London is simmering with unrest. Protests, some turning violent, erupt in the streets around Whitehall and Westminster. They’re mostly about religion and taxes, while within Parliament the power struggles between reformers and conservatives are coming to a head. King Charles is watching in the wings. [Insert your preferred cliché about history repeating here.]
‘In the beginning, there were no kings,’ writes historian Jonathan Healey in The Blood in Winter, his new book about the lead-up to the English Civil War. ‘Where had they come from? Why had rule been left to certain families, who looked and smelled no different to anyone else?’ Two hotly debated theories existed during the 17th century. One was that kings were created by God – divine sanction was given to dynasties who were accountable only to Him. (King Charles I very much supported this view.) The other was that monarchs drew their power from their subjects, and that people had placed one family above them all. But there was always the chance people might withdraw that support.
Healey delves deep into the politics and personalities that propelled England towards the Civil War, which broke out in 1642 and raged on and off for nine years. By its conclusion Charles I had been beheaded and the monarchy replaced with a republic. Up to 250,000 people died (many due to starvation and disease).
It’s useful to view the winter of 1641–2 in the context of the wider historical timeline. It was only 38 years since the death of Queen Elizabeth I, and 36 since King Charles’ father, James I, had narrowly escaped being blown up during the Gunpowder Plot. The past 100 years had been a time of tumultous change, and the pace didn’t let up when Charles took the throne (1625). When he attempted to raise taxes without the approval of Parliament, it opened ‘a great conversation about the future of the country’ and the divine right of kings.
While the events are complex, the fundamental reasons are clear – it was all about power and religion. The time had come for a rethink of the role of monarchy and the church, and how much say the people should have in how they were governed, and by whom. ‘The new truculence had sprung from the population itself, driven by a remarkable new thirst for discussion and debate. No longer were the people silent. Now farm labourers opined about matters of state as they swigged on small beer in the cornfields. Taverns were sites of electric political discussion.’ And England’s populace, increasingly educated and literate, now had speedy access to information thanks to advances in printing – pamphlets could be distributed on the streets of London within hours of events.
In November 1641, Parliament descended into ‘feverish paranoia’. Many of the protestors were London apprentices: ‘There was something intrinsic to London. Something about the social institutions of the city that taught people to be critical of those in power.’
In 1964, British prime minister Harold Wilson famously said that a week is a long time in politics, and nowhere is this better illustrated than by the dramas of those winter weeks, as the Junto (the Parliamentarians pushing for rule without royal interference) battled more conservative MPs. Events moved at an astonishing pace, swinging the King’s way one day, the Junto’s the next. But while there were ‘split-second moments where several different paths were spread out ahead,’ as you read on, a sense of inevitability builds. Change was coming; it was unstoppable.
The atmosphere is enhanced by the author’s descriptions of the weather (this is England – of course the weather’s significant). When Parliament sits late, MPs shiver, candles are lit; wanted men escape down shadowy alleyways in the driving rain. And there’s an outbreak of plague, which together with terrible weather renders Parliament almost empty, creating a surreal scenario. A naval officer described his Christmas as, ‘the maddest one I ever saw.’
On Christmas Day London was quiet, but a day later ‘crowds were braving the snow and bitter winds to vent their frustrations.’ The Earl of Huntingdon reported: ‘10,000 ’prentices … stood so thick that though it were a dark night their innumerable links [flaming torches] made it as light as day.’
A dizzying number of players were involved, and unless you possess a thorough knowledge of this period of history you’ll struggle to remember who’s who, so I’m pleased to report there’s a comprehensive – and fun – cast of characters, e.g. Edward Nicholas: frustrated civil servant, pie-enjoyer; Thomas Lunsford: feared thug. Very tall. (The character list reflects the tone of the book, which balances the gravity of events with entertaining prose that at times reads like a political thriller.) ‘We must get lost in their world,’ writes Healey. ‘To understand this war, this catastrophe, this great awakening … we must follow these characters, their foibles and failings, their moments of glory and bravery.’
The players were by no means all male. Henrietta Maria, King Charles’s queen and a French Catholic (two words to make a Parliamentarian purse his lips), often seems to be pulling Charles’s strings, and then there’s the notorious Lucy Hay, Countess of Carlisle, a beautiful, impeccably connected ‘spy – a double agent, even’.
War finally broke out in August 1642, and in 1649 Charles was beheaded and the monarchy abolished. ‘We shouldn’t underplay the sheer radicalism of this event,’ writes Healey. ‘It was shocking, profound, and changed the country forever.’