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A collection of memories from my life as Anne Boleyn

A

AB1507

Senior Member
In the afternoon of September 7th 1533, I gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl.
The labour was short for a first baby, just 4 hours, and it all seemed to happen at once in the final hour.
I was 26 years old, and in the room with me was my older sister, 2 midwives and 2 other ladies.
I was dressed down to my shift, and was laying on my side on the bed with very little happening for the first 3 hours, other than the usual moans and groans of early labour.
At the last hour approached, I began to get more and more restless and the pains intensified.
My midwives told me that I had to sit up, I refused!
Telling them "It is too painful, I will birth laying down"
But they insisted so eventually I reluctantly allowed them to help me to sit up on the bed.
When I was nervous, I had a habit of reaching out to people for comfort and I did this here, but I was told to place my hands under my thighs to prepare for delivery.
As she was delivered, she was placed straight onto my chest for skin to skin contact while we awaited delivery of the placenta, and within seconds she let out an almighty cry :) She was feisty right from the start!
She was then taken, cleaned up and swaddled in linen.
I had a total of 2 years and 8 months watching her grow before my life was taken.
 
In the year of 1513, at the age of 6 years I was sent abroad, to the court of Margaret of Austria.
THIS, is the base of the ongoing arguments between historians on my date of birth, with most claiming I "must have been born in 1501, because 6 would be far too young!"
No, I WAS 6 years old, let me explain:

Margaret of Austria had a wonderful professional and personal relationship with out Father, after he worked very hard in 1512 on negotiations between England and France.
As a Thank You for his services, she agreed to take me the following year in 1513 to her court and begin educating me.
When Mary Tudor requested my sister and me to attend on her in France, our Father had to oblige to the Royal family and my sister left England for France, and I came to France from Austria at the age of 7.
My sisters job was to attend to the Queen, because she was older.
With me being so young, I came under the agreement that I would be educated in the Court.
Our Fathers position meant that we were educated even as young girls.
It was typical to begin education like this at the age of 5.
So it doesn't matter that I was only 6 and 7, that's how it was.
Plus I was never alone.
My sister was there and she would keep up with me and mother me in place of our own Mother until she returned to England, by which time I was a teenager.

So there you have it, THAT is why I was sent abroad at such a young age.
 
Actually, to me it makes sense.
A father who wanted good marriages for his daughters, and preferably several candidates to choose from, would have made sure that the girls would get the best possible education as early as possible. It may have broken his heart to send his daughters away, but to have what he thought to be the best possible future perspectives for his girls, they would need to learn not only to read and write (especially with the printing press being around for decades so that many citizen could read and wirte, and not only monks and members of the high nobility), but also courtly manners, courtly dances, literature/poetry, all that stuff. Teens would have been a bit late to start, as at that age you would already look for possible future husbands. A girl who already was educated in her teens would have had much better chances to end up with a husband who not only was of equal or higher rank, but also with several to choose from (no need to take the next best toothless 50-year-old lesser noble).
That, and sometimes children were sent away for reasons of safety (during unruly times) or health (countryside when sickness was going around).
 
The Execution Memory. . . .

If you had been at the Tower of London, on the morning of May 19th 1536, to attend my execution, you would have been standing with your back towards what is now the entrance to the Crown Jewels.
You would have been facing the White Tower.
The scaffold was backed up almost against the wall there.
As you stood there, the procession would have approached from your left.
Four Yeoman Warders lead the procession, they were dressed in red, as you would expect to see them today when a major event is occurring.
Right behind them is William Kingston and myself, we are in black.
Ignore the “contemporary reports” they are incorrect.
I was dressed in a black crushed velvet Tudor gown, black ermine mantle and black English gable hood.
Behind us are four ladies in waiting, and then behind them is my 14 year old Niece, Catherine Carey who was there to assist that awful morning.
We reached the scaffold, I passed in front of the crowds around the scaffold and up the steps, which would be on your right as you’re looking at it.
I addressed the crowds and gave the speech.
My ladies then remove the gable hood.
I then kneel on a cushion of black velvet with red trim.
I am NOT blindfolded.
I continue to pray “Oh Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul. To Jesus Christ I commend my soul, Lord Jesu receive my soul.”
There is a shuffle of feet to my left which causes me so startle slightly and turn my head in that direction.
As I do this, the sword comes down from my right and I’m executed in one clean blow.

My head is flung forcefully down to the left of my body, I fall forwards, my torso is down but my legs are splayed as though I’m laying sideways.

My ladies gather around in an attempt to protect my dignity while they waited for the blood to stop flowing, they then wrapped my head and body in linen and I was buried inside the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula.

Information on the sword for those who wish to know. . .

The sword was easily 3 1/2 feet long from hilt to the tip of the blade, it had an ascending blade that came to the point at the tip and then immediately descended on the other side, so this was a double edge sword.

It was made of German steel, and it had that shiny grey feature to it like the German steel used to make our armour, it had a swirl pattern that went up the ascending blade and continued down the descending blade.
The hilt was wrapped in tanned leather, and it took both of his hands one on top of the other to hold it upright - and Patrice François was a tall, broad shouldered very strong and muscular man.

If could guess the weight of the sword I would guess it to be between 10 to 20 pounds.
It took three loops of the sword above his head with the force of his whole body weight to bring it down on me with clean precision.

His skill was amazing, unfortunately though his job was not.

Thank You for reading.
 
melon04 said:
Was it traumatic to see your death?
Click to expand...
It brought a LOT of emotion with it but also a lot of guilt. Not for my ending, I was innocent. But I had refused to speak to my sister for 18 months beforehand. I sent her from court for something she did and then ignored her letters. Not knowing that the next time she would see me, would be to witness my execution.
That’s something I’ve deeply regretted and it brought me a lot of pain to know.
 
It was the end of July 1534, I don’t know the exact date but between the 28th and 31st.
I was in my chambers having begun my lying in, in anticipation for the birth of what we hoped would be a healthy son and heir for the King.
I went into labour and all seemed to be going as expected, the contraction were normal, the progress was as expected and nothing seemed out of ordinary.
Eventually I delivered the baby, and waited for the midwives to congratulate me on the birth of my healthy son.
But the mood suddenly changed, there was silence, total silence.
I waited, waited for the sound of a newborns cry, that never came.
I looked over to see what was going on, and the midwives were gathered around the baby, one of them holding him and frantically rubbing his back to try and get him to breathe.
But it was to no avail.
My baby, my Prince Thomas had been stillborn.
I wasn’t whisked away as people think, he was handed to me, I was able to hold him and look at him.
He was beautiful.
A fully formed 8 month gestation baby boy with a head of thick dark hair and a little button nose.
He looked perfect, like he was simply sleeping.
I held him, swaddled in linen while we waited for the placenta to pass.
I kissed him, I told him I loved him and then I said “Goodnight my boy” and he was taken to be swaddled and laid out in a crib.
A few days later while I was still recovering in my chambers, my sister carefully carried her baby nephew to his burial.
Though he had been born in London, it was my request to have him buried close to our family home in Kent.
That wish was granted.
He was taken to St Peter’s Church in Hever, baptised and then interred in the ground inside the church.
His grave is incorrectly marked as being my brother Henry Boleyn.
It is not my brother laying there, it is my stillborn son, Prince Thomas.

My infant brothers were both born and died while my family still lived at Blickling Hall in Norfolk. At least 3 years before the move to Hever Castle.
They are therefore buried in Norfolk.
There would have been no reason to exhume one of them and not the other and move him to Kent.
The baby in the Church at Hever, is mine.
My Father’s tomb is right next to the baby too.
 
I wanted to talk about the horses we kept as this is something not well recorded.

So, while living at Hever Castle we owned 3 female horses.
One was a light chestnut colour, one was mostly black with just a white nose and chest area and the third one was mostly a chocolate colour with a white breast and a small white patch on her back end.

Their names were Hestia (chestnut one) Ophelia (black one) and Athena (chocolate one)

Our Father specifically wanted female horses to teach us to ride as he believed they would be gentler, though they were still very large horses.
I remember him saying to us "Come now, don't be afraid of the beast, she is big but she is gentle"

The horses lived in stables which were just around the back of the castle and we learned to ride within the grounds.

I also had a dog, Pourquoi, he was a spaniel, looked very much like todays Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
He was light brown and white in colour.
I lost Pourquoi in the winter of 1534, they say he "fell" out of the window, but in December there would have been no windows open.
I believe he was thrown.
He was buried somewhere within the grounds of Hampton Court Palace.
 
When people find out that my memories are of my life as Anne Boleyn, they always seem to immediately want to know about my execution, that's always one of the very first things I get asked (take a look in the other thread "A collection of memories from my life as Anne Boleyn" if you wish to read the execution memory, just scroll until you see it.)

Very rarely does anyone ever ask about the man who did the deed and so I thought I would do a quick post about him here.
So, as most of you will probably know, I was executed by a French swordsman, rather than the traditional axe.
My executioner had already been called for, even before my trial.

The name Jean Rombaud has popped up again and again, it has even been added to the list of executioners on Wikipedia, but this is erroneous.
I don't know where this name came from, whether he was a real person, whether he really was an executioner or not, but this was not the name of my executioner.
The name of my executioner was in fact Patrice Francois.
I don't know much else about him other than he was incredibly skilled, very tall (Henry was 6ft 1, and I would say Patrice was at least 3-4 inches taller)
He had incredibly broad shoulders and big muscular arms.
I don't wish to know more about him though, he did his job and was forgiven on the scaffold.

As for what became of the sword, people believe that they would be passed down to the next person but this is actually very very unlikely.
Back then, people were very superstitious, and executioners in particular held a strong belief that their sword would hold on to part of the soul of the people they executed, and so when they retired, they would either melt down the sword and get rid of it that way, or they would bury it.
Burying would be more common as it was believed that in doing this they were putting the souls of those they executed to rest.

I don't know what happened to the sword belonging to Patrice Francois, however, when I think about it, I always see in my minds eye the White Cliffs of Dover.
This is very close to the port where he would have arrived from France, and also left to return to France.
So I very very strongly believe that after my execution, he did not return to France with his sword.
I think it was buried close to the Port of Dover in May 1536.

I do not believe that he retired at this point, I think he got a new sword, I feel that he was unable to carry on using the sword that had just executed a Queen of England.
 
I don't hear anything emotional or trumatic. It feels as though reading through a novel as a matter of fact describing events that are readily available when you research.

There are tons of movies, tv series, books on Anne Boleyn.

Such as these series and movies.




First clue for me of any sign of reincarnation is emotions associated with events.
 
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truthlove said:
I don't hear anything emotional or trumatic. It feels as though reading through a novel as a matter of fact describing events that are readily available when you research.

There are tons of movies, tv series, books on Anne Boleyn.

Such as these series and movies.




First clue for me of any sign of reincarnation is emotions associated with events.
Click to expand...
I understand what you’re saying, but it isn’t easy to put my emotions into writing, I can tell you that the 17th - 19th May is always a very very difficult time for me which causes me great pain.
Also yes there is indeed plenty that you can research but I have also shared a lot of information that cannot be researched - such as Elizabeth’s birth story, the birth of my stillborn son in July 1534, the names of our horses, the childhood memory of George knocking me over, the full detailed account of the execution.
I have watched movies and shows on the Tudor era, but I have never read any books on it nor have I ever researched the life of Anne Boleyn.
 
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