London Folk Tales (6 page)

But when it became known that King Olaf had pulled down London Bridge, he was hailed by the people of England, and Norway too, as a hero above all others. And his scalds made praise songs about him, which echo down to this day:

London Bridge is broken down.

Gold is won, and bright renown.

Arrows singing, Shields ringing,

Odin makes our Olaf win!

Later, Olaf was converted from the old religion to the new Christianity, and after he died, he was beatified. And that is how the people of London remembered him. A true saint. Now he is known as St Olave, as in St Olave’s church and school. And in the root of Tooley Street, too.

It was not up to Olaf, of course, to rebuild London Bridge, which was done using wood again, for the interim. Nor did Olaf select the sacrifice to strengthen it. But, caught between Odin and early Norse Christianity as he was, he would probably have agreed with the bloody nature of the final choice …

For spilt blood was inevitable while Edric Streona was still around. And somehow, in true snake style, he managed to wriggle out of all blame for the trouble he had caused, and continued to pour his poison into the ears of kings, including the Danes, and Canute, son of Sweyn.

The only man who never listened to Streona was Edmund Ironside, the son of Æthelred, but as ready and as steady as anyone could be. Nicknamed on account of his legendary strength, he was a giant of a man, the Anglo-Saxons only true answer to the Danish invaders. Canute conquered much of England and was made king by the Witan parliament, but London rebelled and declared for Edmund, who was crowned king at Old St Paul’s.

The battle between the two kings was an even match, but when Edmund challenged Canute to fight in single combat, and so reduce the bloodshed of their men, Canute refused for fear of facing such a mountain of muscle. Instead, he suggested dividing England in two, with Edmund keeping London, East Anglia, Wessex and Essex, and Canute having the rest. They agreed that this would stand until one of them died, when all lands would revert to the survivor.

This coalition was not easy for either ruler, particularly Canute, as London was so central to trade. One evening, Edric Streona, who had wormed his way into Canute’s court, having double-crossed the Anglo-Saxons once too many times, happened to overhear Canute in one of his famous rages. ‘That obdurate Edmund and his accursed London!’ he stormed. ‘Always in my way! If any man can move him I swear I’ll raise them higher than any other ever was in England!’

Eager to squirm his way higher up the ladder, Edric took him at his word. Besides, he hated Edmund. Of course he was afraid to approach him openly, so he sent his sons to do the task. And it was done in such a dishonourable way, and in so private and disgusting a place, that no one would imagine it might happen. For the sons of Streona went to the privy, and positioned their crossbow in the midden heap, to fire up at Edmund as he sat upon the seat. It is said that the shaft went in so deep, that it could never be taken out again. And some say, because of that, it was not seen, and so not known at once as foul murder.

With Edmund dead, Canute became King of all England. He was a good ruler, level-headed and respected, even in London, although he made the citizens pay for having opposed him, by increasing the taxes on the city. When there, he occupied a fort by the Roman walls, where the River Fleet came to meet the Thames. Perhaps it was there that he famously taught his courtiers not to exaggerate his powers, by making them stand with him on the river beach, and commanding the Thames not to let the tide rise. He waited until it came almost to their waists before he allowed them all to escape. ‘Now you have felt the power of such a thing,’ he said, ‘understand how weak beside it is the power of a king.’

At Christmas, Edric Streona, now restored to the Earldom of Mercia, was in London with the king. Ever wily, Edric had kept his knowledge about Edmund’s death strictly secret, biding his time to speak to his best advantage. Late into the evening, he and King Canute were drinking and playing a game of chess. Edric rather unwisely won, and then even more ill-advisedly argued with the king about the rules. Canute flew into a terrible temper, and Edric, anxious to turn the tide back in his favour, played what he thought was his trump card. He told the king all about the murder of Edmund, and, smiling, explained he had done it at Canute’s request. He even reminded him of what he had sworn, to ‘raise the man who removed Edmund higher than any other’.

Canute was absolutely horrified. Earl Edric was drawn by the heels from the fort, scorched by flaming torches and then had his head struck off. His body was thrown down into the ditch, where the hungry hounds prowled, just outside the city walls. It is remembered to this day by the name of Houndsditch. But they say even dogs didn’t want to eat that meat.

Yet the king still kept to the letter of his oath. Edric Streona’s head was stuck on a long spike, and hoisted high above London Bridge – higher than any other man had ever reached.

And Edric’s blood dripping down below provided a human offering to be absorbed by Canute’s newly rebuilt London Bridge. It started a tradition, too, for putting traitor’s heads up there, which was to be continued for centuries, conveniently answering the needs of many a reincarnation of the bridge – including what was presumed to be the final one, King John’s utterly indestructible structure of stone.

Build it up with solid stone

Solid stone, solid stone,

Build it up with solid stone,

My fair lady.

Almost invincible – depending on the weather. But that never is dependable in London. As the old riddle says: ‘As I went o’er London Bridge I heard a great crack. Can any man in England ever mend that?’ No man could, for the problem – which recurred many times – was ice. Packed around the stone it was cold enough to crack it, as they saw before too long when the Thames froze solid.

Solid stone, will crack and fall,

Crack and fall, crack and fall,

Solid stone, will crack and fall,

My fair lady.

But fortunately not only did successive royal dynasties supply sufficient human heads, but also, along with many London citizens, they were wealthy and wise enough to realise the economic necessity to rebuild the bridge every time it cracked and fell. Although, it must have seemed like it was literally made of money!

Build it up with silver and gold,

Silver and gold, silver and gold,

Build it up with silver and gold,

My fair lady.

Thieves will steal it away,

Steal away, steal away …

Set a watch all night and day,

Night and day, night and day…

What if he should fall asleep?

Fall asleep, fall asleep …

Set a pipe between his teeth,

’Twixt his teeth, ’twixt his teeth,

Set a pipe between his teeth,

My fair lady.

So by all these diverse means, Londoners ensured that their bridge continued structurally and spiritually strong and safe until the eighteenth century, when a brother bridge was constructed to share the traffic, and the old one shored up in a new way. Better than ever:

Build it up with bricks and mortar,

Bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar,

Build it up with bricks and mortar,

My fair lady.

Bricks and mortar will not stay,

Will not stay, will not stay …

Build it up with iron and steel,

Iron and steel, iron and steel,

Build it up with iron and steel,

My fair lady.

Even in the most modern times, with a huge range of building material available, London Bridge still had to be rebuilt from time to time. And that of course posed a whole new problem. For Queen Elizabeth II the possibility of immuring someone inside London Bridge when it had to be replaced in 1973 was simply not an option. Nor was the chop-chop at the block and then hang the head up solution available to her, as it had been to her namesake, Elizabeth I.

After much head scratching, a clever alternative was suggested. The Fair Lady should be the Queen herself. What better head than hers? Not removed from her in the flesh, as has happened to queens in the past, but simply represented as she is in every hand in every purse, in every grubby transaction and great commercial enterprise. Heads or tails, the coin spins. And that was what was used. A sovereign to represent our sovereign, head facing up, implanted in the bridge.

In the twenty-first century too, London Bridge has, to some extent, been renewed. Only a few years ago I was walking along it, picking my way through extensive roadworks; men with big machines, and steaming tarmac cooling to a flat black path. One of the first to walk across it, I remembered the old tradition, wondering if anyone thought of it now. And suddenly I saw something shining. It was only a penny but a gleaming new one. Not just dropped but pressed in deep, to lie properly flush – Queen’s head up.

For a king to ensure his succession, in the days when daughters were disregarded, he had to have a son. At least one, but preferably two, because you never knew … Chances of survival weren’t that good. But any more and you may be sure that as well as options, you would have opposing forces, which would probably disrupt the direct line anyway.

William the Bastard of Normandy was well aware of that. After all, his claim to the English throne was extremely indirect. A circuitous family connection, and a promise made by Edward the Confessor that was afterwards denied. Besides that, he had to fight Harold Godwinson, who had been declared king with most of England’s thegns or landed lords supporting him.

But perhaps William was right to claim that he had been divinely ordained to reign. And Harold should have understood that the message he’d seen in the heavens was not, after all, so good. For the ‘star with a fiery tail’, Halley’s Comet, had appeared that year, just after Edward, dying, declared Harold as heir.

Or maybe it was simply good tactical timing. Godwinson had barely beaten the Viking Hardrada in the north before he was forced to march to meet with William of Normandy in the south. For whatever reason, it was the Saxon cry of ‘Goddemite’ that was overcome by ‘Dex Aie’ – ‘God Aid Us’ – the Norman battle cry, at Hastings. King Harold died with an arrow in his eye, and his body was buried without a sign, so that no one might know where to go to honour him, or to cry for him.

Then the Dowager Queen gave up the Keys of England and William the Conqueror marched up to London town. The city gates were closed against him, and London Bridge was barred, but he bartered with the citizens, and bargains were soon struck. All London’s privilege and rights would be retained, and most Saxon common laws remained.

William was welcomed into London then, and with impeccable timing once again, was crowned almost straight away. It was at Westminster, King Edward’s newly built Abbey, on Christmas day, 1066. ‘Unto us a king … ’

At first King William I went easy on the reins. He hoped that not too much would have to be changed. It all depended on making alliances and friends amongst important London citizens and Saxon landed thegns.

But having Norman overlords affected almost everything. The Norman court, the way they thought, the language they talked, even the way they looked was different from the Anglo-Saxon, Danish, and Celtic mix that the English had become. William and his French friends seemed effete in many ways, their faces like beardless boys, for the Norman fashion was to be close shorn. Londoners guffawed when William struck a new coin, marked with his name ‘Le Rei Wilam’, and shamelessly put on his face, bare as a babe.

Under the Norman eye, women’s clothing, and social position became less loose, a little more constrained; a closer fit that emphasised their female shape and feminine spirit. Several Saxon ladies, including wives of Harold’s knights, were obliged to take up needles and stitch the Norman tale of victory at Hastings. The story was embroidered, enhancing the Conqueror’s glory, so his chronicle became the new sung song, the history that was passed on.

But still red-headed William dared not sleep deep in his royal bed. Whenever he relaxed, and turned his back to keep an eye on Normandy or another of his territories, rebellions broke out in England, led by English men on whom he’d thought he could depend. He couldn’t replace everyone with trusted Norman friends.

London above all made him uneasy. It was such a complex mix of races, rules and rights, especially ‘freemen’ of the city who paid taxes to the king. Even an apprentice could hope to become one of them, yet these were the powerful citizens who had made William king – and possibly might try one day to ‘unmake’ him again.