My dears, let us step delicately, if somewhat ominously, into one of England’s most enduring and enchanting legends—one that flutters not with lace and silks, but with beaks, wings, and the occasional grumpy squawk. Yes, I speak of the ravens of the Tower of London.
Not merely birds, these sable-feathered sentinels are cloaked in myth and mystery. They’ve stood watch as kings were crowned, queens were beheaded, and traitors… well, they were generally separated from their more inconvenient body parts. But through plague, rebellion, fire, and fashionable beheadings, the ravens have remained. And, as legend insists, so long as they do, the monarchy shall endure.
Let us take flight, shall we, through their peculiar history?
The Royal Raven Prophecy
The notion that ravens must remain at the Tower “lest the kingdom fall” has a delightfully Gothic air about it, but—brace yourselves, purists—this bit of lore is not quite as ancient as the ravens themselves. The oft-quoted prophecy is thought to date back no further than the Victorian era, that most imaginative of periods, where superstition was practically stitched into one’s corsetry.
However, the birds themselves have been fluttering about the Tower since long before Queen Victoria picked up her first mourning veil. Ravens have long been considered birds of portent in British folklore—harbingers of death, yes, but also guardians, seers, and messengers of the Otherworld.
Some legends even tie them to Bran the Blessed, a giant king of Welsh myth whose severed head was said to be buried beneath the White Hill (where the Tower now stands) to protect Britain from invasion. “Bran,” incidentally, means “raven” in Welsh. Coincidence? In Tudor court politics, perhaps—but not here.
The First Official Ravens
As for the actual introduction of ravens into the Tower as official residents, that tale takes a more modern turn. During the reign of Charles II (he of the flowing wigs and less-than-pious inclinations), the Royal Astronomer complained that the ravens were interfering with his celestial observations from the White Tower.
Charles, torn between the will of the heavens and the weight of prophecy, is said to have declared that at least six ravens must remain at the Tower at all times, no matter how inconvenient their cawing might be to star-gazing. And so it was decreed.
The tradition was thereafter formalised, and the ravens were given an official post, lodgings, and eventually, a full-time Yeoman Warder Ravenmaster. Yes, that is a real title, and no, you may not claim it simply by feeding a crow in your garden.
Meet the Ravens: Feathered Celebrities
Today, the ravens are household names (at least in rather eccentric households such as mine). Each is given a name, a unique personality, and a post with perks that would make most interns swoon.
Among the more infamous was Raven George, who was dismissed from his duties for “conduct unbecoming” after developing a taste for television aerials. Then there was Grog, who enjoyed a bit too much tipple and was known to frequent the local pub before being retired for drunken disorderliness. My dear, one hardly knows whether to be horrified or terribly impressed.
They are cared for with meticulous devotion—clipped just enough to prevent long-distance flight (safety first, naturally), fed a rich diet of meat, biscuits soaked in blood, and occasionally an egg or two. They also receive veterinary care and annual weigh-ins to ensure they remain fighting fit.
And if you’re wondering whether any of them hold noble titles—well, one raven was briefly made a ‘Corvid Commander’ in jest, though alas, it didn’t come with a sash.
Escape Artists and Avian Anarchy
The ravens, it must be said, are not always the most cooperative of royal employees.
In 2021, Merlina, a particularly beloved raven, went missing. The Tower solemnly announced that she was “presumed dead,” and across the realm, hearts broke just a little. You see, each raven plays a role in this avian cabal. Should their numbers fall below six, it is said, the very Crown itself may tremble.
Fortunately, the Tower keeps an “extra” raven or two, just in case. Insurance, darling. Very prudent.
A Living Legacy
Whether one believes in the legend or not (though really, why ruin the fun?), the ravens remain one of the Tower’s most charming and eerie features.
Tourists squeal with delight (or mild terror) as the ravens strut past them like feathered aristocrats, unimpressed by selfie sticks and entirely capable of stealing your sandwich. Their presence is both spectacle and symbol—of endurance, mystery, and the faint but persistent hum of England’s more supernatural heartbeat.
In a world that’s ever-modernising, ever-rushing, ever-blinking into tiny screens, the ravens offer something older, darker, and decidedly feathered. They are a bridge between superstition and sovereignty, between myth and monarchy.
So, the next time you find yourself wandering through the Tower of London—perhaps pondering the ghosts of Anne Boleyn or the fates of the Princes in the Tower—spare a respectful nod to the ravens.
They were there before you. They’ll be there after. And if they ever leave entirely… well, let’s not think about it for too long.
Ever yours in history and feathers,
Lady Evangeline of Kerry
Chronicler of the Curious, the Crow-feathered, and the Crowned