The Tower, Melons, and Blood

Drier weather for the Tower of London, praise the lord, but still pretty dismal. Not postcard weather. First impressions as you enter is how vast it is; rather like the Tardis, it appears larger on the inside than on the out.  Occupying 18 acres, it's  like walking into a small town, tourists providing the bustle in lieu of those who would have worked there five or six hundred years ago. 

 

You are again reminded of the Tardis when you ascend towers or stand on the battlements. Rather like the famous blue box that appears in the most incongruous surrounds, this 800 year old fortress is hemmed in by modernity: the Shard one of many architectural wonders. What on earth is this old and venerable building—once the Shard of its day—doing here, standing as though it owns the place?

The Bell Tower

The tower was built in the late C12th, possibly by Richard the Lionheart, to strengthen the defensive wall of the Inner Bailey. Over the years it has held such prisoners as Saints Thomas More, and John Fisher—the only bishop who refused to sign Henry’s Act of Supremacy. In recompense, the Pope promised to make him a cardinal. A furious Henry reacted that Fisher would have no head to wear a cardinal’s hat or any other kind of hat; true to his word, Fisher was decapitated in 1535. 

The protestant princess Elizabeth, seen as a threat to her half-sister, Mary I was also imprisoned in the Bell Tower. She would have been acutely aware that her mother, Anne Boleyn had been executed just yards away, but despite heavy and prolonged questioning, nothing could be found against the twenty-one year old, and she was eventually released. The battlements between Bell Tower and Beauchamps Tower is still known as ‘Elizabeth’s Walk’ the limits of her freedom during captivity.

The Bell Tower to the right, augmenting the inner curtain wall

Elizabeth's walk from the Bell Tower to Beauchamps Tower.

Bell tower, different angle

The battlements to Lanthor Tower and part of the complex Edward I made his own.

Edward's bedroom, the table sometimes serving as an altar allowing him to attend Mass in bed

It was here or in an adjoining chamber we enjoyed watching an actress dressed in medieval costume talking to a group of twenty primary school children. She was talking about medieval weapons, asking them what kinds of weapons might have been used in those times.

A spear!

Sword.

Bow and arrow.

The answers came thick and fast—until they didn’t.

She regarded them earnestly. 'Anything else?'

A long pause. A hand. ‘Melons.’

Such are the joys of teaching.

 

The Martin Tower was built by Henry III and used as a prison, housing such guests as the ‘Wizard Earl’—Henry Percy 9^th Earl of Northumberland, and eleven German spies before their execution during World War I. Between 1669 and 1841 the tower stored the crown jewels and became known as the Jewel Tower. 

In 1670, the adventurer Colonel Blood bamboozled the seventy-seven-year-old deputy keeper of jewels to gain entry. Once in, they bashed the old man on the head and stabbed him for good measure. The crown and orb were stolen, the sceptre stuffed down one of the conspirator’s breeches, but they failed in their escape. The aftermath is more interesting. Blood refused to answer any questions until he’d seen the King. Charles II was so taken with him that Colonel Blood was not only released but granted an estate in Ireland worth £500 a year. Bear in mind the poor old Deputy keeper who somehow survived the attack was awarded only £300 compensation which was never actually paid, and three years later he died.

Colonel Blood

Why would the king pay a pension to one who’d tried to steal the crown jewels? There are several theories—the king admired a fellow adventurer;  alternatively the king, always short of money, was in fact the mastermind behind the theft. Whatever the case, Blood died in 1680. He did though leave descendants. In 1879  Field Marshall Sir Bindon Blood commanded the Malakand Field Force safeguarding the North-West Frontier, today's Pakistan. Bindon Blood handpicked his officers for boldness and courage, one of whom was Winston Churchill. 

The Salt Tower

This tower has held many prisoners over the years, including the King of Scotland, John Balliol imprisoned by Edward I, and Hew Draper, a Bristol innkeeper, who was accused of practising sorcery against Bess of Hardwicke and her husband. Draper claimed he’d burnt all his magical books. Even so, he carved this large, complicated astronomical clock upon the wall of his cell. Passed the time.

            “Hew Draper of Brystow made this sphere the 30 daye of Maye anno 1561” 

 

 Catholic symbols are also scratched on the walls, largely done by Jesuit priests imprisoned here as the threats against Elizabeth I intensified. 

The most famous of the Jesuit prisoners was John Gerard who was  suspended by chains and tortured. And yet,  he escaped! A rope was suspended from the Salt Tower across the moat, and despite wrenched arms and mangled hands, he succeeded in crossing the moat to be spirited away by the Catholic underground. 

There are 21 towers in all, but you can have too much of a good thing.

Westminster Abbey and a Mouse in Bethnal Green

Our four days in London was a military operation centred around our daughter, and all the places we had never been to before and likely never would again. It was planned to the last minute, but I hadn’t anticipated the walking: six miles or so a day. I enjoyed our end of day pints, believe me, even if the pub in Bethnal Green had a mouse gambolling between the pumps and the toasting machine. 

Our second adventure was Westminster Abbey, and it was the most dismal day you can imagine, dull and grey, miserable in rain. With 90 minutes to kill before we could get into the Abbey, we found a damp Pret a Manger and stared from the window with our sandwich and coffee. 

Before entering the Abbey itself we nipped into the adjoining St Margaret’s Church, because being an unashamed geek, I’d heard Sir Walter Raleigh was buried beneath the Altar. Why he wasn’t buried in the Abbey, I have no idea. Pique on the part of the King who executed him perhaps. Cancelled.  At least, though, we had the church to ourselves and with it a great sense of peace.

Westminster Abbey was entirely different, an ornate mausoleum to the great and the good—and the not so good. A shrine to British history, and rich hunting grounds, no doubt, for those who would like to rewrite it.

The East India Company's shrine to Sir Eyrie Coote

Unlike St Margarets, it was packed and as we shuffled along I felt very much like the barbarians who sacked Rome might have felt, staring and craning in awe at the richness around us. 

At this point, I’d champion the much-maligned iPhone snapper. It is a considerable achievement, choosing your moment and going in for the kill before a shoulder, head or whole body gets into the shot. You’ll notice I failed several times. The point is, of course, is that it allows you the time afterwards to study the tomb, carving, or inscription in more detail. There was no time for reflection amidst so many people. In an ideal world, I’d book a night to myself in Westminster Abbey surrounded by the living dead, and walk around it slowly at dawn, camera at rest.  Then again, maybe I'd just stand there and let that great assembly of ghosts pay tribute to me, or in the case of Dickens and Trollope give me some writing tips. 

There was the obvious thrill contemplating the tombs of the great Medieval Kings and warriors. I'd spent my childhood fighting the French with Edward III and the Black Prince, spent much of my career teaching  students—not to fight the French, that's no longer allowed—but the intricacies and excitement of the Hundred Years War. And now here they were, their tombs at least, along with their bones. 

The tombs of Edward III and his son, The Black Prince

It was equally moving to be standing before the tomb of Edward I (though perhaps less so for the Welsh or the Scots). Close by was the tomb of his wife, Eleanor of Castile, one of the great love stories of the C13th. 

Edward I and Eleanor of Castile

And the tomb of  Henry III

Passing through the Lady Chapel, you are immediately struck by the windows and delicately ornate roof, as well as the 95 Tudor carvings of saints adorning the walls. Such beauty is merited by the presence of  'The Tudors,’ One can, perhaps, imagine the horror of  Elizabeth, Mary, Mary Queen of Scots and Margaret Beaufort having their rest disturbed by the gawping of respectful tourists. 

Credt BK

Above and below credit BK

Mary Queen of Scots in a 'One more thing!' pose.

Elizabeth I

Margaret Beaufort

Above and below, the founding Tudors: Elizabeth of York and Henry VII respectively. Credit BK.

Amidst all the pomp and pageantry, this was my favourite shrine. It has an air of quiet mystery. Real sanctity.

But now we come to the main nave and High Altar, behind this ornately carved archway

The ornate arched entrance to the nave and main altar

Here the Queen sat alone—'covid rules' —during her husband's funeral.

And to end with some curiosities, the tomb of Sir Richard Vere, Elizabethan and Jacobean soldier.

Another soldier Robert Thomas Wilson. Incredible life. Incredible wife (13 children in 15 years)

Sir Isaac Newton

Stephen Hawking

Granville Sharpe

David Livingstone

And finally, Poet’s Corner

                                                 

By this time my wife was losing patience as you must be, so despite a hundred more photos, I’ll stop before I exhaust myself and you.