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Authors: Geoff Abbott
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confinement which lasted thirteen years. He would stroll on Raleigh’s Walk, the battlemented wall adjoining his prison; dressed always in the height of fashion, he was popular with the people, with rich merchants, ambassadors and learned men. But as the years dragged by, the cold of the stones and the dampness of the river mists sapped his vitality, and rheumatism racked his ageing joints. King James, anxious to conclude a peace pact with Philip of Spain, acceded to Philip’s vengeful demand for Raleigh’s death, Raleigh who had plundered so much gold from Spanish galleons and colonies.
Eventually, on 24th October 1618, after years of deprivation, Raleigh was awakened by a yeoman warder and told his fate. Peter, his valet, attempted to help him to prepare, to comb his hair. Raleigh, undaunted to the end, retorted: ‘Let them comb it that shall have it!’ Taken to Old Palace Yard at Westminster, he met death bravely as the axe descended.
His phantom, then, surely has greater claim than any other to return to the scene of his long imprisonment. Over the years it has been reportedly seen flitting noiselessly through the forbidding rooms of the Bloody Tower; seen too on moonlit nights by those whose duties take them past Raleigh’s Walk, his ghostly figure floating along the battlements.
In Raleigh’s time the Walk extended to the Lieutenant’s Lodgings. Now part of those battlements are incorporated in houses built a century or so later, houses occupied by yeoman warders and their families. And since 1976 one wife in particular will always have cause to remember that her bathroom is positioned where Raleigh promenaded. Deciding to have a bath, she leant over to turn on the taps. Next minute a hand brushed gently over the small of her back! Instinctively she straightened up, turning to chide her husband – then caught her breath as she remembered that he was Watchman for the night and had left the house hours ago! However, yeoman warders’ wives are not given to swoons or the vapours; ‘Oh, stop it, Raleigh!’ she exclaimed and, undaunted, continued with her ablutions!
Incidents such as this are not restricted to nighttime, nor do they occur only to officials or residents of the fortress. In August 1970 a young visitor to the Bloody Tower saw a long-haired woman wearing an ankle-length black velvet dress, standing by an open window. She wore a white cap, and around her neck hung a large, gold medallion. As the visitor stared, the figure faded away.
Intrigued, the visitor returned some weeks later – only to see the apparition again, in the same place! No longer shocked by the unexpected, she was able to describe in detail the apparel of the ghost.
‘Princes in the Bloody Tower’ (an artist’s impression from an Edwardian postcard)
The mediaeval records are understandably incomplete, but for all we know, one of the many women who suffered imprisonment may well have been locked up behind the Bloody Tower’s ancient, creaking doors.
Two R. A.F. Regiment sentries on guard in October 1978 will not easily forget their tour of duty. On a still, moonless night, just after midnight, with never an autumn leaf stirring, they patrolled beneath the Bloody Tower arch. For no apparent reason they paused, feeling eerie apprehension, the hairs at the back of their necks bristling – and then their short capes billowed upward, almost covering their faces, as an icy breeze suddenly blew through the archway – a rush of cold air which died away as rapidly and as inexplicably as it had arrived.
Later that night their sergeant traversed the grim forbidding archway en route to the Waterloo Block. To his right the floodlights illuminated the ancient thirteenth-century wall built to stand high and impenetrable, guarding the approaches to the White Tower. Now it was crumbling, pierced by gaping holes once arrow slits and loops.
The sergeant paused, his attention attracted by a shadow he could see through a hole in the nearest
Eventually, on 24th October 1618, after years of deprivation, Raleigh was awakened by a yeoman warder and told his fate. Peter, his valet, attempted to help him to prepare, to comb his hair. Raleigh, undaunted to the end, retorted: ‘Let them comb it that shall have it!’ Taken to Old Palace Yard at Westminster, he met death bravely as the axe descended.
His phantom, then, surely has greater claim than any other to return to the scene of his long imprisonment. Over the years it has been reportedly seen flitting noiselessly through the forbidding rooms of the Bloody Tower; seen too on moonlit nights by those whose duties take them past Raleigh’s Walk, his ghostly figure floating along the battlements.
In Raleigh’s time the Walk extended to the Lieutenant’s Lodgings. Now part of those battlements are incorporated in houses built a century or so later, houses occupied by yeoman warders and their families. And since 1976 one wife in particular will always have cause to remember that her bathroom is positioned where Raleigh promenaded. Deciding to have a bath, she leant over to turn on the taps. Next minute a hand brushed gently over the small of her back! Instinctively she straightened up, turning to chide her husband – then caught her breath as she remembered that he was Watchman for the night and had left the house hours ago! However, yeoman warders’ wives are not given to swoons or the vapours; ‘Oh, stop it, Raleigh!’ she exclaimed and, undaunted, continued with her ablutions!
Incidents such as this are not restricted to nighttime, nor do they occur only to officials or residents of the fortress. In August 1970 a young visitor to the Bloody Tower saw a long-haired woman wearing an ankle-length black velvet dress, standing by an open window. She wore a white cap, and around her neck hung a large, gold medallion. As the visitor stared, the figure faded away.
Intrigued, the visitor returned some weeks later – only to see the apparition again, in the same place! No longer shocked by the unexpected, she was able to describe in detail the apparel of the ghost.
‘Princes in the Bloody Tower’ (an artist’s impression from an Edwardian postcard)
The mediaeval records are understandably incomplete, but for all we know, one of the many women who suffered imprisonment may well have been locked up behind the Bloody Tower’s ancient, creaking doors.
Two R. A.F. Regiment sentries on guard in October 1978 will not easily forget their tour of duty. On a still, moonless night, just after midnight, with never an autumn leaf stirring, they patrolled beneath the Bloody Tower arch. For no apparent reason they paused, feeling eerie apprehension, the hairs at the back of their necks bristling – and then their short capes billowed upward, almost covering their faces, as an icy breeze suddenly blew through the archway – a rush of cold air which died away as rapidly and as inexplicably as it had arrived.
Later that night their sergeant traversed the grim forbidding archway en route to the Waterloo Block. To his right the floodlights illuminated the ancient thirteenth-century wall built to stand high and impenetrable, guarding the approaches to the White Tower. Now it was crumbling, pierced by gaping holes once arrow slits and loops.
The sergeant paused, his attention attracted by a shadow he could see through a hole in the nearest
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