For those who’ve been under a stone, here’s a potted history. Richard died in battle, was buried near a priory in Leicester, was dug up 500 years later and is enjoying reinterment this week in Leicester Cathedral – a seemingly more fitting place to rest than under the Tarmac in a car park.
In my humble opinion, it all feels about right
So why is there all this fuss for someone whom – Shakespeare tells us – was a most evil and vile monarch?
Well, that’s quite the question isn’t it? Like Marmite, it’s a love him or hate him scenario. It must be those who love him that are lining up to view his bones and coffin prior to the re-burial – especially as there is a four-hour wait.
These are the people who have fought against the mud-slinging (did he or did he not murder his nephews in the Tower?) and have sought to find his body, to give him a fitting send-off.
No wonder they’re so busy commemorating – this is what they’ve dreamed about, a historical hullaballoo.
And then there are the haters, who think this is just a spectacle for the gawping gullible.
Some conspiracy theorists out there even deny it’s his body, saying that the evidence isn’t sufficient and it’s more hope than science that has ‘proved’ that the bones are Richard’s.
In my humble opinion, it all feels about right. Digging up a skeleton in a car park where you think it should be, with curvature of the spine as well. It all makes sense.
Never mind that, seemingly, the carbon dating is a bit off and the DNA doesn’t add up in quite the way it should. The car park factor is so compelling.
Bu I’m not going to be making the trip to Leicester. I’ve lined the streets for monarchy before, when Charles and Diana left for their honeymoon and a couple of times at Buckingham Palace when the balcony is used.
But I’m glad the Richard affair is being privately-funded. Because as much as I’m happy to join a cheer-fest for a live monarch, I don’t want my tax spent on a dead one.