The Tower of London - Beardless Beefeaters and Gin Bracers

Touring The Bloody Tower of London

What does the average first-time tourist to the Tower of London think of when waiting for their Beefeater to arrive for their tour? That he will look like the robustly whiskered grandfatherly fellow on the Beefeater Gin bottle. Right? Wrong.

My group’s fellow was a youngster; sweet-faced, gregarious and no whiskers. I placed his age at around mine, about forty years old. His uniform was very dark blue with red insignia; a bold E II R on his breast and he wore on his head, a bonnet. This is the working day uniform, not the ceremonial red most tourists associate with the Beefeaters. He motioned to the group to come close to him because of his “gentle” voice. Like lambs to the slaughter, we gathered round. “Welcome to Her Majesty’s Palace and Fortress, The Tower of London”.

Turns out our sweet-faced Beefeater could probably break our necks with his bare hands. My plans to make off with Queen Victoria’s Crown deteriorated into a puff of smoke. These men, of whom there are about thirty-eight to forty, are all former warrant officers in the British Armed Services, except for the Royal Navy. This was emphasized with a booming, “No Navy”. The qualifications are strict; minimum twenty-years distinguished service. In short, well-decorated chaps.

He spoke with grand gestures of the Tower’s purpose as a palace to monarchs, a jail, armory, execution site, fortress and a safe place for my beloved Queen Victoria Crown. Expressive was his manner in detailing how executions were, well, executed. But these grisly explanations were balanced with his sincere ability to connect with the visitors.

He escorted the group eastward towards the watery Traitor’s Gate, the Thames River access to the Tower, reserved for prisoners. Sympathizers could lay an ambush were prisoners led through the town.

Before this visit I always thought that everybody and anybody got axed here. This is a misconception. Regular folks met their end on a scaffold away from the Tower on Tower Hill about five stone throws away. You had to be someone of importance to be executed within the Tower. Heading the list would be a queen of King Henry the VIII.

We continued on to the Bloody Tower and were told a horrifying story of two young princes that were murdered by their ambitious uncle, their young bodies thrown into a chest and buried within that structure. Centuries later their bones were found by workmen while repairing a part of that tower. Egads. I should have had a bracer of Beefeater Gin before coming on this tour.

We turned north. To our left was the Queen’s House and we continued walking past the Wall of the Inmost Ward and the Coldharbour Gate ruins. To our right, we beheld “it”; the White Tower. I had a momentary lapse of attention and ceased hearing the Yeoman Warder. The White Tower is the original edifice, constructed in the mind-boggling year of 1078. White, four-cornered, austere but grand; I had seen opulence in London and Paris but I was surprised at the emotion that came over me upon viewing this building. I reflected quietly.

I came out of my trance and noticed the large, black legendary ravens perched about the White Tower. How appropriate it is that they should be here. My attention was once again directed to our leader as he spoke of the ravens.

We were sternly warned not to trifle with them, as they are carnivorous. As a matter of point he held up a rubber bloody finger eliciting groans of repulsion and delight from the children in the group. Visions of a human head on a spear with ravens picking on decapitated flesh crowded my thoughts. Where oh where was that gin bracer? Other people looked smiley, happy and oblivious. I wallowed in darkness.

Our attention was directed to the Scaffold Site. It is appropriately roped off so if one gets the morbidly funny feeling of stepping on it and dancing the happy dance atop of it, well, once again, forget it. It can’t be done. The thoughtful visitor will note that beyond this point lies a holy place, the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula.

It did my heart good to end the tour here. The Yeoman Warder asked that people wearing hats remove them. He removed his bonnet. We sat down in the pews and he began telling the history of the Chapel. A beam of sunlight pouring through a window blinded my eyes. Of seventy people in the chapel I was the only one it decided to blind. I sat there with my eyes squinted and listened to the Yeoman Warder recount the story of Queen Anne Boleyn and her sad demise. He asked a question to his “congregation”,

“Once her head was severed, it is said that witnesses saw her lips still moving in prayer. What did this cause the people to think?” I raised my hand like a good pupil at which point he motioned to me to respond. “That she was a witch.” I answered correctly.

The tour came to a close and we left the Chapel.

I thanked the Yeoman Warder and he smiled softly. I looked at his name badge. It said “Mick King” on it. At the beginning of the tour he appeared very gregarious as I noted before, but now he seemed meditative, far away. A feeling of empathy for him, shrouded over me like a mystical veil and for a brief moment I wondered if perhaps, he had told that story too many times.

If you go:

The Tower of London is located at Tower Hill, London EC3, next to the River Thames and Tower Bridge. The nearest underground Tube station is Tower Hill, on the District (green) or Circle (yellow) lines, within Travel Zone 1. Or there are passenger boats from Westminster Pier or the Embankment Pier along the River Thames; journey time approx. 30 mins. Contact: Catamaran Cruises, tel: 011 44 207 987 1185. For more information and current ticket prices on the Tower of London and the other Historic Royal Palaces, visit their website at http://www.hrp.org.uk

Author: Maria Merayo