. Byers was rich and had enthusiastically supported radium as a miracle cure-all. He drank Radithor, radium infused water, on a daily basis and recommended it to his friends. Before he died, he testified before the US Federal Trade Commission that he believed Radithor was killing him. He was right, and the Food and Drug Administration finally began an investigation into the substance that had been killing young women for at least a decade.

Yet, dial painting was still going on. 

Companies utilizing radium paint began instituting minor changes, most significantly discouraging the practice of lip-pointing paint brushes. This did slow the progression of illness and death in dial painters but did not stop it. Use of radium paint continued until the 1970s, increasing the rates of cancers and other diseases in Orange, NJ and Ottawa, Illinois. The waste and spread of radium in these communities created Environmental Protection Agency Superfund sites that have cost millions in taxpayer dollars to clean up, a process that continues to this day.



The number of dial painters who died of radium poisoning is unknown due to the fact that their symptoms were often attributed to other causes, but studies of their experience helped update workers compensation laws and safety standards for dangerous substances that protect workers today.



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Suggested reading: The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America's Shining Women by Kate Moore

Monday, August 17, 2020

Medieval & Tudor Childbirth

 



Toni Mount joins us today as part of her blog tour celebrating the publication of her latest medieval mystery, The Colour of Shadows. If you love Sebastian Foxley as much as I do, you won't want to miss it! If you haven't tried this series, I couldn't recommend it more highly - get started with The Colour of Poison. Toni's knowledge of the 15th century shines marvelously in this novel, and she has kindly shared some in depth expertise on what women endured to bear children during the medieval and Tudor times.

You can read my full review of The Colour of Shadows on Goodreads.

Join me in warmly welcoming Toni Mount to the blog today!

~ Samantha


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Medieval & Tudor Childbirth

A guest post by Toni Mount


In my new Sebastian Foxley murder-mystery novel The Colour of Shadows, set in medieval London, Seb’s wife, Emily, is approaching the time of her second confinement. But what were the likely experiences of a mother-to-be in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries?

As the time of her delivery approached, the pregnant woman of the Medieval and Tudor eras had much to do to prepare for the big event. Some felt trepidation and fear for we know that, during the reign of King James I, Elizabeth Joceline not only stitched the swaddling bands for the coming baby but sewed a shroud for herself as well – sadly, this was required nine days after the birth of a daughter in October 1622. It is certain that Elizabeth was not alone in feeling so pessimistic; perhaps she was even continuing a Tudor tradition.

Today, childbirth is seen as a case of medical intervention but in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, male physicians and surgeons avoided the female-only occasion that centred on supporting the mother-to-be through her labour, as well as the days before and after the birth. This time in a woman’s life was called a ‘confinement’ for good reason as she kept to her chamber, away from society; a virtual prisoner of her condition. Royal and noble women ‘took to their chambers’ as early as four to six weeks before the baby was due for a period of rest and quiet, to build up their strength for the coming ordeal and to prepare their souls in case the worse should happen. This lengthy time of retirement was a means of demonstrating the families’ wealth and status as it meant the women no longer carried out any domestic duties, but it was also a precautionary measure because it was difficult to determine the exact date of conception. Even if that was known, the precise term of a pregnancy wasn’t understood and thought to be variable, so it was impossible to know the due date.

During troubled times for the House of York, on All Souls’ Day, 2 November 1470, Queen Elizabeth Woodville, wife of the exiled King Edward IV, gave birth to Prince Edward while she was in sanctuary in the Abbot’s House at Westminster Abbey. She had expected to give birth in the splendid lying-in chambers ready prepared for her at the Tower of London, but when the tables turned against her husband, she was forced to flee these sumptuous comforts with her mother and daughter to Westminster Abbey. In spite of the Earl of Warwick’s – then Regent of England – personal animosity towards the queen and her Woodville relatives, he wasn’t cruel to Elizabeth and he sent Lady Scrope and others to assist her in her delivery in addition to paying their fees.

Anne Boleyn’s childbed chamber at Greenwich was redecorated, almost rebuilt with a false ceiling installed, tapestries hung and a special cupboard made on which to display her gold and silver plate to impress any (female) visitors. Those who attended her as steward, butler, carver, etc. were all women appointed for the duration, taking on these male roles. King Henry VIII is mentioned as her only male visitor during her tedious wait but whether any priests were allowed to attend her, I haven’t been able to discover. We know midwives were permitted to baptise the baby, if it was thought unlikely to live until the christening proper. The Ordinances and Regulations for the Royal Household*, drawn up in the previous reign by Henry VII, seem to have still been current by the time of Anne’s lying-in and they say the queen should attend divine service before retiring but make no mention of any provision for religious observance after that until her ‘churching’ when she returned to society.   

Of course, women of lesser status and affluence could not afford to withdraw in this way and probably worked until the labour pains began, if they were well enough and able to do so. Once it was certain labour had begun, men were banned from entering the chamber where the women took charge. I imagine that in the case of those who lived in single-room cottages, this meant the husband went off to the tavern to eat and drink with his friends. Labour might last up to two or three days and the longer it went on, the less likely a successful outcome for both mother and child became.

After the birth, the new mother remained in bed for three days with the room kept in darkness because they believed labour made her eyes weak. On the third day, ‘upsitting’ was allowed. This was again a female only occasion but meant the woman could get out of bed but was still confined to her chamber. A special meal was served and the baby shown off in its christening robe. The famous painting of the Cholmondeley Ladies [pro. Chumlee] commissioned from an anonymous artist c.1600-1610, probably shows this event. The Cholmondeley sisters, Lettice and Mary, were twins who married on the same day and gave birth on the same day. 



The painting shows them in all their Elizabethan finery, holding their swaddled babies swathed in crimson christening robes. [The Colmondeley Ladies, Tate Gallery, London. http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/british-school-17th-century-the-cholmondeley-ladies-t00069 ]

The next stage of the confinement, about a week later, allowed the woman to leave the chamber but she still couldn’t go outside the house nor have male visitors other than her husband. After a month or so, her face veiled, she would finally be escorted to church by her women friends to be ‘churched’. This was a brief service in which Psalm 121 would be read, the Lord’s Prayer recited and the woman gave an offering to the church in thanks for her safe delivery. The Church regarded this as a simple thanksgiving ceremony but many thought of it as a woman’s purification after the ‘unclean’ act of childbirth – a fact which upset some Protestants as being a papist idea. Later, the Puritans were even more scathing, seeing childbirth as a natural event in a woman’s life for which she required no purification, while the greedy Church took money from women who perhaps couldn’t afford it, at a time when they most needed every penny.

As with the withdrawal before the birth, many poorer women with husbands and older children to care for couldn’t wait a month or more before returning to normal life. Church records show that for ordinary parishioners the time between a baby’s baptism and its mother’s churching varied from eight days to nearly fifty days, with the usual gap being just under two weeks. The longest gaps may have been due to the woman being ill after the birth and taking weeks to recover. Whatever the case, her confinement over, it was back to work as usual for the Medieval and Tudor housewife but, if things had gone well, there was now a new baby to add to her tasks and another mouth to feed so, as Thomas Tusser pointed out: ‘a housewife’s affairs have never an end’.





Connect with Toni:


I'm an author, a history teacher, an experienced speaker - and an enthusiastic life-long-learner. I'm a member of the Research Committee of the Richard III Society and a library volunteer where I lead a Creative Writing group. I regularly give talks to groups and societies and attend history events as a costumed interpreter. I write for a variety of history magazines and have created seven online courses for www.MedievalCourses.com.

I earned my Masters Degree by Research from the University of Kent in 2009 through study of a medieval medical manuscript held at the Wellcome Library in London. My BA (with First-class Honours), my Diploma in Literature and Creative Writing and my Diploma in European Humanities are from the Open University. My Cert. Ed (in Post-Compulsory Education and Training) is from the University of Greenwich.

Connect with Toni on her website, Facebook, or Twitter. You can also learn more about the Sebastian Foxley series or Toni's works on Medieval England and Medieval Medicine.


Tuesday, August 11, 2020

Historic Places: Benjamin Harrison House



During a recent weekend in Indianapolis, I was thrilled to stumble upon this gem on the north side of downtown. I'll be honest, I didn't even realize that President Benjamin Harrison was from Indiana, so this was a fascinating visit!

Benjamin Harrison came from a very political family. Besides his grandfather, who was our 9th president, his great-grandfather, Benjamin Harrison V was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Therefore, he was practically raised with high office in mind, and few could have been surprised when he elected to be America's 23rd president.

Before moving into the White House, Harrison practiced law in Indianapolis and built the home on Delaware Street. Today, it appears much as it did in the late 1800s with 80% of it's current furnishings originally belonging to Benjamin Harrison. Wallpaper, rugs, and other details have been painstakingly recreated to appear just as they did more than a century ago. 

The dining table is set for ten and decorated with china painted by Benjamin Harrison's wife, Caroline. Her paintings are found throughout the home and are a testament to her skill as an artist. The front porch of the Italianate home served as Harrison's campaign stage after his presidential nomination. An estimated 300,000 people listened to him speak as they crowded in to the yard for one of the dozens of speeches Harrison gave from his home.

Some of my favorite items in the Benjamin Harrison house included a hand carved walking cane that features faces and names of each of the presidents that served before him, a gorgeous glass doored bookcase holding Harrison's books, and the nursery containing two cribs that served as beds for future presidents. In the ballroom, which would have taken up the entire third floor in Benjamin Harrison's day, an exhibit is dedicated to the cause of women's suffrage. Since fair elections and the right to vote were key issues to Benjamin Harrison, this exhibit is one of which he would be proud.

While he was undoubtedly pleased to have served his country as president, Harrison believed that achievement was secondary to his time as a Brigadier General of the US Army during the Civil War. He did not have military experience, but his skill as a disciplinarian, courage in the face of danger, and desire to serve his country made up for it. As president, he ensured fair treatment of Civil War veterans. He also strove to protect the voting rights of blacks, especially in the South where great efforts were made to prevent them from exercising this right.

Benjamin Harrison also served as president during an epidemic. Cholera spread from Asia to America in 1892 and could leave a person devastated by dehydration within hours. A 20 day quarantine was enacted for immigrants arriving in New York, and citizens were encouraged to self-isolate. Sadly, since cholera deaths were significantly limited to poor immigrants, little attention was paid to the tragedy. It was also downplayed, ironically, due to the upcoming election.

When Harrison returned to Indianapolis, he married his second wife, Mary. Caroline had died during his time in office, and Mary was her niece. This caused a bit of a family scandal, but the couple was happy and welcomed baby Elizabeth in 1897. Harrison died just 4 years later, and Mary soon left Indianapolis for New York, leaving the houseful of presidential furnishings stored away in the attic for them to be discovered decades later. Visit the Benjamin Harrison House in Indy and feel just as though you have stepped back in time.