Sir John ap Elis Eyton (d. 1526): A Knight, a Survivor, a Legacy Silenced
Tucked into the north chapel of St Mary’s Church, Ruabon in Wales, lies a tomb that tells a story far more powerful than what meets the eye. It’s the monument of Sir John ap Elis Eyton, a warrior of the Tudor age, whose recumbent alabaster effigy bears the scars of centuries — not from natural wear, but from deliberate effort to erase the truth of who he was.
A Knight of Valor and Loyalty
Born the eldest of four sons to Elis Eyton of Rhiwabon and his second wife Angharad, daughter of Madog Puleston of Emral, John ap Elis Eyton’s lineage was deeply rooted in Welsh gentry. According to the monument inscription, he fought at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485 on the side of Henry Tudor, playing his part in the victory that would change history.
As a reward for his loyal service, King Henry VII granted him a steady annuity of ten marks, acknowledging both his martial contribution and his faithful support during that pivotal moment in English history. Over time, his estates in Ruabon grew in importance, eventually passing into the hands of the powerful Wynnstay family — a testament to the value of his land and status.
Family, Wealth, and Influence
John married Elizabeth Calveley, daughter of Sir Hugh Calveley of Cheshire, a union that tied him into the broader web of noble families. They had several children together, and their joint tomb — once richly painted and heraldically decorated — was intended to immortalise both their names and their legacy.
The alabaster monument shows him clad in armour, wearing the Lancastrian SS-collar, a clear symbol of his loyalty to the Tudor cause. The sides of the tomb originally featured weeping angels bearing shields, though these panels are now heavily defaced.
A Face Altered, a Heritage Hidden
If you study his effigy closely — particularly his head — something deeply unsettling comes into view. His natural, tightly curled Afro-style hair, so distinctive when originally sculpted, has been chiseled down in an apparently deliberate attempt to make his appearance conform to a more Caucasian ideal. The forehead is unnaturally smoothed; the rounded natural curls are flattened, robbed of their original texture and shape.
His facial features too — the nose, lips, and jawline — show signs of modification. The reshaped brow and softened profile suggest someone not only sought to minimize his original, darker features, but to overwrite them completely. Even so, careful observation reveals traces of those broader nose contours and fuller lips beneath the damage — proof that his true heritage was never fully erased.
This is no accident of time or erosion. The damage is deliberate. The smoothing and reshaping speak of a conscious effort to rewrite how he looked, how he would be remembered — to hide his dark complexion behind a veneer more acceptable to later generations.
Why His Story Matters
The monument of Sir John ap Elis Eyton is not just a tomb. It’s a living record of erasure, of the way identity has been suppressed under false historical narratives. His service, his loyalty, and his reward from the Tudor monarchy all affirm his importance. Yet his very face — the physical trace of who he really was — has been tampered with.
In confronting the modifications to his effigy, we confront a larger truth: our history has been deliberately whitewashed. The chisels used to erase his Afro-textured hair and dark features were not just tools of vandalism — they were tools of rewriting. But they failed. The stone remembers. The truth endures.
Standing in the north chapel of St Mary’s, among the angels and damaged shields, his memory calls out: look closely, see clearly, and know who I was. And through his story, we reclaim not only John ap Elis Eyton, but the larger legacy of a swarthy, powerful elite too often hidden in the shadow of sanitized history.
“They sanded away the curls, they reshaped the face—but the stone still remembers who he was”
Guinevere Jackson
Image citation Church image Wikipedia – Effigy images Flickr
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