Wandering the White Tower


I don’t know about you, but I love English history! Well, actually, you probably dislike history in general, since most people do, but I’m fascinated by it. So, you can imagine how excited I was to be traveling to England in the summer of 2005. People to People, the organization I was traveling through, was sending forty kids from Lancaster to the United Kingdom as a student ambassador delegation. I was chosen as one of these “student ambassadors” (really, we were more like glorified tourists, but that’s irrelevant). As I was saying, though, I was extremely anticipant of the trip. I was prepared to consecutively tour castles until my legs fell off (a figure of speech, of course). Honestly, I was thrilled to see some Irish lakes, stroll through some Welsh flower gardens, meet with members of Parliament, and blah, blah, blah, but what I was really pumped about was the castles! My ultimate goal: the Tower of London. The Tower, as it is more informally referred to, has been the site of hundreds of executions, the home of numerous English monarchs, and, overall, the center of British history for almost a millennia, since its erection by William the Conqueror in 1078 A.D.. So, after a year of preparation, an excruciatingly long plane ride, and the Welsh Museum of Domestic Life (you can’t possibly imagine…), I finally made it there.
It was a sunny, summer day in London as my companions and I approached the castle on foot, having walked along the Thames directly from the miniature, reconstructed Globe Theatre. The temperature was around seventy degrees, but not humid, making it an entirely beautiful day.
“My feet hurt. I’m not used to this physical activity stuff,” whined Twyla Fiocchi, who was lagging slightly behind the rest of our little group of friends. I didn’t respond, almost completely transfixed with the Tower, studying it, identifying the different structures, deciding which ones I would enter first.
“Oh, shut it. My eyes hurt from looking at your face for the past week and a half, but I’m not complaining.” Yes, Bri Richards actually said that. She wasn’t normally a very happy person in the morning. It was only nine o’clock, at which time, she reminded us every day, she should still be sleeping.
“Yeah, Twyla, hurry up,” called my friend Taylor Roland-Buhl over her shoulder. “Do you want to miss it?” Taylor was a silly girl of thirteen, thin build, and average height (about five feet and one inch). She had shoulder-length, brown hair and eyes that matched. A smile seemed to be plastered to her face, since there was always one there. She laughed all the time, which was occasionally interrupted by a snort.
Twyla began to jog lightly to catch up, which didn’t take long due to her large strides. Twyla miniaturized the rest of us, standing at five feet and ten inches. She was all arms and legs, the rest of her body still trying to catch up. She had curly black hair, quirky glasses, and braces that glowed in the dark. She made everyone laugh, mostly when she wasn’t trying to, because she was so extremely clumsy. I don’t think she ever had good luck. “I’m coming,” she said.
We arrived at the front gate amidst the rest of our delegation, waiting patiently to be admitted to the great fortress. Once inside, to my dismay, the teacher leaders, of which there were four, paired up and took groups of twenty to escort throughout the Tower. I had thought that we would be able to freely roam for a couple of hours, as we did at nearly every other site. Thankfully, though, Twyla, Bri, Taylor, and I were put into the same group, as they tried to keep friends together.
“I think we should take a virtual tour of the Tower of London. That way I don’t have to walk through the whole thing,” muttered Twyla behind me.
“I’m starting to agree,” said Taylor, gazing out at the structure’s immensity.
“Do you know what I think? I think you both should suck it up. We’re going to be on our feet all day.” Despite her morning rudeness, Bri shared my love for history and was appalled that the other two so obviously didn’t care.
“If you wanted to take a virtual tour you could have stayed back in Lancaster with the cows. Besides,” I said, “there’s nothing like the real thing.”
The group started at a grueling pace and only got faster. We were in and out of the Martin Tower before I could read any of the signs or take more than a glance any of the exhibits. It was as if they wanted to tour the whole tower in record time. After that we basically ran through the Bowyer and Beauchamp Towers, and with each tower I became more frustrated. By the time we got into the Constable Tower I had had enough. I simply refused to leave until I had read what I wanted to read and saw what I wanted to see.
“Alex, come on,” coaxed Taylor. “We’re leaving.”
“I don’t care. I’m staying until I am finished!” I called after her as she walked away. I was not irritated; I was mad! I hadn’t come the whole across the Atlantic Ocean to sprint through The Tower of London in forty-five minutes! So I was left standing in the Constable Tower alone.
I think I realized the severity of my mistake about ten minutes later. I was by myself in a large, crowded, unfamiliar area, which happened to be in a foreign country, at the age of twelve. Still, I exited the tower calmly and looked around anyone from my delegation. I did not see a single person I recognized or any trace of which way my group had been. Knowing that we would probably be leaving soon, I decided to make my way to the White Tower, which was the oldest and most historic section of the entire castle. I concluded that there was no possible way we could leave the fortress without seeing the White Tower.
As I approached, I examined the tower. Ironically, it was blackened half way up its walls on all sides. I remembered that the Great Fire of London in 1666 had singed the White Tower, as well as destroying every building in the city made of wood, save the Queen’s House, which was situated safely in the Tower’s Inner Ward. The White Tower, I saw, actually consisted of four spires, which were connected by large, thick, stone walls in a rectangular pattern. It was just under 100 feet high and around the same length.
I entered the ancient stronghold and, to my surprise, found no one inside. I should have left then and kept searching for my delegation, but I couldn’t. Do you remember how I said that the Tower of London was my ultimate goal? That was a lie. I can narrow it down even further. My ultimate goal was the White Tower. I simply couldn’t leave the Tower of London without thoroughly exploring this magnificent piece of history. So I went further up and further in, as C.S. Lewis would say, ascending a winding staircase to the second floor. When I got there, I again found not a single soul. I stumbled around, dazzled by the fact that I was standing in the White Tower, the home of once-great kings and queens of England. I walked over to a window, beside which there was a plaque titled “The Two Princes.” It said something to the effect of this:

In 1674, the skeletons of two children were found under a staircase in the White Tower. It is suspected that these were the remains of Edward V and his brother, Richard, the Duke of York. Although it is not documented what exactly happened to the two boys, they were last seen in the Tower under the protection of their uncle, Richard of Gloucester, who later became Richard III. It is known, however, that the boys were never seen after the summer of 1483. Edward was thirteen and Richard was ten. Many believe that their uncle murdered the boys to eliminate any threat to his crown. Whoever killed them, the legend of the young princes’ deaths remains a mystery.

When I finished reading I looked out the window. A shaft of light pierced the otherwise dim room. Particles of dust could be seen floating in the air where the light projected. I turned around to see that the light was hitting the far wall.
For a single moment, I saw something in that light. Call it a trick of the mind or a coincidental swirl of dust, but I know I saw something there. You can even call me crazy, if you’d like. But what I saw was the vague outline of two boys in their nightgowns, holding hands. It didn’t scare me or startle me; I didn’t jump or yell. In fact, it had a different effect entirely. I was very happy. When I came home in three days I had gotten everything I wanted and more. I hadn’t just walked through the buildings and been to the places, I had seen some of the people; and that’s what history is about isn’t it? I experienced my own bit of history that day when I saw the boy king and his brother in the White Tower, and I know I will never forget it.