Life in the Sixteenth Century

Way back in the eighties, when I was just a kid, I was sitting in front of the TV looking for something to watch.  There were only three channels back then, so this wasn't easy.  I finally settled on a show based on the pretty dresses that the female characters were wearing.  One of said characters came into a room (a lovely castle-like room with arched windows, wood panelling and a roaring fire), wearing a white rose.  A man walked over to her, removed the rose with disgust and put a red rose in its place.   The woman looked angry, but instead of shouting she simply picked up the white rose, joined it to the red one and tucked them both into place on her dress.

I didn't get it.  Why did the colour of the roses matter?  Why was the combining of the roses so important?  Finding out the answer was the beginning of a lifelong love of the Tudors for me.  I studied them in my undergraduate degree, got slightly distracted by a Bachelor of Education degree and ten years teaching English, and then returned to the Tudors for my Masters and PhD.  

The Tudor era (approximately 1480 to 1603)  is endlessly alluring. I love the way they think, I love their clever puns and endless wordplay, I love their self-constructed chivalry and their intense passion.   Mostly, I love the mysteries that have gone unsolved for more than 400 years.  Princes disappeared...ladies were found dead in homes that didn't belong to them...ships thought to be safe sank without reason...ghosts and phantoms haunted the living and people willingly died for their faith.  To me, this means that there are many stories still to tell.