We are the ceremonial guardians of the Tower of London. All of us Yeoman Warders are former servicemen and -women, with at least twenty-two years of unblemished service. My official title is Yeoman Warder Christopher Skaife, of Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress the Tower of London, and member of the Sovereign’s Body Guard of the Yeoman Guard Extraordinary, which is generally believed to be the oldest formed “Body of Men” in the world still in existence, dating back to the reign of King Henry VII sometime after the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. My name is Chris Skaife and I am the Ravenmaster at the Tower of London. I have what is often described as the oddest job in Britain. I can breathe easy again-the kingdom is safe for another day. But then I see her: perched on one of the rooftops of the Tower buildings, a silhouette against the blue-gray dawn.
There’s always that moment of fear as I scan the skyline. I call out and at first there’s nothing but silence. There’s no one around in the Tower, just me and the shadows of a thousand years of history.
Tower Bridge is hunched up ahead, with HMS Belfast reliably anchored on the River to the south. Past the Chapel and the Waterloo Barracks and out onto Tower Green and there’s that proper morning smell of London, that mixture of exhaust fumes, the Thames, fresh ground coffee, and the beautiful sweet incongruous smell of fresh-cut grass on Tower Green. Behind that stand the Cheesegrater and the Walkie-Talkie and the Gherkin, the big new skyscrapers with their funny little nicknames. I see the old Port of London Authority Building, which is now home to a fancy hotel, but was once responsible for the comings and goings of ships all the way up and down the Thames. I hurry up the stone spiral staircase by the Flint Tower, the London skyline bright with lights and winking behind me. There’s that hum-the sound of the city awakening. Tower Bridge Road, Fenchurch Street, London Bridge. I can already hear the lorries and the white vans and the early morning commuters coming into town.
And if things go wrong, things can go badly wrong. There’s always that niggling concern that something might have gone wrong overnight. I get dressed in the dark and head straight out the door.
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