MERLINA AND THE POPPY MEMORIAL

IN THE summer of 2014, the moat was filled with ceramic poppies to commemorate the centenary of the start of World War I.

Every evening, at sunset, a Yeoman Warder would walk out into the sea of poppies and read out 180 names of the fallen, followed by the traditional call of the Last Post. When it was my turn, I had to fight back tears.

Without doubt, it was one of the proudest moments of my life.

One fine, sunny morning, as volunteers were positioning the poppies in the moat, Merlina flew out of the Tower to see what all the fuss was about. Alerted by the control room, I found her perched on an old iron fence overlooking the poppies and cronking loudly.

I seized her with the speed of a striking cobra and, as I returned with her to Tower Green, I could hear the onlooking crowd murmuring, some in approval, some in disapproval and others in sheer disbelief.

I knew that before long videos of me would be appearing in social media.

Like it or not, if you’re a small, middle-aged man in a wide-brimmed bonnet, wearing a royal blue and scarlet dress — it’s called a tabard — trying to catch a raven, that’s inevitable. But I was glad Merlina had seen the poppies.