Ghosts of the Tower of London

by G. Abbott

Overview

Tales of haunting from one of the world’s most terrifying landmarks.
 
The Tower of London’s most horrific tragedies are well known; the gruesome deaths of the two boy princes in the Bloody Tower, Anne Boleyn’s execution, the Jesuit priests and heretics who suffered the agonies of the rack and thumbscrew. Is it any wonder, then, that there are frequent reports of bloodcurdling screams and moans, of unexplained footsteps and ghostly headless figures? Here, recorded for the first time, is an account for all to read—but preferably not at night—when you only think you are alone!

Ghosts of the Tower of London is part of The Paranormal, a series that resurrects rare titles, classic publications, and out-of-print texts, as well as publishes new supernatural and otherworldly ebooks for the digital age. The series includes a range of paranormal subjects from angels, fairies, and UFOs to near-death experiences, vampires, ghosts, and witchcraft.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781446358429
Publisher:	David & Charles
Publication date:	01/07/2020
Series:	The Paranormal
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	85
File size:	2 MB

About the Author

After thirty-five years in the Royal Air Force, 'Bud' Abbott became a yeoman warder of the Tower of London in 1974. He and his wife Shelagh—who wrote the Tudor style verses which precede each chapter—lived there for eight years 'knee deep in history' before retiring to the Lake District where he is now Mace Bearer to the Mayor of Kendal.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

HAUNTINGS IN THE TOWER by Yeoman Warder G. Abbott (retd)

It was a dark still night in October 1978 - so dark that had the patrolling sentry peered into the ravens' cages he would scarcely have been able to make out the feathered occupants. Not that the birds were asleep; they stirred restlessly, as if they had some fore-knowledge of the eerie events soon to take place. The time was just after ten o'clock. The great oak doors of the Tower of London had been slammed shut and locked firm, the ponderous hasps securing the castle and its unique treasures against possible intruders. The Queen's Keys, in accordance with the ancient ceremony enacted nightly for seven hundred years, had been challenged, then saluted and held secure in the Byward Tower at the castle's entrance. The bugle's brassy voice had echoed round the shadowed battlements and the little group of awed spectators to the Ceremony ushered out through the guarded postern gate. And the Norman fortress settled down for the night, leaving only the ever alert yeoman warders and sentries on duty.

One such sentry moved silently along his beat, a route which took him along the Outer Ward. This was the roadway between the inner and outer walls of the castle. The inner wall, thirty feet high and battlemented, connected some smaller towers, and was pierced at intervals by archways. These gave access to the area surrounding the central White Tower, the nine-century-old Norman Keep at the very heart of the fortress.

The sentry paused by one archway adjacent to the Wakefield Tower. Within its cold depths, on 21 May 1471, King Henry VI had been brutally stabbed to death whilst at prayer. The adjoining prison, the Bloody Tower, had also witnessed anguish and sudden death. There Sir Walter Raleigh had been caged for many a long year; there the two young Princes were savagely exterminated. The evil Judge Jeffries chose death by an excess of brandy rather than by the axe, and also within its walls Sir Thomas Overbury succumbed to the corrosive poisons administered to him by his enemy the Countess of Essex.

The sentry know nothing of this. He and his colleagues would be on duty here for forty-eight hours and would then return to their barracks in the City, to be replaced by yet another regiment.

Beyond this archway stretched the grassy slope, a thin layer of autumn leaves covering it. All was quiet. There was no known reason why this particular area should have a sinister reputation, any more than anywhere else in the Tower, yet it was but five years or so earlier that a sentry of the Scots Guards had been on duty at that very spot. He had been aware of something moving, something that had the shape of a cloaked figure. The shape had emerged from the shadows, to be promptly challenged by the sentry. Receiving no reply, again the challenge came a challenge that was stopped mid-breath, as the figure was seen to have no head! That particular episode ended with the soldier receiving first-aid for his distraught condition. Despite an exhaustive search, no trace was ever found of the headless intruder.

Such reports of course were not passed on through the regiments over the years and so there was nothing to alarm the sentry on duty on the night in question. Like a wraith himself, he moved along the roadway between the two high walls eyes probing the darkened arrow slits the pools of shadows between the old cannons which bordered the path. Suddenly, with a sharp 'click', a small stone struck his boot. Thinking that he had kicked it, he continued his patrol. Two, three paces further on, another stone hit his foot, followed by yet another. Then one hit him on the leg! He froze into immobility. The small missiles seemed to come from the wall on his left, the high battlements linking the Wakefield Tower with the Lanthorn Tower. He knew that all his colleagues were either resting or on duty - and in the Tower of London no-one played jokes on armed sentries!

Curious rather than apprehensive, he retraced his steps until, at the end of his beat, he met his companion pacing the adjoining beat. A few half-whispered words - and the two men changed places. The new sentry stepped out, half-doubting, yet wary. A practical man, he was more concerned about the possible damage flying stones might inflict on his highly-polished boots! Half a dozen paces a few more - and then a stone struck his ankle, to clatter away across the well-worn cobbles! The Orders for the Guard were clear and well-defined; anything unusual must be reported immediately. The sentry made a quick decision; the sergeant's sceptical disbelief would have to be risked - this WAS unusual!

The senior NCO was not sceptical. Together with other NCOs and soldiers, they searched the area. There was no trace of any living person. The wall in question was over a hundred yards long and thirty feet high. Even more significant, it was eight feet thick, thus effectively ruling out the possibility of anyone on the other side of the wall lobbing stones over the top. The size of the stones, coupled with the trajectory required, eliminated the chance of hitting the feet of a moving target with any degree of accuracy. That anyone could have been on top of the wall was also out of the question. The only access was through the Wakefield Tower, but its two ground level doors were locked and its upper door, at battlement level, had an additional iron barred gate secured across it.

The sergeant, puzzled yet satisfied with the thoroughness of his search, ordered resumption of the normal patrols. He resolved however to carry out random checks throughout the night, a resolve which was to lead HIM into a perplexing and eerie situation. But that was not until two more sentries had had their nerves tested!

Midnight was striking as these two approached the archway beneath the Bloody Tower. This archway, for long the only entrance to the Inner Ward, the precincts of the royal families, was also the dreaded route trodden by the doomed prisoners. These tragic figures, queens and princesses, archbishops and aristocrats, entered via Traitors' Gate and thence through the Bloody Tower archway to their prison towers, many later to suffer death 'neath the descending axe. Now the archway stood dimly lit in the cold still night. A pigeon stirred in a wall crevice nearby as the two sentries passed beneath the raised portcullis. Suddenly both men shivered, the hair on the back of their necks bristling. For a long moment they halted, experiencing a sensation of indescribable terror then, unheralded, an icy gust of air blew through the archway with violence sufficient to whip their short capes up over their heads!

As quickly as the men reacted, the wind dropped and all was still again. Bewildered they stared around. There was nothing sinister to be seen, other than the stone gargoyles looking down enigmatically at them from the inner alcoves of the archway, stone faces which had watched the splendour and panoply, the misery and despair of the historic figures who had passed beneath them over six hundred centuries.

One man shrugged his shoulders. How could you report a cool breeze and a spooky feeling? How indeed?! Although it must be said that they weren't as badly frightened as a certain Guards Officer in the 1930s. He was stationed at the Tower of London and was returning to the Officers' Mess there late one night. Passing under the Bloody Tower he felt a most peculiar and utterly distasteful sensation which filled him with an intense desire to escape from that spot. His mind went completely blank. Next moment, or so it seemed to him, he found himself three hundred yards away on the steps of the Mess, gasping for breath, his heart pounding wildly.

So over the centuries, little has changed - or had the visitations from the other world no knowledge of earthly time? The Sergeant of the Guard certainly had, when, on this night in October 1978, he escorted the Officer of the Guard on his rounds of inspection. It was two a.m. All sentries had been checked and found alert and watchful. The lights burned bright in the barracks in the Waterloo Block where solders were preparing for their next tour of duty; otherwise the great fortress slept. The mournful noise of a ship's hooter sounded distantly, echoing from the gaunt empty warehouses which lined the river's banks.

The officer and his sergeant passed through the Bloody Tower archway without incident. To their right stood part of a thirteenth century rampart, crumbling and derelict. Its once sharply defined arrow slits had deteriorated into gaping cavities through which the verdant lawn gleamed as the moon slipped out from behind a cloud. Beyond it the White Tower soared high and majestic, and as the two men paused to look up at that building, the sergeant suddenly gripped his rifle tightly as, only yards away, a huge shadow moved along the face of the ancient wall! They watched wide-eyed as it seemed to writhe sinuously, its shape changing as the broken, jagged surface of stone altered its blurred outline!

The men swung round to scan behind them. But nothing moved, nothing that could have created such an apparition. As if drawn by magnetism their gaze returned to the wall, where the gigantic shadow continued to traverse its length, finally merging with the darkness at the base of the Wakefield Tower. Both men, pulses racing, searched again for its possible cause - but the Tower of London guards its secrets jealously and their search proved abortive.

A grey dawn brought daylight edging over the battlements, glancing off the flint-clad walls, the diamond-paned windows of the Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula, wherein lie the bones of three executed Queens of England and many other victims. The sentry yawned and thought of breakfast. It had been a long night. Round the corner, from his quarters in the Tower's casemates, came a yeoman warder, one of the historic body of men who for over nine centuries have been custodians of the royal fortress. It was six thirty am, time for him to unlock and swing open the great oak doors and thereafter control entry of those authorised to do so. The sentry, silent for long enough, related the night's adventure to his new companion. "The stones actually hit my feet" he exclaimed "And because I could hardly believe it, I collected some of them - and here they are!"

I was the yeoman warder on duty that morning; I have those very stones in front of me as I pen this account! And as I look at them, I wonder; who - or what - held them before the sentry picked them up ... ... ... ... ...?!!!!!

CHAPTER 2

Ghosts!

In the sunlight 'tis easy to swagger and strut To push on a door that is carelessly shut. But evening will bring just the hint of a query Turning reason awry and producing an eerie Dominion of doubt where once certainty stood –

What lies just beyond that great portal of wood? Is it fiercesome or gentle? – rapid or slow? Wilt thou brazenly enter – or tarry – or go?

I'll not wait for thine answer

But meet thee below ...!

You can, if you wish, say they don't exist. However, things happen in the Tower which cannot be explained away, and which were reported, moreover, by responsible, trained observers – yeoman warders, guards and sentries on patrol. After all, why shouldn't events, sad or otherwise, impress themselves on an atmosphere so that their images are still Visible' centuries later, like ink on blotting paper? And if those events gave rise to highly charged emotions at the time, could not the moans, the screams, the footsteps, continue to echo down the ages?

After the publication of my book on the Tower's ghosts, I received many new reports of supernatural happenings, a few of which I include here. I make no attempt to explain them; I am a retired yeoman warder, not a psychic investigator! Interestingly enough, the visitations don't always restrict themselves to the traditional 'haunting' times after dark. This is fortuitous, allowing the witness to observe details – if not too unnerved!

Events which occurred in the presence of more than one person were related to me by Mr George Trott, who lived for some time in the Martin Tower. This tower once housed the Crown Jewels and was the scene of the attempted robbery by Colonel Blood in 1671, and supernatural happenings were reported there in the last century. Mr Trott took up residence, with his father and mother, in 1921; and from there he relates

My father, mother and I moved into the top living quarter of the Martin Tower, taking it over from yeoman warder Smoker and his wife. They told us they had heard footsteps coming up the inside stairs to the top quarter but when they opened the door there was never anyone there.

Yeoman warder Curtis VC and his wife lived in the downstairs quarter and next day they took us all over the Martin Tower and told us about the footsteps so my mother told me not to be alarmed about it. When my cousin came to live with us she told him the same.

After about five days or so we had just settled down for an evening meal when we heard footsteps so my father thought it was Mr Curtis or his wife and he opened the door of the kitchen/living room and there was no one there. The footsteps stopped. We carried on with our meal and later I went to bed.

Now about the second Sunday night we heard the footsteps and they came up to the door – and the door opened – but there was nobody there! My mother looked out and my father checked the downstairs doors which were locked, including the door leading to the battlements. The door between the downstairs and upstairs was also locked. Dad called yeoman warder Curtis and told him about it and he said 'So you've had your visitor – it won't be long before you hear the footsteps again!'.

Dad got the foreman of the Ministry of Works to check the door and had a lock which had a sliding catch fitted underneath. Meanwhile Dad had told Sir George (Keeper of the Jewels) and Lady Younghusband and she visited mother and had a good talk. She said she had a friend in Cambridge who was interested in such 'goings on' as she called them.

Later on the footsteps came up the stairs again. Dad had locked the door and put the catch on. The footsteps stopped – and the door opened! The lock and catch were still in the locked position, we were amazed! Dad looked round the Tower again, everything was secure, so he relocked the door.

About the third week in November 1921, Lady Younghusband brought two gentlemen with her and introduced them to us. They also met Mr and Mrs Curtis, and then they checked the tower from top to bottom. They also looked up the history of the Martin Tower.

My mother said that next time the door opened she would say 'Come in Mary' and tell me to shut the door.

Nothing happened for a few days, until the last Sunday in November. One of the gentlemen was with us, and he took Dad and Mr Curtis with him when he locked the two main doors and the side doors to the tower, and the door between the upstairs and downstairs. We settled down for a late meal about 7.45pm (I was allowed to stay up on Sundays).

Mother was at the stove, I was reading, Dad and the gentleman were talking – when the footsteps came up the stairs!

The door was locked and the bottom catch on. The footsteps stopped – and the door opened! My mother said 'Come in, Mary – close the door, George!'. But the gentleman said 'No, stay still'. He looked at a thermometer and two more instruments and took readings. He then went with Dad and checked all doors, which were found still locked. They went to the top of the tower, all secure.

We all settled down after that, and I went to bed while they had a drink and a chat. Sir George and Lady Younghusband came over, and a report was sent to the Resident Governor.

When my cousin came to live with us he soon got used to the footsteps and door opening; they wanted to change the door but my mother said leave it, as she was quite happy with 'Mary calling'. She said the footsteps were light so it must be a lady calling.

Later we moved out, and the Ministry of Works' officers took over. One of the staff called on mother and told her that he had heard more than once footsteps coming up the stairs and stopping outside, and when he called out 'Come in' nobody came, and no one was there. My mother told him to tell everyone else not to worry, it was only Mary calling.

By a strange coincidence another holder of the Victoria Cross, Britain's highest award for bravery, was also involved in an eerie occurrence on the other side of the Tower Green in what is now called the Queen's House. This sixteenth-century dwelling has housed many historic prisoners, Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard, Guy Fawkes, William Penn and others, and is the house of the Resident Governor.

Colonel Burges VC held this post in 1923 and, as related by George Trott, had gone to bed early one night. He was reading, when he heard footsteps come down the corridor and stop outside his bedroom. He thought it was his batman and so told him to come in, but the footsteps carried on down the corridor. The next day he asked his batman about this and was told that he had not been upstairs. Later on the same thing happened again, so the colonel had an alarm switch fitted and when it occurred again, he pressed the button and the soldier on duty below came running up. As he reached the corridor he heard the footsteps moving along ahead of him. The whole house was searched and everything found secure. The yeoman warder on watch duty reported the matter to Chief Warder Smoker, and though it happened again, Colonel Burges never seemed to worry about it.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Ghosts of the Tower of London"
by .
Copyright © 2012 F&W Media International, Ltd.
Excerpted by permission of F+W Media, Inc..
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Table of Contents

Introduction,
Hauntings in the Tower,
'Ghosts!',
The ghostly hand at Traitor's gate,
The Phantom of Waterloo Block,
Mystical Miasma,
The Threshold,
The Middle Tower,
The Outer Ward,
The Bloody Tower,
Tower Green,
The Beauchamp Tower,
The White Tower,
The Martin Tower,
The Salt Tower,
Conclusion,
Bibliography,