For centuries, the Battle of Wakefield has been seen as one of the most dramatic defeats in the Wars of the Roses. It marked the death of Richard, Duke of York, along with his son Edmund and ally Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury. According to popular accounts, York rashly left the safety of Sandal Castle on 30 December 1460 and was crushed by a larger Lancastrian force. His severed head was displayed above the gates of York wearing a paper crown—a grim symbol of his failed ambition.
But new research suggests that much of this familiar story is wrong—or may never have happened at all.
In an article in Battalia: The Journal of the Battlefields Trust, historians Paul L. Dawson and David Grummitt argue that Wakefield was likely not a “battle” in any meaningful sense. Drawing on contemporary chronicles, legal records, and foreign sources, they conclude that York was probably ambushed and murdered rather than defeated in combat. Many of the details long associated with the event, they contend, emerged from later Tudor propaganda and were shaped by political needs rather than eyewitness accounts.
A Different Kind of Death
The ruins of Sandal Castle – photo by Tim Green / Flickr
Rather than commanding an army from the walls of Sandal Castle, York may never have entered it at all. Records show minimal household expenditures at the castle in December 1460, and evidence suggests that he and his men were based in the nearby town of Wakefield. The castle itself was small and not suited to host a full military retinue.
Legal documents from 1462 and 1463 point to 29 December—not the 30th—as the date of York’s death. One of his closest servants, Thomas Colt, brought several lawsuits describing how York and members of his household were killed and robbed near Wakefield while travelling north. This attack, long assumed to have been a skirmish involving a foraging party, may have in fact been a targeted ambush of York’s baggage train and escort.
In this scenario, York and his companions were not killed in the chaos of battle but captured and executed. Early sources describe their deaths as murders. The chronicler Robert Bale wrote that York, Salisbury, and Rutland were “trayterously and ageinst lawe of armes” murdered after a truce had been offered. The papal legate Coppini condemned the Lancastrians’ “countless acts of cruelty” in a letter written just days later.
From Ambush to Legend
Historical plaque at Sandal Castle – photo by Mike Kirby / Wikimedia Commons
So why did the story of a dramatic battle emerge? The answer lies in how political memory was shaped during and after the conflict. Later chroniclers such as Edward Hall and Polydore Vergil—writing under the Tudors—developed a narrative in which York was goaded into leaving his castle, tricked by turncoats, and then cut down in a noble (if foolish) last stand.
These stories, Dawson and Grummitt show, are unsupported by 15th-century sources. The famous tale of Lord Clifford murdering young Rutland on Wakefield Bridge, for example, likely comes from Hall’s invention. So too does the detail of York’s mock crown—an image made famous by Shakespeare.
The study notes that some of these tales may have originated in lost newsletters circulated by Yorkist supporters in early 1461. These letters likely aimed to explain York’s sudden death, shift blame onto figures like Andrew Trollope or Lord Neville, and build support for retribution. Continental authors repeated and elaborated on these stories, helping to solidify the false memory of Wakefield as a battle.
Reading battle history of the Wars of the Roses is … interesting. There’s a lot of imagination presented as fact!
By returning to contemporary records—rather than the dramatized accounts of the Tudor era—Dawson and Grummitt offer a very different view of what happened near Wakefield. They argue that the deaths of York, Salisbury, and Rutland were part of a politically motivated act of violence, not the result of a conventional battle.
As the authors note:
Whatever the origins of the stories, the differing accounts of Wakefield should remind us that the chronicle accounts of the Wars of the Roses were not simple retellings of recent events from hearsay or the testimony of eyewitnesses, but complex, politically charged narratives designed to alter perceptions of the past and guide their readers’ actions in the future.
Their article, “The ‘Battle’ of Wakefield of 1460 Reconsidered,” appears in Battalia: The Journal of the Battlefields Trust, Volume 3 (2025) – click here to read it. You can also find the article on Academia.edu and Open Research Online.
Both Paul L. Dawsonand David Grummitt are well known military historians, with many books and articles focusing on the Wars of the Roses. Dawson comments that this article “is perhaps one of the most significant pieces of research I have undertaken.”
For centuries, the Battle of Wakefield has been seen as one of the most dramatic defeats in the Wars of the Roses. It marked the death of Richard, Duke of York, along with his son Edmund and ally Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury. According to popular accounts, York rashly left the safety of Sandal Castle on 30 December 1460 and was crushed by a larger Lancastrian force. His severed head was displayed above the gates of York wearing a paper crown—a grim symbol of his failed ambition.
But new research suggests that much of this familiar story is wrong—or may never have happened at all.
In an article in Battalia: The Journal of the Battlefields Trust, historians Paul L. Dawson and David Grummitt argue that Wakefield was likely not a “battle” in any meaningful sense. Drawing on contemporary chronicles, legal records, and foreign sources, they conclude that York was probably ambushed and murdered rather than defeated in combat. Many of the details long associated with the event, they contend, emerged from later Tudor propaganda and were shaped by political needs rather than eyewitness accounts.
A Different Kind of Death
Rather than commanding an army from the walls of Sandal Castle, York may never have entered it at all. Records show minimal household expenditures at the castle in December 1460, and evidence suggests that he and his men were based in the nearby town of Wakefield. The castle itself was small and not suited to host a full military retinue.
Legal documents from 1462 and 1463 point to 29 December—not the 30th—as the date of York’s death. One of his closest servants, Thomas Colt, brought several lawsuits describing how York and members of his household were killed and robbed near Wakefield while travelling north. This attack, long assumed to have been a skirmish involving a foraging party, may have in fact been a targeted ambush of York’s baggage train and escort.
In this scenario, York and his companions were not killed in the chaos of battle but captured and executed. Early sources describe their deaths as murders. The chronicler Robert Bale wrote that York, Salisbury, and Rutland were “trayterously and ageinst lawe of armes” murdered after a truce had been offered. The papal legate Coppini condemned the Lancastrians’ “countless acts of cruelty” in a letter written just days later.
From Ambush to Legend
So why did the story of a dramatic battle emerge? The answer lies in how political memory was shaped during and after the conflict. Later chroniclers such as Edward Hall and Polydore Vergil—writing under the Tudors—developed a narrative in which York was goaded into leaving his castle, tricked by turncoats, and then cut down in a noble (if foolish) last stand.
These stories, Dawson and Grummitt show, are unsupported by 15th-century sources. The famous tale of Lord Clifford murdering young Rutland on Wakefield Bridge, for example, likely comes from Hall’s invention. So too does the detail of York’s mock crown—an image made famous by Shakespeare.
The study notes that some of these tales may have originated in lost newsletters circulated by Yorkist supporters in early 1461. These letters likely aimed to explain York’s sudden death, shift blame onto figures like Andrew Trollope or Lord Neville, and build support for retribution. Continental authors repeated and elaborated on these stories, helping to solidify the false memory of Wakefield as a battle.
By returning to contemporary records—rather than the dramatized accounts of the Tudor era—Dawson and Grummitt offer a very different view of what happened near Wakefield. They argue that the deaths of York, Salisbury, and Rutland were part of a politically motivated act of violence, not the result of a conventional battle.
As the authors note:
Whatever the origins of the stories, the differing accounts of Wakefield should remind us that the chronicle accounts of the Wars of the Roses were not simple retellings of recent events from hearsay or the testimony of eyewitnesses, but complex, politically charged narratives designed to alter perceptions of the past and guide their readers’ actions in the future.
Their article, “The ‘Battle’ of Wakefield of 1460 Reconsidered,” appears in Battalia: The Journal of the Battlefields Trust, Volume 3 (2025) – click here to read it. You can also find the article on Academia.edu and Open Research Online.
Both Paul L. Dawson and David Grummitt are well known military historians, with many books and articles focusing on the Wars of the Roses. Dawson comments that this article “is perhaps one of the most significant pieces of research I have undertaken.”
Top Image: Photo by Tim Green / Flickr
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