by Becky Garrison
According to my UK friends, only tourists visit the Tower of London (aka Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress). But just as they frequent Times Square whenever they come to New York City, I had a hankering to play tourist for a bit and visit this historic castle located on the River Thames in Central London.
This massive twenty-one-tower complex built by William the Conqueror shortly after he came into power in 1066 served a variety of functions, including a fortress against foreign attack, a repository for the crown jewels, and a refuge for the royal family in times of civil disorder. However, the Tower of London remains notorious as the site for some of England’s bloodiest bits, a living testimony to the hell that happened when certain royals ruled the roost.
In preparation for my mini-historical trek to the Tower, I uploaded the soundtrack from Spamalot onto my smartphone. Listening to how Sir Robin the Not-Quite-So-Brave-As-Sir-Lancelot personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill put me in the right frame of mind to visit England’s most infamous house of horrors.
Instead of heading straight for the tower, I decided to stop at the London Bridge station and then walk across Tower Bridge. Despite this landmark’s medieval appearance, this famous drawbridge didn’t grace the London skyline until 1894. As I surveyed the growing mound of ant-like figures converging on the Tower of London, I began to wonder if perhaps I should heed my UK hosts’ advice and just skip this site. But given I already had my press ticket in hand, I figured I’d give it a shot.
Once I entered the complex, I found myself accosted by a gentleman dressed in regal robes. At first I thought he was another out of work actor looking to play dress-up but I soon learned he’s a bona fide Beefeater, the Yoemen of the Guard who formed the Royal Bodyguard since at least 1509. While he proved to be quite the expert guide, after getting elbowed one time too many by some twittery tourist, I set out on my own.
After I passed by Traitor’s Gate, the famous entry to the Tower where prisoners would enter from the River Thames to the Tower, I took a counterclockwise tour of the various towers. Passing by a sequence of cells and chapels, I almost felt as though I was traversing through a medieval monastery. That is until I stumbled upon a display of torture instruments clearly designed to stretch someone into submission.
I made sure to stop by and see the greatest working collection of Crown Jewels— scepters, orbs, swords, Oh My! Though to be honest, I found myself more impressed by the armor worn by a succession of kings, most of whom appeared to be quite short of stature.
In recent years, the Tower underwent a thorough “out, damned spot!” removal program. The last execution at the Tower transpired when an eight-man firing squad shot Corporal Josef Jakobs in 1941, the same year that Hitler’s Deputy Führer, Rudolf Hess, was held there briefly. Even the famous Bloody Tower now glistens in the golden sun. A pastoral patch on the Tower Green marks the spot where the more prominent prisoners, such as two of Henry VIII’s wives (Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard), lost their pretty heads. All that’s left now are a few implements of torture ensconced in glass cases. Let’s hope they stay that way.
Private Guided Tour: Tower of London
If You Go:
The Tower of London Official Website:
About the author:
Becky Garrison is a freelance writer who has authored six books including Jesus Died for This?: A Satirist’s Search for the Risen Christ
All photos are by Becky Garrison:
1. Site of the scaffold were Anne Boleyn was executed.
2. The Sir Walter Raleigh Room.
3. The Portcullis.
Wilton’s, the world’s oldest surviving music hall, was opened in 1858. If its disintegrating walls could talk, they would have a few tales to tell. It began its life as a sailor’s club (and possibly a brothel); then became a music hall. The burlesque lyricist and performer, George Leybourne, aka Champagne Charlie stepped onto the stage here, as did the dancers of the risqué can-can (only to be promptly banned). Sadly, Wilton’s only initially survived a short 20 years as a music hall. In 1877, the hall had to be rebuilt after a disastrous fire. Soon after, this place of twilight glamour was closed down and it took on a series of very different functions from Methodist mission hall, soup kitchen, refugee centre, safe house (from the fascists) to a sorting house for rags.
It’s an almost impossible task, and the building (in its unsafe state) has come very close to closure. When I was there, I could see daylight appearing through the rafters in places. There were unsafe electrics, leaking plumbing, and floorboards in the bar so rotten that the number of people permitted at any one time restricted. The whole of the second floor was boarded up, unfit for public use. Even the stone walls were eroding in places. Yet, it’s this forgotten, neglected state that’s given Wilton’s its indescribable atmosphere. It has the feel of Miss Havisham’s mansion in Great Expectations – as if someone had stopped the clock on time and left the building in a state of decaying beauty.
I head upstairs and into the Great Hall. I’ve walked into a Victorian fable. From the gallery a hundred fairy-lights cascade outwards from the centre of the ceiling. Yet more fairy-lights line the gallery’s railings. Pastel frescos fill the peeling walls between great arches. The gilt banister is decorated with delicate, intricate detail. A red silk curtain drapes the stage. Musician and artiste Duke Special enters the stage, eyes black with kohl, long dreadlocks, draping shirt cuffs and velvet jacket. To his left sits a string quartet: Behind him a projector screen. For two hours, he sings and plays the piano – songs he has written to accompany the black and white photos of the renowned early twentieth century American photographers, Stieglitz, Steichen and Strand. The music (commissioned by the Met Museum in New York) is heart-wrenchingly moving, the images haunting. The beauty and timelessness of the music and the photographic images fit perfectly in this magical, ethereal building. A great deal of thought is put into the theatre pieces and concerts that are produced at Wilton’s. The art, like the building, is sumptuous. So the next time you are in London, take the tube out to Wapping and to Wilton’s Music Hall and step back in time. Book a tour, or better still, one of their exceptional shows. You won’t regret it.
Skara Brae, a prehistoric village that was built before the Egyptian pyramids, has been listed as one of the “Heart of Neolithic Orkney” World Heritage Sites, and it illustrates a perfect example as to why the Orkney Islands have often been referred to as “The Egypt of the North.”
Skara Brae is approximately 5,000 years old and is located about eight miles away from the small town of Stromness on the southern shore of the Bay O’ Skaill. Although it was originally thought that the site was a Pictish village, researchers now believe that the settlement was actually an Orcadian village that was inhabited between the years of 3200 and 2200 BC.
It is believed that Skara Brae was big enough to hold about 50 to 100 villagers at any given time, and that it was inhabited for approximately 600 years.
The villagers also used volcanic pumice that could have been washed up on the shore from Iceland to help shape the bone tools and stone balls, and over 2,400 inscribed beads and hundreds of bone necklaces were found in one of the stone cupboards as well. It is believed that many of these objects resembled one’s symbol of status or may even have been used for ritualistic purposes. It is also thought that the dressers which were sitting directly across from the doorway were used to “show off” any prized possessions and/or hunting trophies whenever a visitor entered the home.
Because many belongings and artifacts were left behind in the village and stored carefully away in the cupboards, some believe that Skara Brae was abandoned because of an “apocalyptic” event and/or disaster which forced the villagers to flee their home.
The information board also had a map showing the route of St. Oswald’s Way (97 miles, 156 kilometers), which stretches from the church to the north-east coast locations associated with St. Oswald. We had largely covered that route over the previous few days with our hosts, Paul and Laura: taking in the medieval castle of Warkworth near Amble, and the picturesque coastal villages of Alnwick and Seahouses. Further up the coast we marveled at Bamburgh, which has a history every bit as intriguing as the castle is majestic. It was chosen as the home of the Anglo-Saxon royalty ruling Northumbria in the seventh century.
The Holy Island of Lindisfarne is still well worth a visit. A priory resident on the island since the 7th century and a 16th century castle provide stimulating landmarks as well as great views of the Farne Islands farther out at sea and the mainland to the south. On a clear day the volcanic rock that supports the castle provides an ideal promontory for relaxing and dozing under the sun to absorb the harmonious mixture of rich island history and fresh sea air. The mystique of the island is maintained by its natural seclusion: the causeway that links the island to the mainland is submerged by sea twice a day when the tide is in. It is wise to check safe times to travel on the causeway with the tourist board before making the journey.
“Having completely transformed the soldiers, in royal fashion, he made for Britain, where he set right many things and – the first to do so – drew a wall along a length of eighty miles to separate barbarians and Romans.” (The Augustan History, Hadrian 11.1)
Continuing west the next highlight was Chesters; near the village of Chollerford. It is the best preserved Roman cavalry fort in Britain. There are extensive foundations on view here, as well as the structure of a commandant’s house and the multi-roomed military bath-house. A museum houses Roman artifacts found in archaeological digs on the site.
It was now mid-afternoon, so we decided to make the Procolitia fort the final destination on our westward Hadrian’s Wall hike, as we also had to walk back to the campsite near Acomb; across the valley from Hexham. Three miles later we arrived at Procolitia to find that it is now a car park! However, the extra miles were not in vain, as behind the car park there is the mithraeum: a temple to Mithras, the Persian sun god that the Romans imported into Britain.
