Usually when I tell this story I like to say that I had “broke into” the Tower of London. Why the hell not? It sounds cooler to say “broken into” than “sneaking into.” And yes, I said The Tower of London, meaning THIS Tower of London:
Before arriving in London for my Junior year abroad, I was transported, in my imagination, to the historical city through an array of British novels. I wasn't aware that the River Thames was pronounced, Tems, nor was I aware that you could visit Parliament (with a £21 fee of course), and nobody actually told me that Windsor Castle wasn't in the City of London, but rather – of course – in Windsor. I'd just assumed that everything of importance and of historical value resided in London.
Go figure.
Go figure.
I had been living in London for almost three full weeks and was dying to see the birth place of Queen Victoria (Kensington Palace), the cathedral where all the past kings and queens of England had been coronated (Westminister Abbey) and to get my haircut on the infamous street that Sweeney Todd supposedly wreaked havoc on (Fleet Street). Though I am an English major and revival in the literature of Dickens, Shakespeare, Chaucer and Austen – all of whom I read and studied while I was abroad – I figured that London was the best place for a voracious reader to be.
But there was also a selfish reason that I traveled to England: I am absolute nerd when it comes to English royal history.
But there was also a selfish reason that I traveled to England: I am absolute nerd when it comes to English royal history.
I am one Amazon click away from purchasing the complete series of The Tudors. I post on my Facebook page everyday a blurb about some historical event that had occurred in Elizabethan England that day. I have a genealogy chart of all the Kings and Queens of England in my dorm room – listed from the earlier rulers of the Angelo-Saxons all the way down to the present Queen of England, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. My airport reading material – a Philippa Gregory novel about the Plantagenets or a novel about one of King Henry VIII’s six wives – always receives an approving nod from whatever middle-aged woman on my flight is reading a Gillian Flynn book. Because obviously every domestic flight requires a middle-aged woman with a Gillian Flynn book in her luggage or carry-on.
It's like approved by the TSA.
It's like approved by the TSA.
So when I was living in London and daydreaming about Hampton Court and Buckingham Palace, the one place I wanted to go to out of anywhere else in the city was The Tower of London.
You have to understand as a royal history nerd, The Tower of London was the equivalent to Disneyland for me. Which – if you know your history about The Tower of London – is a pretty gruesome comparison when you think about it.
I am a sucker for The War of the Roses and Tudor England, because those two subjects featured the central tension of the people who were imprisoned in The Tower. The conflict between who had a claim to the English throne, who had betrayed the king’s trust and who was a threat to the English crown.
You have to understand as a royal history nerd, The Tower of London was the equivalent to Disneyland for me. Which – if you know your history about The Tower of London – is a pretty gruesome comparison when you think about it.
I am a sucker for The War of the Roses and Tudor England, because those two subjects featured the central tension of the people who were imprisoned in The Tower. The conflict between who had a claim to the English throne, who had betrayed the king’s trust and who was a threat to the English crown.
The Tower’s most famous guests include The Princes in The Tower during The War of The Roses – Edward and his younger brother Richard who were rumored to be murdered by their uncle, Richard III.
Good old Anne Boleyn was sent to The Tower – Henry VIII’s second wife – when she was found guilty of witchcraft and for being unfaithful to the king. A form of treason, no less.
Same went for Katherine Howard, Henry’s fifth and more promiscuous wife.
I fancied the idea that The Tower of London was pretty much the same as The Hotel California. As they say in the song, “You may check out, but you can never leave.” Unfortunately, that’s what happened to most of the prisoners who were found guilty in The Tower of London. They were immediately executed.
The most heartbreaking story about a prisoner who was sent to The Tower, was Lady Margaret Pole, King Henry’s older cousin. She was the last heir to the Plantagenet family and was sentenced to be executed for treason. She was dragged kicking and screaming to the execution block, and when she refused to lay her head on it, it was forced down. As she struggled to free herself from the guards, the executioner’s first blow made a gash on her shoulder rather than her neck. It took ten additional blows to complete Margaret Pole’s execution.
She was 67 years old and innocent.
She was 67 years old and innocent.
So as you can imagine, these people's horrifying deaths made The Tower of London even more of an appealing tourist attraction for me. I went with my friends Jon, Connor and Mel for the day to The Tower. We took the Tube from Waterloo Station to Tower Hill to meet with Jon's study abroad group, which consisted of Connor, Mel and 88 other people from all over the United States who had come to London to study.
I did not apply to any study abroad groups when I decided to travel to London. One, because I didn’t know that study abroad groups liked IFSA Butler or Arcadia existed before applying; and two, if I really wanted to have a true study abroad experience I didn’t want to find myself surrounded by a bunch of Americans. I wanted to be fully immersed in the London way of life, and I would have. If Jon, an American from Northwestern University, hadn’t become my flatmate.
I did not apply to any study abroad groups when I decided to travel to London. One, because I didn’t know that study abroad groups liked IFSA Butler or Arcadia existed before applying; and two, if I really wanted to have a true study abroad experience I didn’t want to find myself surrounded by a bunch of Americans. I wanted to be fully immersed in the London way of life, and I would have. If Jon, an American from Northwestern University, hadn’t become my flatmate.
“So Miranda Cannon won’t be able to make it to The Tower with us,” Jon was telling me in between stops on the Tube. “So just tell them that you’re her and they’ll give you a free ticket.”
Jon and his American friends were part of the Arcadia Study Abroad Group that had received free tickets to get into The Tower of London. This was just one of the many perks that I had wished I had known about before I decided to go abroad alone. Jon told me that if you were part of the Arcadia Group you got free mimosas at the very top of The Shard, plus Afternoon Tea at Bea’s of Bloomsbury and free tickets into any of the royal palaces within the city of London. However, since I obviously wasn’t part of the Arcadia Group, I would have to pay for my own ticket to get into The Tower of London. Which was, sadly, an expensive £22 (that’s $32 for one person.)
Jon and his American friends were part of the Arcadia Study Abroad Group that had received free tickets to get into The Tower of London. This was just one of the many perks that I had wished I had known about before I decided to go abroad alone. Jon told me that if you were part of the Arcadia Group you got free mimosas at the very top of The Shard, plus Afternoon Tea at Bea’s of Bloomsbury and free tickets into any of the royal palaces within the city of London. However, since I obviously wasn’t part of the Arcadia Group, I would have to pay for my own ticket to get into The Tower of London. Which was, sadly, an expensive £22 (that’s $32 for one person.)
But thankfully because I had made Jon’s ears bleed with countless tales from The Tower of London, he had an idea to help save me some money: By pretending to be Miranda Cannon.
“They won’t ask you for your ID. You just need to tell them you’re Miranda,” Jon said when we left Tower Hill Station and made our way to The Tower.
“You mean they don’t check you?” I asked.
“Jacqueline, it’s the goddamn Tower of London, not Coachella. Not many people are going to show up at nine in the morning on a Saturday to see this place.”
When the four of us crossed the street, The Tower of London was right in front of us.
Thousands of ceramic poppies were carpeted around the moat to The Tower of London. It looked like a sea of red blood was oozing out from the very bottom of the wall. Jon had explained to me before we left the flat that The Tower of London would be decorated with these ceramic poppies to commemorate the 100-year anniversary of the First World War. Each poppy (there were 888,246 poppies to be exact) represented a lost British or Colonial military personal from World War I.
It was eerie and beautiful at the same time.
“They won’t ask you for your ID. You just need to tell them you’re Miranda,” Jon said when we left Tower Hill Station and made our way to The Tower.
“You mean they don’t check you?” I asked.
“Jacqueline, it’s the goddamn Tower of London, not Coachella. Not many people are going to show up at nine in the morning on a Saturday to see this place.”
When the four of us crossed the street, The Tower of London was right in front of us.
Thousands of ceramic poppies were carpeted around the moat to The Tower of London. It looked like a sea of red blood was oozing out from the very bottom of the wall. Jon had explained to me before we left the flat that The Tower of London would be decorated with these ceramic poppies to commemorate the 100-year anniversary of the First World War. Each poppy (there were 888,246 poppies to be exact) represented a lost British or Colonial military personal from World War I.
It was eerie and beautiful at the same time.
We meet up with Jon’s Arcadia friends in line as they waited for their Arcadia leader to hand out the tickets. The Arcadia leader was a twenty-something year old woman with owl rimmed black glasses and white pasty lacquered skin like candle wax. She had a folded table in front of her with a list of all the Arcadia Group names checking in.
I was so excited to get inside The Tower.
It was a place that I’ve only read about in books and seen on the Discovery Channel with my Dad; and I was actually here!
I was actually going to see the cells where they held Thomas Cromwell, Thomas Moore and Lady Jane Grey.
As my anticipation grew and grew as I stood in line, the unthinkable happen:
I forgot my “fake” name.
The name, Miranda Cannon suddenly had slipped from my memory!
Jon had already gotten his ticket and was waiting with his Arcadia friends near the entrance of The Tower of London.
THE Tower of London and I forgot my name!
I was so excited to get inside The Tower.
It was a place that I’ve only read about in books and seen on the Discovery Channel with my Dad; and I was actually here!
I was actually going to see the cells where they held Thomas Cromwell, Thomas Moore and Lady Jane Grey.
As my anticipation grew and grew as I stood in line, the unthinkable happen:
I forgot my “fake” name.
The name, Miranda Cannon suddenly had slipped from my memory!
Jon had already gotten his ticket and was waiting with his Arcadia friends near the entrance of The Tower of London.
THE Tower of London and I forgot my name!
SO CLOSE AND YET SO FAR!!!
To make matters worse, I was next in line.
“Name?” The Arcadia leader asked me.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I dropped my eyes straight down to the list of names and said the first name I saw:
“Penelope Wentworth.”
Could I have been any stupider?
“All right,” the woman said as she checked Penelope’s name off from her list. “For a second there you seemed like you had forgotten your name.”
“Yeah, that tends to happen,” I said quickly, as I grabbed my free ticket to The Tower of London.
“Name?” The Arcadia leader asked me.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I dropped my eyes straight down to the list of names and said the first name I saw:
“Penelope Wentworth.”
Could I have been any stupider?
“All right,” the woman said as she checked Penelope’s name off from her list. “For a second there you seemed like you had forgotten your name.”
“Yeah, that tends to happen,” I said quickly, as I grabbed my free ticket to The Tower of London.
My first attempt at identity thief.
I rushed to Jon and his group of friends, dread stewing in the pit of my stomach.
“I got the ticket,” I managed to say.
Jon’s eyebrows hiked up his face. “Are you serious?”
He looked shocked, which confused me because this whole scheme of using someone else’s name was his idea.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You used Miranda’s name?”
“Well . . .” and I explained to him how my excitement for entering The Tower of London deflected me from remembering Miranda’s name.
“I used someone else’s name. Penelope something.”
“Oh good,” Jon released a sigh. “Because I just saw the real Miranda Cannon get in line a few minutes after I bought my own ticket.”
“I got the ticket,” I managed to say.
Jon’s eyebrows hiked up his face. “Are you serious?”
He looked shocked, which confused me because this whole scheme of using someone else’s name was his idea.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You used Miranda’s name?”
“Well . . .” and I explained to him how my excitement for entering The Tower of London deflected me from remembering Miranda’s name.
“I used someone else’s name. Penelope something.”
“Oh good,” Jon released a sigh. “Because I just saw the real Miranda Cannon get in line a few minutes after I bought my own ticket.”
Looking back now, this was actually hilarious. But I was so scared of not getting into The Tower that I didn’t quite laugh immediately. Even when I flashed my free ticket at the Beefeaters at the entrance of the gate, I was afraid that the real Penelope would report me to the guards, and throw my ass in the same cell that Anne Boleyn was held in during her imprisonment. But no one came to throw me in chains or to make me walk the scaffoldings to the executioner's block.
Jon later told me that Miranda just randomly decided to come out to explore The Tower of London – even though she previously told him that she preferred sleeping in.
Thankfully, as the day progressed, the real Penelope Wentworth never showed up to check in with the Arcadia leader.
So for the rest of the day at The Tower of London, I was Penelope Wentworth.
And I had finally made it to The Tower of London!
Jon later told me that Miranda just randomly decided to come out to explore The Tower of London – even though she previously told him that she preferred sleeping in.
Thankfully, as the day progressed, the real Penelope Wentworth never showed up to check in with the Arcadia leader.
So for the rest of the day at The Tower of London, I was Penelope Wentworth.
And I had finally made it to The Tower of London!
The Tower of London I learned boasts everything you would want from a trip down British memory lane. On the South Lawn, there was the fun kind of bad actors in period costumes emoting through a reenactment of recruits swearing in to join the Royal Fusiliers during World War I. Someone dressed up as Lord Kitchener and proclaimed before a podium that, "those who have been offering their services to King and Country should be well treated. Any man will receive a bonus if they are recruited to fight in the war."
There's The Crown Jewels which – because they are THE Crown Jewels of England – sets you up on a moving walkway so that you can briefly appreciate the regalia and vestments worn by the past sovereigns of the United Kingdom before being forced to move to another equally priceless object for about four to five seconds.
My favorite was the golden punch bowl, a massive vessel engraved with the arms of George IV. It was used to celebrate the christening of Queen Victoria's son, Prince Albert Edward in 1842. Think of all the possibilities Queen Victoria would have done with a golden punch bowl that size. It was so big that you could even bathe in it. But I couldn't help but imagine how fun it would be if the fraternities back at UMass Amherst got ahold of a punch bowl this size. Talk about a bottomless treasure trove of ice cold Heinekens and Budweisers. Bluto from Animal House would have been proud.
The Bloody Tower, where the two Princes where last seen alive before they went missing. Although, I have a feeling that they had renamed that tower AFTER the two Princes had disappeared. Because imprisoning two Princes of the blood in a tower that was originally called The Bloody Tower, is kinda an obvious giveaway that someone was plotting a murder.
And – so that I would feel like a total cheeseball – Jon and his friends and I ransacked the gift shop. I almost bought my God-Sister a book about Paddington Bear visiting The Tower of London, titled Paddington at the Tower, but something stopped me.
There's The Crown Jewels which – because they are THE Crown Jewels of England – sets you up on a moving walkway so that you can briefly appreciate the regalia and vestments worn by the past sovereigns of the United Kingdom before being forced to move to another equally priceless object for about four to five seconds.
My favorite was the golden punch bowl, a massive vessel engraved with the arms of George IV. It was used to celebrate the christening of Queen Victoria's son, Prince Albert Edward in 1842. Think of all the possibilities Queen Victoria would have done with a golden punch bowl that size. It was so big that you could even bathe in it. But I couldn't help but imagine how fun it would be if the fraternities back at UMass Amherst got ahold of a punch bowl this size. Talk about a bottomless treasure trove of ice cold Heinekens and Budweisers. Bluto from Animal House would have been proud.
The Bloody Tower, where the two Princes where last seen alive before they went missing. Although, I have a feeling that they had renamed that tower AFTER the two Princes had disappeared. Because imprisoning two Princes of the blood in a tower that was originally called The Bloody Tower, is kinda an obvious giveaway that someone was plotting a murder.
And – so that I would feel like a total cheeseball – Jon and his friends and I ransacked the gift shop. I almost bought my God-Sister a book about Paddington Bear visiting The Tower of London, titled Paddington at the Tower, but something stopped me.
On May 27th, 1541, Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury, had her head forced onto the executioner’s block after resisting the guards. She famously retaliated, wishing not to die and repeating her innocence and her loyalty to the King before the executioner finished her off. Could she have any idea then that, four centuries later, royal fanatics like myself would sip her life story from a souvenir shot glass? What would Anne Boleyn think if she had learned that some parent in London had bought a Queen Anne Boleyn costume for their five year old for Halloween? Or if Catherine Howard saw a cartoonish version of herself being chased by King Henry with a bloodied axe for a children’s coloring book?
SCARY!!!
As I stood on Tower Green, on the exact spot that hundreds of Londoners had witnessed the execution of may of the prisoners in The Tower, on the exact spot that Margaret Pole actively retaliated against her executioner, I suddenly felt the irony at that moment.
On one level sneaking into The Tower of London was almost a disrespectful affront to the other prisoners who were held and ultimately executed in The Tower of London – including Edward Plantagenet, the 17th Earl of Warwick, who was placed in The Tower when he was only 10 years old by Henry VII, all because Edward was a potential threat to Henry VII’s throne. For 14 years Edward was imprisoned in The Tower until one fine day, Henry VII decided to execute him on November 28th, 1499. Did tourists want to remember him by purchasing a £600 tea set for their dining room? At the time, that didn’t stop me from purchasing several postcards of The Tower of London to send to my friends back in America. But once Jon and I took The Tube back to our flat on Stamford Street, I felt guilty.
Those chilling moments of visiting The Tower's torture chambers, the basket where Lady Jane Grey's head had fallen after her beheading and witnessing the cells that the prisoners were held in, were one of the big draws of visiting The Tower of London in the first place.
I'll admit, one of my happiest and saddest moment at The Tower of London was standing before the glass memorial site on Tower Green. It was a space that centuries ago was once full of crowds jeering before the scaffolds. Now, a glass-sculpted pillow was in its place. It was encompassed by two engraved circles with the names of the ten famous and not so famous individuals who were beheaded on the grounds of Tower Green.
All I could think about as I looked at that glass pillow was how much nicer Lady Jane Grey's head would have looked if her head hadn't landed in a woven basket.
Those chilling moments of visiting The Tower's torture chambers, the basket where Lady Jane Grey's head had fallen after her beheading and witnessing the cells that the prisoners were held in, were one of the big draws of visiting The Tower of London in the first place.
I'll admit, one of my happiest and saddest moment at The Tower of London was standing before the glass memorial site on Tower Green. It was a space that centuries ago was once full of crowds jeering before the scaffolds. Now, a glass-sculpted pillow was in its place. It was encompassed by two engraved circles with the names of the ten famous and not so famous individuals who were beheaded on the grounds of Tower Green.
All I could think about as I looked at that glass pillow was how much nicer Lady Jane Grey's head would have looked if her head hadn't landed in a woven basket.
What on Earth was wrong with me?
Why was I so fascinated with a place that had killed so many people? Was that normal? How come I never got this excited whenever I visited Hawaii or Santa Barbara? Why did I enjoy seeing the spot that poor Margaret Pole died at nine o’clock on a Saturday afternoon? I’m a pretty happy person, so why did I compare The Tower of London earlier to my version of fucking Disneyland?
“It’s history,” Jon said to me over dinner with our flatmates when I expressed this concern of mine. “You don’t go there to mourn, you go there to be thankful that the United Kingdom isn’t ruled anymore by a Fat Pig going crazy with syphilis. When I went to the gift shop, you know what I bought for myself? Operation. The King Henry VIII version where you pick out tapeworms from his gut. It’s the past. We see it. We remember it, and we move on from it.”
I said, “Why the hell did you buy the King Henry VIII version of Operation?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I buy it? It looked cool.”
If I had to nail down the objective of my fascination with royal history – primarily with The Tudors – from what Jon had said to me, it would probably be collective evidence to support my gratefulness that we no longer lived in a world where a Fat Pig named Henry VIII was in power.
Though the world is still a small and scary place, nothing is worse than being sent to your own execution, like Margaret Pole. Especially if you are innocent.
When you know such trivia about the prisoners who were held in The Tower of London, you wonder if their innocence in any way shape or form was a real enough hope for them to believe that they would be released out from The Tower unscathed. Now compare that to the mischief I had gotten myself into in order to sneak my way into The Tower of London.
As Margaret Pole carved on the wall on her cell:
For traitors on the block should die;
I am no traitor, no, not I!
My faithfulness stands fast and so,
Towards the block I shall not go!
Nor make one step, as you shall see;
Christ in Thy Mercy, save Thou Me!
For such an innocent soul, look how she turned out.
Why was I so fascinated with a place that had killed so many people? Was that normal? How come I never got this excited whenever I visited Hawaii or Santa Barbara? Why did I enjoy seeing the spot that poor Margaret Pole died at nine o’clock on a Saturday afternoon? I’m a pretty happy person, so why did I compare The Tower of London earlier to my version of fucking Disneyland?
“It’s history,” Jon said to me over dinner with our flatmates when I expressed this concern of mine. “You don’t go there to mourn, you go there to be thankful that the United Kingdom isn’t ruled anymore by a Fat Pig going crazy with syphilis. When I went to the gift shop, you know what I bought for myself? Operation. The King Henry VIII version where you pick out tapeworms from his gut. It’s the past. We see it. We remember it, and we move on from it.”
I said, “Why the hell did you buy the King Henry VIII version of Operation?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I buy it? It looked cool.”
If I had to nail down the objective of my fascination with royal history – primarily with The Tudors – from what Jon had said to me, it would probably be collective evidence to support my gratefulness that we no longer lived in a world where a Fat Pig named Henry VIII was in power.
Though the world is still a small and scary place, nothing is worse than being sent to your own execution, like Margaret Pole. Especially if you are innocent.
When you know such trivia about the prisoners who were held in The Tower of London, you wonder if their innocence in any way shape or form was a real enough hope for them to believe that they would be released out from The Tower unscathed. Now compare that to the mischief I had gotten myself into in order to sneak my way into The Tower of London.
As Margaret Pole carved on the wall on her cell:
For traitors on the block should die;
I am no traitor, no, not I!
My faithfulness stands fast and so,
Towards the block I shall not go!
Nor make one step, as you shall see;
Christ in Thy Mercy, save Thou Me!
For such an innocent soul, look how she turned out.
*DISCLAIMER: If anyone from the British government is reading this and is angry at me for not purchasing my own ticket to enter The Tower of London, I owe you guys £21.
Sorry. Not sorry.
Sorry. Not sorry.
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