Nine Till Three and Summers Free

by Mike Kent

  There was a pause while this piece of information was hastily committed to paper and then the Beefeater pointed over to his right. ‘Over there is the Bloody Tower. And don’t you look round at your teacher because you think I’m swearing. I’m not. It’s called the Bloody Tower because Edward the Fifth and his brother were murdered, and their bones lay here under a stairway for two hundred years. They lay in the White Tower, that is, but they were murdered here. Anyone know where they are buried now?’

  ‘Is it Westminster Abbey?’ shouted Dudmish.

  ‘That’s it. There’s a clever lad at the back there! The boys’ bones have been laid to rest in Westminster Abbey. Now then, I expect the one thing you’re all waiting to see today is the Crown Jewels. Well, they used to be in the Wakefield Tower at one time, but it was such a squash trying to get everybody in there we’ve moved ‘em to a special vault underground. Only one person has ever tried to steal the Crown Jewels. His name was Captain Blood, and they executed him for trying. I don’t want any of you nippers trying to steal ‘em either, or I’ll have your heads on Traitor’s Gate.’

  Fred gulped nervously, and moved a little closer to me. ‘Do you mind if I ‘old yer ‘and, Sir?’ he asked softly. ‘Last time I came ‘ere I got lost, and me dad gave me up for dead.’

  ‘Right, everybody follow me!’ bellowed the Beefeater. ‘And don’t dawdle on the way, or the sentry’ll shoot you!’

  He climbed down from his box, tucked it under his arm, and walked slowly up the hill leading to Tower Green and the execution square. Both school parties followed him at a slight distance.

  ‘Sir,’ said Badger, ‘My dad said that if the ravens ever…’

  ‘What’s a raven?’ Fred interrupted.

  ‘Like you,’ said Susan Davis. ‘A raven lunatic!’

  ‘Do you mind, Davis, I’m talkin’,’ said Badger angrily. ‘‘E said that if the ravens ever leave the Tower of London it’ll fall down. But that’s daft, ain’t it? ‘Ow could it all fall down, just ‘cos a few birds have flown away?’

  ‘It’s a superstition,’ said Julie. ‘It wouldn’t really fall down. Anyway, the birds can’t fly away, ‘cos they’ve all had their wings clipped.’

  The children crowded round the execution site and the Beefeater climbed back on his box.

  ‘Now then children,’ he called, ‘you’ll like this bit. A lot of people had their heads cut off up here. You can see their names written on this plaque over here. Ann Boleyn, Catherine Howard, Lady Jane Grey, all of them were beheaded here. Ann Boleyn was the only one who didn’t have her head cut off with an axe. She was beheaded with a sword.’

  Rouse sniffed. ‘Don’t suppose it made a lot of difference to ‘er,’ he said.

  Every child gazed at the site in morbid fascination, and Dudmish quickly made a list of the people who had lost their heads.

  ‘Ain’t it ‘orrible!’ Susan Davis exclaimed. ‘It’s ‘ard to believe really, ain’t it Sir? They was really cruel in them days.’

  ‘They ought to do it these days,’ Badger suggested grimly. ‘I wouldn’t mind comin’ up ‘ere on Saturday mornin’s to watch a few.’

  ‘You would,’ said Susan Brennan in disgust. ‘You’re just bloodthirsty, that’s all. You’d watch anything, you would.’

  ‘Well I still reckon it’s a good idea,’ Badger declared, determined to have the last word.

  The Beefeater led the way into the chapel and showed the children into the pews. Then he walked to the front, waited until everybody had completely settled, and spoke again in a much quieter voice. ‘Lots of bodies were discovered in here, under the stones, he said in a hushed voice. ‘Not many of them could be identified, but Ann Boleyn’s could, and I’ll tell you why. Hold up one of your hands.’ The children, fascinated, did as they were told.

  ‘Now count your fingers. Not your thumb, mind. Just your fingers. Whisper to me how many you’ve got.’

  ‘Four,’ both parties said softly.

  ‘Absolutely right. We’ve got some good counters here this morning, haven’t we teachers? Well now, Ann Boleyn didn’t have four fingers, she had five. Five on one of her hands. So of course, when they found a skeleton with five fingers in here, they knew it was her. Fancy that.’

  As he spoke, many of the children glanced at their own hands, as if half expecting an extra finger to be there. Although the Beefeater had given this talk many hundreds of times, I was fascinated by the way he held the children’s attention, knowing just how long to pause so that a note or two could be jotted down to jog the memory later. I wondered if I would still be able to perform like that in the classroom in twenty years time. After giving a little more information about the chapel, the Beefeater stepped down from the front pew.

  ‘Now this is as far as I take you,’ he said, ‘and I think you children have listened very well. It would take hours if I came all the way round with you and talked about it all, but I hope you’ll find the other parts of the Tower just as interesting as I do. Don’t forget what I’ve told you, now. If you have any questions as you go round, the other Beefeaters will help you with the answers if your teachers can’t. Has anyone got a question they want to ask me now?’

  Rouse raised his hand.

  ‘Oh God. Keep your fingers crossed,’ Dorothy murmured.

  ‘Well, young man?’

  ‘Please, ‘ow d’yer become a Beefeater?’

  ‘You want to become one, do you?’

  ‘I dunno yet. It depends on what you ‘ave to do.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as easy as you might think. First, you have to be very good at knowing your history. Are you good at history, sonny?’

  ‘Not very,’ Rouse admitted. ‘I’m int’rested in it, though.’

  ‘Well that’s a start. Now I bet you didn’t know our proper names are Yeomen Wardens of the Tower…’

  He patiently explained to Rouse how to become a Yeoman, and most of the boys jotted details of the procedure down in their books. When he’d finished, he led both parties back out into the bright Spring sunshine.

  ‘So, what did you think of it?’ Dorothy asked me as soon as we were outside.

  ‘Very good indeed. I think they’ll probably remember quite a lot, don’t you?’

  ‘I hope so. They’ll certainly remember the gorier bits, anyway!’

  ‘Miss, d’you think me Mum’d miss me if I left ‘ome to train as one of them Beefeaters?’ asked Badger.

  ‘I think she’d probably be relieved, dear,’ Dorothy replied.

  ‘Fancy ‘avin another finger on your ‘and,’ said Susan Davis, with a shiver. ‘I liked it when ‘e told us about that. Nobody would want to marry you if you ‘ad six fingers, would they?’

  ‘Nobody ‘ud marry you anyway,’ Rouse said cheerfully.

  ‘Huh! Well, if it was someone like you, I wouldn’t be too worried, mate. I’d rather stay single, wouldn’t we, Sue?’

  The attendant at the door of the White Tower looked a little apprehensive for a moment. His sad grey eyes suggested a history of school children wandering uncontrolled through the premises he looked after. ‘You will keep ‘em under control, Madam?’ he said nervously to Dorothy as she gathered the children in a group around her. ‘Do tell ‘em not to touch anything, won’t you?’

  Dorothy gave him a reassuring smile, and then carefully defined the limits of exploration to the children. They moved quickly round the room, peering for a few seconds into each display case and then moving on, determined to see everything first and then return afterwards to the things which had interested them most.

  ‘Come and look at this armour, Sir,’ urged Dudmish, tugging at my sleeve. I followed him to the glass case and the boy looked down in wonder at the intricate decoration on the swords and knives.

  ‘The armour must have been very heavy, mustn’t it,’ he said, moving to another case at the side of the room. ‘If
they wore all that and carried swords as well, it must have been really heavy. They must have got really tired in battle. Look, there’s a suit of armour for a boy! I wouldn’t mind trying that on!’

  He made a sketch of the armour and called to some of his friends to have a look. Badger and Rouse joined him, and spoke excitedly.

  ‘It’s great, ain’t it, Sir! I reckon it’s really int’restin’. I wish we was livin’ in the Middle Ages, don’t you, Miss? We could wear all this stuff, then.’

  ‘I think you’d soon find a lot of things you didn’t like about the Middle Ages,’ said Dorothy. ‘You wouldn’t have a television, for a start.’

  ‘Yeah, but you could ‘ave a lot o’ fun wearing this stuff. I suppose the bloke wouldn’t let us…’

  ‘Definitely not, John!’ she interrupted firmly. ‘And don’t you dare ask!’

  ‘Miss, Miss, look. I’ve made some notes,’ cried Fred proudly, tugging at Dorothy’s sleeve. ‘Read ‘em, Miss.’

  Dorothy looked at his page and smiled. ‘You’ll need a few more than that, Fred. You’ve only written PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH.’

  ‘I know Miss. It’s a start though, ain’t it? And it keeps me mind off goin’ to the toilet.’

  For the next fifteen minutes, the class stood or sat contentedly writing and drawing. The attendant hovered uncertainly, but he seemed relieved to be in the company of a class that actually took some notice of its teachers. He paused beside Rouse, who was on his knees making a drawing with his book laid flat on the floor.

  ‘I should move your book if I were you, lad,’ he warned, ‘you’re a bit in the way there.’

  ‘Sorry Mister,’ Rouse apologised, moving his book to the glass showcase near him.

  ‘That won’t do either, son,’ said the attendant. He pointed to the notice saying that the glass must not be leant upon.

  ‘Blimey, in school they spend all their time gettin’ me to do some work, and now when I want to do some they won’t let me,’ he muttered darkly, moving his book to the seat of a nearby chair. Though the chair was an antique, the attendant decided to risk Rouse leaning on it. When the information gathering showed signs of losing momentum, Dorothy sent two children to collect the others together, and then everybody climbed the steep stone stairs to the second arms room.

  ‘Be very careful not to trip,’ she warned them. ‘One of the stairs is wider than the others. It was very useful for making an enemy trip over when a guard was defending the Tower, but I don’t really want any broken legs today, thank you.’

  ‘Why do the stairs always go round to the right, Miss?’ asked a child behind her, examining them in semi-darkness.

  ‘Because the sword would always be held in the right hand, and it made going up the steps much easier if you were fighting on them,’ Dorothy explained.

  Rouse and Badger immediately tested this theory, pretending to duel with each other and parrying savage thrusts. I expected to hear the attendant’s voice at any moment.

  ‘Cor, you’re right, Miss,’ said Rouse, as Badger missed his step on the wide stair, fell backwards onto his carrier bag, and gave a cry of dismay.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ called Dorothy urgently. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘‘E’s all right, Miss,’ called Adams reassuringly. ‘‘E’s fallen on ‘is bread puddin’ and squashed it, that’s all.’

  ‘Lucky ‘e fell back like that,’ Badger observed. ‘I reckon ‘e could ‘ave gone right to the bottom. Saved by a bread puddin’.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind ‘avin’ a go with real swords,’ said Badger, scooping up his flattened pudding. He picked the larger pieces of dirt off it and packed it carefully back into its foil wrapping. ‘I don’t s’pose they’d let you borrow ‘em, though.’

  Disappointed at the thought, but content at salvaging his mother’s culinary speciality, he settled for a long gaze at the axe used on Tower Hill. Then he shifted his attention to the torture instruments. ‘What’s that one, that thumb screw thing,’ he asked whoever happened to be nearest.

  ‘It’s what it says,’ Dudmish told him. ‘The prisoner’s hand was put into it and that screw was tightened until he talked.’

  Adams considered this piece of information carefully. ‘I reckon that’s a bit of a waste of time,’ he said. ‘I’d get the prisoners on the rack straight away. Save muckin’ about with one o’ them things.’

  I was prevented from discussing the finer points of medieval torture by the attendant, who tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out that one of my children was walking round the room with a dripping bag. It belonged to Fred, who’d bought a frozen drink before coming into the room and stuffed it into his bag. The warmth of the room had rapidly melted the drink, leaving a trail of orange juice all over the floor, unnoticed by Fred. Dorothy apologised to the attendant and turned to me. ‘We’ll give them another five minutes,’ she said, wiping up the trail of juice with paper handkerchiefs. ‘Then we’ll go down and have lunch on the embankment, in the fresh air.’

  ‘Did you say we were goin’ to have our food, Miss?’ asked Julie, taking her pack from her shoulder and putting it on the floor. ‘Look, I’ve written lots of things and it must be dinner time by now.’

  ‘In another five minutes,’ said Dorothy. ‘Tell the others we’re going as soon as they’ve finished what they’re doing.’

  Julie ran off to round up the children, and they rapidly gathered by the door, eager to eat their packed lunches. ‘Cor, my tummy’s rumblin’,’ said Rouse, rubbing his chest and grinning. ‘If we don’t eat soon we might as well wait until we get ‘ome for our tea.’

  ‘Let’s go and have lunch down by the cannons,’ Dorothy suggested. ‘They won’t bother anybody there, and we should be able to get a cup of tea at the kiosk.’

  The grounds were rapidly filling up with visitors and several parties of tourists, and Dorothy kept the children in lines so that they could move quickly down to the river.

  ‘If we’re lucky, we might see Tower Bridge open,’ she said, picking up a dropped sandwich wrapper and throwing it in the nearest waste basket. ‘It cost more than a million pounds to build, and they ring a bell when they’re going to open it. Keep your eyes open. And don’t drop pieces of paper all over the place.’

  ‘Can I go to the toilet now please Miss?’ called Fred, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  ‘Good Lord,’ she exclaimed, ‘I’d forgotten about you. Do you know where it is?’

  ‘Yes Miss, but I don’t really like to go on me own ‘cos the last time…’

  ‘You got lost. I know. Well, I’m sure Mr Kent will go with you. If anyone else wants to go, you’d better go now, before you have your lunch.’

  ‘I’ll get some coffees on the way back.’

  ‘Great idea. I’ll sit here and watch this lot pig it!’

  ‘It’s really nice ‘ere, ain’t it, Sir?’ said Fred, hurrying to keep up with me. ‘I like goin’ out. Me mum doesn’t take me out much.’

  ‘I like it too,’ I agreed. ‘It’s actually a long time since I’ve been to the Tower of London.’

  While Fred and the boys disappeared into the toilet, I bought two very full plastic cups of coffee and two ham rolls and walked back to where the class was sitting. Congratulating myself on keeping most of the steaming liquid inside the cups, I passed one to Dorothy and squeezed onto the seat.

  ‘You didn’t really need to buy those rolls, you know,’ she said. ‘Half the children’s food will be left over when their tummies are full and they’ll be offering it to us. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll charge it up to Mr Reed.’

  ‘My, you are getting bold!’

  Susan Davis, her mouth bulging with cheese and cucumber roll, came and perched on the edge of the seat beside Dorothy, holding out a pile of sandwiches wrapped neatly in greaseproof paper.

  ‘
‘Ave one of these, Miss,’ she offered. ‘They’re pickle. I forgot I ‘ad ‘em. And you, Sir.’

  ‘I’ve got a ham roll, my love,’ Dorothy replied. ‘Perhaps I’ll have one of yours in a minute.’

  ‘Okay, Miss, I’ll save a couple for you. I’ll save this couple. The others ‘ave got a bit squashed. They must’ve bin at the bottom of me bag.’

  After ten minutes, a growing stream of children began to offer us the remainder of their lunches. Fred held out some chocolate Swiss rolls, Adams some luncheon meat sandwiches, Julie six bags of assorted flavour crisps and a currant bun. Badger offered an orange he’d found in his bag, its skin savaged from his efforts to carve it into two parts with a rusty hack-saw blade Adams had found under a cannon. Two of the girls had eaten one sandwich each, filled up on toffees and a large bottle of fizzy lemonade, and then reluctantly agreed that their respective mothers had provided far too much food for them. Fred had wandered off and was sitting happily astride a cannon, eating a raspberry jelly from a battered paper plate.

  ‘Told you there was no need to buy the rolls,’ Dorothy smiled, as another deputation arrived with offerings of biscuits and sandwiches. ‘They bring a tremendous amount of stuff and don’t eat it. They offer it to us, then they ask their friends. They can’t eat it either so they give it to the pigeons. I wonder the pigeons round here can get off the ground.’

  I accepted a large currant bun from Rouse, who held it out on the palm of his hand as if it was a precious stone.

  ‘That’s very civil of you, John,’ I thanked him, ‘are you sure you don’t want it?’

  ‘Nah,’ he replied. ‘You can ‘ave it Sir. I jus’ dropped it.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Thanks very much,’ I said meekly.

  There was a sudden loud shout from one of the girls that Tower Bridge was opening, startling Fred so much that he and his jelly slid sideways off the cannon. The children ran to the wall and leaned over in excited anticipation until the bridge was eventually raised and a ship eased its way through. Dudmish dashed along the embankment and found a good position to take a photograph, while three of the girls cheered and waved at the ship.