Daughter of a canon in St George’s chapel recalls childhood at the royal residence and encounters with the monarch
Some of the most abiding memories of our days living inside Windsor Castle are of the walks to school. We had moved there in 1967 from a rural parish in Essex, exchanging a bus ride through country lanes for a scramble on foot, past historic monuments, and through hordes of tourists. As we set off each morning, school bags slung across our shoulders, we could hear the changing of the guard on the parade ground and orders being shouted to the soldiers of the Coldstream Guards in their sentry boxes.
The curfew tower clock, which chimed every quarter and played a tune on the hour, reminded us to hurry along if we were to get to classes on time. As we rounded the corner, and headed through the dark Canons’ Cloister, which was always cold even in summer, we would always look up to see which flag was flying on the huge Round Tower above.
