The Tower of London

by Arthur Poyser

Tower history, as we know it in any detail, begins with the Conquest. The Conqueror set Gundulf, a well-travelled monk of the monastery of Bec, who had seen many beautiful buildings in the course of his wanderings, to work on the low ground between the hill and the river, and there, on the camping-ground of the Britons and the Romans, arose the White Tower, completed about 1078. Gundulf was not only a builder but an administrator, and the chronicles tell us that, as Bishop of Rochester, where he rebuilt the Cathedral, he was most earnest in the discharge of his episcopal duties.

When we reach the reign of Henry I. we have tidings of our first prisoner, Ralph Flambard, Bishop of Durham. He was immured for illegally raising funds for the upkeep of this very fortress, but had no desire to remain long an inmate within the walls he had been so anxious, aforetime, to preserve. A rope was conveyed to him in a wine-cask. With the wine he “fuddled his keepers”; with the rope he proceeded to lower himself down the outer wall of the White Tower, and, not at all alarmed at finding the rope too short and his arrival on the ground somewhat sudden, he was able to mount on horseback, ride to a seaport, and embark for Normandy. Subsequently he returned to Durham, where he completed the Cathedral and built Norham Castle, in which Scott lays the opening scene of Marmion.

The Tower now became a royal palace and remained the dwelling-place of the Kings of England, or, at times, the stronghold to which they would retire when danger threatened, until the days of Charles II. At this early period of its history, too, it was found that a collection of wild beasts would lend some zest to life within its walls. This royal menagerie was located on the ground where the ticket-office and refreshment-rooms now stand, and was removed in 1834. It is said that the term “going to see the lions” of a place arose from the fashionable habit of visiting the Tower lions, and the lane off Great Tower Street, just beyond Allhallows Barking, was at one time not Beer but Bear Lane, and evidently led down to the pits in which the bears were expected to provide amusement for Court circles. Stephen kept Whitsuntide in the Tower in 1140, and in that year the Tower was in the charge of Geoffrey de Mandeville, who had accompanied the Conqueror to England, but in 1153 it was held for the Crown by Richard de Lucy, Chief Justiciary of England, in trust for Henry of Anjou, and to him it reverted on Stephen’s death. It was a popular superstition at this time that the red appearance of the mortar used in binding the Tower walls was caused by the blood of beasts having been mixed with it in the making; but the ruddy tint was really the result of an admixture of pulverised Roman bricks with the lime. When Richard I. went off to the Crusades the Tower was left in the keeping of his Chancellor, Longchamp; and King John, on usurping the throne, laid siege to the fortress, which Longchamp surrendered to him. In 1215 the Tower was again besieged, this time by the barons and the citizens of London, but though the stronghold had but a poor garrison it held out successfully. In 1216 the rebellious nobles handed over the custody of the Tower to the Dauphin, Louis, but he appears to have considered the task too irksome, and “speedily returned to his own land.”

One of the greatest names in Tower history is that of Henry III., who appointed Adam of Lambourne master-mason of the buildings, and began to build and rebuild, to adorn and to beautify, never satisfied until he had made the Tower of London a royal dwelling-place indeed. To the Norman Chapel in the White Tower he gave stained glass and decorated the

walls with frescoes; to St. Peter’s, on Tower Green, he gave a set of bells. He constructed the Wharf, and the massive St. Thomas’s Tower and Traitor’s Gate were set up by him. But he had his difficulties to contend with. These additions to the fortification were unpopular with the citizens without the walls, and when a high tide washed away the Wharf, and, undermining the foundations of the new tower over Traitor’s Gate, brought it twice to the ground, the people rejoiced, hoping the King would own that Fate was against him. But after each disaster his only comment seems to have been “Build it stronger!” and there is Henry’s Wharf and St. Thomas’s Tower (recently restored) to this day. Henry also built the outer wall of the Tower facing the Moat, and in many other ways made the place a stronghold sure. The wisdom of what had been done was soon made manifest, for Henry had many a time to take refuge within Tower walls while rebellious subjects howled on the slopes of Tower Hill. For their unkind treatment of his wife, Queen Eleanor, Henry never forgave the people of London, and so defied them from within what had really become his castle walls. Eleanor was avaricious, proud, arrogant, and became so unpopular that, when on one occasion she had left the Wharf by water, for Westminster, she was received, as her barge came into view of London Bridge, with such execrations and shouts of “Drown the witch!” or sounds to that effect, that she returned in terror to the Tower. In 1244 Griffin, son of Llewellyn, was brought as prisoner to the White Tower and detained as a hostage. He attempted to emulate the redoubtable Flambard by making a rope of his bedclothes and dropping from his window, by such means, to the ground. But he had forgotten to take the weight of his body into his calculations; he was a stout man, his hastily constructed rope was insecure, it broke as he hung upon the wall of the Tower, and he was killed by the fall.

Edward I., when he returned from the Holy Land, made the last additions of any consequence that were ever made to the Tower buildings. The Moat was formed in his day and put then into much of its present shape; it has, of course, been cleaned out and deepened from time to time, though there was always more mud than water in its basin, and, at one period, it was considered an offence that lead to instant death for any man to be discovered bathing therein, probably because he was almost certain to die from the effects of a dip in such fluid as was to be found there! Multitudes of Jews were imprisoned in the dungeons under the White Tower in this reign on the charge of “clipping” the coin of the realm, and the Welsh and Scottish wars were the cause of many notable warriors, such as the Earls of Athol, Menteith, and Ross, King Baliol and his son Edward, and, in 1305, the patriot William Wallace, being given habitation in Tower dungeons. The noble Wallace, bravest of Scots, was put to death at Smithfield after some semblance of trial in Westminster Hall. But his name will never be forgotten, for it is enshrined by Burns in one of the noblest of Scottish songs.

Edward II. had no great partiality towards the Tower as a palace, but often retired there when in danger. In 1322 his eldest daughter was born here, and, from the place of her birth, was called Joan of the Tower. She lived to become, by marrying David Bruce, Queen of Scotland in 1327. We hear of the first woman to be imprisoned in Tower walls about this time—Lady Badlesmere—for refusing hospitality to Queen Isabella, and giving orders that the royal party was to be attacked as it approached her castle of Leeds, in Kent. Lord Mortimer, a Welsh prisoner, contrived to escape from his dungeon by the old expedient of making his jailors drunk. He escaped to France, but soon returned, and with Edward’s Queen, Isabella, was party to Edward’s death at Berkeley Castle, whither the King had fled from London. The Tower had been left in the care of Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter, but the unfortunate man was seized by a mob of turbulent citizens, dragged into Cheapside, and there put to death. Poor Stapledon was a man of exemplary character and a generous patron of learning. He founded Exeter College, Oxford, and beautified Exeter Cathedral.

The rebel Mortimer and Queen Isabella thought it prudent to keep the young Edward III. within Tower walls in a state of semi-captivity, but the lad’s spirit was such that he soon succeeded in casting off the restraint and threw himself on the goodwill of his people. Mortimer was captured at Nottingham, brought to the Tower, then hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn Elms—where the Marble Arch now stands. The young King’s wars in France and Scotland were begun, and after the capture of Caen, over three hundred of its wealthiest men were brought to the Tower, together with the Constable of France, the Count d’Eu, and the Count of Tankerville. It was while making preparations for this French war that Edward resided in the Tower and came to know its weakness and its strength. He placed a powerful garrison within its battlements when he set off for Normandy, but he was not satisfied in his heart with the state of his royal fortress. Returning secretly from France, and landing one November night at the Wharf, he found, as he had expected, the place but ill guarded. The Governor, the Chancellor, and several other officers were imprisoned for neglect of their duties, and the King set his house in order. The Scottish King, David Bruce, was captured at Neville’s Cross in 1346, and Froissart describes how a huge escort of armed men guarded the captive King—who was mounted on a black charger—and brought him to the Tower, through narrow City streets crowded with sightseers, past bodies of City Companies drawn up and clad in richest robes, in January 1347. At the Tower gate Bruce was given, with much ceremony, into the custody of Sir John d’Arcy, then Governor. The imprisoned King remained in the Tower eleven years. King John of France, and Philip, his son, were brought captives here in 1358 after Poitiers. Though the Scots King had been liberated and they were so deprived of his society, yet it appears they had no unpleasant time of it in their quarters. There were many French nobles within the gates to make the semblance of a court. Both John and Philip were set free in 1360 by the Treaty of Bretigny.