The Battle of Towton concludes!

This Battle was one of slog, terrible bloody slog!

Man after man died a death unworthy for even a dog!

The afternoon brought a mass bloodletting stalemate. Thousands of men on both sides died that afternoon never knowing if their sacrifice was in vain or not.

Death in the afternoon!

Came to the brave, the clever and to the unintelligent goon!

Which side would carry the day? That would not be known until evening came. And so it continued, a gigantic bloody throng of men with metal swinging back and forth, the agonising cries of the injured punctuating the air. Many wounded fellows calling for help, but knowing full well that none would come. Only death with its accompanying pain would give them relief from their terrible agonies.

The driving sleet which stung their eyes and greatly affected their sight!

Their hearing distorted by the clash of steel on steel and the howls of strong men in pain as they fought with all their might! 

Those still standing were unaware if the sodden mess beneath their feet was sleet covered soil, or the blood and tissue of those already killed. Most likely a ghastly, slippery white and red mixture of both. A truly living and dying hell on freezing cold, bloodsoaked earth.

The ground of the battlefield was littered  with a truly horrible stew!

An ankle high covering of blood, bones and guts from the many, not just a few!

Richard Neville the earl of Warwick stoutly stood his ground for the Yorkist side but he knew only too well that it was touch and go.

Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

As darkness began to fall, the turning point came. The Yorkists received reinforcements who inflicted serious damage on the Lancastrians, forcing them to concede ground. Also the Yorkist archers maintained a murderous fusillade of arrows which caused havoc in the Lancastrian ranks. The Lancastrians knew they were defeated and began to flee the field. However, fleeing disaster was easier said than done. Further horror awaited them in their hour of defeat.

The Lancastrian’s only means of escape was to cross the bridge over the stream known as Cock Beck. In their rush to escape, many Lancastrians slipped on the snow covered banks of Cock Beck and plunged into its icy waters.

The river of Cock Bec which became the watery cemetery for so many Lancastrian soldiers.

The Yorkists too, were making for the bridge in an attempt to head off the defeated Lancastrians. The two sides met on the simple wooden bridge which was not built to sustain the weight of so many men. So the inevitable happened, the bridge collapsed sending men of both sides into the freezing depths of Cock Bec. The stream was packed tightly with the bodies of living, dying and dead soldiers. So much so that their crammed bodies and corpses would act as a bridge for the pursuing Yorkists. The hooves of the horses battering the bodies of both Lancastrians and Yorkists and pummeling them further down into the icy hell of a deep Yorkshire stream. Their shed blood mingling together, turning the clear frigid water into the colour red.

A bridge of skin, bone and blood!

All stuck together in the icy red flood!

T’was a terrible sight, men struggling to break free of the fast flowing current, their voices but howls of despair. But no matter,the victorious Yorkists must have said, the day is ours.

Men, both Lancastrian and Yorkists so brave!

Were consigned to a horrible watery grave!

The Yorkists had achieved a great victory but it was an expensive one.