The Yeoman Warder stood on his block flanked by the
The Tower is a must-see, any guidebook will tell you. But what it won’t tell you is to fully appreciate the suits of armor, the torture devices and the crown jewels, you have to experience the rest of
Monday we saw the tombs of the boy princes in Westminster Abbey. At the Tower, we walked through the room where Richard III had them secretly murdered to assure his ascension to the throne (allegedly).
I stood on the spot Anne Bolyn lost her head, then sat in the first pew afore the altar under which her body rests; sat in the stone tower where Sir Thomas Moore waited for death; gawked at Henry VIII’s illustrious (and ahem a little exaggerated in the codpiece) suits of armor. The day before, at the National Portrait Gallery, we went through the Tudor halls, every bit of the walls dedicated to their likenesses painted centuries ago.
The crown jewels, brilliant and bold scepters and headpieces, swords and crowns, were unrivaled in beauty and spectacle. Every diamond came with a story, a purpose and a symbol of an Empire’s strength and regality. Thursday morning we pressed up to the gates of
to glimpse (and I mean only glimpse) the Changing of the Guard. Inside, the proprietor of those priceless bobbles was home, doing whatever queens do and preparing for her Jubilee anniversary celebration in a few months at which she will don those crown jewels. Buckingham Palace
The Beefeater was right. The British History is not my native own. But my experiences, my never forget moments in
are part of my history. That’s enough for me. London
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