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Welcome back to This Day in Irish History. I'm your host, Raymond Welsh. Before we dive into today's story, if you’d like to explore other significant events that happened on this day in Irish history, visit thisdayirishhistory.com—the link is in the episode description. Now, let’s journey back to May 9, 1671, and uncover the astonishing tale of Colonel Thomas Blood, an Irishman whose audacity nearly robbed the English monarchy of its most sacred symbols—the Crown Jewels.
Born around 1618 in County Meath, Thomas Blood was the son of a successful blacksmith and landowner, a Protestant in a country still reeling from the Plantation system and rising sectarian tensions. Blood’s early life offered little hint of the infamy that would later define him, but the turbulence of mid-17th-century Ireland proved to be the crucible in which his rebellious spirit was forged. During the English Civil War, he initially supported the Royalist cause, but when the tide turned in favor of Oliver Cromwell, Blood opportunistically switched sides and became a Parliamentarian officer.
Following the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660, Blood’s fortunes shifted dramatically. The return of King Charles II to the throne meant former Cromwellian allies like Blood were now outcasts. His lands were confiscated, and he was reduced to a life of scheming and intrigue. Driven by bitterness and a flair for deception, Blood embarked on a series of increasingly audacious plots, including an attempted coup in Ireland and a foiled plan to kidnap the Duke of Ormond, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.
But it was his most notorious exploit—his attempt to steal the Crown Jewels—that cemented his place in history. On the morning of May 9, 1671, Blood entered the Tower of London disguised as a clergyman, accompanied by a woman pretending to be his wife. Over several weeks, he had cultivated the trust of the Master of the Jewel House, Talbot Edwards, even going so far as to propose a match between his fictitious "nephew" and Edwards’ daughter.
With his trap carefully set, Blood returned that morning with three accomplices. Once inside the Jewel House, the gang sprang into action. They overpowered and bound Edwards, managing to pry the crown from its display and flatten it with a mallet to conceal it under a cloak. The orb was stuffed into a bag, and the sceptre—too long to hide easily—was sawed in half. They made their way toward the exit, but fate, and perhaps a bit of noise from the scuffle, intervened. Edwards managed to raise the alarm, and the group was quickly apprehended by guards at the Tower gate.
What followed was almost more astonishing than the crime itself. Blood, now a prisoner facing certain execution, refused to speak to anyone but the King. Brought before Charles II, Blood brazenly defended himself with charm and wit, arguing that a man capable of stealing the Crown Jewels might just be better employed in service of the Crown than swinging from a rope. Incredibly, the King agreed. Not only was Blood pardoned, but he was also granted land in Ireland worth £500 per year—an astronomical sum at the time.
The King's motivations remain mysterious. Some speculate that Charles was amused by Blood’s audacity; others believe Blood was secretly working as a government agent. Whatever the truth, Blood became a legend—a criminal turned court favorite, living out his days in comparative comfort until his death in 1680.
The attempted theft of the Crown Jewels remains one of the boldest heists in British history and a striking example of the cunning and nerve of an Irish adventurer who dared to challenge monarchy and fate alike. Blood’s story, though often romanticized, underscores the chaotic and often contradictory politics of the 17th century—where today’s outlaw could become tomorrow’s favorite of the King.
Thank you for joining me on this journey through Ireland’s rich past. Please like and subscribe, and until next time, I’m Raymond Welsh—Slán go fóill!
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