Accessibility and Archives: Thinking about (disability) history and archival outreach when watching “Wolf Hall”

In this post Philip Milnes-Smith reflects on recent viewing.

Perhaps surprisingly for this blog series, I want to start with what has been called the “Bridgerton-ing” of casting choices in The Mirror and the Light season of Wolf Hall, which “casts historically white characters with actors of different ethnicities” – not just extras and musicians.  For some, “anachronistic casting” (even in a work of fiction) is not merely inauthentic but seems cultural appropriation, an insult to the dead originals and even “an act of racism”.  My suspicion is that even the average viewer compares on-screen depiction with the past they have imagined from previous representations (from contemporary portraits reproduced in school textbooks and visits to stately homes, to previous movie and tv adaptations) and their own hunches.  Mantel herself had worried about the impact on the public of “the first history they learn”.  There have been criticisms that commissioning editors (and devisers of the history curriculum) have been overly interested in King Henry and his quest for a male heir at the expense of “the lives of ordinary folk”, including the “real stories of non-white Tudors”. 

That the representation of disability in the series has aroused less comment is perhaps revealing of contemporary priorities.  Catherine Fletcher, commenting on the first series, noted that “Modern medicine means today’s typical extra has fewer pock-marks than a typical member of a historical crowd”, and we should note that nobody is claiming that casting this way is inauthentic or offensive.  Mantel’s Cromwell may have done his best to keep his master from costly warfare, but we might similarly expect such crowds to include some war wounded.  Examination of the physical remains of the (working) crew of the Mary Rose suggest more than 58% had already experienced one or more traumatic injuries, and Cromwell’s memories of childhood remind us of the possibility of disablement from both domestic violence and accident. 

Both series (and the novels on which they are based) help remind us that Early Modern life was precarious at all levels of society.  Henry was only monarch, after all, because his brother Arthur had died in Ludlow after a short illness.  An illness similarly carries off Cromwell’s wife and daughters (within the space of a day), and, crucially, another temporarily disables Cromwell himself – preventing him undertaking his functions and allowing others to seize the opportunity to control the ear of the king.  Although it has been suggested that Damian Lewis is “not quite as rotund, gouty and ulcerous as the king would have been by this stage”, his increased disablement is depicted in the series as affecting his mobility (and perhaps also temper) – without much being vocalised in the script.  The first series had also included eye-patch wearing Francis Bryan, who had been blinded in a jousting accident. 

Perhaps with a costume drama audience in mind (rather than horror fans), the maiming capacity of the state and its agents is more spoken of than depicted.  Post-dating Cromwell’s life, we hear of (his betrayers) Rich and Wriothesley interrogating Anne Askew – they “took pains to rack me with their own hands, till I was nigh dead” necessitating her being “carried away in a chair” at the time, and to her place of execution “because she could not go on her feet, by means of her great torments.”

The preview image for this post shows a pair of Early Modern disabled people: the king himself and the ‘natural fool’ Will Somers (lean, hollow-eyed and with a stoop), standing in the royal presence and looking, it must be said) more anxious than “merry”. Included in Henry’s own copy of the Psalms of David, the image seems informed by the story (in 1 Samuel 16) of David (then a younger outsider) using music to calm a King and drive away a tormenting spirit. Mantel chose not to fictionalise Will Somers, and the television series also edited out Cromwell’s own fool (Anthony), but I have seen no protest at the rewriting of history so as to exclude disabled people. They did include a fictional ‘Court Dwarf fool of Anne Boleyn’s, but we might particularly note that Cromwell’s reaction to her differs hugely from Robert Armin’s presentation of Somers (and, for that matter, John of the Hospital).  Armin is at pains to tell us that Somers was known and loved (by more than the king, whom he calls Harry without causing offence).  His uncle, up from Shropshire, “wept with joy that he should see him again.”  “Many” courtiers who saw him sleeping on a stile “were loth to disease him” and “went another way”, while a poor woman made sure he did not fall or injure himself.  Another of Henry’s fools, Sexton, was given an explosive scene humiliating Cromwell, and Thomas More’s fool Henry Pattenson was given a small amount of screen-time in the original series (even if doubt is sowed by Cromwell about whether he might really be a ‘natural’). 

As was noted in the first blog in this series, even surfacing Henry’s own well-documented disability prompted a ‘culture war’ backlash.   But I would suggest that we have a responsibility to tell stories from our collections that re-people the past with those our contemporaries are not expecting to see (including disabled people like Will Somers), and offer ‘disability’ readings even of the ‘usual suspects’ (like Henry VIII) when there is evidence to support it.  When critics claim to call for television to conjure for us the lives of those less well documented than Henry or Cromwell, it is easy to foresee that a future objection would be that the resulting drama is fancifully unsupported by evidence.  A retelling of the same events as Wolf Hall from the perspective of Will Somers’ or his ‘keeper’ might even be at odds with the documentary record, and leave inexplicable gaps in what audiences were expecting because of what their lives were focused on (spaniels rather than Spanish ambassadors?)  But that doesn’t mean Will could have nothing of value to say: a memoir of Thomas More reports Pattenson reacting to news of his master’s ongoing imprisonment as follows: “Why, what aileth him that he will not swear? Wherefore should he stick to swear? I have sworn the oath myself."  Footnoting a ‘fictive narrative’ (as practised by Stephanie Evelyn-Wright in this blog), is not really practical in a television series, but might work for us in archival outreach,  helping us give voices back to those not previously deemed worthy of archival preservation. 

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