May 10th marks the anniversary of the death of Katherine Swynford in 1403. She died in Lincoln, probably at the so-called Priory within the Cathedral Close, and may well have been in declining health for some time before her death. Over six centuries later, her presence still lingers quietly across the city she came to call home.
Katherine remains one of the most recognisable women of fourteenth-century England. To many, she is remembered primarily through the lens of romance: the long relationship with John of Gaunt, the eventual marriage, and the extraordinary rise of their Beaufort children. It is certainly a remarkable story, but I have increasingly come to feel that reducing Katherine to a romantic heroine alone does her a considerable injustice.
What fascinates me most is not simply the love story, but the woman herself. Katherine survived at the heart of one of the most dangerous royal courts in medieval Europe. She endured public criticism, political upheaval, widowhood, exile from court life, and the uncertainties of dynastic politics, yet emerged with influence, dignity, and lasting significance. In many ways she represents something more complex and more interesting: an intelligent, resilient, and independent medieval woman navigating a world largely controlled by men.
Lincoln forms an important part of that story. Here she spent some of the final years of her life. Here she died. Here she was buried in Lincoln Cathedral beside her daughter Joan Beaufort, Countess of Westmorland. Even now, standing near their tombs in the Cathedral, there is a powerful sense that these are not simply distant historical figures but women whose lives shaped the course of English history.
Increasingly, my own research has begun to turn towards Joan Beaufort. Overshadowed at times by both her parents and her descendants, Joan was nevertheless one of the great matriarchs of fifteenth-century England. Through her children and grandchildren, her influence stretched deep into the Wars of the Roses and ultimately towards the Tudor dynasty itself. Yet Joan also had her own story of power, family, grief, survival, and political importance.
As I begin my journey into historical non-fiction writing, it is Joan who is increasingly drawing me in. There is something compelling about attempting to recover the lives of medieval women not simply as supporting figures in the stories of powerful men, but as individuals who shaped events in their own right.
Perhaps that, ultimately, is what continues to draw me back to Katherine Swynford and her family. Their story is not simply one of romance or scandal, but of legacy, resilience, motherhood, ambition, survival, and memory. And in Lincoln, their story still feels very much alive.
