Summoned to The Tower
by Brendan Gisby
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: A trip to London, but not to see the Queen.
_____________________________________________________________________
When I arrived at the top of Tower Hill, there was a large crowd milling around the gates to The Tower. I had been told that a crowd gathered there every day from dawn to dusk. Curious, expectant, they were no doubt drawn to the place by tales of torture and murder and very public executions.
Taking a deep breath and clutching my leather satchel closer to my chest, I strode down the hill and pushed my way through the crowd until I reached the row of Beefeaters guarding the gates, their pikes glinting menacingly in the early morning sunshine. I approached the nearest Beefeater and handed him the letter I had received from the Committee. He read the letter, returned it to me and regarded me coldly for some moments. Then he signified that I should follow him into The Tower.
Although I didn’t look back, I could sense the crowd gawping at me as I passed through the gates behind the Beefeater. They probably thought I was someone important: a dignitary, perhaps. They weren’t to know I was only a humble clerk, summoned to come all the way from Scotland to appear before the Committee.
The Beefeater led me into a quadrangle surrounded by tall buildings with row upon row of small, dark windows. Away from the crowd, it was suddenly very quiet, the silence broken only by my laboured breathing and the Beefeater’s heavy footsteps on the cobblestones.
I grew more apprehensive with each footstep. Common sense told me not to be so worried. I was there simply to supply the Committee with information and to answer, as honestly as I could, any questions they might have. But I had heard the stories of men – poor, innocent men – who had gone into The Tower to be questioned, never to emerge again.
We entered a building at the far end of the quadrangle and climbed a narrow, twisting staircase to the top floor, where the Beefeater knocked once at a door, opened it, ushered me through it and closed it quickly behind me. The noise of his descent echoed round the gloomy, low-ceilinged room I was now standing in. Most of its space was taken up by an oblong oak table, around which sat a dozen or so men. I had neither seen nor met any of them before, but I knew they included representatives of Government, Law and Church and of the Crown itself. All of them smiled inscrutably at me.
Still smiling, one of the men waved me to the empty chair that stood on its own at an end of the table. I smiled nervously in return and walked towards the chair. My heart raced when I noted the apparatus, primed for use, at its side. Staying on my feet, I fumbled in my satchel and pulled out the material I had brought from my superiors, the material I hoped would tell all. Then, with shaking hands, I switched on the overhead projector and laid the first slide on it.
“Good morning, gentleman,” I began falteringly. “Thank you for this opportunity to present to the members of The Tower Management Committee the results of our latest survey of visitors to the UK’s most popular tourist attraction.”
Swearwords: None.
Description: A trip to London, but not to see the Queen.
_____________________________________________________________________
When I arrived at the top of Tower Hill, there was a large crowd milling around the gates to The Tower. I had been told that a crowd gathered there every day from dawn to dusk. Curious, expectant, they were no doubt drawn to the place by tales of torture and murder and very public executions.
Taking a deep breath and clutching my leather satchel closer to my chest, I strode down the hill and pushed my way through the crowd until I reached the row of Beefeaters guarding the gates, their pikes glinting menacingly in the early morning sunshine. I approached the nearest Beefeater and handed him the letter I had received from the Committee. He read the letter, returned it to me and regarded me coldly for some moments. Then he signified that I should follow him into The Tower.
Although I didn’t look back, I could sense the crowd gawping at me as I passed through the gates behind the Beefeater. They probably thought I was someone important: a dignitary, perhaps. They weren’t to know I was only a humble clerk, summoned to come all the way from Scotland to appear before the Committee.
The Beefeater led me into a quadrangle surrounded by tall buildings with row upon row of small, dark windows. Away from the crowd, it was suddenly very quiet, the silence broken only by my laboured breathing and the Beefeater’s heavy footsteps on the cobblestones.
I grew more apprehensive with each footstep. Common sense told me not to be so worried. I was there simply to supply the Committee with information and to answer, as honestly as I could, any questions they might have. But I had heard the stories of men – poor, innocent men – who had gone into The Tower to be questioned, never to emerge again.
We entered a building at the far end of the quadrangle and climbed a narrow, twisting staircase to the top floor, where the Beefeater knocked once at a door, opened it, ushered me through it and closed it quickly behind me. The noise of his descent echoed round the gloomy, low-ceilinged room I was now standing in. Most of its space was taken up by an oblong oak table, around which sat a dozen or so men. I had neither seen nor met any of them before, but I knew they included representatives of Government, Law and Church and of the Crown itself. All of them smiled inscrutably at me.
Still smiling, one of the men waved me to the empty chair that stood on its own at an end of the table. I smiled nervously in return and walked towards the chair. My heart raced when I noted the apparatus, primed for use, at its side. Staying on my feet, I fumbled in my satchel and pulled out the material I had brought from my superiors, the material I hoped would tell all. Then, with shaking hands, I switched on the overhead projector and laid the first slide on it.
“Good morning, gentleman,” I began falteringly. “Thank you for this opportunity to present to the members of The Tower Management Committee the results of our latest survey of visitors to the UK’s most popular tourist attraction.”
About the Author
Brendan Gisby is McStoryteller-in-Residence. He's the author of three novels, three biographies and several short story collections.
His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.
And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.
His official author's website is Blazes Boylan's Book Bazaar at http://the4bs.weebly.com.
And his books are displayed at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.