We gather outside Traitors Gates. Sombre grey clouds gather overhead.
The voice, beautifully modulated, stentorian, and unmistakably British fills the courtyard.
“I am the natural enemy of vegetarians.”
It seems to have fallen on deaf ears. A pause before the import of the statement finds its mark rewarded by a smattering of laughter.
“You’re a tough crowd. What’s wrong, our fine spring weather not to your liking?” he chides. An eyebrow arches menacingly, his face a thundercloud. Devilment is in the air.
“Within these walls nearly two thousand lives have been dispatched. Don’t be two thousand and one.” His finger wags admonition garnering raucous laughs. Satisfied he leads his throng past the Bloody Tower to the garden green.
“Be cautious.” He points to the upper battlements where an unkindness of black satin ravens peer at the passing throng. “This weather makes them, well, peckish.”
He halts his merry band of followers at the White Tower explaining in minute detail the goings-on of each floor. Top down to the dark, cold, underground basement where he whispers, “what happened down here?”
The crowd roars. “Torture chamber.” “The rack.” “Leg irons and red-hot pokers.” “The dungeons.”
“What a murderous rabble you are,” feigning shock. Smoothing the folds of his impeccably tailored royal blue serge, scarlet trimmed, uniform.
“It was for cheese, milk, butter. Comestibles that would otherwise spoil. You may know it by its modern name, refrigerator.”
Having raised blood lust, he headed to the scaffold.
Our Yeoman Warder reminds me of a very funny performance I saw a couple of nights ago. Come downstairs at Leicester Theatre for a moment. Meet the natural enemy of all who fly.
Pam Ann (aka Carol Reid) is a monstrously bawdy air hostess known to cause more pain than an exploding Thermomix. An Australian, which explains a lot. After a couple of horror years for global airlines she returns with fresh material for a 20th Anniversary Tour of “Touch Trolley, Run to Galley”. Brits line up to be speared by her acerbic no-prisoners approach. For fear of being put to death, she is riotously revered and adored.
Her in-flight uniform bursts at every seam, hair bigger than a Beefeaters hat, she stands magisterially beside her mobile tray. Every inch screams trolley dolly. She draws breath, the audience hold theirs. Take off.
Her all airlines cabin crew expose, explained through correctly uniformed Barbie dolls, has been her stock in trade.
“Now,” she said, rummaging around the trolley with a specific uniform in mind. We all knew exactly who was left. With notable disasters still fresh in peoples’ minds you wonder if she would dare. She turns to us empty handed and aghast.
“Malaysian Airlines, you can never find them.” Yes, she dares. It’s the job of satire to make us uneasy.
Returning to the scaffold an uneasy hush has fallen by the telling of Anne Boleyn’s last days spent in the tower before it ended at this very spot. Chill bleeds through the crowd. It’s history’s job to make us contemplative.
Reviving flagging spirits the Yeoman Warder steals a British pantomime tradition.
“Where are the Crown Jewels?” queries the Yeoman in his finest panto Dame voice.
“Behind you,” the mob cries on cue.
“Where?” flouncing the hem of his top coat.
“Behind you, behind you!”
“Ooooh you are clever,” he coos then tells us day in day out this is the most asked question inside the Tower of London.
“You have been so good you may enter the Chapel Royal of St. Peter ad Vincula. Watch your step as you enter; someone always takes a little tumble. Now walk this way.”
Abruptly he turns, executing a quick silly walk up the hill. The crowd follows suit willingly. As surely as he spoke his warning words three people fulfilled his premonition tumbling inside the small chapel. Once settled we heard the real stories of the men and women who become Yeoman Warders. In service guarding the Tower of London, an illustrious lineage dating to the 15th century.
The requisites do not include five years on the comedy circuit however, an interest in history and royal genealogy plus the ability to spin a good yarn is a plus. Each Yeoman Warder must learn “the story” covering over 900 years of the Tower’s history word-for-word by heart within six months of passing their probation and being sworn in.
Undoubtedly the more important selection criteria are having served for at least 22 years in the armed forces, be a former warrant officer or senior non-commissioned, plus hold the Long Service and Good Conduct medal. The first female Yeoman Warder was appointed in 2006.
There is a total of 37 duties for the Beefeaters, including security, welcoming visitors to the Tower and various ceremonial duties such as the Ceremony of the Keys. A nightly ritual led with the call “Who goes there?”
Warders with their families live in accommodation inside the fortress, paying council tax and a percentage of their salary as rent. Some of the lodgings date back to the 13th century, but they’ve got a riverside house overlooking Tower Bridge.
“Don’t be jealous, there are drawbacks,” the Yeoman confided. “No-one believes our address, we can never get pizza home delivered.”
Tower of London Open daily £GBP 22.00
