In March 1461, Towton was the scene of the bloodiest battle on British soil. I published a book about it. It is a beautiful place to visit, and intensely moving. We went there on Palm Sunday when there was a snowstorm, so it wasn't hard to imagine what those poor soldiers went through.
Now, on today's news, we learn that Towton has been invaded by gypsies--I refuse to pander to political correctness and call them travellers. They are dirty, filthy, scrounging oiks, most of then on benefits, and most of whom would steal the milk out of your tea. They live the way that they do, some in luxurious caravans, at the expense of the tax-payer. We had them where we lived, some years ago, and they took some getting rid of--eventually, a few of them bumped into a few anxious, angry residents after dark, and soon afterwards they not surprisingly left, with a few black eyes but leaving tons of rubbish behind them.
Many thousands of young men died at Towton, and we do not want their memories besmirched by having this rabble stomping over their graves. Maybe if they awoke one morning to find that there was a re-enactment of the battle, with 20,000 angry men on horseback riding up from Cock Beck to flatten their hovels, then maybe they might get the hint and leave.