In summer frocks and soppy socks,
wearing ludicrous panama hats,
we convent girls trooped round in awe
of portentous birds and beefeaters
with pikes guarding royal regalia.
Enough grizzly history,
weird instruments of torture,
tales of imprisonment and despair
in the dungeons of the Tower
to frighten schoolgirls into silence.
The visit was but a prelude
to sending the whole thing up
in Gilbert’s satirical words
and Sullivan’s lovely music.
Phoenix Rising’s PAD continues the travelogue theme with a prompt on the Tower of London, which I visited with my school in 1950 or thereabouts in preparation for a production of the Yeomen of the Guard.