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# Terrible Tudors, gorgeous Georgians
# Slimy Stuarts, vile Victorians
# Woeful wars, ferocious fights Dingy castles, daring knights
# Horrors that defy description Cut-throat Celts, awful Egyptians
# Vicious Vikings, cruel crimes Punishment from ancient times
# Romans, rotten, rank and ruthless
#Cavemen, savage, fierce and toothless
# Groovy Greeks, brainy sages Mean and measly Middle Ages
# Gory stories, we do that And your host, a talking rat
# The past is no longer a mystery Welcome to...
# Horrible Histories. #
When Edward III chose York Minster for his wedding in 1328,
there was still building work to be done,
and that made for quite an eventful day.
I, King Edward III.
Do take thee, Philippa of Hainault.
-Take thee, Philippa.
-To be my lawfully wedded wife.
To be my...
To be my lawfully wedd...
To be my lawfully wedded...
-Do you want milk with your hot water, mate?
-Oh, yes please, mate.
Mind yourself, love.
Is this really necessary? It's just we are trying to get married here.
Well to be entirely fair, Your Majesty,
I did say we were having some work done when you booked the wedding.
Yes, but I didn't think it was going to be this intrusive.
-Oh, come now, it's not that bad, is it?
-Well, I think it is.
Wouldn't you agree, dear?
Left a bit, Phil.
-Mind yourself, love!
I mean, I just said that.
Look, we are trying to have a royal wedding here.
-Actually we've almost finished.
-I've put the strut over the choir screen.
And this bad boy is the last of the columns.
Well done you. Now, if you wouldn't mind.
Although I have got a niggling feeling
that we've forgotten something, though.
The roof! THEY LAUGH
Well, I always said I wanted a white wedding.
OK, the workmen stuff is just silly, but it's true.
When Edward III got married, the roof wasn't finished,
and it really did start to snow.
I once went to a friend's outdoor wedding when it poured with rain.
It was OK, though, my friend's a duck.
Edward III was famous for starting the 100 Years' War
against the French, which featured this famous battle.
'Coming soon to a field in northern France...
'The most memorable battle of the age.
'A true story of conflict between the superior French knights...'
We vastly outnumber the English.
We are better armed, and we are playing at home.
-This is going to be slaughter.
-'..and Welsh and English underdogs,
'outnumbered, ill-equipped and desperate.'
Might have some of this mouldy bread for lunch.
-Yeah, I might save it though.
What, for dinner or summat?
No, in case I get badly wounded.
I can shove the mould in the wound, it kills the infection.
Oh, nice. I'm going to have some of this cheese.
'There would be no mercy.'
This is going to be slaughter.
-You said that already.
-I know. I just like the word slaughter.
-They're coming, they're coming!
'All the English archers had was determination...'
They're still coming!
-Taking a long time, aren't they?
-Yeah, I think they're stuck.
'..and lots of mud.'
OK, heavy armour, too many knights, too little room,
lots of arrows and lots of mud.
We probably should have thought this through a little better.
'Witness the easiest comeback of all time.'
Let's just wander over there and stab 'em up.
It's a bit harsh.
They started it.
Ah, do you think we could call this a draw?
-Where's your horse gone, mate?
-I'm sitting on it.
'Agincourt - a name to be remembered,
'a battle best forgotten, probably.'
Let's strip 'em and sell their armour.
In Victorian times,
the criminals used a lot of slang words for things.
In fact, they practically had their own language.
All right, listen up, this is a flummet job.
We'll need a rook, some Davy's dust and a fagger.
Luckily I knows a nemmo who'll crack a crib for a spangle, any questions?
Um...sorry, I'm new.
Could we run through that again?
-Well, it's a flummet job.
-OK, I'll stop you there.
Oh, golly! Oh right, well, carry on.
-Right, we'll need a rook.
-A crowbar, you Tommy tug!
It's Martin actually, Martin Smith,
and can I just say this is all very exciting.
Look, can you get us some Davy's dust, or what?
Well I could get us some Martin's dust if that will help.
He means gunpowder, you strut noddy.
There's no need to yaffle, do you want the raw lobsters on our tail?
I'm sorry, are you afraid we'll be pursued by uncooked seafood?
No, not seafood.
The cheese, the nosers.
Whoa, am I glad I'm not in your head.
I mean where did this fear of cheese come from?
Do you want a ding on the coconut?
Oh, pudding, yes please.
He's talking about the peelers, you doddy.
Is that to peel the cheese or the coconut?
The rozzers, the crushers, the blue devils?
Oh, the police! Well, why didn't you just say?
Because if they could understand what we're saying,
then they'd know what we're up to, wouldn't they?
And what are we up to?
-We're planning a burglary.
-Ah, as I suspected all along.
Detective Martin Smith, Scotland Yard,
who's the strut noddy now, you back jumping gumps?
-It's a fair cop.
The answer is...
In Victorian times, you could be fined for a lot of petty things,
but there were also more serious crimes.
Hello. My name is...
Well, it's none of your concern.
You're watching The Real Victorian Hustle.
The show where real Victorian criminals
show you real Victorian scams. Hand it back, Dodger.
First up, an entry-level hustle, the shivering dodge.
'On a cold morning,
'just wear your thinnest clothes and shiver like crazy.
'With any luck, some tom tug mug will take pity on you.'
Oh my, you poor street urchin, you look positively freezing.
-I am perishing cold, sir.
-Here, buy yourself something warm.
Oh thank you, kind sir. (Tom tug.)
-What did you say?
-Er...I'll buy a rug.
Coat would seem more practical, but still.
I'll look after those, shall I, Dodger?
How comes it's me who does the hard work,
but you gets to keep the spangle?
Cos I'm the brains.
Next hustle, the Lucifer dodge.
'All you need is a tray full of matches to sell,
'and, of course, another rich tom tug.
'Just pretend they've made you spill the matches.'
-Oh no, me matches!
Here's something for your trouble, boy.
For this last hustle, the scaldrum dodge,
you just cover your bare arms with soap and rub in some vinegar.
'The unholy mess should look like ugly blisters.'
Oh, please help me, sir, I'm so very sick.
'If the soap on your arms isn't working for you,
'then you can also try sticking some soap in your mouth.'
I'm so very sick.
'Or even try strapping a leg up to make it look you've lost one.'
If you're thinking of trying any of these hustles, do be warned,
Victorian police are wise to them,
largely because most Victorian police officers
are ex-criminals who grew up doing them themselves.
There he is, officer, there's the man who stole all my money.
You little snick, Dodger.
One other Victorian hustle was to eat bread left out for the birds
until someone took pity on you and gave you some cash.
Though trust me, do not try nicking bread off a swan,
they may look pretty, but they're ugly on the inside.
"And now, an infomercial from Roman leader, Julius Caesar."
'Do you have thick, lustrous, touchable hair?'
Yeah, well, so did I.
Get lost, hairy, seriously.
But believe me, guys, it doesn't last forever.
I seemed to be losing more and more hair each day.
It was really getting me down.
Until I invented this -
Julius Caesar's new "Romeover,"
the complete dictator's hair loss solution.
'To solve your hair loss problems today,
'just comb your remaining hair forward
'over the balding part of your head to create this incredible illusion
'of thick, silky hair that's bursting with volume. It's awesome!
'Just look at the results.'
In fact, with your Romeover in place,
people won't know that your hair's receding.
-Fabulous, fabulous. You look like a lion.
So don't delay, get your Romeover today.
'Warning: Romeover only works with people too scared
'to tell you the truth.
'And also from the creator of the Romeover, the laurel wreath.
The Roman status symbol that also covers up your baldest bits,
making you feel ten years younger.
Yeah, I bet you do.
So try Julius Caesar's new Romeover and laurel wreath today,
and say goodbye to baldness forever.
'Warning: not designed to work in a strong wind.'
It's true. Julius Caesar really did try to cover up his baldness.
Actually, I used to be a bit embarrassed about my bald tail,
till I realised I'm not a squirrel.
Anyway, what's better known about Julius Caesar
is that he landed in Britain in 55 BC.
It was the first Roman invasion of Britain,
but certainly not the last.
Hello and welcome to News at When.
When? Just over 2,000 years ago,
when a series of emperors from Rome, calling themselves Roman Emperors,
decided to try and add Britain to their ever-growing empire.
Here with more details on this intriguing invasion
is Bob Hale with the Roman Britain report.
Thank you, Sam.
Well, it's around 100 years BC, and that right there,
unless I'm very much mistaken, is my Britain-shaped birthmark, and...
Oh, no, that's actually Britain.
Which is full of Celts.
There's one, that's his brother, there's a mate...
actually there's loads of them.
And they live a happy tribal life in little mini-kingdoms
just like they have done since the Iron Age.
But not for long!
Yes, it's 55 BC, and who should rock up but Julius Caesar,
who, believing that the Celts are helping an anti-Roman rebellion
over in France, decides to teach Britain a lesson,
specifically a lesson in how to badly organise an invasion.
Yes, Caesar's plan to invade Britain completely fails,
so he comes up with a bold new plan,
which, somewhat unoriginally, is to try and invade Britain again.
Yes, he came, he saw, he took a few prisoners,
he got bored, he went home, and that's the end of that.
But not for long!
Yes, next up to try and add Britain to the Roman Empire
is crazy Caligula, who forgets to tell his troops
about the invasion, and has to cancel the whole thing.
So he declares war on the sea instead,
and takes a load of seashells as prisoners,
which is weirder than my cousin Keith,
and he wears trousers made of bacon.
Then finally, in 43 AD, Emperor Claudius gets the job done
and Britain is invaded by an expansionist foreign power.
Or boo, depending on how you like to look at it.
Claudius sweeps through what we now call England
using a tried and tested combination
of smooth talk and unimaginable violence.
But the Celts are no pushover, no siree, whoever that is.
A certain Miss Boudicca decides to fight back,
leading 100,000 Celts to face a mere 10,000 Romans
at the Battle of Watling Street,
which is pretty good odds by my maths.
Which may explain why I failed maths.
Because, despite being outnumbered ten to one,
the Romans completely clobber the Celts.
Then they whack the Welsh, knock out the north,
and push right up into Scotland, right? Wrong!
You see, Scotland, or Caledonia as it was known then,
is home to the Picts, fierce tribal warriors
who make the Romans look like
what my Scottish Uncle Kenny would call a big Jessie.
Though that may also be a reference to my Aunt Jessie,
who is three metres tall.
Yes, after repeated attempts to invade Caledonia,
and with beaten Romans, in every sense,
it's Emperor Hadrian who decides to simply seal the Picts in
by building a massive wall right across the country,
and I'm not even joking.
Yes, it's Hadrian's Wall,
with Caledonia to the north and Britannia to the south.
So there we have it.
The northern edge of the Roman Empire is established,
everyone knows where they stand, and that's the end of that.
But not for long!
You see, the Lowland Picts, in the south of Caledonia,
start trading with the Romans,
but every time the Romans cross Hadrian's Wall to do a deal,
the Highland Picts from up there run down and attack them.
So the new emperor, Antoninus Pius,
comes up with a groundbreaking new plan -
Yes, he builds the Antonine Wall,
which cuts off the warring Highlanders
from the trading Lowlanders.
It's brilliant, it's inspired, it's a complete waste of time,
as the Highlanders just climb over the wall and attack them anyway.
Until, in 211 AD,
when Emperor Septimus Severus says, "Enough is enough,"
or the Latin equivalent,
and decides to finally show these Picts what the Romans are made of.
He invades, he fights, he is completely beaten.
Beaten like the eggs in my Aunt Jessie's Victoria sponge mixture,
and let's not forget she's three metres tall
with arms like oak trees.
Anyway, realising that they'll never conquer Caledonia,
the Romans concentrate on Britannia instead, and what a job they do.
They introduce Roman roads, Roman food, Roman coins and Roman noses,
and Britain lives quite happily under Roman rule
for four long centuries.
Until finally, with Rome itself under threat from invaders,
in 410 AD, the Roman army leaves Britain,
taking their technology and noses with them,
and plunging Britain into a cultural decline
often referred to as the Dark Ages.
And how dark was it?
Well, by my estimations, at least as dark as this.
Well, I genuinely don't know what just happened.
Um...Ba...Back to you, Sam.
The Renaissance era in Italy is well known for its rich cultural heritage
but, at the time, Rome was ruled
by some very wealthy and corrupt people,
like Pope Alexander VI.
KNOCK ON DOOR
Yeah, can I help you?
I was hoping for an audience with His Excellency Pope Alexander VI.
Yeah, His Excellency is a little busy right now with church business.
Who is it, Cardinal?
It's a young deacon to see you, Holy Father.
Show him in.
Kiss it. What can I do for you, my son?
There is no easy way to put this.
There are rumours spreading throughout the Vatican that
you are debauched and corrupt and not fit to hold the office of Pope.
I too have heard these rumours,
but I can assure you there is absolutely no substance to them.
My only desire is to serve the Roman Catholic Church.
Dinner will be ready in five minutes, my little popelet.
Thank you, sweet pea, love you.
Is there anything else?
Um, you do know that Popes are not allowed to be married, right?
My dear friend, she's not my wife.
-She's my girlfriend.
But you must know that any relationship with a woman is
highly inappropriate for a Pope. Next you'll say you have children.
Daddy, can you help me with my Latin homework?
Not now, champ, Daddy's gotta talk popey business with the nice man.
-You run along, OK?
-You have a child?
I don't have a child.
I have four, or is it five?
It's so easy to lose count.
But you can't have a family.
-It's OK, I cleared it.
Pope Alexander VI.
But you are Pope Alexander VI.
Exactly, and I say it's fine.
How in heaven's name were you voted in?
Easy, I bribed all the Cardinals.
Your Excellency, would you sign off on a few more backhanders?
Sure. Couple of cart loads
-of silver should do the trick?
-OK, get out of here.
A girlfriend, family, bribery and corruption?
Everything I heard about you was true. It is disgusting!
Is there anything you wish to add to your list of crimes
against this most holy of offices before I tell the world?
Sometimes I arrange the murder of men who stir up trouble for me.
Well, everything seems to be fine here.
Good luck with all the popey stuff. Ciao!
He's a good kid. He's a good kid.
He's going to go far.
Where's my pizza?
It's true, Pope Alexander VI was notorious
for bribing his way to power.
His actual name was Rodrigo Borgia, and his family, the Borgias,
really put the horrible into Horrible Histories.
# Lucrezia, Giovanni
# Gioffre and Cesare
# Italian barmy army,
# The Borgia Family
# Our daddy was Rodrigo
# I had a monstrous ego
# When he makes trouble we go
# The Borgia Family
# Our tale begins Renaissance Spain
# Its leaders were a shower
# And I ran out of patience so began my quest for power
# I splashed my cash to all the Papal Cardinals in hope
# That they'd be bought
# They were in short
# And I became the Pope
# More power than I oughta
# Blood's thicker than water
# Appoint my sons and daughter
# To run a dynasty
# With Daddy as the Pope I could do as I pleased, was ace
# I'd kill a man who'd dare to like invade my personal space
# I found a husband for Lucrezia
# Rich Giovanni Sforza
# Do you love him?
# Yes, of course, but love is power and money more so
# Now married to the Sforzas
# This opens up new doorses
# The world bows down before us
# The Borgia/Sforza Family
# Oh yes and while we're at it
# We will marry son Gioffre
# Aged 12 but so what, soon we'll be
# The Borgia/Sforza and the Naples family
# When the Sforza family eventually bores ya
# We'll just annul the marriage if he refuses to divorce ya
Don't I get a say?
Don't fret, for you another man I'll get, Alfonso of Aragon.
I like him, this could go on and on.
You like him, I've gone off him, his pretty face makes me wince.
You killed him?
Yeah, I'm the model for Machiavelli's Prince.
# Giovanni ran the army
-# But Cesare said...
# I'll kill you if you cross me
# I might kill you anyway
# I am the mostest powerfulest evillest of all
# As long as Dad's alive there's not a single chance I'll fall
# We've suddenly lost status,
# It seems the whole world hate us
# They excommunicate us
# The Borgia Family. #
Don't worry, the dentist will be with you shortly.
Oh, I hope so. Is Mr Ian good?
-Yeah, on the sign outside, Mr George Ian.
Oh no, he's Mr Georgian. He's one of the most modern doctors
here at the historical dentists. You're in safe-ish hands.
Ah, good day to you.
I understand you are suffering from some rather serious dental pain.
Not to worry, we Georgian dentists are very advanced in this area.
False teeth, fillings, the ill effects of too much sugar,
-all these things are known to us.
-That's very reassuring.
As is the use of sticks, wee and gunpowder in cleaning teeth.
Right, open up, if you wouldn't mind.
Hm, now there is now some rather serious decay there,
and so I could just scrape away the decaying area
-and put a filling in it.
-Well that sounds OK.
Shall I heat up the wire, doctor? Takes a while to get it red hot.
What do you need a wire for?
Well, we touch your nerve ending with the red hot wire
to cauterise it.
Now, what sort of filling would you like, lead or beeswax?
Well, neither, lead's poisonous and beeswax will just melt.
I could do you a porcelain one
but, the solution we use in that process kills the tooth
so you'd end up with a white filling in a black tooth.
No, and frankly I don't want a red hot wire in my mouth anyway.
-Yes. Now you do seem to be in a lot of pain.
I don't see why I shouldn't just remove the whole tooth.
-Will that hurt?
-Not unless I take half your jaw with it.
-Now don't worry, that only happens
when a Georgian barber does your dental work.
I, on the other hand, am a professional operator to the teeth.
That's what Georgians used to call dentists, it's very grand.
We shall just remove the bad tooth and replace it with a false one.
Bit on the large side, isn't it?
Oh, I see, well I'm not going to... and then, oh, oh, oh.
No, no, that's not going to happen.
Mandy will simply carve a false tooth from this walrus tusk.
Right away, Mr Georgian.
Well, that sounds all right.
-Right, lie on the floor for me, please.
So I can clamp your head between my legs and rip out the tooth.
-Oh, that's strange.
-Was it something you said?
Did you know George Washington, the first President of America,
had dentures made from hippo and elephant ivory? Ah!
Hey, they must have been huge!
What was that?
They were carved down? Oh, that's boring.
Still, he couldn't have looked any sillier than most posh Georgians
with their ever-changing fashions.
You haven't noticed?
-Yes, I have.
You've got extra padding on your calves.
Oh, doesn't my hair look different?
Oh, of course, you've got a new wig.
Of course I've got a new wig!
Lord Humbertold is visiting from the city.
He always wears the latest fashion,
so I thought I'd pick out something a little more a la mode.
Right, well, I think a bigwig like me
should look like a bigwig by having a big wig.
But it's so last reign. George III's been in power for decades now.
Yes, well, you know what they say, fashion comes around every 30 years.
< Lord Humbertold.
He's arrived. Quick, hide behind me, maybe he won't see you.
Oh, good gracious, look at Lord Humbertold.
You're not wearing a wig, you look ridiculous.
-No wiggy, no wiggy, no wiggy!
Did a thief lean into your coach and steal the wig from off of your head?
It can happen, you know.
There's a real black market for second-hand wigs now.
I haven't had my wig stolen.
You lot in the shires are so behind the times,
everyone in town knows the fashion's changing.
It's fast becoming deeply unfashionable to wear a wig at all.
I knew that. Wigs are so passe.
But, Cumberland, you just said...
Crimlington, you look ridiculous.
-Wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy!
Shut up, all right, just shut up, shut up so much!
I thought you were my friend.
eczema, gangrene, haemorrhoids, anaemia, acne.
Hallucinations, amnesia, mania, paralysis, allergy.
We Greeks made great progress in the science of medicine,
but not all our methods were so very advanced.
Phoar! Something smells fishy in Greece,
and I'm not just talking about the taramasalata.
I'm Dom Duckworth, here to investigate the highly dubious
medical practices of the so-called Asklepian doctor priests.
I've come to the temple of Asklepius, the Greek god of healing,
where a doctor priest is making some pretty bold claims.
Last week this man only had one eye.
While he slept, Asklepius rubbed ointment onto his eyelid
and, behold, he woke up with two eyes.
I am cured.
And when this Spartan boy was suffering from water on the brain,
Asklepius cut off his head, drained off the water
and stitched it back on again.
Look, no scars.
In our care, everyone gets better and no-one dies.
We're proud of our 100% no-death record.
Excuse me, Dom Duckworth, can I have word?
-Where did you get the money from, mate?
Why won't you talk to me?
So, how do they keep up their 100% no-deaths record?
We spoke to this bloke.
If you've got a cold or something you'll easily recover from,
the doctor priests will let you in,
but if it's serious and you're likely to die, they won't.
-And how do you know this?
-They refused to let me in.
And there's worse.
This is Nigel, a slave who works at the temple.
-Permission to speak, Nigel.
If someone dies when they're in the temple
we have to dump their body in the woods.
Actually, there's a huge pile of rotting dead corpses
in a fetid, rancid heap, I could show you if you like?
No, you're all right, mate.
It's time for Dom to go undercover.
I've put on the old helmet-cam, I'm going to front things up. Ssh!
Excuse me, I need to see an Asklepian doctor priest.
-Is it serious?
-I'll say it's serious.
-Well, then I'm busy.
-I don't mean it's serious as in I'm seriously ill,
I mean the whole temple thing is just a scam for making money.
What have you got to say for yourself?
Have you met the temple's sacred hounds? Get him!
Oh no, oh no! You've done it this time, Dom.
Oh, why do you do it, Dom?
Next week, I'll be investigating the Oracle at Corinth.
Can you really hear voices of the gods coming from below,
or is it just a priest shouting up a hole?
My guess is it's just a priest. Right, I need a hospital, cheers.
# We gave you all the fearsome facts... #
If you enjoyed that, why not come and play?
Go to the CBBC website and click on Horrible Histories.
See you there.
# The past is no longer a mystery
# Hope you enjoyed Horrible Histories. #
Subtitles by Red Bee Media