Episode 289: Anne Boleyn's Pregnancies
28:31 Share

If you're a parent or share a fridge with someone, Instacart is about to make grocery shopping so much easier. Because with family carts, you can share a cart with your partner and each add the items you want. Since between the two of you, odds are you'll both remember everything you need.

And this way, you'll never have to eat milkless cereal again. So, minimize the stress of the weekly shop with Family Carts. Download the Instacart app and get delivery in as fast as 30 minutes. Plus, enjoy $0 delivery fees on your first three orders. Service fees apply for three orders in 14 days. Excludes restaurants.

And now, a next-level moment from AT&T business. Say you've sent out a gigantic shipment of pillows, and they need to be there in time for International Sleep Day. You've got AT&T 5G, so you're fully confident. But the vendor isn't responding, and International Sleep Day is tomorrow. Luckily, AT&T 5G lets you deal with any issues with ease, so the pillows will get delivered and everyone can sleep soundly, especially you. AT&T 5G requires a compatible plan and device. Coverage not available everywhere. Learn more at att.com slash 5G network.

Hi, friend, and welcome back to the Renaissance English History Podcast, a part of the Agora Podcast Network and the original Tudor history show telling stories of Tudor England since 2009. I am your host, Heather. I am, as always, delighted that you are here with me. This is the start of May coming up. And for many people in the Tudor world, May is a month when we remember Anne Boleyn and Anne Boleyn's story.

And so this episode is about Anne, specifically about her pregnancies and her miscarriages. So I want to throw out here a bit of a content warning, I guess, if you are sensitive to...

talk about miscarriages and pregnancy losses. You might want to give this one a skip, but we're going to talk about her different pregnancies and kind of how Henry reacted and how the final miscarriage was really the final thing that did her in that made Henry really think that he needed to put her aside.

I've shared before on this podcast, gosh, in 2010, I lost a son. And funny, it's not funny, obviously, it's tragic. But I was doing this podcast already by that point, and I had talked about it on the podcast. And even now people listen to it, you know, go back and listen, starting from the beginning and think it's very recent. So I get these emails every once in a while that are like, I'm so sorry for your loss. And, and

And I appreciate it, of course. But I think you didn't look at the date on that. That was from 15 years ago. But obviously, I appreciate it. And certainly, this is something that stays with you forever. So I also just want to say that if you are dealing with pregnancy losses and miscarriages, fertility stuff, I went through that myself. And I kind of sort of one of those sororities that you don't really like to join. But the sorority itself is actually a very close-knit relationship.

group of people. And if you are in that and you want to talk about it, consider me a resource. I'm always here to talk about the babies and the babies that aren't here and the babies that were here and aren't now and all of that. So

That's what we're going to talk about today. A bit of a somber one, but I think it's important to talk about this because it is a very human story. It's something that we even now go through and, you know, many, many people deal with. Catherine of Aragon dealt with it.

I think it humanizes them in a way to talk about their story. It connects us to them. It's something that is a connection across the centuries. That's sort of one of those human things that women have always gone through and continue to go through and certainly affects the fathers too. So I don't mean to just put it on the women, but physically it affects the women. So, all right, I'm rambling now. Let's get into it.

Just a reminder also, friends, that I hinted last time at the Anne Boleyn event marking the anniversary of her death. It's an online scavenger hunt. So it's going to be a deep dive into her life by answering questions, getting clues, going to different websites, learning about her life. And you can learn more and sign up. It's totally, totally free. No cost. Just go to englandcast.com slash anneboleynscavenger.

to learn more. All right, let's get into it. When Anne Boleyn was crowned Queen of England in the summer of 1533, the entire country held its breath. Her coronation, carried out with more pomp and splendor than anything London had seen in a long, long time, was not just a celebration of Anne herself, it was a public bet.

a grand wager that Anne would succeed where Catherine of Aragon had failed, that Anne would give Henry VIII his long-for son, the son who would secure the Tudor dynasty and end years of dynastic uncertainty. She was already visibly pregnant when she processed through the streets, seated in a white litter, gliding above the crowds who jostled and craned their necks to glimpse the woman for whom kings had upended kingdoms.

There was no small amount of superstition tied to this pregnancy. Astrologers had consulted the stars and confidently predicted that a prince was on the way. Tapestries with human figures were removed from Anne's birthing chamber, lest the images somehow influence the shape of the unborn child. Henry had tournaments and celebrations planned in advance, certain that Anne would deliver exactly what he fought so hard to obtain.

In early September, Anne withdrew to her confinement at Greenwich Palace, a solemn ritual marking the final weeks of pregnancy. The court grew quiet, more reverent as the day approached. Then, on September 7, 1533, Anne gave birth, not to the expected prince, but to a healthy, robust daughter.

The baby, with her father's distinctive Tudor coloring, would become Elizabeth I, but in 1533, Elizabeth's birth was not received as triumphantly as modern hindsight might suggest. Henry's disappointment was palpable, even if he cloaked it in official good cheer. The court had prepared printed announcements celebrating the birth of a prince. Clerks scrambled after the fact were forced to manually add an S to transform prince into princess.

It was a patchwork fix for a patchwork triumph. The tournaments Henry had planned were quietly cancelled. There were no triumphant processions, no week-long celebrations. Still, Henry tried to console Anne and perhaps himself. He reassured her they were both still young. Sons would surely follow.

Anne was reportedly devoted to Elizabeth, pouring her hopes into the little girl's cradle. But privately, she must have understood the stakes. In Henry's world, a queen who failed to produce a male heir was a queen whose position was, at best, quite tenuous.

The pressure didn't ease only months after Elizabeth's birth, Anne conceived again. News reached Eustace Chapuis, the ever-watchful imperial ambassador, by January 1534. He reported that Anne was in good health and carrying another child. George Taylor, a servant at court, wrote enthusiastically to his master that the queen had a goodly belly. Heck!

Henry, buoyed by the news, commissioned a magnificent silver cradle studded with jewels ready to welcome the son that he was certain would soon arrive. For a brief moment that spring, the court's optimism returned. This time, surely fate would reward the king and his new queen. But that second pregnancy so full of promise would never actually reach its hoped-for conclusion.

By the summer of 1534, Anne was visibly pregnant, enough so that her brother George Boleyn was dispatched to France with apologies. Anne was so far gone with child and she could not accompany the king on a planned visit. Everything suggested a healthy pregnancy advancing normally. Henry postponed diplomatic travel, a decision he would not have made lightly given how much he prized foreign alliances.

Yet by September, whispers began to circulate. Chapuis, always eager to report anything that might discredit Anne, wrote to Emperor Charles V that Henry had begun to doubt whether his lady was unciente or not, and had, as a result, renewed and increased his affection for another lady at court. If Anne's pregnancy had been progressing well, Henry's attention would not have wavered so conspicuously.

Still, the exact nature of this failure remains one of the quieter mysteries of Anne Boleyn's life. No direct record survives of a miscarriage, a stillbirth, or even an official announcement that the pregnancy had ended. It simply vanished from court conversation. One day Anne was pregnant, the next she was not, and no one spoke openly about it. Sort of like what happened to Mary I, her stepdaughter, several decades later.

Historians have long debated what happened. Some, like Eric Ives, suggest that Anne likely suffered a miscarriage, perhaps in the summer months, perhaps later, but that the event was kept discreet to avoid further embarrassment. After all, to have miscarried again so soon after Elizabeth's birth would have been a bitter blow to the Queen's public standing.

Others, however, have proposed that Anne experienced a false pregnancy, a rare condition in which the body mimics pregnancy symptoms without an actual fetus developing. Both Catherine of Aragon and later Mary Tudor would suffer these phantom pregnancies. In a period that lacked modern medical understanding, a queen could easily believe herself pregnant for months before realizing the truth.

Chapuis' phrasing in his September dispatch that the king doubted whether Anne was pregnant leaves open the possibility that even Henry had been deceived. If Anne's symptoms had mimicked pregnancy, but the expected baby failed to materialize, it would have been a humiliation Henry was eager to forget. It might explain why the matter was dropped so quietly.

Regardless of whether Anne miscarried or whether the pregnancy had been false, the impact was the same. No child was born. No son arrived to solidify Anne's position. Instead, Henry's eye began to wander and the cracks in the marriage started to show.

Anne, for her part, would have understood the danger immediately. Her power, her influence, her very safety depended on producing a living male heir. And after the anti-climax of 1534, she knew the next pregnancy had to succeed. The stakes, already high, were about to become lethal. The year 1535 brought no recorded pregnancy for Anne. If she conceived, it was either so early lost that no one remarked on it or it never happened at all.

A letter from Sir William Kingston mentioning the Queen's fair belly was once thought to hint at a pregnancy that year, but historians later realized that it had been misstated. The letter actually referred to the previous year, adding yet another layer of confusion to the already murky record. In reality, 1535 was a year of growing tension. Henry's affection cooled noticeably. While Anne remained Queen, she no longer held the singular grip on Henry's heart that she once had.

Late that year, Jane Seymour, a quiet, seemingly docile lady-in-waiting, began to catch the king's eye. At first, Jane's presence was barely more than a flicker at the edge of court gossip, but it would soon burn far brighter.

Anne, sharp-tongued and proud, was ill-suited to share her husband's attention. She had fought too hard to secure her place as queen to now sit quietly by while another woman rose in favor. Her temper, once part of her charm, now irritated Henry. Chapuis, of course always ready to report these missteps, recorded that Henry grew increasingly cold towards her over the course of 1535. There were arguments, frayed silences, visible signs of strain. Yet,

Yet Anne had one way to win back Henry's full devotion, another child. By the autumn of 1535, she was again pregnant. This time, more than ever, success was essential. At first, all seemed to go well. By December, the court buzzed with optimism. Henry and Anne, perhaps cautiously hopeful, must have dared to imagine that the tide was turning in their favor.

With Catherine of Aragon, Henry's first wife, and Anne's rival in legitimacy, in declining health, the political landscape seemed poised to favor Anne at last. On January 7, 1536, Catherine died. In theory, Anne should have triumphed. Catherine's death meant that Anne's marriage could no longer be contested by living rival claimants. She was, by any earthly measure, Henry's sole wife now.

The court's reaction was strange. Some said Henry and Anne wore yellow in celebration. Others noted that yellow was a mourning color in Spain. Either way, the moment was loaded with symbolism. Anne was carrying the future, literally and politically.

But underneath the surface, danger rippled. Henry's growing attentions to Jane Seymour continued. Catherine's death removed a political obstacle but did nothing to repair the cracks in Henry and Anne's relationship. If anything, it gave Henry more freedom to act as he pleased because with Catherine gone, the threat from the emperor was no longer there. And then disaster struck.

On January 24th, Henry participated in a joust at Greenwich. Always proud of his athleticism, Henry charged into the lists and suffered a terrifying fall. Thrown from his horse, the king lay motionless on the ground. Courtiers rushing to his side feared the worst, and some thought him dead. For two long hours, Henry was unconscious, and the court held its breath. And somewhere in her apartments, carrying what she prayed was her savior, Anne waited for news that would shatter her world.

When the Duke of Norfolk arrived to deliver the news, he tread carefully. Anne was pregnant, was already under strain, and was very vulnerable, and the Duke of Norfolk broke the news as gently as he could. The king had been injured, but he was alive, and there was no reason for alarm.

Anne's reaction was immediate. She was horrified. Henry's brush with death was not just a personal terror, it was a political catastrophe in the making. If Henry had died without a male heir, the Tudor dynasty itself would have been plunged into chaos. Elizabeth, a small girl, barely two years old, would hardly have been accepted by the powerful divided factions at court. And Anne herself, without Henry's protection, would have been dangerously exposed.

The shock was too much, and days later, on January 29, 1536, the same day that Catherine of Aragon was laid to rest at Peterborough, Anne miscarried. The child that she lost was a boy estimated to be around 15 weeks gestational.

Now at Verizon, we have some big news for your peace of mind. For all our customers, existing and new, we're locking in low prices for three years guaranteed on MyPlan and MyHome. That's future you peace of mind. And everyone can save on a brand new phone on MyPlan when you trade in any phone from one of our top brands. That's new phone peace of mind. Because at Verizon, whether you're already a customer or you're just joining us,

We got you. Visit Verizon today. Price guarantee applies to then current base monthly rate. Additional terms and conditions apply for all offers. And now, a next level moment from AT&T business. Say you've sent out a gigantic shipment of pillows and they need to be there in time for International Sleep Day. You've got AT&T 5G, so you're fully confident, but...

The vendor isn't responding. An international sleep day is tomorrow. Luckily, AT&T 5G lets you deal with any issues with ease, so the pillows will get delivered and everyone can sleep soundly, especially you. AT&T 5G requires a compatible plan and device. Coverage not available everywhere. Learn more at att.com slash 5G network. This is a mini meditation guided by Bombus. Repeat after me. I'm comfy. Come.

I'm cozy. I have zero blisters on my toes. And that's because I wear Bombas, the softest socks, underwear, and t-shirts that give back. One purchased equals one donated. Now go to bombas.com slash ACAST and use code ACAST for 20% off your first purchase. That's B-O-M-B-A-S dot com slash ACAST and use code ACAST at checkout.

Eustace Chapuis, who normally took a grim delight in Anne's misfortunes, reported the event without triumph. On the day of the interment, he wrote to Emperor Charles V, the concubine had an abortion which seemed to be a male child of about three and a half months, at which the king has shown great distress. Charles Risley, herald and chronicler, added a further confirmation. Anne had miscarried a man-child as it was said before her time, for she had reckoned herself but fifteen weeks gone with child.

The reports are sober, grim, and crucially, at the time, they make no mention of deformity or anything abnormal about the fetus, despite later lurid rumors that would circulate.

For Anne, the loss was an unmistakably public failure. A boy, finally a boy, and he was gone. The emotional weight must have been crushing. Anne, according to reports, blamed the miscarriage on the shock she suffered hearing about Henry's accident. Contemporary medicine often linked strong emotions to the loss of a child, and Anne's explanation would have seemed perfectly plausible to her contemporaries.

After all, she had been carrying the hope of a dynasty in her womb, and the terror that it might all come crashing down with Henry's fall could very well have been enough to precipitate a miscarriage. Yet not everyone in court was willing to accept this explanation. Chapuis, who viewed Anne with unrelenting suspicion, noted skeptically that Norfolk had taken care to deliver the news cautiously in a way that she would not be alarmed.

Others at court began to whisper that Anne's miscarriage was no accident. Perhaps it was a sign that God disapproved of the union. Some even murmured that Anne's body was somehow incapable of producing healthy male heirs. As Anne grieved, she must have known that this loss would not simply be mourned, it would be weaponized.

At first, Henry seemed genuinely devastated. For a few brief days after the miscarriage, he reportedly showed an real sorrow. This had been his son too, his longed-for prince, and the loss struck hard. But Henry was not a man who dwelled long in grief. Almost immediately, his sadness curdled in something far more dangerous—disappointment, resentment, and the cold, calculating search for an alternative.

According to Chapuis, when Anne, desperate to explain herself, approached Henry in the aftermath of her miscarriage, pleading that the shock of his accident had caused her loss, Henry listened grimly, and then, with a chilling finality, he told her that he now saw that God did not wish to give him male children by her.

It was a devastating sentence, and Anne must have heard the full implication. Henry, who had moved heaven and earth to make her queen, was now suggesting that their union was cursed, that God himself had withheld the male heir because of her. This was a cosmic judgment on their marriage, and the parallels to Catherine of Aragon's downfall were impossible to ignore.

Years earlier, Henry had claimed that his first marriage was invalid because it had failed to produce a son, a failure that he took as evidence that God had not blessed the match. Now with Anne, he was drawing the same ominous conclusion. Anne, newly miscarried, fragile in both body and spirit, found herself suddenly and terrifyingly alone.

Reports from the weeks following the miscarriage suggest that Henry's affection, already faltering, withdrew almost completely. He spent less time with Anne. He grew increasingly open in his attentions to Jane Seymour, whose quiet, modest demeanor stood in sharp contrast to Anne's proud and volatile personality. Jane, coached by her ambitious family, knew exactly how to play the part of the soothing, unthreatening alternative.

Meanwhile, Anne, still technically queen, moved through the court like a ghost. Her enemies, emboldened, began to circle. Even her supporters must have recognized how precarious her position had become. Chapuis wrote gleefully that some at court speculated that Henry would now take another wife. Others noted that Anne's miscarriage had given Henry the very excuse he needed to set her aside if he wished.

Anne herself seems to have realized how badly she had miscalculated her own security. In private conversations with her ladies, she reportedly blamed jealousy, the stress of competing with Jane Seymour, for contributing to the loss of her child.

A bitter irony, if true. The very fear of losing Henry may have helped bring about the catastrophe that made it inevitable. In a few short weeks, Anne had fallen from a seemingly secure queen consort to a political liability. Her final chance had slipped through her fingers, and Henry, once bewitched by her wit and her charm, now looked at her with the cold eyes of a king seeking an exit. The clock was ticking.

In the weeks that followed, Anne's position grew weaker by the day. Though outwardly still queen, she found herself isolated within her court. The elaborate rituals and courtesies due to a queen were maintained, but the warmth behind them had cooled. Fewer ladies flocked to her side, fewer courtiers sought her favor. Those who had once fawned over her as the king's darling now turned their eyes toward Jane Seymour, sensing a shift in the political winds. Anne would have seen it too. She was no fool.

Those same courtly instincts that had once propelled her rise would have made the change in atmosphere painfully obvious. She could hardly have missed the fact that Jane now received secret gifts from the king, including the locket containing Henry's portrait, an insult that must have cut to the bone.

Henry, meanwhile, was moving from private disillusionment to quiet action. In March 1536, he began speaking more openly about his regrets over his marriage. To trusted courtiers, he allegedly hinted that his second marriage, like his first, might have been founded on false grounds. With Catherine dead, he no longer needed to justify himself to the Pope or foreign powers. Anne's precarious fertility record now gave him all the pretext he needed to seek a new solution.

Cromwell, who now had his own grievances against Anne, recognized the opportunity. Whether acting on Henry's unspoken wishes or out of his own initiative, Cromwell began to quietly construct the case against the queen. At first, it was vague. Certain matters regarding her conduct needed to be examined, but soon it would take a more sinister shape.

Anne's enemies were many, and they had long memories. Old grudges, jealousies, political slights, and personal humiliations now surfaced and attached themselves to Cromwell's investigations like barnacles to a ship. And yet, in early spring 1536, Anne still held the title of Queen. She attended Mass, she still moved through the court with regal dignity. She could not have known precisely how little time she had left, but the warning signs must have been impossible to ignore.

The miscarriage of January had done irreparable damage. Without a living son in her arms, Anne had no shield against the ambitions of others. Henry, ever impatient, ever hungry for certainty, had already started imagining a life beyond her. And the machinery of her downfall, the lies, the interrogations, the betrayals, had begun to grind into motion.

Anne had lost more than a child in January 1536. She had lost her future. In the aftermath of Anne's fall, the story of her final miscarriage began to take on a life of its own. At the time, the official accounts made no mention of anything unusual about the lost child. Chapuis described it simply as a male fetus about 15 weeks old.

Charles Risley, too, recorded that it was a man-child born prematurely. Neither hinted at anything grotesque or unnatural. To those present, in 1536, the tragedy was grim but straightforward, a devastating loss of a much-hoped-for son. But as the decades passed, darker rumors began to creep into the narrative. The most notorious came from Nicholas Sander, a Catholic exile writing 50 years later during the reign of Elizabeth, Anne's daughter.

sander bitterly opposed to elizabeth's protestant rule painted anne as a monster in every sense he's the one who claimed she had six fingers on one hand a projecting tooth a large goiter under her chin and most infamously that she had miscarried a shapeless mass of flesh g'day america it's tony and ryan from the tony and ryan podcast from down under today we want to talk to you about boost mobile the newest 5g network in the country these guys are

guys are no longer the prepaid wireless company you might remember they've invested billions into building their own 5g towers across america transforming the carrier into america's fourth major network alongside the other big dogs yep they're challenging the competitors by working harder and smarter like this amazing new network they've literally built the boost mode

This is a mini meditation guided by Bombus.

Repeat after me. I'm comfy. I'm cozy. I have zero blisters on my toes. And that's because I wear Bombas, the softest socks, underwear, and t-shirts that give back. One purchased equals one donated. Now go to bombas.com slash ACAST and use code ACAST for 20% off your first purchase. That's B-O-M-B-A-S dot com slash ACAST and use code ACAST at checkout.

Sanders' grotesque description was pure invention. He had never met Anne. He was not even alive when she was queen. His goal was clearly political, to discredit Elizabeth by portraying her mother as unnatural and cursed. But his accusations proved sticky. Over time, they filtered into popular imagination, blurring the line between fact and propaganda. Even today, Sanders' lies crop up in novels and films. Modern historians have pushed back firmly.

Eric Ives, Anne's most meticulous biographer, found no contemporary evidence for any deformity in the lost fetus. Nor did any contemporary chronicler. In Ives' words, the suggestion that Anne miscarried a monstrous child is a smear without foundation. Still, the idea had taken root deeply enough that even some serious historians grappled with it centuries later.

In the 20th century, historian Rita Warnick proposed a controversial theory that Anne's miscarriage involved a malformed fetus, and this shocking event spurred Henry and Cromwell to move against her so swiftly. Warnick's argument built on the notion that a monstrous birth would have been seen as a divine sign of sexual sin, incest, adultery, witchcraft, and thus gave urgency to Anne's destruction.

Look, it's an intriguing idea, but it rests on a fragile foundation, Sanders' later account, which serious scholars generally dismiss as unreliable. Not one single document from 1536, not a letter, not a court record, not a dispatch, mentions anything malformed. On the contrary, the descriptions suggest a tragically ordinary miscarriage.

Most historians today agree that the rumor of a monstrous miscarriage belongs firmly in the realm of later Antipolin propaganda, not fact. Anne's downfall can be explained without recourse to supernatural horror stories. Political betrayal, Henry's dynastic desperation, and Anne's own precarious position were more than enough.

The miscarriage of January 1536 was not by itself the cause of Anne's destruction, but it was the moment when her vulnerability became undeniable. Historians have debated just how pivotal the event was. There's that famous phrase saying that Anne had miscarried of her savior, which captured her situation, really. Had the child lived, had Anne delivered a healthy boy in the spring or summer of 1536, the course of English history might well have been very different. A male heir would have strengthened Anne's position beyond easy assault.

Henry, so desperate for a son, might have been willing to overlook other irritations, her sharp tongue, her political meddling, her declining favor, if she had placed a prince in his arms. The dynasty would have been secure. The Seymour family's ambitions would have been checked before they could gain momentum. Cromwell's schemes might never have ripened. But the child was lost, and with that loss, Anne's enemies found their opening. Historians like Eric Ive cautioned that it would be a mistake to view the miscarriage as the sole trigger for Anne's downfall.

Anne's situation was already deteriorating in late 1535, even before she became pregnant again. Henry's attentions were already shifting towards Jane Seymour. Cromwell and Anne were clashing over political matters, especially the redistribution of monastic wealth. The miscarriage, in Ives's view, did not create Anne's vulnerability, but it did expose it fully and irrevocably.

There's no question that the loss hardened Henry's resolve. After January 1536, Henry stopped pretending that he saw his marriage to Anne as a divinely sanctioned union. When he said, God does not wish to give me sons by her, he was showing himself to be a man who was searching for a way to justify what he already wanted to move on.

So it's easy 500 years later to look at Anne's pregnancies purely as political events, to see the births and the miscarriages, a phantom pregnancy perhaps, as chess moves in a brutal game of dynasty building. Successes or failures measured only in crowns and bloodlines. But behind the royal titles, behind the expectations, remember there was a woman. Anne would have known the risks every time she conceived. Childbirth in the 16th century was perilous even in the best conditions.

Miscarriages were common, infant mortality was high, and medical knowledge was limited. Every new pregnancy carried with it not only hope but fear. Fear of loss, fear of death, fear of disappointing a husband whose love was not unconditional.

She must have felt real joy when she first realized she was carrying Elizabeth, real pride when she felt her daughter's kicks, real hope when she conceived again in 1534 and in 1535, and real devastating grief when each of those pregnancies ended in silence.

But of course, that daughter that she left behind would change the course of English history. And Elizabeth would reign for 45 years, ushering in a golden age of exploration, culture, and stability. That disappointment born in September 1533 would become one of the most celebrated monarchs in English history. So Anne's enemies could tear down her reputation. They could blacken her name. But they couldn't erase her daughter. And in the end, that's the story that would outlast them all.

So there we are, my friends, a little bit about Anne's pregnancies. Sometimes you hear these stories and they're just sentences. And then you think about the people behind them and the effect that they had on those people. And it becomes a bit more real. So I am planning, I hinted at it last time, I am planning this very cool Anne Boleyn deep dive scavenger hunt. It's an online scavenger hunt, totally free. You can go to englandcast.com slash Anne Boleyn scavenger.

to sign up. I will put the link down below. So hopefully I will see you for that starting on May the 5th, next Monday, englandcast.com slash Anne Boleyn Scavenger. So I'll put the link below as well. All right, friend, thank you so much for being here. Thank you for sharing this time with me. And I will speak to you again next week. Bye bye.

Thank you.

Now at Verizon, we have some big news for your peace of mind. For all our customers, existing and new, we're locking in low prices for three years guaranteed on MyPlan and MyHome. That's future you peace of mind. And everyone can save on a brand new phone on MyPlan when you trade in any phone from one of our top brands. That's new phone peace of mind. Because at Verizon, whether you're already a customer or you're just joining us,

We got you. Visit Verizon today. Price guarantee applies to then current base monthly rate. Additional terms and conditions apply for all offers.