Underneath the Carpark in Leicester
Philip Harvey
Glorious
summer here in Australia as we read all the news and views of the Week of
Richard the Third. The broadsheets publish images of the footless and backbent
skeleton. The general public is brought up to speed on such facts as the Battle
of Bosworth Field (1485) and the (this is always eye-catching) “upstart” Tudor
family. Readers of Hilary Mantel would wonder how a Tudor could be thought
upstart, but just consider how many upstarts people her pages, all willing to
insinuate themselves into favour with the Tudor monarch. Oxbridge tweeters ask
if this has anything to do with history, thereby admitting by implication that
they have been gazumped by the University of Leicester. For indeed it is Leicester’s
Week too, no doubt. Once we accept that yes these are the mortal remains of
Richard III, we are faced with a large number of historical questions, and no
doubt more will occur as time proceeds.
Inhabitants
of the Carmelite Library turn their attention to questions that are not of
pressing concern to the media. A place dedicated to the history of religious
orders will want to know why the Franciscans of Leicester were given the duty
of burying the body? And why was it done in haste, without “pomp and ceremony”?
The Library holds no less than six books for which the main subject is Richard
III. In none of these excellent academic titles does an index list either ‘Franciscans’
or ‘Grey Friars’. This in itself could be thought a serious omission, when in
the past couple of days the archaeologists and historians in Leicester have
been in no doubt that people in every age knew that Richard III was buried near
the high altar of the community church of the Grey Friars, otherwise known as
Franciscan Friars Minor.
After
Richard was killed in battle his body was humiliated by blows and left on
display for some days: it was then given over to the Friars. The speed with
which the place of interment was created tells us that it had to be a quick
job. To bury the body in a community church meant that few visitors would be
around, even if the Grey Friars took in guests on occasion. The choir chancel
of the church was protected, a sacred space, not open to the abuses of the public.
Could it have been that he was buried there in secrecy? We only have to observe
the burial at sea of Osama Bin Laden to know that the American Government had
to hide the evidence and also avoid a burial place that could become a martyr’s
grave. The job of shifting the mortal remains of Richard III was done with
minimum fuss and as little attention-making as possible.
In English
Christian society in the fifteenth century it was a duty of religious and the
church to bury the dead. This was one of the fundamental human requirements,
like feeding and clothing the poor, that was a responsibility which rested with
the clergy. We live in a society where various social systems can be called on
in such a situation, but then, this was a matter handled by the church. The
Grey Friars were left to manage with a little dignity the burial of the erstwhile
king. We can assume in this context that this was done privately, without the
military or royal presences we would usually expect at such a moment. Hence
also the reports (and I look forward to reading more of the contemporary
paperwork) that it was done without “pomp or ceremony”. The Tudors wanted him
well dead, and then some, which we know when we go to watch Shakespeare. That
Henry VII is supposed to have ordered a memorial over the spot says something
about the Tudors’ need to restore monarchical honour in the next generation,
even if they were the winners, but it also leaves us to ponder what must have happened
when the Grey Friars buildings were destroyed in the late 1530s. Somebody down
the street knew something, just minding their own business. That the rumour
persisted that Richard’s remains were still in the precinct attests to the
marvellous nature of local awareness and how it can run counter to the ideological
wishes of the time.
The
exhumation and identification of Richard III has demolished the Reformation
Legend that at the Dissolution of the House after 1536 his remains were taken
and tossed into the nearby river. Clearly feelings about Richard were still
running high in Leicester fifty years after his death, though how and why this
Legend was promoted now becomes an interesting matter for an historian. The
Franciscans quietly and diligently did the job they would do for anyone, that
they had to do for anyone. That his remains will now be reburied with “pomp and
ceremony” at the nearby cathedral is one of the curiosities of church history.
The King's Remains, resting on Black Velvet in Leicester in 2013
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