The “There Will Be No May” prophecy

The “There Will Be No May” prophecy is a recurring expression of despair and political resistance in Margaret Pole’s account of the Tudor crisis. First shouted as an accusation against Henry VIII during a confrontation over a priory, it returns in a Northern song as a lament for the destruction of monasteries and the old religious practices associated with them. May signifies more than a season: its promised renewal stands in contrast to a world in which faith, communal support, and hope for the future are being taken away.

A Refrain of Political Fear

The prophecy gains force in a narrative where rumor and prediction circulate alongside the king’s exercise of power. In 1508, Margaret hears that Henry VIII’s prisoners are being tortured and that people in the City call him a Moldwarp, a creature associated with darkness and buried things. The rumor gives an ominous name to a king whom people fear for spying on his subjects, imprisoning them, and extracting lasting financial obligations even from those he pardons. The prophecy of no May later belongs to the same atmosphere of fear, though the book does not present the two sayings as identical.

Dynastic hopes also make renewal feel precarious. Margaret is promised that she will raise England’s next king, but the baby entrusted to her is found lifeless in his cradle. Later, as Katherine of Aragon goes into labor, the court privately hopes for a son who might secure the succession and strengthen her position; the child is stillborn. When Henry VIII grieves for Henry FitzRoy, he himself asks whether a curse explains the loss of those he loves. These episodes do not identify the prophecy as the cause of the royal family’s losses, but they show why language of a curse and a future without renewal could resonate so powerfully.

Portents and Circulation

In the summer of 1532, weeks of heavy weather and a succession of burning comets unsettle observers. A Carthusian monk tells Margaret’s confessor that he has seen a red globe above the church and takes it as a sign that the king’s anger will fall on those guarding a prophecy and its manuscript. The account places celestial signs, religious foreboding, and the danger of preserving forbidden knowledge in the same charged atmosphere. It does not establish that this hidden manuscript contains the words “There will be no May”; rather, it shows how predictions and their preservation have become politically dangerous.

The book presents such signs through multiple channels rather than a single authoritative voice: a monk reports what he has seen, a confessor passes on the account, and people in the North sing a warning. At Peterborough, public feeling is also expressed through blessings on Katherine, her daughter, and the white rose. The episode does not attach the May refrain to those cries, but it shows that attachment to the queen and princess, and opposition to the Tudor settlement, can be voiced openly in the streets. The prophecy belongs to this wider landscape of popular speech beyond the court’s official account of events.

The Cry at the Priory

During a visitation at Margaret’s priory, the fear of suppression becomes immediate. As villagers ask what they can do, an unknown woman cries out that Henry VIII has become the Moldwarp, calls him a false king, and declares, “There will be no May.” Her words join an accusation about the king’s rule to a prophecy of deprivation. Margaret does not recognize the speaker and does not want to see her face or provide evidence against her, a response that underscores the peril of speaking openly.

The saying occurs within the wider resistance called the Pilgrimage of Grace. One of its supporters tells Margaret that it is not a rebellion but a pilgrimage, and speaks of passing through a pilgrimage gate. That language gives the movement a religious frame; the woman’s cry at the priory likewise interprets political danger through religious and prophetic language. Margaret tells the villagers she cannot save the priory but can try to save them, and urges them to return home while the visitation proceeds. The prophecy does not prevent the threatened change, but it articulates the crowd’s sense that the king’s power is consuming what once sustained them.

No Merry May

The refrain acquires its clearest meaning in the account of the crown’s reprisals and the continuing closure of monasteries. Henry VIII orders Thomas Howard to find families who have secretly buried executed men and punish them. Thomas Howard obeys the king, closes monasteries, and shuts the doors of houses that had reopened. The buildings are to serve as quarries for neighboring lords, their lands are to be sold to farmers, and the poor are left without the comfort and assistance they had sought from the abbeys. Pilgrimages and the invocation of the Virgin in chapels and roadside shrines are also being suppressed.

Against this loss, a song from the North declares that there will be no May. Margaret looks out at a gray courtyard as snow melts and reflects that spring will come without joy or love: the months will change, but there will be no merry May. The distinction is central to the refrain. The season still arrives, yet its customary promise of gladness and renewal has been emptied. The prophecy is therefore not simply a forecast of a future event; it is a way of naming a present in which the institutions and practices that offered hope are being dismantled, while royal authority claims an increasingly exalted status. When Henry VIII is addressed as “Majesty,” Margaret notes the contrast between that imperial title and the grief-stricken, vulnerable man who must be helped into bed. The refrain’s force lies in holding together these competing realities: a king who asserts supremacy and a country whose people sing that spring will bring no joy.