The Oxford English Dick-tionary

The Oxford English Dictionary (henceforth called the OED) is definitely one of the greatest dictionaries in the world.  The online version even contains words we no longer use, as well as substantive entries for all the important swear words.  Therefore, I headed to this font of knowledge to see what sort of information I could rustle up for the word “dick.”  Believe it or not (actually, just believe it because it’s true), the OED provides seven different entries for the word “dick.”  And I am not dicking around (entry #7)!

            Entry number one pretty much contains the usual suspects, such as “pet-form of the common Christian name Richard.”  Since back in the day Richard was a pretty common name, Dick was lumped in with Tom and Harry as a catchphrase for any three or more random people.  And when it comes to describing people, Dick can also mean, when used ironically, a smart person (I wonder if hipsters are aware of this definition, loving irony as they do?).  According to entry number one, dick can also refer to a certain part of the male anatomy (who knew!) but this is considered coarse.

            And after that we get some more unusual definitions, which should definitely be brought back.  Dick can be slang for a riding whip (be prepared for stares if you tell your friends you hit your horse with your dick) or a leather apron.  This definition comes from the 1800s and tends to refer to aprons worn either by shoemakers or poor children (this was back before shoemakers were poor children), but nowadays the closest thing for most people is probably the pleather aprons worn in chemistry class.  Ahhh, I can only imagine the ensuing japery if students were to start asking their chemistry teachers for passes because “I left my dick in my locker.”

            In the southeast-East Anglia region of England (specific quotations provided by the OED concerning Kent, Norfolk, and Sussex), a dick could mean the bank of a ditch or a dyke.  This seems to be essential knowledge, as it is simply common courtesy to warn your drunken Kentish friends to “be careful not to trip and fall on that dick over there.”

            Skipping a few entries for the moment, we have numbers 6 and 7, which are nothing fascinating.  Number 6 helpfully informs readers that “dick” can be slang for detective, which is definitely common knowledge.  I even knew that one, and I only recently learned that pig was a derogatory term for cop!  According to the OED, though, the dick-detective was first printed in a 1908 book concerning criminal slang in Canada; perhaps America’s friendly neighbor to the north wasn’t always so law abiding.  Entry 7 explains how dick can be used in the phrase “to dick around,” which means “to waste time; to act unproductively or with no aim or serious intent; to mess about with a person or thing.” Clearly you all didn’t need “dicking around” explained, though, as it’s what you are doing this very moment on this blog.

            It’s entries 4 and 5 that really reveal the magic of the word dick.  I shall address number 5 first.  Dick is an essential part of the phrase “to take one's dick,” which means “to take one's declaration.”  The OED provides the lovely example of making your dying dick (which is undoubtedly better than having a dying dick), but declaration can also refer to stating the value of something.  This would be awesome at customs; I can’t wait to walk through a green corridor labeled “no dick.”

            The best definition, though, concerns “dick” as an abbreviation for dictionary.  Through synecdoche this mutates into meaning “fine words,” which seemingly entails using $10 words when $3 words will do.  The 1873 Slang Dictionary illustrates this usage best with the apt quote: “A man who uses fine words without much judgment is said to have ‘swallowed the dick.’”  And that, my friends, is a phrase that needs to become mainstream.

            My mother is a high-school English teacher, and I have endeavored, in vain, to get her to use this phrase.  It’s the perfect way to get that annoying kid, who misuses big words because he or she thinks it makes him/her sound smart, to shut the hell up.  I imagine, given the undercurrent of homophobia that pervades the lives of high-school males, that this will prove particularly effective with them.  So the next time Travis claims he’s perspicacious when he really means he has 20/20 vision (although, in Travis’s defense, that would have worked a couple hundred years ago), just turn and say, “Really, Travis, you need to stop swallowing so much dick.”  Bam! Problem solved, although this is probably because you’ll be fired.  On the bright side, you’ll never have to hear Travis swallow the dick again, and in the MasterCard commercial of your life, that would be considered “priceless.”

            Further reading would obviously be the OED.  If you’re not satisfied with that, you’re on your own.

Sir Richard Rich, Baron Rich of Leighs (1496/7-1567)

Yes, folks, the original Richie Rich was not some awkwardly-drawn cartoon boy with a dog named Dollar, but a cold-hearted early-modern baron.

            Richard Rich was a lawyer, which was one strike against him.  He became attorney-general for Wales in 1532 and solicitor-general in 1533 (when he was also knighted).  He worked hand-in-glove with Thomas Cromwell in the destruction of the monasteries during the reign of Henry VIII.  In 1536 Rich was appointed chancellor of the Court of Augmentations, which disposed of monastic property.  He made out quite well in the ensuing property scramble, securing for himself about one hundred manors in Essex.  He was also Speaker of the House of Commons in 1536, giving vocal support to Henry VIII’s new religious policies.  He became a privy councilor in the 1540s and was an executor of Henry VIII’s will.  He received a baronage in 1548 at the beginning of the reign of Edward VI, and was appointed chancellor proper soon thereafter.  Rich partially received these rewards for supporting the protector, Edward Seymour, but, when push came to shove, he was instrumental in ousting Seymour from power in 1549.  In essence, he was a two-timing politician: strike two.

            As a politician/bureaucrat, Rich also had a role in less savory activities, such as the torture of Anne Askew, a religious dissident and the only (recorded) woman tortured at the Tower of London.  Supposedly, Rich even used his own hands to turn the screws of the rack, which is a new level of dickishness.

            Given his enthusiasm for screwing Anne, who was too-Protestant for the tastes of Henry VIII, one might think Rich was a pretty militant Catholic.  Think again!  He was a militant whatever-religion-was-in-power, meaning he supported Henry’s dislike of whoever didn’t agree with him enough, Edward’s reformed religion, and Mary’s persecution of Protestants.  He probably enjoyed the latter activity the most, though, as he was reputed to be a vigorous seeker of heretics.  Despite the irritating opportunism of his behavior, Rich had a sensible plan.  The best way not to get executed was to follow the changing tides of religion, so follow he did.  Of course, keeping your own head on or body unroasted didn’t necessarily entail persecuting others, but Rich was not one to half-ass it.  He merrily persecuted while the getting was good.  So we have strike three: religious persecutor.

            And those three strikes don’t even touch upon the act for which Rich is probably most infamous: testifying against Sir Thomas More.  Basically, Rich repeated friendly, what-would-you-do-in-this-situation hypothetical conversations he had had with More, giving More’s words an ominous twist.  Despite More casting aspersions on Rich’s character, the evidence stood and More was eventually executed.  Not one to jump ships in the middle of the river, Rich used this same tactic to help bring about the downfalls and executions of Bishop John Fisher and Thomas Cromwell (the latter of which he used to work for).  So we have strike four: he was a heartless bastard who still managed to come out on top.

            Lest you think Rich has truly succeeded in hiding his dickish character from the world, watch the movie A Man for All Seasons about Thomas More.  (If you haven’t seen this movie, you really should.)  Rich is portrayed as a two-faced cretin, obtaining preferment through the good offices of More only to turn around and stab him in the back in the end.  But the icing on the cake is that in 2005 Rich was declared the worst Briton of the sixteenth century by historians in BBC History Magazine.  Yes, in a century containing Henry VIII (no doubt one of the worst husbands ever) and lots of religious persecutions, Richard Rich is considered the worst man of the whole lot.  Even worse than Bloody Mary (maybe because he failed to inspire an eponymous alcoholic beverage?)!  If historians have voted you the worst person of your century, you have truly hit a new low.

            So while Richard Rich might have been a successful lawyer and politician, made a fortune dissolving monasteries, became a baron, sired fifteen children, and died (presumably peacefully) at home, he’s the worst Briton of the 1500s.  Somewhere, Thomas More is laughing.  Or possibly crying at the injustice of it all.

Don’t believe me when I say Richard Rich was voted worst Britain of 1500-1600?  Get it straight from the horse’s mouth here at BBC News: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4561624.stm.

As you might suspect from the comparative brevity of this entry, I am not as familiar with Richard Rich as I am with certain other notable Richards.  Therefore, I cannot offer a very good list of sources for further reading.  Your best bet is probably the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, where I got my information (with a little help from Wikipedia!).  The Oxford DNB is a truly magical resource, containing biographies of all the genuinely famous Britons.  It’s a great place to start learning about someone who’s British and famous.

Richard II, King of England

Richard II was King of England from 1377 to 1399.  He was born in Bordeaux on 6 January 1367, the second son of Edward, the Black Prince (eldest son of Edward III) and Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent.  Richard became king in 1377 on the death of his grandfather, Edward III, his elder brother and father predeceasing him.

            Even though he was a whopping ten years old, Richard was crowned king.  Apparently the coronation was so exhausting that he had to be carried back to the palace and lost a shoe on the way.  Because of his young age, Richard was not expected to rule himself and a council was set up to do the job for him.  However, when things became especially sticky, it was convenient to have a young king to stick into the mess.  Just this happened in 1381, during the Peasants’ Revolt.  A large number of disaffected peasants (upset over poll taxes and wages being artificially depressed, among other things) assembled (mainly from Kent) and took to the streets of London.  The Savoy Palace (roughly in the spot now occupied by the luxury hotel), the London home of Richard’s uncle John of Gaunt, probably the most hated man in England, was burned to the ground and some archbishops were executed (or murdered, depending on who you asked).  Even the Tower of London was broken into.  In such a dire situation as this, the adults decided that turning things over to the fourteen-year-old king couldn’t make things any worse (had they met any fourteen-year-old boys?), and let Richard ride out to Smithfield and talk to the rebels.  Miraculously, Richard made headway, and even convinced the rebels to go home after their leader, Wat Tyler, was murdered in front of them, the result of a misunderstanding by the mayor of London.  It was undoubtedly one of the high points of Richard’s life; given how his reign turned out, some might consider it the only high point.  Poor Richard, he peaked early.

            Months later, Richard married Anne of Bohemia, daughter and sister to two Holy Roman Emperors.  Anne and Richard were just a few months apart in age, and they seem to have loved each other greatly.  They were rarely apart, and Richard was absolutely devastated when Anne died of plague in June 1394.  He even went so far as to have part of the palace in which she had died (Sheen) razed to the ground.  Nothing says love like wanton destruction.

            Despite enjoying twelve years of blissful marriage with the love of his life, all was not smooth sailing for Richard.  Between 1386 and 1388 Richard ran into some problems with his nobles, who didn’t really approve of his policies or the way his government was spending its money.  Of course, despite Richard being technically of age, the council was still ruling for him, so the nobles went after the king’s friends and advisors, eventually exiling and killing a large number of them.  Particularly painful was the exile of Richard’s best friend Robert de Vere (whom a couple of chroniclers, after Richard’s downfall, suggested had been his lover), who was really only exiled because he had made it out of the country before he could be killed, and Richard’s childhood tutor, Simon Burley, who was executed despite the pleas of king, queen (who even went down on her knees), and others.  Five nobles had mainly orchestrated this power shift, and they were: Thomas of Woodstock, the Duke of Gloucester (and Richard’s uncle! – I bet he got knocked off the Christmas card list); Richard, earl of Arundel; Thomas, earl of Warwick; Henry Bolingbroke, earl of Derby (and Richard’s cousin); and Thomas Mowbray, earl of Nottingham.  Collectively, they were called the Appellants, and Richard was later to exact sweet revenge on several of them, although Henry Bolingbroke ultimately had the last laugh.

            After regaining power in 1389 by declaring he was finally of age (at 22!), Richard did a decent job of ruling.  Sure, he was criticized for extravagant spending, but that was like accusing Congress of pork-barrel spending: every king does it and every Parliament complains.  It’s how things work.

            After Anne’s death, Richard made a trip to pacify Ireland, which turned out to be pretty successful.  He was also the first reigning king to visit Ireland in over one hundred years, so he wasn’t a total slouch.  Since Anne had died childless (and kings needed queens to preside over their court and household), Richard began to look around for a new wife.  It seems he was making overtures to marry an Aragonese princess, but the French king flipped out when he heard about that.  He offered Richard choice from among several of his female relatives, but Richard made it pretty clear he wanted the daughter of a king for a wife, not some second-rate cousin.  Charles VI was happy to oblige, and offered his six (going on seven) –year-old daughter, Isabella.  Richard accepted and the two were married in November 1396.  Richard suffered a lot of criticism for marrying a mere child when he was twenty-nine, but the marriage sealed a twenty-eight-year truce between the two warring nations.  Richard also treated Isabella more like a beloved daughter than a wife, and the two reportedly became rather fond of one another.

            In 1397 Richard decided the time was right for taking care of some old business: he arrested Gloucester, Arundel, and Warwick.  All three were charged with treason, but Warwick made an abject submission and got off with life in prison.  Arundel refused to cave and was executed, while Gloucester was removed secretly to Calais (an English possession in France) and murdered.  In 1398, Richard took care of Bolingbroke and Mowbray by exiling the former for ten years and the latter for life.

            Unfortunately, Richard made a few missteps.  When his uncle, John of Gaunt, father of Bolingbroke died, Richard confiscated his lands.  Bolingbroke was offended, and other magnates were probably a bit fearful for their own lands.  When Richard went off to pacify the Irish again (bloody Irish), Bolingbroke returned to England, claimed his inheritance, and then, when he encountered relatively little opposition, decided to claim the crown of England as well (he probably figured, “why the hell not?  Reach for the stars!”).  Once Richard was back in England he was captured, convinced to resign the crown, officially deposed by Parliament (September 1399), and packed off to a castle as a prisoner.  After an abortive attempt to restore Richard to the throne, Bolingbroke (now Henry IV) got a bit nervous and probably suggested, politely no doubt, that Richard needed to go.  Within days, he was dead (February 1400), probably due to starvation.  It was important there be no marks of violence left on the body, so that no one could prove Richard had been murdered.  In being starved to death, he got off easy, unlike his great-grandfather, Edward II, who was reportedly murdered courtesy of a red-hot poker up the anus.

            But a mere rehearsal of his reign cannot do full justice to the hilarity/general dickishness that was Richard II.  Being a teenage king probably had a lot to do with it, but Richard had a number of fascinating temper tantrums.  For instance, in 1384 a crazed friar told him that his uncle, John of Gaunt, wanted to kill him.  Without a moment for reflection, Richard called for Gaunt to be executed; the king was later calmed down and rescinded the pre-emptive order.  Instead, the friar was tortured to death by friends of the king, who were trying to encourage him to reveal who had sent him.  Another time (in 1385), he became angry with the archbishop of Canterbury; hours later, when his barge passed by the archbishop’s on the Thames, Richard drew his sword and threatened to stab the archbishop right there.  He had to be forcibly held back by some people on his barge, who subsequently jumped ship into the archbishop’s boat, lest they have to face the king’s further wrath. 

Richard seemed to reserve much of his anger, though, for Richard, earl of Arundel.  Perhaps England was only big enough for two Dicks.  In his younger days, Richard was content to shout at Arundel, such as when Arundel criticized his government and Richard told him, “You lie in your teeth and can go to the devil!”  It’s a sign of simpler times, though, that the chroniclers were all shocked by such behavior, rather than laughing at such a lame attempt at profanity as would certainly happen nowadays.  The big blow-up between the two (well, aside from the executions) occurred during the August 1394 funeral of Anne of Bohemia.  Arundel failed to appear for the funeral procession from St. Paul’s to Westminster, then had the audacity to arrive late at the funeral and request to leave earlier.  Richard, grief-stricken and already unfriendly to Arundel, reacted angrily by grabbing a cleric’s rod and striking Arundel on the head, knocking him down.  The blow drew blood, polluting the sanctuary and delaying the funeral while the altar was reconsecrated.  This delay surely must have served to make Arundel even later to his previous engagement, unless he had taken the blow as permission to leave the funeral early.

            Richard was also very anxious to have his power and majesty recognized.  Reportedly, he would sit enthroned for hours, and anyone he made eye contact with had to kneel before him.  Tedious.  He was also the first English king to encourage his lay subjects to address him as “your highness” and “your royal majesty.”  While subjects on the Continent tended to address their monarchs in these high-falutin' terms, it was new in England.  Historians have a range of opinions on why Richard did this, spanning from his desire to reinforce royal power after the humiliations of 1386-88 to his narcissistic, mentally-deranged personality.

            Richard II obviously had his faults, and they cost him his crown in the end.  However, he gave Chaucer a sweet job as clerk of the king’s works (and later as a forester), enabling the poet to keep a roof over his head and pen in his hand.  Guess Richard wasn’t all bad (although some long-suffering English majors might beg to differ).

            So on this feast of the Epiphany, let us wish Richard II (a king with a little less wisdom than the magi) happy 644^th birthday!

To continue your quest for knowledge, see:

Adam of Usk.  The chronicle of Adam Usk, 1377-1421.  Ed. and transl. by Chris Given-

Wilson.  Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997.

Given-Wilson, Chris.  Chronicles of the Revolution, 1397-1400: The Reign of Richard II. 

Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993.

Walsingham, Thomas.  The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham 1376-1422.  Trans.

by David Preest, with notes by James G. Clark.  Woodbridge: the Boydell Press, 

2005.

Westminster Chronicle 1381-1394.  Edited by L.C. Hector and B.F. Harvey.  Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1982.

Hutchison, Harold Frederick.  The hollow crown: a life of Richard II.  London : Eyre &

Spottiswoode, 1961.

Saul, Nigel.  Richard II.  New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997. (your best bet)

Steel, Anthony.  Richard II.  Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1941. (for a neurotic Dick)

Richard, Earl of Cornwall and King of the Romans

Richard was born 5 January 1209 at Winchester Castle, the second son of Isabella of Angouleme and John (the phony King of England from Disney’s Robin Hood; he actually became a real king).  Richard’s older brother was Henry III (born 1 October 1207), who reigned from 1216 to 1272.

            Not a lot is known about the early years of Richard, but he did know how to speak English.  He was knighted by his brother at age 16, was titular head of a continental campaign, and received the earldom of Cornwall.  Throughout much of the later 1220s and early 1230s, Richard was an important baronial ally against his brother.  In his capacity as an opposition leader, though, Richard didn’t do anything of note – except enriching himself.  Every time he challenged Henry, Richard ended up with more money and lands, suggesting that his opposition might have been rather self-serving (a shocking accusation against a medieval baron).

            Although her influence cannot be proven, Richard tended to side with the barons of England during the lifetime of his first wife, Isabella Marshal.  The daughter and widow of great barons, Isabella was older than Richard and might have influenced his behavior.  She certainly drew him into closer connections with her family, for during his marriage Richard rarely rebelled without doing so in concert with one of Isabella’s five brothers.

            When Isabella died in 1240, Richard generally ceased to be a rebellious thorn in his brother’s side.  Isabella died in January, and Richard left England in June on a Crusade to the Holy Land.  Like nearly every crusade since the First Crusade, this trip was unsuccessful militarily, although Richard did confirm a truce and conducted a prisoner exchange.  After the fiascoes of previous crusades, this was a shining achievement.  As Sidney Painter, medieval historian, stated in the multi-volume A History of the Crusades, “Richard of Cornwall deserves some credit for what he did but far more for the mistakes he did not make” (485).  Way to not horribly screw up, Richard!

            On the way home, Richard visited Emperor Frederick II, “Stupor Mundi” or “Wonder of the World.”  This excessively cultured ruler was a perpetual annoyance to the papacy, which had excommunicated the emperor several times.  The crowning moment of this spat was undoubtedly when the pope excommunicated Frederick for going on Crusade - while the emperor was still excommunicated!  Perhaps like multiplying negative numbers, Frederick figured two excommunications put him back in communion.

            Anyway, Richard’s younger sister Isabella had married Frederick in 1235, so Richard was certainly well-taken care of by his brother-in-law.  Among his various amusements, Frederick had a harem of Saracen girls who would perform amazing tricks such as balancing on large spheres.  These lovely ladies might have performed other services, but the monastic chroniclers of the day are surprisingly reticent about such matters.

            Just a few months after his return to England in January 1242, Richard went on campaign with Henry III to France.  As usual, the campaign was a disaster, and the English only escaped because Richard, capitalizing on the good will he had accrued by freezing dozens of French prisoners in Jerusalem, arranged an overnight truce, allowing the English to run away under cover of darkness.  That’s right; the French weren’t always cheese-eating surrender monkeys.

            After another less-than-stellar campaign, Richard decided to get married again.  His second bride was Sanchia of Provence, younger sister of the queens of England and France.  For the first thirteen years of her marriage, Sanchia had to content herself with the title of countess and being wife to the richest man in England (even richer than his brother the king), until Richard finally managed to get elected King of the Romans in 1256.  King of the Romans was actually the title held by a Holy Roman Emperor before he was crowned Emperor, so Richard was geographically King of Germany and some bits of Italy (not including Rome).  He and his wife were crowned in Aachen in May 1257.  The Aachen Cathedral treasury even has a few items that were owned by Richard, including a chest decorated with the imperial arms and the arms of Cornwall.

            Despite being King of Germany, Richard still spent much of his time in England.  During his absence, the barons had forced reforms on Henry III, reforms that the king refused to acknowledge.  To telescope several years’ worth of history (as Shakespeare was wont to do), civil war broke out in England, led on the baronial side by Simon de Montfort (Henry’s French brother-in-law) and on the royalist side by the future Edward I.  Richard made an effort to help Henry, but his military ineptness was proven once again when he was captured at the battle of Lewes, hiding in a windmill.  Richard missed the final battle of Evesham, in which Edward decisively defeated de Montfort, whose corpse was subsequently mutilated and parts parceled out to royalist supporters.  One woman even received de Montfort’s genitals, evidence she had really helped Henry!

            Richard spent the rest of his life supporting Henry, trying to achieve coronation as emperor (it never happened), and marrying a teenager for his third wife.  Tragedy struck when his elder son, Henry, was murdered at Viterbo in Italy, by none other than two of his de Montfort cousins.  Henry was slain in a church, while praying at the altar, making it quite the scandal of 1271.  Richard suffered a stroke in December of 1271 and died on 2 April 1272.  His elder brother Henry died 16 November 1272, paving the way for Edward I (who was on Crusade at the time and wouldn’t return to England for two years).

            Richard was succeeded as earl of Cornwall by his second son, Edmund (son of Sanchia), who died childless.  The earldom of Cornwall reverted back to the Crown, and was later granted to Edward, the Black Prince (eldest son of King Edward III) as the Duchy of Cornwall.  The duchy of Cornwall is still part of the lands given to the Prince of Wales.

            Richard had three wives.  His first was Isabella Marshal, daughter of William Marshal and widow of Gilbert de Clare.  She was nearly nine years older than Richard and already the mother of several children.  Married to Richard in 1231, the couple suffered several miscarriages and infant deaths before the birth of Henry of Almain in 1235.  Sadly, Isabella died in 1240 due to jaundice and complications from childbirth.

            Richard did not remarry until 1243, when he espoused the then-fifteen-year-old sister of Eleanor of Provence, Henry III’s queen.  Sanchia of Provence was renowned for her beauty, and she might have worked to convince her husband to throw in his hat for the position of King of the Romans.  Sanchia was crowned queen with her husband in 1257, but was unable to enjoy her new position for long.  She died in November 1261, probably after a long illness.

            After several years without a wife, Richard married for his third, and final, time in 1269.  His final wife was Beatrice of Falkenburg, who was about sixteen to Richard’s sixty at the time of the wedding.  Beatrice was actually younger than Richard’s second son, Edmund.  After Richard’s 1272 death, Beatrice was involved in a series of disputes with her stepson, Edmund, who perhaps resented having to pay widow’s dower.  Despite her young age at marriage, Beatrice did not long outlive Richard, dying in her twenties in October 1277.

            So that’s Richard, earl of Cornwall, a pretty ordinary magnate who lived in the central middle ages.  He wasn’t particularly gifted (although he seems to have been made of somewhat sterner stuff than his much-maligned brother Henry III), but he was a political force because of his wealth and royal blood.

Happy 802^nd birthday, Richard!

If you would like to read more (and seriously, why wouldn’t you?) check out some of the titles below:

Paris, Matthew.  English History.  Volume I-III.  Translated by J.A. Giles.  London:

Henry G. Bohn, 1852, 1853, 1854.

-This is pretty much the single most awesome chronicle to ever come out of medieval England.  It has breadth, depth, human intrigue, and a narrator who is not afraid to tell you how he really feels about people.  While not always accurate, Matthew Paris is nearly always entertaining!

And for a truly academic experience read him in Latin (the original language)!

Paris, Matthew. Matthaei Parisiensis, monachi Sancti Albani. Chronica majora. Ed. by H. 

R.Luard.  7 vols. London, 1872-1884.  [Rolls Series Vol. 57 for those in the know]

Carpenter, David.  The Reign of Henry III.  London: Hambledon Press, 1996.

Denholm-Young, Nöel.  Richard of Cornwall.  Oxford: B. Blackwell, 1947.

Powicke, Maurice F.  King Henry III and the Lord Edward.  Oxford: Clarendon Press,

1966.

Roche, T.W.E.  The King of Almayne: A Thirteenth-Century Englishman in Europe. 

London: John Murray, 1966.

Weiler, Bjorn.  “Image and Reality in Richard of Cornwall’s German Career.”  The

English Historical Review.  Volume 113 (November 1998) 1111-1142.