The King’s Witch

I always look forward to the Chalke Valley History Festival, but this year will be even more special because I will be talking about The King’s Witch, my debut novel, which is set just a stone’s throw away at Longford Castle.

Situated on the banks of the River Avon close to Salisbury, Longford is one of the finest examples of the Elizabethan prodigy houses.  It was built by Sir Thomas Gorges and his wife Helena, a favourite of the Virgin Queen, and was the inspiration for Philip Sidney’s ‘Castle of Amphialeus’ in his famous work, The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia.  Thomas and Helena were very happily married and had eight children.  It is the third of these, Frances, who is the heroine of my novel.

Little is known about the real Frances, which in many respects makes her an ideal subject for a novel.  Her life spanned one of the most dramatic periods in our history: from the glory days of Elizabeth I to the execution of Charles I.  No wonder I needed three books to tell it!  The King’s Witch is the first in the trilogy and begins with Elizabeth’s death before exploring the turbulent early years of James I’s reign, culminating in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605.

This was a dangerous time to be alive.  The new Stuart king was cut from a very different cloth to his Tudor predecessor.  Intolerant and dogmatic, he had no intention of upholding Elizabeth’s policy of not ‘making windows into men’s souls’.  It was soon obvious that he was going to stamp his extreme brand of Protestantism onto the English people, which spelt danger for any subject who still clung to the old Catholic faith.

James also brought with him the violent persecution of suspected witches that had seen thousands of innocent women put to the flames in Scotland.  A woman had only to be unmarried, poor, or be practised at healing to be under suspicion, and an accusation alone was enough to bring her to trial – as Frances, a skilled healer, discovers to her cost.

For all the king’s puritanical views, however, the court over which he presided was shockingly decadent.  In place of the cultural vibrancy and strict morality that had defined the Elizabethan court was drunkenness, depravity and excess in every form.  Little wonder that James’s new subjects soon harked back to the ‘Golden Age’ of Elizabeth and began nurturing a dangerous resentment against their new king.

As a dark campaign to destroy both King and Parliament gathers pace, culminating in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, Frances is surrounded by danger, finding happiness only with the king’s precocious young daughter, and with Tom Wintour, the one courtier she feels she can trust.  But is he all that he seems?

The novel was inspired by the research I carried out for my non-fiction book, Witches, an account of James I and the English witch hunts.  It has taken several years to craft my initial sketch of a story into the finished novel that will be published this June, and I learned a huge amount along the way.  Although it is still history, writing a novel is a very different discipline to non-fiction.  I had to learn to ‘show not tell’, to interweave period details into dialogue, rather than writing them verbatim as I would in a non-fiction account.  Given that so much of Frances’s history is unknown to us, I also had to employ a great deal of imagination – and straying from the facts is not something that comes naturally to a historian!

But I hope the result brings one of the most turbulent events in British history to life, and – though this is tantamount to treason – to entice us to look beyond the Tudor period.  I cannot wait to tell the Chalke Valley audience all about it on 27 June.


Tracy Borman is joint Chief Curator of Historic Royal Palaces and Chief Executive of the Heritage Education Trust. She studied and taught history at the University of Hull and was awarded a PhD in 1997. She is the author of a number of highly acclaimed books, including Thomas Cromwell: The Untold Story of Henry VIII’s Most Faithful Servant, Matilda: Wife of the Conqueror, First Queen of England, Elizabeth’s Women: The Hidden Story of the Virgin Queen and Witches: A Tale of Sorcery, Scandal and Seduction. She is also a regular broadcaster and public speaker, giving talks on her books across the UK and abroad.

Tickets to Tracy’s talk at CVHF on Wednesday 27th June are available here.

THE SCOTTISH CAMPAIGNS OF SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS

This article was first published in Turning Points of the Ancient World on 18 March 2018.

The year was AD 207. In Rome the great warrior-Emperor, Septimius Severus, was bored. He’d hacked his way to power in AD 193 in the ‘Year of Five Emperors’, then fought two campaigns in the East (including the sack of the Parthian capital Ctesiphon). He had seen off the usurpation of the British governor Clodius Albinus and campaigned in his native North Africa. But now, he was reduced to fretting about his squabbling sons, Caracalla and Geta, in the Imperial capital.

Then, a golden opportunity presented itself for one final stab at glory, in far off Britannia, the ‘Wild West’ of the Roman Empire. This story is told in book form for the first time by archaeologist and historian Simon Elliott in his new work ‘Septimius Severus in Scotland: the Northern Campaigns of the First Hammer of the Scots’. Below, he gives a brief insight into his work as an introduction to this new appreciation of what was the largest campaigning army ever to be gathered and unleashed in the islands of Britain.

The Scottish Campaigns of Septimius Severus

Britannia was always a troubled province, particularly at the beginning of the 3rd century AD after Albinus’ attempt to seize the purple in AD 196/ 197. Having suffered periodic unrest along the northern border throughout the 2nd century AD, two major tribal confederations had emerged in the region of modern Scotland by AD 180.

These were the Maeatae (based in the central Midland Valley either side of the Clyde – Firth of Forth line) and the Caledonians to their north. At the end of the 2nd century, after Albinus’ failure, the then governor Virius Lupus had been forced to pay huge indemnities to both to prevent further trouble.

The Battle of Lugdunum: 197 AD. A significant proportion of Albinus’ army had been troops from the British legions. Artwork by © Johnny Shumate

These enormous injections of prestigious wealth to the northern elites of unconquered Briton further assisted the coalescence of power among their leaders, and trouble again erupted at the beginning of the 3rd century AD. This was quickly stamped out by Lupus and his successor Lucius Alfenus Senecio who then began to rebuild the northern defences which had fallen into disrepair after Albinus’ usurpation attempt. However, in AD 206/ 207 a disaster of some kind occurred in the North. This was dramatic enough for Senecio to write an urgent appeal to Severus in Rome. In it, he said that the province was in danger of being overrun and he requested either more troops or the Emperor himself to intervene in the province.

Severus’ response was ‘shock and awe’ writ large. He decided to launch an expeditio felicissima Brittannica. For this he gathered his wife Julia Domna, the bickering Caracalla and Geta, key Senators and courtiers, the Imperial fiscus treasury, his Praetorian Guard, the legio II Parthica – which he had based near Rome – and vexillations from all the crack legions and auxiliary units along the Rhine and Danubian frontiers. The whole were transported to Britain by the Classis Britannica in the spring of AD 208.

Roman Soldiers at the time of Severus. Artwork by © Johnny Shumate.

On his arrival, he established York as his Imperial capital. There he was joined by the provincial incumbent legions – legio VI Victrixalready based there, legio II Augusta from Caerleon and legio XX Valeria Victrix from Chester – together with the auxiliary units based in Britain. This gave him an enormous force totalling 50,000 men, together with the 7,000 sailors and marines of the regional fleet.

To support such a colossal force the fort, harbor and supply base at South Shields was selected as the main supply depot. The existing site was dramatically extended, with immense new granaries being built that could hold in total 2,500 tonnes of grain. This was enough to feed the whole army for two months. From South Shields the ships of the Classis Britannica fulfilled the fleet’s transport role, using the Tyne and eastern coastal routes to keep the army on the move once the campaign began. This included extensive use of the regional river systems wherever possible. Meanwhile the fort at Corbridge on Dere Street, just short of Hadrian’s Wall, was also upgraded, again for use as a major supply base. Here the granaries had been rebuilt, even before Severus’ arrival.

When all was ready in the spring of AD 209, Severus launched the first of his two assaults against the Maeatae and Caledonians in the far north of the province. Joined by Caracalla, he left Geta behind in York to take charge of the Imperial administration with the support of Julia Domna. The immense force marched north along Dere Street, crossing Hadrian’s Wall and then hammering through the Scottish Borders, destroying all before it. The whole region was cleansed of opposition, and, notably at this time, the Antonine fort at Vindolanda south of the Wall was demolished, with Late Iron-Age roundhouses being built there on a Roman grid pattern instead. This could have been a concentration camp for the displaced local population.

Septimius Severus in Scotland: 208-211 BC. Mapwork by © Battles of the Ancients.

Today we can trace the line of march north through the Scottish Borders by following the sequence of enormous 67ha marching camps which were built to house and protect the army at the end of each day’s march. These are at Newstead, St Leonards (the largest at 70 ha), Channelkirk and Pathhead. Any resistance here would have been in the form of defended settlements such as hillforts, which were quickly stormed and destroyed.

Severus next reached the Firth of Forth at Inveresk where Dere Street turned west to cross the River Esk crossing. He then re-built the old Antonine fort, supply base and harbor at Cramond to serve as the next link in his supply chain after South Shields. Then he built a bridge of 900 boats at South Queensferry, before dividing the force into two separate but still huge legionary spearheads. The larger featured two thirds of his available troops (most likely with the three British legions who were used to campaigning in this theatre) under the fitter Caracalla. Meanwhile the smaller one featured the Praetorian Guard, other guard units and the legio II Parthica, under the ailing Severus, who was suffering from severe gout at the time. The other units in the overall force such as the auxilia were divided between the two as required.

A Roman Soldier of the 3rd Century AD: Artwork by © Johnny Shumate.

Caracalla now led his larger force in a lightning strike south west to north east directly along the Highland Boundary Fault. As he progressed he built a sequence of 54 ha marching camps to seal off the Highlands from the Maeatae and Caledonians who were living in the central and northern Midland Valley. These camps were located at Househill Dunipace near Falkirk (the stopping off point before crossing the Forth), Ardoch at the south western end of the Gask Ridge, Innerpeffray East, Grassy Walls, Cardean, Battledykes, Balmakewan and Kair House. The latter location was only 13km south west of Stonehaven on the coast, where the Highland line visibly converged with the sea.

With the Highlands and the route northwards to the Moray and Buchan Lowlands now sealed off, the Emperor next sent the Classis Britannica along the coast which was also sealed off. This left the Maetae and Caledonians in the central and northern Midland Valley in a very perilous position as they had nowhere to run to.

Severus now took full advantage, leading his second legionary spearhead across the bridge of boats on the Firth of Forth again. However, instead of following Caracalla, he headed directly north across Fife to the River Tay, through land heavily settled by the Maeatae. He built two further marching camps to secure his line of march, 25ha in size, at Auchtermuchty and Edenwood. Reaching the Tay, he then rebuilt and re-manned the Flavian and Antonine fort, supply base and harbor at Carpow. This completed his east coast supply route to keep the enormous overall army in the field, now linking South Shields, Cramond and Carpow. Severus then built another bridge of boats, this time to cross the Tay, before striking directly north into the isolated northern Midland Valley, his legionaries brutalising all before them.

Roman.Britain.Severan.Campaigns

The campaign then became a grinding guerrilla war in the most horrific conditions, with weather even worse than usual. Both key primary sources, Cassius Dio and Herodian, graphically describe Severus’ campaign. Dio, in his Roman History, says (76.13):

“…as he (Severus) advanced through the country he experienced countless hardships in cutting down the forests, levelling the heights, filling up the swamps, and bridging the rivers; but he fought no battle and beheld no enemy in battle array. The enemy purposely put sheep and cattle in front of the soldiers for them to seize, in order that they might be lured on still further until they were worn out; for in fact the water caused great suffering to the Romans, and when they became scattered, they would be attacked. Then, unable to walk, they would be slain by their own men, in order to avoid capture, so that a full fifty thousand died (clearly a massive exaggeration, but indicative of the difficulties the Romans faced). But Severus did not desist until he approached the extremity of the island.”

Meanwhile Herodian, in his History of the Roman Empire, says (3.14):

“…frequent battles and skirmishes occurred, and in these the Romans were victorious. But it was easy for the Britons to slip away; putting their knowledge of the surrounding area to good use, they disappeared in the woods and marshes. The Romans’ unfamiliarity with the terrain prolonged the war.”

Weight of numbers eventually told in the Roman’s favour and, with the entire regional economy desolated, the Maetae and Caledonians sued for peace. Unsurprisingly, the resulting treaty was very one sided in favour of Rome. Severus immediately proclaimed a famous victory, with he, Caracalla and Geta given the title Britannicus and with celebratory coins being struck to commemorate the event. Campaigning, at least in the short term, was now over to Imperial satisfaction. However, as always in the Roman experience of the far north of the Britain, such a state of comparative calm was not to last.

The Emperor, his sons and the military leadership wintered in York. Sadly for them however the terms which had so satisfied the Romans in AD 209 were not so agreeable to at least the Maeatae as in AD 210 they revolted again. The Caledonians predictably joined in, and Severus decided to go north again to settle matters once and for all. On this occasion he’d obviously had enough of the troublesome Britons, giving his famous order to kill all the natives his troops came across.

This second campaign re-enacted the AD 209 campaign exactly, though this time solely under Caracalla as Severus was too ill. It was even more brutal than the first as afterwards there was peace along the northern border for four generations afterwards, the longest in pre-modern times. Archaeological data is now emerging to show this was because of a major depopulation event, indicating something close to a genocide was committed by the Romans in the central and upper Midland Valley.

At the end of the campaigning season the remaining native leadership again sued for peace, though on even more onerous terms than previously. The ‘Severan surge’ then headed south again to winter once more near York, leaving large garrisons in place. However, any plans to remain in the far north were cut short when Severus died in York in February AD 211. Caracalla and Geta were far more interested in establishing their own power bases in Rome and quickly left. Severus’ huge force of 50,000 men then gradually returned to their own bases. The northern border was once more re-established on Hadrian’s Wall again, with all the effort of the AD 209 and 210 campaigns ultimately counting for naught excepting the unusually long-lasting peace afterwards.


Dr Simon Elliott is an archaeologist and historian specialising in Roman Britain and the Roman military. His PhD, at the University of Kent, focused on the presence of the latter in the south-east of Britain during the Roman occupation.

Simon will be at CVHF on Friday 29th June to talk about Septimius Severus. Tickets are available here.

VIDEO: The Legends Of King Arthur

At CVHF 2017, Tom Holland began a new series about the Legends of King Arthur, introducing us to the world of Merlin, the sword in the stone, and the round table. This epic storytelling has excitement, adventure and wit – oh, and magic too.

This year Tom will return to tell the Tale of Sir Lancelot, bringing his humour and own unique take on this ancient tale of heroism, love and betrayal. Tickets can be purchased here.

History Hub: Tom Holland – Legends of Arthur (CVHF 2017) from Chalke Valley History Trust on Vimeo.

Pilots And Spies, Enablers And Resisters.

Clare Mulley talks about why she has chosen to focus her books on women in conflict.

Hanna Reitsch and Melitta von Stauffenberg were the only two women to serve as test pilots for the Nazi regime. Truly remarkable women, both were made Honorary Flight Captains and both were awarded the Iron Cross… yet they ended their lives on opposite sides of history. I am delighted to be talking about their beliefs, decisions and actions as told in my new book, The Women Who Flew for Hitler, when I return to the Chalke Valley History Festival this June.

I was last at the festival in 2013, speaking about The Spy Who Loved, my biography of Krystyna Skarbek, aka Christine Granville, the first woman to serve Britain as a special agent during the Second World War. You can hear a recording of that talk here. These days the questions that I am most often asked are; why the focus on women in conflict; and why the shift in perspective from the story of an Allied heroine, to that of two women serving the Nazi regime…

For a historian, the seismic upheaval of war brings fascinating stories not only of honour, courage and duty, betrayal, sacrifice and horror, but also of shifting priorities and perspectives. For women in Britain, the Second World War brought an end to many hopes and dreams but also new opportunities, notably in the workplace. For some, the conflict also brought the chance to serve both at home, and behind enemy lines. It was of course preconceptions about gender that made female special agents so unexpected and inconspicuous in the field, and therefore so effective when they were trained, armed, and sent to work in Nazi-occupied Europe alongside their male counterparts.

The well-connected daughter of a Polish count and Jewish banking heiress, before the war Krystyna Skarbek got her thrills from smuggling cigarettes by skiing across her country’s mountainous borders. Arriving in London towards the close of 1939, she was desperate to put her skills and experience to good use in the fight against Nazism. Being British and male were then the fundamental requirements of the Secret Intelligence Services, but Krystyna offered a unique opportunity to see how the enemy was organizing in an occupied territory. Deployed before the year was out, she became Britain’s first – and longest serving – female special agent, and was ultimately awarded the OBE, George Medal and French Croix de Guerre for her service in three different theatres of the conflict.

Krystyna’s principle motivation was her deep sense of patriotism. The conflict had enabled her to live a life of freedom, action and significance, but it had also left six million of her compatriots dead, and her ravaged country under the control of a Soviet-backed Communist regime. For her, surviving the ‘terrible peace’ that followed the war was harder than responding to the call to action.

Pioneering German aviators Hanna Reitsch and Melitta von Stauffenberg not only made their names in the male-dominated field of flight in the 1930s but, with the onset of the war, also became test-pilots for the Nazi regime. They, too, were motivated by both their sense of honour, duty and patriotism, and their love for personal freedom. Their understandings of what these words meant, however, were very different not only from Krystyna Skarbek’s conception, but also from each other’s.

With her blond curls and blue-eyes, Hanna looked the perfect ‘Aryan’ woman, which suited both her inclinations and her ambitions. Firmly aligning herself with what she considered to be the dynamic Nazi regime, when war came she proudly put her life on the line to test prototypes including the vast Gigant troop-carrying glider, the Me163 rocket-powered Komet, and even a manned-version of the V1 flying bomb or doodlebug. As a brilliant aeronautical engineer, Melitta, helped develop the Stuka dive-bombers, even insisting on testing her own innovations. She knew that it was only by making herself uniquely valuable to the regime that she might protect herself and her family – her father had been born Jewish. On 20 July 1944 Melitta supported the most famous attempt on Hitler’s life. Conversely in the last days of the war, Hanna flew into Berlin under siege and begged Hitler to let her fly him to safety.

The Nazi regime and its enormously powerful armed forces led to the suffering and death of millions of people, Jews of all nations, Poles of all religions, Russians, British, French, American, the list goes on. The Women Who Flew for Hitler searches for the truth about two female pilots, asking why they were so successful and how they felt about serving the Nazi regime. I hope that what it reveals – the good and the bad – will contribute to a better understanding of the ways in which Hitler was able to harness the resources of his country for his terrible purposes. It is no less important that we seek to understand these questions, as that we remember the courage, achievements and sacrifices of the brave men and women whose service in so many fields helped to defeat that threat.


Clare Mulley is the award-winning author of The Woman Who Saved the Children, which won the Daily Mail Biographers’ Club Prize, and The Spy Who Loved, now optioned by Universal Studios. Clare’s third book, The Women Who Flew for Hitler, is a dual biography of two extraordinary women at the heart of the Third Reich, but who ended their lives on opposite sides of history. 

 

A regular contributor to TV and radio, Clare gave recently gave a TED talk at Stormont, and lectures in London and Paris on wartime female special agents. She reviews non-fiction for the Telegraph, Spectator and History Today. Clare was chair of the judges for the Historical Writers Association 2017 Non-Fiction Prize, and has recently become an honorary patron of the Wimpole History Festival. She will be talking about The Women Who Flew for Hitler at 2pm on 26 June 2018 at the Chalke Valley History Festival. Book your tickets here.

The love of the pelican

Courtesy of Simon Wills

The British Library Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts is a wonderful treasure trove of online books from the Medieval and Renaissance periods. Browsing these works is a fascinating experience, not least because you can explore many images of our ancestors’ world and their beliefs. And you can find some unexpected things here.

For me, some of the most interesting illustrations are those related to wildlife. In the 12th and 13th centuries particularly, books known as bestiaries were popular which depicted both real and mythical animals. Since these works were created by monks, bestiaries could be utilised by the Medieval church to impart moral instruction in the form of allegories. So the noisy squawking of the jay was used as a warning against the dangers of gossip, for example.

Some of the birds found in British bestiaries are surprising. An English manuscript from the British Library collection known as ‘Harley 4751’ contains an illustration that claims to depict a group of pelicans, and yet anyone who has seen a real pelican would struggle to recognise them.

Pelicans from the 13th century bestiary ‘Harley 4751’
(courtesy of British Library)

It is immediately obvious that the artist has never seen a real pelican. What’s more, the birds are displaying some very un-pelicanlike behaviour: one bird is killing another. What is all this about?

In the early centuries of the Christian church, some odd traditions arose in connection with the pelican. It was said that the bird loved its offspring very much, but when the chicks squabbled in the nest and beat the parents’ beaks with their own, the mother would get angry and kill them. Filled with remorse she would, after three days, restore them to life by feeding them on her own blood by stabbing her breast with her beak. The illustration from Harley 4751 shows the full chain of events: the parent-bird with chicks under her wing kills one of them, mourns it, and then pours her blood down its throat to revive it. This tale became a metaphor for Christ’s behaviour: saving humankind by spilling his blood. So, it’s no surprise that the earliest records of it are found in Christian writings of the 2nd to 4th centuries because even if the Church didn’t invent the story they were keen to popularise it. Yet, the narrative soon changed a little: the idea of a Christ-like bird murdering its own brood was probably rather unpalatable, so it began to be said that the chicks were killed by a snake or some other cause instead.

Of course, when the story of the pelican came to Britain with the early Christians, no-one on these shores knew what a pelican looked like and so its representation was very inaccurate.

Once aware of this curious belief, it is possible to find countless depictions of the pelican in churches throughout the UK. There is a beautiful stained glass window in St Nicholas’ Church at Pevensey of the pelican giving her blood to restore her children, an interesting wooden statuette in Tewkesbury Abbey, a carving in a misericord at Lavenham Church, Suffolk, and a handsome stone relief behind the pulpit in St Mary’s Church, Abberley.

Examples of the pelican at Pevensey, Tewkesbury and Abberley (courtesy of Simon Wills)

These representations all show what became the classic pose of pelican on the nest with chicks, often with wings outstretched, and stabbing her own breast to produce life-giving blood. This depiction acquired a specific name of the ‘pelican in her piety’ to emphasise the sacrifice and devotion involved. In Renaissance art the pelican is sometimes even shown sat atop the cross while Christ is crucified.

This Pelican from a Tudor manuscript is more accurate (courtesy of Simon Wills)

This symbolic use of the pelican continued into Tudor times, even though it was still the case that few if any Brits would ever have seen one. Queen Elizabeth I adopted the pelican as one of her personal symbols probably because she liked to be seen as the mother of the nation, making sacrifices on behalf of her subjects. This perhaps helped to broaden the symbolism away from Christ alone. The National Portrait Gallery has an interesting analysis of a contemporary portrait in which the queen is wearing a pelican jewel.

Shakespeare makes several references to the prevailing beliefs about the pelican. In Hamlet, for example, Laertes says ‘…I’ll ope my arms  And, like the kind life-rendering pelican,  Repast them with my blood’.

We do know that pelicans officially arrived in England in 1664, and probably for the first time. Charles II was given some by the Russian ambassador as a present and they were kept in St James’s Park, London, which the King opened to the public. Pelicans still reside in the park to this day.

Blood donation poster 1944
(courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Gradually, the pelican symbolism was extended ever more generally and became a sign for sacrifice, benevolence, or devotion to others. Thus the bird was associated with charities, and it began to be depicted outside the church setting. There is a well-known one on the façade of Magdalen College, Oxford, for example. The porch of the Scottish National War Memorial built at Edinburgh Castle in 1927 displays a gold pelican, representing sacrifice, and this was quite a popular symbol to use on First World War memorials across the UK. The familiar image of the ‘pious’ pelican was even used on a Second World War poster to help recruit blood donors, again in Scotland.

From Christ to Queen Elizabeth I to war memorials and blood donation. What was the origin of this rather strange story about the pelican that bled itself to save its young? It was probably simply that the adult birds open their beaks widely to disgorge semi-liquid food straight into the mouths of their chicks; they also tend to press their beaks towards their breasts when doing so. At some point, somebody misinterpreted this or deliberately chose to use it as a life-giving allegory.

Still, it is odd to think that a bird which few people in the UK had ever seen until fairly recently has been so widely depicted in our communities and culture; and for a behaviour that it does not even display.

(courtesy of Simon Wills)


Simon Wills is a history journalist, genealogist, and wildlife photographer. He has also been an adviser to the television programme Who Do You Think You Are? The author of ten books, Simon has taken a particular interest in areas of history that are difficult to research or which have been neglected.

His well-received ‘Wreck of the SS London’ explores the tragic sinking of a luxury liner that sent shockwaves through Victorian society but which has been largely forgotten. Similarly, his bestselling book ‘How Our Ancestors Died’, tells the story of historical causes of death with which a modern audience may no longer be familiar.

He has recently been researching the history of the human relationship with the natural world and published ‘A History of Birds’, which will shortly be followed by ‘A History of Trees’.

Simon will be speaking about ‘A History of Birds’ at the Festival at 2pm on Tuesday 26th June 2018. Tickets go on sale 25th April.

VIDEO: Al Murray: Monty

Al Murray may be best known for his comic creation, the Pub Landlord, but he is also a serious and passionate historian and student of  World War Two. In this event, filmed at Chalke Valley History Festival 2017,  he brings that immense knowledge to bear in defence of Field Marshal Montgomery of Alamein, talks about the life, career, great victories and controversies of Britain’s most famous wartime general.

Al Murray: Monty (CVHF 2017) from Chalke Valley History Trust on Vimeo.

VIDEO: Pop-up History – Alex Langlands & James Holland (Hay Making)

In this Pop Up History talk from CVHF 2017, Alex Langlands talks to James Holland about hay making pre-mechanisation.

CVHF 2017: Pop-up History – Alex Langlands & James Holland (Hay Making) from Chalke Valley History Trust on Vimeo.

VIDEO: From The Revolution To The War With Terror: A History Of Modern France

Today’s France was born from revolution, a tumult which changed it forever but embedded tensions that can still be felt today. In this talk, based on fifty years of close observation, best-selling historian Jonathan Fenby explores what makes France a country proud of its past but also a prisoner of its history.

Recorded at Chalke Valley History Festival 2017

Jonathan Fenby: A History of Modern France (CVHF2017) from Chalke Valley History Trust on Vimeo.

Highlights of Chalke Valley History Festival for Schools 2017

Chalke Valley History Festival for Schools 2017 has now come to a close.. over 2000 students, 30+ talks, Living History demonstrations and plenty of laughs along the way. Here is a beautifully shot highlights film by the Bournemouth University film crew..

CVHF 2017: Schools Festival from Chalke Valley History Trust on Vimeo.

Sarah Gristwood Interview

Best-selling Tudor biographer, Sarah Gristwood chats to us about her time at the Festival.

CVHF 2017: Sarah Gristwood from Chalke Valley History Trust on Vimeo.