Tower of London

I could feel the sun descending on my back and decided if I was going to see the Tower of London I would need to get going. I walked under Tower Bridge, passing a homeless man playing the harmonica and was suddenly infront of the historic walls that hid what was at a time a castle, a time a prison, a time a dungeon, and now a tourist attraction. For hundreds upon hundreds of years this has been a centre of London, where Anne Boylen and Elizabeth the first spent time, Anne being the sad victim of the guillotine… artists and authors and religious persons… all met their fate here. You could almost feel the eeryness of history blanketing you.

I stepped toward the Thames and took in the perspective, as the sun fell low and shed shadows over the Northern foreshore. Behind me was a very large photo of a jacket potato marketing the restaurant, I couldn’t help but think of Nigel and our Jacket Potato nights… putting everything you could imagine on the unsuspecting potato. I had to take a photo and send it to him. I tried to angle myself in such a way that my head and the potato were in the frame – a more difficult feat than one could imagine.

A kindly gentleman smiled at me, I smiled back while still trying to stand on one leg in an attempt to create the perfect Fiona/Potato Picture (which I’m sure would be an award winning photo). He asked if he could take a photo for me. Still with a certain level of trepidation I agreed and handed him the now beloved shiny green camera. He started pointing in the direction of Tower Bridge and the Thames…
“Ummm… Sir?”, he turned around to look at me,
“I actually wanted me next to the potato?”, at which point the man with the kind eyes laughed outloud before looking at me with amusement and concern (I assume for the state of my general mentality), took a photo and handed me the camera.
I could see his chest bouncing with laughter as he walked away.

I popped across to a vendor and bought a doughnut with thick red jam and every sugary granule in the Northern Hemisphere, chomping into it with such a level of delight… there is nothing quite as comforting as a jam doughnut, still warm from the doughnut maker. As I walked in the direction of the ticket machine I noted a large banister advising “Ice Skating at the Tower of London”… I took a photo and felt that familiar niggling feeling, wishing my sister was here to go skating with.

I bought my tickets and headed toward the Tower of London, stopping briefly to have my bag checked. The security guard saw the photo of my adventures within the Tower Dungeons Tour,
“Was that good?” he said enthusiastically, his stern persona suddenly turning him into a twenty-something pretending to be an adult,
“Yeah… strangely enough. I found it pretty entertaining at any rate, worth the money, take your girlfriend”, he laughed,
“She thinks ET is scary!”,
I headed into the Tower of London, still smiling from my brief conversation.

London Tower is actually “Her Majesty’s Palace and Fortress”, later to become “The Tower” when being used as a prison. It was built by William the Conquerer in 1078, the façade has remained similar to its original foundations, but renovations have continued throughout the decades. It was initially a fortress, ensuring the security of London by being situated on the Thames, a prime position to deter any possible attempts at invasion. It later became the Royal Palace and finally functioned as a prison for traitors, assassins’ and religious foes. The likes of St Thomas More, John II of France, Edward Seymore and even Queen Elizabeth I had been kept within these walls. So many people killed for crimes they did not commit, or because they were on the wrong side of the fence when the new monarch came to the thrown. It was in quite a bit of use during Henry VIII’s reign, Lady Jane Grey (Queen for 9 days) also met her maker here.

But it is not only early history that makes the Tower what it is today, its was still in use as a prison during the Second World War when Rudolf Hess (deputy to Hitler) was accommodated in one of the towers. In 1974 a bomb went off in another of the towers, killing one person and injuring 41 others (Scotland Yard suggested it be the IRA, but the poor IRA were blamed for pretty much everything during that time, regardless whether they were involved or not. Generally speaking the IRA always owned up to their attacks so it is unlikely it was infact, them).


Apparently Ghosts still haunt the halls of the Tower of London, Anne Boleyn, Henry VI and Margaret Pole are some names that come to the lips of those who have worked in there. Whispers, cries, shouts and unexplained howling winds. With such a history I don’t doubt that there are more things than we can see, the tortured souls of the wronged.

In the centre of the courtyard there is a round glass sculpture, as you wander around it in a clockwise direction it creates a prayer to those who were imprisoned in the tower and suffered for crimes that may not have been committed. It is quite emotional, being there, sensing the fear of the occupants, hearing the creaking doors and reading the graffiti. Graffiti is actually a very old form of art, not what we see today. Originally it was known as Graffito (Italian term describing the ‘scratching’ of a surface) and the first discovered from was found in Ancient Rome and Pompeii. It is found throughout the world, including the Tower of London. Standing at one of the thin steel wound windows deeply set into the wall, images are seen. Prisoners used make shift picks to scratch and carve poems, names and murals into the walls. Some were prayers, others the Family Crest… it takes your breath away, the perfection of the miniature pieces of art, thinking about that person, sitting there day and night, day and night, dreaming of escape, fearing for the future they wouldn’t experience, just scratching… endlessly. Some weren’t finished which sent a chill down the back of my neck – those persons had met the guillotine before their graffiti was complete.

The experience was haunting but unbelievably interesting. In one room actors were playing at being royalty and interacting with the tourists. I looked closely at the stairs, I enjoy thinking about the people who constructed buildings like there, the dresses that swept over these stairs, the maids who swept them, what stories did these stairs have to tell? More than my mind could ever begin to contemplate.

Through the court yard strode actors dressed in costumes of soldiers throughout the ages, all performing and interacting as if they were within their respective era’s. I walked through the torture chambers, wondering what kind of person could come up with such evil mechanical devises, the victim was laid on a wooden bench, their arms and legs strapped in by leather, the torturer would turn a large vice and the victim would literally be stretched… more often than not their bones would crack and break, joints would pop out of their sockets. It was too horrendous to think about and I couldn’t bear be in there for long…

Coming out of the dungeons I took note of the canons that lay in waiting, painted up to look as they would all those 100s of years ago. I could almost see the soldiers running around, shouting and igniting the gun powder.

Where to next? I could see the steeple of St Pauls Cathedral and thought it might be worth a bit of a walk. I headed in that general direction, ducking and jumping out of the way of the onslaught of crazed pigeons… those pigeons… such scary creatures. I came to the top of Tower Hill, overlooking the Tower and London and on through to the Thames. Standing here I discovered a tribute to the soldiers that had fought and died in the First World War. Romaneque in construction, each pillar and wall was littered with names… hundreds of thousands of names. I couldn’t imagine the grief the country would have felt at that time and was glad to be paying my respects all of these years later.

Across from this was an unlabelled building, more than likely just a place of business, but at the very top of the building stood Zeus, naked and pointing to the sky. I just love looking up in London, you never know who might be watching over you, from Kings and Queens, to Cherubs and other mythological creatures.

I took out my map and identified the appropriate route to take in order to get the St Pauls Cathedral before the sun went down. Along my way I saw a pub entitled, “Hung, Drawn and Quartered”, although a bit tasteless considering where it was situated, it was also quite amusing to think someone would name their pub such a thing… I took a photo and carried on my merry way.

Walking down a side street I noticed a door with a small non descript sign saying “Church through here”. I could help but have a gander, its quite exciting slipping into doors and finding things you’d had no intention of seeing. When I entered the church, so closely connected to corporate buildings, I was amazed by the magnitude of the organ pipes. 15 foot golden pipes soaring into the high set ceiling. If only I could find the stairs… there was no one there, maybe I could have a bit of a tinkle with the organ’s keys. Unfortunately I noticed the CCT Cameras blinking at me and decided it best not be arrested. It was nice, the solitude, the quiet… silence away from beeping horns, chattering people, doors slamming… London is loud.

After taking a moment to breath I carried on down the cobbled street only to find a mini walk way, again, obscurely set amongst buildings… A murial was the centrepiece of the cement space, it looked to have been a school project and I imagined the children of London painting away carefully – so proud of their work. The mural was dedicated to the 1666 Fire of London. I took a moment to peruse the drawing, glad that such a moment of history was not forgotten and continued my trek.

Along the way I saw ads to purchase the Evening Standard – the most popular daily paper in London – it was shocking and depressing to read, “Jobless Soaring to 2 million”, and “Tragic Baby P” – about a child that had been constantly abused by its mother and mothers partner, until it was eventually beaten to death by the mothers partner and his two friends… No wonder London was suffering most from the “Credit Crunch”, spreading depression and very little hope. I remember reading about the Wall Street Crash and that the most influential aspect was the fact that everyone ‘thought’ the banks were going to go bust, so everyone took their money out of the banks… therefore, the banks went bust. Self fulfilling prophecy. I wondered if people had more faith that things would be alright, that maybe then… things would be alright. Focusing on negativity all the time only makes you negative and it breeds like a disease. I made a mental note not to read the paper or watch the news unless I was in complete control of the contents… I wanted to be happy.

Finally I turned a corner and was taken aback by the sheer size of St Pauls Cathedral… It is magnificent and so beautifully constructed. I had quite a lot of difficulty trying to get the steeple and the entire building into the same frame… at the same time having difficulty to take a photo without a great red bus in it. No wonder the red bus is an icon of London… they’re everywhere!

I was so happy to simply be near the building, you almost felt as if you were in Italy, not the centre of London. I noticed exceptionally well dressed individuals making their way out of the Cathedral… I knew that you were allowed to go inside, but felt the need to confirm with someone considering the group of chattering individuals emerging from the interior. I approached a man with a tag around his neck – that looked official enough,
“Is it ok to go in?”
“Oh… usually, yes.” I waited a moment, but apparently that was the end of the sentence,
“Can I go in now then?”,
“Oh no… no, not today. We’re always open, but today we had a function”,
“Ofcourse you did,” I said, “Just my luck!” and thanked him for his time. Well, just another thing to put onto my increasingly expanding ‘to do’ list.

I was, however, very content with how the day had panned out and decided to make my way across to South London to catch the Northern Line tube, maybe stop for dinner on the way. Luckily, directly infront of St Pauls Cathedral and down the road is situated the Millenium Bridge – a bridge for pedestrians only. Why not? I thought and headed that way. I passed a scooter car park and took a photo thinking of my Fathers new pride and joy, and smiling at the image of his beard sticking out from under his helmet as he zoomed about Busselton.

Walking along Millenium Bridge I watched the sunset, the purples, pinks and pascal blues making their way across the sky. The Kiss Hug building had lit up already and darkness was slowly moving in. My stomach rumbled… still not being able to get used to the fact that night time is not night time in London, and just because its dark doesn’t mean you need to have tea. Never the less, if I fancied a bite once I’d gotten to the South Bank, then a bite I would have!

The Tate Modern rose up before me, teasing me… I was dying to go there, it was one of the main places to see in London, it had come way before the London Eye, or even Big Ben… but I had promised Mark that I would wait until we could go together – he is quite interested in art as well and its always nice to have someone to discuss these things with. I was contemplating sneaking in… just popping my head in there for a moment or two… when my phone rang,


“Where are you?”
“Ha! Mark… you wont believe it! I am right infront of the Tate Modern and was going to be VERY naughty and sneak in”, he laughed and I said it was so terribly strange that he should call just at that moment, therefore I should wait… he was happy to hear it.

I walked back past the Tate Modern and along the South Bank, taking in, again, the city lights, the blue fairy lights in the trees, heard the laughter from passers by, the music dancing on the winds, tourists clapping at the street theatre performers.

I didn’t really want to leave the South Bank, maybe hold onto the moment for a little longer. I looked across at St Pauls Cathedral, the steeple lit up and words changing every few minutes – ‘Love’, ‘Change’, ‘Respect’… all positive words, I thought it must have something to do with Christmas.

I found a restaurant / bar along my walk, situated right on the river. Outside were steel pillars with flames flickering warming the couples that sat speckled at tables here and there, enjoying a glass of wine and a meal. I decided it was too good to walk past and ordered myself a pasta and glass of warm red. I took my pen and paper and started recounting the events of my day. Easing myself back into the chair and looking at the lights littering the Northern foreshore I felt peacefully happy, all grown up… I was bringing my years of imagining to life… what was next?