The Ravenmaster Read online

  Raven Munin is currently the oldest serving raven at the Tower.1

  Raven Munin—named after one of Odin’s ravens in Norse mythology—has led what you might call a colorful life.

  She is incredibly intelligent—she can solve scientific tests in record time. She is also tough and she is brave: she loves to get as high up around the Tower as she possibly can, which has caused me no end of problems, having to clamber up after her. She’s broken her wing twice and is now permanently on medication to treat her arthritis. She’s had three partners during her time with us—two of them now dead—and so is affectionately known to me and my assistants as the Black Widow.

  I’ll be honest: Munin and I have something of a troubled relationship. Basically, she doesn’t like me. In fact, sometimes I think she actually hates me. She’s certainly been giving me the runaround for years. Research suggests that ravens can recognize human faces, and I can only assume that I did something horrendous in my early days as the old Ravenmaster’s assistant and Munin has never forgiven me.

  If you ever visit the Tower, you can easily identify Munin because she’s the bird who hops off in the opposite direction whenever she sees me! After many years of niggling, tussling, and negotiation, I would describe ours as a relationship of mutual grudging respect.

  MERLIN/MERLINA

  Female (but thought male for the first five years of her life)

  Entered Tower service May 2007

  Age on arrival: one year old

  Current age: eleven years old

  Place of origin: somewhere in Wales

  Presented by Anne Bird, Barry Swan Rescue center

  Named by previous owner and officially still known in Tower records as Merlin (renamed Merlina by Ravenmaster Chris Skaife)

  Merlina was found by the side of a road in Wales. She was adopted by a family of bird lovers who built her an aviary and looked after her until she became too difficult to handle. She is not a bird suited to a quiet suburban life. Her caretakers gave her to the Swan Rescue center in Barry, Wales, where she quickly became renowned for throwing tantrums, mimicking other birds, and randomly squawking out a primitive “Hello” and “Thank you” at passersby. After she refused to have anklets placed on her and withdrew all cooperation in her interactions with her carers, the Rescue contacted us at the Tower in desperation. And here she has been, perfectly happy, ever since.

  Unlike my uneasy relationship with Munin, Merlina and I are close. Very close. Indeed—after many years—she has bonded with me and two of my assistants and is always very friendly toward us. She is not, however, friendly toward anybody else—including our fellow Yeoman Warders.

  Over the past few years, Merlina has become quite a celebrity. She has her own dedicated followers on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. She receives gifts and cards and letters from well-wishers and has appeared countless times on television and in newspaper and magazine articles. She likes playing with sticks while rolling on her back, calling out to the crows to come play with her, doing forward rolls, stealing stuff from unsuspecting members of the public, playing in the snow, playing dead, drinking water out of the fountain, washing potato chips if she doesn’t like the flavor, emptying the bins on the endless search for food, hunting mice, and stalking pigeons.

  Merlina could fly off to a new life if she so desired, but due to the nature of our bonding, and with a bit of careful flight-feather trimming, we’ve managed to keep her here at the Tower. She is our most free-spirited bird: she’s also my closest friend among the ravens.

  In many ways, Merlina is a bit of a loner: she refuses to socialize with any of the other ravens. I think of her as the Tower Princess. If another raven goes anywhere near her, she hops along to find me to seek my protection, often bringing me little treats to share, usually rotten meat or rats’ tails. Her favorite activity is to sit with me in the Bloody Tower sentry box and fall asleep while I gently stroke her feathers. Whatever you do, do not try this if you visit with her. Not if you value your fingers.

  ERIN

  Female

  Entered Tower service 2006

  Age on arrival: six weeks old

  Current age: eleven years old

  Place of origin: Yatton, Somerset

  Presented by Mr. Martin Harris

  Named by Ravenmaster Derrick Coyle

  It’s said that ravens mate for life, but in my experience Raven Erin’s partnership with Raven Rocky is a rather more complex process than is often assumed by us humans. What I can say is that Erin and Rocky like to perch together, fly together, walk together, and preen together. They’re a classic couple in many ways—and in this partnership, it is Erin who most definitely wears the trousers.

  Erin may be one of our smallest ravens, but she is by far the noisiest. She likes nothing better first thing in the morning than crawing and cronking at the top of her voice and annoying the residents of the Tower. She’s not, shall we say, a bird who is backward in coming forward. She will chat away forever, is extremely boisterous, and loves to pester the other ravens. One of her favorite games is to invade another bird’s territory, pick a fight, cause all sorts of commotion, and then suddenly back off. With Erin, I often find myself having to assume the role of policeman. If she’s on Tower Green, for example, squawking at Merlina, I’ll intervene with a wag of my finger and tell her to move along, and then off she goes.

  Erin and I are not exactly close, but we get along fine. We have a few volunteers at the Tower who like to assist with our work with the birds, and over the years Erin has befriended one or two of them, whom she graciously allows to feed her the occasional nut or biscuit.

  Many of our American visitors like to point out that the name Erin is Irish, though I like to point out in return that it is in fact a Hiberno-English derivative of the Irish word “Éirinn,” meaning Ireland, and no, she’s not from Ireland. She’s from Somerset. The naming of the ravens can sometimes seem nonsensical—and indeed paradoxical and ironic, as is the case with Erin’s partner, the wonderfully though inappropriately named Rocky.

  ROCKY

  Male

  Entered Tower service July 2011

  Age on arrival: three years old

  Current age: nine years old

  Place of origin: Yatton, Somerset

  Presented by Mr. Martin Harris

  Named by Ravenmaster Chris Skaife

  Traditionally our ravens were named after the person who presented them to the Tower. Thus, Raven Edward, who was presented to the Tower around 1890 and who was named after Colonel Edward Treffry from the Honourable Artillery Company. Or one of my favorites, the legendary raven Edgar Sopper, presented in 1923 and named after Colonel Sopper. All of our ravens these days are bred outside the Tower by a small number of recognized breeders and acquired by the Tower as and when we need them, so our naming practices have had to change. We once had a Ronald Raven, for example, so named by viewers of the children’s television program Blue Peter. We’ve had ravens named Cedric, Sandy, Mabel, Pauline, and—in tribute to the character played by Tony Robinson in the TV comedy Blackadder—Baldrick.

  Rocky is in fact named after the former Ravenmaster Rocky Stones, and not after the boxer played by Sylvester Stallone, which is probably for the best because Rocky is most definitely not a fighter. Admittedly he does have a distinctive short fat beak, which makes him look a bit like he has a broken nose and is about to land a heavy punch on you. He’s big and he likes to swagger around a bit, and he does his best to protect Erin when she gets into trouble, but he’s really a very shy, sweet-natured sort of a bird. In fact, he’s a bit of a softy. He follows Erin around like a little puppy, is completely uninterested in me or in the public, and likes nothing more than to spend his time snuggling up to her, though how on earth he puts up with her incessant squawking I have absolutely no idea.

  JUBILEE II

  Male

  Entered Tower Service May 2013

  Age on arrival: six weeks old

  Current age: four years
old

  Place of origin: Yatton, Somerset

  Presented by Mr. Martin Harris

  Named Jubilee by popular demand

  Jubilee II started out life as a stand-in. In 2012, in honor of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the Tower authorities thought it might be a nice idea to give Her Majesty a raven as a present. We’d keep it here on her behalf and look after it for her. Shortly after presenting the bird, I went away on holiday to the United States. Just a few hours after my arrival, I received a frantic phone call from one of my colleagues.

  “Chris, there’s a bit of a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Two ravens have died.”

  “Which ravens?”

  “Jubilee and Gripp.”

  “Died?”

  “Killed.”

  “Foxes?”

  “Foxes.”

  “So you’re telling me I’ve just come all this way to the U.S. on holiday and the Queen’s new raven has been killed by a fox?”

  “Yep. Sorry, mate.”

  It was not a great start to my long-awaited holiday, but fortunately we were quickly able to acquire some replacement ravens, whom we named Jubilee II and Gripp II.

  Jubilee II is currently Munin’s partner. I say “currently” because when Munin dies, I might try to pair Jubilee II with Merlina. Merlina has recently started to allow Jubilee II to spend a little time with her on Tower Green, which is very unusual. Merlina, as I said, is not a bird who usually tolerates the company of other ravens. There’s a bit of an age difference between Merlina and Jubilee II, but they seem to get on and I can certainly see why. Jubilee II is very much the strong silent type: well-behaved, well-groomed. Perfect boyfriend material. I think of Jubilee as a knight of the Tower.

  GRIPP II

  Male

  Entered Tower service May 2013

  Age on arrival: six weeks old

  Current age: four years old

  Place of origin: Yatton, Somerset

  Presented by Mr. Martin Harris

  Named by Ravenmaster Chris Skaife

  Gripp is the opposite of Jubilee: tiny and rather frail. We assume that Gripp is male—but I rather fancy that he is in fact a she. It wouldn’t be the first time that one of our male birds turned out to be female. As I mentioned, Merlina started out life as Merlin, and there have doubtless been other examples of mistaken identity during the history of the Tower ravens. The sexing of birds is notoriously difficult, even for vets, never mind for Yeoman Warders. Ravens not only lack external sexual organs, like most species of birds, but the male and female are almost identical in appearance, and there are no great differences in behavior. It’s not as if the males have brighter plumage or different feather patterns, or wattles or combs or crests or leg spurs that might help you distinguish them from females. To the untrained eye, the only noticeable difference is that the male ravens tend to have a slightly longer middle toe and thicker bills, but then again, we’ve had female birds before with great thick bills, and measuring the difference in ravens’ toes is not a hobby for the fainthearted. Handling the birds can make them extremely stressed at the best of times, so really the only way to determine Gripp’s sex would be to take a feather and have it DNA tested. Since Gripp seems perfectly happy as s/he is and because we treat all the birds equally here at the Tower anyway, whatever their sex and gender, there seems little point in putting him/her through the stress. So, for the moment Gripp remains a he—a rather timid and shy he, admittedly, who requires a little bit more looking after than some of the other birds. I have a bit of a soft spot for him and don’t like to see him being picked on or bullied by the others.

  HARRIS

  Male

  Entered Tower Service May 2016

  Age on arrival: six weeks old

  Current age: one year old

  Place of origin: Yatton, Somerset

  Presented by Miss Lori Burchill

  Named by Ravenmaster Assistant Shady Lane

  Harris is the youngest and the biggest of our current birds. You can tell he’s young—if you can get close enough—because the inside of his mouth is pink. The raven mouth turns black as the bird ages, in much the same way as our hair turns gray. Harris will be counted as a juvenile for about three years before coming into full maturity, though he’s already started displaying signs of adult behavior. Just a couple of weeks ago he spent three days up on the rooftops of the Tower, checking things out, only returning to be with the other ravens because he was hungry. I fancy he’s going to keep me rather busy in the years to come.

  Harris is named after Martin Harris, a breeder who presented us with more than a dozen ravens during his lifetime—including most of our current birds—and who was a real character, and someone greatly loved by all of Team Raven.

  Harris was in fact hatched on the very day of our old friend Martin’s funeral, which I attended down in Somerset with my Deputy Ravenmaster, Shady Lane, both of us in full uniform. I can well remember driving down a few weeks later to collect the new little birdling, which was a bittersweet moment for us all, and we decided there and then to name the new bird after Martin, as a reminder of the many people who love the ravens and who have been involved in their well-being.

  I hope and trust that Harris will have a long and happy life ahead of him.

  5

  BIRD LIFE

  Having met the ravens, you’ll probably be wanting to get a sense of their living arrangements.

  It’s perhaps easiest to visualize where we all live at the Tower if you imagine a series of concentric circles: right in the center is the ancient White Tower; and then there’s the Inner Ward, which is enclosed by a massive wall with thirteen towers; and then there’s the narrow Outer Ward, protected by a second wall with six towers facing the river and two bastions on the north front. And then there’s the moat, which is now a dry moat. There’s no water in the moat. Most of us Yeoman Warders live right on the edge, facing the moat, but the ravens are slap-bang in the middle of things. They’re based in a purpose-built, state-of-the-art enclosure on the south side of Tower Green, in the Inner Ward. It is the perfect spot, sheltered but warm and sunny, at the center of the life of the Tower but just tucked away enough to give them some privacy. It’s on the site of what was once the Grand Hall, which we think was probably where Anne Boleyn was imprisoned before her execution in 1536.

  Living here at the Tower, for both the birds and the Yeoman Warders, is just like living anywhere else—apart from the fact that we have arrow slits for windows, our walls are forty feet high, and we’re locked in at night!

  I suppose I’m used to this sort of thing. I lived in some pretty unusual places during my time in the army. I spent plenty of nights bivouacked in the jungle, and under the stars in the fields of South Armagh. I lived in Cyprus, among the orange trees and the olive groves, and up high in the mountains in the Balkans. When you’re a soldier you get used to roughing it—you’re at home everywhere and nowhere. The Tower is as peculiar and unexpected a place to live as anywhere.

  There are about 140 residents here at the Tower. As well as the Yeoman Warders and their families, the Constable of the Tower lives here, the Resident Governor and Deputy Governor, the chaplain, the doctor, the Operations Manager, the Chief Warden, the head of Visitor Services, and the manager of the Fusilier Museum. We may share our home with millions of visitors every year, but we’re a little community just like any other. We have our own doctor, and we even have our own club, the Yeoman Warders Club, the Keys, which is arguably the most exclusive club in the world since it’s only open to Tower residents, staff, and invited guests.

  Some people would find living in the Tower intolerable. You’re basically in the middle of London, in a prime tourist destination, with the public continually passing through. It’s like a fishbowl. It’s certainly not for everyone. But for me, from the moment I arrived, it felt like coming home.

  When I was young we lived in the shadow of Dover Castle. Dover sits facing France
across the Channel and is the traditional entry and exit point for visitors from abroad. Home of the famous White Cliffs, Dover is what some people like to think of as the back door into England. I like to think of it as more of a grand entrance. Who knows how much I might have been influenced as a child, looking up at the old Norman castle, floodlit at night, the trains fuming into the station, the endless comings and goings of the ferries? Growing up in Dover I became accustomed to living in a place where people were continually passing through, tourists and travelers on their way in and out of England, and maybe I even had a dim sense of living in a place of great historic importance. I may have come a long way from Dover, but in some ways, I haven’t come far at all.

  As I mentioned, most of us Yeoman Warders live in the outskirts of the Tower, in the outer walls known as the Casemates, the outer battlements. The ravens live in the very shadow of the White Tower, a building that dominates the whole of the Tower of London even today, a symbol as much as it is a building, built centuries before the “starchitects” and their skyscrapers that surround us now. Decades in construction, the White Tower was begun by William the Conqueror around the late 1070s, with the object of protecting the city and impressing the populace, as well as controlling the approach to London by river. Work on the White Tower was continued by William’s son William Rufus and was eventually finished by Henry I around 1100, at which point Henry promptly imprisoned his chief minister, Ranulf Flambard, in the newly completed building, though Flambard soon escaped, climbing down a rope, having plied his guards with drink. You can certainly try that with the Yeoman Warders today. It won’t work. But it’s certainly worth a try.

  When I started as Ravenmaster the ravens were kept in rather cramped night boxes, constructed in the 1980s and built into the old inner walls of the Tower. There was nothing really wrong with the night boxes. They were an improvement on how the ravens were housed before then. According to an article in Country Life magazine in December 1955, some of the Tower ravens were “locked in the basement of a house overlooking the Green and others were confined to a cage hung on the side of the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula.” Remnants of these rather primitive sleeping quarters remain today—and indeed are still in use by Merlina, who refuses to sleep with the other ravens, preferring her own company and a private night box behind an old lead-lined window on the ground floor of the Queen’s House on Tower Green, where she graciously allows the Constable of the Tower and his family to live.