Tour to the Tower of London

A nearly 1000-year-old congregation of grand buildings in the centre of London, The Tower of London, is awe inspiring at first glance. An erstwhile moat now replete with wildflowers, and buzzing with bees and tourists, lends an earthy fragrance (and some funky hay fever) to the entire neighbourhood. The tower is home to some famous spirits and we look forward to seeing them.

A palace, a treasury, a mint, a prison, a menagerie, a chapel, and home to the crown jewels, the tower has much to boast about, but nothing sparks curiosity like the many executions it is infamous for. A Yeoman Warder guides us as we walk through the grounds. He is an expert orator, an entertainer, and brandishes the very British humour in his black and red uniform, now embroidered with a CR – Charles Rex (King in Latin), in place of the ER – Elizabeth Regina (Queen) that is still seen in many places around. But above all he is a distinguished former member of the British armed forces, one among the thirty-two Yeomen Warders that are ceremonial guardians of the Tower of London.

He tells us about the history of the Tower with great pride, and also about the various executions with equally great ridicule. It is a joy seeing a serviceman, a patriot of the highest order, owning up to the inadequacies of the culture while never being even a bit disrespectful to his nation. My historical-fact-impervious grey matter stubbornly refuses to absorb the chronology of the many Henrys, Janes, Marys, Johns, Edwards, Charles, Georges etcetera, but quickly absorbs the fact that this is no ordinary tourist spot. It exudes the energy of a place that has witnessed centuries of evolving human vices and values.

The White Tower, a building standing grandly at the centre of the Tower complex, was built in 1078 and was home to the rulers for five centuries, the Yeoman Warder said. The upper floors hosted their lavish lifestyle, while the dungeons just below the building housed torture chambers! Except a couple of rooms that have been recreated for tourists, it is now mostly empty walls and pillars, imposing though in their strength and grandeur. I feel the pain of being a lay-tourist, a casual visitor for a couple of hours, unable to fathom or correctly appreciate the history or the architecture that such places are treasure-houses of.

We look forward to seeing the Kohinoor and enter the Jewel House, another grand building. Do not photograph and be respectful to the Yeomen Warders for they are Royal guards, a placard says. We enter in a queue with eyes widened enough to gawk at the Kohinoor in its entirety. We enter a dark chamber that houses multiple treasures. A desi Uncle walks in just before us and as soon as he sees the Kohinoor pulls out his smartphone to photograph it. His son warns him – no Baba, not allowed! But Uncle is adamant, the Kohinoor is “Ours”, he declares. Then appears a six and half feet tall female Yeoman Warder from the dark recesses and very politely asks him not to take a photo. Uncle stubbornly persists, now angry that a female is ordering him around. Out comes a heavy hand followed by a firm grip on the smart phone wielding wrist. That’s the last we see of Uncle in the Jewel House. It doesn’t help to forget that this is the capital of the world’s most famous execution sites. Sigh! (Well, Uncle was very much around roaming aimlessly in other parts of the tower; it’s a good 12 acres to explore.)

The Kohinoor that he tried to photograph was a replica, we realise. The “real stuff” is in the inner chambers possibly to keep out ownership claimants, I laugh to myself. I am amused at the way we humans get confused between “Me” and “Us”, or “Mine” and “Ours” and are unable to see ourselves in context of the surroundings and circumstances.

The 100+ carat Kohinoor sits on the Consort Crown, the 530 carat Cullinan I is on a Sceptre, the 300+ carat Cullinan II sits proudly on the Imperial Crown, all of these amongst hundreds of the rarest of rare large and small precious stones from around the world set in the exquisite Coronation Regalia. My stares turn to resigned disbelief and smugness as I realise all the bling mostly stays in the building and is not accessible even to the Royals if and when they fancy it!

A chapel on the premises is home to plenty of graves, some quite remarkable as they belong to the royals who were executed. They are the grimmest kinds of deaths, and the place numbs one’s senses. Then we come to a beautiful Execution Site Memorial sculpture built in memory of those executed, purportedly at the very spot Queen Anne Boleyn was executed for adultery and treason, the real reason being Henry’s fast shifting fancies and her inability to birth a male heir, we are told.

We end our tour with some time watching the captive ravens who have to be at least six in number, or else the tower is prophesied to cease to exist.

Although we keenly observe every dark corner we don’t see any spirits. They must be bored (to death?) looking at death-and-gore-numb ice cream eating tourists, I tell myself.

I come out feeling intrigued by the culture, which is so different yet so familiar. Monarchies, rampant cruel patriarchy (save Bloody Mary), wealth, power, religion, superstition, and human values that seem to have evolved – or not. We walk out appreciating the flowery moat, the priceless treasures of nature, and inhaling plenty of fragrant pollen.

I wake up the next morning with swollen frog eyes, nothing a Zyrtec can’t tackle within 24 hours, as the NHS website says!