King Richard III and the madness of crowds

Well the plan for today was to pop round to my ex's for lunch and meet her new cats but then the impulse to go up to Leicester to view the "Lying in repose" of Richard III in Leicester Cathedral struck us and off we went to join the thousands. After all, how often do you get to glimpse the funeral arrangements of a medieval King, particularly one that has occupied my imagination and reading list since my far off teenage years.

The centre of Leicester, a city I long ago classified, not unkindly, as "a bit shit", was transformed by the unbelievable crowds shuffling along in a queue that stretched around the cathedral and snaked off through the narrow streets round about. We quailed at the sight of the queue and started off by going to the visitor centre newly built over the car park at Grey Friars where his body was found. We'd hastily booked tickets as their website had warned they were being swamped with people and so managed to slide past the queue and into the building. I've got to say they've done it very well and (apart from some eye rollingly pointless exhibits like the wellies Philipa Langley wore on the dig) they'd managed to come up with some creative ways to tell the story of The Wars of the Roses and Richard's role in them, the details of the hunt for his body and the forensic science of their examination of the body, it's wounds and the reconstruction of Richard and his final moments. The grave itself (to my surprise) is still open and under a glass floor...it really was a hastily dug "scrape", too short for him, narrow and slope sided, into which his corpse (hands still tied) was crammed. The reconstructed head by Dr Caroline Wilkinson (who I've been a fan of since "Meet the Ancestors" 20 years ago or so) was exceptional.

Emerging from Grey Friars we found the queue was even longer with waiting times of 3 or 4 hours to get into the Cathedral. We were debating whether or not to brave it when some of the many volunteer and security people grabbed us and directed us straight into the cathedral...Diana thanked me for being disabled, I observed that clearly this made it all worthwhile. So we found ourselves filing slowly past the coffin (made by one of his mother's descendants) with its draped tapestry of Yorkist symbols and depictions of both his family and the team that found him. Laid on the coffin lid was a medieval style crown and a 15th century Vulgate Bible. It was actually (slightly surprisingly) rather moving, particularly as our arrival coincided with them conducting one of their Christian rituals at the other end of the nave...the ritual with its theatrical costumes and music, while meaningless to me did add to the atmosphere and the aesthetic (if I'd been close enough to hear the words I'm afraid it would definitely have broken the spell). The only problem was the speed at which the army of security people forced us to progress through the place and exit out the other side...understandable though as otherwise there's no way they could get all those people in to see him. They were all a bit defensive, the result I imagine of having to deal with the annoyance of people who'd queued for four hours only to find they got about a minute or two to see the man himself...or at least his ornate box.

Leicester was awash with two things today ; people and white roses, together they filled up every corner of the narrow streets of the centre of the city. My lasting impression was of a place overwhelmed by the totally unexpected mass reaction.

As for the roses the display that counted was piled up around and on the bronze statue of Richard in front of the cathedral where, unlike the carefully arranged displays put out by the authorities, people had been simply throwing them.

Much to our amazement we found that our preferential treatment left us with enough time to do the third item on our itinerary and stop at the battlefield of Bosworth on our way home. I came here something like 24 years ago and walked all over the battlefield - it left a big impression and a return had often been planned and never come to pass. Things have changed out of all recognition, it now has a proper visitor centre and following the recent archaeological work they have a much more detailed story to tell, including a radical redrawing of where the oft recounted incidents of the day unfolded, it's a much more complex story now and set on a very expanded battlefield. Back then they based their understanding on tradition and educated guesswork, the advent of those inconvenient things called facts has meant a radical re-examination. We were none of us up to touring the whole battlefield after our earlier adventures so we contented ourselves with walking up Ambion Hill where Richard's camp was and viewing it from there. The top of the hill was still covered with the marquees and clutter of the recent vigil over Richard's remains and various ceremonies that preceded his return to Leicester in Sunday's (slightly awkward) parade.

As the day progressed I must admit I became increasingly bent over and twisted with pain and slower in my shuffling walk. Dressed in my customary black I did have to exert supreme self discipline to resist the temptation to launch into Shakespearean soliloquy. Climbing slowly up Ambion Hill I could no longer contain it and so did my best to imitate a large black spider with my crutch extended limbs and hunched twisted form and gave vent to:

"I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them—"

With a withering glance Kit pointed out that it may well be time I grew up ( no thanks), and that in any case I was not sent before my time scarce half made up, I'd managed to get that way by surviving constant, or at least frequent, damage. She's got a point.

Here's some more pictures from the day should you wish to partake.