Up to Windsor to visit The Queen

5 April 2015

Not long after I passed the Windsor Railway Bridge I came out into a large open meadow, called The Brocas and I got my first view of the aim of my walk. For those who have not guessed yet it was, of course, Windor Castle. In the far corner of the meadow I could see a path that seemed to run beside the river so I made my way towards it. There was a closer view of the castle but it looked like a dead end so I retraced my steps and made my way through a narrow cutway. At the end I could see a charming little pub.

The sign on the front said Real Ale, Cider and Champagne House, which immediately piqued my interest and, from another sign above the side door, I could tell the pub was built in 1542. The giant fork and spoon hanging above this door made me smile and told me I’d probably get a nice meal there if I’d had the time or inclination. What I found out later though made me almost glad I didn’t step inside.

This is a pub with a grizzly history. During the plague of 1665, the cellar was used as a makeshift mortuary and it’s said knocking can often be heard from behind the walls while a small, long haired boy appears in one bedroom and sits on the bed. The ghost of another young boy sits and warms himself beside the fire. Two more ghosts, said to be Eton College boys gone bad, are also regularly seen. Both became highwaymen and were hanged.

At the end of the street I spotted a Costa Coffee but, as I was going to visit The Queen and I thought she might offer me one, I decided to pass by. If she was out or had run out of decent coffee I would pop in on my way back. Turning right, I came to Windsor Town Bridge which links Eton, where I was, to Windsor, where I was going. The first bridge to link the two, a wooden toll bridge, was built in the twelfth century. The current granite and iron bridge was opened in 1824 and tolls were scrapped in 1897. The new bridge was open to traffic and, in the twentieth century this was a busy main road between Slough and Windsor. In 1970, cracks were found in some of the cast iron and the bridge was pedestrianised.

Across the road on the other side of the bridge I came face to face with the castle, or at least the wall of it and the North Gate. Beside the gate is a statue of  Prince Christian Victor, Queen Victoria’s favourite grandson who died of malaria in Pretoria in 1900.  The plaque displays an impressive array of medals, but then he was the Queen’s grandson. Victoria’s coat of arms are above the door and there’s a handy post box in case the Queen feels like popping out to post a letter.

Impatient with all the traffic blocking my view, I hurried up the hill admiring The Queen’s display of daffodils on the grassy bank. At the top I came to the Curfew Tower, one of the oldest surviving parts of the Lower Ward. The tower dates from the thirteenth century. Inside is a dungeon and a secret exit called a sally port, designed to be used to escape a seige. Under the nineteenth century, French Style conical roof are the castle bells and clock. Personally I think the roof looks out of place but who am I to question the taste of the royal family?

After sieges in 1214 and 1216, during which the castle was damaged, Henry III decided to strengthen the defences and rebuilt the lower walls in stone, adding the Curfew Tower and sally port, just in case there was another seige, along with the Garter and Salisbury Towers. The three towers make an impressive facade to the western end of the castle but I was even more impressed by The Queen’s luxuriant lawn. I wish mine looked like that.

Carrying on past Salisbury Tower I crossed the road to take a picture of the statue of Queen Victoria that seems to stand guard over the main castle entrance. There appeared to be people everywhere sitting on all the benches lining the pavement but I passed them by and turned the corner to look at the south side of the walls. These are dominated by Henry VIII’s impressive gateway, built in about 1510 as the main entrance to the castle. These days it’s actually used as the exit for tourists.

Henry was fond of the castle and spent much of his youth there using it as a refuge from outbreaks of plague in London. He is buried on the other side of the gate in St George’s Chapel alongside Jane Seymour, his third and favourite wife. In fact she was the only one he didn’t divorce or execute apart from Katherine Parr, who outlived him. Henry’s ghost is still said to wander the castle at night and his beheaded wife, Anne Boleyn has often been seen standing at the windows of Dean’s Cloister. His daughter, Elizabeth I, was also fond of the castle and is often seen wandering through the library dressed in black with a lace shawl across her shoulders. They really do have a better class of ghost in Windsor.

The gargoyles around the towers were wonderful and I really wish I’d been able to get closer to them but I suppose the nature of a gargoyle is that it’s high up.  Something I could get a close look at was the golden plaque on the cobbles outside declaring this was Queen Elizabeth’s walkway and I wondered if she was hanging around inside waiting for the crowds to thin before she went out for a stoll, perhaps along the towpath.

So far all I’d really seen were the outer walls of the castle and some of the gates, a little like an upmarket version of the Southampton City Walls but without the crumbling and missing bits.  The castle has been a royal residence since it was built in the eleventh century by William the Conqueror. Originally it was a single tower motte and bailey castle with a moat but, over the centuries, various kings and queens have added to it and it is now a sprawling mass of buildings surrounded by an impressive defensive wall. It remains the longest occupied palace in Europe. These days it is the preferred weekend home of Elizabeth II.

Lack of time meant I wouldn’t be able to go inside for a tour, much as I’d have liked to, but I did want to have a peek at it, even if only from a distance so I made my way up towards the main entrance gate at the bottom of Castle Hill. The last time I went inside I was ten or eleven years old and I was with Mother, L’oncle Jaques and Auntie Rene. Much of the visit is lost in the mist of time but I did experience my first ever case of house envy when I saw Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House in the state apartments. This marvellously detailed model was made for Queen Mary, wife of King George V in the 1920’s and is every little girl’s dream. After that I didn’t really want to see the rest of the castle.

When I got there the gate was shut and, just as I was about to try my patented phone through the bars method of taking photos, a guard approached me.
“The castle isn’t open until one o’clock,” he said, looking at me suspiciously and simultaneously explaining all the people sitting around on benches.
“That’s ok, I just wanted to look, I don’t have time for a tour,” I replied. “Is The Queen in?”
“Not at the moment,” he said.
That was a little disappointing as I was hoping for a coffe and some cakes. Perhaps she’d run out of coffee and nipped out to buy some more. I’m pretty sure she’s a tea drinker. Still, I couldn’t hang around all day, even for The Queen, because I needed to be back before Commando finished his race. Right at that moment the huge, gold topped iron gates opened and a van came out. They seemed to be a bit slow about shutting again so, at the risk of being trapped in them, I took a few photos. By now the guard was giving me some very dirty looks.

Much as I’d have liked to push my luck and get better pictures I didn’t fancy being locked up in the tower so I made a hasty retreat. Obviously I will have to come back another day and have a better look. Maybe The Queen will be at home and I’ll get that coffee.