Remembering Flodden, 500 Years On
I'd hoped to start my James IV posts just as soon as I returned from my 'pilgrimage' to Branxton, but I've had some IT issues (now sorted thanks to help from the lovely bunn). And my LJ problems are now completely sorted, too! Just by switching from Internet Explorer to Mozilla Firefox. Had a bit of trouble downloading AdobeFlashPlayer, but now I'm sorted!!
To James IV now, and the disaster that was Flodden...
I was going to write one big post on Flodden, but it's turned into a gargantuan essay, so I think instead that I'll break it down into a series of smaller bite-sized posts, in order to aid digestion. So here's the first one, on what Flodden means, a general overview of the battle's echoes down through the centuries.
It's certainly true that Flodden has captured the public imagination, thanks in part to Sir Walter Scott's writings, and in particular Marmion, and also on account of its association with The Flowers of the Forest, a poignant Borders lament which is played by many a piper at Scots funerals (particularly military ones) to this day. It was in fact Scott who first established the connection between Flodden Field and the actual battle - in reality, the Scots camp was located on Flodden Hill, while the battle itself took place near the village of Branxston, earning it the traditional name of 'The Battle of Branxton Moor'.
But Flodden was a watershed moment, marking a point where the world had changed. Irrevocably. It marked the end of medieval warfare in Britain, an end to the age of so-called 'chivalry'. Artillery played a decisive (though, they think, overplayed) role in the outcome, and it was an event which also earned James IV the uneasy accolade of being the last King in the British Isles to be killed in action during a battle. At the height of the fighting, two men died every second, a death toll comparable with the modern mechanised warfare of WWI battles like the Sommes. And the death toll was probably around 14,000 men in all. Of these 14,000, 10,000 were Scots, and this included the vast majority of the ruling classes. The king died. along with around 11 earls, 14 lords of parliament, and a vast quantity of minor lairds and barons.
The Scots' catastrophic defeat at Flodden boils down to a series of unfortunate events, all of which had some kind of bearing on the final outcome. A succession of 'if onlys' might have resulted in a completely different story. If only James hadn't got involved in the first place. If only James had cut his losses earlier and gone home. If only James had used different tactics, different weaponry. If only he'd read the landscape better.
But even if he'd dodged the bullet (sorry, but sometimes military metaphors are just the ticket!) this time, who's to say that a few years down the line, he'd have tried the same trick on Henry as he'd pulled here. The results could have been much, much worse. If the Scots incursion had happened on Henry's watch, he'd have marched north and done the 16th century equivalent of nuking Scotland right back to the Stone Age (c.f. the Earl of Hertford's 'Rough Wooing' in the 1540s, from which our Border abbeys never recovered). Surrey merely did his job. Nothing more, nothing less.
I've heard a lot over the last couple of days which stresses Scotland's resilience, its determination to bounce back after Flodden. And it's true. Government did continue. Some earls remained - Angus, Eglinton, Glencairn, and others - but without James's charisma and unifying force behind them, the old factions erupted once again, stirred no doubt by English and French spymasters. Under James, Scotland had been building a strong reputation internationally, and that, of course, was lost.
But I think James had left his mark. He'd burned his love of science, the arts and eduction deep into the Scots psyche, and perhaps that's what paved the way to the Enlightenment. And perhaps what's most incredible about him is that as he marched down the hill to his death at Branxton, he took the whole country with him. It was the first time that the whole of mainland Scotland and the Isles had united behind their leader in this way.
It's just a crying shame that had to end in such a disaster.
And next time, we'll consider why James rode to war in the first place.
To James IV now, and the disaster that was Flodden...
I was going to write one big post on Flodden, but it's turned into a gargantuan essay, so I think instead that I'll break it down into a series of smaller bite-sized posts, in order to aid digestion. So here's the first one, on what Flodden means, a general overview of the battle's echoes down through the centuries.
It's certainly true that Flodden has captured the public imagination, thanks in part to Sir Walter Scott's writings, and in particular Marmion, and also on account of its association with The Flowers of the Forest, a poignant Borders lament which is played by many a piper at Scots funerals (particularly military ones) to this day. It was in fact Scott who first established the connection between Flodden Field and the actual battle - in reality, the Scots camp was located on Flodden Hill, while the battle itself took place near the village of Branxston, earning it the traditional name of 'The Battle of Branxton Moor'.
But Flodden was a watershed moment, marking a point where the world had changed. Irrevocably. It marked the end of medieval warfare in Britain, an end to the age of so-called 'chivalry'. Artillery played a decisive (though, they think, overplayed) role in the outcome, and it was an event which also earned James IV the uneasy accolade of being the last King in the British Isles to be killed in action during a battle. At the height of the fighting, two men died every second, a death toll comparable with the modern mechanised warfare of WWI battles like the Sommes. And the death toll was probably around 14,000 men in all. Of these 14,000, 10,000 were Scots, and this included the vast majority of the ruling classes. The king died. along with around 11 earls, 14 lords of parliament, and a vast quantity of minor lairds and barons.
The Scots' catastrophic defeat at Flodden boils down to a series of unfortunate events, all of which had some kind of bearing on the final outcome. A succession of 'if onlys' might have resulted in a completely different story. If only James hadn't got involved in the first place. If only James had cut his losses earlier and gone home. If only James had used different tactics, different weaponry. If only he'd read the landscape better.
But even if he'd dodged the bullet (sorry, but sometimes military metaphors are just the ticket!) this time, who's to say that a few years down the line, he'd have tried the same trick on Henry as he'd pulled here. The results could have been much, much worse. If the Scots incursion had happened on Henry's watch, he'd have marched north and done the 16th century equivalent of nuking Scotland right back to the Stone Age (c.f. the Earl of Hertford's 'Rough Wooing' in the 1540s, from which our Border abbeys never recovered). Surrey merely did his job. Nothing more, nothing less.
I've heard a lot over the last couple of days which stresses Scotland's resilience, its determination to bounce back after Flodden. And it's true. Government did continue. Some earls remained - Angus, Eglinton, Glencairn, and others - but without James's charisma and unifying force behind them, the old factions erupted once again, stirred no doubt by English and French spymasters. Under James, Scotland had been building a strong reputation internationally, and that, of course, was lost.
But I think James had left his mark. He'd burned his love of science, the arts and eduction deep into the Scots psyche, and perhaps that's what paved the way to the Enlightenment. And perhaps what's most incredible about him is that as he marched down the hill to his death at Branxton, he took the whole country with him. It was the first time that the whole of mainland Scotland and the Isles had united behind their leader in this way.
It's just a crying shame that had to end in such a disaster.
And next time, we'll consider why James rode to war in the first place.