I’ve always been interested in the past. At school, I threw myself into history lessons. I turned one of my mum’s bedsheets into a toga so I could pretend to be a Roman, and spent holidays learning hieroglyphics long after lessons on ancient Egypt had finished.

When I was eight, we did the Tudors at school, and my aunt took me to the Tower of London, not far from where I grew up in Thurrock, Essex. I was spellbound. Back home, I’d pore over my mum’s Encyclopaedia Britannica, try to copy Hans Holbein portraits, and watch documentaries about Henry VIII over and over. There was just something magical about the Tudors.

I wanted to be a history teacher, but I hated college, and ended up dropping out. I always intended to go back, but took a job as a factory worker, then a delivery driver, to make ends meet. I never lost my interest in history, though, and would keep my colleagues entertained on long shifts with historical facts. “You even look like Henry VIII,” they’d joke.

I got hold of a cheap Henry VIII costume and posted a picture of myself wearing it on Facebook, thinking it would raise a few smiles. The post blew up. I was inundated with messages from people suggesting I join a re-enactment group. I jumped at the chance.

I saved up and had a historically accurate costume made, based on the outfit in Henry’s most famous portrait. It cost me more than £2,000, but it’s important that the details are there. It’s hand-sewn by a specialist historical costume-maker; she copied every tiny detail, right down to the number of beads on his doublet.

In June 2021, I took my first royal job, portraying Henry at Penshurst Place in Kent. They wanted a re‑enactor to help bring the history of the manor house alive for visitors. Sensing a hush fall over a room as I entered, I felt what he must have felt.

Before long, I was travelling around the country most weekends, performing as Henry. I had lots of bookings for stately homes with a connection to Henry, and for special events, too. I was asked to host a Christmas banquet, and was even flown out to Nettuno, Italy, to take part in a holy procession.

People often think of Henry as an obese tyrant with a penchant for weddings and beheadings, but I see it as my job to dispel that myth. I often get people asking: “Been on a diet, Henry?” as they’re expecting someone much bigger – but I tell them that for most of his life, Henry was an attractive and athletic man.

It can be a bit of a struggle to find wives to accompany me at events, so I have to advertise online. Anne Boleyns are always easy to come by, but the others are more difficult to recruit.

Unlike Henry, once I find a wife I work well with, I try to hang on to them. I’ve got a great relationship with a lady who works as Catherine of Aragon, Henry’s first wife. She’s even taken my costumes home with her to sew on loose pearls, which I think is something Catherine would have done for Henry.

Last September, I was offered a job going into schools as Henry and teaching children about the Tudors. It’s my dream job, and means I can finally be Henry full-time. I love watching the pupils’ faces when I walk into the classroom. I teach them how to bow and curtsy, and then they learn a bit of Tudor dancing and some archery (with sucker-tipped arrows).

Some of them are clearly nervous; one asked if I’d ever killed a child. Their favourite stories are the gruesome ones; they love hearing about Richard Roose, the chef accused of poisoning, who Henry had boiled to death. Seeing them become interested in history is the reason I love my job.

I often end up grabbing a coffee before school while dressed in character. It’s probably quite surreal to see Henry VIII in the Morrisons cafe. “Crazy night, was it?” the cashier often asks. “You have no idea,” I reply.

I think I’ll always find it a thrill to be invited into the palaces that Henry once stayed in, sitting in the same rooms with the same views, wondering what he thought and felt. I’m not sure what Henry would say if he could see me, though. I’d like to think I’d avoid being sent to the Tower, at least.

As told to Heather Main

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