At What Point Do the War Dead Lose Their Honour? A Reflection on Time, Respect, and Identity

A visit to the excellent Mary Rose Museum in Portsmouth brought me face to face with the cast of the skeleton of a crew member. I've been trying to verbalise my discomfort with this experience since.

Branxton Hill, Northumberland, known as Flodden Field, on the 9th September 1513 a Scots Army under James IV suffered a catastrophic defeat.

In the late summer of 1513, the flower of Scottish men answered the mustering call on the Borough Muir at Edinburgh, a vibrant host of clansmen and nobles rallying under the banner of James IV, a quintessential Renaissance prince whose vision outstripped the medieval traditions of his realm. With great faith in the latest battlefield tactics: massed pikemen honed in the Swiss cantons and a state-of-the-art artillery train supported with Europe’s most powerful war fleet including the formidable Great Michael warship, the largest in Europe; James sought to assert Scotland’s independence and honor the Auld Alliance with France by counter invading England and taking the war to his brother in law, Henry VIII. Yet, this ambition met its ruin on Branxton Moor, Northumberland on September 9th 1513, where a smaller, essentially medieval English army under the Lord Admiral, Thomas Howard, armed with bills and longbows, turned the damp, muddy terrain into a bloodbath.

James IV of Scotland, the quintessential renaissance prince and his much loved Queen, Margaret Tudor, sister to Henry VIII of England.

a model of The Great Michael, pride of James’s fleet and the most powerful ship in Europe at the time. James IV put huge faith in technology, in particular his fleet and artillery. After his death the Scottish fleet ended up in French command and the Michael became a French ship.

The Scots’ innovative formations faltered, the 9th was by all accounts a blustery borders’s day of drizzle and high winds, playing havoc with the powder and pikes of the high tech Scots army, their artillery bogged down, the pikes were blown this way and that and in the chaos their king fell to the bill hooks of the English yeomen, alongside up to 10,000 of his men, a defeat so profound it inspired the haunting lament "Flowers o' the Forest," a dirge still played on Remembrance Day in Scotland to mourn the lost youth of the nation. Indeed, so profound was the impact of the defeat on the culture of Scotland that the lament is played at Scottish funerals as well as military remembrance days. Memorably played at the funeral of Queen Elizabeth II. But of Flodden, there were very very few families across the kingdom who did not lose a father, son or brother that day.

Among those fallen were 26 of my direct ancestors, 24 of them died under Scots banners, two under English. Their sacrifice etched into my genealogical memory and fueling a personal quest to understand when, or if, the war dead cease to be worthy of respect?

Flowers of the Forrest played at the Memorial Service to HM Queen Elizabeth II at St Paul’s Cathedral, London on the anniversary of the Battle of Flodden 9th September 1513. Elizabeth was a direct descendent of King James IV, she was not, incidentally, a direct descendent of King Henry VIII.

This question transcends history, weaving through cases, nations and cultures. Examples like the Mary Rose sailor and the Towton fallen, challenging the notion that time alone dims their honor. With mostly Scottish ancestry, my connection to Flodden’s tragedy, 512 years past, remains vivid, a duty to honor those lost. I argue that respect for the war dead should endure, shaped by living memory, cultural value, and modern genealogical tools, resisting the shift to mere archaeological footnotes.

Historical Context: The Fading Line

Historically, the reverence for war dead seems tied to the lifespan of living memory, roughly 80-120 years spanning three to four generations. Soldiers from World War I (1914-1918), still within this window for many, are commemorated with ceremonies and pristine graves. I was born in 1971 and I knew men who had fought in World War 1 and indeed several who fought in the Sudan Campaign and the Boer War. Contrast this with the crew of the Mary Rose, Henry VIII’s warship that sank in 1545—over 480 years ago, where skeletons are castings studied for Tudor insights into life at sea are on display in the Mary Rose Museum in Portsmouth, allowing the public to see how the hard life of a sailor impacted the bodies and health of the men. Yet the exhibition seems to swerve the point that the shipwreck was a war grave and seems to neglect the memory of the dead, focusing on the science.

The Mary Rose founders on the 19th July 1545 during action against the French Fleet. Overloaded and wither her lower gunports fatally open to the sea as she tacked, she flooded and capsized. Nettings strung over the decks to protect the crew and marines from falling rigging trapped them as she went down, out of a crew of about 400, only 35 escaped. 179 skeletons were found in her wreck when she was raised in the 1980s.

The cast of the skeleton of a member of the crew of the Mary Rose. Is the balance between presenting science and honouring the war dead found? I am not sure if it is.

The Battle of Towton (March 29, 1461), a bloodbath claiming up to 28,000 lives during the Wars of the Roses, sits at this temporal cusp. More Englishmen died there than on the first day of the Somme (19,240 British fatalities), yet its fallen have largely faded from active honor.

The Battle of Towton took place on in a snowstorm on Palm Sunday in 1461 between the Lancastrian forces under the Duke of Somerset and the Yorkist Army under the 18 year old King Edward IV and his wily uncle and general Lord Fauconberg. It may be the single most bloody day in English history, an estimated 20,000 deaths his higher than the British dead on the first day of the Somme, 19,240, which included Scots, Welsh, Irish and Commonwealth soldiers as well as English. The carnage at Towton is all the more terrible when you consider it was arrows, billhooks, maces, swords, rondels, poleaxes and lances rather than Maxim guns, artillery and rifles. The killing was up close and personal. Perhaps this is why Towton was almost forgotten, an incident in English history we would rather forget, in particular, the massacre of the common soldiers that seems to have taken place after the battle marks a dark chapter in our history. But the men who fought and died should be remembered. If only so we understand the consequences of civil war and the importance of avoiding it at all costs.

The Towton story took a modern turn in August 1996 when builders extending Towton Hall in North Yorkshire disturbed a mass grave. Initially, 24 skulls and an indeterminate number of bones were removed, prompting an urgent excavation by osteologists and archaeologists from the University of Bradford and West Yorkshire Archaeology Service. They recovered parts of at least 38 skeletons—later identified as Lancastrian soldiers—buried hastily in a shallow 6m x 2m pit, their bones tangled and fragmented from battle wounds. The site, half a mile from the battlefield, was confirmed by radiocarbon dating to match the 1461 clash. Detailed in the 2007 book *Blood Red Roses*, the excavation revealed a grisly narrative: swords, knives, bills, and war hammers had inflicted extensive trauma, with some skeletons showing post-mortem mutilations, hinting at ordered executions during the rout. Victorian lime quarrying for sugar refining had likely scattered or destroyed other graves, reducing the number of remains available for study. Among these, Skeleton 16 (Towton 16), a 45-50-year-old soldier, stood out. His skull, reassembled from fragments, bore a well-healed blade wound to the lower jaw, suggesting survival of an earlier injury, perhaps from a French campaign, before his death at Towton. This historical violence, now unearthed, underscores how time and external disruption can shift focus from honor to archaeology.

The face of “Towton 16” reconstructed form the skull of a skeleton found during the 1996 excavations. Towton 16 was a powerful man, he had a healed sword or bill cut along his left jawline which showed signs of sophisticated contemporary treatment suggesting that he was a man of some consequence or value. Possibly a captain in Lancastrian service or a household Knight. He was almost certainly a professional soldier. Towton saw a change in the level of vindictiveness during the civil war. Previously, common men had been spared when captured, after all they were bound by oath to serve their superiors, this was understood. However, following the Battle of Wakefield and the murder of his father and younger brother, Edward IV was in no mood for mercy at the subsequent victory at Towton and by systematically slaughtering the defeated Lancastrian soldiers, Edward was removing any possibility of a renewal of hostilities. It’s an uncomfortable fact to face that the men in the mass grave excavated showed forensic evidence that they were stripped, made to kneel and finished off with the weapons of the time: sword, mace, bill, hammer and cudgel. We know they were on their knees from the angle of the head injuries. This massacre was Englishman on Englishman and is a sobering reminder of what happens when civil society breaks down.

This shift often occurs between 300 and 500 years, when direct descendants dwindle and societal focus turns to broader historical narratives. Yet, external factors like industrialization or secularization can accelerate this transition, as seen with Towton’s lost graves. For me, the Battle of Flodden, where my 26 ancestors fell, feels no less immediate despite its 512-year distance. Their sacrifice for Scotland and England, like Towton’s Lancastrians or the Mary Rose crew, challenges the idea that time alone should dictate respect.

Key Factors Influencing Respect

Several elements challenge the notion that time erases honor. First, genealogical connections persist. Modern DNA analysis and records, such as the Mary Rose ship manifest, could identify specific sailors or narrow them to a few individuals. For me, tracing my Flodden ancestors through Scottish clan records and family lore keeps their sacrifice alive, men who fought for their nation, not unlike today’s soldiers. If a Mary Rose sailor or Towton warrior like Towton 16 could be linked to living descendants, their status as war dead might be reclaimed.

Second, cultural memory plays a role. Active commemoration, like the annual Flodden remembrance or the Mary Rose Museum’s tribute, sustains respect. Yet, when sites are excavated, such as Towton’s mass grave, without clear honoring, the shift to archaeology feels abrupt. The Bradford skeletons, including Towton 16, remain in cardboard boxes, a stark contrast to the dignity owed a warrior. As Roman Catholics, these men’s faith demanded proper rites, now overlooked. In 2003, forensic experts used the Manchester method to reconstruct Towton 16’s face, accounting for scar tissue that distorted his left cheek, caused dribbling, and affected speech. Displayed at the Bosworth Visitor Centre, this reconstruction brings him vividly to life, yet risks reducing him to an exhibit unless paired with respect, perhaps through reburial or a memorial.

Third, modern tools like facial reconstruction breathe life into these men, yet they also risk reducing them to exhibits. The Mary Rose Museum uses castings to protect originals, but lacks explicit acknowledgment of the sailor’s war dead status. This suggests respect can be maintained if institutions adapt their approach.

Ethical Considerations

The ethics of disturbing war dead are contentious. In the UK, the Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Areas Act 1979 protects sites like Flodden or Towton, requiring consultation with heritage bodies. However, descendant voices are rarely prioritized. As someone with a stake in Flodden, I’d be dismayed if the battlefield were excavated without honoring my ancestors’ sacrifice, perhaps through a memorial or restricted digging. Similarly, the Towton skeletons deserve better than cardboard storage; a dedicated space or reburial with Catholic rites could align science with respect. When another casualty of the later Battle of Bosworth (1485), King Richard III was located in a grave in a car park in Leicester, he was subsequently interred with a Catholic Requiem Mass at Holy Cross Priory before being interred in the Anglican Cathedral of Leicester. Respecting the faith of the dead King, so is it time to honour that of Towton 16 and his comrades?

For the Mary Rose, clearer labeling, that the display is a casting, with originals preserved, could honor the sailor’s service. Modern genealogy might even identify relatives, shifting the narrative from artifact to ancestor. Given we have records of the ship’s crew and the clues from his skeleton and location in the wreck limit the number of individuals the skeleton could belong to, it would be perfectly possible to identify the ancestor. This raises a broader principle: respect should not expire with time or excavation. Nations could adopt policies ensuring descendant input and dignified treatment, especially for identifiable remains.

A Personal Call to Action

My connection to Flodden fuels this argument. Those 26 men, killed in a bloodbath between the countries of my origin: Scotland and England , were my blood, fighting for their nations and Kings. The Mary Rose sailor, stationed at action stations in 1545, and the Towton warriors, felled in 1461, share this humanity. With genealogical tools advancing, we can reclaim their identities, challenging the archaeological lens. Museums and universities should lead this shift, integrating respect into their missions, perhaps through memorials, improved storage, or public acknowledgment of war dead status.

In conclusion, the war dead’s worthiness of respect does not fade with centuries. Whether 512 years past, as with Flodden, or 480, as with the Mary Rose, their sacrifice endures through descendants, culture, and modern science. It’s time to reevaluate how nations honor their ancient fallen, ensuring dignity alongside discovery. For me, this is personal, a duty to my ancestors and a plea for all who rest in history’s shadow.