A good family man, but a bad king

On the historical front, yesterday, November 16th, 1272, Henry III died, and I can only think of the wisecrack that Dorothy Parker made when she heard that Calvin Coolidge had died; she said, “How could anyone tell?” Henry had become an afterthought, a living ghost by then. He was not a successful king, but he left a splendid legacy that many more successful kings might well have envied—Westminster Abbey. And he was a devoted husband and a loving father, which might not count for much on the political stage, but it is not a bad epitaph for any man.
And today, November 17th, 1558, Mary Tudor died, thus enabling her brilliant younger sister, Elizabeth, to become queen. Mary was only 42, but she always seems older when we think of her, doesn’t she? She probably would have given a great deal to have her own epitaph read that she was a devoted wife and loving mother. Instead, history has judged her as Bloody Mary. I wonder if the drink is named after her?