After our brief respite of sleeping in the previous day, Abbie and I were once again woken up by my ever-pleasant phone alarm. Adanna was already “on set” for the day (yeah, she’s kind of awesome and ridiculous as the same time) so we were once again left up to our own devices. Fortunately, we had a full day planned out for us. We left the house around nine in the morning and took the tube down to Waterloo station, grabbing breakfast at a Café Nero Express (have you figred out yet that we took a liking to this place?) and walking the few blocks to the National Theatre.
That’s right. We were going on a backstage tour. Now, before you go and get your knickers in a twist (as the British are wont to say) about how we managed to finagle that knowing absolutely no one involved with the theatre, let me put you at ease by saying that the tour is open to the public and goes quite a few times per day. So, though we’d like to think we are, we’re really not that special.
If there was any doubt that our guide, Gemma, was enthusiastic about theatre, that would have easily been put at ease by her overly expressive gesticulations as she talked about how sets and fly systems worked. Yeah, some of the information she gave us was pretty basic stuff, but there were a few interesting tidbits (like that the Olivier fly system is comprised of a series of hooks instead of the tradition baton method…I’m as stumped as you are, don’t worry.)
But we got to go sit in the house for each of the theatres: The impressive Greek amphitheatre-esque Olivier, the more traditional proscenium, and the small black box (I’ve forgotten their names because they weren’t famous actors…and I’m on an airplane right now else I’d look them up. So sue me.) Each visit to the house was followed by a visit to the backstage areas, which are literally separated from the stages by “shutters” (large doors that slide back or roll up). We got to see the sets of some of the plays in rep (there’s usually at least two in rep per theatre) and then went further into the bowels of the building to see the massive scenic construction and design workspaces. Pete and Dave, eat your heart out.
Afterwards, Abbie bombarded the guide with questions about designers and their relationship with the National Theatre itself and apprenticeships and I was beginning to think I’d never be able to get her on a plane out of London. After a quick breeze through the bookshop, we walked back to the Underground and took the train to Tower Hill: Home to the Tower of London.
I’ve seen a few gory and spooky documentaries about the Tower on the travel or history channel, but I admit I was one of those people who thought the Tower was a singular building. It’s not. Which I was quick to learn upon exiting the subway and seeing the impressive fortress looming before us. The Tower is guarded by an outside wall, and inside there are many more towers, houses, and other buildings (including the famous White Tower). In all, there are 20 towers in the Tower of London.
Be bought our tickets and queued up for the next guided tour by one of the Beefeaters (or Yeoman)—you know, the guys in the red with gold lining tunic-y thing with the squishy black hat? The uniform’s changed a bit, but the same basic principle. Being the dumb American I am, I assumed the guides were some people with a brief knowledge of history hired out by the British Tourist Board or something.
Oh how wrong I was.
As Dave, our awesome guide, told us somewhat into the tour, becoming a guide to the Tower of London is actually really hard. To begin with, one must achieve the rank of Sergeant Major (and please forgive me because I know I’ve butchered the rank horribly—again, no internet on airplanes) in the Royal Forces, something that requires at least 20-22 years of service. In addition, one must conduct themselves in good conduct for the first 18 years of service. That means no mark on your record. Not doing anything wrong or making any mistakes. For eighteen years. Some of the perks? Dave and his fellow Beefeaters live there. Yes, they and their family LIVE at the Tower of London (as evidenced by the “medieval car park” he pointed out upon first entering the main gate).
The tour was mostly of some of the courtyard’s highlights: Traitor’s Gate where high profile prisoners could be brought in directly from the river, Bloody Tower where young Prince Edward (I think it was Edward) and his younger brother mysteriously disappeared under the “care” of their uncle who would soon become Richard III (their bodies were later found in a small coffin sealed inside a wall), and the green where the private executions of the likes of Anne Boleyn and Jane Grey took place.
Now on our own, Abbie and I explored a few of the towers, seeing graffiti carved into the stone by some of the prisoners, a rather disappointing exhibition on torture devices, a surprisingly large exhibition on King Henry VIII’s armor, and last, but most certainly not least…the Crown Jewels.
I freely admit that I pretty much have no interest in jewelry. My class ring from high school and my Claddagh ring have proven to be the only pieces I will repeatedly and frequently wear. I can’t tell the difference between real jewels and costume pieces—they all look the same to me. But when we got on that little moving walkway to glide past the casing for the Crown Jewels, and I saw the giant Star of Africa inside the scepter…I knew that it was much more important and beautiful than a silly piece of costume jewelry.
After finishing the Tower and cruising the gift shop, we realized we had about two hours until our Jack the Ripper walking tour (don’t judge, you know it’s awesome) left from the same station we were already at. But, to pass the time, we decided to make a fruitless journey to King’s Cross. But more on that tomorrow.
Arriving back at Tower Hill, we easily found the leaders of the tour right outside the station. I admit I had kind of been looking forward to it since finding the information online. I was also really excited to have Donald as our guide, since he is widely acclaimed as the present best authority on Jack the Ripper. The tour itself was largely uneventful. Most of the area of London where the murders occurred has obviously changed dramatically since the late Victorian years, leaving little ambiance to set the mood (and no, there were no guys in dark cloaks with fake knives jumping out at us either). But Donald took us to each location where the murdered victims had been found and described, sparing no detail, the conditions.
Though non-eventful, it was definitely informative, and as we moved deeper into the East End, we were able to get a little bit of a feeling of the ambiance with all the brown bricked former lodging houses surrounding us. After the tour concluded, Abbie and I both bought his book and had him sign it (it’s a pretty interesting read too). We then headed back to the apartment where Adanna had not yet returned from her glamorous life on set, and decided that since we once more needed to get up early in the morning, we’d best head to bed.
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