The Ravenmaster: My Life with the Ravens at the Tower of London
'Packed with insight and anecdote, his story brings the Tower ravens to vivid life, each bird with a personality of its own. I've been fortunate enough to tour the Tower and meet the ravens a few times in years past; after reading this book, I cannot wait to go back' George R. R. MartinFor centuries, the Tower of London has been home to a group of famous avian residents: the ravens. Each year they are seen by millions of visitors, and they have become as integral a part of the Tower as its ancient stones themselves. But their role is even more important than that – legend has it that if the ravens should ever leave, the Tower will crumble into dust, and great harm will befall the kingdom.One man is personally responsible for ensuring that such a disaster never comes to pass – the Ravenmaster. The current holder of the position is Yeoman Warder Christopher Skaife, and in this fascinating, entertaining and touching book he memorably describes the ravens’ formidable intelligence, their idiosyncrasies and their occasionally wicked sense of humour.Over the years in which he has cared for the physical and mental well-being of these remarkable birds, Christopher Skaife has come to know them like no one else. They are not the easiest of charges – as he reveals, they are much given to mischief, and their escapades have often led him into unlikely, and sometimes even undignified, situations.Now, in the first intimate behind-the-scenes account of life with the ravens of the Tower, the Ravenmaster himself shares the folklore, history and superstitions surrounding both the birds and their home. The result is a compelling, inspiring and irreverent story that will delight and surprise anyone with an interest in British history or animal behaviour.
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This Ebook first published in Great Britain by 4th Estate in 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Historic Royal Palaces Enterprises Ltd 2018
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Source ISBN: 9780008307929
Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008307905
Version: 2018-08-10
To the ravens of Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress the Tower of London
And to the memory of Martin Harris
Contents
10 The Raven Spreads His Wings
12 Resistance to Interrogation
20 The Legend of the Ravens at the Tower
21 Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red
22 My Mistress’ Eyes Are Raven Black
28 Sentinels of the White Tower
1
0530. Autumn. First light over London. I’m up and out of bed before the alarm. I get dressed in the dark and head straight out the door. No time even for a cup of tea. There’s always that niggling concern that something might have gone wrong overnight. And if things go wrong, things can go badly wrong.
I can already hear the lorries and the white vans and the early-morning commuters coming into town. Tower Bridge Road, Fenchurch Street, London Bridge. There’s that hum – the sound of the City awakening.
I hurry up the stone spiral staircase by the Flint Tower, the London skyline bright with lights and winking behind me. 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. Behind that stand the Cheesegrater and the Walkie-Talkie and the Gherkin, the big new skyscrapers with their funny little nicknames.
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 river, fresh-ground coffee, and the beautiful sweet incongruous smell of fresh-cut grass on Tower Green. Tower Bridge is hunched up ahead, with HMS Belfast reliably anchored on the river to the south.
There’s no one around in the Tower, just me and the shadows of a thousand years of history.
I call out, and at first there’s nothing but silence. I call out again. There’s always that moment of fear as I scan the skyline. But then I see her: perched on one of the rooftops of the Tower buildings, a silhouette against the blue-grey dawn.
‘Good morning,’ I say.
And a good morning it is.
The ravens are at home in the Tower.
I can breathe easy again – the kingdom is safe for another day.
2
I have what is often described as the oddest job in Britain.
Odd? Maybe.
The best? Definitely.
My name is Chris Skaife and I am the Ravenmaster at the Tower of London.
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. All of us Yeoman Warders are former soldiers, male and female, with at least twenty-two years of unblemished service. We are the ceremonial guardians of the Tower of London. In principle we’re responsible for looking after any prisoners at the Tower and safeguarding the Crown Jewels. In practice, we act as tour guides and as custodians of the rituals of the Tower. We live right here, in the Tower. They say that every man’s home is his castle: for us, it’s literally the case.
How can I begin to explain the Tower to you? It was built as a fortress and a Royal Palace, but it’s also been a prison, an arsenal, and the site of the Royal Mint and the Royal Armoury. One of the great early English historians, John Stow – who grew up about half a mile from the Tower – summed it up best in his
