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The 'Nine Days Queen' is one of England's most controversial monarchs - here's why
Has history captured Lady Jane Grey’s story accurately? As her childhood home re-opens to the public, we investigate the misunderstood queen
In April 2026, Bradgate House – the childhood home of Lady Jane Grey – was reopened to the public after extensive conservation work, bringing with it a new wave of interest in the so-called ‘Nine Days Queen’. But what do we actually know about this enigmatic Tudor noble, who is often cast as a tragic victim? Who was Lady Jane Grey? In 1537, Jane was born into the noble Grey family. Her parents were the Duke of Suffolk, Henry Grey, and Lady Frances Brandon. As the great-granddaughter of Henry VII and great-niece of Henry VIII, Jane was orbiting the English throne from birth. However, as historian Nicola Tallis explains on an upcoming episode of the HistoryExtra podcast, “she wasn’t ever raised as an heir to the throne. She was just this great-niece of Henry VIII who had been living in the countryside." <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/dreamstimel173782772-53db152-e1777556403679.jpg" width="1498" height="1000" alt="A man dressed in ornate Tudor clothing stands against a dark backdrop, wearing a fur‑trimmed robe, a heavy gold chain set with jewels, and a black hat decorated with pearls and gold." title="A portrait of Henry VIII, modelled after Hans Holbein the Younger’s iconic depiction. Grey’s distant relation to the king meant she was never raised as an heir to the throne (Image by Dreamstime)" /> In 1553, that all changed. King Edward VI was in increasingly ill-health but, being the first English monarch raised as a Protestant, he was desperate for his Protestant legacy to live on. So, he issued his Devise for the Succession. This legislation barred both of Edward’s half-sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, from succeeding to the throne. Read more | Edward VI: why the forgotten Tudor king had the makings of a monster “[Edward] didn’t want his Catholic half-sister [Mary] to be given the opportunity to reverse all of his good work in the cause of religion”, explains Nicola. “However, Edward realised that he couldn’t exclude one half-sister without also excluding the other. And so, he bars both Mary and his younger half-sister Elizabeth from the succession by reason of their illegitimacy." This catapulted Jane to first in line for the throne – a place she didn’t want to be. A reluctant queen On 6 July 1553, just a few weeks after the Devise for the Succession, Edward VI died at age 15. This officially made Lady Jane Grey the Queen of England. “She had no wish or desire to be queen whatsoever, but this was an impossible situation for Jane because she was pressured into accepting the throne," says Nicola. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/dreamstimel107873088-1e3f4b0-e1777556619751.jpg" width="1500" height="996" alt="A detailed stone relief depicts two elaborately dressed women surrounded by attendants, with one kneeling figure offering a crown on a cushion in a ceremonial scene." title="A frieze on the Supreme Court in Parliament Square, London, shows Lady Jane Grey being offered the crown of England. Jane was a reluctant queen, who was “pressured into accepting the throne” (Image by Dreamstime)" /> So, Jane reluctantly took to the throne and was publicly proclaimed Queen on 10 July 1553. Though, it would not last long; Jane would hold the title for a mere nine days. She was soon toppled by Mary I. Was she really queen? There has been some debate about whether Lady Jane Grey should be considered one of Britain’s monarchs, given the fact that the Devise for the Succession was never passed through parliament. But as Diarmaid MacCulloch, speaking to HistoryExtra, points out, “the monarchy has never descended by strict primogeniture, and Queen Jane had a perfectly good claim to the throne: the sort of claim that brought James VI of Scotland to be James I of England in 1603." Tudor historian Tracy Borman agrees. “Edward’s Devise for the Succession was legally binding, so Jane’s claim was entirely valid – and arguably more so than other monarchs who claimed the throne without being legally named." <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-464447577-2a78898-e1777556709437.jpg" width="1496" height="1000" alt="A woman in a richly embroidered dark Renaissance gown sits in a red and gold upholstered chair, holding a red carnation in one hand and gloves in the other, framed by a dark backdrop." title="A portrait of Mary I of England, 1554. Originally barred from the succession due to her Catholicism, Mary would take the throne from Jane Grey after just nine days (Image by Getty Images)" /> So, why is Jane often left off the list of British monarchs? “Mary I [Edward VI’s half-sister who took the throne from Lady Jane Grey] had to ensure that her subjects saw her – not the woman she had supplanted – as the only true queen," explains Tracy. The dismissal of Lady Jane Grey was, therefore, a form of propaganda. Read more | Mary I: your guide to the life and rule of Henry VIII's daughter – plus a timeline and 7 little-known facts In the battle over religious belief, Catholic Mary I had many supporters following the intense Protestantism of Edward VI’s reign, and that meant Lady Jane Grey – as a devout Protestant herself – made many enemies. As soon as Mary came to the throne on 19 July 1553, Jane was imprisoned in the Tower of London. Why was Bradgate House so important? Within the tumultuous story of Lady Jane Grey’s life, Bradgate House was the place that defined her childhood and provided the environment that shaped her. “Jane would have grown up in an elite Protestant setting at Bradgate and, during the reign of Edward, some star Protestant preachers such as Bishop Hugh Latimer were welcome guests there," says Diarmaid. This moulded Jane’s Protestant beliefs, which made her such a good candidate to follow in Edward’s footsteps. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/dreamstimexl106240335-ce8e09c-e1777556805118.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="The reddish‑brown stone ruins of a hilltop castle rise above large moss‑covered rocks, set against dark, dramatic clouds." title="The ruins of Bradgate House, Lady Jane Grey’s childhood home. Growing up here strengthened Jane’s Protestant beliefs and allowed her to have an education (Image by Dreamstime)" /> Living at Bradgate also gave Jane the opportunity to be educated, in a world where women were still often limited in this regard. Speaking to HistoryExtra, biographer James D Taylor explains that Jane’s scholarly abilities and intellect were nurtured in an environment where education was encouraged: “at a time when schools that we know of now did not exist, [growing up at Bradgate] allowed Jane to read and study with the guidance of tutors." What can we learn from the story of Lady Jane Grey? Whether or not Jane is considered a true queen, she was a certainly a definitive figure of the Tudor period, and representative of the era’s religious tensions. “She’s a great symbol of historical might-have-beens,” says MacCulloch. Of her short reign, Taylor adds, “though ill-prepared to rule, she did the best she could in the short amount of time she sat on the throne." <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-113494497-b8b07ab-e1777556907324.jpg" width="1498" height="1000" alt="A blindfolded woman in a white gown kneels on straw, reaching for an execution block with the help of an older man, while an executioner with an axe stands nearby and two distressed onlookers sit to the side." title="Lady Jane Grey is led to the block on the day of her execution, as depicted in this 1833 painting. Grey’s death means she is “a great symbol of historical might-have-beens” (Image by Getty Images)" /> Jane refused to have her husband, Lord Guildford, proclaimed king without an Act of Parliament and, as Tallis explains, “the odds did seem to be very much stacked in Jane's favour to begin with. Even Mary's supporters were urging her to flee abroad for her safety because they were convinced that Jane's reign was going to be secure.” Read more | The curse of the nine-day queen But despite her best efforts, Jane couldn’t compete with a vengeful Mary I, who, after being denied her birth right once before, was not willing to let it happen again. When Jane’s father was revealed as a key conspirator in Wyatt's rebellion – a 1554 uprising that aimed to prevent Mary I’s marriage to Philip II of Spain – Jane’s fate was sealed. On 12 February 1554, Jane was executed at the Tower of London. But perhaps she shouldn’t be remembered solely as a victim. “Jane's story vividly illustrates how powerless women could be in the face of ambitious male relatives," says Borman. “Yet it also provides an inspiring example of a young woman with unshakeable religious convictions and principles – one who might, if history had turned out differently, have proved an excellent queen.” Nicola Tallis was speaking to Isabel King on an upcoming episode of the HistoryExtra podcast, available soon.
What were Viking women doing while their men were on violent raids?
The lives of noble women in the Viking world were shaped by politics and logistics, and worlds apart from the lives of enslaved women – yet both groups were foundational to that milieu
With histories of the Viking Age dominated by muscular-sounding kings, warriors and adventurers – Ragnar Lothbrok, Erik the Red, Olaf Tryggvason, Harald Hardrada – it can seem as if that era was defined solely by the lives and actions of men: raiders crossing fierce seas in longships, and kings claiming power through battle. That is, of course, only half of the story. Underpinning that colourfully masculine image was a society sustained, organised and, in many ways, driven by Viking women. Their roles ranged from managing households and shaping political alliances, to producing the materials that made Viking expansion possible. As historian Emily Lethbridge puts it, women were “the engine room of the Viking Age”. Those born into Norse nobility enjoyed access to influence within powerful family networks. For others – particularly those captured and enslaved during raiding – it meant a life with little autonomy, but serving and supporting the success of that society. Noble Norse women: marriage and power In upper-class Viking society, women played a crucial role. “If a girl was lucky enough to grow up to become an adult in an upper-class aristocratic chieftain’s family, then really her primary function would have been socio-political,” says Lethbridge, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. Viking society was decidedly patriarchal, with formal political and military authority held by men. But power didn’t operate through men alone. Elite families depended on networks of alliance, and women were central to maintaining these. “Women were the social glue,” Lethbridge explains, because marriage functioned as a crucial political tool. “Daughters of chieftains were used to make alliances, and to secure a family’s social position and financial position.” Marriage bound families together, creating mutual obligations, reducing the risk of conflict, and bringing access to land, resources or military support. From an early age, elite girls would have been brought up with this role in mind. Read more | This morbid Viking Age death pit is more mystifying than it first seemed – here’s why “A girl would be raised with a view to her being placed somewhere, making a successful marriage and thus cementing the family’s political power,” Lethbridge says. Through these alliances, women bound together the Norse world’s political landscapes – something that was true of high-status women across many cultures through history. The Vikings | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | Join Professor Ryan Lavelle for our four-week course on the Viking period, covering everything from trading and raiding, to daily life. Explore the course now Running the household Alongside those roles, women were responsible for the practical management of daily life. “[Girls and young women] would have been learning really practical skills through their childhood as well,” Lethbridge explains. “The two major spheres would have been food preparation and textile production – wool production and weaving.” These were core economic activities. Producing food involved managing livestock, preserving supplies for winter, and coordinating labour within the household. Textile production required processing raw wool, spinning thread, weaving cloth and repairing garments. Running a household therefore meant managing a small-scale economic unit. And some of this work had consequences far beyond the home. Read more | Inside the Viking mind: the view of the Vikings' world from 5 perspectives Textile production, in particular, played a critical role in enabling Viking expansion. “Some scholars have emphasised the role of women in sail-making,” Lethbridge says. “Without sails, the Viking expansion would never have happened.” Ships depended on their sails, made from dense woollen cloth, not the kind of lightweight materials used for modern sails. Producing one called for vast quantities of wool and many hours of labour. “And who’s making the sails? It’s the women – from spinning the wool and weaving it into material to then sewing it together.” “That was hugely time-consuming,” she adds, “but absolutely shows how women were the powerhouse – the engine room – of the Viking Age.” In other words, the long-distance raids and trading voyages that defined the Viking Age were possible only because of the sustained, skilled labour carried out largely by women. Enslaved women: a different reality At the opposite end of the social spectrum were enslaved women. Slavery was a central pillar of Viking socio-economics. Raiding expeditions often targeted people as well as goods. Captives were transported across networks that stretched from the British Isles to Scandinavia and into the wider European and Islamic worlds. Women were particularly vulnerable in that context. They could be forced into domestic labour, agricultural work or sexual exploitation. Their experiences are harder to reconstruct because enslaved people are often invisible within most sources, but some literary works do provide small glimpses of what this life would have been like. One of the most striking examples appears in Laxdæla Saga, an Icelandic narrative written down in the medieval period but set during the Viking Age. Read more | 10 incredible Viking stories from Norse mythology Early on in its narrative, Laxdæla notes the story of Melkorka, “a fascinating female character,” Lethbridge says. In the saga, she is captured during a raid in Ireland and sold in Scandinavia. Melkorka is then taken as a concubine to Iceland by a powerful chieftain, and bears him a son. Later in the story, Melkorka reveals her noble origins – an Irish princess captured during a Viking raid. Because of her position at the side of a chieftain, she is eventually given her own farm with her son. “At that point, she gains a bit more independence,” Lethbridge says. The story shows both the violence of enslavement and the ways in which it could strip the agency and power from even those of formerly high status. It also reflects the broader role of slavery within the Viking world. “The Viking Age was largely driven by the slave trade and huge slave markets,” Lethbridge explains. This aspect of Viking activity is often underemphasised in popular imagination, but it was fundamental to the generation and distribution of wealth. For enslaved women, this meant lives shaped by displacement and a total lack of autonomy. Clearly, then, the experiences of women in the Viking Age were not uniform. At one end were elite women who played important roles in alliance-building and household management. At the other were enslaved women whose lives were defined by exploitation. The common thread spanning these two ends of the social spectrum is the centrality of women within the Norse context. Whether through political marriage, economic management, textile production or forced labour, women were essential to the functioning of Viking society. James Osborne was speaking to Emily Lethbridge on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Long to reign over us: how did Queen Elizabeth II survive seven decades of dizzying change?
When Elizabeth II ascended the throne in 1952, she could barely have conceived the currents – imperial retreat, multiculturalism, de-industrialiation – that would transform the nation during her reign. On the centenary of the Queen’s birth, David Cannadine explores how she navigated seven decades of dizzying change
When I was born in September 1950, King George VI had just over a year to live. I have no memory of him or his reign, and my first royal recollection was of the coronation of the second Queen Elizabeth – or, more precisely, of images of her state coach and horses, which I cut out of a souvenir magazine. My parents did not own a television set, and did not know anyone who did, so it was only in 2012, the year of Elizabeth’s diamond jubilee, that I watched the remastered version of the original coronation broadcast from Westminster Abbey. Richard Dimbleby’s reverential commentary, suffused with ardour and optimism, did indeed belong to that earlier time. When the Queen celebrated her platinum jubilee in 2022, few people in the United Kingdom or the Commonwealth could remember when she had not been on the throne. Like Queen Victoria, Elizabeth II had become part of what Victoria’s biographer Lytton Strachey called the “indissoluble” scheme of things, which made it impossible for many people to imagine the world without her. Apart from just over a year at the beginning, and (thus far) four years at the end, my own life has coincided exactly with the 70 years of her reign. I was no part of her life, and never met her, but she was certainly a part of mine, as she was of millions of people in the United Kingdom, the Commonwealth and far beyond. Joining Shakespeare I never imagined it would one day fall to me to tell Queen Elizabeth’s life story, but in 2014 I was appointed editor of the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, and it seemed likely that the Queen would die on my watch. The convention established for the ODNB’s predecessor, the original Dictionary of National Biography, was that when the monarch died, the editor would contribute the entry on him or her, and it duly fell to me to write the life of Elizabeth II. I did so in two forms: as a short book of 50,000 words, published late in 2025 by Oxford University Press; and as her entry in the ODNB, available online from April this year, which was cut to 35,000 words, putting the late Queen in the company of her namesake Queen Elizabeth I, along with Shakespeare, Oliver Cromwell, Sir Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher. The ODNB entry is a tightly written biography, while the longer book historicises the Queen by setting her more fully in the context of her times. Read more | Buckingham Palace was the height of royal power – so why did Queen Victoria and Albert hate it? Producing these two different versions reminded me how biographers and historians take different approaches when writing individual lives. Some of the most outstanding recent biographies have been by historians – among them Ian Kershaw on Hitler, Jonathan Steinberg on Bismarck and Diarmaid MacCulloch on Thomas Cromwell – but it is a genre about which many scholars remain sceptical. The political and constitutional historian Geoffrey Elton spent his life determined not to produce a biography of Thomas Cromwell, even though he greatly admired him; and in writing his life of Hitler, Ian Kershaw noted that biography ran the risk of “over-emphasising the role of the individual in shaping and determining events”, and “ignoring or playing down the social and political context in which those actions took place”. These risks most certainly apply to biographies of monarchs, though they are less acute when dealing with kings and queens who proactively make history. But sovereigns who reign reactively, rather than rule proactively, create serious expositional challenges, anticipated by Karl Marx, when he observed that “men [and women] make their own histories, but they do not do so under circumstances of their own choosing”. Elizabeth II was just such a circumscribed monarch, living out her life against trends and trajectories in many ways far from friendly. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-120520595webready-f7c08c2-e1776683608167.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A black‑and‑white photograph shows a person seated at a table with a BBC microphone in front of them, wearing a light blouse and a pearl necklace while holding a sheet of paper." title="In a speech broadcast to mark her 21st birthday – while she was touring South Africa – Princess Elizabeth pledged herself to a life of duty (Image by Getty Images)" /> Decline and fall One indication of this hostile 20th-century environment is that many monarchies were history’s victims rather than its victors. By the end of the First World War, the great-power thrones of Russia, Austria-Hungary and Germany had disappeared. The Second World War led to a further royal conflagration, as the Yugoslavian, Italian, Bulgarian and Romanian crowns were subsequently abolished, while the survival of the Japanese emperor was the exception that proved the rule. Thereafter the king of Egypt was driven out, the king of Iraq was murdered; Libya, Afghanistan, Greece, Abyssinia and Iran dispensed with their sovereigns, and only the return of a Spanish monarch in 1975 bucked that trend. This widespread royal retreat was accompanied by imperial dissolution, as the maritime empires of Portugal, Belgium the Netherlands and France disappeared during the second half of the 20th century. And so did the British empire, which had been the biggest of them all. Kipling had anticipated this retreat at Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee in 1897, when his poem Recessional stressed the ephemerality of empire and the transience of global dominion. Between the partition of India and the return of Hong Kong to China 50 years later, the British empire went into full recessional mode. Elizabeth’s father, George VI, was the last British monarch to be Emperor of India, and she ‘gave away’ even more territory than George III. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-613457692webready-3319b3d-e1776682784658.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A black‑and‑white portrait shows six people in formal ceremonial dress. At the centre stand a man in a decorated military uniform and a woman in a gown with a long train and veil. Two seated figures and two standing figures wear military uniforms with medals or elegant gowns and jewellery. Draped curtains and a carpeted floor form the backdrop." title="A family portrait from the wedding day of Elizabeth II’s parents, 26 April 1923. (From l to r): the Earl and Countess of Strathmore, the Duchess and Duke of York (the future Queen Mother and George VI) and Queen Mary and George V (Image by Getty Images)" /> A royal rebranding Such was the broader, confining global context against which Princess Elizabeth, born in 1926 as the eldest child of the Duke and Duchess of York, lived out her life. One further indication of these changing and challenging times was that only one of her parents was royal. Before the First World War, Europe’s ruling houses constituted an international, inter-connected elite, as exemplified by Queen Victoria’s children, most of whom wed their continental (especially German) relatives. But the First World War, which ranged the British and German royal dynasties against each other, put an end to that, and in 1917 George V rebranded the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha as the House of Windsor, and decreed that his descendants might select marriage partners from among British families, by which he meant members of the aristocracy. Read more | The young Elizabeth II: life before she was Queen The Duke of York duly wed Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, daughter of the Scottish grandee the Earl of Strathmore, which meant Princess Elizabeth was only ‘semi-royal’, whereas both the parents of Prince Philip of Denmark and Greece, whom she would later marry, were royalty. Philip may have belonged to the rootless and impoverished interwar diaspora of minor princelings, but his lineage was grander than Princess Elizabeth’s. At the time of her birth, there was no realistic likelihood Elizabeth would become the queen regnant of the United Kingdom. Like all Europe’s remaining royal houses, the British monarchy was patriarchal and patrilineal, which meant that if the Duke and Duchess of York produced a son, he would immediately leapfrog his elder sister and become first in the line of succession. And Princess Elizabeth’s uncle, the Prince of Wales, who would accede to the throne on the death of his father, George V, might yet marry and father a boy who would eventually follow him as king. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-514080420webready-b1c182a-e1776682680633.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A black‑and‑white photograph shows two people standing together: one wearing a light dress with a brooch and a fur‑trimmed hat, the other in a dark suit with a patterned tie, light vest, and a flower pinned to the lapel. A stone wall with a metal window grille is behind them." title="The former Edward VIII marries Wallis Simpson in June 1937 after abdicating the throne. In doing so, says David Cannadine, he put “self and love before service and duty” (Image by Getty Images)" /> This meant there was every initial expectation that Princess Elizabeth would live out her life as a minor member of the royal family, marrying a British aristocratic landowner, doing good works in the local community, and enjoying the company of her horses and dogs. But she would not be the first member of the British royal family in modern times to inherit the throne unexpectedly. The same had been true of Victoria, of George V, and of her father, George VI. All three, like Elizabeth, were unanticipated monarchs who became successful sovereigns – as she would do to an even greater extent. This unexpected turn in Elizabeth’s life took place in 1936, when she was 10 years old. Her uncle, who had succeeded George V as Edward VIII, abdicated the throne to marry the twice-divorced Wallis Simpson, putting self and love before service and duty. But this obliged Elizabeth’s father to put service and duty before self and love, by becoming the sovereign, as George VI, he had never wanted to be. Having sired no son, this meant his elder daughter became heiress presumptive, and she fully assimilated her parents’ ethos of duty and service. In 1947, on her 21st birthday, when she was accompanying her parents on a tour of South Africa, Princess Elizabeth delivered a broadcast, pledging her life, “whether it be long or short”, to the service of the empire and Commonwealth, and it was a pledge she honoured and kept all her life. But that was not the only reason why 1947 was so important a year. India became independent, and was partitioned, portending the end of the British empire and its evolution into the voluntary community of association known as the Commonwealth. That same year, Elizabeth wed Prince Philip, beginning a more than 70-year union that would be perhaps the greatest royal marriage in history. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-613465636webready-d118ece-e1776682342956.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A black‑and‑white photograph shows a bride in a lace wedding gown, tiara, and pearl jewellery holding a bouquet, smiling at a man in a formal military uniform with medals. Dark curtains form the background." title="Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten on their wedding day, 20 November 1947. Their 73-year union was, writes David Cannadine, “perhaps the greatest royal marriage in history” (Image by Getty Images)" /> British revolution Thereafter there were many milestones in Elizabeth’s long life and reign, extending across an astonishing 70 years. Here are just a few of them. 1952: the death of her father, her accession as the second Queen Elizabeth, and the widespread belief that a ‘new Elizabethan age’ had dawned. (Due to Britain’s diminishing status in the world, that belief would prove to be mistaken.) 1960: Harold Macmillan’s ‘wind of change speech’ delivered in South Africa, portending the end of what remained of the British empire. 1964: the advent of the Queen’s first Labour government, led by Harold Wilson. 1965: Winston Churchill’s state funeral, both the last rites of the great man and a requiem for Britain as a great power. 1979: Margaret Thatcher took office, as the Queen’s first female prime minister. 1997: the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, delivered a jolt to the monarchy and the nation. 1999: the Queen opened devolved legislatures in Wales and Scotland. 2011: she visited Ireland and expressed sympathy for “those who have suffered as a consequence of our troubled past”. 2016: 43 years after Britain joined the EEC, an EU Referendum ended in Brexit. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-1450414706webready-b13781c-e1776682235671.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A black‑and‑white photograph shows a group of formally dressed people standing on steps outside a building. Some wear military uniforms, others fur coats or ceremonial robes. One naval officer salutes while others hold programs." title="The State Funeral of Sir Winston Churchill" /> Significantly, none of these events were initiated by Elizabeth II, but she had to adapt to all of them. That is what monarchs who reign but not rule must do. At the same time, there were many milestones in her own life, as she celebrated a unique grand slam of four jubilees. 1977: her silver jubilee (25 years) – not yet even halfway through the Queen’s long reign, taking place during James Callaghan’s premiership, nearing the end of a difficult decade. 2002: her golden jubilee (50 years) – initially anxious, following the dismal 1990s and the deaths of Princess Margaret and the Queen Mother, but turning out to be an unexpectedly successful amalgam of royal tradition and Blairite ‘cool Britannia’. 2012: her diamond jubilee (60 years) – perhaps the happiest of them all, following the marriage of William and Kate Middleton, preceding the successful opening of the London Olympics, and instantiating the Queen’s own hard-won apotheosis. 2022: her platinum jubilee (70 years) – inescapably elegiac, as the Queen was largely absent from the celebrations, and her last years had been hard, with Covid, the death of Prince Philip and the departure of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex to the US. But she made a final appearance on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, where she had first been glimpsed as a baby in her mother’s arms 95 years before. The Queen’s long reign meant her closest relatives were obliged to adapt in unprecedented ways. Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother became a dowager queen for half a century. Prince Philip gave up a promising naval career and subordinated his life to supporting hers. Prince Charles had to wait until his early 70s before he became king. Princess Margaret, the Queen’s younger sister, found neither personal happiness nor a fulfilling public role. In different ways, this must have been difficult for all four of them. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-3335882webready-e52ecc4-e1776682455805.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A black‑and‑white photograph shows a woman in a light outfit, hat, gloves, and pearls holding a bouquet as she interacts with a crowd of adults and children waving flags." title="The Queen meets children during her silver jubilee celebrations, 1977. Despite the smiles, Britain was suffering a crisis of confidence at this point in her reign (Image by Getty Images)" /> Unlike their parents, but like their Aunt Margaret, three of the Queen’s children – the Prince of Wales, Princess Anne and Prince Andrew – divorced, which meant the (dysfunctional) royal family increasingly became a scandal-ridden soap opera. Prince Andrew’s excessive sense of entitlement, and his close friendship with the convicted American sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, were deplorable displays of bad behaviour and demonstrated still more deplorable and damaging lapses of judgment. The Duke of Sussex denounced his father in public for being cold and aloof, while his wife branded members of the royal family as uncaring, unsympathetic and racist. “Recollections may vary,” was the Queen’s response. As someone who belonged to the generation that had gone through the Second World War, she was ill at ease with the emotional incontinence that had become widespread during the closing decades of her reign. Total transformation During her 70 years on the throne, Britain changed significantly. In the early 1950s, the traditional aristocracy still counted in the corridors of power, the middle classes were closely linked to the empire, the military and the civil service, and working-class men were overwhelmingly employed in such heavy industries as coal mining, steel making and ship building. Except for the Queen, women knew their (subordinate) place, social mobility was limited, higher education was restricted to a minority, Britain was, to a large extent, ethnically homogeneous, the Church of England was a significant force, and the Victorian moral code still prevailed. Read more | The royal family and their right to privacy: who should have access to the records? But by the end of the Queen’s reign, the aristocracy was no longer the power elite, the middle class sought alternative employment, and the de-industrialisation of Britain meant most men no longer undertook hard manual labour. Rising standards of living and the expansion of universities made the country a more mobile and less deferential society, women occupied prominent positions in public and professional life, the influence of the Church of England had declined, the Victorian moral code had been dismantled, and the influx of immigrants from the dissolving empire meant Britain became an increasingly multi-faith, multi-ethnic, multicultural society. To all this the Queen adapted, slowly and not always enthusiastically, but overall, wisely and well. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-530137388webready-eab239c-e1776682946240.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Three people at a formal event: one in a sequined gown with a tiara and jewellery, one in a patterned dress with gloves and pearls, and one in a light traditional outfit. They appear to be conversing in an ornate indoor setting." title="With Margaret Thatcher at a Commonwealth meeting in Zambia, 1979. The Queen placed great store on Britain’s membership of this association of more than 2.7 billion people (Image by Getty Images)" /> As the United Kingdom diversified, the British empire diminished, until by the end of her reign it had almost completely disappeared. However much she cared about it, and however hard she worked at it, being Head of the Commonwealth was scarcely the same as being Empress of India. In 1952 Britain was still – just – a great global power; 70 years later, it was a middle-sized nation that had sought to compensate for the loss of empire by joining the European Economic Community, a venture that was abandoned following the referendum of 2016. It thus fell to Elizabeth to preside, not only over domestic devolution, diversification and de-industrialisation, but also over imperial retreat and international withdrawal. This meant that although in later life she became, like Victoria before her, a justly venerated matriarch, the uplifting, expansive narrative widely proclaimed in 1887 and 1897 found no echoes in 2002, 2012 and 2022. Queen Elizabeth II’s greatest achievement was, perhaps, to make recessional majestic. These were not circumstances of her own choosing, but she made history, all the same. Sir David Cannadine is the editor of the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. His latest book is Queen Elizabeth II: A Concise Biography of an Exceptional Sovereign (OUP, 2025) This article was first published in the May 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
How did three very different royal women set a new course for women in power? In the final episode of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, Kate Williams shares the stories of Boudica of the Iceni, Queen Liliʻuokalani of Hawaii and Princess Grace of Monaco
In the final episode of her Academy series on royal women, Kate Williams explores the theme of woman ruling at the edge of collapse, and the moments in history where power was fragile, contested and often slipping away. This episode takes a closer look at Boudica, whose story is often told as one of fiery resistance – her tale, says Williams, serves as reminder that even defeated queens can reshape the future. You'll hear about Queen Lili'uokalani, both the first and last queen of Hawaii, whose power and legacy has endured even though her throne was taken. Finally, there's Grace Kelly, who represents a different kind of royal power – one shaped not by rebellion, but by a Hollywood image. View Green Video on the source website Discover all videos in this Academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina: A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Coming to the throne as a young and inexperienced royal, Queen Victoria faced a society that was both sceptical of women’s power and rigid in its expectations of gender roles. So how did she come to be a figurehead of imperial progress? In the fifth episode of this of her HistoryExtra Academy series, Professor Kate Williams explains more
Queen Victoria’s life spanned an era of extraordinary change. During a period of industrial growth, political reform and imperial expansion, she became a symbol of Britain’s 19th-century might. But at the time of her accession, she was an unlikely figurehead. In episode five of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, Professor Kate Williams reveals a deeply personal figure whose relationships, grief and convictions shaped the monarchy in new ways. View Green Video on the source website Want more from Kate? Find more episodes of the academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina :A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Mary I: England’s most misunderstood queen?
In the fourth episode of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, Kate Williams explores the life and reign of Mary I, England’s first crowned queen regnant, whose rule has long been overshadowed by her reputation for religious persecution
Born into the tumultuous politics of the Tudor court, Mary I saw her mother abandoned by King Henry VIII, her brother enact religious persecution with fresh zeal and, when she was crowned, faced the pressures of a divided nation. So does she deserve her reputation as ‘Bloody Mary’? Or has history judged her too harshly? In episode four of her HistoryExtra Academy series, Professor Kate Williams weighs up the actions of the woman crowned first queen regnant of England. View Green Video on the source website Enjoyed this episode? Find more in episode five of the academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina :A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Marie Antoinette: the French queen who became the target of a revolution
Few historical figures have been as vilified – or as misunderstood – as Marie Antoinette. In episode three of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, historian Kate Williams explains how the cards were stacked against this young queen
From the glittering world of Versailles to the growing unrest of revolutionary France, Marie Antoinette’s life was shaped by politics, public perception and relentless scrutiny. In episode three of her HistoryExtra Academy series, Professor Kate Williams explores the life of young woman thrust into power, who had to navigate a hostile court and a changing world – all in the face of growing unrest. View Green Video on the source website Enjoyed this episode? Find more in episode four. Discover more episodes episodes of the academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina :A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Cleopatra is remembered as a romantic figure, but she was one of the most formidable leaders of the ancient world. In episode two of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, historian Kate Williams considers a life of power, risk and survival
For centuries, Cleopatra has been remembered as a seductress, reduced to a sultry and sexualised stereotype. But in reality, she was something far more dangerous, as Professor Kate Williams explores in this second episode of her HistoryExtra Academy series. Discover the life of Cleopatra VII, the last ruler of Ptolemaic Egypt, whose intelligence, political skill and ambition helped her navigate one of the most dangerous periods in ancient history – and how she remained determined to stand against the power of ancient Rome. View Green Video on the source website Enjoyed this episode? Find more in episode three. Discover more episodes of the academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina :A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Elizabeth II: the queen who redefined an era
What made Elizabeth II such an enduring figure? In episode one of her HistoryExtra Academy series on royal women, historian Kate Williams explores the life of a queen who took on the crown in a new age of technology and progress
How did Queen Elizabeth II balance tradition with change throughout her long reign? And what is her lasting impact on the monarchy today? In the first episode of her HistoryExtra Academy series, Kate Williams traces the extraordinary life of Elizabeth II, a monarch whose reign spanned generations. From moments of national celebration to periods of crisis and criticism, discover how she navigated the challenges of modern monarchy while remaining a symbol of continuity and stability. View Green Video on the source website Enjoyed episode one? Find more in episode two. Discover more episodes of the academy series on royal women, and explore our previous series on royal residences Professor Kate Williams is a historian, presenter the author of several books including Regina :A New History of Women and Power (June 2026)
Medieval family planning: meet the strong-willed women who redefined motherhood in the Middle Ages
In the Middle Ages, the bearing and raising of children defined women’s lives. But as Elinor Cleghorn explains, there were women who had other ideas and boldly challenged attitudes towards motherhood
In the winter of 841, a Frankish noblewoman named Dhuoda decided to compose a book of life advice for William, her eldest child. Since 824, when she married, Dhuoda had been living in Uzès, a town in southern France. Her husband, Bernard of Septimania, was a duke and military guard with family ties to the ruling dynasty of the first Carolingian emperor, Charlemagne. Almost two and a half years after their marriage, they welcomed their “most dearly desired first-born son”. As Dhuoda began writing to William, she pictured how he would hold her book when it was finished, how he would touch and turn its pages. Fifteen years earlier, William had issued “forth out of [her body] into the world”. Now, as he was leaving childhood behind, the lessons issued from her hand to his, from her body to his, would guide him towards adulthood. Dhuoda named her book Liber Manualis, Latin for handbook – literally translated as ‘hand-held book’ – and she hoped William would keep it with him always. As well as a collection of advice about how he should serve God, live virtuously, overcome hardships and be an honourable man, the Liber Manualis was a channel through which she hoped they would remain connected. For Dhuoda would not be there in person to care for William as he grew up. The Carolingian empire, as Dhuoda noted, was “in the midst of much agitation and discord”. Charles the Bald, son of Emperor Louis the Pious, and his half-brothers had been embroiled in civil wars over lands and succession for years. In June 841, after Charles won a bloody battle, Bernard, who fought against him, appeased Charles by offering his son William as vassal. Back in the spring of 841, Dhuoda had given birth to their second child, a boy. Bernard was a contentious figure with many enemies so, for his newborn son’s protection, he had him removed from his family home and taken to Aquitaine. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/0752743-354aa37-e1776414834828.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A medieval illuminated manuscript shows a veiled religious woman with a halo seated and writing in a book. She wears blue and brown robes against a gold background, with decorative blue-and-white border patterns on the left." title="A 13th-century depiction of Hildegard of Bingen. Though she never had children of her own, the German abbess took on the role of mother to her spiritual community (Image by Topfoto)" /> Dhuoda, under Bernard’s orders, remained at home in Uzès. She was lonely and fearful for her children, but there was nothing she could do. Bernard, as father and patriarch, determined the fates of his sons. Dhuoda, as a woman, a mother, had no such right. Composing her handbook, which she hoped William would show to his younger brother one day, was a way for Dhuoda to process her grief by mothering from afar. “I am somewhat ill at ease and eager to be useful to you,” she explained as her handbook began. Through the act of writing, she was sustaining her bond with the children she had birthed and nurtured. “Even though I am absent in body, this little book will be present,” she wrote. Little is known about Dhuoda’s life other than the details she gives in her handbook. But like so many medieval women, her existence was defined by bearing and raising children. As a woman of noble birth who married into aristocracy, Dhuoda’s principal duty was to provide her husband with heirs. But, regardless of class or circumstance, womanhood in medieval Europe was synonymous with motherhood. Carrying, birthing and caring for children was viewed as a woman’s natural purpose. By virtue of the female body’s reproductive biology, mothering was assumed to be irrefutably inscribed into a woman’s being. Marrying a man and bearing his children was often the only way for women to ensure their safety and security. In addition, at least for those who were married, becoming a mother garnered respect, both from women’s families and wider society. A perilous undertaking But while motherhood did afford many women status and stability, it could leave them vulnerable. Children were assumed to be the legal property of their fathers, and mothers such as Dhuoda had few parental rights. To become a mother in the first place, women also had to navigate the dangers of pregnancy and birth. Pregnancy losses and stillbirths were sadly commonplace, and 15–30 per cent of babies died before their first birthdays. Childbirth was a leading cause of women’s deaths. Much of what we know about the experiences of medieval mothers is gleaned from records of childbirth rituals, medical texts detailing midwifery practices, and even in accounts of life-saving miracles that reportedly happened during dangerous births after a would-be mother or her caregivers prayed to a saint for protection. Of course, medieval motherhood went beyond giving birth. But there are few sources available today that reveal what caring for and raising children, through infancy and beyond, felt like and meant to women themselves. Dhuoda’s Liber Manualis, intimately addressed in her first-person voice to her beloved son, is one of the only surviving texts from the early Middle Ages to describe the duties of mothering and the emotions of motherhood in a woman’s own words. As well as their many domestic duties running households and tending to their families, mothers were recognised in medieval culture as being responsible for nurturing their children’s souls and spirits. For Dhuoda, the responsibility she held for guiding William’s faith was sacred, and she was determined to do her duty to him regardless of the distance between them. Dhuoda was educated and literate, and she wove her knowledge of scripture, Christian doctrine, natural science and ancient philosophy into her lessons. Read more | Marvellous medieval medicine: why their curious cures were better than you think Medieval women were expected to remain modest, and Dhuoda admonished her thoughts as those of an “unworthy woman”, a “frail vessel” and a “feeble... shadow”. But she was steadfast in her belief that, as a loving mother, no one was better qualified to teach her child how to become a good man. “My son, you will have learned doctors to teach you,” she wrote, at the end of the first chapter of Liber Manualis. “[But] they are not of equal status with me, nor do they have a heart more ardent than I, your mother, have for you.” Dhuoda saw herself as “twice a mother to [William], both in soul and in body”. Mothers’ ability to serve as their children’s moral and religious guardians was certainly related to their intimate physical connection. Parallels were drawn between the bodily nourishment a mother provided during pregnancy and while breastfeeding, and the spiritual nourishment of her tutelage and guidance. But while women were respected for creating and sustaining new lives, their reproductive bodies were still believed to be steeped in shame. The Bible decreed that Eve, the first woman, was responsible for unleashing sin into the world. To atone for her wrongdoings God commanded that all women suffer in childbearing and maternity. Women existed to ‘go forth and multiply’, but the agonies they endured while doing so were punishments for their inherent sinfulness. Through the model of Mary, motherhood become associated with salvation. Yet Mary was exceptional because, unlike all other mothers, she became pregnant and gave birth without any of the corruptions of sex, blood or pain. Spiritual motherhood The highest state of womanhood, according to medieval clerics, was achieved not by biological mothers, but by those who committed to lifelong ‘virginity’ and devoted themselves to God as nuns and abbesses. The religious culture of the Middle Ages denigrated the physical processes of childbearing and held biological mothers to strict moral standards. But, by elevating the significance of motherhood beyond the body, it also enabled women to be mothers in ways that were not confined to marriage or tethered to domesticity. By adopting the role of spiritual mothers, some medieval women gained rare opportunities to lead, think, create and write. Three centuries after Dhuoda wrote her handbook, Hildegard, a German abbess of the Benedictine order, established a new women’s monastery, the Rupertsberg, on top of a hill near the town of Bingen in the Rhineland. Hildegard was born in 1098 as the youngest of 10 children. She was tithed to the church by her noble parents. Aged just 14, she became a nun and retreated into a cloistered cell in the Disibodenberg monastery in Germany’s Rhineland-Palatinate region, which later expanded into a convent. In 1136, she was appointed magistra, or mother superior, at Disibodenberg, and 14 years later she moved with the nuns over whom she presided to the Rupertsberg. Hildegard’s life was full of hardships and privations, but she was devoted to guiding and teaching her spiritual family. “I exercised the care of my daughters in all things necessary for their bodies and souls,” she wrote. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/default-9ed4fca-e1776350598918.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="An old woodcut-style illustration showing a woman in labour seated in a small room, supported by one woman standing behind her while another kneels in front as a midwife. All three wear early modern European clothing." title="A medieval woodcut shows a mother-to-be on an obstetrical chair. Hildegard of Bingen celebrated women’s role in childbearing and motherhood (Image by Wellcome Images)" /> In her work as the primary caregiver of her community, Hildegard showed how the strongest maternal bonds could be forged beyond biology. As she guided her daughters in prayer and taught them scripture, she also showed that the work of mothering was as much about the cultivation of minds as the nurturance of bodies. Hildegard claimed to have experienced visions from God since childhood, but she kept them secret for fear of being branded a heretic. When she was 42 and suffering with illness, she was called by a “voice from heaven” to reveal what she had seen and heard. Alongside running her monastery and tending to her daughters in spirit, Hildegard began to write about her visions. The year after she moved to the Rupertsberg she completed Scivias, the first of three illustrated volumes of her theological insights, and soon she became a prolific composer of hymns, poems and music. It was also at the Rupertsberg that Hildegard wrote two medical treatises. Causes and Cures dealt with the creation of the world and the human body’s place within it, while Physica described the healing properties of plants, herbs, animal substances and earthly elements. In medieval Europe, monasteries often provided healthcare to people in need. At Disibodenberg, Hildegard tended to medicinal plants in the gardens and assisted in the infirmary. In the library, she immersed herself in Latin translations of Greek, Roman and Arabic medical and botanical discourse. Although she had never experienced biological motherhood, her role as a caregiver to women’s bodies and souls inspired her to think compassionately about their physical experiences as child-bearers and infant nurturers. Read more | Medieval influencers: 4 women who brought change to the Middle Ages While she believed that women who didn’t devote themselves to God were created to be subject to men and to mother their children, she also countered some of the more misogynistic ideas promoted by Christian doctrine, and concerned with women’s reproductive, maternal and sexual bodies. She wrote of Eve as the “first mother” rather than a tempted deceiver. She described menstrual blood as the “vital force” through which women brought forth offspring as trees bear fruit. She honoured the work women’s bodies did to sustain the growth of a foetus, give birth and produce milk to nourish infants. She even celebrated women’s sexual pleasure and wrote one of the earliest descriptions of the female orgasm. The monastic sphere was one of the few places where medieval women were afforded the time, space and resources to cultivate their own communal, creative and intellectual lives. But Hildegard’s extraordinary contributions to religious culture, medicine, science and art, which she achieved because of her role as a maternal caregiver, mark her out as a truly path-breaking medieval mother. The privileged few The breadth of education Hildegard received as a nun and abbess was only available to a privileged few. Most medieval women received no education beyond domestic skills, basic literacy, and religious instruction when they were young, and many were not granted opportunities to pursue lives of the mind as they grew up. Once they married and became mothers, the burden of their household and care-giving duties rarely allowed them to read and study. Among the vast numbers of women who needed to provide for their children and families, it was rarer still for mothers to sustain their livings as writers and thinkers. But after being widowed in 1389 and becoming the sole provider for her children, Christine de Pizan, an Italian-French writer, found a way to do just that. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/gr0029518H-02fbea9-e1776350670610.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A medieval illustration showing a robed figure in a tall white headdress gesturing toward an armoured person holding a staff. Between them is a table with an open book, a closed red book, and a small writing box, set in a room with a lattice window and decorative arches." title="The writer Christine de Pizan – shown (left) in a 15th-century manuscript illumination – was a source of inspiration for mothers across France (Image by Topfoto)" /> Born in Venice in 1364, Christine wanted to pursue learning from childhood. She was encouraged in this by her father, a physician and astrologer who served in the royal court of Charles V in France. When she was 15, she was married to Etienne du Castel, a secretary and notary to Charles V, and they went on to have three children. After Etienne died of plague, Christine faced financial strife because of complications with the sales of her late husband’s estate. Instead of opting to remarry to ensure her and her family’s security, she decided to support her children, along with her own mother and a niece for whom she was also responsible, on her own. She began her career by writing lyric poems, and soon she was composing ballads and poetic narratives for wealthy patrons in the royal court. In the 10 years after her husband’s death, Christine became France’s first professional woman of letters. As a working mother, she studied independently and wrote prolifically. In 1405, she wrote the book that has assured her legacy as one of history’s most important proto-feminist thinkers. The Book of the City of Ladies celebrated notable historical women and countered centuries of ingrained misogynistic arguments claiming women were weak, incapable of thought, prone to vice and dependent on men. That same year, Christine also wrote The Treasure of the City of Ladies, in which she advised women of all social classes and circumstances – from peasants to royalty – on how to become fulfilled, resilient and useful in their roles as wives and as mothers. Christine wished for the text to be read and shared widely by “valiant ladies and women of authority” the world over. She achieved this dream decades after her death when the advent of print meant her books were published and distributed widely. Read more | From Joan of Arc to Brigitte Bardot: meet the trailblazing women who shaped French history During her lifetime Christine gained unprecedented recognition and her influence continued for centuries. For some mothers, her work also became a guiding light. Anne de Beaujeu, Princess of France and elder daughter of Louis XI, owned a copy of Christine’s Treasure, and it inspired her to write a book of lessons for her own daughter Suzanne, who was born in 1491. About 25 years earlier, The Book of the City of Ladies graced the birthing chamber of Elizabeth of York, Duchess of Suffolk, at the Oxfordshire home of her mother-in-law, Alice Chaucer. This was because Chaucer made sure the room where Elizabeth would give birth to her third child contained books that reflected her and Elizabeth’s maternal expertise as teachers and guides. Women lost to history Though the majority of medieval women were mothers, few had the ability or opportunity to reflect on their mothering lives in writing. The voices of the many who lacked the privilege of education and literacy are lost to history. But, through the writings that survive, we can see that motherhood was then as nuanced and multifaceted as it is today. Dhuoda, Hildegard of Bingen and Christine de Pizan represent the breadth of those meanings and experiences. Even in their socially and biologically ordained roles, women still found ways to take control of their lives. And they achieved this in a male-dominated world where women, as mothers, often had little freedom to determine their destinies. Dhuoda continued to be a mother despite being separated from her children. In doing so, she left a moving, curious and revealing account of her relationship with her son – and with herself. Hildegard’s awesome achievements showed what was possible when the work of mothering transcended biology. Christine proved that motherhood was no impediment to women becoming providers and independent thinkers. All three of these women created their own concepts of motherhood. Despite social, financial and ideological barriers, they mothered on their own terms. Elinor Cleghorn is a feminist cultural historian, writer and researcher. Her latest book is A Woman’s Work: Reclaiming the Radical History of Mothering (W&N, 2026) This article was first published in the April 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine