It was a warm day for my first – and what turned out to be my only re-enactment of the Battle of Barnet, which took place on Easter Sunday, the 14th of April, 1471. I had already changed into my Lancastrian costume but couldn’t find my friend whom I was due to meet by the tent, which I couldn’t see either. There was a heavy feeling in the air which is difficult to explain – an odd atmosphere. I could hear the clanking of polearms and arrows and cannons being fired, with the smell of acrid gunpowder smoke, all from what seemed like a short distance away – but I couldn’t see anything. It was puzzling. Alarming even. The sun disappeared behind a dark cloud, there was a sudden breeze and drop in temperature and a thick fog enveloped me. Birdsong, the sound of nearby traffic and the previous battle sounds stopped abruptly. There was an eerie silence. 

I then saw a short figure which appeared through the fog. He was dressed in full Lancastrian armour with longbow and arrows and walked straight up to me. I was intrigued. His uniform looked far more authentic than mine. At least we were on the same side. His first words were, ‘Good day. How fare thee?’ Fine thanks, I replied. How are you? He looked at me in a quizzical manner. He had a shallow flesh wound to the left side of his face and a black eye on his right side. Several of his teeth were missing and there was an unpleasant odour coming from him. I naturally thought this all seemed too realistic and that something didn’t feel right – I was concerned for him. And for me. He must have been in his mid twenties and looked exhausted. He asked me which group I was from (which I obviously couldn’t answer) and he explained that he had got lost in the fog and was weary from fighting.  I realised that this situation did not make sense at all  but  decided to stick with it as the encounter felt entirely believable. He pointed to my bottle of water and asked me if I would share it. I gave him the bottle which he examined for several seconds before drinking the water in one go. I noticed his hand was trembling and that his leg was bleeding. ‘This is good water. I thank you,’ he said and returned my empty bottle. He mentioned that there had been a surprise early morning attack by the Yorkists but that the fog had made fighting very difficult. He added, ‘We have fought for one hour – with many hundreds, maybe thousands dead on the battlefield. We shall be defeated.’ All I could say was that I knew what the outcome was and he gave me a bewildered gaze, as if he thought I were a soothsayer. 

There was a haunting look of despair on his face – and one of deep sadness in his dark brown, watery eyes – the kind of which I shall never forget. ‘Thou hast a face of trust,’ he said with a half smile. ‘Thou shall leave this battle better than I. Please tell mine wife Mary – I love her. I am sorry. I do regret – for I wished for better times. I listened not to her to stay – but I left to fight. Kiss mine child Katherine farewell. Mary should look under the rosebush by the pathway for hidden coins – to be of help. I do love her.’ I didn’t know what to make of these astonishing revelations but told him I would endeavour to tell her and asked for his address. ‘Green Lane, Hitchin – the cottage nighest five oaks,’ he replied. I felt confused, a little lightheaded and said I knew it well. ‘I miss them. Good day and well met – my friend, the news giver. I shall survive not, but if I do – for fair fortune will be our meeting. Fare thee well.’ We shook hands, I wished him well, he smiled at me for a final time and slowly walked through the fog. It looked as if he was almost floating – maybe he was? I contemplated following him for a moment but then thought better of it – as if I had been warned not to. I noticed a small piece of steel on the ground which looked as if it may have come from the tip of an arrow, picked it up and placed it in my pocket. I hoped that man had met a peaceful end and that he did manage to see his wife and child again. In my heart though, I doubted it. I felt sad for him. The fog and breeze suddenly disappeared, the sunlight returned and everyday noises came back in an instant. 

You are the very first person I have told this true story to. It frightens me telling it. It’s so incredible but it really did happen – I give you my word. I was talking with my wife a few days before this happened – considering whether to accept a lucrative business contract for two months, reluctantly having to live in Spain – away from the family. Not now. I wouldn’t go for anything in the world. Because I have a dreadful feeling that if I left them, I wouldn’t return alive. I never did ask the man his name. I wish I had, because I’m certain it would have been the same as mine – Thomas. I’ll never know. I’m still not sure what this all means. 

You see, I live in Green Lane, Hitchin – in the house nearest to five large oak trees – where a 15th century cottage once stood. Mary is my wife and Katherine is my five year old daughter.

The End?

Copyright © Marc Harris 2025