Forgotten by history: the royal babies you've never heard of

Amy Licence reminds us of the royal children who shaped the course of history, only to recede into obscurity.

Finally, the nation’s patience has been rewarded. On Monday 22 July at 4.24pm, the Duchess of Cambridge was delivered of a son, weighing 8lb 6oz. The news was broken four hours later, announced by Kensington Palace and spread across the world within seconds. For the first time in over a century the monarchy has had three generations of heirs. Almost at once, speculation regarding the future of this new prince began. The role which he will fill, and the path unfolding before him, appear far more fixed than those of his contemporaries, born on the same day. His education, career, religion and even his marital prospects, have already been mapped out. Yet the lives of royal babies of the past have rarely run smoothly. Many of those born in anticipation of the throne never achieved their lofty destinies, while others born in obscurity rose to take their place.

When it comes to royal babies, some were born great, some achieved greatness and some had greatness thrust upon them. Expectations have always been high when it comes to the line of succession. Since historical records began, these important infants have arrived under a wide variety of circumstances. While some were born in times of peace, others were delivered during episodes of civil warfare or national depression. A few became the casualties of political conflict, feted and anointed, groomed for a kingship they never enjoyed.

Two examples of the fickleness of royal fate are Edward of Westminster and Edward V, who both lived and died during the turbulent fifteenth century. Familiar to fans of Philippa Gregory’s historical novels, these boys were the eagerly anticipated sons of the medieval houses of Lancaster and York respectively. Edward of Westminster was born in 1453, after his parents’ eight-year marriage was suspected of having been barren. Longing for a son and heir, his mother, Margaret of Anjou, prayed to the saints to intercede and grant her wish by securing the dynastic line. Edward should have inherited the throne after his father, Henry VI, but died in battle at the age of seventeen, attempting to reclaim his kingdom. The opponent he fought, Edward IV, had a son of his own. After the birth of three daughters, his wife Elizabeth Wydeville, the “White Queen”, finally presented him with a male heir while in sanctuary. The little boy, also named Edward, was celebrated and seen as a symbol of new hope, but he would not live long enough to enjoy his father’s title either. He would become known to history as the elder of the Princes in the Tower and would disappear in mysterious circumstances before his coronation.

History also provides examples of royal births which illuminate the pressures experienced by queens, whose role required them to deliver the future, in a literal and metaphorical sense. Henry VIII’s marital exploits are well known, but the birth of his first son, early in his reign, is less well remembered. Following his marriage to Catherine of Aragon, in 1509, Henry began the quest to father a son which would last for the next 28 years. It was to be far more difficult to achieve than he could ever have imagined. Early in 1511, Catherine delivered a boy whom they named Henry. When the news was proclaimed, London went into celebration. Days of public rejoicing and partying followed, with bells ringing, wine flowing, cannons at the Tower booming and bonfires burning in the streets. The boy was given a magnificent christening, with jousts, pageants, feasts and tournaments: it was the second most expensive occasion of Henry’s reign, outshone only by the legendary Field of Cloth of Gold.  A special gallery was built for Catherine and her ladies to watch the proceedings and it seemed as if the future of the Tudor dynasty was secure.

However, tragedy struck. Before the child was two months old, he succumbed to one of the infant illnesses of the day. Had he lived, the little prince would have become Henry IX of England. Although it is not possible to rewrite history, the implications of his imagined survival help us understand the impact of his premature death. Had this child lived, the well-known story of Henry’s six wives almost certainly would not have happened. Perhaps the course of the English Reformation would also have played out differently. There would have been no Edward VI, no Mary I or even Queen Elizabeth. The imagined reign of Henry IX is another historical “whatif” which provides a fascinating alternative path for English history; save for one small twist of fate, perhaps even an infection that may easily be cleared up by antibiotics today, it may have become established historical fact. The life and death of this tragic prince truly did shape the future of his country.

Henry would not father a legitimate heir until 1537, after he had divorced Catherine and her successor Anne Boleyn. Having won Henry’s love partly on the promise of presenting him with a healthy boy, Anne anticipated her own first confinement in 1533. Henry’s physician, astrologers and astronomers were confident that a son would arrive. Advanced notices were drawn up, declaring the arrival of a prince, to be dispatched across the nation and beyond. When Anne gave birth to Elizabeth in September 1533, the planned celebrations were cancelled and the notices hastily altered. A queen’s ability, or inability, to reproduce defined her power and determined her country’s future. Throughout history, the fertility, pregnancies and labours of queens have shaped national politics as well as their own personal relationships.

Celebrations for the birth of the Prince of Cambridge will continue this week but not every royal baby’s arrival has been welcomed by its future subjects. In 1688, the birth of James, son of James II and Mary of Modena, proved the innocent catalyst for his parents’ loss of the throne. The prospect of a male heir being raised as a Catholic was unacceptable to many at the time and the media played a significant part in spreading this dissent. By the seventeenth century, a proliferation of small presses flooded the market with pamphlets, chapbooks and newspapers, making the spread of information more immediate. Ballads written to honour the royal birth sat alongside seditious anti-Catholic material. The satirical cartoons of the Georgian era allowed criticisms of the royal family to spread further, amongst the illiterate, turning the tide further against the Stuarts. When James II was deposed, months after the birth, his infant son went into exile and spent the remainder of his life as the “old Pretender,” trying to regain the throne. It was claimed instead by William of Orange.

No such controversy surrounds Monday’s birth. The future line of succession is clear for the Prince of Cambridge and the baby’s timely arrival coincides with a modernisation of the monarchy, with the Duke and Duchess setting the tone as modern parents. Their son is the most immediate heir to the throne born in a new millennium, eagerly anticipated by its family and subjects. As the latest in a line of royal babies, stretching back centuries, its life will be the next chapter in the story of the Commonwealth.

Portraits of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon. If their first-born son had lived, he would have changed the course of history. Photograph: Getty Images

Amy Licence is a late medieval and early Tudor historian focusing on women's lives. She is the author of the forthcoming biography Anne Neville, Richard III’s Tragic Queen and her blog can be found here.

Photo: Getty
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Goodbye, Sam Allardyce: a grim portrait of national service

In being brought down by a newspaper sting, the former England manager joins a hall of infamy. 

It took the best part of 17 years for Glenn Hoddle’s reputation to recover from losing the England job.

Between leaving his job as manager in February 1999 and re-surfacing as a television pundit on ITV during the 2014 World Cup, Hoddle was English football’s great pariah. Thanks to his belief in faith healer Eileen Drewery and a string of unconventional and unacceptable views on reincarnation, he found himself in exile following in a newspaper interview during qualification for England’s Euro 2000 campaign.

But just as Hoddle is now cautiously being welcomed back to the bosom of English football, current incumbent Sam Allardyce has felt the axe fall. After less than two months in charge of the national side and with only a single game under his belt, the former Bolton Wanderers manager was caught up in a sting operation by the Daily Telegraph — allegedly offering guidance on how to circumvent his employer’s rules on third-party player ownership.

The rewards for guiding an English team to major international success promise to be spectacular. As a result, the price for any failure — either moral or performance-related — is extreme.

Hoddle’s successor – the endearing Kevin Keegan – resigned tearfully in a toilet at Wembley after a tumultuous 18-month spell in charge. His replacement, the laconic Sven-Göran Eriksson, provided moments of on-field excitement paired with incredible incidents of personal indiscretion. His tangle with "fake sheikh" Mazher Mahmood in the run up to the 2006 World Cup – an incident with haunting parallels to Allardyce’s current predicament – led to a mutual separation that summer.

Steve McClaren was hapless, if also incredibly unfortunate, and was dispatched from the top job in little over a year. Fabio Capello – who inspired so much optimism throughout his first two years in charge – proved himself incapable of lifting the hex on English major tournament fortunes.

The Italian’s star was falling from the moment he put his name to the oddly timed Capello Index in 2010, although his sustained backing of then captain John Terry over a string of personal misdemeanours would prove to be the misjudgement that ultimately forced his exit. As Allardyce has found out, the FA has become increasingly hard on lapses in moral judgement.

English football is suffused with a strange mix of entitlement and crushing self-doubt. After a decade that has given us a Wimbledon champion, several Ashes triumphs, two Tour de France winners and eye-watering Olympic success, a breakthrough in this area has never felt further away.

In replacing Capello, Roy Hodgson — the man mocked by Allardyce during his hours supping pints with Telegraph reporters — had hoped to put a rubber stamp on a highly respectable coaching career with a spell managing his own country. But this summer’s farcical defeat to Iceland at Euro 2016 put his previous career in a much harsher light.    

Allardyce was a mix of the best and worst of each of his predecessors. He was as gaffe-prone as Steve McClaren, yet as committed to football science and innovation as Hodgson or Capello. He also carried the affability of Keegan and the bulldog spirit of Terry Venables — the last man to make great strides for England at a major tournament.  

And as a result, his fall is the most heartbreaking of the lot. The unfairly decried charlatan of modern football is the same man who built a deeply underrated dynasty at Bolton before keeping Blackburn, West Ham and Sunderland afloat in the most competitive league in Europe.

And it was this hard apprenticeship that convinced the FA to defy the trendy naysayers and appoint him.

“I think we make mistakes when we are down here and our spirit has to come back and learn,” Hoddle mused at the beginning of his ill-fated 1999 interview. As the FA and Allardyce consider their exit strategy from this latest sorry mess, it’s difficult to be sure what either party will have learned.

The FA, desperately short of options could theoretically turn again to a reborn Hoddle. Allardyce, on the other hand, faces his own long exile. 

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