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Travel Story

A two-days glimpse of England's oldest, largest, and most intriguing city

London on the run

A sign just inside the Traitor's Gate advises visitors not to feed the ravens. Their powerful beaks, it warns, can cause a nasty wound. Several of the large stately birds walk about on the grass of Tower Green, and beyond the manicured lawn, at the entrance to the White Tower, we are greeted by an elderly gentleman who looks like he stepped off the label of a gin bottle. For longer than anyone can remember the Ravens and the Beefeaters have been the official guardians of the Tower of London.

The Tower was the last stop in our two-day visit to England's largest city. We could have spent the entire time prowling the hallways of Anne Boleyn's final resting place and still not seen it all. But, nearing the end of our six-week English sojourn, we had just two days to "see" London – barely enough time to hit a few highlights and gather a few impressions.

After checking into a B&B near Earling Broadway station we took the tube to Leicester Square and, with no definite plan in mind, spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly around central London. My first impression was the sheer size of the place. We bought a set of maps in Piccadilly Circus and found a coffee shop where we could sit down and study them. London is not so much a city as a collection of villages which, over the centuries, have grown and merged into a gigantic megalopolis – Watford, Harrow, Kingston, Earling, Enfield – the list goes on and on. The web of roads converging on and circling around central London looks like the work of a spastic spider and within the outermost perimeter road Greater London sprawls over an incredible 607 square miles.

My second impression was how easy it is to get around. The tube, fast and efficient, covers the long hauls. The red double-decker, open-back busses are crowded but fun to ride and cover the shorter downtown routes. A network of pedestrian walkways and green open spaces make walking a pleasure even in the downtown core. And walking in London is full of surprises.

From Piccadilly Circus we headed in the general direction of the Parliament buildings and suddenly found ourselves watching a parade – gilded horse-drawn carriages, mounted cavalry decked out in scarlet finery, light armoured vehicles, and marching bands. Strangely we seemed to be the only ones watching.

"What's going on," Betty asked a passing woman.

"Just a rehearsal dearie. The Guards is practicin’ for a big troopin’ come next month. You visitin’?"

"From Canada," Betty replied.

"Well keep an eye out for the Queen. She's about nearby. Might see her if you’re lucky."

Farther on we came on a huge crowd and were told that Her Royal Highness was indeed unveiling a plaque of some sort. It was impossible to get anywhere near the action but later, who should roll by in their long black limousine but Queen Liz and Philip. We waved and they waved back. Not a bad start we thought – only a few hours in London and we've seen a parade and waved to the Queen.

The Royal couple were probably on their way home to Buckingham Palace. Surrounded by the open greenery of St. James Park, Green Park and the Palace gardens, their modest London domicile has provided royals a place to bed down since 1837. With 661 rooms the scope for bedroom intrigue boggles the imagination. Although 19 of the rooms welcome visitors we declined to drop in.

No one was holding forth at Speakers Corner when we got to Hyde Park but the vast gardens, lawns, and rough open turf were busy with strollers, picnickers, and nannies with their charges. Together Hyde Park and adjacent Kensington Gardens provide more than three square kilometres of green space right in the middle of London. During World War II, when Londoners were hunkered down in their bomb shelters, Hyde Park was turned into a potato patch – probably the largest urban victory-garden in the Empire.

It was late afternoon by the time we made it back to the Parliament buildings and I set my watch to the hands of Big Ben. London's legendary 13-ton clock has been pounding out the hours since 1859. It stands atop the north tower of the Palace of Westminster, an elaborate neo-Gothic complex where the House of Commons and House of Lords are located. Although the seat of Parliament has been located here since the 16th century the original building was destroyed by fire in 1834 and the present Palace was not built until 1840.

Crossing St. Margaret's Street to Westminster Abbey is like stepping back almost a thousand years in history. The original church was built during the Dark Ages and the present structure with its flying buttresses, vaulted roof and magnificent stained glass windows gradually took shape between the 11th and 16th centuries. Since William the Conqueror was crowned here in 1066 the coronation ceremony for almost every British Monarch, right up to that of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, has been celebrated in Westminster Abbey. And the remains of most of them are tucked away, among those of other notables, in its tomb-cluttered interior.

Not everything in the Abbey predates living memory. A stained glass window above the RAF chapel commemorates "their finest hour" and in front of the Abbey a statue of Winston Churchill stands in Parliament Square. As we were leaving I marvelled that this ancient, fragile stone building had survived the Battle of Britain.

Back at Leicester Square we had our choice of a dozen ethnic restaurants and sat down to a traditional Japanese meal at the Tokyo Diner. A nearby vendor came up with discount tickets to Blood Brothers at the Phoenix Theatre, just a short walk down Charing Cross Road from our restaurant. Willy Russell's bitter-sweet musical about twin brothers separated at birth was a fitting climax to our first day in London.

On our second and last day we didn't get far from the City's infamous Tower. A walk up Tower Hill yielded breakfast from a street vendor and a great view across the Thames to the Tower Bridge. From there it's only a short stroll to where the resident ravens strut around the scaffold site of Tower Green.

I shudder to think what first attracted them to this spot but superstition has it that should the ravens leave the monarchy would fall. Not willing to tempt fate Charles II, some 350 years ago, made sure that at least six of the scavengers hung around. Their wings were cropped and one of the Yeoman Wardens, better known as Beefeaters, was appointed Raven Master and charged with caring for the grounded birds.

Back in Tudor times several unfortunate souls lost more than a few feathers here. Anne Boleyn, poor dear, was among the first to have her head lopped off at the scaffold site on Tower Green. She was followed to the chopping block by Catherine Howard, another wife of whom Henry had tired, and by 16-year-old Lady Jane Grey who was perceived by Mary I to be a rival for the throne. In those days most executions were public events held on Tower Hill and attended by thousands of spectators. But as a concession to their status Anne, Catherine, Jane and a few others were granted the privacy of Tower Green where only the ravens came to watch their final moments.

We joined one of the Beefeaters for a tour of the Tower’s interior. For more than 900 years these Yeoman Wardens, decked out in elaborate Tudor costumes, have been guarding the Tower. Currently they are retired military officers who live within the Tower precincts and combine their guard duties with guided tours and informative talks laced with corny jokes. We ogled the Crown Jewels, puzzled over elaborate implements of war designed for men and horses, and listened to endless tales of murder and political skulduggery – a marathon of information overload.

As we were leaving I paused to look at one of the ravens. He gazed back with that one-eyed sideways stare peculiar to birds. His name, our guide told us, was Hardy, a well cared for pet. But with clipped wings he was undeniably a prisoner in the Tower of London. I remembered watching a pair of ravens frolicking in the clear air above Blackcomb. They were playing with a stick, rolling, diving and soaring for the sheer joy of flying, and I wondered if Hardy was reading my thoughts.